"That was it?" Stalingrad, Sex and the US Census

I have discovered that when I consume alcohol, I apparently piss out about half of what I consume in liquid volume. Or so it seems. This would pretty much mean that my liver is like some sort of fucked up Thunderdome, my new motto being "Two beers enter, One beer leaves!"

 [If you think about it, he's a midget on a retard, technically counting as two people]

 THREE beers enter, one beer leaves! FUCK YEAH!

And now for a startling revelation:
I was a virgin until the spring of 2010. I can hear some of you going "Wait, what?" already.
Expected follow up question:
"You mean you weren't a hedonistic, debaucherous asshole until then either?"
My answer:
Pretty much

Go figure, right? I don't remember the date I lost my virginity, mainly because it lacked any actual special qualities and in retrospect is relatively similar to numerous other sexual encounters, minus the totally awkward fumbling number I undoubtedly pulled.

I used to believe in saving myself for marriage. As I grew older, my requirements lessened, but I still wanted to be in love before I had sex. Well, I fell in love. Long story short, it ended in a horrendous downward spiral that left me broken and lost for a bit. Arguably I'm still broken, but at least I'm not lost.

In the month and few weeks after that relationship ended, I found myself going relatively crazy, but still clinging to that youthful ideal of love. As I found myself fooling around more in the back of my car and less in the privacy of home, as I found myself juggling two, three maybe four women at a time and even having a few close calls where they almost found each other, I still clung to the concept of love.

I met a wonderful woman named Julie, via the internet. She was well read, brunette, nerdy and attractive. When we initially met, we met as friends. She was in the throes of a potential break up, I encouraged her to stick with her relationship, possibly out of empathy for the guy, or some narcissistic symbiosis, vicarious bullshit, or maybe because I still believed in "Giving love a chance, mang."

It didn't work for her. We got along. We hung out and were good friends. Turns out that when two attractive friends meet on an intellectual level and both are rebounding, feelings of mutual romance can happen. I asked her out. She said yes. We made out. We started fooling around.

One night, we found ourselves in my bed. We had fooled around there before, so there was nothing really unique about it. I had fooled around in this bed with at this point maybe four or five total women, including the then most recent ex. But it was a bit different. Not just us making out and fooling around, but more of this cuddling and disrobing thing.

I was still heart broken. I was recently out of the hospital. I craved affection of any kind, and was at this moment receiving more physical attention from a (get ready for this one) "a friend with whom I shared a mutual shared romantic interest as well as a mutual caution and uncertainty about relationships, both of us being unsure about where it was going, but okay with the concept of a relationship, yet still unwilling to commit to one." than I had with the then most recent ex.

BAM. So basically a less than glorified friends with benefits, plus the emotional confusion of mutual heartbreak and mutual physical and intellectual desire. Fuck yeah, I love needless complication!

 [Just as confusing, disastrous and fucked up as Stalingrad]

Don't even try to pretend you didn't see this allusion coming

Laying there, feeling the light trace of her soft fingers on my back, the occasional kiss on the neck or chest... you know, the basic shit that people do when they hook up. That instinctive physical affection and connectivity humans engage in when fucking. I'd say this goes on too when real, meaningful, loving, emotional sex happens, but I wouldn't know. I've never felt love during sex. Usually just drunken lust, or horny and willing to go through the motions.

But that evening, As I felt her fingers on my back, I felt this level of fulfillment. I was receiving more affection than I had ever felt with the woman I had recently broken up with. A woman that I had at one point, fully intended to marry and grow old with. A woman I was ready to raise children with, a woman I would have taken bullets for, or jumped in front of a car for. Yet, with someone who was effectively a stranger, I felt more cared for. I felt more of a physical connection. I felt as if I meant something to her.

In retrospect, I really was unsatisfied with my only "serious" relationship.

[If for every time I wanted affection but didn't receive it, someone died...]

... You'd have the approximate casualty rate of Stalingrad. Shit, this analogy is self perpetuating comedy gold

It was a moment of emotional weakness that made me go "eh fuck, it." 

