Wednesday, July 29, 2015

I have a confession to make...

Today is my half birthday. Being that I am over 5 years old, it should be irrelevant that I am now closer to 29 than 28. Typically, this would carry no weight in my daily life. Outside of a brief mental acknowledgement, I would move on and resume searching for leaked photos of Cara Delvingne. But today while driving home I heard my favorite radio host say that no grown man under and circumstance should send emojis.

Uh oh.

I send emojis. I do the smiley face. I do the little blonde haired blue eyed Aryan kid...a lot. I send the smiling poo. I send the fuck out of the beer glasses, the wine, the cigarette, the heroin needle.

I send the eight ball and people know that it means cocaine. I send the nose to indicate 'a Jewish person' because I'm slightly racist. Hell, I don't write descriptions anymore on Venmo, I attempt to tell a story entirely with tiny little pictures.

I have switched to the black thumbs up, because it's edgy. I send the ghost to chicks when I'm drunk and I want a naked snap chat. I suppose what I'm trying to say is, I am not a casual user. I don't send my girlfriend a purple heart emote once in a while to be cute. But I will send a blue heart after a Colts win, I'll send a Green heart to a chick if we're discussing Wicked. I'm not a dad begrudgingly appeasing his daughter. I like emojis. I look forward to NEW emojis.

You know the way a bunch of bleeding heart white people are passionate about that fucking lion?

That's how I feel about emojis.

But that's not the end...

For a while I could hide behind the fact that I used only Apple sponsored iMessage emotes, because well for a while you could only use them if you had the newest dopest iPhone.

But I have enlisted the help of a third party...perhaps you have heard of Bitmoji?

For the uninitiated, Bitmoji is a user-generated cartoon version of oneself. Then that cartoon guy can do things and you can send it to people.

For example...

Now, that is supposed to be me. He's got a pitcher of beer and he's ready to party. Sure it doesn't REEALLY look like me. I'm probably more of a 'regular' body type than 'athletic.' I probably went a shade too tan. My eyes aren't that blue, my hair isn't that blonde and my nose is way fucking bigger than that.

But subconsciously I do not want you to look at my Bitmoji and think "wow, how realist."

I want you to fuck my Bitmoji.

Or at least want to. I mean that purple hoodie was carefully selected. I spent HOURS on that hair style. And look at that pitcher. Notice that there are no glasses? THAT'S BECAUSE THIS FORMER FRAT GUY STILL HAS ENOUGH SPUNK TO DRINK STRAIGHT FROM THE PITCHER.

Do you like me? Of course you fucking like me. Where is option D "ALREADY CUMMING IN MY JEANS"

Ok, maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself. The truth is, Bitmoji is just the most recent way the kids are flirting. If you are a single female (or male) and a single male (or female) of the opposite (or same) sex sends you a bitmoji it is because they want to fuck you. It's the same as AIM, BBM (PING!!!) Gchat, Fbook poke, Snapchat, emoji...this is how 'the kids' flirt.

It's ok, you don't have to be ashamed, it's fun. Go on, admit it. You like taking your relevant stats and making your animated doppleganger look like Captain fucking America. It's like using an old flattering Facebook photo, don't worry I won't tell.

Ok, so what we send some fun pics to our friends and chicks we want to bang, no big deal right? Everyone does this, even people into their 20's and 30's.

But that's not the end...

You can take it further.

I take it further.

I can invoke YOUR bitmoji and pull you into a comic strip.

Oh yes, I do bitstrips.

In this Bitstrip I am dumping a boiling pot of stew on my friend Sacha's head. I think this is funny because I don't take domestic violence seriously it presupposes I know how to cook.

The truth is, if you told me that in my late 20's I would be having Chalmydia scares and that girls would be throwing my shit out into the middle of the street because I'm a dick; this would have made sense. I did not imagine I would be sending cartoon versions of myself to the world.

I imagine there is some sort of psychology to the whole thing, but it probably has to do with doing whatever I can to hold onto my youth. Getting older sucks, I mean I'm going to Europe next week, but I also went to Europe 10 years ago without having to save money for 6 months.

I think I send emojis because it takes me back to a time before car insurance payments and taxes, it reminds me of the time when I was just starting to realize I like girls and the truly horrible ways I would hit on them. "If I hit this shot, will you show me your boobs?" The truth is, I am still as socially anxious as I was when I was 14. I will legit send a text to a girl I have a crush on and throw my phone across the room before taking a walk around the block DYING to know what the response will be when I get back to the couch.

I send emojis because sometimes life is too serious and it's fun to be silly once in a while. So a smiling poo to you and a black (light skinned) thumbs up. Don't be self conscious about your bitmoji game, keep that shit on point and let the haters be miserable by themselves.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

FOMO: How the Dumbest Decision of My Life Became the Best

If you are unfamiliar with the premise of a Mini Cooper, the raison d'etre is it handles like a Go Kart. (Well and it allows poor people the opportunity to drive a BMW) The idea of driving my car through a mountain should be thrilling, but since there are infinite things more exciting to buy than tires...well between that and the excessive speed I was using on the 330, it's amazing I made it to Big Bear alive. FOMO will make a man do dangerous things.

