My, my, my... I am a bad little blogger, aren't I?
I clicked on this link on my profile for the first time in, oh, 7 months today. After reading my gut-wrenching bloggorhea on wanting to leave Vegas, I realized that this place hasn't been so bad to me, after all. I've since found a fantastic group of people to work with, and am slowly tunnelling my way into a lifestyle that's not wholly repulsive.
Of course, I leave for Breck on Saturday, and who's to say I won't flip out again?
Last weekend was spent in the company of some of my best friends, and I had a great time. Ross and Katie are officially a married couple, mazel tov, and I've been jerked back to the real world in record time. I'm mentally planning the reunion in my mind already, but that's neither here nor there.
Describing the weekend's events is proving a little hard for me, as some of them I am assuming are merely wild Jack Daniels-induced hallucinations. Needless to say, I had a great time connecting with my oldest friends, and getting to know some great new ones. I really wish I'd gotten to sleep in the Groomsmen pad for one night, if for no other reason than to relive the days of yore when Ryan would rattle foundations with his snores. Good times, gents, good times. Weekends like that make me wonder why I missed out on getting to know all these great people that were skirting the edges of my life for so long, but we learn from it and life moves on. I mean, once you go from a lackadaisical detante with a girl, to holding her ankles for dear life as she perches precariously out of a third floor window*, well, you realize the potential for a good bond was there all along.
As you've no doubt guessed, this post serves no purpose other than to take the previous drivel's place as my most recent post. I can't stand to have some morose crap stand as a testament to my bipolarity, so I'll leave you with these parting words: I'm content, or as Lindsay Lohan would say, "adequite". Here's to a fantastic 2006, and an even brighter 2007.
G
*Okay, so maybe she was perfectly balanced on the ledge, but that didn't stop me from being mildly concerned.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Sunday, March 26, 2006
I have been chastised
The following conversation occured five minutes ago. Names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent.
Um, well, not dates.
*knock on my door*
Felicity McWillybottom: Hi, I'm Felicity McWillybottom- I live a couple apartments away. Have you been having parties the last few weeks?
Me: Yes. I'm sorry, were we too loud?
FMW: A little. I'm sorry to bother you, and I don't want to be a party pooper, but I just wanted to say something since I had to be up at 8am, and there was so much noise coming from your place...
Me: Oh-- I'm so sorry, I'll tell people to keep it down. There was a bit of a yelling match between two people last night and I asked them to leave. Sorry if it disturbed you.
FMW: All I heard was someone yelling, "F*CK YOU, HO!" outside my bedroom at 4am. I thought they were talking to me, since I'm a prostitute.
Me: *blank stare*
FMW: Well, and a cocktail server.
This complex never ceases to amaze me. The buildings are probably some of the nicest setups in the city, the people here tend to be of a higher caliber, and then bam... the hookers start moving in. I'm probably the only guy in the city who's been told by a hooker to stop screaming at 4am.
Um, well, not dates.
*knock on my door*
Felicity McWillybottom: Hi, I'm Felicity McWillybottom- I live a couple apartments away. Have you been having parties the last few weeks?
Me: Yes. I'm sorry, were we too loud?
FMW: A little. I'm sorry to bother you, and I don't want to be a party pooper, but I just wanted to say something since I had to be up at 8am, and there was so much noise coming from your place...
Me: Oh-- I'm so sorry, I'll tell people to keep it down. There was a bit of a yelling match between two people last night and I asked them to leave. Sorry if it disturbed you.
FMW: All I heard was someone yelling, "F*CK YOU, HO!" outside my bedroom at 4am. I thought they were talking to me, since I'm a prostitute.
Me: *blank stare*
FMW: Well, and a cocktail server.
This complex never ceases to amaze me. The buildings are probably some of the nicest setups in the city, the people here tend to be of a higher caliber, and then bam... the hookers start moving in. I'm probably the only guy in the city who's been told by a hooker to stop screaming at 4am.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
On Curling
I admit it: I've been watching the Olympics. That's not the shameful part, though-- I've been watching curling.
