Best esophagus ever.

Lead entry for Still Following the Leader.

Midnight.  Or thereabouts.  A late night valet attendant walks the cold sidewalk, wading through the persistent crowds of drunken partiers.  He walks up to my valet stand, looking as though he just walked in on his mom bent over a couch with the mailman behind.

“Oh.  My.  God.”  He proceeds to tell me and my fellow valets what happened.

He worked as a valet for the same parking company as I did, at a hotel kitty-corner to mine.  A guest of theirs needed a ride to the Hard Rock, though the Hard Rock Hotel was only three blocks from the valet’s hotel.  The valet dutifully hopped into the driver’s seat of the Bentley Continental and the man and his accompaniment got into the back seat.  Moments into the three-block trip, he started hearing some odd noises.  Following that, he heard the words that are sure to go down in hospitality lore:  “Best esophagus ever.”  When they arrived at the Hard Rock, an attendant opened the rear door only to display, to all of the waiting attendees of a very popular club, a woman going down on the guest.

The passengers were denied service by the valet staff, and in a huff, he and she drove off, leaving the valet to walk back with a story burned into his memory.

The overnight valet attendant position that I once filled was very unique in my work history.  Sometimes I hated it with all my soul, others it was the most entertaining job ever.  It was an overnight job, so all in all I felt like a perpetual zombie. I was going nowhere in the company, so after 2.5 years I moved on.  But man did I come away with some memories.

In the city and county of San Diego, there are many party districts.  But as a valet I had the (mis?)fortune of working in the Gaslamp, THE party district in San Diego.  Many a man was dressed to the nines, many a woman dressed their sluttiest.  Street performers played their guitars, pedicabs blasted mixtures of pop dance music and Middle Eastern music.  Homeless people meandered through the crowds asking for any change that could be spared.  Taxi drivers literally ran over drunk guys, who got up and ran away as if they were at fault.  Ferraris, Mazarattis, Lamborginis, even got to see a Bugatti Veyron.  That is a snap-shot of the Gaslamp on any given Friday or Saturday night.  Oh yeah, forgot to mention the bloody fights, police arrests and public urinations.

Then 2 am hit and all hell broke loose.  New Yorkers pissed that the bars close so early, everyone upset that they can’t buy any more booze.  The worst fights broke out at that time.  I remember one fight where a man was attacking a man and woman.  The woman got in her car and the attacker smashed her windshield like he had a baseball bat.  I can’t however, recount all of the times I called 911.  Harassers, people who didn’t pay attention to the midnight closing time of the gated parking lot and driving through the chain-link fence that locked it—a more common occurrence than you might think—and through all of this, it was my job, or at least part of my job, to make sure no non-hotel guests got into the hotel.  But hotel guests could be just as bad.  One of the hotel owner’s friends was caught skateboarding down the stairwell.  Guests were always trying the get the night auditors to sell them beer after hours.  An almost weekly occurrence was guests disconnecting the smoke alarm in their room so they could smoke.  Little did they know it set off an alarm behind the desk and security proceeded to escort them out of the hotel to find a new place to sleep.

Ah, the memories are coming back.  If you want to see it all, work overnight in the hospitality industry in a party district.  You’ll come away with more than you can remember: A taxi hospitalizing 17 people after the driver falls asleep behind the wheel, crashing into the doors of one of the most popular nightclubs not two minutes after closing time; a guy asking his girl why I would even talk to him right after I greet him; couples having sex in the backs of pedicabs; $100-tips for recommending a good bar; finding out that black men may be the most polite and nicest group of people I encountered; people telling you to fuck off after offering them a discount at the hotel because their car was in lockdown ‘til 7 am; driving Bentleys; calling the cops; getting threatened; women shouting out “I want to get fucked” to her friends who are trying to get her away from the guy she just met; random women telling you you’re hot.  I can go on, I have years of this stuff.

In the end, I have mixed feelings about that time of my life.  That job broke me out of my shell, mostly.  At times I feared for my safety, but I met some good friends.  I felt like a VIP when I walked around downtown when I wasn’t working, but I always felt like a zombie.  I had the time of my life and had some of the worst stress I have ever been under.  Any way you look at it, it was a valuable experience that I don’t think I would undo.

Rowing the ducks

Response to Rowing the ducks

Jenn and I are in the process of rowing our ducks.  The plan for this year is not only to scrape by, but to get ahead, maybe even to prosper. I am planning my resume writing business.  I have a friend who owns several properties who, once we get planted on our feet, will entertain the idea of selling one of her houses to us.

