5 steps to a less douchey relationship

Hi kids, Dick Mostly - the Antiprofessional here. I am now going to fist-force knowledge into your orbital socket.

I was smitten once with a girl. I also made sure to let everyone know how smitten I was at all times; better known as being a blow-hard douche bag.

Your relationship is so wonderful. For you, it's unicorns pooing rainbows over a technicolor sea of harmony. For everyone else it's a painful reminder of why they'd enjoy body slamming co-dependent people into parked cars. Here's 5 things I abide by to be less douchey about it.

1. Stop plugging your significant other when they're not here.

Do you just love everything your partner does so much that you can't help but be their Public Relations rep? Well fucking stop. They're not even here. No, I "can not believe how LUCKY you are," because you're this stupid. If you ever say:

"...So and so did the cutest thing."

And it's not in reference to a drunk puppy, two babies, a marshmallow, and/or seven kittens? It's not the cutest thing.

Here's a short list of when it's OK to tell a story about someone that isn't famous, noteworthy, or relevant in a conversation:

I would love to hear all about this.

1. It involves a burning building
2. Wildlife attack
3. Birth
4. Death
5. Discovery of super powers
6. Religious/Paranormal experience
7. Horrific sports-related injury
8. Amber alert
9. Home intrusion
10. They want to sleep with me





So no, your partners' amazing ability to cook using Goya products does not appear on this list. Shut up.

2. Publicly missing your significant other during normal business hours is dumb.

If your significant other isn't stomping Taliban warlords into putty during night missions throughout the political hot-beds of the world, or travelling to Nicaragua to cure Lupus, no one wants to hear about how much you miss them. In reality, you're probably going to see them at 5pm, or (if you're being cheated on) during the weekend. Unless you're a dog with no concept of time, there's no reason to announce this fact to anyone, save for the hair doll you have of them which is why they're probably dating you in the first place: fear of personal safety.

3. Be real.

"You (will) complete me (after eaten)."

Stop celebrating your bi-weekly anniversary. The fact that you broke a personal record for not running your crotch into another person doesn't mean we all want to partake in the festivities. We live in something called reality. And in it, you're not dating Jesus. (Wait. Right?) Ratchet it back and try the 10/1 rule: for every 10 sappy dumb things you have to say, throw in one humanizing one; with fun examples of arguments or humiliating stories, if even just to let us know you're still with us here on Earth.

If you can't, then you're probably a delusional ego-liar who is dating a mannequin (manikin for you Americans). Because no relationship is perfect. And although I'm sure it's lovely in your Narnia dreamworld, I just can't deal with a place that doesn't have HBO. (Boardwalk Empire Sundays).

4. Every time you and your significant feel the need to broadcast competitively how much you love each other...

I just fucking love her so much.

Punch yourself right in the face.

Bonus: You'll be done with your Christmas shopping! Everyone will be happy you did this.





5. "If this ends tomorrow, will I feel stupid?"

"...but he has SUCH a great job."

Yup. When it all comes crashing down and you're scrambling to delete Facebook posts from them after they're convicted for that rash of serial masturbation in churches, you're REALLY going to have time to dwell on all those Enya songs you posted because "they just made you think of them and smile." Um, yeah, while you were busy bragging to me about how you always get butterflies when you see them, I was busy always seeing the butterfly knife they used to carve your name in their forearm. There's a song for this too. "Maybe you should have seen the warning signs of a serial killer" by Jasper Marx, who I just made up.


Of course you're going to feel stupid, dummy. You were too busy jamming the love bug up friends' unwilling, puckered up asses to realize that, hey, maybe my one and only someone isn't the one with the thousand yard stare (google it) every time we pass an elementary school.

But hey, did I mention the cutest thing she did for our 2 month anniversary?

I will now grant you health in 5 steps.

Hi, my name is Dick Mostly - the Antiprofessional. I lost 60 pounds by coming to grips and realizing I was a lazy idiot. These are the same five steps I explained to myself in order to start down the path of awesome. Ready? Go.

This shouldn't give you an erection.

1. Stop eating shit. 

You're fat. It's not genetics. You just suck at eating. Shitty foods fatten you fast. If you don't think they do, then look at yourself. Then look at the extra bowl of potatoes you're eating after your second bowl of potatoes. Gravy? Not a food group. You're being stupid.

