Monday, March 30, 2009

Jack Goes Forth Versus The Banker

I woke up this afternoon before work and slunk down the stairs, determined to eat non-tex mex restaurant food and to read the entire newspaper, which would constitute the bulk of my productiveness before having to be back at the bar. As I ate cereal and scanned the sports and business sections I recognized a guy in one of the ads for a bank. It was a guy I went to high school with and have seen sporadically since then. It took me a second to realize it was him because he looked slightly older, a little heavier and he was wearing a suit. Here was a guy that I used to take beer bongs with and now he was in the ad for a well-known local bank. The ad touted something about his and his bank's, uhh, banking abilities. My first thought was, "damn, he's grown old", but after looking at the ad for a minute I had to admit to myself that the guy has done well for himself. A good banking job, a wife, a house, and all at 26 years old. The kid I knew in high school was no more.

I went back upstairs and while attempting to shave, I looked at myself in the mirror and I didn't see a grown up like I saw in the ad. I saw tattoos and ridiculously out of control hair. I saw a kid who could easily pass for a Junior in college, which makes sense because I was hungover all the time then and I'm hungover all the time now. I saw a kid that is stubbornly refusing to grow up too fast. It got me thinking about the differences between my life and the guy in the banking ads life.

26 Year Old Banker: Wakes up next to his wife at 6 AM on Monday morning feeling energized and ready to topple the titans of industry and make a name for himself. He makes breakfast and small talk over the kitchen counter with his wife, they feed the dog, they kiss, they leave their nice suburban house and drive to the city for work.

Jack Goes Forth: Wakes up at 2 PM on Monday afternoon and curses the gods that he has to be at work in two hours. He then spends a half hour texting other bartenders in a futile effort to get his shift covered. Finally he gets up and realizes that he hasn't actually eaten in about 20 hours. He stumbles downstairs and is able to barely stomach a small bowl of Special K before having to immediately take a crap, during which he falls asleep while sitting up. He then leaves his Mom's suburban condo and drives into the city for work.

26 YOB: Wakes up his wife in the morning with a tender kiss and a cuddle. They warmly embrace and enjoy a few moments of silence.

JGF: Wakes up his Mom at 5:30 AM when he drunkenly falls into the wall of the bathroom as he tries to take his jeans off. Then he proceeds to slur/yell , "I'ms Okay! I'ms Okay Mom!"

26 YOB: Spends a Friday evening entertaining other couples and having a few drinks on his deck. He offers people who have had more then 3 drinks to stay in his guest room.

JGF: Spends a Friday evening attempting to get kicked out of a shitty karaoke bar on Southside and asking girls he just met if they want to go out in the parking lot for a few minutes. He offers to drive all of his friends because he is the self-proclaimed "best drunk driver in the world" and because (and I quote) "we're all going to Sheetz for Chex Mix and then I'm driving to Atlantic City you bitches"

26 YOB: Files his taxes promptly over the internet and patiently awaits his returns.

JGF: Isn't even sure what a w-2 is. He just keeps hearing that he needs them from all the bars he has worked at in the past year. Hopes his step-dad will somehow handle the whole situation.

26 YOB: Comes home to find a personally engraved civil war replica sword on the mantel from his wife because he's a history buff. Upon receiving the gift he swoops her into his arms and says, "let's go to the bedroom and make love"

JGF: Comes over to a girl's apartment to find that she has stocked the fridge with Diet Pepsi (his favorite). Upon opening a can of it he says, "take your pants off here in the kitchen, I gotta be at work soon."

26 YOB: Has a set life plan that includes kids. He is ready to settle into beautiful domestic bliss.

JGF: His only plan is to attend the Strawberry Hill horse races next weekend and get absurdly hammercanned. He is ready to spend more than two consecutive days with a girl, of course she had better provide him with Diet Pepsi and an all-access pants dropping pass.

*I meant no offense to my old high school buddy during the creation of this post. I mostly meant to offend myself.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

So You Want A Bartending Job?