I pulled up to the cabin a few minutes after 9pm to see everyone dressed in animal costumes already having sex without me. I was late to the furry convention and it looked like I was going to have to be the awkward penguin at an orgy jerking off in the corner.

I'm kidding, Bear Jew Weekend was fucking dope, these weekend getaways are becoming my favorite thing in the world. I could chronicle exactly how we went through 12 gallons of fireball in 36 hours but today I'm going to focus on an old story that some of you may not know.

As I said before FOMO will make a a man do dangerous things, it's almost like a drug. The following is the most irresponsible decision I ever made and also one that would change my life:

It was the summer of 2012, I had just been cut off financially by my parents and the start up I had been working for folded. It was just like the pilot of Girls but with a lower body fat percentage. I had just paid July rent and my account balance was sitting at a very grim $150. Every time I would go to Starbucks I was sacrificing 2% of my total net worth for a coffee. All of my meals consisted of ramen noodles, if I wanted to party I had to go to someone's house and drink a Four Loko. I was living on about $3 a day and I wasn't going to be able to go on the end of summer trip to Austin.

Four years prior in 2008, mere hours after my firing from a Philip Morris internship, I had flown to Austin to meet a bunch of pals for a friend's birthday. Actually I had flown to Dallas (because I am an idiot) and my friend's father had sent a dude to pick me up. It was the greatest vacation of my life because it introduced me to A. Austin, Texas and B. Float Trips.

The trip was such a success that the original crew was to get back together in Austin for the same trip in 2012.

Well the original crew minus me. While other people two years out of school had managed to acquire employment with salaries and disposable income, I was still kind of aimlessly floating around.

I let everyone know I wasn't going to be able to make it and made up some bullshit excuse. One of my buds offered to even pay for my flight, but some semblance of pride forced me to turn it down.

I spent the next few weeks sleeping until noon, unable to get out of bed as my depression seemed to manifest into physical exhaustion. I did that pathetic thing where you send out a few resumes and then convince yourself that you've exerted enough effort for the day; cue the Netflix.

For some reason I was still subscribed to the Chase App so I would wake up every morning to my phone "Balance Shaming" me.





Wait what? Where the fuck did that come from?

I place a call, ring ring. "Mom, did you just wire me $300?" No.

Ring ring. "Dad did you just wire me $300?" No.

I log into my account, Indiana tax return.

I had forgotten that since I worked for an Indiana based company, I received state tax returns from both California AND Indiana, it had just taken something like 12 weeks to arrive.

I was rich, I had essentially quadrupled my net worth, I mean I could maybe even afford a one way ticket to Austin. I mean probably not, the trip is only 48 hours away, but let's just get onto Priceline for shits and giggles.

Hmmm...There is a one way United flight advertised at $350, but what if I name my own price...surely I could get that down to $250. That would leave me like $150 to get back, I probably won't be able to afford a return flight with that, but maybe a bus ticket? Right? A bus ticket is like $50, that leaves me $100ish for ramen and Starbucks.

It's settled! I need a one way flight for $250.

I took a quick stock of my assets, full bottle of Adderall, great for two purposes, I can sell in a pinch and it can help me stay up all night trying to book travel.

Try as I might, I couldn't cheat the LAX to AUS flight under $300, it began to seem like this whole last ditch effort was a fool's errand, but the thing with Adderall is it makes you super human like the guy from Limitless, I took stock of my assets once again and realized I also had a car with a full tank of gas.

Long Beach airport: $400. Orange County: $290.  Burbank: $310. Ontario: $320.


But wait, how far is San tank there and back? It's close but I can probably make it.

SAN -> AUS $255. Without even thinking about it I clicked purchase and just like that, I was back in action.

I sold a few Adderall to a neighbor for $20 so I would have some tip money (all of the weekend's planned events were open bar, courtesy of the raddest North Richland Hills couple of all time) drove down to San Diego blasting OAR's Any Time Now, parked 2 miles from the San Diego airport for free parking and jogged to the airport wearing a bro tank, swimsuit and a backpack of all of my tangible assets.

I made it to Austin, was dropped off at the Driskill and spent the next 48 hours partying at Maggie Mae's, The Dizzy Rooster, Floating the New Braunfels river, even popping molly at an outdoor concert, it was AGAIN the trip of a lifetime.

Cue Sunday.

I've mentioned the Sunday Scaries before, but I would like you to imagine the following...I had no plan for the rest of my life starting that Sunday. No flight home, no bus, nowhere to stay that night. I was pretty much fucked.

"You don't have a flight?" My friends asked.


"Well do you want to come back to Dallas with us and um, figure it out?"

"I'll be fine."

I said it with such fake confidence that they must have believed me. Dave's a wandered, he'll figure it out, he always does.

I went to a coffee shop and checked my balance $148.00, all things considered I was in reasonably good shape, I got myself a coffee and started checking one way flights. Cheapest leaving that day $500. NOPE! I resigned myself to the fact that I would probably be taking a 28 hour bus ride and hopped onto the Greyhound site. One way to Los Angeles. $300
What the fuck?!?!

What is all that bullshit about girls from Kansas using their last $40 to hop on a bus to LA to become a star?

Maybe there is a train? NOPE!

