My Week In Review: A Bad Country Music Song.

So last Tuesday, the company I've been consulting with celebrated a big win. They brought in sushi.

About an hour later, my stomach starts rumbling. I blow it off.
After the third rumble, major ruh-roh.

So I scoot off to the restroom. The company is situated in a building that houses several small businesses. They all share a toilet which is accessed by lock and key. I go to retrieve the men's room key. Gone. I figure someone's using it.

After several minutes, someone walks in the back door from the restroom. Unfortunately, it's a woman. She sees me start to do the I gotta go shuffle, then says, "Dude, just use the women's room. No one ever goes in there." I snatch the key and bolt at warp five speed. As I unlock the door, my stomach tells me the shot clock's down to three.

(pretend this next part's in slow motion) I'm three steps from the toilet. I don't make it. I have officially shit myself.

As I plop down on the can, utter gastric havoc ensues for a few minutes. A full-throttle rectal Vesuvius. Afterward, I realize that I have pretty much laid down a big brown softball in my underwear. Maybe it's a bocce ball, who knows. It's...rough.

I get everything straightened out as best I can and flush the toilet. Water rises. I jiggle the handle and flush again. It only gets worse. In fact, I'm now flooding the women's restroom. I bolt for the toilet to shut the water off, I slip and fall.

I get up, try to steer the water toward the drain-impossible. I take my jeans to the sink to try to rinse them out. During the scrubbing, someone comes to the door. Now keep in mind that I'm wearing a shirt and that's it. In the ladies' room. The woman knocks a few times...fuck, now what? In my best Hispanic voice, I yell "bano cerrado! Bano cerrado!" The woman walks away.

I put on my now-soaked pants, call a buddy in the office and have him bring my laptop and case. He does, sees me, shrieks. I give him the rundown, we laugh, I go home.

On the way back, the owner of the company calls me, wondering if I'm okay. I tell her about it, we laugh, hang up. She calls me back ten minutes later, telling me that the new intern had the key in his pocket the whole time.

Nice.

Part two:

I share a dog with my ex-gf, which means I have him pretty much nonstop, which is cool. The reason I have him most of the time is the ex (whom my Dad refers to as "Drunky the Clown") was able to bring him to her office, but didn't keep him in check enough, so he got banned for life.

Drunky gets an all-office email that says Cesar's gonna be there shooting three eps and then doing a classroom-type of presentation. So I wrote a sob story about Grady, which got us listed as an alternate, in case one of the dogs didn't shoot well. At the very least, Cesar would bring him up and work with him in front of everybody.

Along with the final touches of remodeling going on and a ton of consulting work happening, I scramble to get him groomed and get him to her office, 20 miles away. I get there, they shoot some b-roll of him growling. Cesar shows up and instead of working with the dogs, he gives his boilerplate speech. Afterwards, we spoke with him and he said that the dog's fine, because dogs have bad days, too. It's probably just purring, doggie-style.

Color me enlightened.

Part three:

I met a woman online, and we had a great first date. Then on the second one, I started seeing some stuff I didn't like. Namely, that she's the most egotistical woman I've ever met, maybe even most better-than-you person, male or female. We go to a happy hour at a friend of mine's house. Some jackass who could totally pass himself off as Christopher Walken's gay younger brother totally gets her number and I suspect asked her out.

Sure, I got peacocked, but it was a blessing in disguise.

Fast-forward to last night. I'm at a bar with a friend, and in walks that girl. She stands next to me at the bar, not knowing I was there. So of course I say hello. 90 seconds later, who walks up? That guy. Fortunately, they were uncomfortable enough to leave, b/c I sure as fuck wasn't. I probably made her shit her pants the way I shit mine earlier in the week.

So my ego's slightly bruised. Not about that girl, but about the situation. Nobody likes that shit. Ten minutes after it happened, this other girl, who I've had a mad crush on for awhile, walks in with her posse. Great. I'm not on my A-Game. Might be on my C-game. This doesn't stop my obnoxious friend from interjecting himself into their sitch. He's like a cross between Major Frank Burns and Carrot Top. His personality could grate steel. He and his abrasiveness, plus the sitch I had, plus the fact that he was just being a real dick and potentially ruining my shot at this chick caused me to walk 1.5 miles home.

Overall, it was about as frustrating as watching the Brickyard 400 today.

 

Best. Story. Ever.

 

I've not cringed and laughed simultaneously that much in several months.

 

I personally enjoyed your bad week or at least enjoyed reading about it.

 

Here's hoping this week is better.

 

I was drunk the day my mama got out of prison, it was raining when I went to pick her up ...

And your story tops that.

 

Assplosions at work are not good to go. Yuck.

 

My horrible days consist of things much less entertaining than that. Bravo, thanks for sharing, you brought a smile on my face after a week of getting chewed out by my boss and working 50 hours without a penny of overtime.

 

My friend Steve Goodman said that IS the perfect Country and Western song.

 

Who knew westcoastvol could be such a thrill
Talking about something other than finishing on her grill ...

(There's some country tune somewhere to mesh with these lyrics ... )

 

Your story is a great plot for a Southwest Airlines commercial.

Want to get away.

 

Fantastic.

I mean, for us. Obviously not for you.