For those of you who don't like to buy wrapping paper: A double-page spread from Maxim Magazine is the perfect size to wrap DVD gift-sets. You're welcome.
So, I'm in Texas this week doing training for the new job. It's really a pretty sweet gig, if you're One Charmed Motherfucker. First and foremost, I'm the only trainee here that doesn't have to bunk with another recruit. THAT fucking rocks. I've been expecting to be on the road for two straight weeks without any privacy, so having a full week in a hotel without a roommate is gonna be one non-stop, walk around naked, get a hooker, leave my undies in the floor and snore like a goddamn chainsaw paaaar-taaaaay.
It's odd being back in this hotel. The last time I was here was for pleasure, thinly veiled as a business trip. Juicy gossipy details aside, I literally stepped off the elevator to have one of the room doors open as if by magic. Behind the door was the object of my affection, standing in a pink and black negligee, ready to rip my clothes off and fuck me like we were the only two people left on earth. So now every time I step off the elevator I get a nice little flashback to that weekend, and I sort of float above the carpet until I get to my room, where the only thing waiting to fuck me is my unread e-mail.
Rumor has it they're going to turn my brains to tapioca before the end of the week. They say this week of training is pretty hard, kind of a Boot Camp meets Brooks Brothers kind of thing. I'll let you know how it goes. If my next post is composed entirely of home-row gibberish, then at least you'll know I'm alive.
