Time For My Yearly Update

Ok – here’s the thing: for as long as I can remember, people I know have been telling me I should write a book. One thing you should know about me is I have these grandiose ideas and all the best intentions in the world, but I simply don’t have the patience to undertake something as significant as an entire novel. Weaving one storyline into another and having it all come out at the end in one simple ending with a tidy bow is just not my style. Maybe someday…but for now, I’m going to give it a shot in the only way I think is possible: a book of short stories loosely based on real events. And when I say “loosely based,” I mean “actual events according to my memory with names changed.” To anyone who may be part of these stories, consider this your warning call and let me apologize in advance for my narcissistic view on life and my self-importance in things that in actuality have very little to do with me. What can I say? Not only are we our own worst critics, sometimes we’re our own biggest fans.

Anyway – there’s only one way for this to work and that is to be completely and utterly honest and forthcoming in these stories and adventures. That being said, there are a few things you should know about me:

1.      I like shitty music and it’s a big factor in remembering certain things about certain points in my life (yes, I know – we’re all like that), so occasionally I may reference a song/album/artist or nine to remind me to stay on track.

2.      A lot of these stories will only be interesting to me and those who are an active part of my life. I suppose they may be interesting to those who were part of the stories at the time, but I’m not entirely sure those people will be flattered by my opinion or perspective of them. As mentioned before, names will be changed, so unless you’re a part of the story I’m planning on writing, you may not even know it’s anything but a really boring tale.

3.      I’m selfish in a lot of ways even though I try not to be. I’ll do my best to go back and reread to make sure I’m not making any obvious mistakes, but to be completely honest, I’m really only doing this because I don’t know what else to do right now and I need an outlet. I can’t say for sure this will continue past this one post because my motivation is fleeting and many times it takes a lot for me to open up a Word file and put my thoughts on screen. I don’t particularly care if anyone likes or reads it – it’s merely an outlet for my frustrations and to help me get a decent night sleep.

4.      I’ll probably reference my previous travels a lot because Jacksonville doesn’t really have a whole lot going for it in terms of scenic, historic, or interesting sights. A lot of what I draw on happened a significant time ago and since that is the case, my memory certainly isn’t what it used to be, so I’m giving myself creative range to reasonably fill the stories as I see fit.

5.      By all accounts, I’m not a very good writer, so don’t be surprised to see unfortunate changes in tense, person, etc. Again, I will do my best to catch this, but the continuity effect is widely lost on me.

6.      These points aren’t really in order of importance, but since I have you this far, I think you’ll pretty much read anything I put on the page. I’m not exactly sure how long each “story” will be, but the premise is pretty simple: I have one of those calendars that has a witty saying for each month. So, for each one of those sayings, I’ll write a story it reminds me of. Many of them will be far-fetched and have nothing to do with the actual quote – but here’s where I say “it’s my book and I can do whatever I want, so fuck you.”

7.      I curse a lot. A lot a lot…so if that’s not quite your bag, I suggest you move along quickly. One of my general rules in life is to not censor myself in many situations that don’t require it. My day job is one of those unfortunate circumstances where I’m not allowed to say everything I want or how I want. I’m sure I would be fired by now if I took those liberties, so there’s not much I can do there. This book/blog/whatever the fuck you call it is an entirely different story. Granted, there are not a lot of people out sharing the same name, but anyone who reads this will have some kind of connection to me, so I’m not entirely worried about it. Besides – work is FUCKING BORING, so why would I write about that?

8.      My inspiration for this came along a few weeks ago. Apparently November is “write your own novel” month and the girlfriend said I should take a shot. I gave it some thought and went for a run. On my jog, I went through some of the stuff I would say in this opening and it was all much more clever in my mind than it’s coming out on the page (as is usually the case). In true Justin fashion, I planned out a very brief outline for what I might want to write about according to my little calendar scheme and promptly sat on it for 2 weeks.

9.      So, here’s the plan: tonight is my prologue of sorts and putting my intentions out there in hopes one or two of the people who actually read this will hold me to my pledge. I want to write one story every two weeks to post on this blog to potentially gauge interest and most importantly have an outlet for my personal rage that has been building over the last few months. Some of the best times of my life were described in previous posts in this page and hopefully I’ll be able to relay a few more in the coming months.

Kind of awkward to leave it at nine things, isn’t it? Oh well – can’t be helped, I suppose. Last thing before I leave it alone for now: as with all my previous posts, I’m always open for criticism (constructive or otherwise), so if you have something to say about anything at all, please do leave a comment. Hate it, love it, are indifferent about it – let me know and I’ll take it in, chew it up a bit, then see what gets digested.