"What keeps a hotel (or restaurant) going is the fact that the employees take a genuine pride in their work, beastly and silly though it is. If a man idles, the others soon find him out, and conspire to get him sacked. Cooks, waiters and plongeurs differ greatly in out-look, but they are all alike in being proud of their efficiency." -George Orwell (Down And Out In London and Paris)

The mark of a good service industry man is not in the speed or accuracy of their work, it all lies in how hard they work and how much enthusiasm they have for the job. I'll take a brand new bartender who doesn't know her ass from her elbows as long as she is willing to do anything and she wants to learn and she doesn't half-ass anything. It's when a bartender starts to slack and starts cutting corners that they may as well be fired. Customers will appreciate someone who is genuinely giving their all, even if they make a mistake. What they don't see and what I hate is the jackass who can bust out 6 delicious margaritas in a minute, but doesn't keep the bar clean or never washes the glasses.

I may have to pick vomit out of urinals, plunge unruly toilets full of crap (okay sometimes I was the one who clogged it) and do other less-glamorous things in my line of work, but I won't hesitate and I'll make sure that every last nasty chunk of half digested food is cleaned up. Unfortunately not everyone brings this mindset to work and regardless the line of work, it's always a recipe for failure.

I told a new girl (on her first shift) to sweep behind the bar while I started doing the money and she said, "wait, don't we have people that do that for us?" She was gone a week later.

I told another new girl (on one of her first shifts) to sweep behind the bar while I started money and she ran a fine-tooth comb over every little piece of trash and dust until it was immaculate. She is still around and in addition to improving as a bartender every single shift, she makes a nice little chunk of change every week.

I'm still not sure that work ethic is something that you can attain. I think a lot of it has to do with the conditions you were brought up in and whether or not you work for the things you "need" (to pay rent) or the things you "want" (to buy sunglasses). Of course there are some exceptions to that statement.

In closing, Roosh V mentioned "Down and Out" on his recent reading list today. Our tastes in books are pretty similar, although I don't necessarily agree with all of his assessments. Interesting list nevertheless.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Robot Hearts # 10

The tenth edition of mine and RVA New's trailer park love child/dating column came out today. To commemorate the occasion I'll quote the greatest dating movie of all time:

Trent: "Our little boy's all grown up tonight! You know what, big boy? You're grown up! You're grown up! Yeahhhhhh! Dig that! Is this enough of a fucking production for you? Cuz you're growns up and you're growns up and you're growns up! Hey! What're you kicking me for? You want me to ask? All right, I'll ask! Ma'am, where do the high school girls hang out in this town? I'm the asshole is this place, right? I'm the asshole? I'm outta here! I'm not eating here... I wouldn't eat here... I'd never eat here anyway!" (Swingers)

That line sums up exactly how I feel about my dating column. Go check it out here or click on the pixelated hearts to the right of the blog. This week we discussed lady woes, which I happen to be no stranger to.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Fun Jack

Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a gentleman is truly of two minds. At night he can be the most benevolent partygoer known to man, buying drinks for thirsty revelers and offering his golden keys to all those weary souls who require a spirit-lifting bump; the following morning, however, he’s shiftier than a snake and twice as dastardly as a fox, swindling all those who stand between him and the rest and relaxation he so desperately requires. While Austrian psychiatrists have devoted entire careers to the leapfrogging tendencies and monstrous mood swings of the modern day gentleman, it’s vital to remember that a gentleman is merely a product of his environment and that his actions march solely to the beat of his wily whims. - The Foggy Monocle

I have an ongoing joke with a girl about how I have multiple personalities. There's "Hungover Jack", a lovable, reoccurring character that's always there to make inappropriate jokes, drop darkly sarcastic remarks and unload loud tirades against any who displease him.

There's "Foggy Jack", a guy who goes into trances and will go entire conversations without actually listening to a single word someone says. This Jack can usually be found with a book in hand, or a meal in front of him. Hungover Jack and Foggy Jack are actually the same person and are known to co-exist together about 3-4 times a week.