Omg I'm srsly fucked. I'm going to have to call my parents and beg for yet another bail out.

Maybe it's because of the late notice, I wonder if there is anything leaving tomorrow, I could probably afford a hostel for the night.

I check, sure enough there is a US Airways flight leaving the following morning for $132. I immediately buy it fearing that the price could skyrocket any moment. It's only after I click purchase that I realize I have not left myself enough money for even the shittiest of hostels. But no worries right? I have to know someone that lives in Austin.

I exhaust my contacts, it turns out I don't know anyone that lives in Austin or even anyone that knows anyone in Austin. My closest connection is a friend's older sister and she is out of town. I am hopelessly fucked.

But maybe there is another option, I could sleep in a park under a tree, it would be like extreme camping! And then it starts raining. God dammit. Am I really going to investigate homeless shelters? Is that what my life has come to? Or perhaps I could just roll to the airport like 12 hours early, I'm sure that would be allowed with proof of ticket.

I start to have a nervous breakdown and decide I needed to get out of the rain. I spent $10 of my remaining $16 on a ticket to Magic Mike at the Alamo Drafthouse just so I can sit in the dark for 2 hours and distract myself from how pitiful my life had become.

At some point in between crotch thrusts from Channing Tatum I remembered an app called Couch Surfer, which was basically a new social media service for nomads, I hopped on and built a quick profile and then explained to everyone my dire situation, I assumed it would be of no use since it was now 6pm and the sun was starting to set.

I went to Jimmy John's and spent $4 of my remaining $6 dollars on a sandwich.

23 years old, net worth $2.

My phone buzzed.

"Hey Dave, this is Cory from couch surfer, come on by, we have a guest room! I've never done this before and my boyfriend thinks it's weird, but I think it will be fun!"

What a tremendous stroke of luck! I spent one of my two remaining dollars to take the bus to North Austin where Cory shared a small but tidy house with her boyfriend. He wasn't home, out practicing with his band. Cory cooked me a meal and I explained to her everything that had happened that got me to this point. We knew mutual friends back in Indiana and she even used to date a guy I would go on spring break with.

The front door swings open, the boyfriend was home.

"You're not trying to fuck my girlfriend?"

Um, no.

"Do you like Breaking Bad?"


"Ok then, here's a Shiner Bock."

So just like that we stayed up all night talking about life our hopes and dreams and what we wanted out of this coming season of Breaking Bad. At 5am they took me to the airport, at 10am I landed in San Diego, at 2pm I arrived back in Venice, my car on 5 miles to empty, one dollar to my name.

I walked to the dollar store and bought 4 failed Kraft Macaroni and Cheese product extensions at .25 cents a pop, cooked myself a late lunch and started writing.

I didn't know what I was doing or how. I downloaded a free piece of screenwriting software called Celtx and began to craft what I thought was a screenplay. I didn't leave my room for three days except to make Kraft's Cars 2 shapes Macaroni and Cheese. And then it was done, a 90 page road trip comedy about a broke guy trying to get across the country to tell a girl how he really felt.

It was so fucking bad, but it was a completed screenplay nonetheless. I sent the finished copt to Cory with the note, "I'm not in love with you or anything, but I was inspired to write this by my Austin trip and I named the female character after you as a kind of thanks."

And I realized then that the past 5 days were the happiest I had been in a very long time, not just the rad Austin trip but the part where I was locked in my room drawing on my experiences from that trip to create a fictional narrative for some character that was heavily based on myself.

Getting this fake dick head to hitch hike from Austin to New York City to tell a girl he loves her was so much fun I didn't know how to contain myself. I sent a PDF of it to a friend at UTA and she messengered a hard bound copy of the script to me, it was almost like I was a real writer. (if you've been to my apartment, that is still to this day the script that we do drugs off of LOLZ) but I was hooked.

I began cranking out shitty rom coms because they were so easy for me to write. Boy meets girl, shit happens, boy gets girl back. Oh man, they were all so bad, but they were a welcome distraction from how shitty my life had become. But then as my attitude began to change, my luck took a turn in a different direction, I landed my first set PA job on the critically acclaimed found footage film Paranormal Activity 4, from there I got on a tv show at Fox and all of a sudden my career in entertainment was off to the races.

Obviously I'm not where I want to be yet, but I'm making some progress and I write a fuck ton. I've shifted away from film to tv and dare I say, what I write now isn't dreadful probably just below average.

Who knows if I ever would have actually given it a shot if not for that ill fated trip to Austin. I might have given up on my dream before I ever gave it a chance. I was sad about some girl back home, California was swallowing me whole and it seemed as if I was rapidly running out of options.

It looked like I was going to move back to Indianapolis and work for a third party logistics firm or something until I threw myself in front of a train.

But instead I did something really stupid because of my absurd fear of mission out, and everything worked out. Well, worked out-ish. Might some day work out. Will probably work out.

I still am doing dumb things, I probably shouldn't be so specific about my hedonistic lifestyle on this blog, even if a lot of it is hyperbole or just plain fabrication. But, in my experience, taking risks has proven advantageous so I'm not about to go conservative now.

Friday, July 10, 2015

First Impressions of Earth

A couple months back a friend of mine invited me on a weekend getaway with some of his pals that I don't know.