For those unfamiliar with the 'sport', it basically involves playing shuffleboard on ice. When it comes time to make a shot, the skip tells the rink how to make a draw by placing a stone in the house with aid of the lead, second, and third. Catch all that?
In English: There are ten thingies in a doodad, and you have 8 chances to roll your slidey pieces onto the targetish area per thingie. The other players that didn't throw the slidey piece use brooms to sweep away crap in front of them and control their speed. As you can see, I've picked up a lot. There are 70 minutes on the clock, and much like a game of ice-chess, you are given that set amout of time in which to plan and execute all your moves in a doodad. The score is calculated by adding up the number of the team's closest-to-the-center stones closer to the center than the opponent's closest stone. Yeeeah.
There are men's and women's teams, though I'm not entirely sure why. The US men's team usually executes all their moves with about 60 minutes remaining on the clock. Their captain/skip assesses the situation, makes and decision, and conveys his wishes to the guy throwing the stone. It's simple, fast, and apparently effective since they're now the favorite/
The women's team, on the other hand, has a couple issues. There's the ever-nagging "but what if?" chick, whose job consists of second-guessing the skip, offering useless opinions about hypotheticals, and crying. Then there's the cheerleader, who adds nothing but empty cranial real estate and a perky attitude. She's usually the one who says something like, "Good effort!", which is the last thing you ever want to hear because it basically means, "You suck and that's sad". She is, however, hot. This is important in the grand scheme of things.
The Japanese women's team is, uh, interesting. I think they were trying to kill eachother during their match against the British (don't get me started on them), but it was hard to tell. Instead of yelling "Woah!" or "Go!" to signal the sweepers to sweep or not, they yell "Neee!". That's it. Just Neee! I'm not sure if it's an inflection thing or something of the sort, but they seem to know what it means when it needs to be interpreted to mean different things. Neee! can mean "sweep harder", "stop sweeping", or "come give me an inappropriately-executed hug". All in how you say it, I guess.
Swedish women's team? Semi-awesome. Two bikini team transplants and two, well, curling team girls. Balance is key. That's all I can say about them. Oh, and they're good... I think.
I have absolutely nothing more to say on this subject, to be honest. Why I posted this, I'll never know. I just to get it out there in the open. Enjoy.
For those unfamiliar with the 'sport', it basically involves playing shuffleboard on ice. When it comes time to make a shot, the skip tells the rink how to make a draw by placing a stone in the house with aid of the lead, second, and third. Catch all that?
In English: There are ten thingies in a doodad, and you have 8 chances to roll your slidey pieces onto the targetish area per thingie. The other players that didn't throw the slidey piece use brooms to sweep away crap in front of them and control their speed. As you can see, I've picked up a lot. There are 70 minutes on the clock, and much like a game of ice-chess, you are given that set amout of time in which to plan and execute all your moves in a doodad. The score is calculated by adding up the number of the team's closest-to-the-center stones closer to the center than the opponent's closest stone. Yeeeah.
There are men's and women's teams, though I'm not entirely sure why. The US men's team usually executes all their moves with about 60 minutes remaining on the clock. Their captain/skip assesses the situation, makes and decision, and conveys his wishes to the guy throwing the stone. It's simple, fast, and apparently effective since they're now the favorite/
The women's team, on the other hand, has a couple issues. There's the ever-nagging "but what if?" chick, whose job consists of second-guessing the skip, offering useless opinions about hypotheticals, and crying. Then there's the cheerleader, who adds nothing but empty cranial real estate and a perky attitude. She's usually the one who says something like, "Good effort!", which is the last thing you ever want to hear because it basically means, "You suck and that's sad". She is, however, hot. This is important in the grand scheme of things.
The Japanese women's team is, uh, interesting. I think they were trying to kill eachother during their match against the British (don't get me started on them), but it was hard to tell. Instead of yelling "Woah!" or "Go!" to signal the sweepers to sweep or not, they yell "Neee!". That's it. Just Neee! I'm not sure if it's an inflection thing or something of the sort, but they seem to know what it means when it needs to be interpreted to mean different things. Neee! can mean "sweep harder", "stop sweeping", or "come give me an inappropriately-executed hug". All in how you say it, I guess.