The house is on Aragon Way.  It's perfect for us, by the name of the street alone.  Then there's the house itself.  Two story, two bedrooms, a kitchen and living/dining room on the lower level and three bedrooms, kitchen, living/dining room, laundry and a garage well converted into a large bedroom which will serve as our game room.  It also has a fairly large deck and a view, albeit a far away view, of the downtown skyline.  We have every intention of renting out the lower level, cutting our mortgage by as much as half.  It is so awesome, we will have a game room and each of our kidlets will have their bedroom.  It will be so great to be in a house, not an apartment, where I can crank my music without worry of angering the neighbors.  But the trend will continue of living in a place with no garage.  No huge loss.

I think we're close.  I should be making more in the coming months with my regular job, and if we can get our side projects going, we should be doing real well.  I know where I will have an office once I really get going.  La Jolla, overlooking the cove.  I cleaned a carpet this morning at a restaurant next to an available office.  It's right on Prospect, great view of the shores, cliffs, and a pier.  I will have the business offices in the back, overlooking all of that, and on the frontage part of the property I will have a photo gallery displaying - and hopefully selling - my photographs.

Then, the next duck to row will be to open my own carpet cleaning/stone restoration company.  It will be called Finest City Surface Restorations.  Jenn and I are excited.  I know where I went wrong the last time I had a carpet cleaning company.  Advertising.  I knew I lacked it, but didn't know where to put my money.  I know now.  AdWords.  Last month marked the start of the slow season for carpet cleaners.  My boss spent close to $4,000 in pay per click advertising.  What was the return, in a down economy, for a small company with only two trucks, in the uber slow time of year?  Almost $30,000.  I can do that.  I have great client service, do great work, am no longer afraid to charge high prices to high end clients, and all around have a good sense of what I will do to make my company as successful, and more so.

All in all, the new year, like they mostly do, offers great promise for me and my family.  I'm excited for the future, it's bright, I'm on my meds, Jenn and I are happy together.  All is right, and getting righter with our world.  The ducks are in sight, and I'm going to row the hell out of them.

because they said so.

Response to because they said so.

If  you listen to some popular musical artists, it's okay to cheat.  Pitbull says to forget about your boyfriend and to meet him at the hotel room.  Enrique Iglesias assures his sexual interest that her boyfriend is out of town.  Usher tells a tale about a woman on the dance floor who decided to cheat.  Infidelity is everywhere to the point that it seems acceptable to everyone exept those who are being cheated on.

For a multitude of reasons, I almost fell into infidelity, most regretably so.  A woman attempted to seduce me and for a variety of reasons I damn near went for it.  A few years ago I came out of my shell and found myself able to talk casually with people, inculding those of the opposite sex.  I became increasingly flirty with them to a point that it nearly destroyed my marriage.

Things are okay now, to the best of my knowledge, very okay.  Great, in fact.  But I get the sneaky suspision that this will not last forever.  Not by my doing, I've learned my lesson, almost at the expense of everything I hold dear.  I do fear, however, that my wife will follow the path I once went down.  She's coming out of her shell.  She's becoming increasingly flirty and talking to men.  Overall I am fine with this.  I won't begrudge her a crush, and not just because of my previous actions.  Actually, I think it's kind of hot.  All of these men coming on to her and at the end of the day, she comes home to me.  My greatest fear on the topic is that one day it will click that I'm not much of a catch.  I have some good qualities, but nothing that I would consider truly redeeming.  I'm further fearful that many whom she knows will encourage it, exactly because I acted as I did a year and a half ago.  I don't want her to stop talking to men and opening up, she has every right to male friends and I don't mind a little harmless flirting.  But what happens when she happens across a real catch?  Someone with his shit together, no money worries, no mental disorders, no history of near infidelity.  She'll meet some smooth talker - not player smooth talk, but someone who is immediately in tune with who she is - who will try to convince her that he is the way to security.  Not just financial, but a security that I can no longer provide.  Trust that she will never again have in me, she can find elsewhere.

Will she remember her vows, will she continue to take them more seriously than I have in the past?  I most certainly hope so.  But if she opens up at just the right time, and if someone stumbles on her, knows just how to talk to her, she may just realize how little value I truly have.  I work hard for her, but I have shown her an enormous amount of disrespect.  I don't read, I don't know how I've managed to stimulate her mentally for this long.  I don't believe in a lot of her beliefs, politically speaking, and on the topic of businesses and corporations.  I am so scared that she will find someone who picks up the slack where I fall off.  Someone who's smart, sexy, good in bed, reads for pleasure, doesn't irrationally spend money, makes enough money to spend irrationally should the situation allow.  There is so much that she deserves and doesn't get from me.  There is so much I get from her that I haven't earned.  She is so intelligent, doesn't get swayed by the turning winds, is a good strategist, and holy god she is so ridiculously attractive.  She's a goddess and now she knows it.  She's giving lingering gazes to attractive men, finding out some bit of backstory of others.  She hasn't had a big crush in a while, but she's primed and ready to go down the path that I strayed down a couple of years ago.

