America Mourns

Rick James, you have left us. Natural causes has taken your breath at the ripe old age of 56. You were a friend, a father, an icon, a freak (to some, a "Super Freak"). And now your "Ebony Eyes" twinkle no more.

I should have seen this coming when you had a stroke on stage in 1998. But at the time, I thought it was a "funky" stroke, a stroke caused by feeling too much funk. I was wrong.

In your honor, I will find me a hizzo, beat her, and then burn her with a crack pipe.

So long dear friend. You will be missed.


I'm going to hell for this.

I Didn't Ask for Shortbread

I go up to the vending machine yesterday in search of a tasty snack. The display looks like this:

A 0 6
B 1 7
C 2 8
D 3 9
E 4 10
F 5 11
G
H

Simple enough.

Dollar #1
mmmm... Boy, a Twix bar sure does sound good right about now. Let's see here.. Ah yes, F-10. So I take my finger and press F and then I go for the "1" and "0" combination. That was wrong. I ended up with F-1's crappy shortbread. Ok, it's only 65 cents down the drain. I'll try again.

Dollar #2
In goes the fresh dollar. "F"...."1".....DAMMIT. Out comes another shortbread. Let's see where we stand:

Shortbread 2
Twix 0

Any other person would have stopped at this point and settled for 2 packages of crappy shortbread. Not me. I whip out another dollar.

Dollar #3
Third time is a charm. "F"...."1"..wait, no "10". oh boy...more shortbread. My attempt at correcting my mistake only made me look like a fool in front of my boss, who is now laughing at me. Now I'm holding 3 shortbreads in my hand and I'm blaming the machine for not knowing that I wanted a Twix. How could it not have realized that I changed my mind last second? What an asshole.

Dollar #4
Why am I still doing this? "F"...."10"....yes! OH GLORIOUS DAY! Down falls the Twix, up goes my mood. I leave feeling like I have just won a fricken gold medal. The machine was trying so hard to not give me what I wanted, yet I outsmarted it, and was victorious. Take that vending machine.

I didn't even finish the Twix. It was gross and I threw it out.

Weekends Should Be Called "Goodtimesends"

This makes three fantastic weekends in a row. We're on a roll now.

Friday was a good time. I enjoyed everybody getting together to have a beer or two at Applebee's. It's good to get to see everyone, that's for sure.

Saturday started out lame. I had to go to Northern Illinois in Naperville to give a presentation on my internship here at Hartmarx Corporation. I'm already not liking working here, so having to give a presentation on a place I hate is doubly bad. I was the only kid there that had an internship in industry while everybody else worked at actual accounting firms. After listening to their presentations, I suddenly was glad I had the job that I did. These crazy-asses enjoy working 60 hours a week, 6 to 7 days a week. Not me, I'm a lazy mofo. I think 43 hours a week is a lot.

Then came Saturday night. It was awesome.

I told myself the week before that I would never stay up till 5am again because my body is hated me for it and I felt like crap till Wednesday. So this weekend was an improvement and we only stayed up until 4:45am. Baby steps. It was a fantasticly good time with Bjorn, Todd, Dave, and me painting the streets of Chicago red, or whatever color we had at the time. Probably green, the color of money, because we spent a lot of it.

We went to this place called Ceaser's for dinner and got their Killer Margaritas. They weren't killer, but more coma inducing. We each had two and left pretty damn tipsy. The free shots of tequilla didn't help either. Wait, yes they did.