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6:05 a.m. - 2005-01-17

DON'T YOU GET SOME KINDA PIN AT THIS POINT?


Saturday marked my five year anniversary on Diaryland.

This is my 1,694th entry since then.

Coincidence???

Heh.

Somewhere, somebody's scratching their head saying "I ... I don't see any coincidence there."

There is none, goober.



Soooo ... five years ago, I was working at the local newspaper and was resigned to the idea that my wife and I were never going to have children.

I was smoking pot morning, noon and night and was also highly (no pun intended) involved in the community doing everything from appearing in fashion shows to raising money for the American Cancer Society.

I had started this diary because I could write stupid stories about my life that I could then fine-tune and use in my weekly humor column ... minus all the "goddamns" and "fucks".

Now?

I've got a four year old kid.

I haven't smoked pot in years.

I make sure that the local elderly population has their bloody urine transported safely to the laboratory to be analyzed.

And the community has forgotten about me. Nobody wants Piss Boy modeling the latest fashions on the catwalk because ... well ... he might reek of piss or something.

Well guess what, kids?

It's time to cue up that goddamned "Circle Of Life" song from "The Lion King" because once again ... things are changing.



Preliminary discussions have been conducted with the final one taking place this Thursday, but all systems are pointing towards "go" and it looks like I'll be going back to the newspaper this month.

The money has been agreed upon. The work load has been discussed. Now we just need to decide how few appearances I'll actually have to make in the office and I'm back in the same job I held for eight years or so.

This is a good thing because ... well ... I was really content at the newspaper.

The perks with the job were the best thing by a long shot. Tickets to concerts, free CDs, interviewing stars ... it was a really cool job to have.

I left when my ol' pal Wendigo asked me to come write coffee table books for more money. The idea of having my mug on the inside jacket of books and my name on the spine of the books came at the right time. I had a brand new baby boy and wanted to leave a legacy on the book shelf for him.

That company folded, Wendigo got me yet another job with the local Chamber where I promptly learned that I wasn't Chamber material and the rest is a sad, tattered history of 2004.

Throughout the countless job interviews I had last year, one constant remained ... I kept telling the interviewers that my biggest mistake was leaving the newspaper.

I stopped by the paper's office a few weeks ago and the owner mentioned that he'd like to put me to work part time if we could arrange it.

I said that part-time wouldn't work because I'm already stretched pretty thin as it is and that I'd come back full-time if we could work that out.

He can't afford to pay me my old salary so I'm going back at a discounted price and will only work a set amount of days per week, which is looking like three days a week ... Monday-Wednesday.

Combined with the DJ work on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, I'll still be making more than I've ever made.

Nothing's definite yet ... but it's at 95% right now.

Susie keeps reminding me that it won't be as fun as it used to be because all my buds like Wendigo, Edweird and Mattie Gee are no longer there.

I do still have one buddy there ... Drunk Assed Jamie for those of you who remember him.

But even Jamie's gotten married, had a kid and tried ("tried") to settle down.

So I'm right back where I started when I cranked this diary up.

Minus the pot, plus the kid.

And the only fashion shows I'll be doing will be for "Lard Ass International".




Had an awesome night Friday night.

The club had its best night ever in its history, ringing up over $5,000 in drink sales.

At one point on the dance floor, people couldn't even dance because they were jammed so tight out there. The heat from the dance floor was causing me to sweat up in my booth that hangs over the floor.

And all they wanted to hear were cheesy high energy 80's tunes.

"Mickey".

"Rebel Yell".

"Rock Lobster".

And if I told them to clap along to the beat, they clapped like their lives depended on it.

They cheered.

They screamed every time a new, better song came on.

It was the best club crowd I've had in years.

Hell, I made $52 in tips and I don't even accept tips. People were just coming up, requesting songs and laying money down on the walls of the booth before I could tell them that I didn't want their money.

At the end of the night, there was vomit on the dance floor, chairs overturned and popcorn crushed into the carpet.

THAT'S how good of a night it was.

Luckily, I don't have to clean the shit up there because they don't know that I'm Piss Boy by day ... Rock and Roll Savior by night.

If they knew I was Piss Boy, I woulda been mopping 'til dawn.


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