As for next time, the first post/chapter is called “It may be the antidepressants talking, but I’m feeling somewhat optimistic about 2012.” Starting off in a nice contradiction, it will focus mostly on the summer of 2010 and my months leading up to the move to London. Some characters you can look forward to meeting: The Energizer Bunny and Twilight (has very little to do with the book/movie series, I promise). Until then…

Last Post in London

Well, here we are: the last night in London. Fuck, it came quick, but that's what everyone (including me) said would happen. I guess I never realized how quickly it would come. Those last two sentences are just absolutely rife with sexual undertones...or is that just me?

One of the most common question I've been asked in the last few days is some variant of the following: are you sad? Answer: yes and no. Today was my last day of work at UBS for what I can only assume is forever. I have no prospect of continuing my employment for UBS in the States in the next few days/weeks/months, so the only logical conclusion is this chapter is closed and will stay closed. Sad? Not really. There are people I have met in the past year I will certainly miss, but those who matter won't really be going away; it'll just be months of potential planning to meet up which will eventually fall through and odds are I won't see a single one of them again. Always the optimist, I know. I do have some faith in a select few, though.

So, no...I'm not sad. I'm not really sure how to express what's going on right now, honestly. I'm at a loss for words. I knew this would happen eventually if I talked or wrote enough. At this point, it doesn't seem real. I know I'm leaving tomorrow and I know I'm going to have to say goodbye to some people who have become invaluable in my life. I also know I don't know how I'm going to react. The only solace is I know it has to happen and I can't do a thing to stop it. Every person I've grown close to over the past few weeks/months/year are from different parts of the world. Most are in the US which will make a meet potentially possible, but we're all going to be beyond busy the next few weeks/months and once we get around to it, it'll just be a “well...I guess I could, but why put in that much effort? Seems like a lot of work.” As with everything, time will tell.

Anyway, enough of that bullshit and more of the cynicism you come to expect from this page. Last night, I was at an event cleverly titled “leaving drinks” for a friend of mine. What happens at this event, you may ask? Well, drinks are clearly involved. The reason for the occasion? They're leaving! I know...I was stuck on that one for a while, too. It just so happened that this event was host to just about every person I have come to meet and loathe for the last fifty-ish weeks or longer. There are some I haven't seen or spoken to in months and there are others who I was friendly with previously where that friendliness does not exist anymore. I'm torn up about it, I swear. However, whenever there can be drinking and awkwardness involved...well, fuckin' eh, count me in.

I can sum this night up in just a few sentences: imagine being at a house party complete with three keg stations. In attendance are about two hundred people; one hundred and seventy of which you can't stand while the other thirty are absolutely shit-hammered while you're sober and trying to get to their level. Oh, and two keg stations just dried up.

Following the story so far? Ok, so here's what happens: you end up getting stuck in line with about a fucking million people you would rather have rusty, dirty knives shoved up your pee-hole than speak to, let alone be near in general. Sober. Fun, right? Here's what you can expect from this scenario: fake interactions with those you hate, some getting pissed you're ignoring them even though you've spoken maybe two words to them in your entire life, and fantastic over-the-top reconciliations from those you used to be friends with based on their having new people around them so they can save face and not look like a fuck/dick/cunt/bitch. Where are the people you actually care about, want to hang out with, talk to and see? Nowhere to be found...tumbleweeds. Get me the fuck out of here. Now.

Short story long: I left early after saying my goodbyes to the people I came to see. Shocking, I know...

So it's my last night...I'm done packing...all the flatmates are out of the house...and I'm sitting here contemplating the previous year in this fucked up thing we call life. Seems fitting, I think. This will be my last post written in London...next time you hear from me will be when I'm on US soil for the first time since April. I've said it before and I'll say it again...life's a fucked up ride. Hold tight, ride it the best you can (there's those goddamn sexual undertones again!) and see where you end up.

It's been a great year and for those who have stuck with me for this long, for those who have read occasionally, and for those of you who might be new readers, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. Here's to the next one.

This Might Be My Last Post

Okay, kids...this might be my last post.

Before you get all teary eyed from sheer joy in never having to suffer through my ramblings again, I feel like I should explain. Tomorrow will begin my last trip in Europe as I have less than twenty days left in the UK. Since I have precisely zero days of vacation left and am rapidly running out of the pitiful stipend this company pays on a monthly basis, I simply don't have the time, finances or patience for any more visits to European countries. Therefore, it was decided a few weeks ago that my last trip this year would be to Amsterdam, Netherlands.