I immediately said yes without doing any due diligence because I'm a yes man and research is for pussies. I forgot about the trip entirely until Monday morning when I was looped into the most batshit email chain of all time. The title of the email (Official Crew) Bear Jew Birthday Weekend.

To date there have been 41 responses since I was added. People are making inside jokes, crazy itineraries are being thrown around. I need to bring an animal costume for Friday night and Hawaiian gear for Saturday.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into? Are these guys furries? Wait, I need to bring a costume of my SPIRIT animal. Oh, like if I'm a tiger I should wear something with stripes. I get it. It also specifies that my spirit animal does not need to be an actual animal.

Someone just called dibs on Palm Trees.

Dammit, I really want to participate in this email chain.

Should I respond that I'm going to dress in all white because DRUGS lol.

No, what if one of their older brothers died of a cocaine overdose? That wouldn't be funny. Must proceed with caution.

Oh Jesus, someone just sent an email with like 30 gif files asking for a ride. Do these motherfuckers work at Buzzfeed?

I know what I'll do. I'll offer him a ride! Prove that the new guy has utility. Kevin's friend Dave, the guy we invited because we had one extra spot, came through in the clutch by providing transportation.

I'll just draft up a fun email and attach a picture...and send!

Oh GOD DAMMIT the picture didn't attach.

No one is responding.

I killed the chain.

This is going to be the worst weekend ever.

Wait a second.

I'm the man. I'm the one guy you can bring on weekends like this and turn them from pretty cool, to fucking epic. I can make drano bombs (and not blow off my fingers) I own a potato cannon. Oh shit, I'm going to bring CASES of Smirnoff Ice. I'm the fun guy. I can drink a lot, I will maybe smoke cigarettes. They are fortunate to have me.

I may be the new guy, but I am coming in HOT.

The following are some keys to making a solid first impression on a vacation at a party whatever. Follow this guide for a guaranteed good time and hopefully some longterm friends.

1. Do not fuck that chick.
You know that 99.999% of the girls there will have a boyfriend, potentially a boyfriend on the same trip, but there will be one single girl and every single guy will be trying to fuck her. The quickest way to lose this group is to have the guys turn on you. Quickest way to make an enemy? Bang the chick within 24 hours after this poor guy has been friend-zoned for the past 3 years. I know you want to, hell she wants to. You are fresh meat. RESIST THE URGE. If you absolutely have to get it in, make it secret. Don't put on a show in the hot tub after dinner, maybe go down to the dock at 3 in the morning, or in the rowboat at sunrise.

2. Bring some cool shit.
Sure, the invite said you could just show up with cash to chip in for the beer, but that's no fun. Set the tone with a few handles. Bring some toys for a drinking game. 'You drink out of the wiffle ball bat and then you use it to hit the can.' Supply the group with a big bag of molly and then when people ask what they owe 'it's on me.' Everyone loves the guy that brings drugs. You know who's even cooler than drug guy? Drugs on the house guy!

3. Say yes!
Let's suppose that you are going to a lake house and this lake house has a rope swing. Let's also suppose that your best friend broke his neck on a rope swing and you swore them off forever. What are you going to do if the group invites you rope swinging? Say no to honor your dead friend right?
NO YOU FUCKING PUSSY, you will swing off of that rope and you will like it. The same can be said with golf outings, cliff diving or doing acid. It doesn't matter if it's not your thing. You do it to fit in.

4. Help clean.
Cleaning is the worst and I usually leave it for the women, unless I'm the new guy. Bonding with the ladies is hard, but you know what makes it easier? When you casually let it slip that you are sick and tired of Kaitlyn being slut shamed. Formulate some opinions of the latest Broadway offerings and have knowledge of at least one season of Real Housewives. You'll leave their heads spinning. That Dave, he saw Wicked in London AND took out the garbage.

5. Cook something dope.
Everyone loves a Renaissance man, that means if you have some sort of culinary specialty BUST THAT SHIT OUT. Sure you are setting the bar ridiculously high, but on the off chance you never see this group again, you want them talking about you for years to come. What ever happened to Dave? His buffalo chicken dip was so fucking bomb, it restored my faith in organized religion.

6. Bring your A game.
Oh did that day drinking make you tired?  Maybe you should take a nap. That way when everyone returns to their home they will remember you napping. Dave? Oh was he the guy that was always asleep? You will not nap. You will crush up an adderall and keep going. First awake, last to bed. You want this MVP trophy, you NEED this MVP trophy.

7. Set expectations.
Let's face it, you're sleeping on the floor. When I go on trips with my friends people know their fucking role and I get the master (psych I sleep on the floor with them too) but as the new guy, prepare for the worst. I don't even think I'll get a couch this weekend, I see an old canoe in one of the photos, that's probably my best bet.

8. Boost people up.
If you see someone dying, offer to shotgun a beer with them, even if they do a terribly shitty job give them an intense high five and then assign them a nickname. HOLY SHIT GUYS SHOTGUN SAM IS COMING IN HOT!!! WATCH OUT FOR SS, LEADER IN THE CLUBHOUSE FOR TRIP MVP! We all know this is a crock of shit, but Sam will appreciate it, he will remember your kindness some day and help you in a moment of weakness.