And should she realize my shortcomings at the time that this figure comes along, I don't think she will change her mind about it, as I did.  Part of my problem was my mental instability.  She has none.  She is clear-headed and focused.  She acts with intent and calculates reprecussions before acting.

I love her dearly, and though I have some odd fantasies, I can't stand the thought of her leaving me.  I once told her sex is okay, love is not.  But I get the feeling that if this faceless stranger ever comes into the light, love is the direction it will go.

God I hope not.  I hope I'm just being anxious as my doctor tells me I very much am.

Drinking the Pickle Juice

Response to Drinking the Pickle Juice

I feel as though I'm about to become very unpopular amongst those of you whom are lickley to first read my posts, if I'm not already.

It bothers me to hear about women who make less than men doing the exact same amount of work.  First off, I do not at all believe that there is anything less valuable of the work of a woman versus a man.  Under most circumstances, most women can do a job just as well as most men.  But when I hear about someone upset about making less, I can't help but wonder what they have done to remedy the situation.  Has she asked for a raise, or tactfully demanded a raise?  If you are unhappy with what you are making, and unhappy that it is less than a man, why do you settle to make less than the man?  I know in the past that is a task much more easily said than done, but I don't know that it is anymore.  I'm sure that not all companies are managed by those who feel a woman's work is less valuable.  Settling for less only perpetuates the glass ceiling.

That being said, it is also true that the whole story of the man making more is not entirely known.  I once had a position in which I made close to 50% more than the person doing the same job.  I was known by that dealership for time I spent there as an independant contractor, and when the opportunity presented itself for me to work directly for the dealership, they gave me exactly what I asked for.  They gave me the choice of three departments to work for and basically had to sell me on the dealership, not me sell myself - best interview process ever - and that was that, I waltzed in making a considerable amount more than the other, who was male with an engineering degree.  In my current job, I laid out exactly what I could do for the company and asked for a raise and change in job title.  I did not get quite the bump I had asked for, but I did get one as well as a managerial title.  The point is, sometimes there is more available than we know and a company should not be held at fault for allowing thier employees to settle for what they get.  Sometimes the act of asking for promotions or raises shows the kind of motivation worthy of getting them.  No one is entitled to more or equal to another based on gender.  It should be a non-issue, though I know it's not.  If you're working for less, maybe it is deserved for the simple fact that that is what you are settling for.

I am reminded of a saying: "The squeakey wheel gets the grease".  When I was in school, I never spoke up, and as a result, nobody paid me any mind.  It wasn't fair.  I was a good, polite, respectful student that as a result got no attention.  I remember specifically one instance in 8th grade.  The class was taking turns reading from the text book.  My turn came and I read almost flawlessly.  My turn ended with no comment.  Directly after me, a student struggled to get through the passage and recieved high praise for his reading.  I still harbor resentment toward that.  I didn't know how to work the system to get what I needed.  Now I'm in a new system where I feel quite comfortable and am fairly adept at getting what I want.  Not always, but every job I get I gain more in my ability to do so.

Sitting around and saying it's not fair won't get equality.  Women have to do something, more than men I'm sure, to get ahead and gain that equality.  And I do believe it's happening, but for every woman who says I'm not being paid equally but does nothing to gain equality, it sets back the whole movement of equality.

Trending Topics

Response to Trending Topics

Psuedo-professional Hobgoblin - I think I have a new career aspiration.

Actually, I do.  And, +/- the Hobgoblin factor, will fit nicely into the psuedo-professional catagory.  I am drawing plans to become a champion for those with a disinclination to kick-ass resume writing.  I wish I had considered this earlier, it just hit me one day, not long ago that, Hey! I've written some pretty killer resumes, maybe I can capitalize on my supposed ability, help people get interviews and make some money doing it.  Of course, to date I have very few resumes constructed, but rest assured, they were some of the most spinney writings I have ever done and whether I should be or not, I am proud of that.  I reconstructed my resume at the same time as I did Jenn's.  We both got interviews near instantly, she landed the first job she interviewed for and was also partially interviewed for another position involving writing descriptions for an online marketplace.  As for me, I got an interview for a position I was way underqualified for, killed the interview, but they, sadly, could not get passed the lack of required experience.  Or was it sad?  I got the next job I inteviewed for.  Two months after employment with my current company, I wrote a proposal for my advancement and got promoted to Operations Manager and a healthy raise to boot.