The reason this might be my last post ever is because I'm fully expecting to die this weekend. We leave tomorrow morning and are scheduled to return Monday evening, but I'm fully expecting to miss my return flight since I'll be dead. I have heard many stories about Amsterdam, but almost all of them involve painful amounts of alcohol and some other stuff as well. Before we continue, I feel like I should make one thing clear: I am not going to Amsterdam because a certain substance is widely rumored to be legal there. In fact, I have a very negative attitude toward this substance. I have never been interested in it and I don't think it's “cool” to brag about how high you are or have been in the past. This might be a surprise to some, but for those of you who know me, it really shouldn't be since I'm usually quite vocal in my opinion (shocking, I know). The reason I'm going is because I want my last trip to be as fun as possible and this seems like the right city to end on. Not only that, but I feel it would be socially irresponsible of me to be this close in proximity and not make a visit. It just seems...I don't know...it seems like you kinda have to go.

So why am I going to die? I don't really know...I just feel like it's a probability. I have no evidence to support my premonition much like the majority of my feelings and thoughts, but I feel like I have a pretty decent track record of my predictions. Ok, probably alcohol poisoning. Happy? So here we are, mere hours from my death...and I feel like I've given life a pretty decent ride. If it ends here, I'm good with it...I've done a lot and I can't point to anything I would say I regret, so I feel like that's a solid indicator of a good time.

On a side note, I was recently informed this weekend is gay pride weekend in Amsterdam (not that there's anything wrong with that), so that tidbit should make it even more interesting. Much like the majority of men in this world, I have never been in the circumstance where a woman who was interested in sexing me up buy drinks all night in an effort to seal the deal. As we all know, this is the man's job. That being said, I'm not above accepting some free drinks to make up for the hundreds (okay, dozens) of drinks I've bought for women in unsuccessful efforts to make me a tiny bit more attractive (let's be honest here, you can't polish a turd). Let me be clear here: I'm not expecting people to buy me drinks because that would be narcissistic and completely out of character (haha...riiight), but I will accept them without question. Before you get all judgmental, let's explore this for a bit. I can't tell you how many times I've heard this sentence come out of a woman's mouth:

“He's buying me drinks, so of course I'm going to keep talking to him. What? Sleep with him? Haha...don't be silly.”

Yes, I realize how sexist it sounds. No, I don't care. Because it's absolutely accurate. And none of you can dispute it. It's a widely accepted fact that men buy women drinks because they want to get down. If women have a problem with it, stop taking free drinks from strange men. Whoa...when did this get so serious? Ok...think of a dick joke...quick! Shit...I'm all out.

Anyway, due to the dubious amounts of alcohol I'm expecting to consume in the next 72 hours, along with the sheer dumbassery I expect to partake in, I pretty much expect to die. My liver will give out, my kidneys will quit on me, or I might get stabbed in the neck. Either way, I fully expect my clock to expire thus negating the rest of my travel plans and life expectancy. Like I said, it was a fun ride...and I very much appreciate all two of you who shared this experience with me.

By the way, in case anyone asks: Don't waste your money on a funeral or any bullshit like that. Just throw a gigantic kegger and pour one out for your ol' buddy Rufus. Oh, and Justin too...he'd like that. Also, make sure to hire The Used to play the wake...they might need the gig.

Later, fuckers...it's been real.

Alcohol + Awkward Situations = Hilarity

Holy shit! Two posts in three days?! Yep...better watch out, this might become a regular thing...and then you're all fucked.

Really, this shouldn't be a shock to anyone, but I've been drinking again (gasp!) and I have some thoughts on what just happened in the previous 6 hours. For the dense folks in the crowd (and new readers...could it be?!), the past 11+ months have seen me in an entirely different country than I am used to, living in London, UK (I swear, it's not a brag...this place kind of sucks) and working at an investment bank (sounds way more prestigious than it really is) while scraping a living and counting my pennies to survive. Tonight marked the celebration known cleverly as “leaving dinner” for the program I'm involved with and will be the last time I see or speak to 90% of the people I've come to loathe for the last year-ish of my life.

The point of this entire entry is the wonderful powers of alcohol. Inserted in the right situation (read: any) and consumed in moderation (excess), it makes nearly every situation tolerable. I had every intention of skipping this dinner since I have almost zero desire to see anyone in this program again, but I was persuaded otherwise by the promise of free booze. Turns out, the free booze was shitty wine (which I absolutely hate) and the only other option was a “half price” happy hour which featured prices one would only encounter in strip clubs of the classiest design. A regular bottle of beer cost a stout 2.40 GBP (roughly 4.00 USD) at half price. You're goddamn right I went straight for the wine with a hard and heavy fury.

Now, granted I'm pretty well off at this point, and there are a few people I do actually enjoy hanging out with who are scattered about...but for the most part I want nothing to do with anyone at this entire gathering. Don't try telling this to Rufus (my blacked out counterpart) because he's a fucking social butterfly. Just in case you're keeping track, a handful beers along with a few glasses of wine with no food equals Rufus. He doesn't give a fuck about anyone and will say any and everything that comes to his pretty little head. Suffice to say I had a bit of fun tonight with ol' Rufus' help and I can't imagine a scenario where they'll be sorry to see me go. The feeling is most definitely mutual at this point.

