P90X - Day 1 = Epic Failure

I can barely type this.  I'm a bitch.  I started P90X yesterday and it destroyed me.  How the hell do the fat people from the infomercials even try this.  Day 1 was shoulders and back followed by a 16 minute abs sessions where I had to do over 400 exercise repetitions.  I literally looked like a fish flopping on the floor because I couldn't do half of the exercises.  Now I can barely lift my arms above my waist.  I always knew it was going to be hard but not this hard.  Who knows.  Tonight is plyometrics, which I think is jumping and stuff.  I can jump!  Not very high anymore, but I should be able to jump better than doing diamond push ups and 17 different kinds of pull ups.  Oh yeah, I've also convinced my roommate Fuzzy to try and do P90X with me.  He fared much better at yesterday's exercises but he has been going to the gym forever.  I'll keep you posted.  Get it.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons

Eating Before Bed is a Terrible Idea

OK so let's hop right into it.  So there's a DJ at my bar who is a big time drug dealer.  I'm talking this guy can get you anything from uppers to downers to pills that make you go up and down like one of those impulse-buy bouncy balls you get as you're leaving the toy store.  There are often two types of drug dealers in Hollywood.  First there's your shady drug dealer who only the really desperate dopers or naive tourists go to.  Then there's your drug dealer who deals drugs because there is no frat scene for guys in their 30s and they need some way to make friends.  This DJ falls in the latter category.  This guy is always trying to throw me free drugs because I gave his girlfriend a free rum and coke earlier in the night.  Normally, he tries to slip me some drugs and get me to go to some after hours rave with him.  With me working two jobs and actively trying to avoid slipping into the Hollywood abyss, I normally deny his offer of psychedelic treats.  This past Thursday was a bit different, however.  

It was another long night of assholes and idiots at the bar.  The end of the night finally comes and I'm strung out.  The DJ, whom I have never seen tired in my life, comes up to me as I'm closing up and offers me this hash chocolate bar.  Normally, I would have said no, but I said what the fuck and popped the whole thing in my mouth.  The DJ turns to me and advises me that I should only eat a quarter of it, and even that would have me tripping out.  SHIT!  I tell him that I ate the whole thing and I see his eyes widen in distress and intrigue (not the best sign when a drug addicted drug dealer seems worried).  He asks if I had eaten dinner.  I of course hadn't.  He tells me I should try and get home as quickly as possible before the edible kicks in.

So I race home, trying to expedite the 45 minute commute as much as possible.  OF course the highway is shut down for construction, so I have to take the backstreets all the way home.  I finally get home and feel nothing.  By now, I figure the DJ has just given me some bogus shit.  Exhausted, I collapse on my bed, set the alarm for the morning, and pass out. 

Next thing I know the alarm rings, and I sit up to get ready for my serious day job.  Now I am not exaggerating when I say that I am now FUCKED UP.  I can barely see, I can't walk a straight line, and my body is tweaking out. I stumble to the bathroom and take a look in the mirror to find my reflection looking like it has been on a four day bender.  I looked so stoned, even other stoners would say I look messed up.  Now I'm having a panic attack because I am freaking out about work.  I can't go to work like this.  I'll get fired.  I try calling in sick but it's too early and nobody is in the office yet.  You know those dreams you have where you are somehow physically impaired.  That's how this felt.  I also couldn't keep my mouth closed.  I know, shit was crazy.  I take a shower and get in my car, my mouth still wide open and my elbow spazzing out every few seconds.  Surrounding drivers must have been like, "What the hell is wrong with this kid?"  Somehow I make it to work, and every time I walk by a coworker I put my hand over my face like I'm rubbing something out of my eyes.  The paranoia kicks in, making for a long day of believing that everyone knows I'm high and I'm going to get fired.  After sneaking away for about eight naps, I finally sober up around three in the afternoon.  I hope this served as a cautionary tale for people never to eat before they go to bed.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Last Request" by Paulo Nutini

Bosby's Billboards: "Seriously Funny Kids"

