Diary of a Reformed Slacker

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Thu, 14 Jul 2011 13:26:03 -0400

Vacuum: Part 1

Thu, 14 Jul 2011 12:46:37 -0400

Rental car companies are the devil. Really, and you’ll find why I think that in a second. Also, I’m going to separate this post into two parts, since it’s kind of a long story.

It was a cold, cloudy, December morning, and I was in the garage of the car rental office I worked at. Here I was at 7 am, dressed in a business suit, freezing my ass off, and scrubbing down a dirty ass rental car. Was this out of the ordinary? Hell no! This is what I HAD TO DO every morning working there. Then after I finished almost breaking my back vacuuming out cars with tons of shit everywhere…wait, side note: I mean really? REALLY?! I think people return cars as dirty as they can to piss off rental car attendants. Why the fuck would I want to vacuum up corn chips, cigarette ash, weed, oreos, underwear, socks, condoms, and other gross shit? If you’re going to eat like a fucking pig, at least throw the shit away in a trash can. Or if that’s too hard for you, just put your garbage in a bag and leave it in the car! It’s simple as that, fuckers!

Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, so after I have to wash down and vacuum out the cars, I get to sit at my desk and listen to some 300 pound woman complain that her rental car is too small. Lady, I don’t hear the car complaining about having to cart your fat ass around. I bet that damn car screams, “Help! I’m being crushed!” when you get into it. That’s what I always think…

So, on that cold, cloudy, December day, we had a lot of returns. Which meant that my co-worker, John and I were crazily alternating cleaning cars, running to answer that forever ringing phone, and picking up bitching customers from the body shops. I was so tired and angry, especially after seeing my manager sitting at his desk with his feet up not doing a damn thing! What an asshole! But the way things were going in the office that day, I didn’t even have time to say anything.

By 5:50 pm, I was beat, angry, and hungry (I didn’t get my 10 minute lunch break-yes, 10 minutes is the average time I usually got to eat lunch.). I couldn’t wait until 6pm when the office closed, but before then, there were 2 cars to clean. My co-worker, John was on a body shop pick up, and my asshole of a manager was at his desk playing with his joystick or whatever. That left only me to clean the cars.

By 6:15pm, I had finished wiping the last car down, and all I had to do was vacuum. As I moved towards the car with the vacuum hose, I tripped over the extension cord and flew into the passenger side door…injuring the left side of my neck and back. Perfect.

After 5 minutes of trying to pick myself up from the ground, I limped to my manager’s office and told him what happened. Of course the fucker didn’t care, and told me to, “Shake it off”. Fuck you, ass wipe. The nerve of some people. So I just drove home, sobbing like a bitch.

Part 2: Coming soon!

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Sun, 03 Jul 2011 01:44:12 -0400

Sweet Dreams!

Sun, 03 Jul 2011 01:39:00 -0400

Back from college during winter break of my Sophmore year, I was excited about Christmas dinner. Every year, my mom loves to have friends and family over to celebrate. But I think the friends and family love coming over more. They eat and drink as much as they want, and some how every year at the end of the night, our house becomes drunk kareoke night. A few years back, I remember video recording my cousin slurring the words of Beyonce’s song “Irreplacible”, into a mic we had attached to our piano.Then after her fucking horrible rendition, she blacked out and we had to carry her big ass to the family room so she could sleep it off. It’s because of her that I hate that song to this day. However, it gives me comfort to know that I could embarrass the hell out of her if I showed anyone that recording.

Okay, back to what I was originally talking about…don’t want to confuse my slower readers (kidding). Anyway, the Christmas of my Sophmore year was a little different. I mean, i’m always okay with who my parents invite for Christmas (which is about 35 people), but I got really pissed off when my dad invited his half-sister “Terry”. Ever since she decided to become “holier than thou”, she became a major bitch. I’m mean, who tells people they’re going to hell for drinking alcohol at a X-mas party? Then to add insult to injury, she came into the kitchen where I was to “get away from all of the alcohol” and started talking to my little sis….telling her how evil it was that alcohol was being served. Of course I rolled my eyes and said, “Aunt Terry, that’s not true.” And that’s when things got dicy.

