The Stall

So last night, just hanging out, having a few beers at the bar. Normal Wednesday (I always frat hard). After about 4 beers and no dinner it was time to let the trouser snake breath. This is the point of the story where I need to you to visualize what I describe.

Walking into the restroom, there are 4 urinals directly in front of me. To the right, along the same wall, there are 2 stalls. I don’t know why they put those there because no one poops at the bar. Except, that one time at Galletts. It was life or death, trust me.

Back to the story. So, I walk in and I’m the only person in the restroom. I choose the urinal that is to the far right directly next to the stall. I chose this one because I am courteous and went to the furthest one down the line so no one has to walk past me as I hold my Cyclops. As I start to let loose and read the ad for a reality company, that clearly chose a random blond with fake boobs off the street for their ad, I hear the door open. I was there alone so I knew that it was no one I knew so I had no need to look over my shoulder. The guy takes 4 steps into the bathroom. Then he paused.

What the fuck was he doing. I started to strain hard. Pee splashing off the back of the urinal onto my hand because of the powerful flow I was producing. I didn’t care. I needed to get out of there. Then it got really weird.

Man law states that you must skip a urinal between users. Even if there are 3 urinals only 2 people can go at the same time (this means that 3 urinals are just as useful as 4, only 2 can go at a time). Well this mother fucker walks up and stands at the urinal next to me and unzips his pants. He stands there for about 2 seconds, zips his pants back up and walks behind me to go to a stall…I am tripping the fuck out. Was this some kind of secret code that let a man in the ceiling know that it was ok to jump out and pound me in the ass? The guy continues into the stall and begins to pee. Now, I have learned over the years there are 3 kinds of people you don’t trust.

1. First and foremost: Poor People
2. The man at the mall that says he will give you $7 if you follow him into the back hallway and show him your wiener (I should have seen that coming from a mile away. Oh well I was 21, young and stupid).
3. The guy that pees in the stall.

What the fuck is wrong with the stall guy. Did he have some crazy experience where a man peeing in a urinal killed his family back in 89? Was he the victim of wandering eyes? Or does he simply think that standing next to another man while touching your wiener is weird. What a loser. One of the best things about being a man is that I can talk to the man peeing next to me at a truck stop about the deal I can get on a CB radio. I can talk to the guy at the bar about that skank that just walked to her car alone and if I should follow. It is a beautiful thing. The man that pees in the stall is no friend of mine nor is his friend that is hiding in the ceiling.

So Much for Survival of the Fittest

The orthodontist said it was because your jaw was not wide enough. Your mom told you it was, “because you got your dads smile.” Your grandmother told you that no one even noticed. If you want the truth come to me.

I know why you had braces. Are you ready for the answer?

Bad breeding.

Somewhere down the line, you have a little bit of poor in you. Some more than others. You are probably blind to the fact that, due to you crappy genetics, you have several other very obvious features that let me know your family probably share cropped for my family:

1. Your facial hair is red. There are two problems with this. 1) Your hair doesn’t match 2) Besides Ron Howard, who has red hair and is rich?
2. You have hair that grows on your back. Questions?
3. You know that mousy kind of face that poor people have? Trick question! If you answered “no” you are poor and you probably have one of those mousy faces.
4. You are prone to sun burn. Jesus loves rich people so he allows them to become golden brown and beautiful. Is it a coincidence that hell is hot and poor people burn? I think not.


How does it feel now that you know your father(6) was a serf back when my father(6) was eating over sized turkey legs in his castle. NO….not the over sized turkey legs that you buy at the fair (I saw it in a movie once). The fact that you just thought of the fair is another sign you are poor.

Note: Glasses are acceptable. The print is very small in The Wall Street Journal.

You Can't Be Me

OK…before I get started, did anyone realize that they are now printing $100 bills with big faces on them. All of mine have small faces….weird.

So the other day I was walking around the grocery store while on the phone with the girlfriends sister…yeah, high five! We were talking about our careers and shooting the shit about what the other was picking up for dinner. Wondering around, I noticed that the South Charlotte store was full of FratStars.

Wha?

I will not be out done…every move I make is strategically planned to make me better than you. You will never be on my level.

Freaking out, I immediately looked down into my basket.

“Do I have any off brand food? Was that on sale?”

