Moving

Even the best laid plans are sometimes bound to have inlaid faults. We are moving offices this weekend and although the plans and preparation have been in the making for quite a while now, I see potential for major fuck-ups in several areas- but hey, the big guys are in charge of logistics. That’s why they get paid the big bucks it appears. The big guys decreed three different days as “casual days” as an incentive to get people purging (no, not puking but rather ridding oneself of no-longer-needed-files-papers-and-random-stuff), packing and thus making a smooth move from our current office to the new one a couple of miles around the bend. Casual meant, allowed to wear jeans, capris, t-shirts but no shorts, sandals or tank-tops- thank Jesus we still adhere to some kind of standard, there are lots of peoples here whom I’d rather not see in shorts nor tank-tops. Two casual days have come and gone.

As with any relaxing of rules, people tend to overstep the casualness of it all and miss the entire point for being allowed to be casual to begin with, meaning lots of people dressed down but did almost everything under the fluorescent lights other than pack and purge or purge and pack. So now we’re down to –2 days and there’s shit everywhere. In addition to semi-purged file cabinets, piles of files 10 feet high, there are now zillions of orange crates everywhere, in every room, every corner, every hallway. Apparently the big guys heard from some employees that there seemed to be too many orange crates so one of them sent out a highly official memo stating that “While it appears to be an enormous number of the above crates, the number was calculated using a highly scientific formula which does not allow for inefficient packing.” I’m glad we’re putting our moving money (aka my bonus) to good use, highly efficient formulas- that’s big time!

There seems to be no end in sight. I am in charge of packing tons of shit/files no one seems to know what we’re required to do with. We asked our “compliance officer” and she said she’d “find out.” No word yet. To me that means one thing: shred baby, shred. Shred like it is Enron’s second coming and answer questions later. Really what I’ll do is pack everything and send it to storage marked for destruction in the year 2025, that ought to be more than sufficient time for those files to marinate in nothingness into thin air since I doubt they’ll ever be recalled from whatever dark warehouse they end up in.

And in the midst of all this- collections is raging on as it is also the last day of the month and the deadbeats doing business with our department continue to show us all that they have no intention of changing their ways, ever.

Review #2

The second annual Elvis Death Day was held at Variety Playhouse this year, I guess because Echo closed down. It was a good show, they had a local Elvis band open the show. The dude doing Elvis really thought he was Elvis- he had jet black/blue hair in the Elvis poofed style, we saw him outside in the daylight as he was trying to show some of the DamesAFlame how to enter the Variety properly. The opening Elvis was pretty cool he kept kneeling and singing to some chicks in the front row while the two chicks attempted some sort of rythmic movement to the Elvis tunes he was belting out.

Mike came out to a full audience it seemed like- the best part was his almost humble comment/thanks to the audience for coming out. Apparently he was worried about the actual numbers of people that would show. But, he needn't have worried, the Dames did a lot of promotioning all over the place before the show; they were @ Mary's and @ a bunch of other places handing out tiny flyers to anyone who'd take 'em.

It was a great show. Mike was his usual superstar self, the band was really having a good time while playing, the white dude palying the piano seemed possessed by some outer force as he moved his hands over the keys and the girl- the recently married girl- that sings along with Mike is superstar material herself. That and she had an Elvis face plastered on her super-sparkly-shiny dress.

And then the dames came out. Chinita's my personal favorite, it used to be I liked Luna, but now it is Chinita who's the queen of the Dames as far as I'm concerned. Chico was pretty cool too- he's been a great addition to the group.

The funniest part about the set-up was the VIP areas. That was a waste as the view wasn't that great since people piled-up at the front of the stage. It was filled with lots of interesting characters though, mostly from some geriatric ward from around town it looked like.

Next year, when the next show comes around, go see Mike and the Dames- surely he'll have other surprises to celebrate Elvis' legacy on planet Earth. As a matter of fact, go catch Mike and the Dames at one of their many intown performances, they're worth the time and money mostly every time.

Mountain Lions and stuff.......

Boulder is amazing- does not have a job market or anything, but I guess you don't go there for the jobs. A short week is definitely not nearly enough time to take it all in, just barely enough to leave you wanting more. It helps out to have recommendations from people that actually live there and enjoy the outdoors as finding the coolest trails doesn't come easy for the hikingchallenged. Luckily GH's* brother and his girlfriend live there and gave us enough info and overall help- we got to do lots and see lots given the limited amount of time.

While we were in the Boulder Park we saw a sign alerting hikers about Mountain Lion "activity" in the area. The sign simply said that if you hiked around there you should be familiar with how to handle Mt. Lions? WTF? What does that entail I wondered- does one get down on one knee and beg the illustrious Mt. Lion not to eat one? Does one run and scream like a madman? Does one growl in response to his/her growl? Does one jump on it before he/she jumps on one? Really; I musta skipped this class in highschool or something.