Swedish women's team? Semi-awesome. Two bikini team transplants and two, well, curling team girls. Balance is key. That's all I can say about them. Oh, and they're good... I think.
I have absolutely nothing more to say on this subject, to be honest. Why I posted this, I'll never know. I just to get it out there in the open. Enjoy.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Life choices...
"Robbie- Call your mother, she's seriously concerned about your life choices"
This was the message scrawled on a dry-erase board outside the midway loading station on the Snowflake lift a few weeks ago. I laughed at it and thought, "Poor Robbie"... but part of me realized it's only a matter of time before the Luxor light dots the night sky with a message from my own mom. Why must I be the black sheep? This post is anything but inspiring, so feel free to skip it if you're only here for the funny.
Anyone who has asked me about life in Vegas has almost certainly heard the word 'vapid' pop up in more than a passing tone, and I'm finding it to be more and more true as the days pass. People here want jobs, not careers. They want money, not happiness. The city itself embodies all that is mundane and superficial about life, and I really don't think I want to have a big part in it. Sure, I could be a mover and shaker if I really put my mind to it (riiiight), but at what cost? My soul? Dignity? Intelligence?
My dad's parting words to me as I left Breck were, "Now's the time. You've got brilliance, talent, and drive. It's time to prove yourself" Yeah, way to set the bar low, dad. As much as I dispise hearing things like that, it made me really think about how I could possibly apply any of these so-called abilities to make myself successful in this city. That, of course, bred the question of what is success. That's where I get stumped.
Those words ringing in my ears, I spent the entire ride into Denver feeling as if my heart were being wrenched out of my body through my throat. To put it on more relatable terms, think about the last time you had to leave someone you loved dearly, and you knew you wouldn't seen for quite some time. As you are pulled away, your mind floods with all the memories of what made you truely happy, and that you won't feel that happiness every morning when you wake up until the day you are reunited.
Yeah, that feeling.
Of course it was partially about leaving my parents and friends in the town, but I've come to terms with being apart from them for so long that it's no longer an issue when I depart- I know it's just a matter of time. I'm under the distinct impression that what I was missing, what was causing me such pain, was the fact that I was leaving a life I really enjoy, a town I really enjoy, and people I really enjoy. These are pangs of saddness I don't feel when I leave Indy, Nashville, Boston, or wherever the bulk of my core friends may be. These are unique.
If people ask me, "where are you from?", they can expect about a ten minute answer. I have no idea, to be honest, but I know I'm not from Vegas. The only place in the United States that I've ever felt comfort in was in Breck. I've been there alone, and I've been there with family, and my feelings of belonging have never wavered. The community is tight, the people aren't superficial, and life just evolves at a different pace. Hell, I shaved twice in three weeks and never felt like I needed to impress a single soul... quite the polar opposite of Vegas. Indiana has never held onto my heart (nor my head, for sure), and Nashville was fun while it lasted. Vegas is basically a city with a tit-job and lots of makeup, but not much upstairs.
I've absolutely met quality people out here, but such a paultry number that I couldn't even fully populate one hand with fingers if I started counting. It's not for lack of trying, it's just a lack of common interests. People dream big out here, and 99.9% of them will ultimately fail at life, even if they succeed in their 'careers'. I need to not be one of them.
I suppose this is my long-winded way of saying that I need to move. Every time I leave my friends, I don't feel the saddness of loss, but rather the saddness of knowing I'm letting my brain atrophe the minute the wheels touch down on the tarmac. My friends out here know the glee I feel when my old Vandy, Duke, what-have-you friends come to visit, and the depression I plunge into at their departure. It's not so much the people as it is the feeling of belonging and companionship on something other than a superficial level. I need that. I don't need this.
Well, I don't want to bore the two people reading this any further, but I suppose every so often it's necessary to pour your soul out to no one in particular, and I figured I'd better do it while I still have some left to pour.
The question now for me is, where? I've long dreamed of moving to Breck, even when I was 13, because I love the town. I know I won't become a tycoon, and I know I won't be broadening my horizons, but I feel like this is a necessary step in the Unbearable Being of George. I firmly believe I can be monetarily successful anywhere I go, so why confine myself to this place? What would be wrong about living where I'm happy?I don't need a big city, and I don't need a thousand clubs. I don't need any of Vegas.