OK so my resolutions for the new year aren't going so well.  As an advocate for seizing the moment and going with the flow, putting restraints on yourself can often be harmful.  While I have still cut down my drinking and smoking, that hasn't stop me from buying an exceedingly long pipe from Venice this past weekend.  Not only did I smoke a couple of times this week but I looked like Gandalf from Lord of the Rings while doing so.  I also threw my "10 drinks a week" rule out the window. I ended up out late last night on the Strip where I saw Ron Jeremy with two smoking hot chicks even though he was dressed like it was laundry day.  Lemmy the lead singer of Motorhead was also at the bar playing video poker all night.  Only in Hollywood will you find celebrities out by themselves hogging video solitaire for three straight hours.

Lemmy and some of my coworkers (Looks like they just robbed a bank).

Hey you know what game we haven't played in a while?  Bosby's Billboards!  In our last edition I pointed out the ridiculousness of the billboard for "Teach," a reality show starring the impeccable Tony Danza.  This time I'd like to direct our attention to yet another reality show called "Seriously Funny Kids."  The concept appears to be a spin off of "Kids Say the Darnedest Things."  Below is a picture of the actual billboard that hangs over Sunset Blvd.

Where do we begin?  First, Heidi Klum looks like a man in this picture, albeit a man with a uni-boob.  The wrinkles in her shirt make it look like she's playing some bizarre version of stand-up twister.  It is as if they tried as much as possible to make her look matronly while stripping away all her good looks.  Now I'm not one to judge (being that all my clothes are from old roommates or Kohls) but it looks like she stole her shirt either from a nurse or one of the Von Trapp children.  And that bracelet on her wrist makes it look like her arm has eyes. 

The kid meanwhile is straight out of a middle school Spanish text book.  You know what I'm talking about.  Spanish textbooks were more diverse and politically correct than an episode of Glee.  They always had pictures of Pepe, the parapalegic Inuit, having a catch with Mercedes, the dyslexic Ethiopian transvestite.  What the hell could he be saying to her that would warrant that bizarre pose and expression she has?  "Fuck Seal?" or "I'm actually a struggling 29 year old actor and I'm hung like a moose?"  Well whatever he's saying, it's given Heidi the uncontrollable urge to eat her own finger.  Lastly, why couldn't they choose just one font for the billboard.  There are 8 different fonts!  Why not throw Wing dings up there.  The advertising company must have said, "People looooovvvvvve crazy fonts!"  All in all, I find this billboard does nothing to generate interest in the new program.  I take that back - some people will see this billboard and definitely watch this show.  By "some people" I am of course referring to pedophiles who get off on multicultural children in denim shirts.

Another Bosby Moment of Absurdity

You have to watch this video a few times just to catch all the priceless details. Why are girls wearing hooded sweatshirts for a race?

Bosby Tune of the Day: "I Know What I Am" by Band of Skulls

Going to Class and Visiting Your Family in the Hospital or in Jail

So I watch movies.  A lot of movies.  I try and knock out at least one film a day - my work schedule permitting of course.  Watching this many movies enables you to instantly spot cliches and quickly tell where a generic movie is going.  Still, even the best movies fall into the common pitfalls of cinema tradition.  The following are three common trends in film.

Why are classes so short in movies?  So I'm watching the American film masterpiece Clueless the other day when I realize that class periods in movies last about five minutes max.  Name any high school movie from Fast Times at Ridgemont High to Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and you will see that this rule applies.  Teachers in movies also have this bizarre addiction to taking attendance.  They spend the entire class calling roll, then waste the rest of the period berating the one person who arrived late.  One character may be called onto answer a question or present their oral presentation.  Then the bell rings, and the teacher ALWAYS reminds the leaving students of an impending test or homework assignment.  Now this class format would make sense if the director made cuts to signify passing time between the events of the class.  But these scenes are almost always shot in real time, thus depicting the class as only five to ten minutes long.

The class is only 6 minutes long, so stop writing out every question on the chalkboard.