2. Stop thinking exercise sucks.

Because everyone already knows it does. But being out of breath from showering also sucks. So you need to get your shit together.

I want to be inside you.

3. Stop thinking fat is the enemy.

Just because you're fat doesn't mean fat is bad. Quit making this shit personal. Carbohydrates and Sugars are the things that really "suck," and it's not even because they actually suck. It's because you're too lazy to burn them off properly, which is really your fault, but it's much easier to say that General Mills is a douche bag for exploiting your lack of willpower towards their delicious lineup of myth-based cereal characters.



So go ahead and avoid that avocado or pasta because they're high in fat or carbs while you're topping off your cauldron of frozen yogurt with pixie sticks and cheescake. Sounds reasonable, right? (By the way, that is fucking delicious).

4. Realize that you're being dumb.

You can't go work out then eat Taco Bell (I've done this) then be pissed at the lack of progress. (I've also done this). You're being ridiculous. Fire sauce? Not a vegetable. Although you will lose weight from the inevitable raging toilet massacre that follows said Taco Bell.

5. Chicken Caesar Salad isn't a fucking diet.

If you think your diet isn't working, you're probably eating a chicken caesar salad. Health is education. It's learning about you. What you like, and don't like. I know this scares people because they don't want to take that awkward journey inward to find out why they enjoy cross-dressing so much on Thursdays. A good diet keeps you entertained. You shouldn't feel handcuffed.

Well picked diet: "Go ahead buddy, I trust you."
Poorly picked diet: "You will jam this in your throat, or I will punch you in the throat."

Extra dressing, please I'm on a diet.

Likewise you shouldn't pick a diet that has foods you don't like, or can't have. Some diets will work for some people, others won't. If you're allergic to whey, you should probably stop eating whey protein you idiot. If you don't like fish, then going Pescetarian really was just a way of showing your ex you can commit to something. 

Just because it has the word "salad" in it, that doesn't mean it's good for you. You have to actually make rationale health decisions that equate to, "Are we sure six gallons of mayonnaise is healthy?" Yes, these decisions generally make other people go: 

"You're getting what?!" While they're fire-hosing hollandaise sauce on their pie-stuffed pancakes with a side of shame. (Also delicious). To which I generally reply: 

"I'm getting something that sucks, can I give you $5 to lick at your fingers after you're done eating?" But that's neither here nor there.

BONUS: Stop rewarding yourself for shit you didn't earn.

How about dieting for more than an hour before rewarding yourself with an Oatmeal Cream Pie stuffed with heath bars. That's disgusting. Now excuse me while I go make that.

Here's an incredibly useful diet education site to help you choose what diet works for you: http://dietchoices.com/

If this post upset you, pour some gravy on it.

Is This What Entrepreneurs Smell Like?

Your lead-off quote from this entry: "Blowing smoke up someone's ass chafes terribly and it's only a matter of time before they realize the dull, sandpaper-like pain in their rectum is due to the bullshit spewing from your lips."


--------------------------------------------------


Monday wakeup: 9am

Tuesday wakeup: 10:30am

Wednesday wakeup: 11:00am

Thursday wakeup: 12:15pm

I'm sensing a pattern here, and if my calculations are correct I should be waking up for next Wednesday next Thursday. The pattern has developed in part due to hard work... but mainly in part due to late nights. Late nights that come with nurturing an idea; this tiny little baby of hope and American dreams that can be something amazing if raised correctly. But, like most babies, especially in the beginning, (please note: this is speculation, my limited dealings with children usually involved me walking/sprinting in the opposite direction) it comes action-packed with vomit and crap-filled twists and turns that keep your days long and your nights longer. Lucky for this baby (or us), we've got the hours (and beer) to deal with it.

And I can't stress enough the "working off of my balcony in the summer sun" thing. Really is awesome.

Prehistoric Demon Fish-Serpent

For three days straight myself and Phil (my business partner) have foregone sleep, personal hygiene, and contact with the outside world to try and put together a proposal for a deal that could pair us up with a business that does something very complimentary to what we do. Like the tooth fairy, our work is mainly done from the hours of 11pm-4am (sans breaking into homes of sleeping children), trying to get the infrastructure set up for this venture, which is like trying to build a road map for the ocean floor: full of dark, uncharted waters and prehistoric demon fish-serpents that have Christmas lights hanging off their forehead and can turn you to stone with one look. That last portion is unfounded, by the way.

