Training with Bums

Note: This was written in the wee hours, but I was unable to post it due to being rudely interrupted and consequently deluged with issues for the last four hours of what turned out to be the longest I’ve worked in some time. I ended up being awake for Germany vs. Argentina, though. Words fail me, what a fantastic game. Anyway, here’s the already outdated post, for what it’s worth.

It’s been said time and time again, but I’m going to say it one more time.

Three cheers for the DVR.

At 7AM this morning I will be on the tail end of a 16-hour shift, oy vay. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been on a work bender like this. I want so badly to stay awake to see Germany put a beating on Argentina, but my body is already telling me that it isn’t going to happen. Of course, I then have to make sure I avoid any and all sports news until I’ve watched the game for myself, another challenge presented by third shift work that I hadn’t thought of. Challenge? Boy I have been spending way too much time at work….I’m defaulting to corporate-speak. What I meant was, my schedule is fuckin’ retarded.

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Yesterday I also realized that not reading any blogs for at least the last month meant that not only was I not up on community happenings, I couldn’t even remember where the tourney was (sad) so I stole away for a few to catch up on April’s site.

Republicans? In the same room? At the same time? Oh dear.

Blogger tourney + copious alcohol = Dare I speculate? Interesting and odd. Whatever the party rifts, I’m confident Al can/will bridge the gap with SoCo.

Why isn’t Al steering foreign policy? Someone should look into that.

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Third shift has been great for Vegas sleep training, but once again I find myself worried about my lack of alcohol training, as I’ve had nary a sip in months. It’s shameful, I know. The only other folks awake while I’m working at this time of night are the bums outside the Circle K who await the morning rush so they can beg enough money to buy a tall can of Steel Reserve Wild Bull XXX fine malt liquor for breakfast. So I was thinking……

Maybe, just maybe, I can train with them.

Think about it. The investment would be minimal. Hell, I could buy a case of that shit they drink to give as tuition and still have enough change left from my $20 to buy breakfast or some crack before I black out. I’d venture to say that if I lived through it I could get back into prime drinking shape in 72 hours or less.

I would have Volanda be my mentor. She’s a crazy lady the Mrs. and I have seen outside of the K a few times. I call her Volanda because that was the first name that came to mind when I initially saw her. I suspect her real name is Batshitfuckincrazy. Picture Shanene from Martin with half the teeth and coated in dirt and spandex, yelling that she’ll pay two bucks for someone to give her a ride up to 32^nd street, and you’ll have a good idea. She’s a living billboard that serves as a stern warning to those girls who might be thinking about dropping out of hooker school. It’s a known fact that hookers who complete their education make 43% more than hooker dropouts. It’s science.

I should hook her up with Big James (again, not real name). Big James likes to wander a two block area close to where I live. He’s approximately 47lbs (if he’s wearing a backpack of rocks) and has achieved the world’s record for Lowest Worn Pants. Big James, I think, is not nearly the criminal he would have passing motorists believe, as it would be seriously impossible for the guy to run from police ever. His pants are belted at approximately mid-calf level (Seriously, Mid. Fucking. Calf.), forcing him to take steps so tiny that old Chinese women seem like Carl Lewis by comparison. And he has a cane. Did I not mention the cane? Up and down the street he travels, twirling his pseudo-pimpcane that looks more like something stolen form a nursing home.

Big James and Batshitfuckincrazy. A match made in heaven.

**waves**

I’m moving to a different work schedule which should be a bit more relaxed…

--Human Head, June 06

Uhhh, yeah, that sort of didn’t happen. Well, the change in work schedule happened it just isn’t any more relaxed, go figure.

Good: I’ve been writing. Bad: The writing has been for work, on my own time. Good: It’s being noticed and is paying off. Bad: I’m likely going to get slapped by a midget and few others when we arrive in Vegas. Each week seems busier than the last, so much so, by the time a day of rest rolls around (default is usually Sunday) I don’t want to touch a PC or see another file that remotely has anything at all to do with Microsoft Office. Time has become the liquid that runs freely off the surface of my life and onto the floor. Can someone grab me a paper towel?

So tonight I said fuckit. I think third shift is gonna make for some good late night insanity. Plus, I’ll likely be awake for any conceivable weekday dial-a-shot. The only downside to that is I have to stay sober at work. ONLY downside? As downsides go, that one is pretty big. This is my third week on third shift and I’m finally getting adjusted to the night life, such as it is when you must spend it working. Thankfully, it’s a 4x10 schedule so the week cruises by pretty fast, and hell, its good training for Vegas.

Oh man, it’s so very close. The fact just hit me today, and I came into work tonight super-pumped (for lack of a more eloquent expression).

We just closed on our new house last week, which is another one of my many excuses for not posting. It’s a hell of an adjustment, paying triple the amount for half the space, but I won’t complain too much about that. Renting these last three months has brought about the determination that I would/will go to the ends of the earth to own rather than rent. Going back to renting, even temporarily, has been, well, fucking retarded and wholly nerve-wracking. Now that closing is done we’re actually doing the work that needs to be done (floors, etc) so it will be nice when we move in at the end of July. Yes, end of July. Repair work and the legal wrangling to break our lease will take every bit of that time.

Except for Vegas. A just in time and well earned relief.

Then there’s the other excuse, World Cup. Every spare moment has been devoted to watching the games I’ve recorded, which is as it should be. After all, it only comes around every four years and is, dare I say, exponentially more entertaining than the Olympics (that could just be me, though :))

That’s it for now, gotta get back to work (after I step out for a smoke). Hope I don’t get waylaid by a Tasmanian crackhead, and yes, it really is a possibility.

I’ve got stories in the pipe. They’re coming, I swear it. One more month should see my liquefied time gelling a bit.