She stood up and said, “Shut up! I wasn’t talking to you!” Immediately I felt my blood start to boil, and before I could catch myself, I screamed, “Don’t you talk to me like that! You’re in my house!” That was the beginning of my rant. I was hot, and I couldn’t be stopped. I felt like I was in a trance…and the last thing I remembered saying (before my dad rushed in) was, “You’re just mad you can’t have a drink, you closet alcoholic!” In my head I patted myself on the back. Good one. Then I looked around and saw everyone’s mouth open with surprise. No biggie. These greedy for food and drink bastards won’t remember this in the morning.

After congratulating myself on saying what I’m sure everyone else wanted to say to Aunt Terry, I left the kitchen and went upstairs to cool down. Unfortuneatley, I couldn’t calm down and I had to find a way to get Aunt Terry back. She tried to embarrass me in my home and I couldn’t take that lightly. So, I grabbed a bottle of my mom’s xanax (a sedative used for anxiety) and headed downstairs. Earlier that night, I noticed Aunt Terry drinking multiple cups of coffee (probably trying to remove her craving for alcohol). Hey, I’ll tell you right now…coffee is no substitute for a good ol’ plain rum and coke. Just saying.

Back to the story, ok, so I crumbled up about two Xanax pills (One wasn’t enough. I wanted to pack a punch!) and mixed it in a cup of coffee to give to Aunt Terry. I served her that cup with a huge ass smile, because I knew that in an hour, she would be nodding off like fucking junkie. I was actually doing her a service. She needed to loosen up, and a sedative would do it (either that, or a nice hard dick. It was very clear that a woman that mean needed to get laid fast!).

As I predicted, within an hour Aunt Terry began to nod off in the kitchen chair. But before she competely blacked out, I told her she could sleep on the warm “comfy” couch in the basement. Under the influence, she obliged and passed out on the couch. After making sure she was completely out, I patted myself on the back again in my head, ran upstairs, and closed the door. The wicked bitch of Christmas was finally out of my hair for the duration of the night! Yes!! After I swore my little sis to secrecy, we enjoyed our Christmas with the people that we liked.

By 2am, everyone had eaten and drank enough, and started leaving. I told my dad that Aunt Terry fell asleep in the basement and was in no shape to drive. My uncle ended taking her home. It was so funny when they helped her up the stairs out of the basement. She looked so out of it. I was glad I put her ass out. She was going to ruin Christmas! I believe if everyone knew what I did…they would all be kissing my ass saying “Thank you”!

If you ask me, I saved Christmas. You’re welcome.

Lesson: Okay, it’s super obvious that I shouldn’t have drugged my aunt. That was wrong, and looking back I feel bad about what I did. I let anger get the best of me. I should have just left everything alone and enjoyed the company that was there. Instead of calmly talking things out with Aunt Terry, I took the easy way out by drugging her-which is never a good thing to do. I know now that my aunt had some issues where she had to get help. Since she’s been put on medication, now we talk once a month and have somewhat okay conversations. I guess it also helps that she lives very far away.

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Sat, 25 Jun 2011 11:56:45 -0400

Joyride

Sat, 25 Jun 2011 11:54:18 -0400

Almost every year, my parents love to invite friends and family over for the Fourth of July. Sometimes I’m cool with it, but I hate the clean up during and afterwards. On this particular 4th, I was about 22 at the time, and didn’t feel like cleaning after anyone; especially my mom’s best friend’s husband. He’s such an asshole. He eats up all the fucking ribs and then lays up like he owns the damn place. Then he has the nerve to shit in our bathroom. Fucking gross! Who want’s to deal with that? Anyway, I felt like it was time for me to relax, and do what I wanted to do. However, that wasn’t going to happen unless I took matters into my own hands.

That’s when my cousin and her husband drove up in a brand new black Corvette. That bitch was so freaking hot, I got chills. I immediately dropped the trash bag I had in my hand, and ran over to compliment my cousins on their great taste in cars. Then I did it. I asked if I could take a spin in their hot ass car. My cousin, “Dan”, was a little apprehensive until I said I would only drive a couple of times around the block. He dropped the keys to the vette in my hands, and I hopped in.

Of course the engine purred like a kitten, and I slowly drove away. It was not until I turned the corner that I sped off. I had no intention of just driving around the block twice. I was going on a full fledge joy ride. “So long fuckers!”

I drove around the city with the top down, and raced a couple of guys in their cars. I felt great. Pretty much stealing my cousins’ car was a whole lot better playing waiter and busboy back at the house. After two hours of playing like I was in The Fast and Furious, I decided to drive back home…but I decided to grab a Blizzard at Dairy Queen first. I think ice cream tastes better while you’re driving a rad ass car.