I need a small group of witty friends, a decent beer, and a place I'd be proud to call home. I'd settle for any of the three right now.
This was the message scrawled on a dry-erase board outside the midway loading station on the Snowflake lift a few weeks ago. I laughed at it and thought, "Poor Robbie"... but part of me realized it's only a matter of time before the Luxor light dots the night sky with a message from my own mom. Why must I be the black sheep? This post is anything but inspiring, so feel free to skip it if you're only here for the funny.
Anyone who has asked me about life in Vegas has almost certainly heard the word 'vapid' pop up in more than a passing tone, and I'm finding it to be more and more true as the days pass. People here want jobs, not careers. They want money, not happiness. The city itself embodies all that is mundane and superficial about life, and I really don't think I want to have a big part in it. Sure, I could be a mover and shaker if I really put my mind to it (riiiight), but at what cost? My soul? Dignity? Intelligence?
My dad's parting words to me as I left Breck were, "Now's the time. You've got brilliance, talent, and drive. It's time to prove yourself" Yeah, way to set the bar low, dad. As much as I dispise hearing things like that, it made me really think about how I could possibly apply any of these so-called abilities to make myself successful in this city. That, of course, bred the question of what is success. That's where I get stumped.
Those words ringing in my ears, I spent the entire ride into Denver feeling as if my heart were being wrenched out of my body through my throat. To put it on more relatable terms, think about the last time you had to leave someone you loved dearly, and you knew you wouldn't seen for quite some time. As you are pulled away, your mind floods with all the memories of what made you truely happy, and that you won't feel that happiness every morning when you wake up until the day you are reunited.
Yeah, that feeling.
Of course it was partially about leaving my parents and friends in the town, but I've come to terms with being apart from them for so long that it's no longer an issue when I depart- I know it's just a matter of time. I'm under the distinct impression that what I was missing, what was causing me such pain, was the fact that I was leaving a life I really enjoy, a town I really enjoy, and people I really enjoy. These are pangs of saddness I don't feel when I leave Indy, Nashville, Boston, or wherever the bulk of my core friends may be. These are unique.
If people ask me, "where are you from?", they can expect about a ten minute answer. I have no idea, to be honest, but I know I'm not from Vegas. The only place in the United States that I've ever felt comfort in was in Breck. I've been there alone, and I've been there with family, and my feelings of belonging have never wavered. The community is tight, the people aren't superficial, and life just evolves at a different pace. Hell, I shaved twice in three weeks and never felt like I needed to impress a single soul... quite the polar opposite of Vegas. Indiana has never held onto my heart (nor my head, for sure), and Nashville was fun while it lasted. Vegas is basically a city with a tit-job and lots of makeup, but not much upstairs.
I've absolutely met quality people out here, but such a paultry number that I couldn't even fully populate one hand with fingers if I started counting. It's not for lack of trying, it's just a lack of common interests. People dream big out here, and 99.9% of them will ultimately fail at life, even if they succeed in their 'careers'. I need to not be one of them.
I suppose this is my long-winded way of saying that I need to move. Every time I leave my friends, I don't feel the saddness of loss, but rather the saddness of knowing I'm letting my brain atrophe the minute the wheels touch down on the tarmac. My friends out here know the glee I feel when my old Vandy, Duke, what-have-you friends come to visit, and the depression I plunge into at their departure. It's not so much the people as it is the feeling of belonging and companionship on something other than a superficial level. I need that. I don't need this.
Well, I don't want to bore the two people reading this any further, but I suppose every so often it's necessary to pour your soul out to no one in particular, and I figured I'd better do it while I still have some left to pour.
The question now for me is, where? I've long dreamed of moving to Breck, even when I was 13, because I love the town. I know I won't become a tycoon, and I know I won't be broadening my horizons, but I feel like this is a necessary step in the Unbearable Being of George. I firmly believe I can be monetarily successful anywhere I go, so why confine myself to this place? What would be wrong about living where I'm happy?I don't need a big city, and I don't need a thousand clubs. I don't need any of Vegas.