Now that I'm a few paragraphs into this entry, I forget what I was meaning to say. I don't remember saying anything in particular that would have pissed anyone off or that was especially inappropriate (unfortunately), but I do remember spending way too much money on overpriced alcohol. Those last few sentences make me sad...what good is a night out without multiple people absolutely infuriated with you over something you may not remember?

The lesson here is simple, as always: alcohol + horrible people + awkward situations = hilarity. Follow that simple formula and you can never go wrong. Trust me...would I lie to you?

Get Over Yourself Already

It's been a while...too long, in fact. I've had a fuck of a day thus far, but you know what? Let's play “story time” because I have one to tell and you're bored enough to read it.

Fair warning: I've had a few drinks (of the alcohol nature – gasp!) and this might come across as a little more aggressive than I intend...but for those of you who have read before, it really shouldn't be anything new. So, without any further ado, the story of the night:

I went out for drinks with some co-workers tonight because a fairly important person was in London doing some business that has something vaguely related to a process I perform on a daily basis. Fine by me, I'm all about free drinks and making an ass out of myself after ingesting a few adult beverages. Prior to embarking on this adventurous evening, I was slightly nervous because this person could potentially have some kind of impact on my career in the future since he works in New York and has a little pull in who gets hired and who does not. I was naively thinking since I am one of five or six people in the entire world who know how to do this process, this person might have some interest in keeping my services at the company I currently work. It became extremely obvious early in the evening this would not be the case because there are very few positions available in the US, especially in my given area of “expertise.”

So, here we are a few drinks into the night (compliments of mystery NY man, thankyouverymuch) and I have yet to eat a single morsel of real food since lunch and the stories are flowing like a freshly discovered period. The people in attendance are Mystery NY man, two co-workers, and my boss's boss. At some point, Mystery NY man tells a story about his recent adventures on the tube (London's underground subway system for the slow people in the crowd) and how he was sweating balls carrying his unnecessary luggage around. Eventually, a random stranger (is there any other kind?) offered him a seat as he can be considered an older gent and might require a rest as to avoid a coronary. This prompts me to recall a story where something similar happened a few months prior involving an older (but not really that older) man when I was cursing myself for riding the tube back from Heathrow (fucking again) after depositing yet another visitor in the safe hands of Overpriced Airline.

I begin my story by saying I'm riding the tube back from Heathrow and some random woman notices a middle-aged man who might look like he's having a little trouble standing. Upon noticing middle-aged man, she turns to me (earphones in and turned up to near ear-bleeding status and reading a book) and tells me I should give up my seat because he looks like he might need it. As I'm recounting my story, I reference my boss saying “this guy was young, probably middle-aged like you” and didn't seem like he needed any charity in me giving up my seat. Not for nothing, but if this woman was so concerned about this guy sitting down, why not give up your own damn seat, you selfish bitch? End of story...except not really. Apparently “middle-aged” isn't a term thrown around lightly as my boss seemed fairly disturbed and potentially offended by the categorization.

As far as I know, my boss is late 30s and has a few fuck trophies (kids) as well. Let me ask you, dear reader...what would you consider “middle-aged?” From what I can tell, middle-aged is mid to late thiries to mid to late forties. Am I wrong? Please tell me...I beg you...I implore you...if I'm wrong – do tell. Give me a viable definition that tells me I'm incorrect in my assessment and I will walk into work tomorrow (or more likely Monday) and sincerely apologize to my boss for calling him such a dirty word.

As you can well imagine, the rest of the evening was spent telling stories with the preface of “Well, since I'm middle-aged” and “Oh, I can't do that anymore since I'm middle-aged.” Fuck. You. Get over yourself already. People get old...you're not special. Just because you're clinging onto your last semblance of hope of being considered “young” does not mean you are. Why not throw on some Dickies and a Quicksilver shirty with a flat-billed fifty-nine fifty Dodgers hat while you're at it? When I'm 40 and employing little shitheads such as myself and buying them drinks since they can't afford it themselves, I expect to be called old because I fucking am.

Do me a favor, readers (all two of you), if I ever lose what small sense of humor I have, especially if it involves me being old as fuck all, just kill me. Take a shotgun and blast me in the face. You'd be doing everyone a favor and you have my personal guarantee I will not press charges. Because when we lose our funny, we might as well be dead anyway...

I'll probably regret posting this tomorrow (whatever, at the end of the day, we're all attention whores anyway) but fuck it...it's written and I haven't posted anything in a while. Plus my last 15 posts have been depressing as shit anyway, so here's a little light hearted post to let you know your life is and always will be better than mine.

Questions? Comments? You know what to do...