Monday, May 31, 2010
Me: Yeah, didn’t like it that much. Didn’t look like anything special.
FA: (jibber jabber about the fund’s outlook, insight, beta, meta, you get the point)
FA: Oh, we’re having a meeting about you this afternoon.
Me: Why me?
FA: The meeting is about company emails and what our representatives should and should not be sending in emails. It’s not like we have a problem or anything, kind of a mandatory training, but Cindy said she’s going to bring you up and use some of your emails as examples of what some of our clients send in.
Me: [pumping fist in air] Sweet! I can’t tell you how flattered I am! Having another company have a meeting about my emails?! Seriously?
FA: Yeah, Cindy saw the one from yesterday with the nine inches comment. She usually isn’t supposed to read my emails. We have a 22 year old intern that I have to send every email to so she can print it off and put it in your file.
Me: Every single email?
FA: Every single one. It’s so we have a record in case you were to say you sent in a buy order for $10,000 and the email read $20,000. We’d have that in the file.
Me: How thick is my file?
FA: I’d imagine it’s getting pretty big.
Me: Wait up, you have a 22 year old intern there?
Me: And you have to send her a copy of every email?
[typing in the background]
Email: So, FA, what’s up with this 22 year old intern at your work? Think you could set me up with her? Think she’d put out? Can you lie and put in a good word for me? I hope I still remember how that sex thing goes.
FA: You know we could put that fund in your Roth, maybe sell some of your large cap funds and… [reading the email] What the… What are you doing?! I just got done telling you I have to…
Me: [laughing louder than you should in an office environment] I KNOW!!!
I love giving the FA some shit every once in a while. But, now that I know his emails have to go past a 22 year old intern…
Thursday, May 27, 2010
% of net income
30.7% mortgage (including taxes)
2.5% extra payments on the mortgage
2.0% cell phone (puppy ate one)
1.0% heat (Renter will attest to that)
1.4% car insurance
2.1% Ashley furniture
3.0% credit cards at 4% rate
16.3% general spending (beer, gas, mostly beer)
The bottom line is I pretty much live off 60% of my net income. I know there are other costs that fall in there like new clothes and lumber for the new storage box but that kind of stuff doesn't happen too often. I also didn't figure in the 3-4 times a year that I'll drop $500 at the casino.
The balance sheet, on the other hand, is weighted a bit heavier on the liability side due to the house note. While I have shaved some off the bottom line with extra payments I still feel the need to pay more to get the balance reduced. Looking at the monthly statement and the principle/interest ratio is a bit gut wrenching in the early years.
The Renter once asked me if all I care about are my personal finances. After reading this boring post, what would you think?
And then I hear the Eddy Curry story:
Eddy Curry made a shade over $10 million this year as a member of the New York Knicks. Despite that enormous salary — and the fact that Curry has made more than $57 million in his nine-year career — the former No. 4 draft pick is seriously in debt. As the Associated Press reports, Curry defaulted on a $575,000 loan with an 85 percent interest rate, which can only happen in Nevada, and has been ordered to pay back $1.2 million to Allstar Capital Inc., the world's most ironic loan service.
However, Curry argues that he shouldn't have to pay off that debt, because he's spending too much money in other places. According to reports filed in the suit Curry's outgoing payments include:
• $30,000 a month for "household expenses.
• $17,000 a month to various relatives including his parents, sister and father-in-law.
• More than $1,000 a month for cable and satellite television.
• $207,000 a month in garnished wages that haven't been elaborated upon, but adds up to almost $2.5 million that Eddy Curry never sees over the course of a year.
• $350,000 to Juwan Howard.
Curry also owns 12 cars, three of which — a Rolls Royce convertible and two Land Rovers — may be taken by Allstar Capital, though Curry's lawyer says that they have reached "a mutually satisfactory resolution of the matter."
$1,000 for cable? What, does he have Tiger come over and order every porn available?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I had a lunch meeting where one of our supporters talked about how cleaning up neighborhoods make residents feel safe on their front porches. I won’t elaborate any more on that one either.
And then there’s my back porch. I live on a corner lot so my “back porch” is pretty much exposed to the street on the side of my house. Everyone can see what’s going on when anyone is out there. I feel safe on my deck. I’m not so sure my neighbors feel safe when I’m on my deck, not after last night.
