The New Annual Gaga Spectacular*

* Most of this was written like 100 years ago… Deal with it.

Wow, so it's been a bit since I've written something really enlightening to post on the old bloggerino. Really the only reason that I've taken back to blogging is due to the fact that my #2 fan (#2 of 2), Mr. Fluffer was diagnosed with Feline Sleep Apnea, and I promised I would promote its cause on the web. If you feel in the giving mood please immediately leave this website and go to kittycantsleep.orgweb and donate some monies to the phat cat himself.

How to Make a Gaga

My friends are all crazy, which is why we get on so well. For the past year I have hosted parties monthly in an effort to promote fun, Biebs and debauchery. Just recently two of my friends suggested that we start doing a Gaga themed drink in order to prepare for the release her album Born This Way (Please listen to Scheiβe). We started in March with the 
"Paparazzi":

Ingredients:
Goldschlager
Pink Lemonade
Sprinkles

Paprazzi's are pretty eh. They actually taste a lot like Big Red Gum (Sidefact: Tedd hates gum and has never, nor will ever, chew a piece.) It should be noted, however that the point of a Gaga is not to taste good. A Gaga should reflect its namesake and be both pleasurable and revolting – with some panache. 

Take the Judas:
Champagne
Sweet Tea Vodka
Sprinkles

Judas's are absolutely disgusting. Even the diehards among my friends had trouble downing this bad boy. In terms of drink it was the least successful in actually wanting to drink it; in terms of reflecting the Gaga "Judas" namesake, it was our most successful endeavor yet. That song is a sonic trainwreck.

Our last Gaga outing's Gagas actually tasted delicious. I give you:

The Fame:
A shot of Mango Rum

The Fame Monster:
A shot of Mango Rum bombed into a beer that on average costs less than $.45 a can.

The Rum of course is delicious, but I wasn't expecting Fame Monsters to taste as if they were taken from the flask of Dionysius himself. That being said, the Mango Rum that we used to make the drinks were on clearance and Binny's (probably for causing blindness in lab rats) and is most likely out of production. But, never fear, next time my friends and I get together we will be making Paper Gangsters. Our hope is to one day reach apotheosis with drink that is worth to bear the name of "Alejandro."

.000034% of the Population Will Find This Funny

I don't know how I found my new job. I guess I have worked for a freelance "entrepreneur" and folded clothes for the Nana (may she rest in peace) over the past year; but this new job takes the proverbial cake.

It's actually pretty great. What I do* is evaluate credentials. "Oh my" says the polite person in the back of the room. Whatever is that?

Well, what happens is that someone from say…Nigeria…is coming to the U.S. and wants to go to a Le Cordon Bleu school and learn how to make Au Gratin potatoes. Well let's say this person (Call him Mario) Mario needs to have proof that he graduated high school in order to get in to Le Cordon Bleu. What is he going to do?! Who is going to look at his West 
African Examinations Council Senior School Certificate and verify that he is, in fact a high school graduate?!

*tension filled silence*

It's me!! Me!! I will look at his scores and give him a GPA and a US equivalency! Kneel before my awesome power!!

Yeah, it's…uhh…not super exciting. Which is why my coworkers and I try to squeeze as much fun out of this as possible. Most of the time we just clack away at keyboards and give equivalencies and convert Eastern European Hours into standard U.S. Carnegie Units. (Yes, I am throwing in jargon to make myself feel as if I know something.)

To entertain ourselves, my coworkers and I have taken on a number of stupid activities around the office. We recently moved to a nicer office on a higher floor of the building, so we now have work stations right next to each other. Being now five feet away from my coworker instead of three, of course, necessitates us having phones in order to call each other. But rather than just calling each other we also felt the need to create imaginary assistants who will answer our phones.

My coworker's assistant is named after the Thai University Chulalongkorn (US equivalency: Chula Longkorn.) She is also very wittily adept at answering the phone: "This is Chula." Other assistants include Banga and Manga, the Lore twins. They’re sassy and since this blog entry was started have been relieved of their duties. By far the sassiest of our secretaries is Patrice Lamumba, whose namesake is the People’s Friendship University of the USSR. Yes… That is really the name of the school: The Patrice Lamumba People’s Friendship University. In order to get in you have to pass a bubbly test and a trust test. Everyone at this university runs for class president.

My assistant up until a few months ago was Jawaharlaharlharlharlharlhar (shortened to Jawa due to the limited number of hours in a day). He is lovingly named after Jawaharlal Nehru University of Technology, a university that is really hard to stay, which necessitates adding extra harlahalrhalar’s to the end. Jawa has also since been replaced due to poor performance by Cheauaughueaz (pronounced Chez) Le Coq, a sassy Frenchman who works 24 hours a week (we had to talk him into the extra 4 to make it a full French work week).

