Friday, April 8

The Rusty Taste Of Failure.

Here’s a quick story about my current job.

On Tuesday afternoon at 4:30, I was locking up the front door to our office, and was all set to head home after a long day of work. I was looking forward to cleaning out the cat boxes, or whatever it is that people get to do when they’re finally done working for the day.

I was just getting ready to cross the street, when a courier stopped me.

“Oh no! Are you the receptionist?” She bit her pretty lower lip in frustration. She had been biking her little heart out through the horrid construction that had ripped apart the entire east side of Madison. Obviously she was running a bit late.

I was all set to launch into the story about how I was not the receptionist, and how I was just assuming the role until our real receptionist fully recovered from having her third child in 7 years. I was going to tell her how every time the phone rings, it’s as if someone’s slamming my testes in a sliding glass patio door. I was going to ask her to take me with her.

Instead, I said “yes”. I’m trying this new thing where I keep my fool mouth shut, and just appear cooler and sexy.

It’s not really doing the trick.

The courier desperately needed to drop a letter off to one of our employees, or her boss was going to murder her or something to that effect. I didn’t want to be held the least bit responsible for that, so I decided to unlock the door and let her back in.

“Thank you so much!” she said to me. “You’re so nice!”

“I AM nice.” I thought to myself. “Job well done.”

She handed the letter to me, I properly date stamped it, and set it on my desk. This particular employee was already gone for the day, so I planned on giving it to her the next morning. I then locked up for the final time and took off, leaving the letter sitting there by its lonesome.

The next morning, I arrived to find the letter right where I left it. I replayed the story of the night before in my head to remind myself of how it got there. I wondered how many couriers got hit by cars every year. I scooped up the envelope and took it to the office of the recipient.

“Thank you so much, Ryan!” she said to me. “I’ve been waiting for this!” She frantically tore it open, as I walked away, patting myself on the back for pulling off an incredibly mundane office task without a hitch.

A couple hours later, I saw the recipient again in the hallway, and she flagged me down.

“Thanks again for delivering that $27,000 check to me.”

My pants immediately became more urine-stained then they were the minute before. All I could think about was the fact that this check sat out in the open all night, being looked at by cleaning personnel, security guards and who knows who else. Had that check disappeared, I would have been instantly fired for my utter stupidity and carelessness. I probably would have had to pay it back.

“Hey, no problem!” I said to her, as I slunk away to my desk. Job well done, Ryan. Job well done.

Monday, April 4

I Can't Look You In The Eye.

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And with that, using pictures of eyeballs has become instantly obsolete in the Blogosphere. I want to thank all those who sent or posed for "ball" shots, especially all the cats (who I apparently know more of than men). I should have just called this post "The Girls and Cats of the CDP" and gotten it over with. Thank you for killing a genre with me. After resizing and pouring over these photos for the last 2 days, I can say with relative honesty that I'll never be able to look any of you in the eye again. I'm absolutely horrified with all of you.

By the way, I'll send a dollar to anyone who can identify all the photos, scout's honor (The Missus isn't eligible). Duke it out in the comments section.

A cool breeze is blowing through the open window of my rumpus room, and I'm getting ready to watch the rest of the NCAA Championship game. I sure hated Smarch, but April is shaping up to be something else entirely. We'll be throwing a party real soon here at the CDP Headquarters, and everyone who submitted an eye picture (cats too) is invited. When the last bit of filthy snow finally disappears and you can go for a sunlit walk at 7pm, you just know you'll be happy until late November. You are at the furthest possible point from next winter, so enjoy it before it's gone.

Move to Madison and have a drink with me.

Sunday, April 3

Springing Forward.

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Me and Aaron played drunk Scrabble last night ("Screwdriver Scrabble", as I like to call it). I played "WEEDLED" on my first turn, scoring me a whopping 78 points. We later found out that "WEEDLED" isn't a real word. I still won, because he didn't think to challenge it. I then realized that bluffing is a huge part of Scrabble. He won the second game, and the decisive third game was called on a count of Aaron not being able to spell anymore.

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Me, the Missus, Benjamin and Sherry spent the night at Mr. Aaron Miller's place last night, and we didn't really get to sleep until 5am. I have a well-deserved headache, but we all had a good, responsible time. If the worst thing you do when you're drunk is play a fake Scrabble word, you know you're a pretty good kid.

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Me and the Missus left Aaron's place in Appleton at around 2pm today, and headed 2 hours straight back to Madison for a trip to the zoo. It was a beautiful day, and a walk in the zoo cured what ailed me. It would have been better had there not been 10,000 people there with their babies and strollers, but I'll never have a private zoo, so I won't complain...or will I?

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I'm currently listening to my brand new IPod Shuffle, which I bought for the purpose of listening to when I run outside. It's a wonderful little machine, it works like a charm and is totally worth the money. I also bought a nice pair of running shoes in preparation for the upcoming 5-mile trek. In tune, I realized that it's much easier to purchase accessories than to actually to what you set out to do. Nonetheless, I will be running at least 1 mile every day this week.

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The infamous "eyeball" post is locked and loaded, and will be up next. Boycott Unity is toast on Friday, and my book review will be read by 50,000 people on Thursday. Gas in Madison is $2.24 with no signs of slowing down. The Pope died, which is a shame for Catholics, but Mitch Hedberg also died, which is a shame for everyone. That reminds me, I wanted to tell you a joke:

What does Snoop Dogg use to do his laundry?

Blea-otch!

Wow, that's even funnier when it's written down. Thanks Ben.