Why do family members in movies never seem to know when the visiting hours are at hospitals.  People are in hospitals in movies all the time.  A character gets in a serious car accident or gets shot and is forced to go to the emergency room.   A loved one then goes to visit the person in the hospital.  It's a tender moment as the husband or wife begins to cry by the bedside of their spouse, telling them how sorry they are and vowing revenge on whoever did this to them.  This goes on for a couple of minutes when (and this is the case in every movie) the stereotypical grumpy nurse comes in and says, "Visiting hours are over.  You need to leave so he or she can get some rest."  The nurse has killed the most emotional part of the movie.  You mean to tell me that Rocky doesn't know the hospital's visiting hours and decides that he really only wants to spend a couple of minutes with dying Adrian?

The same goes for prison visits.  Now I've never visited anybody in prison but if it's like anything in the movies then you are allowed a maximum visit time of about five minutes.  No matter how far these people travel from the guards seem to have no empathy.  There is just enough time for the visitor to cry, the prisoner to get angry, and for the two of them to touch their hands against the glass.  I'm sorry that this post really gives you no update on my situation in LA.  Last night on my drive home I did get cut off by James Gandolfini just before hitting an opossum.  Now if that's not an omen I don't know what is.  Maybe this weekend will be a bit brighter.

"Mommy I'm bored of this one...Can we go to the reptile house???? PLEAAASSEE"

P.S.  How awkward is it when you need to use a public bathroom while someone is in their cleaning it?  They have just spent 20 minutes cleaning the urinals and you decide to show your thanks by pissing all over their work in front of their face.  Next time you're in this situation, start laughing maniacally while you piss and you'll realize just how disheartening it is for the janitor.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "If I Was Your Woman" by Alicia Keys

Sick unplugged Gladys Knight cover.

Bosby Gets Robbed

Working two jobs in LA, free time is scarce.  My days of balling daily at Venice Beach are over.  My street status that I spent months establishing on the courts has faded into the smog hanging over the city.  Yesterday was MLK day, and the weather was perfect. Sunny, mid 70s, a perfect beach day.  So I strap on my old basketball shoes and head to the court.  Usually it takes about 5-10 minutes to find a vacant parking spot.  Well this time it took me 45 minutes.  An omen perhaps that I shouldn't have come to Venice this day.  I get to the courts and they are packed.  I spot a few regulars but the rest are shoebees from the Valley and the Inland Empire.  And now it's a waiting game for me to finally land a spot in a game.  Another 45 minutes pass and finally my team is on.  I go to put my sunglasses away when I notice that my backpack is gone.  I spin around looking for its whereabouts when I only see about a hundred black backpacks that look exactly like mine.  In the bag was everything that was important to me.  My phone, my car keys, my apartment keys, my credit card, my ID, books, shoes, and some DVDs.  All gone.  As I told you before, with the New Year I have decided to try and not let anything get to me.  So immediately all I think about is that five months from now, this moment isn't even going to matter.  Still i can't help thinking that I have become a modern day Charlie brown minus the botched field goal attempts.

What do I do now?  I wander around the boardwalk for an hour in the naive hope that the guy who stole my backpack is going to walk by me.  Focusing on my surroundings is impossible, however, as the dull ringing in my head has now blurred my perception.  You know how when something either really good or really bad happens to you, you're overcome by a blanketing blur of emotion?  That's what it was.  I then had no other choice then to walk the 3 miles back to my apartment in Santa Monica.  Rather than thinking about all the money and time it's going to take to replace all that I had lost, all I noticed was how nice it was watching the sun set over the Pacific.  I have officially disappeared off the grid.  Not the best start to the New Year, but hey you can only go up from here... I love you dummies.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "My City of Ruins" by Eddie Vedder

Awesome Bruce cover at the Kennedy Honors.

Lil' Rooney on Posing for Pictures

A common request for me as a bartender is for me to take a group's picture.  Now I have no quarrels with this.  You're with your friends and you don't want anyone to be left out of the picture.  Although I have no problem doing this, I do see the irony that four years of film school has led me to taking tourists' pictures.  That all being said, I do have some issues with some habits that people have when taking photos.  Take it away Lil' Rooney...

