Going on Strike

Since the Hollywood screenwriter’s strike is still going on, I decided to start up my own little strike. You see, I hate doing laundry. Actually putting your clothes into the washer and dryer isn’t all that bad, but the folding part kicks my ass every time. Folding jeans, socks, and underwear aren’t all that bad, but t-shirts require a little more work and since I wear t-shirts to the bar every day there are a lot of them in a normal load. So last week Sunday I decided to stage my very own laundry strike. I picked out my favorite t-shirt, jeans, and socks and decided that I’d wear them to the bar for as long as I could. I’m proud (and slightly embarrassed) to say that that streak ended on Sunday. Yup, that’s right, I wore the same clothes to the bar for seven days in a row. Pretty fucking cool, eh?

While some of you might think this is totally disgusting it really wasn’t all that bad. Sure, everything was starting to smell like an ashtray by the seventh day but when you’re in a bar filled with smoke who’s going to notice? It’s not like I was doing anything that would cause me to sweat so there wasn’t any body odor, at least none that couldn’t be covered up with a little cologne. I can’t really comment on the socks. I have sweaty feet and I’m not sticking my nose anywhere close to those suckers. As long as I kept my shoes on I was good to go. Now all that I have in my laundry basket is work clothes and underwear.

Unfortunately I did the same thing with my workout clothes. I went to the gym four times last week. Usually I don’t sweat that much in the gym. I stick to the weights and don’t touch a cardio machine in fear of suffering a massive heart attack. While my gym clothes didn’t necessarily stink after the four workouts, they didn’t really smell all that good either.

At the end of the week I saved myself the task of doing laundry and folding six t-shirts, two tank tops, and six pairs of socks. And the winner of the 2007 Laziest Person in America award goes to…

Speaking of lazy, I bought 160 lbs of salt on Saturday. It’s not even Christmas yet and I’m sick of shoveling snow.

The funny thing is I bought my house because it was a block away from the corner bar. I got sick of slipping on un-shoveled sidewalks during the eight block walk to my apartment. Now I’m the one with the fucked up sidewalks. Lately it’s been snowing late at night. There’s no sense in shoveling before I go to bed because 1) usually it hasn’t stopped snowing yet and 2) I’m drunk. On the other end, I’m not a morning person. My alarm goes off, I hop in the shower, get dressed, get in the Jeep and get to work right at 8:30. There isn’t room in there for shoveling snow. Yeah, I suppose I could set my alarm a little bit earlier but screw that; doing any kind of exercise in the morning sucks ass. So I end up shoveling at around 7:00 at night after people have walked on the sidewalks and matted the snow down. Getting that matted down snow takes a lot of work and, well, I just don’t have that much ambition to get it clean. So I paid $20 for the 160 lbs of salt in hopes of getting that all cleared off.

I’d tell you how the weekend went but I don’t remember too much of it. Friday was uneventful. Saturday I called up Pops to see if he wanted one of those new sandwiches that Burger King has been advertising, the Homestyle Bacon Double Burger. That’s a damn fine burger and its reasonably priced ($5 with soda and fries). Pops and I enjoyed all of the 1,500 calories as we watched Chuck and Larry and Shooter. After that I stopped at Home Depot and picked up the salt. I got home, tossed some salt around and headed up to the bar. The Marquette/Wisconsin game was on but to tell you the truth, I can’t even remember who won (I think Marquette did). Around 8:00 some sick fucker started playing Christmas songs on the jukebox and it was just too much to handle. I got the Renter to take me to Wal-Mart to get a new pool cue and then it was off to the bar down the street that had five pool tables. I kicked her ass 5-3 with the brand new stick. Stopped at a place with cheap Southern Comfort drinks and called it a night.

I woke up at 11:30 on Sunday, just in time for the Packers game. As soon as I walked into the bar I was treated to “Boy, do you look rough.” But I’m a trooper and started on my first pitcher right away. The Packers played an excellent game and beat the Oakland Raiders (who looked like a college team, pretty sad). T-Bag and the other bartender stopped towards the end of the game. T-Bag got a kick out of how everyone was cheering the last Packers touchdown and there I was yelling “Win me $10!!!” I don’t like betting much on home teams so it was only $10 on the over. And I had actually taken the Raiders in hopes that they’d stay within 10 points of the Packers so I lost that one, another $10 wager. I did the same with the Steelers but the Patriots smoked them pretty bad. By the time that game started I was already a little loopy so the wager went up to $40. Thankfully I did the same with the Vikings game and they came through for me. After a couple games of pool and a couple more pitchers it was time to go. The afternoon games hadn’t finished yet so it had to of been before 6:00. I upped my last wager (Colts over) to $100 and walked out the door. That’s when the 13.75 hour hibernation started. I woke up once around 11:30 and flipped on the TV to catch the score of the night game (the Colts scored enough to put the total over by themselves). I went back to bed and slept the whole night through. After the weekend I had I think I needed it.

Oh, and whoever rang my doorbell at 9:30 Sunday morning, go ahead, try it again. You’re going to see me in my tighty whities next time. Fucker.