Friday, July 19, 2013

Fist Pump Your Fears Away!

I got my first job 17 years ago, at the young age of 15.  I was a cook at Wings N Things, working with some of my high school's finest delinquents.  The only things not fried on our menu were the salad, (pause for 15 seconds trying to think if there was anything else not fried,) and the chili.  Neither of these were healthier than the fried options.  I hated that job.  I hated who I worked with, I hated how grimy and dirty I felt every day, and most of all I hated all the oil burns I would get on my arms, face and even my eyelid one time!  But for a 15 year old boy getting paid minimum wage, I did not hate my pay check.  Finally, I had money! Freedom!  Stacks on Stacks on Stacks! 

But then my father taught me a hard lesson.  He said, "Son, We're going to take half that pay check and put it in a savings account."


But 17 years later, I have continued to save money from every job I've ever worked, stashing it away like a squirrel hording nuts, so that in 5 short days, I can give it all away to purchase my new house.  My very first house, which I am looking forward to owning, and deathly afraid of being attached to like a cartoon prisoner and his ball and chain.  But pushing those fears to the dark corners of my mind (where the gremlins live!), I have decided to bask in the elation of this 4 month journey, and find only the happiness in it, on this Fist Pump Friday.

To honor this occasion, I scoured the internet for the appropriate fist pump to reflect my mood.  I thought at first, this is a serious day, and now I'm really an adult once and for all, and will probably start shopping at Bealls for my pants, so I need something very sophisticated and stoic:

Or maybe something dramatic and fierce, to really tell the story of my conquest over land and animals by building a house on them both:

But that's not me.  I'm not the Nixon-Jonah Hill type (cos those two are SO similar).  I'm rarely serious, even when the occasion calls for it.  I'm the guy who impromptu fist pumps in room full of crowded dudes.  Cos I'm not scared!

But more than anything, I don't know how to feel.  I've just decided that this is good and I'm going to like it and dammit if I don't I'll just punk rock the hell out of everybody with my sweet fist pump moves!

Let's face it.  Anything where you move forward is a good thing.  The only minor little thing I'm possibily even scared about with this new house, is that teeny weeny little thing about going bankrupt, losing my home, resorting to turning tricks and getting addicted to crack in order to keep my pimp from killing me.  You know, like this fella.

 On the bright side, maybe my schizo arch nemesis on the corner of 21st and Larimer will see me as his equal then, and not somebody to go bath salt crazy on.

Happy Fist Pump Friday!!

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