Not a chance. There is a reason California Pizza Kitchen makes a pizza….it is not because their frozen pizza taste better than the rest. It is strictly for image. That pizza is very similar to a Louis Vuitton bag in the mall. Yeah, any old bag would work. But news flash, IM NOT FUCKING POOR.

That is exactly the message that my pizza sends.

I continue to walk around. “Oh, great news, Burberry makes waffles. I’ll get some of those with Vineyard Vines syrup. Scratch that, no one wants to smell like the fat kid in elementary school (put the syrup back).”

As I check out I glance around at others in the checkout lanes (never use the self checkout line. Who uses the self check lane? All together now….POOR PEOPLE).

“Ha ha ha…that girl is buying Deer Park water.”

If it isn’t in glass or a square plastic bottle it doesn’t touch my hand.

Two lanes down a guy handed his keys to the check out girl. She scanned some plastic card that gave him discounts. I squinted to look harder. Nope, he was not 87. Therefore this is unacceptable FratStar behavior. Be 100% sure that if ever hand someone my keys I fully expect them to pull my fucking car to the door.

Now that I have given myself a chance to observe these fake fratters, I slowly begin to calm down.

I am better than them. They love me. They want to be me. All is right in the world.

Yeah, I Hate You Too

Oh Hey! There he is...the guy who brought the Olive Garden to-go box to work. I would like to thank you. You, sir, are yet another person whom I hate. I can just hear the conversation now.


Ass Clown from Work -"A to-go box? Sure that sounds super!"
Pimply face waitress named Fendi- "I'll bring that right out."
Ass Clown (in a joking voice )- "Bring out some more of those delicious bread sticks."
Fendi- "I love those too...I'll bring a few extra out for you to take home"

Actual Conversation:

Ass Clown- "Damn right I want a box. This shit cost me $6.99."
Fendi- "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Ass Clown-"I'll steal some bread sticks...I bet she would sleep with me"
Fendi- "Why the fuck did I not get an abortion? I could be in college."

So lets recap:

It is never OK to get a to-go box.

1. Nothing cost too much to leave behind.
2. You look like a fucking idiot carrying a box.
3. How many guys carrying a box have gotten laid.
( answer: NONE.)
4. There is a high probability that you are poor.
5. You are probably wearing a short sleeve button up. You saved enough money buying that douche bag shirt to afford another meal.

Reminder:

I hate you.

Tuesday Night

Everyday after work I get home and do the same thing. Sit on the couch, think about dinner and drink four fingers of Scotch. So tonight was just another boring night. After dinner I sat in the living room and watched a couple 16 year old girls jump around on mats and hug each other. It was amazing how their bodies could bend and flex. Their legs were able to reach high into the air with crane like balance. With every success I could hear the chant: USA! USA! USA!Their small frames allowed them to fly high into the air coming down to hit the perfect spot.

After that their parents picked them up and I turned the Olympics on.

Another Person I Hate

So its Friday again, after a week of strenuous work I have let myself relax, had a cup of coffee or two and just returned from relieving myself. While standing at the urinal staring at the tiled wall I had time to think (it takes a lot of time for urine to pass though my long urethra). Glancing down to make sure my aim was on, I noticed about 7 or 8 pubes just sitting on the rim of the porcelain waterfall…Granted this is not the first time for me to see this, this is just the first time I have given it any thought.

Who is this person that has pubes this long?
More so, how do they have such an abundance of pubes that they are bursting from their pants?
Is it the fact that they are so long and their weight so massive that their body can simply no longer hold on to them?

After at least 3 minutes of deep thought I knew exactly who it was, and I immediately started hating them. Are you ready? Ladies, you need to know this too. You don’t want a chance run in with sasquatch.

It is that guy who wears the fucking short sleeve button-ups every day. You know who I’m talking about. That guy that goes to Stein-Mart and buys every fucking item with a polo horse on it. It doesn’t matter at all that it looks like Big Bird took a shit on it then gave it to a bunch of blind 4 year-olds to color on. Congrats, you got a Ralph Lauren shirt for 6.99! The only reason that shirt was ever made is so people like me could easily identify you. Does it not occur to you that it is located in the back of the store, on a rack that includes silk shirts that have dragons on them, for a reason? Why even buy a button up shirt that has short sleeves in the first place. It is like buying a BMW without leather….”Yeah, high-five you drive a BMW”…fast forward 10 min…”my legs are itchy”…..You are ultimately going to be upset with your purchase and everyone will see you for the douche bag you are. So do us all a favor, next time you want to spend your lunch money on an a gay shirt, think to yourself, “are my pubes getting too long?”