But that's the fun of it all!!! Adventure of the white-collar variety!

Let's get you back on track:

Now, I'm not big on flashbacks, but apparently I'm even less into writing while I'm swamped, and since I have been slacking, I need to bring you up to speed. Last Thursday we had a meeting with a company that does SEO. Gather round kids for your two minutes of boring jargon-vomit!

SEO is Search Engine Optimization.

The basic premise of what we offer is Social Media Optimization (SMO).

SEO enhances business through Google. SMO enhances business through Social Media.

As far as our companies hooking up goes: that's what we in the business call a "no-brainer." So we had to pitch them on linking up and sharing business, their services broadens what we can offer clients, and vice versa.

We met last Thursday and it went something like this (note- this is an artists' simplified rendition):

"We own a business."

"We also own a business. We do things like you, but in different areas."

"Can this make money?"

"Not only can it make money, it will help keep clients happy."

"Get us something in writing."

That's called synopsis, friends. 

Basically we met with a panel of 5 executives - three owners, a head sales rep (contact of mine), a Venture Capitalist, and a partridge in a pear tree...wait.

Ok, Partridge in a pear tree. I have to look that up. That is just ridiculous. How did that ever make sense? I get the bird. Great gift. Thanks for springing this flying glorified shit sprayer on me unexpectedly, really appreciate it. Oh, and what's this? You're jamming it into my home nested into this massive pear tree? That is just spraying debris all over my house and has rotting pears spitting fruit flies and disease all over my children? This is the best Christmas ever!

Anyway, so we met with this SEO company about linking up and sharing business, they were really open and receptive which helped us twofold.

1. We could potentially open up a new stream of business.

2. This was myself and Phil's first professional pitch to a panel of business owners, under fire from questioning and skepticism of the "my ass is on the line" variety. The most honest kind. From what we gathered from feedback and our own feelings, there were of course things that could be improved upon, but it went remarkably well.

If I could give one piece of advice during a business meeting, or interview, or life, it's this: stick to your guns. Stay genuine. People will respect you more for it, and if it wasn't going to be a good fit, it wouldn't have been anyway whether it was right at the interview, or five months down the line when you snap and start drinking cow's blood and shoot the place up after not being able to cope with lying to yourself anymore. Don't say what you think they'll want to hear, say what YOU mean. Blowing smoke up someone's ass chafes terribly and it's only a matter of time before they realize the dull, sandpaper-like pain in their rectum is due to the bullshit spewing from your lips.

After the meeting last Thursday, we had a deadline of the following Wednesday to get them something to work with. Which we did, after many hours (and I mean hours) of competitor pricing structure, and methods all while dealing with emails, chat boxes and voicemails that look something like this:

"Hey, it's your best client, remember me?????????"

"Of course. How could I forget you?"

"Hey it's your other best client I need you at so and so."

"Hang tight, other best client, best client needs something."

"Well he's not worth it so cancel him."

"HEY IT'S ANOTHER CLIENT I NEED SOMETHING"

"Ok, Ok, everyone please wait a second"

*Unintelligible screaming*

So we definitely experienced some growing pains. We're swamped with our current client-base and trying to grow our business and create its infrastructure. It's a lot. And our current clients know they got us BEYOND a bargain, it's incredible how much we're doing for the price, so we just had to be open with them, because if there's another piece of advice I can bestow? It's honesty. It's the best policy. Your 5th grade guidance counselor wasn't just saying that.

"Dear clients:

We apologize for any miscommunication...we really value you as customers...what you are asking of us is not in line with the scope of what we originally agreed upon."

It was a very tactful letter that politely said "You're asking us to do stuff we didn't agree upon, are getting mad at us for not doing so, and don't want to pay for it." 

With that being said, we called some of our competitiors and checked out their pricing and processes to get a better insight into the industry. Yeah.

- Unintelligible Asian call center answered the phone

- Unintelligible Russian call center answered the phone

- No one answered the phone

- No one answered the phone, then called us back from a blocked number.

That's what's out there. But then again, that's what's out there in most industries, a lot of outsourcing, and a lot of "get em cheap" mentality. It bodes well for us and our endeavor, because we'll be happy to fill that old "quality" role.

In any event, when you're not yet living your dreams, it doesn't hurt to enjoy the road getting there...and for now, that's paved with a sunlit porch full of work and beer.