And of course there is "Fun Jack". This is the charming, gregarious young man who usually emerges around 7 PM at night, give or take a few hours depending on the severity and uhh, "fun-ness" of Fun Jack's previous night. This Jack is loquacious and will actually listen to and absorb most of what people are saying.

I need to work on a new Jack. Maybe we could call him "Moderation Jack" or "Normal Jack".

Friday, March 20, 2009


"We are all guilty of crime, the great crime of not living life to the full. But we are all potentially free. We can stop thinking of what we have failed to do and do whatever lies within our power. What those powers that are in us may be what no one has truly dared to imagine. That they are infinite we will realize the day we admit to ourselves that imagination is everything.; Imagination is the voice of daring"

"The life of a creator is not the only life nor perhaps the most interesting which a man leads. There is a time for play and a time for work, a time for creation and a time for lying fallow. And there is a time, glorious too in its own way, when one scarcely exists, when one is a complete void. I mean, when boredom seems the very stuff of life.”

"Plots and character don't make life. Life is here and now, anytime you say the word, anytime you let her rip."

-All quotes by Henry Miller.

I'm watching this train wreck and the ensuing confusion that's always there, but most of the time a good book will calm me down. Thank you Henry.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Irish Car Bombs Suck

Until one week ago I thought that I enjoyed the Irish Car Bomb, which is made by mixing Jameson's Irish Whiskey and Bailey's Irish Cream in a shot glass and then dropping that shot glass into a half pint of Guinness. It's makes for a somewhat tasty, somewhat coagulated "bomb" of thick ass crap.

I've probably taken about 15 of these in the past week (in addition to making about 200 of them), and I will NEVER take another one.

Give me a shot of Jameson everyday all day. Pour me a Guinness and I'm a happy boy. Hell, I'll even sip on some Bailey's and ice as the dessert to a nice meal. But mixing these three? It's a horrific, stomach-destroying, ulcer-inducing, many-crap-taking, calorie-laden "bomb" of death.

Maybe I'm just tired with all of the St.Patrick's Day insanity, which being behind a bar I got to witness firsthand. I got to see the vomit hit the bar (and then splash on me), I got to see the fistfights, and then I got to pick drunk girls up off piss-covered bathroom floors and "fireman's carry" them out to a waiting car. Of course I had a lot of fun and my bank account certainly isn't complaining from the extra drink-slingin'. Plus if drunk girls and crappy shots are all I have to bitch about...well then I guess I'm pretty lucky.

-Random factoid: I used to work at a bar that refused to call it the "Irish Car Bomb" due to the negative connotation it gives towards the Irish Republican Army and their previous and notorious usage of car bomb terrorism. I've even heard that many traditional Irish pubs will refuse to serve an Irish Car Bomb.

Personally, I'd rather someone wire explosives into the ignition of my Altima than ever drink one of those shit bombs again.

Monday, March 16, 2009

St. Paddies Article

I wrote a short, somewhat hilarious piece for RVA News about St. Patrick's Day and Richmond. If memory serves me correct (which it doesn't), I was definitely drunk and/or hungover when I wrote it. Either way, check it out.

Read the article here, or just go and click on the awesomeness that is RVANEWS.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Blogger Barbie

Someone directed me towards an article posted on a few days ago in which the website poked fun at Barbie's 50th anniversary by creating a list of Richmond-related Barbies. The number one Barbie? "Blogger Barbie"

"This 30-something Barbie has a food/dining blog. She either fantasizes about sleeping with Jack Goes Forth or hates him with a virulent passion. Still, she reads him. She comes with a Blackberry with which she will Twitter at will about where she eats, drinks, and the color and quantity of her arugula appetizer at Mamma ‘Zu.

This is sort of funny by itself, but if you people actually knew the amount of 30ish women I've met who read my blog and who are into the "foodie scene", you would laugh so hard a little pee might come out.

