My career is a horrible lie. Deep down inside I don't like the products I assist in the selling of. I have a clear platform of choice for personal computing, and my work doesn't satisfy that need. However, due to a technicality I can feel much better about myself because the products I do sell are aimed at the business market and not the consumer market and they have a much better fit there. Especially in the place where my favourite company doesn't compete. If you think this is all very cryptic, well your right!



On the upside this provides a clear rift in my life that indicates good and evil. When I look at my work computer I think 'evil' thoughts that will surely secure me a place in eternal damnation and turn my laptop into a quivering pile of ashes., but I am saved when I see the happy pulse of my powerbook sleeping like a sweet innocent child. Coincidentally the same can be said of business attire. Pleated pants = evil, jeans = good.

I keep learning the same lessons time and time again. Each time I climb to the top I am pushed off the edge by an unseen force. Starting a job is much more of a humbling experience than I thought it was going to be. When I was in high-school it took 5 years before I ruled the school and now that I am working I am back in Grade 9, (Freshman year for you American Folk) and as important as glasses to a blind-man.



Waterloo may produce some of the best grads in the country or the world for that matter, but they all have one fatal flaw; an ego the size of a giant's testicle. We are a cocky bunch thinking we know all the details about everything but in reality we are trained monkeys who perform circus tricks on demand. Put us in a real job and we'll perform well but are secretly dismayed at out lowly positions. Why are we at the bottom of the totem pole, do they not know who I am?



Life is full of waiting. Waiting to drive, for love, to grow up and for full independence. And as we achieve each goal another two are added to the pile.

I never thought I would admit it but my car isn't perfect. I love it so, but it has but one flaw. When the weather is shit and your car becomes a silver ice bullet it shakes at speeds excess of 100 At first I thought it was snow around my tires, but after kicking them off it still rumbled at high speeds, so I stoped again to chip ice off the front of my car which improved the situation but I couldn't get the ice out of the grills. It's like the day you realize that your Dad isn't perfect; he can't leap over buildings in a single bound.

I took the GO train downtown for a training session today. It's really a depressing thing for me now. The whole time I felt like a lost sheep, being herded from car to subway waiting patiently for my turn. Everyone looked the same and read that same damn newspaper. They were all doing their best to sit among hundreds of people and still have zero social interaction with the people around them. It was hard to decide if it was sad or silly. In the end I turned my music up trying to create a suttle difference between me and them.

After all these years I still do it. The same routine whether I am sick, tired, sober or drunk. I close the door to my room and instinctively lock it. When the house is full of people or if I am the only one there, I lock it. All because drunk roommates would come home and steam roll me as I lay in my bed. Taking such great pleasure in my incoherentness and pain as I realized what was going on around me. Damn! I never should have started that.

I got my first business cards ever today. I am not so much proud in that Jason Bateman way that I would kill someone with watermarks and embossed lettering, but more of the look at me I am an official YAPPY (young aspiring professional) way. My goal is to one day honestly be able to say 'Have your people call my people', but until that day I'll have to settle for 'Let's do lunch' or 'Call me' in conjunction with telephone gesturing fingers.

Is there anything better than a cross-over? It was successful for for Buffy and Angel why not me? So, I take this time to invite Amanda to expand on her thoughts about me, mostly because no has ever called me mysterious before and I'd loved to know why: I think I'd have a crush on Brad if I knew him in real life. He?s funny. He shares my obsessive love for music (though our tastes differ). He?s smart. He?s a UW grad. He is a genuinely nice guy. Someday he will come to Waterloo and drink beer with me. Until then I wish his blog was a little less mysterious.



I think my sex appeal just shot up exponentially.

You know that moment when all else disappears except the thud of the bass and the black of the pavement, it's greatly enhanced when you look over to the car next to you and their is a cute girl in it and she's singing along to something too! But then you realize she's singing along with you. You are sharing the same station and the same melody, and for a second you aren't alone in your car anymore.

I was listening to Hitz 97.7 on the way home from work tonight, I almost killed myself laughing over their Valentine's day contest, "Have Sex Over your Ex". If you win, a chopper will wisk you and your signicant other directly over your ex' so you can bump uglies. Whatever will you do if you don't win? Buy into that Hallmark shite?

What a great night! Everyone woke up this morning with vague memories of what happened. Each of us with a horse voice from singing along too loudly to Sweet Caroline, but it paid off. We were the cool table. The table everyone want's to be. The table that you tell your kids about on a trip down memory lane when your too old to partake in tables of the sort anymore. The night's entertainment whom we dubbed Roy, bought us a pitcher in appreciation, told everyone to sing like us and gave a shout out as we left the pub.



More nick names were passed out during the night, several jeebus' were present, an evil pete and 'hand on my dick, hand on my phone guy'. I walk in the bathroom and there is 'hand on my dick, hand on my phone guy' at the urinal. His eyes straight ahead staring at the tile and talking on his #$%^ing cell phone. What the hell is that?



The only other funny thing I recall right now is Julie telling everyone that customs had smelled her underwear. A total mistake on her part, but funny as hell on mine.

Some of the smartest people I've met are beggers. They're not a predictable bunch. Last night this guys opener was "Can I give you some money?". It throws you off, hopefully just enough that you give him money instead. Much better than those lame, I need money for marijuana signs the kids have. It's all about originality

My office over looks the copy machine at work. It truly is a good place to be. There is enough traffic that you can people watch all day and make little nicnames. There is hot girl who wears tight jeans, hair may explodeat any time girl, and I'm a gangsta walking thug and if you look at me funny I'm gunna bust a cap in your ass guy.

My new family provides hours of entertainment. I hear it from all sides. How one wants a nipple ring, the other wants to tap that, one yelling at the dogs and the other as nice as can be. It's sort of like living with the Osbournes, but without all the swearing and incoherentness. The dogs are annoying, but lovable. Every morning when I am all clean and pristine they make sure to ruin it by covering my legs in fur and drool marks. The cat just stares at me. No matter what I am doing, it just stares. If I stare, it stares. But I know she likes me, mainly because we have an understanding. I pet her and she doesn't puke or pee on my bed. The perfect win win situation that we all strive for in life.

I've been having some weird dreams again. Usually it takes me longer to incorporate new faces into them, but my new work crew made it in right away. We were having an impromptu marketing meeting because one of my bosses had had an epiphany on a new give-away for the company. It was reversible rubber genitalia. One side was male, the other female. My boss thought it was the greatest idea ever and couldn't understand why I didn't think it conveyed the marketing message.



I tried to explain myself with an anecdote about wife beaters. How we could give them away, but the only time we would ever see a return on them it would be on Cops as drug dealers strung out on crack are pushed head first into the back of cop cars. She just didn't get and kept on playing with her new rubber friend.