I need a small group of witty friends, a decent beer, and a place I'd be proud to call home. I'd settle for any of the three right now.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
For purposes of making you want me
Someone who shall remain nameless IMed me today and asked, "what the hell do you do out there?", referring to Breckenridge. Since she asked so kindly, I have obliged. Keep in mind this was a short ski day, so there are a few more apres-ski activities. This isn't funny, either, merely informative.
George's Agenda
Monday, January 9th, 2006
The Skiing
7:45am- Wake up
7:46am- Realize it's snowed 8 inches of fluffy powder
8:13am- Borrow a set of ski poles from the Williams, as I managed to snap a carbon-fiber pole the previous day. Fourteen-foot falls from cliffs will do that *cough*
8:15am- We're the first jerks on the Snowflake Lift
8:30am- Spruce
8:42am- High Anxiety
9:05am- Rounders
9:30am- Bern's got cold feet, and mine hurt like hell. Vista Haus visit. Mmm.... coffee, hot chocolate, and a bottle of water I managed to spill all over myself. I believe we posed for a Starbucks ad... with really, really bad hair.
10:05am- Goodbye Girl
10:28am- Mach 1/7-Up, Me and Bernie respectively
10:55am- Mach 1
11:00am- Still snowing...
11:14am- Realize the Lift 6 line is ridonculous
11:15am- Lower Psychopath/Frosty's
11:25am- Mineshaft/Devil's Crotch, the two most oddly erotically-named slopes
11:50am- American/Goldking/Peerless. 6-8in of fresh powder, good grade, long run. Not bad for the last run of the season.
Apres-Ski
12:30pm- Game of "King of the Mountain" on the snow pile next to the house, in which Bernie is thoroughly dominated by my stellar snowball skills. Until he hits me in the face with one.
1:30pm- City Market, searching through bins of unpronouncable cheeses.
2:30pm- Hot tub. Beer. Still snowing. Did you know the hot tub has 29 jets? We counted/tested them all. Yup, they work.
3:45pm- Ross shows up and pelts us with snowballs while we're in the hot tub.
3:50pm- Brad's car apparently burns to ashes on the side of the road in Indiana. This has nothing to do with my schedule, but I thought it worthy of inclusion.
4:20pm- Coffee shop w/ Bernie, Ross, and Kates. Breck Coffee (Frangelico, Bailey's, etc. and some coffee), scrabble, and backgammon. I bow to Bern's skills at the dice, though I believe our record now officially stands at 2-2. Damn him and his double-6s.
6:00pm- Crepe from 'Crepes a la cart', which is actually a cart. How punny. Good crepe. Very good crepe. Still snowing.
7:00pm- Fondue. Good fondue. Very... you get the picture.
Current- Realize that I forgot to return the ski poles to the Williams.
After that, it was all about hanging pictures and watching inspiring shorts on ESPN about quadreplegic hockey players. I won't get the chance to ski the fresh powder tomorrow, unfortunately, as I am lazy and have not packed at all. I fly back to Vegas tomorrow, so you can all revel in my misery at leaving the good times and skiing that define the Breck experience.
I'm yawning like a Williams kid in drum class, so I'm out.
G
George's Agenda
Monday, January 9th, 2006
The Skiing
7:45am- Wake up
7:46am- Realize it's snowed 8 inches of fluffy powder
8:13am- Borrow a set of ski poles from the Williams, as I managed to snap a carbon-fiber pole the previous day. Fourteen-foot falls from cliffs will do that *cough*
8:15am- We're the first jerks on the Snowflake Lift
8:30am- Spruce
8:42am- High Anxiety
9:05am- Rounders
9:30am- Bern's got cold feet, and mine hurt like hell. Vista Haus visit. Mmm.... coffee, hot chocolate, and a bottle of water I managed to spill all over myself. I believe we posed for a Starbucks ad... with really, really bad hair.
10:05am- Goodbye Girl
10:28am- Mach 1/7-Up, Me and Bernie respectively
10:55am- Mach 1
11:00am- Still snowing...