I pulled up to my house and about 20 of my family members were standing outside. Oh shit. Of course, by the time I got out of the car I was bombarded by stupid questions and comments like, “Where were you?” ,”We were looking all over for you!”, “What happened to driving around the block?”. I just stood there and played dumb, and told them I thought cousin “Dan” said I could take the car as long as I wanted. After that I just went to the backyard and grabbed some food and sat down to eat.

I thought it was funny what I did, and I didn’t think it was a big deal to take their car as long as I brought it back. Even though I was called, “Car thief”, and subjected to friends and family saying, “Hide you car keys!” when I came around the whole night…It was worth it!

Lesson: Looking back, I can admit what I did was wrong and careless. I should have told my cousins that I would be going on a two hour joy ride instead of just around the block. It would have saved me a lot of trouble down the road. I mean, just thinking about it… if someone took my car for two hours doing who knows what, I would be ready to kick their ass! Thank God cousin “Dan” and my parents weren’t in an ass kicking mood that day.

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Thu, 23 Jun 2011 16:47:45 -0400

Tea bagging

Thu, 23 Jun 2011 16:45:00 -0400

Have you ever had to hold in diarrhea? I have, and obviously it doesn’t feel good. Now, if you don’t like where this story is going, then you can stop reading now. If you’re not a wuss, you can keep reading :-)

So, the night before my 9th grade finals I was busy watching tv and being a regular teenager. As a budding slacker, I didn’t have time to actually study (side note: I never studied in high school, but for some reason I continued to keep over a 3.5 GPA). I had better things to do, like play street hockey with the neighborhood boys, or annoy the hell out of my little sister.

By 8pm, my family and I had eaten dinner, and I felt it was time to pretend to get ready for bed (for my parents’ sake and to get out of washing the dishes). However, my mom who is really big on teas and natural herbs suggested that I drink a special tea that would make me wake up refreshed for my final the next day. Stupidly, I agreed to drink it. First of all, I shouldn’t have drank that shit because it smelled tobacco, funky armpit, and a hint, lemon. The taste was worse! I could have sworn I was drinking straight piss, no lie! I trusted my mom, so I swallowed that piss down. Bad idea.

You ask, why was it a bad idea? You’ll see in a bit. So, it was the morning of my final and I did not wake up refreshed. I felt so fucking bloated and tired…but whatever. I continued to get ready for class, and thanking God that it was only a half day. By the time I got to school and sat for my final, my stomach was rumbling pretty bad, but I continue to take my math final.

An hour in, I felt it. My intestines was rumbling like a big dog, and I knew I had diarrhea. My stomach was hurting so bad that I was paralyzed in pain and fear. I sat there thinking, “Oh God, I’m about to blow. If I get up, it’s going to be the end. I have on white shorts, and if I can’t make it out of the classroom before I have a massive shit-fest, I will never be able to show my face in school ever again. EVER!”

So I sat there and tried to look calm, but I was sweating…and I had the shakes. My fists were bald up so tightly that I broke my pencil in half. I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do. Like a soldier, I psyched myself out and finished my test. I didn’t know what the fuck I was writing, and frankly I didn’t care. I had better things to worry about, like trying not shart (shit + fart = shart) on myself in front of my peers.

The bell rang, and it was finally time to go. I had to catch bus, so I had absolutely no time to use the bathroom at school. I don’t how I did it, but I was able to get up and slowly walk to my bus. I was walking and talking to myself, “Come on, you can do it. Oh shit, it’s coming…okay, I got it under control. Only a few more steps…OMG, how am I going to get up these steps…Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, fuck, I’m about to blow. Please, sweet Jesus help me.” By the time I got to my seat, I was sweating like a fat woman in church, and I felt like I was going to faint. That 20 minute bus ride felt like hours!

Did the fucking school bus drop me off in front of my house? Hell no! The stupid ass bus driver decided to drop me off about a block away. Damn…I felt like choking him out! So, I walked home, slowly. I must have looked weird because a car passed and someone screamed, “Retard!” It didn’t bother me. They were right. I managed to turn a 5 minute walk into a 30 minute walk.

