Alright already!

I haven't posted in awhile so tonight I'm sitting in the soft glow of the computer screen with my friends Glenlivet and Sleepinal. If I doze off at the keyboard I apologize.

The lack of posting isn't because I haven't had anything to write about. To the contrary, since my last post I received and accepted a job offer at the CDS company. I start on April 3rd. I had a nice send off happy hour that was well attended by my friends and now former coworkers. I also missed another opportunity to ask out Coach Monica after my niece's Saturday morning basketball game.

editor's note: My 7 year old niece had 3 baskets and a rebound. I know she says she's going to Harvard, but maybe she might consider Stanford; better basketball program.

The reason that I haven't posted is because I have been a little gun shy about what I write. I broke the first rule of Blog Club which is of course "You don't talk about Blog Club". A large number of my friends have read my blog at one time or another. That's ok with me. I like to entertain. However, I also write about my feelings and frustrations on this site. This seems to provide fodder for a lot of jokes at my expense. Look, I can take a joke. I make jokes about my friends more or less constantly. There are running themes. Buds has excessive body hair. Skins is Asian. Monthly has gigantic ears. C-Note is short. Albie has never bought anything that wasn't on sale. That's all fine. These are, with the exception of Albie's thriftiness, physical characteristics that are out of their control. Certain things are off limits. I don't attack people's character. I don't take shots at guys' girlfriends, wives, or kids. And I don't poke fun at any unfortunate circumstances of my buddy's lives.

Here is the thing. If you want to make fun of me for having a blog; fine. That's fair game. If you are emailing links to a post wherein I admit being lonely with the subject line "Why Pudge can't get laid." I have a problem with that. If there is an email string among 3 to 4 people discussing how pathetic I am then you hound me to write more so that you can continue to ridicule me; that rubs me the wrong way. I just ask that you keep the gloves up; that's all.

editor's note: I'm refilling my scotch and hopping up on my soap box.

Not too long ago Blondie and Ambs77 said that I have a tendency to make blunt, rude retorts. I have two feelings about this. First, if I am commenting on your clothes, something you said, or the like I expect you to have a sense of humor about it and be able to take a joke. It's good natured. It may also be my way of protecting myself. I may be letting you know that I'm not really cool with what you said without being confrontational. Consider it a warning shot across your bow.

Here is a fundamental truth about me. I feel that I am loved by many but respected by few. One of the few things that I strongly believe in is not making excuses. Therefore I can and will find fault with myself everytime something goes awry in my life. I am quick to point out my own faults and own up to my mistakes; of which I make many (On a related note I'm pretty sure that I have talked a few interested ladies out of dating me). This often manifests itself in the form of self-effacing humor. Sometimes I feel like people think that because of this I am not a prideful man. That is not the case.

Here's three that recently bugged me...

Blondie sent out an email inviting our coworkers to join us at my farewell happy hour. She included pictures and quotes from Office Space comparing me to Peter Gibbons. The invite said "Let's all go raise a glass to someone who worked just hard enough not to get fired." I wasn't mad at Blondie. There was no malice intended and I've made similar jokes about myself. I don't like the idea that it is a commonly held belief that I am lazy and bad at my job. The truth is that I felt that management repeatedly made promises to me that weren't kept. I got bitter and stopped doing anything extra to advance. I didn't want to be Peter Gibbons. That's why I left.

At my farewell happy hour PZ was telling Albie about how I fucked up our hotel reservations in Mexico. That's cool. I deserve to take some shit for that one. Albie's response got under my skin though. "You should know better. You take Pudge along for laughs, but you don't give him any responsibility." That's the kind of thing that will ellicite a harsh retort.

scotch refill...

I hate the nickname Serial Killer. One of my coworkers gave me this one not long after I started working there and it stuck. I happen to be 6'3" and 240 pounds with a large forehead and a "peircing" gaze. I have two problems with this. First, I consider myself to be an approachable, good natured, lovable guy yet I get the impression that some people are actually intimidated by me. I've never committed an act of violence against another person in my life but I can't help but wonder if two of my superiors didn't make sure they were out of the office on my last day.

That's all I've got to say about that. If I mentioned you in this don't sweat it. I won't kill you.

To sell or not to sell

I had an interview this morning with the provider of the "leading content delivery network for Internet distribution of video, music, games, and downloads. Their advanced content delivery network provides the world's top media companies high-performance, cost-effective delivery of media content and software via the Internet." They're the company that worked with CBS Sportsline to show live webcasts of the NCAA tournament. This small sized company is based in Tempe and is hiring a couple of account executives.