9. Do not break anything.
You know what is a weird conversation?
"Hey man, that was really funny when you choke slammed Kevin through the table, but now we're being charged $2000 in damage, it's on my credit card, you can cover that right?"
That's an expensive laugh. If doing drunken wrestling moves, opt for the stone cold stunner. It is more self contained and you're less likely to take out an antique china set.

10. Have fun!
You're on fucking vacation bro! Who cares if you are the new guy? Be yourself and be awesome. Do not be a shy little bitch. Show up with a positive attitude and fun will be had by all! I am likely going to be the last of my group to show up this weekend, they will all be blacked out and best friends by the time I show up. This is not ideal. I could pout about this OR...

BE THE SHOT OF FUCKING ADRENALINE THAT THEY NEED. The second wave is here boys and he brought a bunch of Jager. What's Jager you ask? You know that green liquer that we used to drink with Red Bull in college? It got a douchey reputation and died out, but I'm fucking bringing it back. You know what else I'm bringing back? ICING! I am bringing so much Smirnoff Ice this weekend? What better way to endear yourself to a stranger than plant an Ice in their golf bag and then scream CHUG IT YOU FAGGOT!. God I am either going to be a huge hit this weekend or a spectacular failure. Regardless, I'm going big. Very big. I need to get some drugs, anyone know a dealer that delivers during daytime? I may have forgotten to pack this morning, but I have a penguin onesie in my trunk so I think I'll be ok!

I can't believe my fucking brother lands at 8am on Sunday, 5am is going to come very early. Maybe I'll just leave him there, he can wait right?

Man I hope no one on my trip reads this before the weekend, that would be super awkward.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Anatomy of a Hangover

It is almost never a good idea to begin your weekend on a Tuesday. (ILOVEMAKONNEN is full of shit) But this past week, that is exactly what I did.

I promise it started off innocent enough with a BYOB dinner to celebrate a friend quitting her job.

But then Wednesday I had one too many beers at trivia, and Thursday I drank all of the whiskey in Little Tokyo.

By Friday, I felt like shit.

I had two choices at this point. I could pull a Jon Taffer and shut it down, hoping that I would recover in time for my 4th of July party or I could try to sweat it out and double down on debauchery...

I stayed up until 6am drinking 40s and doing horse tranquilizer.

All of this before a 14 hour day of drinking in which the collective group I was with did 239 shots.

Ya, Sunday was bound to be pretty rough.

Hangover Day 1: Anxiety

The good thing about beginning your hangover on Sunday is you can usually cancel all of your plans and do nothing.

I woke up at 1pm on Sunday and proceeded to black out every window in my apartment with a blanket as I moved to the couch. Any time anyone would open the door and let the smallest amount of light in I would hiss like a vampire.

The next move was to order $25 of delivery Pad Thai that I would initially be too hungover to eat, but I would be keen to pick at for the next 12 hours.

I watched the US Women decimate Japan and attempted approximately two sips of beer before sprinting to the restroom to throw up everywhere. The euphoria of the World Cup win was short lived though, because no one can out run the scaries.

Yes, it was about this time that I remembered I had gone to a bar freeballing in gym shorts the previous evening. Gym shorts are good for holding tennis balls, not so much phones. So for the second time in so many months I had lost a phone...

Then the mood really turns sour as I remember all the work obligations that will crush me like a hurricane in the morning. Then I start remembering that I will be unemployed in 4 weeks and I really start to feel like a piece of shit. THEN I REMEMBER that I deferred a major tax payment to next month and I start to wonder if it was such a good idea to book a 2 week trip to Europe with all the financial obligations I have on the horizon.

This is what anxiety feels like. Will anyone ever love me? Will I ever have kids? Is everyone more successful than me?

Of course this compounds with 'Did I offend anyone yesterday?" 'Did I break anything?' 'Did I ruin all of my friendships?' IS MY CAR INSURANCE CURRENT? Oh fuck am I late on my credit card bill?

Fuck, my mom is coming next week and my room is a mess, my car needs to be cleaned, oh shit I'm supposed to go surfing in the morning. I can't...I can't fucking handle any of it. Quick turn on a sci-fi movie and zone out until...

Oh shit...I just woke up on the couch, it's 6am, I have to leave here in 2 hours, it can't be.

Hangover Day 2: The Pain

I get into the shower 45 minutes earlier than I have to. Drought be damned I need a full hour of scalding hot water burning my body awake or this day is not happening. I get into the office and surprisingly nobody is yelling at me. I forgot, no one really gives a fuck about anybody but themselves, of course I can skate under the radar.

But that doesn't help the fact that my brain feels like it's in a vice grip. Every single movement I make only tightens it. If I could only remove part of my skull and let my brain just swell out, I'm sure the pain would go away.

Oh what's that? Removing half of my skull would be fatal? That might be preferable at this point.

I am now in day 2 of the hangover, the pain. See yesterday, I was still so fucked up that my body was impervious to pain. Now, there isn't an Advil/Caffeine combo on earth strong enough to tame this beast. What if I just took a fuckton of vicodin? Would that work? Maybe it would just knock me out? Maybe this is how celebrities die on accidental pill overdoses. It's never just straight up cocaine and booze that does them in, there are always some benzos in there. Best to stay away.