Read the entire article here., well done, well done indeed.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Richmond Goes Pretty

Some thoughts:

-As I stumbled, hungover, through the slip this afternoon it became all too apparent that every single woman in Richmond has, in the past week alone, lost 25 pounds and brought out their sexy clothing. It's a good thing that my bloodshot eyes were hidden behind aviators. Without the shades I think my countenance could best be described as "creepily leering".

- The deep and dark abyss of blubber storage and frigid sexuality that is Winter in Richmond is finally starting to brighten up.

- Bar business is up (especially on the weekdays). The economy is still down. The only reason I can think of for the increase in business is the weather. People like to drink when it's nice out. And then there are people like me who like to drink regardless of conditions. Extreme heat, cold or monsoon has never stopped this guy from imbibing.

- Sitting in Shockoe Espresso (my temporary replacement for Cafe Gutenberg while they remodel) has proven to be a nice experience. I would have NEVER guessed that this many attractive women worked at The Martin Agency (the business next to Shockoe Espresso). Infact, these women must be from somewhere else, my guess being the Segway Store or maybe the Omni. The advertising biz just isn't this pretty.

- It's almost time to start hitting Richmond's greatest feature; The James River. I look forward to mingling with the finest unemployed that Richmond has to offer on a Tuesday afternoon as we sip on Natural Light Ice, sneak hits from Black and Milds packed with pot and make fun of the "suits" and their "paychecks" and their "ability to pay the rent and maintain normal relationships". Psh...

- Okay, I'm going to tend some bar while attempting not to vomit, at the same time I'll be watching the parade of beautiful women in sundresses getting soused. Life isn't that bad.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Robot Hearts # 9

The local dating column that some ho emailed my friend calling "immature, and downright juvenile" is out again today. I won't mention page hits or any pertinent readership facts when defending my baby (Robot Hearts), instead I will say that, "Your mom is immature and downright juvenile. Now, good day sir."

This week I have yet another co-writer. The column is starting to become similar to my love life, that is, it's a never ending revolving door of faceless women and men and gay sex and... whoa, did I mention men and gay sex? Strike those two. Anywho, there's a new girl and she seems pretty funny. Go read our advice and leave many many comments since my panties are still gratuitously bunched and I've yet to return to comment normalcy here on the ol' blog.

Click here or on the pixelated hearts to the right of the blog to check out RH # 9.

Vampire Boy

As I was closing up the bar tonight and counting the money I got confused and thought I might have made a mistake, so I left a note for my manager and told him to text or call me tomorrow and let me know if I needed to fix anything. At the bottom of the note I wrote in bold letters, DO NOT CONTACT ME BEFORE 2:30 PM! And really that's still early because lately I'm breaking the 3 PM mark with remarkable consistency.

I don't necessarily mind keeping these types of hours because the money is good and I enjoy the solitude of writing and listening to music at 5 AM every night, but I do miss out on a few things:

1. Fast food breakfast. Or to be more specific, chicken biscuits from Hardees, bacon egg and cheese bagels from Einsteins, Schmuffins from Sheetz, and the entire breakfast menu at McDonalds. I used to live for this crap. Now I eat a constant barrage of Americanized Mexican food at the bar. Which is sort of awesome.

2. Lunch. I used to eat this meal. Now I don't.

3. Having real phone conversations. I hardly ever answer my phone but when I do I'm usually half-asleep and I only speak through a series of grunts and assorted curse words. I then have to call people back when I finally wake up and ask them what we spoke about earlier.

4. Running errands. I basically don't get haircuts anymore (which you would know if you've ever been in Cha Cha's), never get dry-cleaning (although I only wear two pairs of jeans and about 4 t-shirts these days), and I never get my car cleaned. I actually told a girl the other day to excuse "that dead body smell" in my Altima.

5. Sunlight.

I shall not complain about this lifestyle as I have grown accustomed to it and it suits me. Although I am a bit concerned that the lack of sun, the crazy ass hair and the lack of proper nutrition have turned me into a dead ringer for Edward Scissorhands. I never thought I'd say it, but maybe I should cut back on my sleeping. I guess I could scale it back from 12 hours a day to 10?

