There's no limit when you're contantly winning. Part II

Read part 1 here

I'm out the door by 7:45, stomach full of a home made cure trying to kill the violent toxins that still resonate in my stomach from the night before, eager to get through the day without any hiccups.

Hailing a cab at 7:45am during rush hour, downtown, is a challenge to say the least. Hailing a cab with a massive hangover, tucking my shirt in with my coat hanging in my mouth, is a whole different level. The streets are filled with busy bodies shuffling to and from, I can smell the street venders pushing out their meals to the work force, and listening to the lines of traffic honking horns, squeeling tires, and loud engines are escalating the growing migraine. I pop another Advil in my mouth and it goes down with ease. The sky is drizzling rain, finishing up its morning shower. It brings out a pungent smell of the city; a mixture of exhaust fumes, food, coffee, cigarettes, and wet asphalt. The smell of home, not such a bad one after all.

Luck is on my side this morning apparently; an empty cab stops in front of me not after 5 minutes of standing on the sidewalk, thank god. Coat still in my mouth, I hop in. "I need to get to 7th and Grande as quick as possible." The cabby looks back at me, eyes blank with a look on his face that can only mean he's heard that from every fare before me this morning. "No problem buddy, 'ts all 'bout the movement of the herd, traffic's gotta get goin' here any minute", his accent is thick, not very distinct. All cabbies that don't have turbans on their head sound like they are from some where different each time.

Traffic drudges along slowly and my watch shows I am late, 8:00 now. This isn't the first time I am late, but that is just the issue. Enough tardiness and absences will lead up to negative attention, that's not something I can afford. I am strangely responsible when it comes to work, usually good about being on time and banging out the day with ease, but these days and in this job market I can't afford to have any attention other than occasional nods from piers and small talk about the progress in our department. 8:06.

8:13am: The cab pulls over, we have arrrived at 5th and Grande finally. I throw the cabby $20, tell him to keep it, and hustle my ass towards the doors of the Pier 9 building.

By 8:20 am I am clocked in and sitting at my chair, computer whizzing awake and waiting for me to bang at it's keys for the next 8 hours. Within a few minutes though my body reminds me about all the liquids I sloshed down my throat before I got to work. I get up and turn around to make my way to the bathroom when I see Jim barreling down the hallway, a very familiar act for the both of us indeed. Unlike him though I was dressed completely when I got to my desk. His ruffled up shirt and undone shoe laces showed lack of commitment. Amateur!

"How ya feeling?" I asked sarcastically, half expecting a middle finger or some sort of snide remark, instead he looked at me with a smirk like he just robbed a leprechaun of his precious treasure and then crippled him with a baseball bat. "Either you got laid, or the bonds that your grandmother got you when you were 14 just matured and you can buy that Walkman you always wanted."

Jim gives me a "Ha-Ha, Fuck you." as he throws himself into his chair. "But last night was inane! What happened to you? We were all sitting at the bar and then you just ducked out without a word, do tell."

To be continued...

And that's why Kanye is a gay fish.

Landlords suck a whole range of farm animal cock.

Allow me to pass along some fucking advice that you will never need: Don't ever rent an apartment that is also up for sale. Because in the lease agreement that you sign, there will be a part in fine print that states the renter has to allow people inside of said apartment to view it at any time, given a reasonable heads up.

Fuck that, what bullshit! I have to clean up the mess in order to hide the fact that I like to live like a homeless schmuck who drinks in excess and is lazy to the point of being borderline pathetic. Once a week, twice a week sometimes I have to go through this routine of "tiding up the apartment". That's an annoying chore that doesn't fit my life style, at all. That's what you get for having a redcoat as your landlord, those fuckers just want everything.

There's no limit when you're contantly winning.

RRRIIIIIIIINNNNGGG!!

RRRIIIIIIIINNNNGGG!!

"Gahh, FUCK!! Turn it off!!" I screamed as I woke in a violent rage that almost hulred my body out of my bed and on to hardwood floor. I quickly realized that I had to be at work, sitting in my oak wood chair, staring at the computer screen, in about 45 minutes.

"No sweat", I thought to myself as I rose up out of bed, only to come crashing back down in shear pain that would cripple even the strongest of the modern day Vikings. My head felt like it was about to explode. My vision resembled that of a camera man's live video feed during a battle in Iraq. My arms felt week and sore. When I moved, my back responded like I slept on top of a jagged steal sculpture of what an artist's rendition of an epileptic seizure is.

Let me tell you a little something about partying like I party. You see, it's not unusual that on a Tuesday night I decide that it's in my best interest to indulge in a little late night debauchery. The problem is, I get so caught up in having a great time that I forget about the evils of society and the horrible shit that makes its wheels turn... like jobs and having to get up early to keep them. The other problem is what I refer to late night debauchery, others might go as far as to call it a failed attempt at suicide by alcohol abuse, intravenous drug use, and sex with women that I do not know. Whatever... potato, patato.

45 Minutes? I got this. I just need to man up. And by "man up" I mean I need to go in to the kitchen and drop two Alkaseltzer in a tall glass of cold water, run the pot of coffee, take a shower, get dressed, down the fizzing white water with 2 Tylenol, B-12, 500mg of C, and proceed to drink the coffee... all in that exact order. This can be my daily routine numerous times a week. Silly, sick, and if you are dick about it, "suicidal", I know.



To be continued...