-Alright first off, everyone has two go-to poses when it comes to having their picture taken.  There's your primary pose which one uses while the photo is being taken.  Now if the picture is taking to long because of some flash issue or the incompetency of the photographer, the subject will then convert to their secondary pose.  People feel like jackasses holding the same pose for too long so at the last second they'll quickly morph into expression #2.  People are like those holograms on specialty Burger King cups.  So Veronica will start off with her tongue sticking out and then morph into kissy face at the last second.  The result is simply a blurry photo.

-Note to girls: guys hate the "tongue sticking out" pose.  Who are you, Michael Jordan?  No, you are just some girl who thinks that sticking out her tongue makes you look like your wild and fun-loving.  Well, you know what?  You don't look wild or fun-loving.  You look like a slut.  "But Bosby, sticking out my tongue is my way of showing I'm having a good time with my friends?"  You ever hear of a smile????  You went through 3 years of braces in Junior High and you show it by showing everyone your taste buds.  So no more sticking your tongues out girls.  What does that even mean when your sticking your tongue on the side of a beer bottle?  Did someone "double-dog dare" you to do it?

Kim is giving a demonstration on how to spread germs and turn off guys.

-Why do girls like taking pictures in the bathroom?  Every girl's photo album from a night at the club or bar is comprised of 40% photos in the bathroom.  So you just did a line of coke or dropped deuce, or in some really gross situations - both, and now you want to commemorate the occasion by taking a group photo?  Why even go out?  Why not just go to the local Jack-in-the-Box and ask to borrow the bathroom key?  The lighting in bathrooms is horrible, so stop taking photos of your reflections in the streaky mirrors.

Is this a moment that really needs be captured for posterity?

-Sorry to prey on the girls in this segment but you have to admit that females are more inclined to take and pose for pictures.  Look at a female friend on facebook and see how many photos of her are posted compared to your male friends.  This would be fine if it were not for the fact that most girls make the same face, and pose with the same people in every single photograph.  They look like the frickin' garden gnome from those Expedia ads.  Here's Laura making a pouty face in front of the Eiffel Tower.  Here's Laura making a pouty face on the beach at Cancun.  Mix it up a little.  Also, you don't need 30 photos of you and Tonya and Trisha all from the same night.

This has nothing to do with what I've been talking about, but how funny is this?

Guys you are not exempt either.  The purpose of photographs is to preserve a memory so that later in life you can look back at a photo and say, "Hey, remember when Larry got up on stage at that concert?!"  That's why i am a big proponent of candid photos.  Try and capture the genuine moments in life.  Unfortunately, we'll all be looking at our photos 20 years from now and only be able to say, "Hey, remember when we all put our arms on each others shoulders and formed a semi-circle?!"

Let's face it, I could do an entire blog on photo habits.  We all have our weird tendencies and bizarre facial expressions for the camera that our friends all make fun of.  I hope this entry doesn't discourage that guy or girl in your group of friends that takes all the pictures.  You my friends are the unsung heroes of the group.  You are like a wedding photographer except you are there to capture all the tears, laughs, and simple moments of the grand phenomenon we call our lives.  Tune in next time for when Lil' Rooney vents about the designs on paper towel rolls.

Bosby Literally Gets Punched in the Head

Ok well remember my new year's resolutions?  This year my main goal was to be a brighter person.  A major part of that is throwing away my cynicism and anger when behind the bar.  As you may tell from "the bartender hates you" segments, I had very little empathy for idiot patrons and their nonsense.  This year was going to be different, however.  I promised myself that I wouldn't let anyone anger or frustrate me while I was working, no matter how little the tip or ridiculous the drink order.  Wellll, last night was my first night bartending as the new Bosby, and I swear to you it felt like I was on an episode of Punk'd.  Where do we begin:

Well I roll into work around 10:00PM, and just as I'm about to step behind the bar the entire place empties out.  So now it looks likes another dead night in Hollywood, which I would have preferred because now the characters start rolling in.  First it's an innocent couple.  The guy asks me where the bands play, and I explain that we never have bands play at my bar.  He swears that he was here years ago to see his friend's band play, to which I reply that our bar doesn't even have a license to have live music acts.  So we all start joking.  I tell him that if George Harrison and John Lennon were resurrected from the dead and reunited as the Beatles, we still wouldn't let them do their debut performance at our bar.  The joke slowly dies but the girl keeps asking me where do the bands perform.  Now I can't tell if she's joking or just a fucking idiot, but she literally keeps asking me the same question every 30 seconds.  But hey I'm the new Bosby so I just let it go and reply politely a hundred times that we don't have bands play.