Hmmm... I'll have to sleep on this decision.

Monday, March 9, 2009


Yes, as many of you have pointed out, comments are disabled for the time being. The reason for this is that a few cowardly anonymous commenters, who know me in some capacity, started leaving personal attacks on my posts. I was having to become too vigilant in my comment moderation and it was taking away from the writing and the joy of blogging. I've always enjoyed a creative or witty jab at my expense, but bringing friends and my non-blogging life into the mix is too much. It's unfortunate because in the past year and a half my comment section has at times been much more entertaining than my actual blog.

I will turn comments back on if I think a post will initiate a good discussion or maybe I'll just turn em back on tomorrow, who knows. Until then feel free to email me with anything you want to say. As many readers can attest, I will always get back to you in a timely manner, and it will usually be about 5 AM when I do so.

Hooking Up With A Friends Ex: The Rules

There are many unspoken rules about hooking up with your friend's exes, or hooking up with girls who your friends have hooked up. I'm here to speak some of those rules because no one else will and according to Google, no one else has. The reason for my declaration is 17-fold, but I'll only tell you the pertinent facts and not bore with you with all of my secondary inane man-rules. The few rules that I speak will ring true in any place and anytime, but they tend to really ring true in the 2009 state of dating abyss that is Richmond Virginia.

The following basically only apply to men, but I'm sure that women can also take from my wealth of knowledge on this subject. Honestly though, what I'm about to list are tried and true man laws.

- If you speak or text with someone (of the same sex and not in a work related manner) at least once every week, then they are considered a decent friend. This is the loosest definition of friend I can give. Years as friends and past experiences that you have had together play a big role in the strength of a friendship, but in terms of being a "boy" to another man, a call or a text once a week is pretty close to a strong bond.

- You cannot ever, under any circumstances hook up with a girl who your friend has been in a relationship with. A relationship can mean anything from 2 months to 6 years. You know when a friend has true feelings for a girl and when he does, that's considered a relationship. All may be fair in love and war, but there are lines that real men do not cross. They're way too many trout in the lady-river to pull a stunt like that. Of course this rule is broken all the time by weak men who probably own at least one cat*.

- Hooking up with a girl once does not shield said girl from hooking up with a friend, unless the original guy who hooked up with her has made it known that he may have a "liking" for the girl. In that case, the second male has to back the fuck off.

- Permission from a friend to hook up with one of his exes should be treated lightly. The "ex-girl" may want to hook up with you, but you have to take a friend's feelings into account first. This is tough because no man will ever admit that you hooking up with his ex upsets him. Take the level of friendship with your boy into account before you attempt to give his ex a trip to Poundtown, USA. If you hate that asshole, then bang the girl 8 ways from Sunday. Otherwise, walk away.

- The Richmond Rule: It is okay to sleep with girls your friends have already slept with. It is not okay to sleep with girls who your friends have already slept with but still hold a candle for. The Richmond Rule was actually founded by Gen. Stonewall Jackson in 1859 when he found out that one of his soldiers had slept with his past lover, who just so happened to be Harriet Tubman. Unbeknownest to both, she was a collaborator with the north and she had some sort of underground tunnel thing, or something like that. Needless to say, it was a messy situation.

The title "Richmond Rule" comes from that incident and the current collusion of drunkenness and sex that occurs in the Fan and the downtown regions of the city.

- The last rule is something that most men will never understand, but it must be applied because most men will never understand the concept of honor and manliness:

Bros before hoes. I know that 99 percent of the population is in this great chase to get married and will settle with any person who is willing to sleep with them/ meet their parents, but cheating a friend is just not right. They're too many girls out there and not enough "friends" who you can actually trust and who would sit in a waiting area until 7 AM to bail you out of jail. If you find a friend like that, hold onto them for dear life. In the end they are the ones who positively affected your existence.

Girls are like subway trains. Albeit, groin achingly beautiful, life-altering subway trains.....

*Cat ownership signifies weakness in a man....or it signifies marriage.

