The Boston Creme Pie Challenge

Suddenly finding yourself with a wealth of free time, yet lacking a wealth of money, one tends to look for new ways to pass the time. As I try to get the writing thing off the ground again, any new sort of inspiration or challenge is quite welcome fodder for KT. And, today, I have a very unique challenge. Something I have always thought about but never thought about doing until now. Because, let's face it, this is a perfect time to discover more about myself. Today, I have a real bull in a china shop challenge.

Today, I will eat an entire pie in one sitting.

Glutenous, glorious, guilt, shame, full-I am bracing myself to feel a wealth of emotion. I might need counseling when I am finished. First, a little back story.

I don't really consider myself as having a sweet tooth. Sure, I have the occasional cravings just like anybody else, and from time to time I scarf down anything chocolate. Growing up, whenever it was my birthday, I had the dinner and desert of my choosing. And it was always pepperoni pizza and the most glorious, decadent sweet on the face of the planet; Boston Creme Pie.

(And, OK, let's get the cream pie jokes out of the way here. Yes, probably ever male reader knows what I am talking about, but in case you're one of my surprisingly many readers in Ireland, in street lingo, a cream pie is this. NSFW, obviously. OK, we all got that out of our system now?)

In the past, I have been all responsible, and made the BCP last as long as possible. It might take me 3-4 days to finish it, and no, I don't share. But it hit me to see if I could wolf the whole thing down in one sitting. My initial guess is a clear, “FUCK YES!” After all, it has been a struggle to hold myself to just one piece, when I easily feel I could go for a few more.

In fact, I don't expect this to be a challenge at all. The only thing I see stopping me is just the massive overload of sugar and delicious yet empty calories. Which leads me to a decision; do I just choke it all down before I get that “full” sensation? Or do I slow down a little bit so I can truly enjoy every morsel of God's sweet ambrosia? Decisions, decisions. If only I could somehow put this on my resume.

Seek and destroy.

For the record, the BCP is approx 3” high and 6 ½ “ across. For some actual research, I decided to try to track down the nutritional “value” of an entire BCP. Shockingly, there is no easily available data on housing an entire BCP. Logic then tells me no one has ever eaten a whole pie, so a call into the Guinness people is in order. I do find that a 1/6 slice (please, who only takes a sixth of a slice?) is actually not overtly horrible. 232 calories, 8G saturated fat, 132 mg salt. The killer here is a whopping 33 g sugar. Wow, this might disrupt my daily 3-5PM nap routine.

My On Demand yoga instructor will NOT be happy about any of this.

My first instinct is to cut a slice out that is about a quarter of the BCP; aka my usual piece. I am saddened how excited I am about doing this experiment. There's a sticker that says its made with real whip cream. And that appears to be a real cherry on top, so no one can tell me this is totally not healthy.

For the discerning pie eater, we always prefer real ingredients.

I'm using a stop watch as well to just get a basic idea of how much of my life this is going to take me; for writing purposes, of course.

Upon first bite, it occurs to me this just might be my best idea ever. In case you are curious about downing a massive calorie bomb, I can tell you, some preparation was done for this historic event. Last night I played 2 ½ hours of street hockey which works out to about 3 1/2-4 miles of interval running. Then, this morning, I dragged my sore body to the gym to get yet another workout in, to at least proactively control the massive amount of calories I will take in. And I am wearing pajama pants, so there won't be any issues there.

Slice two is just about half of the pie left. Sugar sweats are starting to kick in, and it may be time to take off this hoodie.

SUGAR RUSH!!!

Halfway done. I'm starting to feel like my parents caught me smoking and are now forcing me to smoke the rest of the pack. Slice three, about 2/3rds of the way down. Body is starting to revolt and asking where all the NutriBullets and protein are.

Boston strong.

16 minutes in. I've heard the stomach starts to get that full sensation after about 20 minutes, so I am up against a wall. Literally-as my expanding belly has pushed my chair that far out from the dining room table. From my seat I can see about 3 months of unread Men's Fitness staring back at me from my mail. Fucking irony.

22 minutes, and fatigue has set in. So has shame, to be honest. My plate looks like a murder scene. 2/3rds of the pie is staring back at me, mocking me, calling me names. Or maybe it's just the sugar crash. This is harder than I thought. How do those chicken wing Mfers do it?

26 minutes in, and it's a staring contest. The BCP is clearly wounded, but standing (relatively) firm. My gut is a wreck, but my belches taste like BCP, so it's not a total loss. Sugar rush is quickly disappearing, as bloat takes it's place.

Well, this is turning into a bit of a pissah.

30 minutes and it's time. I have given up, thrown in the towel, which is about the most physical activity I can muster at this point. 2/3rds done in a half hour is the record. At this point the thought of eating anything is enough to make me want to barf.

I just walked down and up six steps to let the dog in, as I didn't want him to witness this mess. He immediately greets me with a look like, “what have you done?” To try to psychologically wash away the shame, I immediately brush my teeth and three fall out.

It was a valiant struggle, but, alas, it is over. All this time I thought I could easily house a BCP has been a lie, a life shattering lie. What's next, being unable to down a 40 in 20 minutes? No more six plates of crab legs at an all you can eat?

In order to try to start to burn off the approximately 700 empty calories I have consumed, I stand to grab the leash to walk the dog, but am immediately greeted by a headrush when standing. He looks back at me like, “It's OK, bro, we can let this go.”

The BCP goes back in the fridge, where it will serve to mock me in 10 hours, which will also be the exact amount of time I should get hungry again.

Know What You're Looking For

A key point in looking for another job is to ask yourself a question:

Am I wearing pants today?

Nope, nope, wrong question. But, truth be told, that is always a fair question to ask before venturing out. Anywhoo, the question you should be asking is:

What do I want to do?