Midnight approaches and group of flamboyant gay men and their female friends stroll up to the bar demanding our five dollar margaritas and that I get them some bean dip.  First, we don't provide food at the bar at my establishment, and secondly the kitchen was now closed so I couldn't get them food anyway.  I explained that the kitchen was closed when they the proceeded to taunt me with, "Boy, I know you can get me some bean dip!"  One of the women, who resembled the lady from the old Pine Sol ads, then offers to flash me her tits for some bean dip.  Secretly horrified at the notion, I politely decline.  But I don't let it get to me.  Why?  That's right - because I'm the new Bosby.

I don't care how sassy you are Pine Sol lady, I still don't want to see your boobs

Who walks in next but three guys in their early fifties who are dressed like Jimmy Buffet and haven't seen each other since their high school days.  These type of people suck because they rarely drink these days and can't handle partying anymore.  Once they get together, they try and relive their glory days.  They're screaming the lyrics of the songs and hitting on these three extremely unattractive large girls visiting from Detroit.  Before you know it, there's an inappropriate inebriated dance party in the middle of my bar.  People are making out and motorboating each other while they ignore the wedding bands and promises to their spouses back at home.  Imagine if you saw your parents grinding and making out at a bar.  Gross, I know.  They're all screaming and insuring that no normal people will come into the bar and give me any business. 

Now the real nonsense begins.  A random black guy strolls in and starts joining in on the party.  Finally the disco migrates out onto the back patio so everyone can smoke while they make poor decisions.  Finally some peace and quiet.  Despite all the shenanigans of the evening, I have yet to lose my cool.   The bar starts filling in with a nice, regular, mentally stable crowd.  About a half hour later the outdoor dance party starts making their way back into the bar for refills.  Then it happens.  A bunch of glasses hit the ground as one of the the Detroit girls runs down the bar and screams, "You need to kick this guy out!  He's wasted!"  The gentleman she was referring to was the random black guy who rolled in front the street.  Apparently, he tried to grope the girl without her permission, causing her to drop her drinks.  The whole bar has now turned their attention to the perpetrator, who is clearly messed up and stumbling in the direction of the girl.  One the servers at my bar, now off duty and in street clothes, advises the guy that he needs to leave.  Then the shit goes down.  Let's give names to the two sides so that we may follow the story more clearly.  We'll call the black guy "the Idiot" and we'll call my coworker "Jeremy."

-So the Idiot then shoves Jeremy against the wall.

-Jeremy says "Fuck you" and the two start going at it.

-The Idiot has drunk strength and is clearly winning out with his blind barrage of haymakers.

-Bosby runs out from behind the bar the minute the first punch is thrown, pushing the drunk pillars, AKA as customers, to the side.

-By the time Bosby arrives at the scene, the two have already smashed into a mirror, causing it to hit the ground and shatter.

-Bosby pulls Jeremy away and shoves the Idiot backwards down a ramp.

-Bosby stands between the two enemies, commanding the Idiot to leave.

-The Idiot then punches Bosby in the side of the skull.

-The Bouncer (where the fuck has this guy been the whole time?) then wanders into the bar and asks dumbly, "What's all the noise about."

-We tell him that the Idiot needs to go, so the bouncer picks him up by the collar and throws him through the front door and locks it.

