We got hosed, davey
Today's blog post touches a somber note, as I and nearly 300 compatriots at these here offices have been given the velvet boot.
In my case, it was not a surprise and so I was not only prepared for my departure but, now that it has happened, am actually somewhat glad: at least now i have a legitimate excuse for drinking to excess (rather than the standard "why does a dog lick its balls" defense.)
But what i want -- and what I hope -- now that the hammer has, as they say in Germany, fallen, is that the silver lining that accompanies every major shock -- from 9/11 to Katrina -- makes its appearance once again: tragedy goggles, those wonderful metaphorical bits of ocular equipment that make a person see a stranger or casual acquaintance in a bar or on the street -- and this for days after the fateful event -- and say to themselves, "what the hell" -- and so they share a bottle, a bed, and a memory to, as the country song goes, "help me make it through the night."
It's not a noble sentiment and not one I'm even going to pretend to be proud of (not to mention, any pity points I might have scored are probably out with the bathwater right about now).
But I figure, fuck it: If God wants me do to otherwise, he’ll score me a job.
Today's lesson: Any one with a mop and bucket just lying around, untended in their office, please email the author.
In my case, it was not a surprise and so I was not only prepared for my departure but, now that it has happened, am actually somewhat glad: at least now i have a legitimate excuse for drinking to excess (rather than the standard "why does a dog lick its balls" defense.)
But what i want -- and what I hope -- now that the hammer has, as they say in Germany, fallen, is that the silver lining that accompanies every major shock -- from 9/11 to Katrina -- makes its appearance once again: tragedy goggles, those wonderful metaphorical bits of ocular equipment that make a person see a stranger or casual acquaintance in a bar or on the street -- and this for days after the fateful event -- and say to themselves, "what the hell" -- and so they share a bottle, a bed, and a memory to, as the country song goes, "help me make it through the night."
It's not a noble sentiment and not one I'm even going to pretend to be proud of (not to mention, any pity points I might have scored are probably out with the bathwater right about now).
But I figure, fuck it: If God wants me do to otherwise, he’ll score me a job.
Today's lesson: Any one with a mop and bucket just lying around, untended in their office, please email the author.
Labels: crazy ideas, drinking, on the subject of 'Me'
posted by Generalissimo Juan Flores at 2:47 PM
I just found out in one week I am going to be unemployed again, but I still get to collect and have a great freelance job- but we should definitely go drinking during the day when you are done. I miss sleeping in and working on my own hours.
Sorry to hear it, dogg. As Tupac says, keep ya head up.
Sorry 'bout that, HJ. Wanna go get fucked up?
HJ. Sorry to hear it. Still owe you many drinks, etc. Though hopefully your BAC is somewhere north of 30% right now, when it dips below critical level, I'll be glad to refill.
Drink up, buddy. Sorry to hear.