Work Tip FTW

Part of my blog is dedicated to self improvement (for you the read, I'm fine). Most of the time that improvement is in the form of an increased PMA (positive mental attitude). Other times it is in the form of life activities (such as one of my many fine Bukkake adventures). I'm now going to attempt to improve each and every one of your work lives!

I presume that you already have your facebook, gmail and RSS feeds set up. If that is not the case, don't waste your time reading any further. This is an advanced technique handed down from the elder council of proficient/efficient slackers. It would be comparable to somebody attempting to submit BJ Penn with a Gogoplata prior to learning how to pull guard.

We all know how to "work" on a day when the internet is abuzz with new postings, chat is firing on cylinders and we have the energy to sit still for 8 solid hours. Problems arise when that is no longer the case, and the only excitement you can conjure up from the 7 remaining firing synapses is to stare at the clock. Each second takes roughly 3/4 of a minute to complete, and you have to turn the pages of a calendar to find the 5pm finishing line.

In non-work life this time is called "nap time". That glorious time when you can give the world at large a big middle finger and close your eyes. Sadly The Man doesn't allow such and act. He sees it as "lazy" if my eyes are closed, even if I'm accomplishing as many work oriented tasks as I would be with them open. Solution?

I give you EyeWork v2.0


Welcome to salary sponsored beauty sleep...

Chick Magnet

I've been told that my car (an STi. Like this without the wrinkles) is a chick magnet. I have not found this to be true (unless you count my predilection towards driving to High School girls' houses and not leaving until they return to school the next morning). In fact, it seems to be more of a young boy magnet (Anonymous_Blogger, is there a way to keep Chris Hansen's team of professionals from finding my site on Google?) since they are the only people still entranced by Need 4 Speedesqe cars.

My car also seems to show a physical affinity towards various other worldly objects, such as Curbs:


The first came when my good friend Handleme and I were driving (read: he was driving) to get some weed. About a QP worth. He was watching some people walking on the sidewalk while driving at about 8 k/hr. The car was being pulled into a curb...

The next was after the first snow in Hamilton last year had turned me into the protagonist of Tokyo Drift. I was kickin some ass through some bank drive through lines when again the magnetic curb took the car. That freak moment of unexplainable physics ran me $650 for a new wheel bearing.

It also pulls in flying objects:


Rocks on the highway for the windshield and foam flip-flops to the mirror (I know, it has to be REALLY magnetic to get a hold of foam, but it's true)

Finally, my car pulls other cars towards it, but mostly when parked:

The rear fender was a good 'ol hit and run at the Bitterroot River Inn in Hamilton. The door crease happened yesterday while I was running a guided trip on the Stillwater river (There is still time this year to get your trip in with Bukkake W&FA. Sign up now!). I didn't notice it when I returned home, but my padre pointed it out and gave me the business card of the guy that did it.

I'm as shocked as you! There are still people these days that will have a free hit and run and actually do the right thing (right thing based off of an efficient societal golden rule method vs. a christian absolute ethics "method")!

Now it is my turn to do the boring ass "right" thing and not try to explain to the insurance company that this hit didn't bend my door, scrape the fender on the other side, crack the windshield, break the mirror, ding the rims on two sides of my car and wear down the snow tires by about 62,000 kilometers.

Bukkake was successful again in its fishing trips though!

SHARKS!!!

Some more good news is coming straight out of the "I almost made as much money as I wanted to" retirement community called Sarasota FL. I've aligned my work/play schedule here so that each day at about 5pm I leave work and go change into some shorts. I then drop the top on my sweet (read: shitty Chrystler) convertible and cruise over to the beach. I've marked out a run along the beach on Gmaps Pedometer. It isn't a very long run, but running in softer sand is quite physically tasking. Each step feels like the sand is giving away behind you as a sandworm from Dune swallows up the earth in an attempt to make you his afternoon snack.

I typically end my run by going to the car, drinking a beer and grabbing my skimboard before returning to the shore. I then rinse the salty sweat off my body with salty sea water. This is a fun swim each time because of the amount of life in the water. Each time I see something I haven't seen before. Almost stepped on a small dinner plate sized ray one day. These are funny because every time somebody does a similar thing you get to hear "STING RAY!!! I ALMOST STEPPED ON A STING RAY!!!" yelled back at the beach to anyone that is willing to listen. Yesterday I was swimming along (breast stoke) and grabbed what can only be described as a handful of heavy snot. Having seen a dead jellyfish on the beach a week earlier, I was pretty sure of what I had just grabbed. I popped up to my feet, stared back into the water where I thought it was and then decided I didn't need to be "Keev the jellyfish hunter" at the beach by myself.

Two days ago I was standing in the water, about waist deep, watching the sun go down. This is always a funny sight because it owns people's emotions. Couples that were arguing on the beach moments before stand hand in hand and love each other for those 10-15 minutes from when the sun touches the horizon until it dips below the sea. Shell collectors and metal detectors alike stand with "treasures" in hand as if in some sort of hydrogen fusion induced trance. The rest of the beach population is clicking away on there cell phones and cameras like they are the first to document an ocean sunset.

I was focused on something that I thought was a bit cooler: Dorsal fins. I saw one pop out of the water for just a second and then dip back down. My Montana raised insticts instantly fired my heartrate up like it was the tip of Jaws on his was to get my boat, but then I noticed the horizontal tail and knew I was dealing with a mammal. The water kept swirling around but no more surface sightings for a bit.