Writers note:

There are too acceptable occasions to wear a short sleeve button-up:
1. You are Mormon going door to door giving away bibles.
2. You are a mailman

Letter to my Future Self

Sometimes I lie awake late at night and wonder about the future. Where will I be? What job will I have? What will be the name of my robot dog? These are a few of the questions that scare me the most. I have decided to write my future self a letter. Being that the interweb is going to be around forever, I figured that posting it here would secure the fact that future Patrick reads it.

Dear Future Patrick (2011),

Let me start this letter by saying no, you are not gay, even if you did happen to finish at the same exact time they zoomed in on the male porn stars face. It was once....and they tricked you. Now that we have that out of the way......

So right now I'm dating this chic "J".....yeah I know, 1987....I bet you're dating some chic that was born in like 1995 (learn from the past, check her ID). Is she a freak? E-highfive! We are amazing. Is sex the same on the moon? Is zero gravity a form of birth control? WHO CARES we never use that shit anyways.

I'm sure you have a really awesome robot dog that that cooks chicken pot pies for you all the time. Man I love chicken pot pie....I guess you know that though. Is it illegal to have sex with a robot dog in the future? Just wondering.

I bet you make tons of money now. I have a little suprise for you. Here in my time (2008) I put about $157 into an off shore savings account. By offshore, I mean that I gave it to a guy in the Bahamas to hold and invest. I'm sure he has been making that money work for us. His contact information is as follows:

Goff Ukyurself
+ 001 911-867-5309

YOU'RE WELCOME.....we're loaded now I'm sure.

Well you are probably busy doing something really cool. Can't wait until I'm you.

Best,

Present Patrick (2008)

PS. If you could write back I'd really like some confirmation on that whole porn accident thing....It only happens once right?

The American Dream

So I lived though my birthday. Nothing really eventful happened. Just a normal weekend of:


1. Drinking large amounts of tequila
2. Going to an 80’s bar
3. Getting a lap dance
4. Dumping J

5. Sleeping on the floor next to my bed

I don’t understand…why would J get all weird about me getting a lap dance…I’m just sitting there minding my own business when some naked girl is straddling me. I did not ask her to do this. Who am I to tell her to leave. I am a nice guy and after all, I am at her business establishment. Who knows, she could be from a foreign country and this may be a custom of theirs. I sure don’t want to look like an unlearned American. She may have noticed my import beer and thought that I was from her country…It would have been really embarrassing for her if I had interrupted. Now that I think about it, she probably was foreign. I couldn’t understand a word she said, she wore some sort of tribal loin cloth and when we gave her a $5 bill she looked at it confusingly and gave us some hand signal. This girl is probably a scholar of some sort, realizing that I am a very smart gentleman, she wanted to greet me in the fashion they use in her homeland. It was such a multicultural experience. I expanded my knowledge of the world and myself.


This brings me to the reason I had to dump J. I was appalled at how narrow minded she could be. I could not possibly be with someone who was so judgmental of others customs. She does not know EVERY European custom. She simply closed her mind to the learning experience when this nice young lady went over to her and tried to greet her as she did me.

Though I am not sure that this is exactly what happened; I am pretty sure. Being the forgiving soul that I am, the next morning I acted like I completely forgot about dumping her (I didn’t want it to be awkward and I couldn’t bear to watch her cry for hours). As a matter of fact, I acted like I forgot large portions of the nights events. But what I do remember is giving one glistening star of a girl, a shot a life in America.

15 Days to Live

I was just informed by my friends that my life will be ending in 15 days. I have started to compile a list of things I need to do before my final day…strangely enough, on my list of 10 things, #’s1-5 and #8 all have something to do with my penis…weird.

What‘s a man to do once he turns 25. I imagine that on that day, as the clock strikes midnight, my balls will gain 827 new wrinkles and Matlock will be my favorite show. On the upside, if I crap my pants it really isn’t that big of a deal, old people do that.

