I want to start to bring back the douchey candor of LSO that we all know and love... Below is my morning, in the best Logan impression I can muster in my sleep deprived state... Hope you enjoy...
As I wake after a near all nighter, the bulk of which was wasted tweaking valuation ranges in pitch for a client whose acquisition prospects parallel the attractiveness of a rehab-era Lindsay Lohan, haphazardly casting aside the fleeting comfort of my graphic print, Marimekko sheets, I arrive at a very sobering and unfortunate realization--that the dream from which I have just been roused, was in fact merely a dream and that the only decidedly Finnish objects in my bed are in fact my sheets, and not, as I had hoped, a pair of blissfully content supermodels.
I pause for a few seconds to reflect on my new reality, and to enjoy the most tolerable portion of my wake-up routine, allowing the copasetic and altogether reassuring vocal genius of Borgore to serenade me into the begrudging acceptance that today is in fact happening and that I cannot delay getting ready for my inevitable servitude at the office any longer...
Decisions, but I want it all, so I get it all, I wanna eat the whole cake... I'm not sharin', I'm not sharin'... you should have learned how to bake. Yes I want it all, so I get it all, I wanna eat the whole cake... I'm not sharin', I'm not sharin', you should have learned Bitches Love Cake...
As the bass wobble and synth melody arrive perfectly after a well-timed build up to the drop, I reluctantly silence my phone, grab my towel and proceed to the shower, singing the chorus under my breath, happily, though woefully out-of-key.
After thumbing my way past various hues of blue and boring but reliably crisp white shirts, I finally decide on subdued lavender gingham to accompany the mundane regularity of my charcoal suit... it's only a Tuesday but I'm feeling adventurous, so fuck it. I tie a careless four-in-hand, step into my loafers, and make my way thru my living room, reminiscing of the days when I used to spend a bit of quality morning time with Joe Kernen and company before cheerily making my way to the office, bright-eyed and naively optimistic.
As I make my way to the door, I reluctantly stop to grab my berry from the end table, and acknowledge the marginal improvement from the not-too-distant horrors of my first year when I used to sleep with it underneath my pillow... the sheets then were lower thread count and still noticeably devoid of Finnish supermodels, but hey, I'm a glass half full kind of guy--time to check the damage and see what vengeance has been doled out in the three and a half hours since I departed the office, as if in poetic punitive response to the additional 45 minutes of snoozing I have so selfishly enjoyed. Keying in the unimaginative password of "banker5," yields an un-alarming 14 unread messages, and a delightful respite from the anticipated anguish absolves me momentarily of all worry.
I elect to take the stairs rather than the elevator (I'm no saint... the walk from the 4th floor isn't nearly enough activity to warrant even deluded self affirmation given the seamless-fueled war I have waged on my crumbling physique over the past week). Passing Fred, my ever reliable and cheerful doorman, I receive a genuine "Have a great day, boss! Man, I love that guy... with a job as unapologetically unpredictable as mine, constants are an absolute necessity.
I respond with a sincere "Freddie! My, man... You do the same! " making a mental note that I want to tip him even better next year, regardless of the fact that he rarely, if ever, opens the door for me.
Casually strolling out of my complex, I recheck my berry, hoping to find only harmless mergermarket updates or internal blasts. Instead, panic sets in as I read the terrifying words,
Client seeking new alternatives. Deep dives on non-core assets requested. Let's chat ASAP.
My faith in humanity, so delicately restored mere moments ago thru my happy exchange with Freddie has been replaced... first with earnest denial, then soul crushing despair, finally culminating in seething rage. I contemplate the joyful ignorance shared by my two roommates, graciously saved from the tumultuous rollercoaster of emotions that composes my daily routine, and posit that my day has likely peaked... It's only 9:37am...
"Nah... who am I kidding..." I take a moment to remind myself that while the past two years have been excruciating, playing host to some of the highest highs and lowest lows, that in just a few short months it will all be over and that a new chapter will commence.
I laugh a bit to keep from crying, then recall the acute wit, unapologetic self-indulgence, and charming arrogance of Logan, the perma-douche banker archetype so eloquently created in one of my guiltiest of pleasures, Leveraged Sell Out. My thoughts turn to the promise of a better tomorrow, ignoring temporarily just how naive are my notions that life on the buy side will be better.
I pop in my ear buds, cue up some Modestep, and life begins to look just a little bit brighter...
Put on those shades and wave to yesterday, the sunlight hurts my eyes...
Mod Note (Andy): Throwback Thursday this wonderful post by rufiolove originally went up Feb 2013
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