In March I got a new job at a large university which I now fucking hate as you will soon find out. It was great cause they wore jeans and were really relaxed about everything (two of my top five desires for a place to work - number one being close enough to bike to, salary being a distant fifth, if that). After accepting their offer, which came in the form of an emailed pdf on stationary with a start date and salary, I waited to hear back from them. One week before I was due to start I was told to revise my resume to convince the HR department that I had the required experience. Difficult, considering I did not have the required experience. And this is despite the fact that the director of the center I would be working in wanted to, and did, hire me. So I did my best to elaborate on what was already in my resume, keeping in mind that the people I was trying to convince already had a copy of the first version of my resume. I had to be careful to achieve my objective without convincing them that I’m an unqualified liar. So the revised resume gets sent out and I don’t hear anything until two days before I’m due to start, the day of my going-away party at work, when I find out that the HR department would not approve my hire. Yes, that’s correct. After the big, catered lunch all for me that I couldn’t even eat because of a stomach bug, I got a call from the center saying that I did not have the job. Not to mention this was my alma mater I was going to be working for, you know, the university that I have two degrees from. Two degrees which I gave serious thought to shredding but decided that would eventually require that I pay that stupid fucking school even more money when I need copies of my diplomas.

Anyway, I have now found another job that pays slightly more but doesn’t seem as relaxed. Dress is business casual which blows cause I hate khakis. I’d rather wear a fucking diaper. I suppose I could wear both but what’s the point? I considered taking for lunch the first day a metal lunch box completely filled with Skittles. I figured I’d eat them with a spoon or chopsticks or something ridiculous like that. The problem is that this company I’ll be working for deals with product design and manufacture which is exactly what I want to do so I should probably take it easy for the first couple hours. Maybe I’ll just photocopy a sandwich and put that in a brown paper bag. I could photocopy everything, the meat, the lettuce, both slices of bread, and put it all together into a 2-D sandwich. Then take it out of the bag, unwrap it, pick up the top piece of bread and complain that there’s no mustard. Crumple the whole thing up and throw it away.

Today I ate some berries for breakfast, then a bag of Big League Chew and now I’m about to go get a Yoo-Hoo out of the vending machine. I’ll probably smoke a cigarette on the way home from work, too.

Let’s see, anything else, anything else…yoo-hoo…job…bitter hatred of degree granting university…photocopied lunch meat…nope. I think I’ve covered it.

While driving, I roll up my boogers till they are of flickable consistency then toss them on my floormats. I figure they become the problem of the guy who has to clean the mats when I have my car washed (about three times a year). Sometimes I flick them out the window but with the mysteries of aerodynamics you never know where those are gonna land. I have burns in my back seat from cigarettes unknowingly blowing back in the window after flicking them out of the car at high speed.

So what do you do with your boogers while driving?

I know a girl who has taken a tampon out while driving, out of herself - not the package, and thrown it out the window. And it’s not The Wandis.

I woke up this morning not really knowing where I am. It’s nothing new but then I remembered. I remembered how I had missed the last train to Dulles and had to get a ride from Henry and passed out at the airport when the tequila had run its course. It was cold…everywhere I slept there was an A/C vent.

I saw chimps killing each other on the airplane then Wandi told me to defend myself from crackheads when I got off the train. We went to the Mystery Spot and almost puked at the center of the spot. Vineyard and lots of drinking…then there was the whole gunshot incident. It was close, real close. My mind knew what it was but I just stood there looking at all the people ducking and hiding behind cars. That was 2 days ago…

Woke up yesterday and drank a 40 of OE with Greg…bad idea. After a couple more beers I went to make some margaritas but it was too bright and I needed my shades. Then there was Fatty/Mittens sitting there willing me to pet her. I have idea what happened and I passed out. When I woke up the BBQ party was going full tilt. The whole day was a blur and I would end up on the verge of passing out until I finally crawled into my sleeping bag sometime after 3am.

I woke up struggling to get out of my sleeping bag to piss and tried to avoid dutch ovening myself. All I can put down is some water and a smoothie. I’m about to unleash a shitstorm in the bathroom and blame it on Will/Bill.

Oh it’s gonna be a good birthday for the Wandi today. Also, she hasn’t punched anyone yet.

Let us here at the Waahmbulance mark the arrival of Wandi’s 30th year on this earth, in honor of the person whose non-stop complaining, drinking, racism, and misanthropy has kept this blog alive through the neglect of its other masters.

She remains reviled but yet beloved; full of small joys but spilling over with piss-tasting haterade; always up for a good time, and always down for a smoking whatever that is in your hand; a dried-up old bag, but like the Chicken Lady, so full of life.

Happy Birthday, Wandis! We love you!

Yesterday marked Marshall’s passage into his Jesus year. Yes, yesterday was Marshall’s 33rd birthday. So tell him to suckit and that you hope he dies at the hands of Romans (or Jews, however you want to believe it), only to be brought back from the dead so that cross-dressing nuns can mock him. Yaaaaay!

Put on by The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, the annual “Hunky Jesus Contest” in Dolores Park is just about the best way any atheist could ever hope to spend easter. And if sitting in a park watching transvestite nuns on a sunny Sunday afternoon tease a bunch of men dressed up as Jesus is wrong, then I don’t want to be right. Nope, the only thing I want to be is a transvestite nun.

Thirty more days until my big day arrives. Start making fun of the washed up hag now!!

Let’s say you met a girl in a bar when you were both pretty drunk. And let’s say that you ended up taking that girl back to your apartment. And then let’s say that while you were making out with this girl on the couch, she passed out. Cold. And you had to carry her to your bed and take off her shoes so she could sleep it off. Would you think this girl was pretty fucking awesome or what?

I just split my pants up the crotch while at work. As soon as I can get a camera I’ll post a picture with the story.

Ok, ok. I just got the camera from the operations department. I had to have an inmate bring it to me cause I can’t leave my office like this. Here’s what happened: I was trying to see what was on top of a shelf in the paper room. I stepped up onto three boxes of paper stacked. When I stepped down, which involved keeping one foot on the boxes while lowering the other foot to the ground (as opposed to just jumping off) I completely tore the seam in the front of my pants just below the fly. It was a terribly satisfying sound.

Super Fly.jpg
Superer Fly.jpg

My upstairs neighbor’s girlfriend has been visting from Ireland for the last month. And their sexual activity has both increased in frequency and volume over this time. I’m pretty fucking ready for this bitch to leave because if I have to hear her screaming one more time, I’m going to light the apartment on fire and leave them to die. And then she’ll really have something to scream about.