A little too late I learned that among the locals it is unacceptable to slow down anybody's process driving either up or down the mountains. Apparently the local etiquette is to pull into the pullout areas along the sides of the roads to let people pass. I figured I was driving way too fast, while trying to look over the edges, down the mountain already with the wet roads and all, and the asshole tailing me would just have to suffer- guess I didn't subscribe to the acceptable behavior. GH's brother said that the locals are really sick and tired of all the tourists and stuff to which GH replied that the tourists are probably a big part of the local economy so the locals should just suck it up.

The Rockies were busy while we were there, lots of people on the trails, breeders, Germans, old people...... We were supposed to make it to Sky Pond but ended up going in the opposite direction and making it to some lakes along the way- saw an elk bathing though. GH had to severely cut back on his smoking habit, he can't hike and smoke very well at the same time apparently, although he did perform quite admirably considering this trip was probably the most physically taxing event he has encountered since having to draw milk from his mother's breasts. It was raining cold, cold rain when we got there and then the rain suddenly vanished and it warmed up again.

The most amazing thing about being there hiking was the everpresent possibility of accidents- the danger, the closeness to steep falls, the rocky inclines. One false move and you're, well, trailkill. There was a tragic accident in the Rockies the week before we were there. A trained ranger died from a fall and head injuries, he is the first death in 90 years according to National Park Services news. It must've been his time to go like his mother said. Each night when we got home, I was awed that we'd made it back in one piece. Considering the crappy vehicle we rented, the closeness of the roads to steep enbankments, the lack of rails alongside the roads, the tiredness that slinks into one's body the further one gets from the parked car.

Colorado simply brought me back to the very real fact that I'm merely a minicule speck in the grand scheme of things if that. I can't wait to go back there- this time I'll bring the right equipment- the right shoes, jackets and a decent camera- oh, and someone who can actually keep up on steep hikes......

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*GH= Gay Husband

Awaaaay

In Boulder CO. No computer 'till now, so the random stories are all waiting to be written.

Review #1

All these local bloggers I’ve found thus far have nothing on me. They think they have all the latest info on all the coolest hangouts but they don’t. Hahahaha. I’ve got them all beat-even this guy with the funny name from the local “alternative” paper. He thinks he’s so cool. Whatever. He thinks he’s all that just ‘cus he gets paid to go out and get hammered and then write a dumb review about it. I got him beat though. Hahahahaha.

I found a gem among pearls. A place even better than the Clairmont on Ponce, or the Mexican Palace on Buford, or the Gold Rush on Stuart or the Tucanazo on Chamblee-Tucker. This place I speak of is just pure unadulterated, unmanaged, unbridled F-U-N. Where is it you ask? In the old driver license testing building on Custer and Moreland of course! There’s nothing that says more F-U-N to me than an obscure place in a parking lot where you can still learn how to drive by practicing in circles with bad lighting and an adjacent all you can buy Fresh Seafood Wagon store.

The place, Coco Loco De La Noche (not to be confused with the largely popular but ever declining food quality joint; Coco Loco on Sidney Marcus Boulevard) is a restaurant/BAR aimed at the Mexican population in the area. They usually have Tex-Mex, Cumbia and other assorted mexipopular nights along with their world famous Bikini Contest Nights on Wednesdays. I’d heard there're also girls who charge $5 or $10 for a friendly bout on the dance floor. Being out with a friend on Wednesday who stated he could “salsa dance me under the table” we were forced to go to Coco Loco De La Noche so I could prove to him just how wrong he was, I mean c’mon, he’s white!

So we park and all the while my friend keeps apologizing for the fact that I’m gonna be seen with a white guy walking into a Mexican place. Sadly, Mexican Bikini Contest Night was no more. Instead it was “Open Mic” night; hard core hip-hop-rap Open Mic Night. So we thought we’d catch some yet to be discovered talent. No such luck either. As it turns out, open mic this past Wednesday consisted of a lipsynching bunch of guys who insisted on permanently attaching their right hands to their danger zones while bouncing around the stage screaming into the mics with the ocassional dusting of shoulders and raising the roof while hard rap was played full blast by the DJ. Then there was a fourth dude on the “stage” sans mic providing what seemed like artistic movement support to the aspiring rap stars. It was like a cross between Putting On the Glitz and Soul Train or something. The best part though, was when the entertainment came out: three very scantily/see thruly clad girls came out to perform some very involved and intimate lap dances.