Fast forward. Sex happens. Birds and bees, the hilarity of a virgin putting on a condom, blowing a quick load and seeing the gates of heaven and reaching enlightenment. saying "this is it?" Except I didn't say it out loud. I thought it though. I probably mouthed it unknowingly. (I really hope I didn't, just for her sake)

The majority of my life I had expected sex to be deep, passionate and meaningful. It wasn't. It just was. It satiated my base desires, and was one less thing to be worried about. One less source of stress in life that held you down. "This is it?"

Simultaneously I was working for the United States Census Bureau, which was a fucking awesome job. I got paid $15.25 an hour to go door to door and meet crazy folks, meet sane folks and meet nice people who would give me water, food and in a few cases pretty much solicit me.

Day one on the job I managed to be a colossal dick and secure about 80 missing EQs (Enumerator Questionnaires) from the old person's home in my town. For this feat I was promoted from Enumerator (door to door whore) to "Crew Leader Assistant," a dubious title that meant a fuck ton more work for no extra money.

[You know who else got a whole ton of extra work for no extra money? The folks in Pavlov's House]

Another Stalingrad reference. This is what Comedy Gold going platinum looks like

As I return, triumphant over the portly, angry, almost stereotypical black woman who ran the nursing home, I was informed of my "promotion." As he explained to me what it entailed, I thought "This is it?" I had not lost my virginity at this point. I had no idea how much this job would make me feel sexually awkward.

Later on, I convinced an older man who believed the Census was part of massive FEMA camp conspiracy to do his census because it would help us fight the Chinese. I saw the POW/MIA, REMEMBER 9/11, American Flag and American Eagle stickers on his door, noted his age to be around old enough to have fought in Vietnam, if not Korea and played the American Patriot card.

"Son, I fought those Chinese bastards in the War and I'll gladly do it again." Ten questions later I hear: "That was it?"

SUDDEN FLASHBACK TO LOSING MY VIRGINITY: "That was it?"

That phrase triggered memories. Sexy memories. Mixed feelings of pride with my job overlapping with the rush of getting your bone on. Excitement over succeeding over a dude that had turned away over half of my crew, mixed with the flashbacks of pride of getting your bone on in your first one night stand. Brain chemistry wise I was probably more confused and conflicted than those poor Soviet Conscripts...

[Soviet Machineguns, German Machine guns, either way I'm gonna wanna fuck]

Wait, I'm getting my wires crossed again. Fuck it I'm gonna go get shitfaced and pillage some -- wait. Shit, what the fuck am I doing again?

My time in the census gave me a line that I really wish I had more opportunities to use. After asking all 10 questions we were required to get the name of the respondent, their address (a superfluous duty, most of the time) and their phone number to insure that we weren't pulling shit out of our ass, smearing it on the questionnaires and handing it in screaming "LOL YOU GIVE ME PAY CHECK NOW." After a particularly long bout of answering questions (mainly because the entire time was spent flirting and chatting as opposed to working) I finish up the questionnaire, getting to the phone number part. She gives it. I write it down in the little boxes of the questionnaire sheet.

"So, now that I gave you my number, are you gonna give me yours?"

Wait, what? Did I just get asked for my number... by a hot little number? I fucking LOVE this job.

[And then it turned out she was 17]

"Don't ask Don't tell" was all about Jail bait, Right? RIGHT? Please God, somebody say yes

Unfortunately there's very few opportunities to use this line, and if the opportunity arises the woman in question usually has heard the line or a lamer version of it already, but I'll still give it a go. Why not? Worst I can hear is "no." 

The problem is, during the Census and my man whoring, I came across the phrase "That was it?" frequently. In the day, I heard it from the folks I convinced to take the census, and then in my head as I began my spiral into promiscuity, each time asking myself silently: "This is it?" as if the last shreds of the hopeless romantic in me was reaching out, trying to sink its claws into whatever remained of my romantic morality and ideals in order to bring me back to the more conservative and sexually reserved individual I once was. But eventually the "This is it?" settled into a "This is it." Followed by a "This is it. Fuck yeah!"

As my days and nights melted together, turning my life into an impetuous blur of working, boozing and fucking, my wires started getting crossed and remained crossed. When I hear the phrase "This is it?" or "That was it?" I can almost feel my heart rush with endorphins. The smatterings of memories of lustful sex, conquests and silver tongued banditry for sweet government cheese all meshed together for an ego boosting, narcissistic cluster fuck.