Water. Nothing but water, all day. I must've downed at least 5 gallons already. Can't that be fatal too? I remember reading a case about a radio station that did some promo that involved lots of drinking and no peeing. Oh but I suppose I am peeing. Anything to flush my body of the poison I filled it with the last 5 days. My urine looks like it would give Alex Mack superpowers. God I am gross.

I used to have a buddy that said the only thing you need to do to get rid of a hangover was shit, shower and cum. I've done all three today but I still feel like I was run over by a German tank.

Oh there you are Emergen-C my friend. What does it say here, take no more than two a day? That means I can probably have 5. Better do an Airborne as well for good measure. And oh hello Clementines, I think I'll have 10!

At least the day is almost over...holy hell it's only NOON?

I guess this is what happens when you get so fucked up that you leave a note by your bed in case you die. No, not a suicide note...and acknowledgement of overdose note. Jesus I'm getting to Amy Winehouse levels of partying, maybe I should go check out that doc and check myself into rehab.

But before I do that I better volunteer to go get the office groceries or something. I'll be back in 5 hours! I think I need some Narcan.

Hangover Day 3: The Fog

Well I fell asleep on the couch again last night, this time watching a Korean monster movie. You would think that I would watch something light to improve my mood. A carefree comedy might quell the nightmares, but really I just want to see people that are having a worse day than I am.

It is now 3am and I've moved to my bed, I am DRENCHED in sweat, my bed is soaked and I am freezing.

I think this is my 'fever breaking' you know, like the physical manifestation of this hangover leaving my body. This is my Exorcist pea soup moment. FROM WHENCE YOU CAME DEMON.

Now I'm just weak and defeated, but...but I'm back. Mama, what happened?

Well son, you were possessed by drugs.

Day 3 of the hangover is the least bad, but there are certainly lingering effects, I'm just dumb now. I'm slower, less witty. There appears to be a space in my brain that I used to be able to access that is just gone now, or broken.

Is this going to pass or is this just how I feel now? Is this what 'wet brain' is? Oh god, I've drank myself retarded or at least onto the autism spectrum. Am I going to say inappropriate things now? Have I lost my filter? Will people ask my friends if I have Asperger's?

Whatever. I'm mostly out of the woods at least as far as death goes...Not all the way but most of the way. I used to think that if you woke up the next day you were in the clear. Not true. Apparently people die in rehab all the time. Heart failure and shit...I should probably just drink some more water.

And take a Xanax.

Should I go for a run or something? Should I start asking around to find out if I need to apologize for anything I may have done while I was 'on one?'

What about the list of life changes I made on Day 1, all the things in my life I need to fix. Should I start addressing those?

Never doing drugs again, no drinking for a month. Open a Roth IRA. Start volunteering. These are positive things that can help me lead a happy and meaningful life. Maybe I can call a family member.

Eh, that seems too difficult. I snorted all of my remaining Adderall for recreational use on Saturday.

Maybe I should just get some rest.

Day 4
I feel fine, I hear there is a pier concert tonight. Let's go get trashed.

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Whatever it takes

When I was a Senior in high school our football coach made us these shirts that said Do WIT. The WIT stood for whatever it takes, as in whatever it takes to win. I had that shirt until I went through my Hulk Hogan phase in college and ripped it in half at Kilroy's. Needless to say, I haven't taken much of Coach O's advice in life. I half ass it through nearly all of my endeavors.

But today, I am going to heed his sage wisdom. I am going to do whatever it get the fuck out of this office.

I've been ready to start this long weekend since last Sunday. I fucking love holidays and I love America. There are a bunch of Google kids on a boat right now getting wasted. I'm not one of them, it makes me feel unpatriotic that I have to sit here and review dailies of a god dam procedural cop show instead of drinking outdoors.

Sure there are the over achievers trying to pack 5 days of work into this 4 day week. But you know what? Fuck them. That is such a hacky approach to corporate culture. Is anyone really thinking about anything other than bonging a 40 and shooting roman candles at their buddies? I am, to say the least, mentally checked out.

Starting tonight I am beginning a bender so aggressive that I may not make it out the other side. When I get to Wurstkuche at 7pm I am turning the amps up to 11 and I will not stop until the US Women host the World Cup trophy Sunday night and I collapse into a pile of my own blood and vomit.

But that's the problem...

While I have lots of fun plans this weekend, I kind of get the feeling that my coworkers don't. I hear lots of "I'm going to relax all weekend." "I might go to Venice and clog the streets of a neighborhood I don't belong in."

These are not fun weekend plans. Those weekend plans are bullshit. I would not be looking forward to that weekend either. You know how Christmas is a constant reminder to people that they are alone? A random 3 day drinking weekend in the summer is a reminder to people that they are losers that didn't get invited anywhere.

I am not a loser. People invited me places. I have shit to do. I'm going bowling, I'm going to barbecue, dare I say, I might do some hallucinogens and watch the fireworks.

Shit, I might have some consensual sex...maybe with multiple partners?

So how in the fuck am I going to get that kick ass weekend started?

I need to get the fuck out of here.

But how do I accomplish that? Well, for starters, I will lie. About everything.

"Did you deliver that cut to TNT?"