I have noticed that hangover’s last a little longer and hurt a little more….I TiVo stuff that may run past 11PM…and worst of all, I use the phrase “yeah, they’re about our age” when referring to someone who is 30.

I have a few options. I could grow a ‘stache like Burt Reynolds, I’m pretty sure he stopped aging years ago, or I could go into full denial and start telling people lies about my high school football days.


Either way, I guess I should get started on my list:

#1. Find one Asian boy………..

Dillard's

Welcome to Friday bitches. Right now it is lunch time and as I sit in my office I look out the window and wonder…..did I scuff my K-Swiss’ last weekend…? I sure hope not ‘cause if I did I won’t be able to holla at the Shawtys tonight. Wait a tick…I really don’t even know what a Shawty is. I don’t even own a pair of K-Swiss’, though it seems that everyone else in Charlotte does.

My point:

Going out in Charlotte is getting really old. I see the same skanky girls every weekend…

I don’t even know how you would approach a girl like this…I’ll give it a shot:

Me-“hey that is a really nice backless shirt….Dillard’s?

Skank-*blank stare*

Me-“Yeah…this bar is great…cold beers (chuckle, look around like I hear someone call my name)

Skank-*blank stare*

Me-“ My friends are here somewhere…..Oh, hey!...You should go to Dillard’s this week…I saw a commercial and I think they are having a sale…”

Skank-*walks away*

Me- (thinking to myself) “yeah, that went well….she is going to be pleased that I told her about that sale”

Same bar…same scene every weekend…The only plus is that I do live directly across from the frattiest location in Charlotte. The only problem is that I live directly across the street... Got old very quickly…

Now that I think about it a little more…I’m not really sure if I am tired of the same bars or if I am just mad about the fact that my girlfriend doesn’t own a backless shirt. I may just buy her one.

Satin Sheets

I sleep on satin sheets…….the thing is…..I have no excuse as to why I bought them. I sleep alone every night. Though I wish I was, I am not Christian Troy and I am not gay. What is wrong with me…when picking them out I even thought about the colors in my room to see if they would match. Satin sheets are only acceptable if they are red. I bought gold.

For the first time in my life I own jeans that cost over $100 and get this, they are pre-faded . I own vertically striped shirts. Charlotte is slowly killing me. Next thing you know I will have gel in my hair and think it is acceptable to wear a t-shit and a sport coat with jeans and clean sneakers. I have seen guys in the bars that have shirts on with clever sayings like “I cuddle after” and “I spoon for poon”. These people should be sterilized.

I find myself holding my breath a lot. I don’t want to catch poor. These people are all clearly infected and spend every dime they have on stuff they saw on MTV.

NEWS FLASH….your name is Allen Westerson and you are from Pennsylvania. You are not friends with Timberland or Justin Timberlake. You live in an apt that you rent for $400 a month with your friends. You have to drive 30 min to get uptown. I know you probably work someplace in the mall….maybe Pure Denim or Neiman Marcus. You tell girls you are in Sales Marketing.

Stop spreading whatever disease you have. I don’t know if I can handle more than satin sheets and expensive jeans.

Sexy

Do you know the definition of sexy? Sexy is when she has to take sips of your drink because she has “X’s” on her hands. Sexy is when she gives you money at the date party because she can’t buy drinks at the bar. Sexy is when she cries because you won’t let her teddy bear sleep in the bed with the two of you anymore……uhhhhh……forget the last one…..I meant to say I know a guy that thinks that is sexy……

21 year olds can be sexy.

If I pretend she's 18….

I lived vicariously though my girlfriend for the past year and a half. I could still experience the excitement of, “does it matter that my eyes aren’t blue” and “oh shit the cops are here”.

I watched her turn from 19-20 and then 20-21…I didn’t like it one bit. How am I supposed to impress the guys now…..sure 1987 may still sound cool but the fact of the matter is she can now do everything I can do...except pee standing up and experience the fun of a random boner at work. Other than that we are equal. She can drive and vote (yeah, still not happy about the government letting women do those). She can buy tobacco and beer and if she wants a hand gun, game on.