Wanna troll the fuck out of me in real life? Ask me "That was it?" or "This is it?" in a legitimate context and see what happens. Probably nothing, since I keep a decent poker face.

 [I'd poke her face, if you know what I mean]

Oh, like you're surprised I took it there. Plus she's practically holding up a bulls eye for me to aim at. Pew pew.

But maybe, just maybe, I'll get a chubby or something. Maybe. Or not. Probably not. But I'll probably be in the mood to fuck after that.

[Internal Logic Failure: Implication that I'm not always in the mood to fuck]

What is this? I don't even...

Welp, that's the show stopper. At least it wasn't because of whiskey dick. Until next time, my voracious future conspirators, get gunned down by village fires. Wait, I think that was some sort of wire cross from one of my endless Stalingrad picture jokes. Heh, Stalingrad. Comedy Gold.  

HOLY FUCK I CAN ADD LABELS TO THESE POSTS

How unfulfilled can you feel for $40 an hour?

I have decided that my newest life goal and highest priority (along with drinking and fucking) is to earn the title "Hero of the Soviet Union." I realize that I am, at the time of this writing, about twenty years too late on this, seeing how the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991. To this end I have decided to begin a conspiracy to bring back the state that convinced idiot American analysts that Communism was a global Monolith threatening freedom and mom's apple pie. Sure, this will oppress millions and bring the world back to the brink of nuclear war. But I'll have a medal. Reasonable priorities, Fuck yeah.

Huh. I guess I'm a costume, bank robbery and a henchman away from achieving the status of super villain, which isn't that unappealing of a career path...

[Laser sharks or not, This dude's got nothing on me]

No really, he's just a fictional character portrayed by an actor. Nowhere near super villain status.

I currently hold two jobs, both of them equally shitty and equally awesome in their own ways. I also am one of the highest paid employees, for both jobs, excluding the owners of these establishments. As anyone who wasn't completely disinterested in my previous rantings will remember, one of those jobs currently is a liquor store. Being the highest paid employee outside of the boss means I get a whopping $8.00 an hour. How did I get the dubious privilege of earning 50 cents more than my peers for doing a job a mental abortion could accomplish?

I asked. Yeah, that story sucks ass.

Well $8.00 an hour isn't that much as you well know. At 40 hours a week, that's a mere $320 a week prior to taxes. Considering dinner and drinks can run you $60-100 for a single evening, not to mention the price of bar liquor, condoms, gas to get to and fro along with day to day expenses and the price of graduate courses, plus the finer luxuries in life such as ammunition, it's pretty obvious I'm living beyond the means of a shitty $320 paycheck. Even considering that I don't have to pay rent, it is impossible to live my lifestyle on slightly above minimum wage.

Clearly I must have massive credit card debt, like many of my peers. Right? Actually, I don't own a credit card. (Yes I know it's not the wisest decision, but it is what it is.)

[But when I do, this will be my custom skin]

I'll be the coolest kid from 2010

So how does a debaucherous, hedonistic man whore, pay for his booze, ammo and classes?

Web development. Yeah, that's right, yours truly has some basic computer skills, mainly HTML, php and some Javascript. But how does an English and History major get a job with computers you ask?

  [First picture in the Google search for "nagging bitch" that didn't involve cats and poor grammar]

It was actually less like "nagging" and more like emotional abuse, but that shit isn't nearly as funny

Yep, you guessed it. A woman. I made the mistake of quit my job at a local restaurant that made shaving my nipples off with a cheese grater a more appealing option that showing up for work on time. The hordes of fat people were horrendous, emptying tray after tray of buffet food at a rate just slightly slower than I could fill them, meaning that for every two troughs you filled, you were stuck refilling one that was empty. It was a veritable Sisyphean task that I got paid minimum wage + tips for.

I quit. Rather abruptly. Without the foresight of lining up another job first. Woops. My then girlfriend was relatively unhappy with her boyfriend only being a double major student with a full ride to a top tier university. (Between family benefits and scholarships I was actually getting PAID to be there)

 [Which means that I actually got paid to sleep. I call it Salary for Snoozing]

 Disaster was averted when I decided not to host a crossover with my Salary for Shit program

So to satiate her, I decided to find another job. In the middle of 2008, also known as part of "The Great Recession." You know, the polite way of saying "The United States finally fucked itself financially, no work for you." So, after months of failing to find employment, what did I do?