Then I saw something awesome! The distictive bottle shaped nose of a dolphin popped out of the water and spit a shell about 2 meters. The dolphin dove back down and raced towards the shell with another dolphin next to it. This carried on for about 10 minutes and slowly grabbed the attention of the sun-people as their fusion god dissappeared below the horizon. After that it was getting dark and the dolphins were no longer playing so the beach cleared quickly. I so wanted to swim out and play with them, but I REALLY didn't want to be the guy in the Sarasota Daily News headlined as "Montana Tourist Dies After Thinking He Was A Dolphin Whisperer".

Yesterday I failed miserably to get any coworkers to join me at the beach for beers and watersports (not the type involving piss), but it actually worked out for the better. I was skimboarding away for a while then took a swim out for a bit. Upon my return I found that my nice skim area had been invaded by one of the many tourists that believe they are Anne Geddes. The parents had their baby stipped down and playing in water while they look like [ass]clowns trying to get her to smile (lawyer, I kept my hands above my head and stared at the sky the entire time. No new work from me this week).

I decided to pick up my board and wander down the beach in search of better skimming. Same 'ol same 'ol down the whole beach: short drop-off waters edge (bad for skimming with a shitty 16 dollar board) and old and/or married couples on the sand. Then low and behold I spotted something that really caught my eye. A girl that looked to be in her low 20s with a red/yellow/green wristband on. Clearly this is one of the many symptoms of smoking a lot of weed. So I approached.

Me: You wouldn't happen to know where I can get some smokes would you?

Her: I've got a cig right here if you want it.

Me: Wrong type of smokes.

Her: Oh you are looking for herb?

Me: Ya

Her: I can't get any right now, but I was going to smoke a bowl if you want to join.

Me: Sweet!

We cruised down the beach and got acquianted before our blaze. She is a unique individual that sets herself apart by getting tattoos and piercings. Oddly enough she was also an art school student (didn't see that one coming).

She was in fact quite nice and loaded some chronic stank so I have no room to talk shit or even any real desire too. Hell, if there was an easy "in" I probably would have taken her home (or better yet let her take me home).

After the blaze we parted ways. I walked down the beach giggling at everything I saw. Then ran into some coworkers.

I think I've finally given up on trying to be "normal" when I'm high around coworkers. I went out in the water and showed them how quickly I can fall on my ass when stoned skimboarding.

Motion In My Ocean

I decided to get out of the hotel/lab this weekend a little and visit the beach. Not having any amigos around with whom to do this, I decided to go for a run in the sand. Maps.google.com showed me a close beach with public access, and I visited it. In my favorite pair of Sprawl shorts and some tennies, I started jogging. The sand was a tan, medium fine grit and quite loose. After about a mile though, the sand turned into a cocaine white, baby powder soft substance. The crazy thing is...this sand squeeked! Every single step made the same sound as when you step on hard packed snow after the temp drops below -20 degrees Celcius (look it up [The] America, it's time we grow up and act metric!).

After the run I took a dip in one of the largest bathtubs in the world: The gulf of Mexico. The surf was crashing in at a whopping 6 inches in 4 second sets and the riptide was pure death! Being a long shallow shore off of a beach full of aged and wealthy individuals fat off of over priced food, I went out and swam by myself.

When I got about 50 feet off shore (still only waist deep), I noticed that there was a mini school of minnow sized fish that were chill'in about a foot away from me at all times. If I jetted my foot out or threw my hand into the water, they would retreat at the same rate. I presumed that the little fellows were just using me as a big brother to not be consumed by bigger fish scared of my presence.

I dabbled around screwing with the fish for about 15 minutes when I noticed that all of the seagulls within about 200 meters of me were racing to an area of water about 60 meters down the shore. The seagulls were screaming like a 2am crowd trying to get a brawl from that oh-so-famous pushing stage to full on fists-a-flyin slugfest.

The water below the birds was popping like crazy too. A hurricane of turbulence was bubbling up on the surface, and 10-20 cm fish (silver with yellowish fins) were airing about a foot out of the water (the distance from my heel to the tip of my large toe, not that silly english unit).

This turbulance was moving towards me too...FAST!

50 meters...30 meters...10 meters! Holy crap this was coming at me fast and I was the only jackass in the way!

Looking into the water I saw schools of the minnows fleeing from the death jaws of the silver fish. The school was getting thick.

A couple minnows slam into me! Then more....and more...and MORE!

I would assume that 50-100 minnows gave themselves brain damage against my legs/waist in about 5 seconds. Then the silver fish raced past me (smart enough to avoid my solid shape). Hot on the silver fishs' tails (pun intended) were the seagulls.

I haven't seen the movie, but I'm sure this is what filming Alfred Hitchcocks's "The Birds" felt like. Each one gave little to no shit about me on their quests to catch fish.

Being the manly man that I am, I ducked down to avoid the certain death that contact with webbed feet would guarantee. Mini fish, small fish and birds have never scared me so much.

Side note: I'm also too scared to catch one of the may lizards outside of the hotel. Every time I go for one I feel like I'm going to crush the lil' guy like Lennie petting the rabbits in "Of Mice and Men".

Hopefully I'll man-up a bit when in Montana. And by man-up, I mean have sex with a 16 year old: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ages_of_consent_in_North_America

Stupid ass Florida...thanks for the heads up lawyer!

Learn Something Every Day

For instance: today I learned that you cannot put the convertible top down when the trunk is full of a coworker's luggage.


Tomorrow, I bet that coworker learns how much she hates me/broken glass...