If you thought any of that was funny: Congratulations! You might be a credential evaluator!

*This next part will be extremely boring. If you have something better to do please do so now. Don't forget to visit kittycantsleep.orgweb on your way away from this site (In truth if Mr. Fluffers suffered from feline insomnia the description of my job would be the cure he would be looking for).

That Time My Car got “Stolen”

I kind of hate Chicago. Much of this anger, however, comes form the fact that I own an automobile in the city. When city officials see cars driving around the city they don’t just see cars or the genius of modern engineering, they see big bags of $$$$$. This would explain why their street cleaning schedule basically looks like a math problem from Calculus III.

“Okay… so I’m parked in Section 6-17 of Quadrant A in the Purple Sphere of Coordinate XYF. That means… street cleaning will be done roughly at X, where X = 5(xyz!)(6y+7*!).”
By the time you figure out when your street is cleaned your car has been impounded and a bunch of city officials who look like Rumpelstiltskin are dancing around its crushed car corpse.

Well, the other week my roommate borrowed my car. I got home and he mentioned he’d parked close to our apartment on the way to the train. This was great because I had left a pair of shoes in there, so I planned to stop by the car, grab my shoes and then go to work.

Simple.

We get out to the street and see that the entire street that my roommate moved my car to is devoid of motor vehicles. Not a one left. I had figured something like this would happen since… This is the third time I’ve been ticketed or had my car towed for really no reason at all. My roommate runs to where my car used to be and notices that there was indeed a sign mentioning that there would be utility work that week; the sign was roughly the size of a post-it note and strapped to a pole, just below eye-level, but it was there and declared that cars left in that space would be moved starting that Monday.

I told my roommate that it’d be great if he could see where my car was taken. He agreed he should look into it, so I sent him the 411 number and all my vehicle info.

The next night I come in and I ask him where the car is.

“Uhh… They can’t find it,” he says.
“Wait… What?”

My roommate had called 411 and gotten one of those lovely city worker ladies who love to scream. So he asked where the car was. She said she didn’t have it. He asked if she knew where it could be. She said it wasn’t her problem. He asked who he should call. She said it wasn’t her problem. He asked again if there was anything he could do. She said it wasn’t her problem. He said it was utility work and he knew it was towed. She said it wasn’t her problem. So after much more of this, the lady screamed it wasn’t her problem and it should be reported as stolen.

I get home and my roommate shrugs. I look online and there is no record of my car being moved. 

So… I have to call the cops.

I get on the phone and the cop lady is a real treat.

“Hello, sir.”
“I’d like to report a stolen vehicle.”
“Okay. When did it go missing?”
“Two days ago.”
“Two days ago?!”
“Yes, it was in a city tow zone, so I thought it had just been moved.”
“Two. Days ago?!”
(Note city workers uncanny ability to repeat everything as if saying something 100 times changes its meaning every time.)
“Yeah, I didn’t –”
“You’re telling me your car has been missing for two days?!”

It was wonderful. So I explained everything and then the lady gave me an incident number and said that I should report it to my insurance company.

So there I was with my car that had obviously been moved by the city to a place that they had forgotten and now the police were on their way to go look for it.

It, of course, was found the next morning right where they had moved all the other cars. 

One more incident like that and I’m driving my car into the Mother Truckin’ Lake.

Kralik’s Wave

In August I went with my friends to Florida for a little mini-vacay. We got to go to Harry Potter World and stay at my friend’s parent’s condo for three days: Awesome.

Our last day at the beach we had gone out despite the fact that a hurricane had just happened. The day before we had stayed out of the water because it looked like stepping one foot into the waves would have crushed you like a cheap peanut (not a fancy peanut, to specify the difference). Well, the waves were much calmer, so we swam out with our fun noodles and rafts to hang out.

Everything was going hunky dory, then all of a sudden… It got real. A huge wave from out of nowhere knocked the crap out of us. One friend and I were on the outside of the wave, so we didn’t have that rough of a time. The others, however, got knocked around ruhly ruhly bad. One friend looked over and saw only one of my other friend’s legs flipped over her head flying toward shore before she was knocked off her fun noodle and joined her crashing toward shore.

It was pretty scary. All of us were running out of the water panting because another huge wave was coming. We were all laughing when all of a sudden we saw one of our friends, Kralik (of the above sub-heading fame) crawling out of the water. We all thought he was joking around until we realized the gasping and agonized crawling that was occurring wasn’t part of his audition for the community theater’s performance of Cats (going for the coveted spot of Drowned Cat #11). We ran over and helped him get out of the water.