I arrived nearly 20 minutes late due to bad directions and the fact that there is no signage on the outside of the building. I immediately noticed that I was the only one wearing a suit and tie. Everybody else was wearing jeans, t-shirts, and flip flops. The first guy I met with was asking me about my previous jobs. I don't love this part of the process. I have to explain getting laid off from my first job and why I want to leave my present job without sounding bitter or angry. The next two guys I met with talked with me about their indsutry, the company, and the job duties. I was able to ask 5 or 6 good questions and I thought everything went well. The VP of Sales discussed the compensation package with me (30k base, 12-15% commissions on monthly revenues with no cap, 12 months of residuals on new contracts, monthly and yearly bonuses ranging from $500 to $5000.) , said he expected to hear good things about me from the other two men when they met to discuss me later, and asked about my availability. I took all these things as good signs. I should hear something tomorrow. I was told they move fast.

I was struck by how laid back everybody was. I was rockin' out on my way to the interview trying to get my energy up and summon my inner Vince Vaughn. It wasn't necessary. They talked like sales people throwing out words like competitive and aggressive but everybody was calm and soft spoken. It didn't sound like a call center either. There weren't any phones ringing or incessant chatter.

I told them I wanted to be a part of their organization and I expect they'll offer me the job. I said I would need to give two weeks notice not mentioning that I did that two weeks ago. I'm torn. It's sales. I don't love sales, but I could realistically make 15k more a year. That's hard to walk away from. I can't put the time and energy into being succesful at this and continue to look around for other opportunities. It just won't work. I've got some thinking to do, so I'm going to go play softball.

Tadd

It is no secret that I am not enamored with my job. I have, however, had the pleasure of meeting some wonderful people during my time here. A few post comments on my blog from time to time. There is one gentleman that I have not gotten to know really well. I've never hung out with him outside of work. But he is such a character that I just felt compelled to write about him. That man is Tadd of "The Luke and Tadd Show" fame (see my "Other Links"). To say this guy marches to the beat of a different drummer does not do him justice. He's just a strange cat. Like Uncle Scruffles.
Yesterday I noticed that Tadd came to work wearing skate shoes. I don't mean Vans. I mean those shoes that have wheels on the bottom and allow the wearer to glide around as if on roller skates. I couldn't believe it.
Me: Tadd, you are a grown ass man wearing roller shoes....at work.
Tadd: Yeah. They're sweet. Check it!
With that Tadd turned and glided down the corridor between rows of cubicles. As he reached the end of the isle he attempted a hard right turn and lost his balance. With 4 of his coworkers looking on Tadd crashed into a cubicle partition and ended up on his back; legs in the air with one wheel still spinning.
I felt a little bad for him so I stood over him boisterously pointing and laughing for several minutes. I only wish that Luke had captured the whole thing on camera so that it could be posted on their website. Perhaps with some slow motion sequences and Joe Esposito's "You're The Best Around" playing in the background. It would have been gold Jerry. Gold!

TTAWT XVII

Ooo-kay. Let's just all pretend that last post never happened. OK? Good.
Sunday morning was draft day baby! 9:35am was the official start time for the live online draft for the 17th edition of the Tap That Ass World Tour (TTAWT) fantasy baseball league. I had planned to keep a running diary of the events Simmon's style using the digital voice recorder. The action was fast and furious and I just couldn't multi-task that well. Here are some highlights.

I arose at 7am to make a McMuffin run, make sure I had internet connectivity, and take a quick peek at MLB news to make sure nobody important got hurt last night. As Go Time rolled around I had my war room ready. The TV was rotated so I could watch Bradley destroy Pitt. My computer desktop had 3 screens going: The draft (Yahoo), The Excel spreadsheet containing my draft sheets, and the Windows Media Player with my playlist on shuffle. I lead off with "Let's Get it Started" by The Black Eyed Peas.

Every year somebody misses the draft. This year was no exception. Its always for the same reasons. This year AI slept in and missed the first 7 rounds. ironically, the computer auto-drafted him a better team than I drafted for myself. Stoner once again had connectivity issues and had to have "Clown Fucker" draft for him.

editor's note: That nickname is the best random original expletive I have ever heard. There was no context. Big Al just called the guy a clown fucker.