I learned an entirely new set of skills from the ground up with no prior background and got myself a god damned job by manipulating the shit out of my social connections. Basically this mildly diabolic bout of job grabbing was a prelude to the arrogant ass hat that I am now. A brilliant bout of social engineering and I got introduced to the owner of a local tech company that primarily did website maintenance. I got the introduction by implying I'd work for less than what it would normally cost to hire a web developer. When I got to the bargaining table I conned the owner into paying me the full $35.00 hour fee by offering to fill a void he needed filled about two weeks ago. Yes, there's a sex joke in there. I saw it too. 

[And fill that void I did, if you know what I mean]

Someone needs to put cotton in her mouth to soak up that drool while she sleeps and my splooge when she wakes

He was not the wisest man in the world. Of course hiring me worked out well for both of us as I'm not fucking retarded and actually do my work, but he was pretty lousy with money. As in so lousy, the company tanked four months later only to get bought out by another company that needed more software related people. (He did pay me however.) The new company was satisfied with my four months of experience and solid "web development skills" (Read: Retard level coding and photoshop abilities) and hired me.

[Actually, fuck photoshop. I use The GIMP]

Which, in perfect accordance with my debauchery, can be interpreted as needlessly and overtly sexual

A few months later I became bored and was also displeased with the amount of work I was getting. As the company that ate my old company was primarily hardware related, they bought us out mainly to get our hardware at bargain prices, and despite claiming to want to advance the software end of things, failed to do so. So I moved on to greener pastures with a coworker...

...to a company with the promise of 10 hours of work a week or more. Guaranteed. At the previous company I got decent work, but sometimes it slipped under 10 hours a week. Sometimes it pushed 25. A guarantee of 10 hours a week meant I could effectively budget. It means I could start doing things like begin budgeting for my eventual proposal to the then girlfriend. 

Which leaves me where I am today. Still with this company, and getting paid $5.00 an hour more than folks with degrees in programming. Why? Because one of the skills I fully unlocked after my brush with death was being a manipulative bastard and a quick-to-rise bullshitter.

Picture this setting: It's 2010. Your boss is attempting to get a client to spend a pretty big sum of money. That client has a female partner who is known for indirectly controlling the purse strings of the company he works for. He's also impulsive and sticks to a decision he makes. The chick helps keep him under control and helps shape his decisions, if he hasn't put his mind to them. How do I know this? My boss told me.

Why did he tell me this?

To put it in his words:

"Well you've been quite the man whore recently, right? Wanna help me out?"

"Wait, what? Are you... soliciting me? Cuz I'm gonna need a raise if you are."

He failed to jump on the "I already have a rise," joke and explained to me that he wanted me to come there and distract the chick as she was about my age and supposedly cute. His strategy was to distract her long enough to get the guy hooked on the sales pitch on his terms, get him to commit in his mind before the chick could convince him to bargain and haggle. Also he'd drive my ass, buy me some smokes and pay my bartab for the entire evening. Wait, did he say pay my bar tab for the ENTIRE evening? And the girl is cute too? Who the shit cares if I'm being exploited, all I have to do is get drunk and hit on someone.

 [He would have been better off paying me $35.00 an hour]

Starting a land war in Asia might very well be a smarter idea than offering to pay for my ENTIRE bar tab

The chick didn't show up. I was left as the third wheel as my job wasn't to sell the company, the owner was. He told me to go get drunk, but told me he wouldn't drive anyone home with me. Needless to say I had a few black labels. At Downtown prices. Then I had a few beers, and hit on every piece of ass in the bar. And I didn't get shot down by all of them either! Then I drank even more. Patron? Sure! Grey Goose? Why the fuck not?

Now it's 1:30 am. I'm pretty blitzed. I have a few numbers in my phone. Sweet. My boss is yammering on about the job. Then he turns to me. "Isn't that right?"

"Huh?"

"I said isn't that right?"

I head nodded towards the chick with a tramp stamp on her back at the bar. "Uhhhh..."

"We're able to handle software and hardware applications at all levels, right?"