It's been taken care of. (I told the assistant over there to cover for me, I don't want to drive to the valley)

"Have you scheduled all of the ADR for episode 212?"

Of course. (I haven't even started. Monday when this comes out, I'll blame a 'miscommunication.' A miscommunication is a magical term you can throw around when you fuck up and it partially absolves you from your crime.)

"What about your expense report?"

Filed and awaiting approval. (HA! What a fucking joke! I haven't filed one in months. Right now I have charges from a bar in Park City, the Ace Hotel, Townhouse, Bungalow and a fucking strip club. Do you think I want to address those now? I will certainly be relieved of my duties...OR I can turn said expense report in on my last day along with a blank check and say SORRY, OFF TO LONDON NOW!)

See Monday is going to suck regardless. Remember when I prophesied (is that a word?) that I would end the weekend basically dead? Well whether I am dead on Monday or dead and being yelled at, the day will not be fun. Might as well set fire to all of my responsibility now and take a gigantic Xanax Monday morning, right?

Fuck this place, the show is getting cancelled anyway; I have a god damn Green Flash West Coast IPA in my fridge at home.

I have 3 pairs of pink polo swimsuits in my car right now. MY CAR. RIGHT NOW.

Twitter reports are coming in that say there is a pretty good party going on at the Lincoln Place apartments pool right now. Fun is being had without me. This is unacceptable.

Man, the minute I get out of here I am going to go home and blast music so loud it could be considered criminal. I think I'm going to plays some 90's rap, more specifically the work of Percy Miller aka Master P. I'm going to thunder "Make Em Say Uh" throughout 627 Westminster. I'm going to rap along, I will not censor the N words. My god, I can't wait to mumble through the Mystikal part. BITCH WE TRUE SOLDIERS, WE DON'T DIE, WE KEEP ROLLING NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH!!!!

But first I have to escape.

How TF am I getting out of here. Seriously, nothing else in the world matters to me right now. Total genocide could be happening this exact moment and so long as it was not taking place in Venice, I could give a fuck.

My work is done, may I leave?

You need phone coverage until 6? The only people calling after 2 are fucking communists! What if I start coughing? Fake a bereavement? SOMEONE DIED, GOTTA GO!

Why is anyone here still? Is it because they live in the valley and have shitty kids? It must be. One of the editors actually brought his daughter to work today, he looks miserable. I can see past his glazed over eyes that he used to be a party monster. He was happy. Gone. It's all gone. Now his fourth of July weekend will consist of drinking shitty domestic beer in Encino and making sure his kids don't burn themselves with sparklers.

Sounds fucking awful.

Who is going to watch over me to make sure I don't blow off a finger? Oh, no one? Cool!

They aren't buying this cough. Should I start going into detail about the urinary tract infection I had last week? "(I thought it was an STD!)

Maybe I can walk my coworkers through a prostate exam.

"John you just turned 50, I would like to talk to you about colon health."

God dammit, Wimbledon is on. I could be on the courts doing my best Roddick impression. Roddick was the fucking man, I'm pretty sure he banged one of my high school friends once.

Wait a second...

You know what?

I have leverage.

Today was Allen's last day.

Allen leaving kind of fucked us in the ass. There are now 3 people here to do the work of 4. They cannot replace Allen because there is not budget to do so, the 3 people left will just pick up the slack.

What if I just left right now? Left and turned off my phone. Didn't check my email all weekend...and just showed up Monday like nothing had happened?

"Where did you go Friday afternoon?"

I had that appointment, remember?

"We called you 1000 times."

Well that makes sense because my appointment was at the Apple store, they were fixing my phone and laptop. We've discussed these problems I've been having.

"You can't be serious."

Huh, must have been some sort of MISCOMMUNICATION.


"You know usually we would fire you but..."

But I have leverage. Look at me, Megan....look at me. I'm the Captain now!

Do you want these drives to go to Burbank or what? You going to go on some hiring blitzkrieg? Interview a bunch of schmucks to replace me?

I thought not. New summer hours are in effect per Dave, 10am-5pm. That applies to the editors too!

"Wow thanks Dave!"

"What, what are you doing?"

I'm taking the fuck over. I'm doing WIT. (WHATEVER IT TAKES.) Hold my calls, I'm going to lunch.

"It's 10am."

I had a rough weekend, I may not be back.

(But for real, I'm just going to close my laptop and drive home now. Wish me luck.)

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Your boss is probably just a cunt

Your boss has kids. Her kids are shitty. Her shitty kids ruined her body. She used to be sexy, now her vagina looks like a beat up roast beef sandwich. She resents her kids. She hates her husband who turned into a pussy and started wearing pleated pants. She wants to do drugs again, she wants to have sex with a younger man, she won't even make him wear a condom.

This is not what she expected. She thought she would love being a mother. All she ever wanted was to get married. She would look gorgeous on her wedding day. She would write a novel. Life would be amazing.

But then her husband had diarrhea with the door open while her 6 month old vomited on her sagging breast and she realized how miserable she was.

This is your boss.

She probably fucked the cool kids in high school. She smoked pot. But for whatever reason things didn't work out the way she expected.

And now she takes them out on you. This is just one of many scenarios.