Now all of this shameless back-patting is neccessary, you know.  Because, despite what would appear to be boundless confidence, and though I am very proud of some of my accomplishment via the written word, I have a severe lack of confidence.  So the neccessity of my self-glorification is paramount to sustaining self-motivation and the belief that I can do something with my life that also benefits my fellow people.

Exaggerating one's positives can be a healthy act, I think.  At least from time to time.  It motivates us to push a little harder, drive a little farther, progress a little faster.  All of that can be a good thing. Health is good.  Being happy is good.  And if you can be both healthy and happy, you're ahead of the game.

A lot of people point to weight as a marker for both health and happiness and I think it is sad.  Beauty is measured differently from culture to culture and time period to time period.  I was told of a time way before any of our days that being fat - truly fat - was a sign of wealth in a time of famine and therefore highly sought after.  Not too long ago, size 12, 14, 16 were the height of sex appeal, a size range that I find myself usually to be the most appealing.

I don't see anything wrong with being happy at any size, or for that matter expressing to others that it is okay to be happy at whatever size you find yourself.  Sometimes people need to be told it's okay to feel a certain way because a segment of society, growing in its loudness, is screaming that it's not okay to be happy with yourself if you don't mirror the cover of whatever the popular teen magazine is these days.  I'll concede that there is probably a measurable quantity of large people who do fit the stereotype of lazy and un-motivated, but it isn't everybody.  Some people simply do not lose the weight at the same rate as others, or have the ability to keep it off.  Even if it is totally a matter of willpower, so what?  Some people have stronger willpower in one area versus another.  I have tons of willpower when it comes to food.  I love tasty food and love to cook, but I can stop when I need to stop.  Areas that I do not have much willpower in?  Music and stereo upgrades.  It takes a lot of control to keep my wallet in pocket when I'm in a store that sells audio equipment.  And if it sells LP's as well, oh shit.  My lack of willpower has sent me to return lines by the firey eyes of my lovely wife.  Does it make me a better person because I can put down a tasty treat but can't put down a Black Keys album?  I certainly don't think so.  We all have our weaknesses and if it's food, that person should not be shamed for having given into something that is chemically dispositioned us to have that weakness.

Fat shaming is absurd.  If someone is shamed for being overweight then I should be shamed for having a killer stereo and record library and my firends should be shamed for having absolutely gorgeous cars and everyone in Rancho Santa Fe should be shamed for indulging in thier fantasies of having a 19,000 square foot house.

We should all be happy with who we are and what we are, because the chances of truly changing are slim.

You be me for a while and I'll be you

Response to You be me for a while and I'll be you

So a question has been posed about men and sex.  It is absoutely, unwaiveringly true that men have sex on top of mind at virtually all times, even totally inappropriate times like at a funeral.  Luckily no one knows what I'm thinking when I'm thinking it.  But more to the real question, how do we stay up on our elbows and knees or whatever: the strength of a man reaches near super-human levels during sex.  I've been sick as a dog and gone on for nearly an hour.  All pain and sickness vanish during the act.  It does come back in full force moments after climax, but for the duration it is pure, blissful removal of all that ails me.

Earthlings call it fate!

Response to Earthlings call it fate!

My mom used to tell me, and still does from time to time: "Things have a way of working out if you just let them."  That has proven to be true in many instances in my life.  There have been many times of financial uncertainty in my family's life, but just in the nick of time, some kind of something comes along to save us, big or small, we've been extraordinarily forunate in our efforts to just squeak by.  This year we will see if we can actually get ahead.

I have always felt, deep in my soul, that my life, not me, but the life that I inhabit, was meant for some kind of greatness and notoriety.  Something along the lines of President, or a revolutionary.  Something grand, something important, and hopefully, something good.  But along with that, I have always felt, down to my soul, that a mistake was made and I, the soul that actually is inhabiting this life, am not capable of fullfilling this greatness.  I have seen opportunities come that I just haven't been able to capture, usually for lack of outgoingness.  I always felt I was a mistake to God, and that's why He tried to kill me when I was just a few weeks old.  But, modern medicine being what it is today, God did not succeed and I lived to foul up what could have been one of the grandest lives in a long while.

Of course, the medical condition that I have does lend itself to delusions of grandure, so it could all be chalked up to that.  Probably, in fact.  One thing that that aspect of my mental condition does help me with is "thinking big".  It hasn't helped me as of yet, but fairly recently, within the last two to three years, I have come to believe in myself as a writer and think that that may be my calling.  I truly believe that my thinking big is going to help out my stories.  I have two projects that I am very slowly working on.  One is fairly simple that I am writing first to give myself some practice.  The second, by my wife's account is, "very ambitious": a trilogy in a fantasy world that will cover multiple plains of existence.  As stated, I do tend to think big, I just hope I can finish them before I die.