I don’t know what I’m going to do when people ask what year she is in school and I have to say SENIOR. I could bind her feet like the Asians do to make them stop growing and her appear younger. I know, from now on when I am around she has to wear her HS senior class shirt.

Day 413

Buckle up. Today we leave my small cubic world and address the meaning of a Tuesday night date. Now I’m not speaking of the first time Tuesday night drinks after work. I am talking about the Tuesday night dinner with a prior shack up in the books. I’m talking about consciously making an effort to engage in conversation and pay for dinner knowing full well that it is Tuesday, you will not be drunk, and this person is not spending the night.

I need to preface this by stating that I am not referring to myself. I am way too cool to have a Tuesday night date or to have a date period. I like to keep my evening agenda empty. You never know when the bikini team is going to stop by the apartment to pick up their oil boy…..I rotate girls by the hour…sitting down for dinner just ruins the flow….YEP all a lie. I have a girlfriend. But a guy I know…………

What I am going to do it take you through a 360 degree examination of the Tuesday night date.

Let’s start with the fact that a Tuesday date requires planning. This is lame on all accounts. Unless you are going to date the chic exclusively and you believe the “I don’t usually do this” story, it is never ok you plan an early week date.

Point number 2: You are volunteering for at least 2 hours of sober (it’s Tuesday) conversation and all you have to talk about is what you don’t do at work. Unless you juggle chainsaws or work at the animal shelter, she doesn’t care.

Point number 3: Tuesday night says, “I’ll go out with you early in the week so I can save my good date for Friday night. Oh yeah, If I see you at the bar, let me come to you”.

Point number 4: I am not saying that this is the only reason that guys go on dates, but let’s face it, it matters: She is not going to be shacking on Tuesday. End of story.

Let’s recap:

You pay
Sober conversation
She has a better date later that week
Your fingers are going to stay dry

The good news:

Busty Cops XIV comes on Cinemax at 1:30 AM

Day 399

I have news. No longer will I occupy the same cube until the end of time. I am moving to a different floor and bringing with me a new job title. Analytics Manager, all in your face bitch. Yeah…that’s right…I own you now. If I come visit your company they will probably give me your parking spot for the day. It’s ok…my family is rich.

Some people around the office have made comments as to how I got the job….”he knows the owner of the company” or “he gives a good hand job”. Whatever, though both are true, neither has anything to do with the promotion. To be honest, I think word had been getting around that I play a mean ass game of Shoots and Ladders and no one wanted to step up. I guess we will never know why, but we can speculate. Below I have provided a list of why I may have gotten a promotion:

1. I smell amazing
2. I own every Ninja Turtle VHS
3. I used to have lights in my shoes
4. I started masturbating in 3rd grade
5. I can hold my breath for well over 27 seconds
6. I write my name in all caps

These are just a few possibilities. If you need me, I’ll be in a meeting.

Day 391

Alright Alright, ladies and Gentleman, all the way from California….putting the rice in your roni…on stage 3...its MONDAY!….be sure to tip the girls and your waitress….

Yes folks Monday is a stripper!

You don't agree?

OK, let me break it down for you…think about it this way…Saturday is equivalent to walking into the strip club….yeah flashing lights, great times, and oooooo they have a drink special….your palms are a little sweaty because this is all so dangerous. You are alive and have no cares in the world…who knows what could happen.

Cut to…jump ahead…its Sunday…Yeahhhhhhh, sitting down…you have good seats you relax a little…this is going to be great…yeah I think I went to high school with that girl…isn’t that her mom too? Anyways….the girls are so close and they are all perfect 10’s. Yeah Sunday has never moved so smoothly and looked so good…..

Then SLAP….its Monday…you have a $140 tab….you have a stain on your pants….. and Monday is sitting on your lap with her crooked smile right in your face….there is no way out…..you knew it was coming the whole time…..this happens every time and it is impossible to stop. You sit and bear it while you all of your dignity and self respect is pulled from your body with one slimy tongue to the neck…..did you just get a visual?

Maybe next weekend I’ll just go salsa dancing.

Day 387

It's 8 AM here on the East Coast and I feel like I have eye lids made of lead…..not because they are a soft metal with the atomic number of 82….but because I can barely keep them from slamming down every time they are opened….

