Well, it’s over. We’re about to leave to fly back to the States, and neither Ders nor I hooked up. It’s a tie.
We were going to give each other control of the other’s tumblr for 3 weeks, but that seemed pointless. Blake correctly pointed out, the only right way to end this bet is for both of us to abandon our tumblr’s. Neither of us won, so both of us lost.
For those of you who depended on me for workout advice, stay with it.
For those of you who depended on me for relationship advice, make out music, and general words about the opposite sex, it’s time you went out on your own. Stay with it.
Finally, to the DeMamp Campers who’ve come to be like family, because I never see you in person and all you do is judge me, stay with it most of all. And also with you.
I leave you with this final thing to remember—
You can flex a lot of muscle, but if there’s no camera? It’s up to you to enjoy it.
Good Luck Ders…
…with your massage.
See, I called the front desk and asked if their massage girls gave “Happy Endings”. When they hung up right away, I of course knew the answer was NO.
So I told Ders I was going down there at 1, and I’d be up 1-0 by 1:31 (half hour massage). Then I went to the bathroom to “freshen up”.
Ders then played right into my trap when he called for the 12:00 PM open slot I knew they had. He’ll probably get arrested for and thrown in Hedonism II jail for what he offers to that poor, unprepared masseuse.
Leaving all of the girls that may fly in today ready to feel the DeMamp sting. Bzzzz!
Current Score -
All thoughts to spending Thanksgiving with my family aside, pretty fucking pumped for Hedonism II instead. You can only hear ole’ Dad DeMamp tell you the story about that year he won the free turkey at work before you see the end coming. Don’t get me started on Aunt Sarah’s beef with the VFW.
Since I’m writing this in the past, I bet by now we’re all packed up and having a relaxing 3-beer early dinner before we head to the clearport.
Ders will give us some made-up stat about flying, Blake’ll have a funny story about the last time he flew, and I’ll of course be hydrating for my planned membership drive into the Mile High Club.
A gentleman can never tell if he hasn’t done it yet, so it’s safe to say the girl I hook up with on the flight to Hedonism II is a real slut. Seat backs UP, tray table DOWN.
Gonna Join The Mile High Club
Got a big Thanksgiving trip with the guys coming up and it’s pretty much going to be the most depraved, wild, debaucherous, sexy Thanksgiving of all time. It’s a scientific fact that people are just way hornier around the holidays and I plan to cash in on this spirit of horniness by getting it on in the airplane bathroom. Might be a little tricky to do this post 9-11, so I might have to play it by ear, but as of now I plan on joining the mile high club.
It’s a Wrap
Calling it. Only one full day of work left before Thanksgiving (office is closed Wednesday), so I’m officially checking out.
I’ve been stockpiling dummy numbers for the last few weeks, people I know to be not home, not answering, or not in service and I’ll be dialing one of those every 5-10 minutes as I space out and mentally prepare for our big trip. This is starting tomorrow, today I’m just going to do laps from the cubicle to the break room and back.
No one’s really working that had anyway, Jet Set’s been working on a rubix cube for the last 3 hours and Gerald’s been in the bathroom since lunch.
Today’s more about getting us a nice pre-Thanksgiving paycheck than making sales, anyway.
Just called my mom to let her know I won’t be home for Thanksgiving. Had to break it to her that I wouldn’t be making my (Ocean Spray brand) famous cranberry sauce. I expected her to cry, but she didn’t really seem all that bummed out. I think she probably just didn’t want me to know how sad she was. Either way, it’s gonna be a pretty lame Thanksgiving at my house without me.
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.