Camp DeMamp

Racked up a big sale this morning, sold a dozen carving knives (just in time for Thanksgiving & Hunting season), was really pumped about it.  Rubbed Ders face in it and everything.

Well, turns out accounts ran the card, and it expired 3 years ago.  I shoulda known when they said they’d take the dozen knives; I figured maybe they were buying for their whole family, or for a soup kitchen that would need multiple knives, I mean there could be a lot of factors that would cause someone to need 12 bone-sawing knives.

What hurts the most (besides Ders gloating at me) is I felt a real connection with the buyer at the time.  We had a big laugh before we hung up, that means nothing now.  I thought they were laughing with me, turns out they were laughing at the fact their credit card was expired.

Got to remember, that’s why they call them sales calls, not fun calls.

Finally flipped my calendar to November, and there it is, Thanksgiving.  Which means we’re going to have to put on our thinking caps, again.  Jillian’s on the prowl.

See, every year Jillian invites us to her place, which is beyond sad, you guys.  Our four fathers didn’t nearly starve in early autumn only to discover a feast for the ages in late November so I could eat a cold piece of Boston Market off a paper plate.

She invites a lot of weirdos, too.  She collects strays, only they’re people, not cats, do you get it?  Sure, we work with a lot of them, and Jet Set makes a nasty-good pecan pie, but it’s not worth Homegirl sweating the 1st half over of the Lions game (salty language, saltier green bean casserole).

I HATE “play Thanksgiving.”  Blake, he’s emotional during the holidays as is, and Ders goes home on the reg, it’s always a tough time and my shotgunning of Mimosas never helps me get ready for Black Out Friday.  Luckily, we’ve got a big event planned this year (secret), so dodging Jillian becomes about her not tagging along, and less about telling her a lie that Ders’ is allergic to cats or I have mono.

And I know it’s safe to discuss here, since Jillian said she was boycotting my tumblr after I called her a tea drinking terrorist.  Permission to get real granted.

Coffee maker’s still on the fritz, so I thought I’d be a bigger man and make some tea…

PSYCHE!

THEN I REMEMBERED TEA SUCKS AND SO DO ALL YOU TEA DRINKERS.  THE BOSTON TEA PARTY HAPPENED FOR A REASON, AND WASTING TEA IS OUR NATION’S HERITAGE.

So put your pinky up and salute the British flag, ingrates.  I’ll have a spoonful of instant coffee like a REAL AMERICAN.

Our coffee machine is down (long story, Waymond’s doing a juice cleanse and ripped it off the counter and threw it across the break room) so I tried some tea for a chance.

Guys, tea sucks.  I dumped my usual healthy dose of hazelnut coffee mate, did nothing.  Tasted like eating grass (of someone who has a hazelnut tree on their property).  

Worst of all, I feel dainty for even trying it.  Construction workers, they drink coffee.  Defensive lineman.  Tough street cops.  It’s an identity, as much as a caffeine boost.

Who even drinks tea?  Brits and Jillian, that’s all I’m aware of.  I dumped my cup on the floor next to Waymond’s mess, where it belongs.  Good riddance.

That’s right. Sunday was an all day sweatpants day. Put ‘em on as soon as I woke up and didn’t take ‘em off until I went to bed. Obviously it isn’t a big deal to just wear sweatpants around the house or even to the gym, but I actually went out to several places (Subway, Target, even Supercuts). 

I thought I would feel like a total scumbag wearing sweatpants in public around other humans, but it actually felt really awesome and liberating. Might start doing it on a more regular basis.

I found the culprit and she is none other than…Alice. I was really hoping to give the gum spitter a piece of my mind, but being that it’s my boss (and a girl to boot) I’m pretty much powerless to crush that person.

I had a really good system going for finding the gum spitter: I basically walked around the office and asked everyone for a stick of gum. The only person who had gum was Waymond, but it was Big Red (thereby eliminating him as a suspect). Then I walked up to Jillian’s desk only to find this:

It seemed I had found the perp, but before I could even ask Jillian volunteered that Alice had sent her out to Walgreens to buy Nicorette since she’s trying to quit smoking again. So, mystery solved. 