Fortune Cookie: Don't blow smoke up someone's ass, unless they specifically ask for it, and are specifically paying fair market value for that service.

Craigslist Ads posted: 1

Meals artfully cooked by Phil: 4

Meals artfully destroyed by Chris: 3

Packs of candy consumed: 26

Times my car battery died: 9

Songs sung: 34

Meltdowns had: .5

Ketchup Part 1

This entry took about a week to write, so I'll need two parts. Kind of like Law and Order, only less preachy and murdery. As I conclude my first official week of work as President and COO of Beyond the Box Productions, as well as my headlong swan dive into the perceived shark-waters of the business world, I felt it was time to reflect.

Yeah, I know. It's been a while. But I've been busy with things that actually directly result in my survival. Like working, which has now become the "working a lot more for a lot less" show, starring myself and my bright a shiny hopes for a spinoff entitled "Chris took a risk that really worked out for all involved." But for those of you that are following along on my wild ride let me itemize some things, certain allotments if you will, that employed people are able to enjoy due to earning a solid weekly paycheck, as opposed to the upstart entrepreneurial substitution, which yours truly is currently enduring the initial "hardships" of.

     The Working Man                                                          The Working for Himself, Man

Eats Steak.

Eats whatever the hell this is.

Takes public transportation

Drives their car places

And other things I could find funny pictures for but don't feel like. (Besides, is any picture REALLY going to top Public Transportation's?)

Anyway, the point is: there are a few life changes that had to be made in order to continue on this paycheckless (for now) path. But that's neither here nor there, I have some catching up to do. 

So I am a week into my "freedom from the corporate grind" campaign to champagne or bust. And for those of you just joining us, this blog is really a scope through which to view "the game" all businessmen must play in order to win the rat race, and should serve as an inside look and chronicle on my wild ass journey into fame and fortune...or panhandling across America.

Stand back, I'm going to try recapping!

Wednesday was fun

No it wasn't. Wednesday was the day that millions of innocent schedules were assassinated by the city. It started with a time limit: I had a meeting at the (soon to be) ex job, a meeting I had to push back to later in the day because I KNEW the city would be out to get me. So I built in an extra two hour buffer. That's enough, right? WRONG. It was about 9,000 degrees and we hit traffic, lots of it. In fact, the Henry Hudson Parkway was just Henry Hudson Parking. We jumped on it and immediately cruised to zero miles an hour as a wall of cars straight out of some Michael Bay disaster flick blocked us from any forward progress.

I've never seen cars hop curbs and go backwards up on-ramps to get off of a highway before. It was bedlam, like being on the Vehicular Titanic. People just panicking and jumping over curbs and medians and murbs and whatever they could jump to find the nearest open roadway.The entire parkway was shut down. I can only imagine that a meteor made of live dinosaurs collided with the earth and awoke a dormant dragon of some sort under the Henry Hudson Parkway. That is the only thing I can fathom happening to shut down the entire parkway. Needless to say we were late to our client appointments, and I had to rush to be two hours late to the meeting I had pushed back two hours. I guess they felt firing me would be redundant at this point.

One of my theories as to what caused the Henry Hudson Parkway closing 

Thursday was full of...

Nothing I can remember worth mentioning. 

Friday brings our final goodbyes...

Let me tell you: Friday was the most underwhelming final day of employment I've ever had. Don't get me wrong, it was fine by all means. I just envisioned it a little differently. I feel most of us would agree that we picture a long-standing relationship ending with a little Hollywood flair.

The Chris Musto vision of Friday: 

I burst through the doors to ticker tap being power washed into my face by midgets wearing zebra costumes from inside of a wedding-sized going-away cake. Everyone is clapping and I'm acknowledging. I get to my desk and sit down, some people stroll through bringing me cards and various cakes and pies. I make it through my day giving hugs to various, tearful coworkers, reminiscing about the past. In the end there is a grand Mystery Alaska-esque finale where I give a heartfelt soliloquy that everyone stands silent after, then one, unknown man starts a slow clap that soon contagiously erupts into thunderous applause. Then I give some wonderful one-liner like "Remember to eat your Wheaties, because you're all Champions to me." Wink. Then ride off into the sunset as thousands of Wheaties fall from the rafters like confetti and everyone is cheering and confused, but cheering because everyone else is cheering next to them, and no one wants to be the one that doesn't cheer.