The message board was relatively tame this year. The usually boisterous Whatta barely made a peep. There were the obligatory references to participants ethnicity, "Skins (who's half Korean), Hee-Sop Choi is still available." and one of the new guys being refered to only as "The Canadian". There was disapproval of peoples' picks: Spicoli on my pick of Garrett Anderson, "That was a nice pick. Three years ago." There was also this exchange...
Me: I'm feeling confident.
PZ: Maybe you should read your blog.
Me: Ouch.
PZ: Sorry Yo.

In a related story Skins' team name is Special K. Thanks Dick.

This was probably my worst draft since I started playing fantasy baseball 4 years ago. I usually draft well and manage my team steadily down the standings as the season progresses. Thats' my M.O. Anyway, here is what I ended up with.

• C Victor Martinez
• 1b Shea Hillenbrand
• 2b Alphonso Soriano
• 3b Nomar Garciapara
• ss Edgar Renteria
• OF Johnny Damon
• OF Jeff Francouer
• OF Moises Alou
• BN Garrett Anderson
• BN Jose Guillen
• BN Louis Castilla
• BN Connor Jackson
• BN AJ Pierzynski

• SP Roy Oswalt
• SP Roy Halladay
• RP Huston Street
• RP Jason Isringhausen
• P Jon Garland
• P Matt Morris
• P Jeff Weaver
• P Derek Lowe
• BN Adam Eaton
• BN Jose Mesa
• BN Jamie Moyer

St. Patrck's Day Massacre

St. Patrick’s Day was a whirlwind of activity. Probably the only person surprised by this was me. I just wasn’t expecting much. The lone black man in our office, whom I’ve nicknamed “Token”, invited everybody to join him at Maloney’s in Tempe after work for happy hour. I wasn’t crazy about this idea. Maloney’s is a college bar on ASU’s campus and I like the bar itself but I don’t like going there much anymore. I feel I have become the guy in his late twenties that is a little too old to be there. I used to make fun of that guy.

Maloney’s makes a very big deal out of St. Patrick’s Day. They cover the parking lot with a huge tent, throw up some green bunting, have live music, and charge 20 bucks at the door. Despite the abysmal parking situation, $5.00 green Miller Lights, and sea of frat dueches in tight green T-shirts with gay things like “Irish Beer Drinking Team” printed on them I was enjoying myself.

I shot the shit with some of my coworkers that I don’t normally hang out with outside of work. I had the beginnings of a nice beer buzz going and we all joined in a rousing game of “make fun of the fat girl riding the mechanical bull.” Good times. Also I should say here that ASU offers world class eye-candy. Second to none. Seriously, it’s ridiculous.

Whattta, stop reading now.

I was pleasantly surprised that I was having a good time. I was walking towards the bar to get another beer when out of nowhere I see her…BAM! I would have paid a large amount of money to see the gold medal worthy double take that I performed. It was Special K. Special K is atop a very short list of women I’ve known in my lifetime whose presence actually makes it hard for me to function. It really gets my attention when a woman’s smile causes a physical reaction in my gut rather than just my penis. K has that effect on me. Moreover, she always has. We went to high school together. I had a huge crush on her then but in high school I was Mitch from Dazed and Confused without the hair. I was incapable of pulling the trigger.

After high school I didn’t have any contact with her for 6 years. I found a comfort zone with the Iowa farmers’ daughters in college and really hit my dating stride in the first few years after college. When we crossed paths again at the Christmas party of a mutual friend I was a confident guy. We started spending some time together meeting for lunch and talking on the phone. Turned out we worked out at the same gym. I started doing my workouts in the mornings before work. For 6 months I went to the gym 5 days a week at 5am. I even took an ab class. Things were going great. We went out a few times but I made the decision to hold off on the romantic overtures and try to build a foundation of friendship. Retarded move. Next thing I know its 6 months later and we’re “just friends”. One morning we’re both on elliptical machines and she tells me, “You’ve been in here every morning for, like, 6 months. I’m really impressed.” I lost it a little bit. In one of the most embarrassing moments of my life I attempted to tell her that she was the reason for my new found discipline. She was noticeably uncomfortable and attempted to change the subject. I stopped going to the gym and I didn’t see her for nearly a year until our high school reunion. She gave me a hug, we made small talk, and she told me her number was the same and I should stop being such a stranger. I never called. That was in August.

Editor’s note: This post is getting away from me. I’m no longer sure if I started with a point.