My adrenaline is pumping so hard that I feel no pain where the Idiot punched me.  Everyone at the bar is trying to recollect what just happened.  They ask me how I'm doing, and I reply "Just another night in Hollywood."  The new Bosby is strangely calm.  I walk behind the bar and start washing glasses.  I literally had no emotional response because the entire night was so absurd.  It was like all the patrons were hired to see if I would lose my cool.  Well, I woke up this morning with my head ringing from the golf ball sized bump just above my left temple.  Anyway, I made it.  The new Bosby prevailed.  Let's hope that if I could make it through last night, I can make it through the whole year.  We'll just have to wait and see.  O just a precursor for the next "bartender hates you" segment: the bartender definitely hates you if you punch him in the head.

Bosby Tune of the Day: Cover of "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

New Segment: Lil Rooney on Voicemail Messages

To me the funniest few minutes on television each week are not on a sitcom or late night talk show. Rather the part of the week when I laugh the most is during the three minute segments 60 minutes allots to Andy Rooney at the end of their show. It is during this time that he bitches and moans about the most absurd shit. Below is a video on how he doesn't get today's music. Trust me, you can spend all day listening to him talk about things like why people aren't more fluent in the Dewey decimal system and what is the deal with Uggs. It looks like the producers of 60 minutes locked him in a broom closet full of dusty books with nothing but a grey flannel suit and a video camera. "Where are you guys moving me???? This isn't my office!" Every week they come by to collect his video submission, which they then have to edit in order to remove all his racist and sexist comments. "You ever notice how women aren't as good of cooks as they used to be?" Alright, Mr Rooney, that's enough.

Which brings me to my newest Bosby segment called "Lil Rooney". Here I will be able to emulate my biggest idol and comment on some of the things that I find perplexing in today's world. In today's post I would like to address answering machine messages. The first answering machines in the US were sold in 1960. So you mean to tell me that after fifty years of people leaving messages, that voicemails would still need to give instructions on how to leave a voicemail. Jesus, of course I know how to leave a voicemail. What do you think, I'm going to hear the beep and go "Wait what does the beep mean? Shit!" "Please leave you name, number, and a brief message, and I'll be sure to get back you." What do you think I'm going to leave? Here's my dentist's address, information on a sale at Bed, Bath and Beyond, and an impression of local weatherman Glen 'Hurricane' Schwartz that I've been working on. I never leave messages because I can't sit through the voicemails. This especially applies to automated voicemail systems that take 25 minutes to read out a ten digit telephone number like its a bingo caller for senior citizens. Just leave a message saying "This is Bosby" so people know they reached the right number. I'm sure they will leave you the proper information. O Lil Rooney you such a curmudgeon.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Monster" by The Muppets

Make sure you are sitting down while you watch this. It will blow your mind.

You May Like the Bartender but the Bartender Hates You

With little to no posts over the last couple of weeks, I feel like ya'll deserve another dosing of "The Bartender Hates You."  Hopefully you are all learning some lessons and curbing those bad bar habits any of you may have.  Where do we begin is week?

1.  Do not bicker over the tab in front of the bartender.  This infraction is extremely common and one of the most obnoxious things a customer can do at a bar.  The time to pay for the tab or a round of drinks comes up and all of the sudden it's a war on who is paying.  Larry extends out his card, when all of the sudden Bruce smacks his hand away and says "No take my card."  The bartender doesn't give a fuck who pays and precedes to stand there with a stoned look on his face.  Out of nowhere, Mary knocks over a pregnant woman, a senior citizen, and one of those rare paraplegic mimes while diving onto the bar with her Hello Kitty debit card.  If you really want to be smooth and pay for the tab, quietly pull the bartender aside and sneak him your card.  This rarely happens, however, because most people want to make a public display of their charity.  It's displays like these tug of wars to pay the bill that make me realize how adults are merely grown up children.