Reality Friday:

"Hey man, so this is it, huh, last day?"

"Yeah man, kind of nervous and excited, I have to admit."

"Do you know if the fax blasts went out?"

It was just a normal-ass Friday. I wrote some "sentimental" emails to some people I cared about (which really amount to professional yearbook signings), some preachy emails to newcomers (which in their position, I probably would have deleted them and carried on living my life), and then said goodbye to people as they walked past my cubicle. I was the last one to leave my department. I didn't even get an escort (security, gutter minds) or anything. I was perplexed.

After work we went to a bar where some good friends and a few coworkers who decided to ride it out for some alcohol joined in a good-bye dinner. Overall it was nice to have my support network there, and even some potential business contacts showed up. So it was a great cap to a great run. And really as soon as I exited the restaurant, I was focused. Focused not on the week ahead of me and the true beginning of my journey, but on the immense amount of alcohol I consumed and how when it's raining hard and you're walking outside, you can't tell if it's the rain, or you're wetting yourself. Always very nerve-wracking. But after I sobered up a bit I was truly focused. I put it all behind me immediately and turned the page because then...it was on. Sink or swim time newbie, welcome to the deep end.

Final Week Stats:

Total Days Employed by the Now Ex-Job - 1,062

Total cars stranded on Henry Hudson Highway - All of New York

Total times LMFAO's "Party Rock Anthem" was played on the radio - 9,743

Different Train Stations gone to - 6

Times solicited by urine-scented homeless - 2

Times I said "I can get a good look at a T-Bone by sticking my head up a butcher's ass..." - 1

Times New Roman - 1

Notice of Change of Contact

And so it begins...

Good afternoon colleagues,

I am writing to inform you that this Friday, July 29, 2011 will be my last day with American Consumer Shows.

I know some of you may have worked with me for less time than others, but I am happy to say that over the past three years I have made an incredible run of luck (that I wish I had in Vegas!) to have worked with such outstanding professionals in every facet of the tradeshow industry.

From our venue staff, our electricians, and our decorators, to our Fire Marshals and our hotels; I consider all of you more than business contacts; but friends in the trenches, and premier professionals that helped to make the unpredictable industry of running trade shows as painless and streamlined as possible.

I will remain with ACS in a reduced role as a consultant on shows, but to those of you whom I’ve contacted in the office; I wish you all of the absolute best, and I look forward to keeping in touch with you as we part ways. If I was your main point of contact you may now speak with:

Keara XXXXX

(516) 422-XXXX

XXXXXXX@acshomeshow.com

John XXXXX

(516) 422-XXXX

XXXXXX@acshomeshow.com

As always, if you should need me for anything I can be reached at my office line listed below until 7/29, and after that by cell phone. Thank you all for making my three years with ACS easy.

Best wishes on a successful future,

Chris Musto

Senior Event Coordinator

American Consumer Shows

Direct:      (516) 422-8138

Toll Free: (888) 433-EXPO (3976)

Fax:           (516) 422-8155

Friday in July = "Unholy Flamespitter"

Me ten minutes after starting a puzzle

And now for my next trick...I will fail at using pictures in a blog!!

I sweat. I am a sweater. I sweat during activities it’s not even appropriate to sweat during: for example, doing a puzzle. If left unchecked, this mundane, mind-soothing activity which is used as a meditation tool for most can have me sputtering out sentence fragments while drowning in a pool of my own facial secretions.

So the fact that it hit 107 degrees on Friday and I was in a full suit wasn't exactly in my "wheel house," if you could imagine.

Myself and Phil had the first on-site outing since we started our new endeavor. Our client wanted us to go to the restaurant and shoot photo and video of the kitchen, meals they prepare, the venue itself, and the belly-dancing ninjas they randomly release throughout the place to attack patrons (it’s actually pretty cool, and not nearly as violent as I make it out to be). Phil and I spoke the day prior about our plan of attack which was thus:

-   Phil has a camera

-   I offered to bring mine and help

-   He happily accepted, more cameras are awesome

-   We agree to meet at the restaurant at 7pm on Friday

Pretty cut and dry.

107 and a chance of gross...







