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Yer damn skippy I stole this muffuckin' script from NoGoodDaddy, how you think I GET code? Write it myself? BWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAA...
Big Scary Kitties Uffda. It's been quite a week. Thank you for all your emails and such, you guys are awesome. I didn't think so many freakin' people read this depressing slop, much less cared. So thanks. My friends and teammates are apparently quite caring too. That, or they're sick as shit of my moping around. Either way, they did cool stuff for me. My Tuesday Roller Hockey team is throwing a pre-celebration party, in hopes that one of our teammates, the Gypsy, is going to get picked for the MTV's The Real World. Plus, it's sort of a feel-better-Judd-you-gloomy-bitch party too. Though I didn't show any remote excitement at the certainty of hot European women being there, they did promise to get me righteously drunk and tattoo something sick and wrong on my buttocks. I can hardly wait. Even though the Gypsy auditioned in Boulder, I don't know where the show will be set. Real World Denver would be cool, because then they'll have the cameras at the Gypsy's hockey games, and the World can see the wonder that is The JuddHole in Net. Heh, they'll probably get me kissing my posts, or scratching my ass or balls or something because I do that kind of shit a lot during games. That would rock. My Wednesday Ice Hockey team was understandably put-off by my performance last week and made a nice gesture towards me as well. I don't mean put-off by my game performance, as we won 2-1, but rather the several small tantrums I threw before, during, and after the game. Sports Water Bottles seal relatively tight, but the cap will pop right off if dropped from a height of say, 4 feet, or from the boards by the bench. I'd set my bottle there before warm up, and someone had accidentally knocked it off, cracking the cap and spilling it's entire contents. I'm a big, fat, goalie and sweat a lot, and I needs me my water during an hour and a half game, so I was pretty pissed. Being in the pissy mood that I was, I began screaming at the inconsiderate Pisshead that had spilled my water and hadn't even picked it up. I skipped half of my warm-up just to shout at the astonished faces peering back at me from the bench. By the time I was done, I had barely noticed that they'd grabbed another bottle, had filled it from all of their own, and had put it on my net. It's a bit of an understatement to say that I felt like kind of an ass. The game wasn't bad, but we missed on a ton of chances and should've beaten that team far, far worse than we did. Later, while taking off our gear in the lockerroom, I remember shouting that the defense wasn't bad, but that the offense 'blew Dead Rhino.' When someone didn't hear me and asked me to repeat what I'd said, I screamed to the entire lockerroom my thoughts on the game. They weren't pleased. The showers, and the lockerroom, were cold and I cursed at everyone near me until we'd all dressed and left. Monday, I found out that we've got new jerseys from another bar that is sponsoring us. Our team name is The Big Sc@ry Lions, and this is what they want to put on our jerseys...   Seriously, look again... RAAAAWWWWWRRRRR. Wednesday night, after putting on most of my goalie shit, I went to fill my (new) water bottle. This was waiting on my bag when I got back...  That's love, people. We're still not getting her on our jerseys though. Thursday, as I was getting more of Gayb0y's bestest-shit-ever coffee, he came bouncing into the break room and asked me if I could help him with something. I told him that I don't make very good coffee, nor do I 'swing that way' but I'd do pretty much anything else if he gave me enough beer. He laughed and swatted my arm before telling me that he has an idea for a report that we could build and market to our existing clients. I know shit about the data, but I told him that, if he could get that shit together, I'd make it pretty. I used that word, "pretty," and he liked that. We went to work. It took me an hour or so to get together what he wanted, and he clapped gleefully when I showed him what I had. He left, and I went back to quietly resenting him and his husband-of-twelve-years (another Data Analyst for our company) for their continued winning of the office Football Pool (seriously, one of them picks based on uniform color, and the other one can talk with the utmost confidence, and a lilting lisp of course, about QB rating and 3rd down percentage... frightening). Today (Friday), I went to lunch with my boss and we had a great conversation about life, love, and happiness, as well as... um, work. Strange how you never really consider someone in a certain aspect, and then you end up taking two hours to eat your Wendy's Chicken Strips Salad while you discuss all the shit going on in your life. We went back to the office, and I was feeling something that I hadn't felt in an interminably long time... I felt inspired. I sat down and, for the next 4 hours, built an application that is, in all actuality, probably going to make the company an additional two thousand dollars a day in sales. Fuckin' yeah, go me. The full weight of this hadn't really occurred to me until my boss came back by my cube and I showed him what I'd created. He kept shaking his head in disbelief at every click of my mouse. Eventually he turned, looked at me, and asked, "Dude, do you realize what you've done?" I said, "Sorry, I know I was supposed to be changing all that text in those sample reports... sorry." I hung my head despondently, and then wailed, "Am I FIRED?!?" He laughed and then left to go see if he could find the VP and tell him that I was brilliant. I let him go, mostly because I WAS feeling quite brilliant. I had just sent an email to CoWorkerBuddy, who's in Prague on vacation, reassuring him that he needed to proceed with his last night there and take that town by storm, despite the fact that a large-breasted woman had just been rubbing his junk and saying in Czech, "I want sex, I want sex." He was a touch forlorn as it turned out that she didn't exactly want "sex" but the $50 in his front pocket. I had to tell him that he couldn't let this discourage him, but he had to forge on, seek out his future sweet, young, Czech maiden for the evening, and rubber-band his remaining cash to his scrotum, but not too tight, as it'll cut off all circulation and things'll stop working (please don't ask how I know this). Right around 45 minutes later, Gayb0y came flouncing into my cube. He normally tends to be extremely quiet when he enters my cube, not so this time. He gave a slight yelp and then grabbed my head, from behind, and held it to his chest. "They bought it," he squealed excitedly, "they bought our idea!" As happy as I was that he was happy (not that happy, you fuckin' perverts), I didn't quite know what the hell he was talking about, so I said, "What the hell are you talking about?" Turns out, the Senior Executives, as well as some of our Board of Directors, are in love with Gayb0y's idea, and are going to market it for, get this, an additional million dollars a year, per client. Holy shit. I took a minute to remind Gayb0y that this was, in fact, his idea, that I only told him I could build the interface and the logic, and I was, in reality, just a 'humble carpenter' to his 'brilliant architect' (no that's not a Jesus inference, I know I'm not Jesus, only because I know he wouldn't masturbate as much as I do). Gayb0y hugged my head again (if you're 'married' to another man for 12 years, do you still have to bathe in CK cologne?) and told me that he wouldn't have pitched it had I not built him the 'look, baby the look, they bought the LOOK and the idea.' So, all in all, not a bad week. Even if I was mildly molested by a gay married man. Is it wrong that, in lieu of love that I had to leave, and love that I cannot have, I am in love with my job, with my career? I'm inclined not to think so, as other than a small, brown, bitchy-as-all-get-out dog, that's all I've got right now. |
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