Within a few minutes some mom was running toward us yelling about how she had called an ambulance. We asked Kralik how he was doing and he said he didn’t feel that well, so we thought we’d just wait for the ambulance in case he had any back or chest injuries.

We waited.
And waited.
And waited.

After about twenty minutes some lifeguard stumbled over and started talking. He was like 45 and looked like he had spent the last fifteen years of his life stoned.

“Yeah, man, the ambulance should totally get here, dudes. Totally, man. Dudes. It should get here.”

Another twenty minutes rolled by and no ambulance. My one friend and I ran off the beach and headed to the parking lot to see if they were driving around or something. We heard the sirens and ran to the entrance of the condo. They were just driving around aimlessly. They pull up to us and are like,

“You guys call an ambulance?” As if they delivered pizzas instead of saved lives.
“Yeah,” I said, “our friend’s over there at the far end of the complex. There’s beach access down there.”

The passenger nods and says something to the driver. They literally drive four feet. Stop. And the driver gets out and runs into the closest building. He is gone for a few minutes then runs back and sits in the ambulance.

“I guess the beach access is down here,” he says pointing the spot I had pointed to fifteen seconds earlier. The driver leans over and points to the end of the complex. “Your friends down there,” he says as if he has figured it out finally.

The whole time I would have loved to see what my face looked like, because I’m pretty sure it was saying: “You guys are complete. And. Total. Idiots.”

They finally pull up to the beach, get Kralik and take him to the hospital. He is feeling okay, and after that was discovered, the whole incident became really funny. My favorite part was the description my one friend gave of seeing my one friend’s legs appear from the inside of the wave.

Also important to note is that one of my friends had opted to stay in the room and nap while the rest of us were at the beach. I had gone upstairs to tell her about the incident, which went something like this:

“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Uhhh. You should know everyone is okay, BUT Kralik got knocked out by a wave and is being taken to the hospital.”
“WHAT?! Is he okay.”
“Yes… That’s why I prefaced it with everyone’s okay.”

They given Kralik drugs at the hospital, which knocked him out at about 8 p.m. that night, so the rest of us sat around and talked about how great it was that he had been plowed over by a giant wave, almost died BUT didn’t.

Somehow or other this concept turned into an idea for a romance novel which featured Kralik as a lothario who traveled to beaches all over the world carried by this rogue wave that appeared and disappeared for no apparent reason. Think Quantum Leap only with sexier people and a wave instead of a weird light shiny thingy.

We also all were cast in the movie version of the book version of Kralik’s Wave. Heidi Klum, Julia Roberts, and Ryan Reynolds were all cast in respective roles (obviously due to my all of my friends and I’s resemblances to A list movie stars). Kralik, of course, could be played by no one else but Kralik. No one could perform getting bashed by a giant wave but the guy who was bashed by a giant wave.

The blurb on the back of the book would look something like this:

“Exhilarating… The most… book… reading… Fish.” – Stephen King
“Kralik’s Wave is a book like most books are books: it’s a book.” – William Shakespeare
Somewhere in the world there is a beach resort; a beach resort that is swept by sands of despair and melancholy. This beach town is on the verge of collapse when a tall, dark, rippling stranger is brought on shore by the waves of a hurricane. Through his bravery and daring the small town of Seacoasttownport is transformed by the healing power of love and sexiness. Strap on your sandals, run out to the beach and prepare for the rising beauty of Kralik’s Wave… (whisper voice) Kralik’s Wave.

10% of all profits from the book will go to kittycantsleep.orgweb.

Minaj Month

In case you’re not one of the ten people who read my Facebook, then you should know that this month is Nicki Minaj Awareness Month. Just like Kitty Sleep Apnia, Minaj Awareness is a cause I have taken up because I’m better than everyone else. I support things and help people.

I recently was at a party and was disappointed that out of 10 people only 4 people laughed at a Superbass joke that I made. Four. Whether it was because the joke wasn’t funny doesn’t matter, most people didn’t know who Nick Minaj is. Or, as my one friend calls her, “The Black Gaga” (I’m pretty sure that’s offensive, which is why it’s quoted and accredited to my friend rather than myself.) Either way she drops phat beats and is awesome. There are still five days left of the month. Go out, grab a copy of her hit LP “Pink Friday” and drop that Boom-ba-doom-doom Boom-ba-doom-doom Bass.

The End
Whew. That was a big waste of all our time. I’ll try to write more than every seven months, but no promises. My life is supes dull lately… but hopefully a coming Kralik Wave will change all that.