"Oh!" I realized it was time to work. Somehow I had gotten drawn into this deal closing. I don't have a business degree or any of that shit, so why the shit do I have to do this? Oh, right, I drank like $35 worth of booze the first half hour I was there. That might be why. I began explaining to the client, trying my damnedest not to slur my words and make an ass of myself. Apparently I did a half decent job of explaining what I do, how quickly I can do it and talked up my fellow coding monkeys, because we got the contract.

[Unmarked Quest Complete]

    (Choose your reward)

- One time bonus check          

- Permanent hourly raise         

I took the permanent hourly raise. When I asked what the bonus check would have been I received the following response:

"That's for me to know and you to obsess over."

No maniacal laugh, but sometimes when I rethink it I throw one in, because he really should have laughed maniacally. 

Now full circle to the post title. Why? Because fuck your noise, that's why. (Or maybe because that was the entire point of this post. Maybe) As stated in the post title "How unfulfilled can you feel for $40 an hour?" I imply that my job is unfulfilling. That's because it is. My job requires retard level coding ability. A trained monkey could do most of the shit I do. I'm sure there are down syndrome children with more advanced coding abilities. Yet I am getting paid $40.00 an hour for this shit. I walked into a field with no experience, taught myself this shit and now I'm getting a paycheck so easy that I often complete my projects while hammered beyond belief. And they turn out flawless or so near flawless nobody knows there was a problem.

And I am getting paid $40.00 an hour for this bullshit. 

I'm not changing the world, saving orphans or curing cancer. I'm coding stupid people's websites for shit tier businesses. And let me reiterate this:  

I'm getting paid $40.00 an hour for this. 

When it comes to my work, it is unremarkable, boring and easy. I am without a doubt under worked and overpaid with this job. I frequently get to charge for a full hours of work for a job that takes twenty minutes. Taking this into account, I make more money in the space of 3 solid hours than I make all week at the liquor store.  

Three. Fucking. Hours. 

Usually while drunk. 

BONUS CONTENT:

(Brought to you by today's sponsor: Compulsive, Chronic Masturbation)

My boss encourages me to drink when working because he's happy with the results. He figured it out the night that he payed for my tab when I was on my iPhone and the customer had gone to use the restroom or solicit one of the bar sluts. (Possibly a crossover of the two.)

 The conversation when like this:

"What are you doing?"

"The [I'm not using the real name here] project."

"Now?"

"Why not? It's retard simple."

"Let me see your work." I hand him my phone. "God damn, really? how often do you code when drunk?"

OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT IM IN FOR IT NOW.

"Be honest now."

"More often than I'd like to admit to you?" 

"[Coworker] Can't code unless he jerks off first. If you think drinking and coding is the weirdest thing we deal with at this company, you're sorely mistaken."

[I always envisioned this coworker using The Cone after hearing that]

The scary part is this coworker practically lives at the office, meaning that we now know what the sticky stuff on the kitchen counter is

Wait. WHAT? How did my boss know that and was I just given permission to drink on the job?

"By the way if it'll make you code faster, you can bring in a 6 pack to the office when you have to stop by."

Holy shit my boss is awesome. Our client returned from the bathroom at that point and I went back to chase some tang. 

We now return you to your irregularly scheduled, 

debaucherous asshat blogging away on the internet.

So if you read through my bonus content you can see further why I'm unfulfilled with my job. If I needed to snort a line of coke off of a hookers ass before I started coding, my boss would be okay with it, because he only cares about the end result. 

"You turned a profit? Cool. What? 20 dead babies? Whatever. Don't get arrested now, I need you coding on Friday."

Fine Print: This is not an actual quote from my boss. I'm fairly certain he'd be pissed we didn't harvest the dead babies for organs and give him a share of the profit if he found out they died in the process of coding.

This means while it's easy money and it lets me live my over the top life, I have no sense of satisfaction with this. It is not a career I want. I will make no difference in the world this way. And ultimately I want to change the world... and if I can't change the world, I'll gladly change someone's world for the better.

Some men want an easy way through life. Me? I want glory. And glory is never found by shuffling your feet and waiting for it to fall in your lap.

[Well... morning glory can fall into your lap, but that's different]

By morning glory, I mean an erection you get in the morning. Because there's a hot chick in your bed and you're ready for round two

So, fellow Glory hounds! Until next time, don your horned helmets and grab your axes and mead. Cuz we're gonna get piss drunk and sail up and down the coast of Norway pillaging some villages.