Read the rest of the Transformers 3 plot on Wikipedia today so I could fully devote mys mind and body to this gum search.  

Boy, those Autobots really fought with the heart of champions and we owe them a solid for defending Earth (fictionally).  Can’t wait to see how the band gets back together for Trans4mers.

Now, call me the Gum Shoe.

Some idiot spit gum in the parking lot at work and I stepped in it. Great way to start off the morning. The worst part of this is that the gum is some weird kind - it’s not fruit flavored because it’s white and it smells really weird and non - minty. Normally I’d just get over this, but this time I plan on finding the culprit and teaching him or her a lesson about proper gum disposal methods. 

I know it’s someone at TAC, because the gum was still wet when I stepped in it (so, recently chewed) and because it was right next to the trash, which means someone tried to spit it in there before entering the office.

So, to whoever the gum spitting jerk was, I am going to find you and I am going to crush you. Plain and simple.

Passed out, miss a big chunk of plot.  Gonna try to wake up early and watch the rest tomorrow AM before work.  Sorry the commentary’s incomplete for all you collectors.

McDreamy’s acting like a real ball bag here.

Sentinel Prime’s double-cross is the worst double-cross since Ders tried to steal my ketchup.  Sure, we’re cool now, but the wounds of betrayal never heal.

Just farted and it sounded like the transformers changeover noise.

Sleepy.

Cool how old robots have robo-beards.  Little things that count.

Malkovich just eye raped the British chick, can’t blame him.  Sam better watch out, the boss has eyes on his chick.  

Typing that, missed a lot of stuff, gonna rewind, try to figure it out.  

Cried when Optimus found his dead robot the first time, stronger this time.  Was ready.

OH FUCK MEGATRON!

The actor playing Buzz Aldrin is awesome.

Just catching up to where we got into the theater.  Ders said Malkovich was totally doing a Trump impression, kind of see it now.  

8th beer cracked.  Who’s counting?

Had to pause, re-assess.  Plot getting thick. Optimus’s sword is LEGEIT!

Filling in a lot of holes right now, you guys.  The moon was a part of the whole story, not just in the sky the whole time.  Title makes more sense, now.

Full disclosure, pretty drunk.  Committed to finishing the movie, gonna break it down on some real levels.

Missed this whole beginning because I had to take a whiz and their was a long line from all the people getting out of Green Lantern.

Gonna watch it now, without the burden of Ders’ cell phone going off mid-movie and shattering the 3D experience.

Updates to follow, I got a lot to say about this film.

Just got this sweet Under Armour Turtleneck online (on sale). Not only does it look totally badass, but it’s pretty functional too. I really like the snug fit and I think this will be more tasteful than going shirtless (and leave a little bit to the imagination, which is even sexier). 

I almost feel like this garment was created specifically to house the perfection that is my upper body and torso. Gonna take a pic of myself in it and send the pic to the Under Armour folks so they can use it on the website instead of the pic of this douche (pictured above).

Let’s talk sweat.

Happens during almost 100% of workouts.  So, the logical question to follow is “How often do I need to wash my gear?”

I have a foolproof system guaranteed to have the only stink on you be that of workout success.  Any time I pump the iron, I rate my sweat level on a sweat scale of 1-25.  Anything over a 17?  Time to throw it in the hamper.  Once the hamper reaches a stink level (separate scale, same numbers) over 20, or I run out of dress shirts, time to run it through the wash.

So if you do a light workout sprinkling yourself at a 3?  Keep that shirt in the go pile (or wherever you keep, and name, your workout clothes).  

Have a heavy legs day that only gets you to 16?  Air it out, run it back.

Now, if you flood the gates on a max-out and deliver the full 25, you probably want to run some soap through it, oh, and hydrate (maxing-out crunches electrolytes).  