11:14am- Realize the Lift 6 line is ridonculous
11:15am- Lower Psychopath/Frosty's
11:25am- Mineshaft/Devil's Crotch, the two most oddly erotically-named slopes
11:50am- American/Goldking/Peerless. 6-8in of fresh powder, good grade, long run. Not bad for the last run of the season.
Apres-Ski
12:30pm- Game of "King of the Mountain" on the snow pile next to the house, in which Bernie is thoroughly dominated by my stellar snowball skills. Until he hits me in the face with one.
1:30pm- City Market, searching through bins of unpronouncable cheeses.
2:30pm- Hot tub. Beer. Still snowing. Did you know the hot tub has 29 jets? We counted/tested them all. Yup, they work.
3:45pm- Ross shows up and pelts us with snowballs while we're in the hot tub.
3:50pm- Brad's car apparently burns to ashes on the side of the road in Indiana. This has nothing to do with my schedule, but I thought it worthy of inclusion.
4:20pm- Coffee shop w/ Bernie, Ross, and Kates. Breck Coffee (Frangelico, Bailey's, etc. and some coffee), scrabble, and backgammon. I bow to Bern's skills at the dice, though I believe our record now officially stands at 2-2. Damn him and his double-6s.
6:00pm- Crepe from 'Crepes a la cart', which is actually a cart. How punny. Good crepe. Very good crepe. Still snowing.
7:00pm- Fondue. Good fondue. Very... you get the picture.
Current- Realize that I forgot to return the ski poles to the Williams.
After that, it was all about hanging pictures and watching inspiring shorts on ESPN about quadreplegic hockey players. I won't get the chance to ski the fresh powder tomorrow, unfortunately, as I am lazy and have not packed at all. I fly back to Vegas tomorrow, so you can all revel in my misery at leaving the good times and skiing that define the Breck experience.
I'm yawning like a Williams kid in drum class, so I'm out.
G
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Taboo Cliche
For the sake of posterity, I have noted some of the events of the evening. When I say 'some', I mean just this one: Ross, Kates, Bernie and I played Taboo tonight. Below are some of the clues that resulted in correct answers.
B: If you eat this, it'll come back later
G: Corn!
B: She died, but she was really nice.
G: Mother Theresa
G: He's written a butt-load of books...
B: John Grisham
B: He can jump.
G: Michael Jordan.
G: Lazy people sit around all day and collect this...
B: Bottles?
G: From the government.
B: Oh, wellfare
Below are clues that resulted in not-so-correct answers.
K: These people aren't necessarily seen as normal, and are sort of weird...
R: Retards!
(Correct answer: Oddballs)
G: Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the blank
B: mouse!
G: It rhymes.
B: ...hat?
(Correct answer: Fiddle)
B: Small bulls (George heard this as 'bowls')
G: Rammikin
B: No, like... moo moo bulls
G: Cow bowls?
B: PETA people might be this
G: Annoying
B: No,
G: Liberal
B: Keep going
G: Stupid
B: They don't consume animals
G: Oh... Vegetarians.
Oh my, we are so amusing. It's time to hit the sack so I can ski tomorrow. Adios.
B: If you eat this, it'll come back later
G: Corn!
B: She died, but she was really nice.
G: Mother Theresa
G: He's written a butt-load of books...
B: John Grisham
B: He can jump.
G: Michael Jordan.
G: Lazy people sit around all day and collect this...
B: Bottles?
G: From the government.
B: Oh, wellfare
Below are clues that resulted in not-so-correct answers.
K: These people aren't necessarily seen as normal, and are sort of weird...
R: Retards!
(Correct answer: Oddballs)
G: Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the blank
B: mouse!
G: It rhymes.
B: ...hat?
(Correct answer: Fiddle)
B: Small bulls (George heard this as 'bowls')
G: Rammikin
B: No, like... moo moo bulls
G: Cow bowls?
B: PETA people might be this
G: Annoying
B: No,
G: Liberal
B: Keep going
G: Stupid
B: They don't consume animals
G: Oh... Vegetarians.
Oh my, we are so amusing. It's time to hit the sack so I can ski tomorrow. Adios.
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