Dr. King Would Be Proud

After a splendid meal with Uncle Gordon, I realized it was time for me to arrive ... time to give thanks, to acheive greater things, to conquer the world. So I drove home and fell asleep for a few hours. Upon awakening, I knew what must be done. Where else can one go to make all dreams come true? And who knew that Three Card Poker could be so much fun? Not I. The ante bonus paid me 8 to 1 on a straight flush: 7, 8, and 9 of diamonds.

It is true that winning money can be stimulating. Shoot, losing money can be, too. The joy of smalltime, Native American Casinos for me, however, resides in the mixed company:

Jimmy – an Asian dealer with fanciful stories told in broken English (aka Jackie Chan)
Nice Lady – drunk boomer with a soft listening ear (she absolved me of my sins)
Friends – win or lose, they still support and heckle me
Cocktail Waitresses – rarely attractive, always busty

I could go on, of course, but I think my point has been sufficiently proven. Isn’t it obvious? The experience and ambiance of a Native American Casino is a taste of heaven.

Cats Belong in Bags

My upbringing, including the religious background, has been made public knowledge to employees in my office. Rumors are spreading like the Wallow Fire in Eastern Arizona.

Cox Media is responsible for selling TV advertisements. Part of my occupation is to help Account Executives achieve this. A local dentist is having difficulties reaching the Mormon audience in Gilbert, AZ. The employee trying to make the sell wanted to know which programs Mormons are likely to watch. She approached my supervisor. "Ask Chase. He'll know," she said.

And so it begins ... my reputation is tarnished, ruined. Co-workers are already calling me "Mitt." In this case, the client wanted to reach young, affluent, Mormon mothers. Naturally, I called my sister.

It appears that the client is planning on purchasing the following programs: The Real Housewives franchises, Sister Wives, Teen Mom, Intervention, Project Runway, and more.

Life will never be the same. Meow.

Shallow Soup

Today, I had lunch plans with a few co-workers, some of which aren't often in my office. We had tentative plans to meet at The Old Spaghetti Factory but changed our minds (follow the link to see why). Friday lunch is a time reserved for gossip, complaints, and ridiculous speculation ... it's quite enjoyable.

However, just before lunch, a co-worker slipped into the Ladies Room. While she was powdering her nose, our superior entered stage right. Our plans were immediately foiled. The Boss took us to China Chilli. My meal was tasteful and delivered before I could unfold my napkin, but something different resonated with me at lunch today. Without the gossip and with all of the work-related conversation, my eyes rarely moved from my egg drop soup.

While I don't mind egg drop soup, I typically prefer wonton soup. Three items held my attention as I stared into the soup's murky allure. First, corn was inserted into the egg, broth, and mysterious meat. Second, the bowl was oddly shallow, almost like a plate. Third, I couldn't seem to shake the less than attractive appearance of the soup. More, this soup was the highlight of my day. After a sip of this wonder, I wanted to add pepper to spice up its misshapen face, but I couldn't bring myself to alter the grotesque beauty.

Maybe I'm too picky.

I'm Sorry for the Way Things are in China ...

The majority of my posts are written and uploaded during corporate work hours. Sadly, I've actually been participating in work-related activities while at work recently and have been unable to dedicate proper attention to this endeavor. My apologies. It really does bother me.

Evacuation Plan

To my few devout readers,

It is important to reinforce that the contents found herein are factual. Nothing within this web portal has been fabricated or exaggerated. I have in some instances, however, withheld information to either protect specific readers or save face myself. And now, it's time for the big reveal.

At some point in my 30th year, I have devised an abstruse, organic plan to evacuate normalcy. For those that don't know, this gives me until the end of 2014. The purpose for this announcement is simple: Accountability.

Many ideas have been floating around in my Rigby Lake-like brain. If you wish to contribute or participate, as always, I am open to all possibilities. This adventure could include entrepreneurship, a nomadic VW Bus-lifestyle, or anything between.

The desk will not keep me seated. Stay tuned Universal Soldiers.

I Like Bums

The ERC (Employee Recognition Committee) in my office hands out $5 gift cards to employees that go above and beyond regular duties. The recipient is given options: Safeway, Einstein Bagel, Subway, or Starbucks. When I am so blessed to receive such an esteemed honor, I choose Subway. Today, I redeemed one of my ERC cards for lunch: foot-long meatball on jalapeno and cheddar.

I chose to eat outside with a co-worker. We were then harassed by a man claiming to be homeless. "Do you have a spare dollar?" he asked.
"No. Do you? I was just about to ask you the same question," responded my co-worker. The man stared at us and muttered something indistinguishable in homeless.

This brings me to the point I'm trying to make. Yes, the rumors are true. I went out with a homeless girl. It was a fun, unique, and interesting experience. I would have gone out with her again, but she was masquerading as a black woman. Turns out, her hair was just nappy and gross due to lack of proper cleaning. She later offered me certain favors in exchange for a place to stay. Like a fool, I declined.

FML.

Rabbits

It is often said that things happen in threes. Little Jorja Harris makes two. And now there is rumor of a third on the east coast. Fittingly, this will make me an uncle six times over. Strange. Some part of me wants to join in on the fun. Another part wants to run and hide in a rabbit hole. That frightens me, too, though -- we all know what goes on down there.

Source Code

I awoke a few days ago with giant gnats tearing at my flesh. The beasts had overrun my garden and infiltrated the castle, Apt# 2069. Unable to beat the onslaught and unwilling to endure the constant buzz, I was forced to surrender. With the help of a friend, I killed my patio garden. Many of the gnats survived, but the majority found death. Tonight, I'm going back for another eight minutes in order to discover how to avoid the battle altogether: Source Code.

These Last Days

I watered my plants today for the first time in 72 hours. Now they know who's boss.

In the grid, but NOT on it

My alarm sounds at 7:10AM Monday - Friday. I force myself out of bed around 7:30, shower, choose my clothes carefully, eat breakfast, water my plants, and leave for work. From 8:30AM - 4:52PM I am someone else, someone entirely different than me.

Slowly, a three-headed Monster is swallowing me. Its long, boring body coils around my chest and constricts my dreams, suffocating my air supply. Its jaws unhinge and force another part of my destiny into its belly one day at a time. In fact, the Monster keeps interrupting me with silly requests and approval notifications as I type. I spent three hours typing the sentences before this one. Just when I escape the jaws of one, another head grasps my foot and sprains my ankle away from freedom.

The Monster's goal is to eat you, digest you, and soak up each one of your precious nutrients -- this is most often called "Synergy." But before it is ready to dine, it must first fatten you up with promotions, annual reviews, taxes, and meeting after meeting. Each head is hungry for your life: Government, Corporate, and Religion.

Every monster has a weakness, an Achilles heel. This Monster has poor vision. The Monster can only see On The Grid. And so begins my quest ...