I finally go home, and guess what, my little sister met me at the door with a punch to the stomach. I can’t even explain what happened next, but all I remember is me running up the stairs with my hands on my ass trying to prevent a spill…like that was going to do something! I wish I could have fixed my sister by taking a dump on her, but I know my parents wouldn’t have liked that.

Needless to say, after I was able to go to town on my toilet, I felt like a new person, but pissed as hell. I wanted to know what happened! Why did I have the shits in the middle of my final that I probably failed?!

When I went into the kitchen, I saw it. A box of tea that said “MASTER CLEANSE, A POWERFUL LAXATIVE GUARENTEED TO CLEAN YOUR SYSTEM” on the front on it. I smelled it, and it smelled just like the tea I drank the night before! I was mad as fuck and I went straight to my family to give them a piece of my mind! Bad idea. All they did was laugh and start singing, “Diarrhea! Cha cha cha!” Also, my new name from my sis was “Shit master”. How kind.

Lesson: Don’t wear white shorts if your stomach is upset.

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Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:44:33 -0400

Relapse

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:44:00 -0400

Okay, so 5 Fridays ago I think I may have actually relapsed into my old slacker ways. I woke up like any other normal day to go to work. However, I had this incredible urge to climb back into bed. I really wasn’t feeling it. Perhaps it was a night out with friends the previous night that gave me a huge case of the “fuck offs” this particular morning. I wanted to call off so bad, but I remembered that I’m kind of broke and I really needed the money. Damn!

I arrived to work thirty minutes late, and my supervisor had the nerve to ask me why! I just said with a blank stare, “I could have sworn it was 9. Sorry”. Of course, she couldn’t say one word. I just sat at my desk, and pretended to do some work…praying that someone would call in a bomb threat so I could go home. I considered doing it myself, but I remembered that most phones have caller ID.

Anyway, by 11 a.m. I was finished with all of my paperwork and was ready to read a couple of my favorite magazines. I was in the middle of finishing up a quiz “Is he ready to commit” in Cosmo when I heard music blasting in the next room. It was my supervisor (I’ll call her Patty”), blasting gospel songs and singing along with them. As I peeked into her junky ass office with food and shit all over her desk and floor, I motioned for her to turn it down. I mean, look, I love God just as much as anyone…but sometimes you just don’t feel like hearing “Stomp the Devil Out” at work, you know?

As I turned around to walk out, Patty ran up to me and handed me a mountain of client paperwork to complete while she sat on her fat ass playing Farmville on Facebook. My blood was boiling. I didn’t want to do that shit! My head was pounding, and I just wanted to sit in my office and read my magazines quietly. To add insult to injury, she turned her gospel music back up. I was mad as hell, and I had to figure out a way to get Patty the fuck out of the office…or it was going to be a mother fucking showdown western style before 5pm.

I sat at my desk for about an hour and pondered a way to get Patty to leave, so I could get out of doing her stupid paperwork. Finally, I had thought of the perfect idea. Okay, so Patty HATES seafood, and she hates it so much that she gets physically ill at the smell of any kind of fish. Two weeks ago, I witnessed her dry heaving after one of the janitors started talking about Red Lobster and the Admiral’s Feast she devoured like a pig. With my plan, I ran across campus to the cafeteria and ordered a tuna fish sandwich. Then I went to the campus grocery store and purchased a raw fish fillet. This was going to be good!!

As soon as I got back to the office, I found Patty in our break room laid out on the couch like the lazy dog that she was. I obstructed the door so she wouldn’t be able to run out so easily. I then began to put my plan into action. I placed the fish fillet near her head under the pillow and started eating my sandwich. After 5 minutes, Patty woke up and started looking around frantically while grabbing her nose. I then got up and walked close to her, with my mouth full of tuna and said, “Patty, what’s wrong?” in my most breathiest tone. I wanted to get the smell of fish all in her nose!! That put her over the edge. She started convulsing and dry heaving immediately! She ran to the door but couldn’t get it open and ended upchucking in the lounge trash can! I was elated, but I had to play the part of the concerned employee.

When “Patty” came back from cleaning herself up in the bathroom, I saw that she was still pretty nauseous; so I went in for the kill. “Oh my Gosh Patty! You look horrible. Maybe you should go home. I mean, it’s pretty slow today, and that fish smell is probably going to be around a bit. I would hate to see you get sick again.” Patty agreed. Score!! I knew the bitch wanted to go home anyway, but she just needed a little push!