When in doubt, I say wear it again.  A little musk never kept anyone from blasting their glutes.  Animals do a lotta things based on smell, and unleashing your smelly animal in the gym can only lead to RESULTS.

As if my day couldn’t get any worse, Ders was just named employee of the month. I didn’t even know we were doing that anymore or I would have been trying way harder. Furthermore, all Ders has been doing all day is complain about some stupid leak in the ceiling. I’m really confused right now - yesterday Alice touches my shoulder and today she names Ders employee of the month. What the hell is going on?

Ate a bunch of grapes last night before I fell asleep and long story short, I couldn’t wait until we got to the office to relieve myself so I made Ders stop at the Coffee Bean. I made my way straight to the bathroom and was in there for a solid 10 minutes. It was the morning rush so a lot of people were knocking on the door and stuff and I could hear people whispering that they thought I was probably a homeless person who was taking a bath in the sink or something.

Once I got out everyone was staring at me and the barista even called me out saying, “the restroom is for customers only.” I was pretty embarrassed so I ended up spending $30 on one of those artisan tea kettles they sell.

In hindsight I probably should’ve just gotten a cup of coffee. I guess my adrenaline was running high and I didn’t even want to smell coffee after what I’d just gone through. Maybe I’ll give the tea kettle to Alice or something.

Let me set the scene: I was in the kitchen getting something out of the cabinet when suddenly I felt a soft hand brush sensually against my shoulder. A chill ran through my body. A chill of love. 

Then my ears beheld her siren song, “Hand me the rice cakes.” Dutifully, I did as told. No sooner was she gone. Back to her office, and me left in the break room, as if nothing had happened. As if we hadn’t crossed a plane in the desert of love, a plane from which there was no going back.

Just ducked out of the office for a half hour and went trick or treating at the houses near TelAmeriCorp. Didn’t exactly crush it. I think most people were probably still at work and the people who were home were all old and I don’t even think they knew it was Halloween.

On the plus side, I met a major babe and I sort of thought it would turn into more than just her giving me candy, but it didn’t. At least I got a Three Musketeers bar. 

Something I do every Halloween is test my neighbors by seeing what kind of candy they’re giving out. This is a good indication of what kind of people you live amongst. For instance, if your neighbor gives out Kit Kat bars then you know he’s a cool dude. However, if your neighbor gives out raisins then you know you can’t trust him and that he’s a weirdo.

A while back, Ders gave out these stupid Norwegian mints for Halloween and (surprise, surprise) our cool neighbor, Jeff, didn’t invite us to his Super Bowl party that year. So, ya, it’s real.

Costume store was picked CLEAN of Captain America and Thor costumes.  Gonna have to bust out Austin Powers again, unless I can find that giant steak costume somewhere soon.  

Should of just made the ketchup today and gone to the Farmer’s Market.

Been busy this week, but it’s never too late to put together the best costume you’ve ever seen.  Got it down to 3 options.

1) Captain America.  FUCK YEAH.  For the U-S-A chants secondarily, firstly because I look like him before he even needed the Super Soldier Serum.  Not that I look gangly as fuck, or like Ben Button during the year he would be an old little kid, but because my body is all American jacked dude.  Plus the shield can totally be a party tray as needed.  Gonna be tough to unseat this one.

1.5) Thor.  All the fun of Captain America, but replacing the American thing with being a god, which is fun, and carrying a big hammer is something I’m used to.  Plow-plow!  BLADOW.

2) Might be more fun to just go for this Strong Marinade.  Beefy, Grade A, Prime Cut of Man.  Who likes their man-meat medium rare, ladies?

It won’t matter which costume I pick, really, since I’ve timed my workout schedule to peak right when the Halloween party I’m attending will be doing the same.  

To the lucky lady that gets to pledge allegiance to the Captain, or prey at the temple of Thor, or eat my steak meat, and I wish you a very Happy Halloween ahead of time and congratulate you on hooking up with the best costume at the party.