Girls I conned into believing I was a photographer



Friday morning I woke up, dusted off my camera which I had laid out with my suit, ready to go, and made a final check. Camera's dead. Fantastic. (I know: I should have checked this sooner, THANK YOU Monday Morning coaches). I hadn't used the thing since January when I lost the battery charger for it in San Diego. Oh, I lost the charger for it. Luckily my roommate has a camera with a charger similar to mine which turns out can charge my battery. Either way, my camera is out for this particular evening. No chance I was going to go work right near queens, head back to my house all the way in Long Beach and back to Queens. Right?

....Right?

I text Phil on my way to the office to let him know we probably won't be using my camera this evening:

"Hey buddy. Suited up and ready for tonight. My camera is dead and my charger is MIA, so I'm gonna try and see if my roommate can charge it with his, after he wakes up. But just know we may not have my camera."

Text from Phil:

Ok but tonight is all about the video and photographs. The still shots are pretty critical. Better prep next time...I'll find a camera for you to use.



 Suddenly, my camera wasn't feeling so "additional" anymore. In business, especially event-related ones, miscommunications and misunderstandings are inevitable. The important thing is to remember to handle them calmly. Put the gun down. Just, put it down. No one needs to get hurt. Otherwise you risk blowing out your lungs and eyeballs in a glorious screaming rampage the likes of which would make Christ’s Rapture look like a children’s magic show. Me and Phil have “rolling with the punches” down to an art form. Because, hello? Have you tried conducting business without eyeballs or lungs? Me neither. I can imagine it’s difficult.



Here's a shitty picture!



So now I have to back track to the house, where my roommate is presumably charging my camera battery (which we're not even sure will work) AFTER I put a full day in at work. Meaning from 5pm I have to do 2 hours of travelling (without traffic) in 2 hours at rush hour, with a stop to pick up my camera. In other words...

Driver's start your engines...

4:55pm: I waste no time and bolt out the office door. HEAT. The wall of hot air hits me like a starving 900-pound Silverback trying to get at my banana-dipped body.  I sprint home. I have to head 30 minutes south (traffic permitting), stop at my house, pickup my camera, and sprint 1 hour 10 minutes north (traffic permitting) back to Queens to make it to the client by 7pm.

Sweat level: Minor (AC is cranked in the car)

My drawing ability.

5:30pm: I bolt through my house door like Kramer on Seinfeld, skidding on the wood floor in my dress shoes as I get to my camera on the kitchen table. The battery is laid out, fully charged, ready to go. Awesome. I see my photography guru roommate is home and ask him for any last-second pointers because, oh yeah, I have photography skills on par with my drawing ability.

5:35pm: I Starsky and Hutch my way into my car and roll out through Long Beach, which also doubles as a Stop sign infested swamp of sorrows where snails laugh at you as they screech pass with your girlfriend in their passenger seat, waving at you as you watch in wide-eyed horror. How could she? And with him? He’s not even a mammal! After my DMV-like frustration subsides, I realize there’s no fighting it, just relax and accept it.

Sweat level: Increasing to Marginal (due to frustration)

5:45pm: as I pay the $2 toll to get onto Nassau Expressway (which you can’t E-Z Pass inexplicably) here comes the rush hour!

6:00pm: Merge onto the Van Wyck. Interesting side note: Van Wyck is German for “vehicular gang rape” as traffic just forms with or without reasoning and claims many lives, furthering my hypothesis that Western Long Island highways are the Bermuda triangle of land-travel.

6:17pm: In a desperate man-move I decide to go Magellan on this bitch and make my own way, throwing caution and my GPS to the wind, and striking out on my own. Anywhere else can’t be worse than this.

6:32pm: I quickly become another “should have followed the GPS statistic.”

6:34pm: I throw curses and begin speaking in tongues as I merge onto the Long Island Expressway to try and jump onto an adjacent highway, only to realize there’s a divider you cannot cross and traffic is at a dead stop as well.

6:45pm: Rerouting…

Sweat level: Happening, but manageable (frustration and sitting too long, but AC is on)

6:55pm: Make it through Queens’ best replica of the Long Beach swamp of sorrows and proceed to stop and go for what seems like 943 blocks until I reach the restaurant.

7:10pm: Park and do a quick search for signage and curb-painting, because if I get another ticket, I am just going to snap. I even ask a local:

“Sir, do you know if it’s OK if I park here?”

“Yemen. Onlything Ugotta worryboudda breakit into yanno?” he laughed.

I move my car.

7:15pm: Find another spot. This one works. Everything else looks good, let’s rock!

Sweat level: Now we’re sweating. Movement in the heat, it’s on.