Oh did I forget to mention it was 95% men in the place? The entertainment proceeded to move down the line of eager patrons and perform their entertainment which consisted of some obvious hard rubbing while sitting on random danger zones, extreme leaning back and legs around necks and legs spreading infront of several patrons’ faces along with some loud self-ass-slapping and chewing gum- all at the same time. Since the entertainment spent the better part facing away from the patrons while vigorously bouncing and gyrating on their danger zones, they failed to realize that a good number of the patrons were using the same dollar bills that were being dropped due to the animated gyrating movements. How do these girls afford the gum they were chewing?

A pool table is also available in the back of the place along with instructions in both, English and Spanish, on how to secure some playing time. Coco Loco also features complimentary pot smoke, second hand of course- but still free. It also features clean bathrooms, random strange people and Bud Light. Yes! That rules, Bud Light. I did however, notice the clear lack of jagger bombs and/or irish car bombs and such. Who does the liquor ordering around here anyway? And which sorry bartending school did that guy go to?

Beside the extensive drink selection, the clientele was one of the highlights, from slow-yet-deranged looking girls to fresh out-of-jail-big-hair guys and everything in between. We settled for a Bud Light and Modelo. At one point we were trying to fit in by necking to the beat and a guy walked up and recognized our awesomeness and necked to the beat in our general direction while simultaneously sending us a neck move commonly known as the “what’s up move.” He was so impressed with our obvious command of the necking to the beat technique, he purchased a Bud Light –cash, walked right up to my friend, slammed it in front of him on the bar and walked away. I think that was code for really, Really liking us. A lot. Looking back though, where’s my Modelo? Wait a fucking minute..... I skipped Mary’s on Wednesday for this very reason……

At another junction a guy with his puffed out fro walked up to us and shared this tidbit*:

“I’m staying with my Moms, I just got here.”

Me: “Really? Why?”

“Just got out today. I was in jail. See? Look at my bracelet. This is my ID bracelet from jail. See the picture? That’s me.”

“Really? Why?”

“Y’know, got caught with bout $80.”

“Oh.”

And he walked away. He came back about four minutes later, highly perturbed.

“Yo man, I just asked you for some help man, least you can do’s help me out.”

My friend said: “What? Sorry man I can’t help you.”

At which point puffed guy walked off in a real hizzy.

You can’t help everybody, besides my friend was buying my drinks.

While we were inside we noticed that the incoming patrons were being aggressively frisked upon entry. We didn’t get frisked though, what with reverse discrimination running rampant these days. Maybe next time though, maybe next time.

After all the laughter shared and the good times and the action all around we decided to call it a night, not before promising to definitely come back. We did make sure fro guy was not noticing our departure, he looked pretty hizzy pissed when last he had talked to us.

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*Note: This is only a paraphrase of the actual conversation as I am not yet an expert of the neighborhood lingo and/or pronunciation much less writing of it.

When you have nothing to say.......

Recently read that you should not post anything when you have nothing to say, but also read that you should write whatever comes to mind. Everyone has an opinion... I know, that's not an original line either.

Actually doing lots of work at Bank X since I was planning to go to Boulder next week. Turns out one of these numnuts I work with decided to also take a "last minute" vacation. His fucking 4th in the last 3 months by my count. What the hell? How many vacations does this guy get? Don't matter though, can't change the dates this time around like I did last time since Gay Husband's brother is expecting us and Gay Husband already took leave from the coming corpses of next week and the dog has found a nice home to stay at while I'm gone. Too many things are in place so numnuts is gonna have to grovel and beg to Napoleon tomorrow. Apparently Napoleon already approved it, thing is Napoleon doesn't remember what he had for breakfast much less when anyone in his department is scheduled for time off- and numnuts is well aware of this and still his only answer is "I asked Napoleon and he said no problem."

Whenever anyone mentions vacation to Nap it's like a bell goes off in the parts of his cerebrum that still kinda function -he immediately breaks into his own versions of history lessons based on his numerous trips to France, Italy, Japan, blah, blah, blah. It was great the first few times I heard it- much like everything else that spills out of his mouth.

"Have you ever been? No? You should go. Italy has the best food, all you gotta do's make sure Mama's in the kitchen and you're good to go. And France? They have the best butter. I probably ate five loafs of bread and butter each morning for breakfast when we were there last month. The people in the bakery down the street from our condo knew us. I don't speak French, but you don't have to, you just have to be cute about it. I think I gained 10 lbs but I lost them already see? Have you ever been? No? When I..............."

And I'm thinking: "Look I was just letting you know I'm not gonna be here. Besides, with what you guys pay me the only Paris I can afford is in Tennessee or something so shutup about your vacation already. I don't care about the tower or the Louvre in France or the Piazza in Italy. I saw the pictures already. Gimminy Fucking Cricket. Shut up."