Are you ready for this?... Last night was AMAZING and totally worth my exhaustion….Here it goes….I got off work at around 5:15ish and went home…I was so pumped…I had been waiting all day for this….I knew I had a big night ahead so I jumped into bed for a quick 1 hour nap….I was going to need my energy….After waking up I made a small dinner….not too much….I didn’t have time….This is the part where you might think, “HOLY CRAP…..this kid is extreme….” Well let me tell you sir….I am but a man made of flesh and bone just like yourself….I gathered my supplies….There would be no time to get them later….Walking with the confidence of Iapetus the Titan; father of Atlas, Epimetheus, and Prometheus, I sat down on the couch and for the next 2:48 I watched Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At Worlds End…….WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME…..How am I ever going to keep pace with my 20 year old lady friend….I call when I’m getting in bed and 9 times out of 10 this is how the conversation goes…..

PP: Hello my lady and what might you be doing at this hour of the evening
JF: WHHAATTTTTT....I CANT HEAR YOU…….JAGER BOMBS……I AM SOOOOOO DRUNK
PP: I was calling so that we might have a conversation about tax reform or foreign policy
JF: I can’t feel my face..hahaha….I just remembered that I forgot to put panties on tonight...oops!

The only reason I don’t run as fast as I can into a brick wall is because I know that people like you just read this so you must not have anything really exciting going on either.

Day 384 of the Rest of My Life

I really pondered the possibility of starting a blog....who wants to read about my life in a 7 X 6 cube?......this is more for my sanity than your enjoyment so deal with it....

The title says it all......I have been stuck in a cube for 384 days so far...(less the weekends)......but don't feel sorry for me, I am in love.....she is thin and black and loves when I push all the right buttons...I call her Dell-icious or Dell for short.....though she doesn’t say much, she doesn't need to.....all day long she lets me touch her in ways no others do.......9 hours a day we just stare at each other as my fingers do the work.....we have something special that no one can take away....Here is a run down of my day.....

8 AM: The short walk into the building from my parking spot is the time that I take to get "pumped" for the day.....Walking though the door I give Veronica (recently divorced) a wink....she is always wearing a very low cut shirt and can't seem to keep her pencil from dropping out of her hand as I walk by....We make small talk as she bites her bottom lip and hands me my files for the day.....I fight to make eye contact.....[OK, I totally made that up in hopes that you would keep reading.......Veronica, is in fact, a middle aged black man that waves to me as I walk by...if he bit his bottom lip while talking to me I would probably start to cry. The low cut shirt part is 100% factual.] After hanging my coat I make my rounds though the office and high five everyone I see....I AM BMOC......Yeah....I did close 3 deals yesterday and I'll probably do 4 today.....

9 AM: I sit down with Dell and we begin to flirt.....I turn her on right away....I can tell because she starts glowing.....FACE TIME! Yep, time to check the mini feed.....ooooo looks like someone posted pictures....I can go ahead and pencil that in for around 2pm......Because of how cool I am, it usually take about an hour to write back to all the wall posts I have....don't rush me bro....gotta keep this shit witty.

10 AM-12 PM: This is where it gets good.......Crunch time baby.........I run reports that are completely unnecessary......but it looks damn good.....I have all kinds of useless info over here.....you need a pie chart? I have 2!......what about a bar graph.....yeah I can work one of those in there.......I always look busy.......Name repetition, quickest way to the top.At about 12 I start pre-gaming for lunch.....yep, I have my visa.....just incase someone broke into my apt, walked into my room and took it out of my pants pocket and was nice enough to replace my wallet...you never know......After arranging my pens and post-its I have a solid 29 minutes to decide what horrible chain restaurant I will be visiting......the choice is usually made by deducting what places wont make me hope that no one smells that later.

2 PM: OK, back from lunch......just kidding...I really don’t take 2 hour lunches but I do stretch my hour every once in a while...ohhhh....hell yeah it is 2 o'clock time to check out those newly posted pictures......with any luck I'll see some side boob...I wont bore you with the rest of my day....but this is about as exciting as it gets.....is this really what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life....maybe I will purchase a hermit crab to keep in my pocket.....that would keep it interesting....I could always liven up the day by building a paper clip chain or use my electric letter opener to make confetti....or I could gouge my eyes out with a Sharpie....I have options