Job interviews have never bothered me. In fact, they are easier to prepare for than ever these days. If you don't know how to do your homework, I am certainly not going to tell you here because what if we're up for the same job? Kinda awkward if we walk into the same room, amIright? I would not be above telling the interviewer a batch of heinous lies about you. But, I'm just a dickhead that way. Moving on...

Job interviews go both ways. Yes, they're there to interview me. But guess what? I'm also there to interview them. If I figure out the job isn't right for me, I'll tell 'em so. I've ended more than one interview with a firm handshake, a stern look in the eyes and a ,”Well, thank you for your time, but I feel I am not the one you are looking for. Also, the purple elephant dines in Paris tonight. TONIGHT!!” I'm not above fucking with their heads as I exit.

Great googily moogily!

Those of you who have the extreme privilege of knowing me know I am not a suit and tie kinda guy. I'm not a 9 to 5, sit in the same traffic only to go to the same place every day kinda guy. Many people excel in that atmosphere, I just don't. I've worked in offices before, and I still fear they are just about as functional and efficient as The Office, except without Rashida Jones running around.

I've conducted a thorough self evaluation as to what criteria would allow me to perform to the best of my ability. I don't know that this leads to that dream job, but at least it clears a few things up for me:

I hate meeting new people. In fact, I also hate meeting old people. I am not a people person at all. I like dogs more. Is there a well paying job I can do working with dogs?

I like to take midday naps. So I should probably avoid cube farms. Unless there's an office with a set nap time for everybody. Which actually is kinda creepy now that I think about it.

"Naptime everybody!"

I am not a team player. I am a lone wolf. I am also the God of Thunder, but that is for another day.

I get road rage easily, and consider traffic to be my mortal enemy. I should probably work from home.

I hate getting dressed up. I own less than 2 suits, and most of my ties have cartoon characters on them. I have one tie that is a functioning musical keyboard. I feel most comfortable in board shorts and flip flops in the summer. In the winter I favor pajama pants and my Homer J. Simpson slippers. Notice I didn't say anything about a shirt? YER GODDAMN RIGHT!

Place of employment would have to tolerate me looking at very NSFW material while I am working.

Would also have to tolerate my affinity to say the f-word a few times a day.

Has to be “hammock friendly.”

New place of employment has to believe in the silly notion of raises based on merit, not blindly meeting inefficient Key Performance Indicators.

Having clear start times and end times bother me. I know how to run my day best.

I don't perform well being micro managed. Anything more than 3 emails and 2 phone calls weekly is excessive, mmkay?

If you've heard the term “death by PowerPoint”, you're probably guilty of it. Don't do it to me.

I don't like working nights, weekends or holidays. Already paid my dues.

If need be, I am not opposed to taking a 'work wife', but only if she's cute.

Don't expect an answer after 2 PM on a Friday.

Well, I feel a lot more focused now, I think I made my life easier.

This Shit Again

It's funny how life goes in circles. Just about 5 years ago, I found a pretty decent job, that gave me some great stories, a good deal of frustration and hopefully a few key friendships to carry on. Before the above gig, I was (basically) unemployed for three years. Three long, dark, frustrating, disappointing, challenging years that I have since tried to forget. Well, it looks like another tough little stretch lies ahead of me.

One can never look forward to being unemployed. While I didn't “love” my last job, it was certainly something that I got to be (very) good at and make a reputation for myself. I worked at it to at least make it comfortable for me, and suffered all the bullshit that kept it being a good job as opposed to being a great job. And while this post isn't going to delve to much into that aspect of it, don't worry there will be plenty more on that topic.

During those unemployed years, I really fell back into writing. I got two pieces printed, and landed a great gig where I wrote my best stuff. (Excepting here, of course.) And, like the black cloud I apparently am, that gig abruptly ended. I mean, there's not even any webdirt or record of it existing? How does that happen? But try as I might, there's plenty pictures of me in various compromising positions floating around. Fucking internet.

So, now that I have ample “free” time, I find the urge coming back, much like Dexter's Dark Passenger. (Yes, I know Dexter references are dated in 2015, but through Netflix and this “free” time, I finally watched all 8 seasons. Now, no one ruin the last season of Breaking Bad, 'aight?) I have been struggling to write anything decent for my current writing gig, and as I see many of my friends making the same realization, writing is great therapy. I don't quite understand it myself, but my darkest moods are somehow alleviated by writing fart jokes. Which is also why I'm now eating chili twice a day and sleeping on the couch.

Now, I am not the biggest believer things like fate, signs, Christianity, etc, but just as I lose my job, a previous editor puts out a call looking for stories of being unemployed. Ah, karma, you move in mysterious ways. And I found as I started to just put ideas together, the urge came back. There's potential for this project to lead somewhere cool. Even if not, it's at least served as a spark.

"Did someone say spark?"

To anyone in my position, a few things. Know you're not alone; there are other people out there just like you. And they need someone to drink with on random Wednesday afternoons. But the absolute best thing I can tell you is this: do your best to find a job that doesn't deaden your soul. It's a job to find a decent job. But while you work your network and contacts and send out blind resumes, I also highly encourage you to find that one activity you enjoy; that gives you pleasure, release, outlet (and I know it sounds like I'm talking about jacking off here, but I swear I'm not) and do it. Be it writing, music, art, volunteering, exercise, reading, whatever. Just do it so you're balanced out.

For me, it's writing funny shit. Be it dirty, edgy, self-deprecating, un-PC, raw, just not the typical stuff you read in all those lame links everyone loves to pass around.

I'll be back here, and I hope you will, too.

Bonus Material

I'm listening to The New Basement Tapes while writing this. As first go through, I like it, and it's already my favorite Dylan record because I can actually understand all the words.