7:17pm: Call Phil. No answer.

I walk 5 blocks to the place. Knowing Phil took the subway and since this is primarily his client, I decide waiting for him is the best option. So I wait. And I sweat.

Sweat level: Heavy facial sweating and almost through the undershirt, in danger of being visible to the public eye. Apply napkins as necessary.

I seek refuge in a nearby Deli, which also doubles as a Honduran sweatshop. Their AC was actually blowing heat, if that’s possible, and their 8 year old was working the register. After realizing this is clearly a joke, I leave and decide waiting at the restaurant alone can’t be worse than slowly dying in and around various establishments in Queens.

I got inside, and I’m met with what can only be described as heaven. A blast of cool, inviting air, a completely empty, gorgeous venue, and the only people inside are three gorgeous girls who go “Hi there!!!” in their energetic, employee-mandated tone. Either way, I felt welcome.

I’m waiting for my partner, I need to speak with your manager. We’re here to shoot some footage for your Social Media Marketing campaigns.

“Great, let’s introduce you to Carlos.”

From here, I met Carlos, who introduced me to Tony, then Dino, who is partners with Tommy, but he wasn’t there that evening, and I’m sure eventually it all ties back to Kevin Bacon. We start the shoot with the kitchen which goes something like this---

Tony puts on a tophat and sprouts horns and says:

“Let us take you to the blast furnace.”

   



I ate one thing from this picture.

My sweat glands are on red alert. And when we get into the kitchen. It’s on. When I say it’s on, I mean full force let’s make jokes about this because I am noticeably through my shirt. My shins were sweating. I didn’t even know shins could sweat. I repeatedly told these guys they were heroes for working in the conditions and I was going to make sure OSHA knew that they should be recognized for their valor. We got some great footage of meals that they made in seconds that would take me 94 tries and $1.8 million in food store patronage to successfully create.

After I got off the kitchen water ride, I literally had to go dry off in the bathroom and put my suit jacket back on just to be presentable. Luckily none of the managers were present and I recovered quickly.

 

A  bellydancing ninja attacks a spectator



We got back upstairs and took some shots of the outside, then BAM here come the bellydancing ninjas. Myself and Phil do our best impression of the crocodile hunter and stalk around these girls while they’re doing all sorts of exotic dance moves with everything up to and including sabers. It was pretty awesome, not going to lie. However, I was slightly disappointed that through all their fluid dance moves they never picked up the swords once to fight one another. Only slightly.

Great belly dancers - awful fencers



Me and Phil decide d to get a couple of shots of the girls after their performance for some promo material and it’s here that things got fun. On the last shot of theevening Phil suggests doing a “high angle” shot which involves him getting on a chair above the girls. I pass him my camera and “FWOOP.”

The neck strap gave out and down went the camera.

Thankfully, the camera broke the neck strap’s fall and the neck strap was fine. I just need to fix my camera.

Then I got a ticket on the way home because remember that E-Z passless $2 toll for the Nassau Expressway? Turns out you need $2 for that. And if you don’t pay that? It’s $20.

Sometimes the house has to win. I’ll get them next time. All in all the night wasn’t a total bust though, some of the pictures came out decent I did eventually go to sleep. I take my victories where I can! Love you.

The sea monster with lemon is to die for



Here is a whole meal of food



This is where guys take girls to trick them into marriage.





                                                                                                                                                     

     



And here is how you gain weight

Here's how to incorrectly measure lighting!

 


Crystal Meth > Sleep

Days left at the old job: 8


Wednesday night/Thursday morning - 2am...

"Hey man, what about this *I doze off* ngghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..................."

*I snap awake* "............contract. Right?"

"Yeah, I think it's awesome."

I don't know why I do that -- act like I'm actually awake when my body is clearly shutting down. It's like some strange phenomenon where I get very defensive over passing out. Like I have something to prove. "WHAT, I WASN'T FALLING ASLEEP, BRO. I LISTENED TO EVERYTHING YOU SAID AND WILL GIVE YOU A RESPONSE BASED ON NO SUCCESSFULLY PROCESSED INFORMATION." 

A word on "Right:" "Right" is a buzz word. In the Bullshitters Bible Appendix, a "buzz word" is a word used to trigger a response. If someone says "Right?" it generally means they are fairly confident in their answer and are just looking for a little reassurance, so it is safe to agree. 