Meanwhile, back at Maloney’s; She was pleasant. She gave me a hug and smiled as if happy to see me but I had a stomach punch moment. She looked great. She played soccer in college and runs ironman events for fun. I haven’t worked out regularly since I left that gym and have developed man boobs (also known as moobs). She is very smart and has found some success as a business consultant. I had to admit that I was quitting my job and didn’t have another one yet. I didn’t feel real good about myself at that moment. She asked me if I wanted to join her and her friends inside the bar and all I could think to say was, “I’ve seen it.” WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?!
Once again she told me that her number has not changed and I should call her some time. Then she was gone.

I'm the son of a bitch that named you Sue.

I finally got a chance to watch Walk The Line. I was anxious to see this movie for several reasons. First was the buzz. There were unavoidable comparisons to Ray. Everybody that I talked to started their assessment with, “It’s great; just like Ray.”
I loved Ray. I thought it was a great movie. Nobody that I talked to had anything negative to say about Walk The Line. On top of that I kept seeing the words “Oscar-worthy performance” popping up next to Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon’s names. Throw in the intriguing trailer and the “Jackson” music video on CMT and I was psyched. The second reason I wanted to see it was the subject matter. I like Johnny Cash’s music but I’m not that familiar with his back story. Admittedly, I am not as big a fan of Cash as I am of fellow Highwaymen Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings or even Ray Charles for that matter. Still I count I Walk The Line, Folsom Prison Blues, Ring of Fire, and A Boy Named Sue as favorites.

My feeling is this; It was good. It was real good. I didn’t think it was great. There is no question that Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon both turned in superb acting performances. Phoenix’s portrayal of Cash’s mannerisms, style, and rhythm was spot on. Similarly Reese Witherspoon’s performance as June Carter Cash gave the film depth and soul. The realization that they sang their own vocals just blew me away.

I had only two problems with the film. First, It didn’t quite quench my thirst for knowledge about Johnny Cash and his beginnings. Bob Bloom of The Journal and Courier put it this way.
“One moment we see a young Cash lying in bed weeping at the loss of his brother, the next he is joining the military. His first wife, Vivian is introduced talking to Cash via long distance, with him asking her to marry him. The next scene shows Cash wandering through a music store in Germany, picking up a guitar and teaching himself to play.No motivation or explanation for these actions are given. (Writers) Dennis and Mangold simply rush through events to get to what the audience expects — Johnny Cash, singer, and the beginning of his tumultuous courtship of Carter.”
This isn’t all bad. It just makes me want to read Man in Black and Cash: An Autobiography for more details.

The other problem that I had may have been more with me than the movie. I wasn’t rooting for him. I kept waiting for Phoenix to give me some reason to want to see Cash overcome his demons. More importantly I wanted to know why June Carter wanted him to overcome his demons. Amidst the drinking, drugs, lying, and cheating I wanted a glimpse of a redeemable quality. I found myself siding with the father’s assessment of his son’s life and muttering, “Don’t do it…” when Cash proposes in front of a live audience. I can’t point to a moment in the movie that validated their love and that bothers me.

I can’t help but think that Walk The Line is a very good movie that narrowly missed being truly great. Perhaps reading a detailed autobiography followed by a second viewing will change my mind.

Blogpourri

Transcript of actual voicemail on my cell phone this morning.
"When...Are...You Going...To Update....YOUR FUCKING BLOG!"

My apologies. There have been a handful of things I've wanted to comment on recently but I haven't taken the time to sit down and work through them. Conceivably, each of these could and should be a complete post. I may yet write about any or all of these things in more detail, but for now here is a smattering of events, thoughts, and observations. I encourage comments.

I put in my two weeks notice on Monday. I have mixed feelings (unbridled joy/nervous energy). I'm getting responses to my inquiries, but they are all sales jobs. I could make considerably more money almost immediately, but I still don't love sales.

Every year around this time I get to witness some variation of this exchange...
Interior: A bar. A large crowd is drinking and having a good time. "Hollaback Girl" playing loudly in the background. My buddy PZ is conversing with a young lady. She may or may not be attractive.
Young lady: So what do you do for a living PZ?
PZ: I'm a Bracketologist.
Young lady: Um, what?
PZ (pulling a small laminated NCAA Tournament bracket from his back pocket): See this here? I have Bucknell in the Final Four. They're RPI isn't the strongest but this team is tournament tested.
Young lady: Whatever. Is your friend Spicoli seeing anybody?