So, at 12:30, I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted. I kind of felt bad for pushing my boss out but I didn’t feel like dealing with her ass that day. I had a hangover to sleep off…and that’s just what I did. Fuck reading my magazines, they weren’t going anywhere.

Lesson: I didn’t want to do any work that day because I was physically and mentally tired. I felt like shit. Basically, I should have stayed at home. Bottom line. If you know you have to go to work after partying like it’s 1999, then call off. It’s not worth the hassle of making someone puke. It’s hard work!

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Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:40:11 -0400

Mustang Sally

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:39:51 -0400

Two years after college, I landed a full-time job with a popular car rental company. I had no idea that working for them would be like spending two years in hell. I absolutely had no time for anything. I worked 60 hours, six days a week and NEVER had a real lunch break. I was given the title of “Manager Associate”, but my job consisted of renting cars to the worst customers known to man, picking and dropping them off, cleaning every stinkin’ car, and being sexually harassed by body shop owners (and my branch manager). I felt like I was the customers’ bitch…bent over a barrel.

By the summer of 2007, I reached my breaking point. I would watch the branch manager rent cars to his friends dirt cheap, take the fanciest car on the lot for himself for the week, and leave to go home after 5 hours of work. I was fucking sick of it, and I wanted to be compensated for my work. I mean, just days before, I had to wash a pool of blood out of the trunk of a Kia Sorrento (after clearing the flies away). It smelled like rotten ass, and I felt like I was going to fucking die. Then my asshole of a manager re rented the car! I know someone died in that trunk, and I feel sorry for the person that’s driving that car now (which is probably haunted).

Anyway, where was I? Oh right…So, I was fucking sick of it! I decided to take matters into my own hands and rent to myself the most awesome cars on the lot. At the time, I was in love with Mustangs. It was the summer, and I wanted to stunt. I didn’t feel cool trying to race someone on the road in my 98 Ford Taurus. My manager always left early on Fridays and came in late on Mondays, so I was free to do whatever on the weekends.

Every weekend during the summer of 2007, I rented every single color Mustang they had for only $1/ day (Shh…I knew how to cover it up in the computer system). I even got my friends and family in on it. My mom and Dad had a Blue Mustang for their birthday, and my sorority sister got a black Mustang for her birthday. I felt like Santa Claus. My favorite for myself was the bright yellow Mustang with the black racing stripe. Bad Ass!

Of course I was riding high, until one weekend in August. My manager found out, and I was busted! Needless to say, I was written up and almost fired. Secretly, I was hoping they would let me go, but my manager had a crush on me and wanted to keep me around. Damn you good looks! However, I finally had enough of the madness and quit a month later.

Lesson: I was making a lot of money working for this horrible company, but it wasn’t worth the personal/ social time lost, and the way I was treated on a daily basis. Lastly, I know I shouldn’t have rented cars to myself. I was being reckless, and unprofessional. I say, if you’d rather have your eyes burned out by a blow torch than go to your job (this was the way I felt everyday), then it may be time to quit, right?

Wake Me up Later

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:38:57 -0400

Not even three days after my 17th birthday, my parents decided that I should get a job for the summer. I mean, I was cool with it. I thought it was time for me to stop getting allowance from the rents’ anyway. Working for them doing chores at home for $2.00/hr wasn’t cutting it anymore.

My mom marched me up to the nearest department store, and I walked out that day with a job. I was now a merchandiser. The job description looked pretty easy…all I had to do was display and price the clothes. The only drawback was that I had to be at work at 4am every morning. That was hard.

For the first month, I managed to get to work at 4am, and crashing when I got home at 2pm every afternoon. However, one day at work, I crashed there. I spent the previous night up late hanging out, and going in at 4am ruined my sleeping in.

I got to work, barely knowing where I was. I punched in a received my work assignment. I was assigned to bedding! So there I was, alone, marking down bedding and feeling sleepier as time passed. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed the closest comforter, rolled myself in it, and slid under one of the display beds. I believe it was about 9am when one of my coworkers shook me awake. I don’t remember her words, but I do know there was some profanity. Thank God she covered for me (she kind of had to…I turned my head when she took a 3 hour lunch break the previous week).