I too fell well short of my expectations.

When I was a little kid I thought for sure I was going to be a professional baseball player. I hit like 3 home runs a year off of other middle class white kids that lived in the Geist area. Clearly that meant I was good enough for the show.

Fast forward a few years to college I just wanted to have sex with a girl in every sorority and not get AIDS. I lowered the bar a little bit, I still fell short and now I live in a 3 bedroom/1 bath apartment in Venice. But I couldn't be happier.

I have accomplished a lot less than I expected, but that doesn't matter to me anymore. I found a lifestyle that makes me happy and that is more important than realizing all of your dreams.

Your boss probably doesn't have that, and that's why you get treated like shit. Here are some archetypes of your potential boss and why they are probably a cunt.

The married guy with kids
The married guy with kids used to be just like you man. He would go out on school nights and show up hungover to work. He dated multiple women at the same time. He had passion. He wanted to be an entrepreneur, he had ideas that would change the world. 

What about a photo sharing service that could bring people together over a social network? It would be like Facebook and Twitter combined? He had this idea years ago, but instead went to work for an insurance company for more stability for his future family. Now he is resentful of everything and everyone. He hates his family and works late to avoid them, obviously he makes you stay late too. He doesn't care if you have a Santa Monica Pier concert to get to. He doesn't care if some chick got you tickets to Taylor Swift and she will likely blow you afterwards. There are sacrifices that have to be made for a career buddy boy. 

Oh and the off night that he let's you out 5 minutes before beginning your 13th hour, he will make it sound like he's the greatest guy in the world. "Why don't you pack up a little early tonight pal? Go have fun for those of us who can't."

Go fuck yourself man, it's 8:55pm and the line at Buffalo Club is already 2 miles long.

The single unmarried hag
The single unmarried hag was unpopular in school and waited until college to have sex. She operated under the baseline assumption that she and her one night stand partner would begin dating and live happily ever after.

He never called her back.

After a miserable life of non-inclusion, the single unmarried hag (SUH) told herself that if she kept her head down and worked hard, she would get the last laugh.

Well now she's 38 and works in middle-management. The last thing she needs is some cocky asshat reminding her of the people that stuffed her in lockers and now live extravagant lifestyles. No, the SUH hates you at your core, and she will have her vengeance by making you suffer.

Late nights? Yep. Called in on weekends? Oh sure. She literally has NOTHING better to do, save for care for an old cat. My God if that cat dies she will just walk into oncoming traffic.

The truth is most superiors do not give a fuck about their subordinates. They are worried about their own lives, their own problems. But if your supervisor is a SUH and you show up two minutes late? By God everyone in the office is going to know, all because you didn't invite her to the last office happy hour.

The dirtbag
Unlike the married guy with kids and the SUH, the dirtbag does have something better to do. He also wants to gtfo so he can go fuck some scabies infected Hooters waitress. He goes out on Tuesday nights, he calls in sick a lot and has a ton of mysterious 'doctor's appointments.' 

He is largely disconnected from his job and one would think that this would let you fly under the radar.

However, the dirtbag is sloppy with his work and often just piles shit on his underlings so that he can quicker get out of the office and into the strip club.

It would not be unlike him to be like, "hey man, I gotta run, but I told the SVP we would have all of those POs logged by Monday morning 7am. Cool?"

Meanwhile he just piled 4 hours of work on you Friday at 4pm.

Also the dirtbag has NO problem throwing you under the bus.

"Where are those new reports we discussed on Friday?"

Uhhhh what?

"Sorry sir, I'll have a talk with Dave and see what went wrong."

Sorry for that dude, don't worry about it, John doesn't expect much from you anyway.

This is not a great situation for upward mobility. Fortunately, the dirtbag can only keep his antics up for so long until he trips over his dick and is subsequently fired.

Midlife crisis woman

Everything was fine until it hit her like a ton of bricks. She was going to be a mover and a shaker in Hollywood, but settled for a production services gig at a studio where she is basically a doormat.
She played the game, she worked at WME for four years as an assistant. She even fucked some of the right people but it just didn't work out.

My God she is living in the valley. RENTING. IN THE GOD DAMN VALLEY.

Now she's in a long term relationship with some balding guy whose dick doesn't really work. He calls himself a producer, but he made like one short film once upon a time and now does AD work on commercials occasionally.

Midlife crisis woman just found out thats she's 32, has no kids, no career prospects and lives in a fucking desert. All of her friends are more successful than her, they post their insufferable fucking children on Facebook and have rich husbands that buy them memberships to Soul Cycle.

She wants a fucking Soul Cycle membership...and Yoga Works too. Why can't her husband just be more successful so she can be one of the white women that sip rose over three hour lunches in Beverly Hills?


Why are you happy Dave? You're fucking fired!


The truth is, the reason your boss treats you like shit is there is something missing in their life. They are bitter that things didn't work out a certain way.

There is nothing wrong with you, they are the one with the problem. My advice? Don't sweat it! While you are shotgunning beers and cuming on tits (or having your tits cum on) during the weekends they are sad and lonely...possibly crying and masturbating with household items they bought on QVC while their cat watches.

You've got more to live for my friends, can't waste any of your prime being bitter, it will work out in the end, it always does.