The WBC is here to stay. Right now everybody is into this except the Americans and that's just fine with the folks at MLB. They're doing this to reach the markets in Latin America, Asia, etc... It's working. It's going to be played every three years so they've got time to work the kinks out.

I was so happy when I read the SI excerpts of "Game of Shadows" that I performed Riverdance in my living room. What a douche'. Barry Bonds needs to be banned for life Pete Rose style. You want to put an end to the steroid scandal? Ban Barry from The Hall. I guarantee the players would hear that message loud and clear. This won't happen, but if it does I'm throwing a Bye Bye Barry party and you're all invited.

Whatta left a 5 minute message on my phone lamenting the loss of my manhood. Apparently some of my posts have given him the impression that I am no longer practicing the teachings of Doc Love. What can I say? On occasion I get lonely and when I am in this state of mind I'm not that interested in being a challenge. I am also not smart enough to avoid the keyboard when I'm searching for my mojo. Keep in mind that those posts are a reflection of how I feel at that moment in time. There are plenty of other times where my confidence is high and I'm quick to double down on 11.

I'm fascinated by HBO's new show Big Love. I'm not LDS but I live in the second largest Mormon community in the US. I've known people involved in plural marriage and I read Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by Jon Krakauer. In my opinion polygamy is a religious front for pedophilia. I can't believe they are presenting a scenario in which there is an acceptable way to do this. I'm really interested to see what kind of reaction this show gets from the Mormon Church and the general public.

JP The Bear, one of my college roommates from Iowa, is in town on a family vacation. Last night I bought him and his wife some Mexican food. It was only a matter of time and Coronas before he brought up the time that I jokingly went chest to chest with him and he jokingly tossed me like a beach ball at a Jimmy Buffet concert.

One of my coworkers just asked me for the address of my blog. I never told her I write one. Somebody ratted me out. I suspect Blondie.

This post scores a 5.6 on the Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level scale. Whatever that means.

How do I kill the bunny?

I need to get back in the game. I haven't been on a date since December. It's not the ideal time but I'm not going to let a little thing like being jobless keep me from trying to attract women. I mean, honestly, is gainful employment really that high on most women's list of requirements?

I went to get my haircut today at a little place a block from my apartment. Normally I don't talk to the people that cut my hair. I want them to focus on the task at hand. This girl was kinda cute and she was chatty so I talked her up. We had a couple of laughs and she asked me if I had been to any of the bars in the area. I chose not to mention the Hooters down the street where I spent Valentines Day. She allowed as to how she liked to go to the R.T. O'Sullivan's in the same strip mall. She apparently knows one of the bartenders. I took this as a good sign. She insisted I get a wash after the cut and it seemed to take a really long time. Admittedly, I could be way off here but it seemed like she spent an inordinate amount of time caressing the back of my neck below the hairline and my earlobes. My earlobes are a hot spot for me, but I won't get into that. Point is I felt like I was being flirted with. I told her I really liked the cut, tipped her generously, and told her I'd be back for my next haircut. I found it interesting that I started judging her almost immediately. She mentioned that she was married at 19 and has since divorced. She's also a hair stylist which does not impress me and she lives with her sister in AJ. I thought, "She's probably got a kid she's not mentioning."
I've never been one to date for the sake of dating. I know that one person is always more into it than the other and I feel guilty if I'm the one that is not emotionally invested. I think it might be good for me to see if she wants to have a drink just because she might be fun to drink with.

I have also had my eye on my niece and nephew's basketball coach. She is an attractive young lady that is a first grade teacher at the elementary school that my sister teaches at and her kids attend. After one of their games my sister said jokingly, "You want me to hook you up with Coach Monica?" I think I caught her off gaurd when I relpied, "Yes, I do." In a true elementary school move my darling sister mentioned to Coach Monica that I had asked about her. Apparently Coach responded favorably. I finally got an introduction tonight when I attended a school music recital. She caught me looking once and gave a shy smile. I thought it was cute the way her students obviously adore her. I like that she volunteers her time to teach basketball to 5-7 year olds. Also, tonight was the first time I got within conversation distance and noticed that she has beautiful light blue eyes.