Anyway, after I was violently shaken awake, I went to my supervisor’s office and told her that I had almost taken a lethal dose of benadryl for allergies, and I wasn’t able to finish work. I even pretended to slur my words so she would let me off. Needless to say, by 9:30 am I was speeding out of the parking lot screaming “so long suckers!” However, as I was driving home I thought, What kind of manager would let a drugged employee drive home themselves? Ah, questions to ponder…

Lesson: You may ask, why go through all of that when you could have just called off work? Well my dear friends, the slacker mind doesn’t work like that. I wanted to still get paid for doing nothing. Looking back though, my coworker could have been a bitch and turned me in, I could have been fired, and my chances for receiving a great reference later could have been ruined. I laugh about it now, but it wasn’t worth all of that.

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Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:37:35 -0400

Form 2

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:37:22 -0400

First of all, I don’t condone cheating and you can lose everything if you’re caught. However, as the slacker that I was, I looked for ways to get a good grade while putting in minimal or no work.

As a junior in college, I enrolled in a course that was a requirement, and was pretty difficult. I sat in class not knowing what the hell the professor was talking about. I could have asked him to explain the material to me, or I could have gotten a tutor…but that would have required too much work. Instead, I skipped class, hung out at my favorite Chinese restaurant across campus, and visited my friends. The days I did go to class, I noticed a girl who sat in front of me who seemed pretty smart. The day of the first exam, right before the proctor started to pass out the test, a light-bulb flashed in my head. I always had a good view of any papers that were on the smart girl’s desk, so all I would have to do is make sure I had the same test number as her-I would be home free! So that’s what I did. I watched what test form she received and followed suit.

Getting the first exam back, I was ecstatic! I got a 95% while putting in no work. I knew the next and final exam would be a breeze. I still continued to skip class and do whatever the hell I wanted. By the time the final exam rolled around, I took my seat behind smarty pants, grabbed form 2 and went to town. I laughed because my friend needed help in the class too. She sat next to me, made sure she grabbed form 2 and did her thing.

Of course, we high fived each other when final grades were posted. A’s all around! I secretly thanked smarty pants in my head and imagining her replying, “Hey, no problem. Glad I could help!”

Lesson: I could have just studied for the class. I felt good that I received an A out of the class, but ultimately I felt guilty for cheating. Greater satisfaction would have come if I had earned that A fair and square.

Going Down the Line

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:35:52 -0400

If you were a high school band geek like I was, you knew what “going down the line” meant. For those of you who were popular and had friends that weren’t all in National Honor Society, then this might go over your head a little. Looking back, it’s so stupid to me to make each person in a band section play a piece of music by themselves in front of everyone. Not only does this make the person nervous, but subjects them to laughter and ridicule if they sound like a piece of shit.

I hated it. I played clarinet, and ever the music director picked clarinets to go down the line, I always had the urge to piss my pants. I thought of all types of ways to get out it (like faking a heart attack or seizure), but I could never get the balls to do it. Most people I know would go home and practice their instrument for hours and hours, so that anytime the band hitler…I mean band director decided to go down the line, they would sound amazing. Too bad that wasn’t me. I would come home, watch power rangers (yes, I was in high school…so what?) and do anything that didn’t include band stuff and sometimes homework.

Anyway, one day during band practice, I just didn’t feel like embarrassing myself in front of everyone. In fact, I didn’t even feel like playing. Like always, the clarinet section sounded like dying cats during one of the difficult songs the band director had us play. “Go down the line” he says. Everyone one of the clarinet section played their part. When it came to me, I immediately chewed off my mouth piece. At the time, it seemed like a great idea. I just looked at him, and said, “Um, I’m not able to play.” That day, I didn’t care if I was kicked out of practice that day. I got out of having to show everyone how horrible of a clarinetist I was. Victory!

Lesson: If I would have just gone home and practiced my clarinet, I wouldn’t have had to resort to biting a wooden reed off my instrument. As well as almost slicing my tongue open in front of my classmates (that would have gotten me out of at least 3 band practices). I felt like Ozzy Osborne when he bit the head off of that bird. But I guess desperate times call for desperate measures!

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Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:33:12 -0400

What's a Slacker?

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 01:32:56 -0400

First off, what the hell am I talking about? Here’s a clear cut definition if anyone is confused. Enjoy!

slack·er/ˈslakər/Noun

1. A person who avoids work or effort.

2. A person who evades military service.

LOL Didn’t know if you evade military service, you’re a slacker. I guess I know quite a few “slackers” then. You know who you are!