Friday, March 6, 2009

State Of "The Big Friday Night Out"

Now that I don't really work Friday evenings I'm faced with a big decision when I wake up around 4 PM on Friday afternoons-- How will I be spending my night? Or better yet it can be broken down into categories: Will I be accompanied by a date or a wingman or go out by myself? Depending on that answer, will I then be getting blacked-out slobberjobbed drunk, comfortably but not overly tipsy, slightly buzzed, or none of the above? Do I wear a t-shirt, a button down, or a blazer of some kind? Where should I go?

These are all questions that the single twenty something must deal with on a Friday night. For me it comes down to two baseline actions. I either attempt to go on a date with a girl, or I just say fuck it and go out sans-woman and with my guns blazing.

"The truth is, though, being a single guy is a fucking job. We have to work to hook up. There’s a reason it’s called “giving head” – girls decide they’re either going to give it to us or not, and we have very little say in the matter. That’s why single guys, as opposed to our betrothed counterparts, feel the need to go out so much. If there’s a chance that some girl, somewhere, is considering giving someone head, I need to make sure I’m there to possibly receive it." Aaron Karo Ruminations 106

Dates are an acceptable course of action for a Friday and clearly if a girl is willing to go out with you on a Friday night then something will probably happen (provided you get a few drinks in the mix), but then you have to deal with spending a lot more money and you run the risk of the date being a trainwreck, where then you've completely wasted a Friday night. I've been on a lot of "trainwreck dates" and since I'm 100 percent perfect, it must be the girl's fault for the lack of conversation, lack of laughter, awkward silences and complete lack of hooking up.

Going out as the single man has it drawbacks also. It's fun and your ease of movement (from bar to bar/girl to girl) is mostly unencumbered unless you have a shit wingman. Of course no one bats 1,000 (I think I'm batting about .041 in the past few months, which for you non-baseball fans, is very poor) so chances of hooking up are a bit lower than if you already have a girl who has agreed to tolerate your presence for a few hours. It helps to have a booty call or two in your back pocket, but I tend to look at that as wasted energy. If I'm going to go out and spend money and tear the roof off, I want a return on my investment. I can just sit at home til 1 AM, drink a 7 dollar bottle of wine and then go get the booty call. Ya know? Although this is not to say that I won't be sending a few ill-advised sex-texts at 2:30 AM tonight in a hail mary-esqe fashion.

Regardless of what decisions you single guys decide to make tonight, take great solace in the fact that you have complete autonomy and that you aren't anchored down by another. I know I sometimes lament on my lack of a real relationship, but it's times like these (6 PM on a Friday night) when I remember how great it is to be able to gorge myself on Chipotle, come home, leave the bathroom door open as I poop, call friends and say things that would make George Carlin blush, get ready while blasting any music I want, and then go wherever the wheels on my Altima want to take me.

A man with options is a dangerous, dangerous man. And a man with options who has had six Orange Crush shots and 7 Miller Lites is a downright menace to society.

5 AM Update: The fact that I'm writing at 5 AM should tell you the pertinent facts. Let's just say that I managed to have a date and go out solo in the same night. The date was a trainwreck (although it was actually the good kind of trainwreck, the kind where it was so much fun that I sort of just want to stay in the carnage of the burning train and continue drinking bloody marys...wink*) and then I got plastered and now I'm at the computer. As I texted a few close friends: Thank the little baby cheebus for Gnight.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Bartender Comeback Of The Night

Bar patron to me: "Hey biceps, did you borrow that shirt* from your little brother?"

Me: "Hey guy, not even Mike Modano** would wear a fucking olive green Dallas Stars sweat shirt out to a bar......dork***."

* My work shirt was a bit small tonight and yes, it did appear that I borrowed it from a man much smaller in stature.

** I defy you to name a single Dallas Stars player other than Mike Modano off of the top of your head. You can't do it. Modano is it.

*** My usage of the term "dork" was a perfect blend of irony and 5th grade playground panache. Seriously man, you totally had to be there. My timing and verve were simply impeccable.