My sister told me that I "should really ask her out". I don't think that my sister would say this if she didn't think Coach would be agreeable. I would like to ask her out but I usually like to have at least one conversation under my belt first and each time I've seen her there have been no less than 7 of my family members in the room. I am a little uncomfortable dropping some game when my parents, grandparents, sister, brother in-law, niece, and nephew are bearing witness. Stage frieght I guess. I'm not sure how I'm gonna pull this off, but I can't wait too long or she'll assume I'm not interested and start dating someone else.

In any case, I can't imagine how me writing about my misadventures in dating could be anything but entertaining. So, I'll keep you posted.

The next American Idol

Quick story. I managed to put in a full 8 to 5 day scouring The Arizona Republic's Career Builder and Monster for jobs yesterday. Didn't turn the tv on once. when five o'clock rolled around I was stir crazy to the point of being jittery. Somehow self-imposed lockdown in your own home is worse than being in a cubicle all day. No coworkers to shoot the shit with I guess.

I had to get out of my apartment. I didn't even care where I was going or what I was going to do. I went out to grab a bite to eat but I didn't have any idea what I wanted. I live within a mile of a major mall so there are roughly 6,000 choices for food. I covered about 8 blocks in nearly 30 minutes before finally ending up at the Panda Express 100 yards from my door.

One of the things that has the ability to give me pure unadulterated joy is singing to the radio. I have found that it is a strange stress reliever. I liken it to primal scream therapy. I turn up the volume and air out my lungs. It's a performance and the driver's seat is my stage. I don't care who sees me do it either. When somebody else catches me doing this I acknowledge them and kick it up a notch.

All of this is to somehow explain what happened next. I was driving back to my apartment thinking about my orange chicken and scanning radio stations. I came across "Girls just wanna have fun". I was considering calling Spicoli and leaving it on his voicemail with the suggestion that he add it to his ipod when, as luck would have it, a car full of teenage girls rolls up driver's side. The little voice in my head immediately said, "This could be fun."

editor's note: My conscience sounds suspiciously like James Earl Jones yet the little devil on my opposite shoulder sounds like the love child of Adam Corrola and Gilbert Godfried.

I tuned to my left and belted out a "They just wanna. They just wannnnaaa!" The girl in the front passenger seat starts cracking up and alerts her friends to the moronic serinade going on next to them. I am looking directly at them singing and girating like I'm gunning for a grammy. they're eating it up. They ask for the station. I tell them. They join in. Alas, the light turned green and our 5 person homage to Cyndi Lauper's feminine anthem could not continue.

What had been an incredibly boring yet strangely stressful day instantly turned around because of one border line retarded act. You know what? I'm not going to try and assign any deeper significance to this. Whatever. This is how I roll. Whatever that means. Airwolf just crested the hill...

Next Chapter

I informed by boss today that I am taking next week off as a self imposed "Decision making leave". This basically means that I'm using my remaining vacation time to focus completely on finding another job. I have had a couple opportunities float by recently but I find myself having no time to fill out applications, write cover letters, or forge letters of recommendation. I can't do these things at work because I'm too closely micromanaged.

Including weekends I'll have 9 days away. As I see it I have two challenges. First, to stay focused. This is not a vacation. I need to work hard to find something and get in front of a few people. I can't afford to sleep in or watch movies. Its doubley tough because its baseball season. Spring training has started, I have tickets to a few World Baseball Classic games next week, and ASU has a homestand against Auburn this weekend. It would be easy for me to spend an entire week in flip flops sitting in the sun, drinking beer, and watching games. In fact, toss in an attractive woman with an appreciation for the game and I can't think of anything better.
Second, I'm probably going to apply for every job in the western United States that is even remotely appealing. I need a plan. I still haven't gotten over that fear of chosing the wrong path but I can't stay in my present situation. It's affecting me as a person at this point.

What I didn't tell my boss is that when I return it will be with my letter of resignation in hand; whether I have a job lined up or not. My savings account has more money in it than my yearly salary, so I'll be able to pay the rent and eat. Hopefully I won't be unemployed for long.

This is me kicking myself in the ass. Its time to go. My last three network passwords (9 months!) were :
Ushouldleave.
Seriouslygo!
and Getthefout!

I could end up giving two weeks notice upon my return so this might not be my last day, but it feels like it.

I laughed my ass off...

and then I curled up on the floor in the fetal position and wept.

http://www.recoilmag.com/news/box_of_rocks_graduates_0705.html

I want those 2 years of my life back! Seriously, I would get the most use out of my MBA from UoP if I wiped my ass with it.