2.  OK so we all know how there are beverages that are particularly feminine and those that are particularly masculine.  Drinks like strawberry daiquiris and skinny margaritas tend to fall in the female sector, while men are the ones more likely to order say, a scotch.  Note to ladies: guys dig chicks that order "manly" drinks.  It all falls under the common rule that men like girls that can handle their liquor.  Now I'm not talking about butch girls who mock men for sipping their beers.  This is not cool.  Note to guys: girls do not dig men who order "girly" drinks.  Still I am no judge and I don't care what you order so long as you tip accordingly.  Here's where the problem is: a guy asks me what kind of flavored frozen daiquiris do I have. I roll the eyes in the back of my head while my forward face maintains a constant show of congeniality.  I then proceed to make the guy his fru-fru drink and put it in the corresponding daiquiri glass.  It is only after I serve it to him that he asks me to put it in a different glass.  "A 'man' glass," he says.  WRONG ANSWER.  Guys, if you want to order a fru-fru drink that takes me hours to make, you're by God going to get it in a fru-fru glass.  This glass shall act as a scarlet letter to let everyone at the bar know your a bitch.

3.  This next one is a pitfall that nearly everyone falls into every once and a while.  It needs to stop.  If your friend is extremely inebriated, do not continue to buy them drinks.  This happens nearly every night I work.  What the fuck is wrong with ya'll.  Stacey just got a promotion so her girlfriends decide to take her out to the bar.  As she walks into the bar, she's clearly already fucked up from the pregaming before hand.  Her friends start to buy her shots and root her on as her blood alcohol content rises.  It's like brokers on Wall Street going bezerk during a bull market.  It's bull market right?  I'm not really keen when it comes to the financial sector.  Anyways,  it's an hour later and Stacey can barely sit on a chair, let alone walk.  The bartender has cut her off, and all her friends start bitching about why they can't buy her more drinks.  So they start slipping her their cocktails like she's an underage sibling at a ball game.  In these situations, karma nearly always wins out.  9 times out of 10 Stacey gets sick and guess who has to take care of her?  That's right her idiot friends.

My what great friends you have, Stacey.

4.  Lastly don't walk into a bar to flirt with girls if you are too cheap to buy a drink.  This happens all the time around last call.  It's a slow night and all night I have been macking it with these two pretty girls who are looking just to have a chill girl's night out.  Then, as the clock strikes 1:45PM,  a group of guys way too overdressed for a Tuesday night walk into the bar and make a bee line towards the girls.  Really guys?  They almost always order one Long Island Iced Tea, which they then proceed to split between the three of them.  They effectively kill the vibe of the bar and end my night on a sour note.  The girls have no patience for these shenanigans and slip me the tip with a smile, but no phone number.  The guys then mill about for another two minutes and plan on which parking lot has the hottest girls and darkest shadows from which to lunge from.

Well that's all folks.  Before I leave you I'd just like to respond to one reader who quoted to me a book on the same subject I speak of in these segments.  His quote contradicted my statement made in an earlier post that tipping well will lead the bartender to give you more expedited and specialized service in the future.  The author this gentleman quoted is an idiot that probably worked behind the bar at an Applebees in the airport.  Any bartender who works at a real bar will testify to providing better service for better customers.  Don't worry guys, this very gentleman who tried to contradict the Boz also refused to tip a bartender because he only ordered one drink.  True story.  Peace!

Bosby Tune of the Day: "You've Got Growing Up to Do" by Joshua Radin

Scroll down on the suggested videos and take a listen to Laura Jansen's cover of "Use Somebody."

I'MMMMMMMM BAAAACCCCCCKKKKKKK

OK I apologize.  I promised tons of Bosby posts over the holidays and I came through empty handed.  I was back on the east coast for the first time in six months and without access to a private blogging space.  Last thing I needed was my dear mother looking over my shoulder and peering into the debaucherous world she knows nothing about.  She was perplexed enough when we were at the supermarket and complete strangers kept yelling, "You're the man Bosby!"  During my sabbatical I was able to really put my life into some perspective.  I've never been one for New Year's resolutions, but this year is different.  Over the last year I've seen myself sinking deeper and deeper, and it is now time to pull myself up and get back on track.   Here are my goals for the new year:

1.  Limit my drinking.

This is one of those goals that everyone has like exercising more and eating healthier.  I am serious about it however.  While my drinking has seriously decreased since my college days, I found it has done nothing to benefit my life.  I don't even like being drunk, and I realize that being sober and clear is a much better buzz.    The real turning point for me was last week when someone described an extremely inebriated person as "being as drunk as Bosby on Christmas eve last year."  This was a terrible thing to hear.  Have I become an exemplar for which other drunk people are now compared to?  From here on out, I am setting a strict new drinking plan called "Bosby's Path to Decrunkification." 