Rich had Wednesday off from work. When he has off he tends to start early. When he came over at 5:30 you could tell he had a few in him. Absolutely would not shut up.
The puppy started barking at something in the back yard. I found it odd as she usually doesn’t bark at anything but other dogs walking on the sidewalk. I got up to see what it was and I saw a black cat lurking around the wood for the fire pit. Instantly Rich jumped up and ran home – to get his fucking pellet gun – all while I’m yelling at him not to get it.
The Renter quietly slipped into the house and got my BB gun. I stood up to provide a little cover from the neighbors who were having a party of some sort.
The Renter hit the cat but the BB gun doesn’t have enough power to do any damage so it just scampered off. No big deal. But then I see Rich running up the block with his pellet gun, in broad daylight. I heard one woman next door yell at her little girl to get in the house. To make matters worse he started pumping the rifle while he was in front of my neighbor’s house, great big grin on his face. By now at least two of the mothers at the party were in their front yard staring at him. He was disappointed the cat was gone. I was completely embarrassed for being associated with the neighborhood terror.
Five minutes later the two moms were still in the front yard looking at Rich. He stood up and yelled, “What?”
“Sit the fuck down and shut up, Rich!”
As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough as it was.
Monday, May 24, 2010
I had a couple pitchers at the bar. I don't think I've ever been so disgusted by a ball game before (except for maybe when I was playing in the game). I had just read up on Frank Lucas so I decided to pop "American Gangster" in the DVD playing and hang out with the puppy.
I have a 61" TV in the basement connected to two four foot tall speakers so it's a pretty decent setup for watching movies. I put a food/water dish together, grabbed a cooler filled with cold beer, carried the puppy down stairs and started the movie.
The Renter was working a wedding in the banquet hall at the bar so I figured I'd shoot her a text, one of those "ha, ha, you're working and I'm not!" deals. "American Gangster at home, shots of Dr.s, sweet." I got a response two minutes later. "Shots of Drs?"
From my dad. Apparently I sent it to him by mistake. Fuck. That wasn't the worst of the evening.
I've already established the fact that I was drinking beer and doing shots, by myself, in my basement. (And I'm single why?) I think I got halfway through the movie when I started to see double. Watching a movie when you have to squint to see it isn't that much fun so I cleaned up a little and went upstairs. I knew I had to pee but didn't think much of it. I took the puppy outside and right when she was peeing it started to hit me; I needed to get inside the house as soon as possible. I made it to the bathroom but, in my intoxicated state, couldn't for the life of me get my penis out of my shorts. I peed myself standing right in front of the toilet. (That why I'm single?)
If my clothes are on the bathroom floor something went horribly wrong the night before. When the Renter saw that there was no denying what happened. All my friends knew about it on Saturday. They debated whether I had a drinking problem or a peeing problem. Awesome conversation. I highly suggest everyone get drunk and pee themselves only to have a 30 minute debate about it the next day. Try it if you don't believe me.
Saturday and Sunday I spent building a storage container for all the canvas fold up chairs I have. I'm not much of a handy man but I figured it out with just a couple mistakes. First mistake was to make it out of 2x4s; the box is fucking heavy. Hopefully it will match the deck after I stain it.
And no, I did not get laid this weekend because of this blog. I'd be floored if that ever happened to Captain Pee Pee Pants here.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Email: I went through 750 Yahoo! Personals ads for Philadelphia today. I found six broads whose pictures I saved for some retro1995 beat-off sessions. You know, back when there wasn't free porn abundantly available on the internet and you'd grab the bra and panty ads out of the newspaper? (Actually, I still do that.) (And thank God for the internet, and free porn, and lube.) Anyways, all I could find were six girls I'd do - one of which was only included because she was holding a beer. Six! That's .8% of the ads I looked at! Starting to wonder what those hookers you were hunting looked like.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
This past Sunday though, man was it a doozy. It all started well before noon with a trip to the grocery store for some brats. When I got home just after noon I saw one of my friends had already dropped off some bloody mary mix. Should have tipped me off as to what was coming.
I put 16 brats on the grill, submerged in beer and spices. What better way to make brats than dowsing them in beer? I was "politely informed" by the Renter that this was not the correct way since she had four boxes of Mac & Cheese that were already ready and the meat was far from done. Mind you only two people had showed up and I was supposed to have the meat done. I'd tell her how stupid she looks when she blows her top in front of other people, and the snickering looks that I get, but it wouldn't make a difference.
If you have bloody mary supplies you have to have one, even if they aren't your favorite. Follow that up with 20 beers and a couple vodka cranberries and you're feeling quite well. I know I was. After two high stakes Texas Holdem tournaments the night appeared to slow down with half the crowd leaving. But that's when the shit fell through the ceiling. Beers were emptied at record pace. Wood was stacked mile high on the fire pit. At one point everyone was raiding he fridge for leftovers. Yours truly ate what was left of the four boxes of Mac & Cheese (prob = two boxes). At about 10:30 I mumbled something about going to bed and slipped into the house. Slept like a baby.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Then what's with the dreams of women playing with my junk? Yes, you heard that right, women willingly fondling my penis. That hasn't happened in a long ass time. The funny thing is, in these dreams, I don't think I'm paying them for it. It's like they want to do it, with a smile and giggle even. Sure, I've been known to flirt but I cut that relationship off well before any self-respecting woman would want to do the humpty dance with me (swear those one nighters are a thing of the past, or I'm not trying hard enough or staying sober enough till bar close). So what gives? I certainly am not looking for companionship in any way, shape or form (except for said one nighters). So, what gives?
Then I remebered. I forgot to whack off since Wednesday, four days in a row. Well, let me tell you, got that taken care of today, three times over.
Also, new favorite song of the past two weeks, Dreamz by G Love. Gotta love G Love, always packed at Summerfest. Check it out if you get a chance.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
That brings up another thing. While it's a great excuse I'm kind of glad I've never used it. Telling your boss you have to go home for the day (yey!) because you crapped yourself (boo!). What boss will make you stay after you give him/her that news flash?
The first person to arrive was the old roommate who had his bicycle out for the first time. Then Van and her man showed up followed by Willy B. Gollum arrived after his pool leagues were over. We had tacos that the Renter tried to kill us with by putting numerous jalapenos in the ground beef. All was well in the world (again, except for Greece but f'em).
But then, in the middle of the night it happened again. I couldn't find my way out of my bedroom.
See that picture? That's where I peed. Notice how close in proximity the door knob is. Seriously.
Renter: You're 33 years old, how can you not find your way out to pee?
I'm more along the lines of, "Hey, at least I made it over 30 days into year 33 before I peed myself!"
The night light goes on every night now.
It won't be the last time I pee myself.
Ladies,can you believe I'm single?
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
My first shots were understandably off to a degree. Off, low, short, left, right, you name it. After most swings I’d feel a twinge or a pull so I thought it might be a good idea if I’d actually loosen up a little. I mimicked the 65 year-old lady four stalls down from me, twisting my back and shoulders, getting them ready for some high velocity swings. When I was finally loose the balls started to fly fairly straight and true. With that out of the way I became determined to hit the green they had situated about 230 yards out. I pulled out my trusty 3-iron and swung away. I managed to reach the green a number of times before I swung one too hard, lost my balance, snagged my shorts on a nail that pulled them down and exposed my penis. Thankfully no one was looking and I rolled it back up into my shorts without incident.
But seriously, about halfway through my bucket of balls I noticed my ACL-less left knee was giving me problems. Being mildly unstable I found myself finishing my swing on my right leg, a definite no-no for a right handed golfer. Once I corrected the weight transfer I was getting beautiful shots down the middle of the range, some with my driver even (we’ve never seen eye to eye). But now I was putting a lot of torque/weight on my left leg and it couldn’t handle it. I picked up my bucket of balls and walked over to the 65 year-old lady, giving her what I couldn’t use with a wink. Hey, old ladies need emotional pick-me-ups too.
I don’t have visions of living till I’m 80. With my lifestyle, and with my luck, I’ll croak when I turn 59 ½. I’ve also always said, “If you can’t swing a golf club, what’s left?” Hence the doctor appointment I scheduled for next week. As scared as I am of another knee surgery I don’t think I can avoid it anymore.