In any case, whether my dear step brother Eliatt (who has also become a client) desperately needs me to stay up and help him write a business plan, or Odin himself comes riding down on a phoenix to jam lightning bolts firmly into my unwilling rectum, my body is closed for business. As much as you want to, there's no stopping it. Like Ryan Reynolds' career.

Sleepy time...

So it turns out if you are tired, your body will eventually need to catch up on sleep: whether you like it or not. I know this because my alarm went off, and I kept sleeping.

Alarm went: "Hey man, don't you have something to do today?"
Body went: "Yeah, telling you to shut your whore mouth."

This process went on until 10:11am. Not 9:11am. 10:11am. For those of you keeping score at home, that's just waking up more than an hour after you're supposed to be at work.The effects of this entrepreneurial lifestyle are really starting to show. I'm pissed because 10:11am is pretty obscenely late, even for me. I'm all about banker's hours and not adhering to the corporate 9-5, but in the end I am looking to not be an asshole.

Most would think "Who cares? You're quitting." But let's get one thing straight:

I aim to be the best at everything I do. Even if it's quitting.

I kicked my brother who's asleep on the couch. And we headed to work so I can pickup my car which has now been sitting in Syosset for two days. I traipse (the definitions of this word could not be more opposite) through the door at 11:00am. One hour before lunch. (My excuse is that I don't give excuses). And not five minutes after I sit down at the (soon to be) ex-desk, I get a call from an unknown number on the cell phone:

"Mr. Musto! It's your best client."
"How many numbers do you have?"
"Enough to confuse you! Listen, I need you to cover an event for us on Sunday. We're going to be featuring our product in a parade in the city. you need to be there. And also, we need to figure out a Yelp and Foursquare campaign. Also I want to know your thoughts on plugging a couple of events out on the Island for another initiative. I sent you over that contact number yesterday, what progress were you able to make on it, anything? And I definitely want to know your thoughts about maybe making two separate Facebook pages for one of my companies. Also--


Yeah, I'm cross-eyed at this point.

"--OK, I definitely can and will accomplish ALL of those things for you. But I need you to do me a favor and email them to me. I know that you know as well as I do I can promise the world over the phone, but as soon as I'm off, it's gone."
"No problem, no problem, I'll get everything to you."
"Great stuff, thanks."
"Oh, and Chris?"
"Yessir."
"Red or blue?"
"I'm not understanding."
"For your yacht when you make me millions and we're rolling in it. Red or blue."
"I've always been a fan of red myself."

I came back to my desk and plopped back down trying to shake off the aneurysm of information shot at me. And I'm hit with an email alert from my (soon to be) ex boss.

"Exit summary"


Click that.

Chris,


Here is a really long list of shit that you need to address before you leave.

From here embarked a dizzying montage of hoop-jumping and smoke and mirrors the likes of which would force Sigfried and Roy to shit out one of their tigers, just to bump up their act a few notches and keep pace. The ability to prioritize, multitask, and keep people at bay while making them think they are the first on your list is an artform that I have mastered. I won't lie and say when you take on more stuff than you can handle, things won't fall through the cracks, they will. But when it comes to handling a large load (that's what she said) successfully? "People Skills" is so far at the top of the "Let's Get Through This" list, that it's in some galaxy scientists can only speculate on.

And when you're tired and need to accomplish all of this, you know what always helps me? My good friend, coffee.You see, I was never big into needing "mind altering" substances to function. Sure, I drink alcohol, but that's more because I can't cope with how shitty reality is than actually needing it to function.

However, and this especially goes for lately; I've discovered coffee. Like a preteen pubescent boy that figures out "hey, that thing down there does more than pee!" I am plunging headlong into this bright and colorful world of coffee and coffee related products. My mornings now looks something like this:


Me before coffee:

Me during coffee:

Me after coffee:

Ok, I don't actually turn into a super happy cartoon baby octopus, but I'm demonstrating a point: that I now know how to use pictures and movies in a blog. Which makes this adventure that much more exciting.

Next up: Myself and Phil cover our first event, and one of us loses a possession to mermaid belly dancers. (I'm not talking about a V card).


Daily Stats:
Cups of coffee consumed - 5

Eliatts kicked - 1
Time spent looking up Popeye Spinach Song - 13 hours 51 minutes
Times I listened to my entire playlist on loop - 4
Items not worth writing about - 7