Rules for Bosby's Path to Decrunkification:

A.  You are allowed only ten drinks a week.  This is a reasonable number for those who casually drink.

B.  In any given night you are allowed a maximum of seven drinks.  For Bosby, seven drinks is really nothing.  Feel free to modify this number to an amount that allows you to have a good buzz without being a drunk.

C.  You are allowed 5 grace days out of the year.  Think of these as vacation days.  Save them for pub crawls and trips to Vegas.  These grace days are meant to allow you not too miss out on the party while maintaining your year goal of becoming a better, more productive you.  

D.  Stop using the word "crunk."

2.  Complete P90X

Its late.  You can't sleep.  You flip through the channels and nothing is on.  But wait! What is that I see?  Why it's an infomercial for P90X, a miraculous work out program that guarantees insane results in 90 days.  Now I've talked to dozens of people and they all say the same thing: P90X is amazing.  They then go on to say that they only made it though a couple weeks or so of the program.  I aim to begin it and finish it.  Now my roommate Fuzzy will tell you that I've been talking about this forever.  But it's the new year and wedding season is fast approaching.  The new Bosby needs a new body.

I just pray that P90X doesn't give me bizarre chacne, a crazy eye, and make me take pictures of myself in front of a mirror.

3.  No more "medication"

I am of course referring to medication of the herbal kind.  Since moving to LA, it has been a bit of a slippery slope when it comes to weed.  Like I said before, it's everywhere and the shit is so powerful that any attempts to be constructive while high are nearly impossible.  My new rule: I am only allowed to smoke once a week.  Many of you are thinking why don't I just quit smoking and drinking all together.  Well, for one I am not trying to become a recluse.  Also, I'm obsessed with beer and love the taste of tequila.  I am merely trying to make the transition from the college lifestyle to the trendy hip thirty something sector.  This awkward duckling phase of the early 20s must end.

Don't shit on my goals Matthew McConaughey

4.  Find a girlfriend

Right now any of my friends reading this are hopping on planes to Vegas to place bets against the Bosby on this goal.  I've never been a girlfriend guy.  I find them too expensive and I've never actually liked a girl enough to date them.  Of course, I have had my girlfriends over the years, and they have all been the nicest people you have ever met.  There was never a spark, however, and I often found myself feeling too bad to break up with these girls.  The relationships would drag on until a time would come where I could use an excuse like school or distance to create as amicable of a break as possible.  Note: if you are acquainted with any of my exes, please do not tell them any of this.  This is only between you and the Bosby.  Well it was during an extremely bizarre botched three way in Philadelphia last week that I realized that this needs to stop.  I need to put more of an effort in seeking out the right girl.  In the past, I was often too shy to ask out any girl I really liked.  This year will be different.  

The future Mrs. Beyonce Bosby

5.  Brighten Up

This is my biggest goal for the new year.  This last year my optimism has slowly eroded away.  My once promising outlook on life in college has taken a severe blow.  Living out in LA a few years ago I observed and studied up on the model to attain success and ultimately become a Hollywood executive.  I felt like I was well on my way to achieving my goals.  A couple years later, I moved back out here and slowly learned that everything had changed.  With the economic downturn and expansion of new entertainment mediums like the Internet, OnDemand, and gaming consoles, the traditional path to success has pretty much collapsed.  The film business isn't like law or medicine in that you follow a very specific path that pretty much guarantees success if you work hard and are qualified.  The yellow brick road has collapsed and now I must find my own route to Oz.  No I do not want to go to prison and get gang raped by a bunch of dudes.  This year I am throwing the cynicism and self pity out the door and focusing on creating product and putting myself out there.  I can't expect for someone to walk into my living room and hand me my dream job.  So whether it's acting, writing, or walking across America, I aim to achieve big things this year.  So there are my new year's resolutions.  It's gonna be a long year...