The sad part is, this response will go over most people's heads. All the great comebacks tend to do that...

I Got You At The End...Dog

Every bartender can commiserate with this...

Anytime a patron orders a drink, pays the exact amount and then says, "I'll tip you at the end of the night". They will not be tipping you. Even if said patron has the best of intentions (which is about 10 percent of the time if they deliver that line), they will not tip you. They may honestly think that they're going to tip you huge on that last drink or shot, but little do they know, they will not. Drunkenness and idiocy will ensue, leaving the bartender, the stiffed.

I've gotten to the point where I love it when someone gives me this line. It's as automatic as saying, "I'm not tipping you." Which if someone where to actually say, "I'm not tipping you", I wouldn't be upset. I wouldn't be quick to get their next drink either, but I wouldn't be upset because it's blatant honesty...which is rare in the bar business.

A few bartenders and I trade shots sometimes (I give them a freebie when I'm working and they do likewise, no tipping or payment involved) and every time, the receiver of the drink says (sarcastically), "I got you at the end dog", and we smile and high five because we have no intentions of tipping each other.

Yes I sound like a pretentious fuck (what's new?) because tipping is not and never will be mandatory, lest I auto-grat your check, which then you're tipping 20 percent whether you like it or not (oh sweet cheebus how I love thy auto-gratuity button). Although I honestly never expect much, most people always surprise me with their generosity. Just don't lie to me man. I've heard it before. Please take your f-in Long Island Iced Tea, take your finely manicured chinstrap facial accoutrement, give me the exact change, and walk away. No hard feelings. Okay, well, no hard feelings, just don't expect expedient service or a strongly poured drink next time.

You get what you give. Tis life.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Happiness Is...

-Happiness is spending a Monday night with a girl you like, eating an entire pizza, drinking a bottle of cheap wine, laughing hysterically and generally just being...naked. Falling asleep by midnight and staying that way til noon is happiness-inducing also.

-Semi-happiness is getting hammercanned with friends and co-workers on a Tuesday night, drinking enough Three Olives Grape Vodka to kill a small herd of camels and then blasting the karaoke mic.

-Happiness is blogging consistently and with purpose, getting good feedback and making progress with my writing.

-Semi-happiness is catching a movie and a beer with a friend, and then going to the bar for 2 dollar pint night in order to tie one on.

-Happiness is watching a savings account grow through frugal spending and nights spent reading instead of carousing.

-Semi-happiness is having 11 drinks after work, bullshitting with friends and then stumbling out of the bar as the sun rises.

-Happiness is waking up sober and not in an alcoholic or drugged out state.

-Semi-happiness is catching the eye of a young girl while bartending, getting a number and then boozing/making out with that same girl in the dark back booth of a Fan neighborhood bar the next night.

-Happiness is smoking a few bowls, eating massive amounts of crap from 7-11 and then sleeping. No drinking involved.

-Semi-happiness is walking into a bar and knowing the bartender, and then taking multiple shots of Rumplemintz with him and your friends.

-Happiness is the feeling that bartending 5 nights a week is merely a stepping stone to something bigger, something greater.

Notice that the "semi-happy" scenarios are only short term pleasures. Short term pleasures rock when you're riding high and partying it up, but they never last and you never feel as good when you come down. I guess you could surmise that a girl or a fling is a short term pleasure also, although in my world the pleasure and the smiles you get from a girl (that you actually like) always last longer than the pleasure you can get from a rail of blow. The rub here is that I want all of this happiness, semi and long-term. Unfortunately, I'm proving that to be nearly impossible.

Either I start practicing moderation or I quit the blog (and writing altogether) and continue living in a fog.

Easy choice there. Now the hard part is...making it happen. Most people won't understand how this is difficult, but most people don't abuse their body like I do either. I'd be interested in hearing from people who went through or are currently struggling with the fine line between partying and progress (creative or career). Feel free to email me.

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

- Nick Carraway at the end of The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald).