Thursday, August 19, 2004

Return Of The Badonkablogger

Sweet jesus. Nothing like going to the DMC on someone else's tab. I do some work for the guy who owns the building next to there. He's going with a bunch of his boys and I got invited because I ran into him. Getting a VIP pass there isn't too difficult. I have one, but the difference between him and I though is he gets real VIP treatment. He'll probably drop 20k there on Saturday, fortunately he can afford to do that. All rules are off when he goes there.

I guess that means no boating this weekend. It looks like it might be shitty anyhow.

I haven't been there in a while. Last time I was there was scouting for a friends bachelor party. Most of the girls there will do a 2 or 3 girl show for the right price. That was back in November I think? I don't know why I don't get there more often, it's one of those places that I just don't think about.

One question I always think about is why strippers feel the need to get bad tattoos? If you're going to ink your body for the rest of your life, spend the damn money and get someone worthwhile to do it. Same thing goes for implants. Don't go for the bargain $2000 job. It feels like Friday, probably because I started hitting the Stoli in my drawer already. I wonder what HR would think if they came into my office and caught me drinking Stoli in the office. They have no argument if I go out to lunch and have a few cocktails with a client, but for some reason I think it's frowned upon to have one here at work. I bet if you went into most of the offices you'd find a stash of alcohol, or probably worse. Everyone has their vice, I just hapeen to have about ten of them.

On The Badonkablogger

This weather sucks. I feel like I haven't had a summer. It's been like that the past two years. The year before(Summer 2002), was great though. My therapist tells me to go tanning when the sun doesn't come out and in the winter time. Something about the UV rays that perk me up. I'd like to perk her up. She's kind of cute in an intellectual sort of way. I met her a long time ago at one of the bachelor auctions. She was sitting at our table and was friends of a friend. We went out once, but it didn't feel right. She makes a good therapist though. I can't imagine she would want anything to do with me anymore knowing how fucked up I am. She didn't even want to be my therapist because she knew me on a personal level. I told her that if she didn't do it, I probably wouldn't go to anyone else. She had pity on me and took me in. I'm supposed to open up in the sessions. I think if I opened up completley, she'd fall off her chair. Part of the problem is I know what the problem is, and therefore know the answer. So it's more of just a chat session that she makes a lot of money for. I could probably go to a church confessional and get the same treatment for free.

The stripper I had a case of stripper love a couple weeks ago called me. Talk about a shocker. I didn't expect that. She talks a lot. I guess that comes with the territory. She sounded nervous though. She prefaced the conversation with "I wasn't sure if you really wanted me to call or if that was the alcohol talking". I told her it was probably a combo of both. She's only 21 and has an opinion on everything. If the weather is good this weekend I told her she should come out on my boat. I'll have to make sure that I have a few other people there. Nothing sucks more then when you're stuck 1 on 1 with a person with no escape. With my friends there I can have them throw her overboard if she gets annoying.

I finally saw who has that giant ass boat in the dock. It's that wheel-chair lawyer on tv!!! Holy Yacht is that thing big. Being an ambulance chaser must pay a lot better then what I do. I bet though if he could put a price on being able to walk and have all his faculties, he'd trade it all in, in a heartbeat.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Gone With The Badonkablogger

Yesterday was a busy ass mess. Met with clients all day. Explain to them every little detail of what we're trying to do for them and protect them from. I don't know why I complain though. I get paid all the same. People are a pain in the ass to deal with though. That's my introverted side. My extroverted side rarely comes out anymore. It's given up hope of finding intelligent life with a five mile radius of me at all times.

Here are some things that bug me a lot lately while driving.

When someone stops at a red light and they don't pull up all the way to that white line. Why do you leave enough space for two cars in front of you? So you don't strain your neck looking up at the light?

People who try to merge onto the highway at 20mph. I'm going to run your ass over if you pull in front of me doing 20mph while Im doing 70.

Worst of all. Left lane rangers. They are the scourge of the earth. I'm the asshole who flicks my brights at you and swerves around you to cut you off when you won't move. Get the fuck out of the fast lane! I bought a programmable scrolling LED license plate for my car. I've got 5 messages in it. It can only store 5.

"Get out of the fast lane asshole!"
"Turn your brights off asshole!"
"Ride my ass a little closer and I'll slam my brakes on asshole!"
"Quit picking your nose, everyone can see you!"
"I'm 6'2", 210. You wouldn't stand a chance!"

I've had fun with that thing, its theraputic. I used to stress in my car all the time. Now, I know they get my message, and it's quite satisfying.

I had to put the last one in, because I cut some guy off and gave him the 1st message. He followed me for 20 miles until we got to a restaurant. My date was freaking out thinking he was going to shoot me or something. I calmly got out of the car and went to her side to open her door. Once he saw me he drove off. He looked like a little guy, probably 5'7", 160lbs or so. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a fighter. I'm a lover. But people always liked to start fights with me. Especially the little guys. I used to be really skinny, so it was to my benefit to put on 30lbs. Thank god for home gyms, because I hate working out anywhere else.

We've got a gym in my office and in my condo. Really nice ones, precor cardio equipment, lots of free weights and pretty much everything else. But, being the introvert, I prefer to work out alone. I've got a 3 bedroom with a loft, overlooking the city and old steel plant. The loft serves as my home gym and when I'm done I can go out on the deck and relax in the hot tub. I know what you're thinking about the hot tub. Egg drop soup. No way... Im germophopic too. No sex in the hot tub. In the event it does happen the pool man gets a call to empty it, sanitize it, and re-fill it.

I like the Precor elliptical machine, but my brother who's a P.T., says the angle on the old models is bad for your knees, and said the Life Fitness line is better. So I bought the X9 model. Slick machine. I've got the individual dumb-bells because Im too lazy to switch plates on the other ones. 10lbs up to 75lbs. Rubber edged ones with nice grooves on the handle. Very easy to use.

I used to have this pro-spot fitness machine, but the electronics on it kept locking up. Sold that and now I just have a 3 stage machine with a smith machine built into it. Pretty much covers everything. I don't do much on the machine other then lats and using the smith part when its stuff you'd normally want a spotter for. I probably should have figured out what the max load up in that loft is. Someday everything is probably going to go crashing through the floor and onto me while I'm sleeping. Hopefully someone will be with me and they'll be on top to soften the blow.

Thinking of someone on top has me now thinking about sex. I used to think that women in their early and late 30's were the wild ones. It seems like it used to be that way. Anymore though, these young 20 something ones are wild. It's like a new revolution or something. It's sheik for them to be bi. Nothing wrong with that. I love it. The seem as commitment-phobic as I am, and almost materialistic as I am. There is something nice to be said about waking up next to a pretty, petite, naked woman. I can't help remember this time when I had been seeing this girl for a few weeks. I knew it was time to call it quits when before she got into bed, she starting pressing her boobs. I asked her wtf she was doing??? Turns out she has to "massage" her implants twice a day. What a rigorous routine that must be. I love implants, but I don't want to know that much about them.

Monday, August 16, 2004

Badonkablogger Glen Ross

Ok, I'm back from lunch. I've mentioned before that I'll never be a partner. One of the reasons I won't is because I despise the movie "Glengarry Glen Ross". What a piece of shit movie. Every half wit person who has to sell anything for a living swears by this movie. I met a guy once who swore by "ABC", "Always be closing". Now I hadn't known this guy one bit, but he felt the need to strike up a conversation with me at a friends place. He worked for one of the big 5 consulting companies and was having difficulty meeting women in the area. I frankly told him that besides the fact that he relied on his "ABC" mentality, and had no personality, that he was pretty much unattractive, and very few women at this party were going to give him the time of day. After that I think I gave him a complex, he started showing up at my gym every other day.

I'll give the partners credit, they can sell. They bring in new business and keep my sorry ass employed. The bull dyke partner has her lesbian connections, and the personality of a carrot. Other then that though, the other guys could sell sand to an arab. They have personality oozing out of their pores, the problem is that they are also big assholes. Not that I'm not an asshole. I just don't hide it. There are some qualities I deem necessary to bring in new business and become a partner:

Arrogance. I have plenty of that. I snub my nose a the little people with the best of them. I often remind myself of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, minus the homocidal tendencies.

Ignorance. It's debatable whether or not I have this quality. I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt and say I probably do. My world is a vacuum.

Persuasiveness. I definitely have this. I can talk two nuns into having an menage a trois with me. Convinced blood sisters to make out in front of each other. No shortage of this.

Personality. I'm lacking some of this. Being manic-depressive, if you catch me on the up, I'm prince charming. Catch me when I'm down, and you'd wonder how I got anywhere in life. It all seems like too much of an act for me to put forward this face 100% of the time.

Bullshitting(AKA lieing). Here's where I start to fall short. I'm not a good liar. I'm honest to a fault. I tell people I don't like them when they ask. "Does my ass look big in these pants?", "Your ass looks big period!". "Do these look real?", "They look like you paid $8000 for them.".

I've drummed up the occasional business and gotten the old 'atta boy' for it. Had several one on ones with the senior partners on why I don't push myself more and try for that partnership. I'm not motivated enough to push myself. About the only way I would push myself is if the Playboy Mansion relocated itself here, and I had to get their business. That's not happening anytime soon though.

I'll part with these words of wisdom, "Ugliness is only a state of 4 dimensions."


The Badonkablogger Always Rings Twice

"Here I sit, broken hearted, tried to sh*t, but only farted."

This is something you think you'd only find in the men's bathroom, written on the stall wall. Apparently, this is written in the women's stall of a nice restaurant I was at this weekend. I didn't believe the woman who told me, so I sent her back in with her camera phone for proof positive. She came out and I laughed like I never laughed before. If I knew how to post pictures on here, I would show you. I don't want to incriminate the restaurant either, I know the chef there and it's a good place to eat. That is pretty funny though. I bet it was a hooker who wrote it.

What's the difference between a hooker and the girls I hang out with. Probably not much, I bet the hookers cost less. I don't really care. They serve a purpose, and serve it well. Image is everything as Andre Agassi would say.

I talked to my brother this weekend, and while he was out in L.A. apparently he went out with Nikki Nova, some porn star or something. She must be "B" list, because I have quite an extensive porno collection, and I've never heard of her. If anyone has any pictures let me know if she's hot. Good luck bro' and keep it wrapped!

Monday's suck and I'm hungry. Lunchtime.


Friday, August 13, 2004

The Devil's Badonkablogger

It's grey, it's dreary, it's Friday. Not good boating weather, but the rest of the weekend is supposed to be ok. Hopefully it will be nice and scorching tomorrow so the sun goddesses can run around and give themself skin cancer. Otherwise I don't know what I'd do. Maybe actually try and talk to them, but it's usually easier trying to communicate with my dog.

This has been quite an uneventful week. Quiet at work, quiet at home. Maybe I'm just getting old. I guess old is relative. I'm 31 by the way, so poke you're fun!

This morning I was checking my voice mail, and had a message from my investment broker. Apparently he's managed to lose about 25% in a matter of a week. He didn't even have the balls to say it to me in person. I really wasn't upset, hell, if it were that easy to invest money and you could guarantee a return, none of us would be working. Work sucks by the way. I need a vacation.

I usually take vacations by myself. People treat you a little strange when you go places by yourself, especially on vacation. They are always trying to set me up with their divorced sister or friend. For the love of god, please don't try to set me up on dates. I don't want a serious relationship, I don't want a wife, I don't want kids. A lot of things irritate me. I am easily irritated though. I get irritated when Im at the grocery store actually trying to buy something, and some broad tries to strike up a conversation with me about how ripe is the fruit? How the fuck would I know that? If you're trying to pick me up, is that the best you can come up with? Guys get poked fun at all the time for their cheesy attempts at meeting women, but women are ten times worse. They think they can bat their eyes and smile and I'll be interested. It annoys me when I am called shallow because I won't go out with someone who's overweight. A general rule I follow is at 5'6", you should be 110 lbs, for every inch over 5'6", you can add 5 lbs. Obviously if you have some outrageously large cans, there are exceptions.

The receptionist at the front desk is an overweight girl. Not obese, but I've seen her in a belly shirt and she shouldn't be wearing one. She's like every other young receptionist we've had here. She thinks she going to find some stud here to support her lazy, ice cream eating, fat ass, and marry her. In 5 years here, we've gone through probably a dozen receptionists. Several who have even been gifted with looks, body and personality. None have managed to land anyone here. Not that landing one of us would be a big accomplishment. I actually feel bad for the poor woman who has to settle down with our type. We're arrogant, pompous, condescending and demeaning. On a bad day, we're worse. We're materialistic, that new Infiniti g35 is more important to us then you, at least for the first 3 months of the lease. I don't wear a watch, but if I did, it would be a really expensive one. I get made fun of by the other guys here because I'm "ghetto" and don't wear a watch. I quip back that I pay the secretaries to wear a watch and tell me what time it is when I need to. Every now and then I call them up on the phone and ask them what time it is, just to let them know who's in charge.

I noticed I type awful, and spell even worse. You'd think with all of the schooling I've had, I might have some skills in this department. I don't. I live by the spell checker and grammar checker. Even then I still run everything by a proof reader. I sometimes don't even spell check or grammar check it, I just send it off to the proof reader. They must really hate me. I imagine they think I probably have the IQ of a carrot. That might be giving me too much credit though. My only saving grace is that I make friends easy. So I can leech off of them. It's how I got through school. Undergraduate school was terribly, terribly difficult. Schroedinger equation, Laplace transforms, Heisenberg uncertainty principle. I remember those names, but I couldn't tell you what the hell they mean, or solve any problems with them anymore. Sometimes I wish I would have put my engineering degree to use. That seems like it would have been exciting at least. It was a lot easier to study in undergrad. The ratio of men to attractive women in engineering approaches infinity. There isn't much else to do in class but pay attention. Some of the biggest drinkers I knew were engineers though.

It's after 3 here. Today I feel like a banker. Today I will incorporate bankers hours. Enjoy your weekend.

Live long and badonkadonk,

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Patch Badonkablogger

Bumped into one of my old friends last night. We kind of lost touch when he got married. He's divorced now and pretty much the same way he was 6 years ago when we used to hang out. He used to go out with Monica Potter before she was a big celebrity. She's not A list, but since she's from around here, locals adores her. She had a big ass last time I saw her. Lots of cute friends though.

My phone won't stop ringing. It keeps coming across as private number, so I won't answer it. They won't leave a voice mail either. I figured they would get the point sooner or later, but it's been like that for two days. They say persistence pays off, I have to disagree.

This bloggins is getting boring, and I actually have a bunch of shit to do here. Maybe that means its time to look for a new job with someone who will pay a lot of money. I talk a good game of shit and make a strong first impression. Then I get in and do nothing. That works well for me though. Pretty much the story of my life. F*ck the marathoners, I'm the sprinter.

Monday, August 09, 2004

Interview With A Badonkablogger

The soft mellow glow of fluorescent overhead office lighting. After a weekend of boating, I find it immensely difficult to come in and stare at this monitor. The soft low hum of the lights is driving me crazy. For about 30 minutes this morning, I unplugged everything in my office and turned everything off. It was peaceful.

Then the reality we call life kicked in.

I went out of my way to try and understand this fascination with NASCAR. One of my sun goddesses brought her friend along this weekend, and she happen to be a huge NASCAR fan. So for the sake of curiousity and big boobs, I queried her fascination on the topic. She started to explain it to me, and by some genetic malfuction of my body, every word she said failed to even register a thought in my head. It was as if she was talking, but the mute button was on. I could tell she was very passionate about what she was defending. Somewhere in the muted stated I was in, something broke though and I began to hear her again. Apparently this 24 year old was on her third boob job. She underwent her first one at 18 and went from a B cup to a big C. Next up 22, to a D, now, she's happy with her 34DD's. They look good on her. She probably has a 22 or 24 inch waist, so they aren't overly huge, but big enough to draw attention to her tiny frame. God bless plastic surgery.

I kept trying to get one of the ladies to write a big N and W on their butt cheeks. I wanted them to plaster that, and bend over so I could take a picture, and honor my NOW friends who I have to deal with every work day. I could only imagine the tongue lashing I would get if I had a photo of that in my office.

My dock neighbor was finally out again this weekend. He's been busy with family affairs lately. I enjoy talking to him, but mostly I miss seeing his gorgeous wife. She's held up well after marriage and two kids. She's a good woman, treats him well, does pretty much everything he wants, but it's obvious he is bored with her. He kept joking around about swapping her for one of my sun goddesses. I just told him if he can get the sun goddess, take her. The grass is always greener on the other side. I can't stress this enough. Maybe I just suffer from chronic depression, or maybe I just sucked in too many exhaust fumes this weekend. I burned through 400 gallons of fuel and we spent the entire night Friday docked. All day Saturday we just trolled about. The girls wanted to go au natural, so we idled around most of the day.

I'm still on the boat. I can't concentrate at all. I guess I'll juts close my door and take a nap until 5.

Live long and prosper,

Friday, August 06, 2004

The Manchurian Badonkablogger

Why would anyone care who I'm going to vote for. Most people probably imagine I don't even vote. Oh how far from the truth that is. But someone did ask me.

While there are very few burning issues in my head, I do get burned on taxes. On any given paycheck, uncle sam politely takes 3k-4k from me. Having been audited twice now, I've given up on trying to hide that money from them. Obviously I'm not a very good accountant, or a very good criminal. I'll stick to minor misdemeanors.

The whole terrorism thing doesn't scare me much. I have a much better chance of dieing from overdosing, or some psychotic woman hacking me to death after a night of passionate intimacy, as opposed to being the collateral damage of some terrorists idea of war. That being said, that still ranks pretty high on my priority list. If I had to pick my alignment, I'd have to say I'm somewhere in the area of Chaotic-Lawful, a Robin Hood of sorts, or maybe Batman. Deep down, I don't like to see innocent people get hurt. On the other hand, I'm a vengeful person.

Which leads me to another curious point. On the whole conservative/liberal thing, the liberals are pro-choice/anti-death penalty whereas the conservatives are pro-life/pro death penatly. That strikes me as a little more then just odd. I did read that 73% of republicans are pro-choice anyhow. The pro-lifers are pretty much the minority in this country, as they should be.

I had to take someone to an abortion clinic once. What an interesting experience that was. There wasn't the mass rioting outside that you'd expect. There was however one molester looking gentleman that was picketing with a sign that looked something similar to a plate of spaghetti. He cursed at me quite a bit while I drove by and walked in. After a couple hours of sitting in there I was bored, so I went outside and wanted to talk to the guy. Just a civil conversation to see what was on his mind. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. He kept spouting off religious epitaths and verses from the bible. Waving his spaghetti sign at me, calling me the anti-christ. I sat there for over 30 minutes listening to him and watching him. He never grew tired, or let up. I finally got hungry and left to go get some lunch. Strangely enough after seeing that speghetti sign, I did want some pasta. Great italian restaurants over on that side of town.

I guess myself and those nappy NOW whores do have something in common. We are both pro-choice. I reasonably doubt however that we will vote for the same candidate.

The World According To Badonkablogger

So it seems it's Friday. The total amount of wasted time at work on Friday's just in my city alone, must amount to more hours then I probably will spend in this life. I can't remember the last productive Friday I had. My Friday's usually consist of getting in late and leaving early. The space between those two integral times usually is nothing more then surfing the internet and figuring out who my weekend appointment will be with.

I sometimes wonder what would have happen if I took the path more righteous. I actually used to be a productive member of society. My undergrad degree was in engineering. I at one time had a respectable girlfriend. Then somewhere around 24, I decided I was too bored and to poor to stay productive any more. Went back to school, ditched the girlfriend, and engaged in a lifelong journey into the darker side of life. Being a lawyer. There are a few advantages. When I think of them I'll let you know. One of them is that I get a $1000 a month vehicle allowance.
At first it seems like a lot, but that has to cover, lease, insurance, maintenance and fuel. Inevitably by the end of the month, some of that money always comes out of my own pocket. I like the infinite I'm driving now, and I could renew the lease for another 6 months, but the winters here are so unpredictable, I really need a 4x4. Not too mention how in the fuck would I get up to the cottage for skiing. Last year, we had drifts up past the balcony on my condo, which is at least 15 feet high. It might be wise to actually buy the vehicles and own two of them, but that's too much like a commitment.

I have to go to a fundraiser tonight in honor of one of my co-workers. It's basically a roast, but they are trying to tame it down and call it a Sauter. They shouldn't have asked me to speak if they just wanted a Sauter. I know more dirt about this guy. I'll draw the line at ruining his marriage. He's got a thing for hookers, or escorts as I like to call them. You're probably thinking this guy is an ugly old crusty looking fellow. Well he's not. He's pretty much you're typical athletic, good looking guy with a really, really hot wife. He's Italian though, so he doesn't want any dirty women raising his children. As warped as it sounds I tend to agree with him. Not that I want kids, but if I did have any, I wouldn't want my wife kissing them just after she got done performing a concerto on the skin flute.

This segways into another thought. The insurmountable odds you must overcome in marriage. If you're a reasonably good looking person, you or your spouse is going to cheat. So why get married? One of the guys I frequent the gentlemens clubs with often, happens to be a private investigator. I met him through work here. Most of his work is tailing husbands or wives who are "working late" and finding out in fact if they are having an affair with someone. He's come to the conclusion that if you think they are, then they are. He can't think of one instance where someone has come to him asking him to find out what their other half is doing, and it being something innocent. On the other half, even if you don't think your spouse is having an affair they probably still are. Especially guys, we're pigs. I avoid the caging that most pigs get by staying single. Those cages stink, and are pretty messy unless your cage cleaner maintains it, but then your cage clean is probably a nagging bitch and a clean cage isn't worth the aggravation.

Instead of a cage, I have a cave. I hire a cute little latino girl to some in and clean it for me. She does a great job, and even goes as far as making me dinner a few nights a week. That's not even part of the agreement. She tries to give me language lessons all the time in Spanish, which is kind of cool. I'm not afraid to tell her when her cooking is shit, she takes it well, and I'll just take her out to dinner somewhere when that happens. I think she does it on purpose just so I take her out. She always manages to have a nice change of clothes to wear, so my spider sense is telling me its a rouge.

Notice the word cage and cave are very similar. Women will try to convince men that not much will change when they get married. They say they will be changes, but ever so small changes. Like changing your cave to a cage. Lexically I agree, it's a small change, but go ask mr. bear in the woods which he prefers. And to think, we're supposed to be the superior intellect on this planet.

Well I should wrap this up, this is running into a 45 minute blog. That's another $337.50 I'll have to bill to NOW. Not that anyone reads this, but I can't imagine I'll be blogging on the weekends much. It's really only worth blogging when I can charge it to someone else.

Vayos Con Dios,