so, there I was again thinking about how I thought that last time was the last time.

...

Yesterday a beautiful woman bought lunch for me

Today a beautiful woman bought lunch for me

I have no plans for tomorrow's lunch so if you're a beautiful woman...

...

Lady G dropped by the office today. She gave me a belated Valentine's gift. She got hers late as well. We really don't respect that day at all. She was chatting with some folks and someone told her she lost some weight so at lunch she asked me if she lost a lot of weight, I just smiled at her because there is no easy answer that question.

Yeah, you used to be a cow.

No, you're fat as ever.

She then verbally defined the relationship that we have and said she knows I will always tell her the truth.

"Well, your curves do seem to be more defined."

She gave me a heart paper weight. I told her it would get stolen. She disagreed but I'm taking it to my other office, tonight.

Miss E came by my desk after I returned from lunch. She was looking for candy, she found none but did see the paper weight.

"Did your girlfriend give you that?"

"Yup"

"You guys are too freaking cute. It makes me sick" she said as she was walking away.

"Wait! Come back and read the card"

So I was telling the story to my sisters and my mom. The story about when my buddy bought scratch tickets and when I asked him what were we going to do with any winning tickets. My buddy said to take the money to the card game and I asked "and then what? get food? buy a stripper?" My youngest sister then interjected "I think you rent strippers. You don't buy them."

True enough.

so

last night i wrote a bunch of words, some might get posted, some might get emailed, most likely they will all just be forgotten.

reading around my little corner of the blogosphere lately makes me want to be a better writer or maybe just a better liver, as in one who lives and not that tasty reddish-brown essential organ. i've never eating liver to my knowledge.

so, around the office someone was collection money for lottery tickets for some multi-million dollar drawing, i gave a buck. i contributed to the cause just to be part of the team, which doesn't benefit me but helps to give a boost to the team. after i contributed, the organizer of the effort presented me with a list. the list had all the contributors in a column on the left and the rest of the page was a space for the contributors to note what they would do with the money. the grand idea, as it was presented to me, was that the names and the usages would be mixed up and then all the contributors would try and match them back up. i was told that it would be fun.

i didn't fill mine out, partly because i had no plans for the money other than paying off the mortgage, car payment and credit cards. i had no grand plans. i left the space beside my name blank. i'm not big on parlor games.

I was placing the prosciutto and mozzarella filled croissants in the oven when my sister asked a question.

"And why don't you get beat up?"

I played poker with the guys on Saturday. I like to eat while I drink and play cards so I like to bring food that I like to eat. I brought the prosciutto filled croissants.

"These are unbelievable. It's unbelievable that you can cook stuff like this" one of my buddies said.

"The only thing involved is rolling. You just roll the cheese and ham up in a Pilsbury croissant."

"What do you call these? Calzones?"

"Well, they're actually croissants, meat filled croissants."

"Oh. Well I'm gonna call them calzones."

"I don't give a shit what you call them."

The guy says everything is unbelievable and once someone told him he had to start believing more.

"Dollar fifty drafts and free food, that unbelievable. You gotta be kidd'n me."

Well for the past two years we've been drinking dollar fifty drafts and from 4-7PM weekdays we've watched them put out free food, I think you should start believing.

I cannot sit directly next to him anymore at the card games because he drives me crazy.

A different buddy has recently started working out and part of his workout routine is no drinking. He's lost twelve pound in three weeks but his new found healthy ways aren't really conducive to occasional heavy drinking. He ended up napping on the couch.

Sometimes I like the way I write

I like to see why folks come to this site because it still makes me wonder so I look at the search criteria or the photos that some folks follow to get here and often I'll read around my old posts. The other day I came across a short post from October 2004.

Red Sox won

Killings one

there will be a parade tomorrow


Back in 2004 the Red Sox won the American League Pennant which caused a mob scene of celebrators which lead to the death of Victoria Snelgrove, a twenty-one year old Emerson College student. She was shot in the eye by a pepper-pellet fired by a Deputy Superintendent of the Boston Police Department from a gun he wasn't certified to use, he was trying to disperse the crowd. The pellet passed through her eye socket and into her brain.

I read that old post and I quietly said "Damn" which is exactly what I said when I originally wrote it.

Sometimes I don't like what I write about.

"He isn't going to do better than me."

"I agree but there is a chance he doesn't want a woman that good."

This new limited internet access from the day job isn't really conducive to the way I like to goof off during work.


And that my friends is why I type stuff out because at best it's a ridiculous complaint and towards the worst it demonstrates what a piece of crap employee I am and if that complain were to just stay in my head I would feel it would be legitimate...or at least more legitimate.

I wonder what would happen if I couldn't get onto dictionary.com? I would probably go and buy the largest dictionary I could and keep it open on my desk and I would read it all the day long.

"Hey Tim, whatcha doing?"

"Oh, I just looking how to spell that word"

"What word?"

"Bourgeois" because how the hell do you spell that, if you don't know already?

"Then why are you in the G's?"

"Because I know there are a bunch of silent letter and shit."

"But why do you even need to know how to spell it?"

and then I'll excuse myself to the men's room.

Now with warnings!

The following is nearly six hundred words just to say "I swallow."

I probably have too strong a connection to the place and it's probably because it's a casual relationship, a relationship that really can't get all that deep, there is always an easy way out.

But a relationship there is so I felt it my duty to show up when the new barkeep was being shown the ropes even if it was just for lunch and ginger ales.

She was not only told how things operate, she was also told who the 'freak shows' were and some of the preferences of some of the regulars.

I was talking with one of my buddies when my attention was diverted by a question.

"Timmy, what's our favorite drink?" She knows I not too particular with my drinks so I know she was referring to the folks behind the bar.

"It used to be just Stoli Peach but now Patrón has been added to the mix."

She looked back to the new girl with an I-told-you-so look, and then she turned back to me and said that Stoli O was making a come back. Stoli O was the favorite before the Stoli Peach was stocked.

I normally sit at the end of the bar with the taps so I get to talk to the wait staff as well as the barkeeps. The waitress was while leaning on corner of the bar next to me while keeping an eye on her tables. She smelled like apple blossoms, occasionally she would rest her foot on the bottom rail and her knee would hit mine.

"You know, Timmy, it's great when you come in because a lot of people don't want to come into an empty bar. You help bring people in."

"I'm here to help." I take a late lunch so, sometimes I'm there by myself because the regular lunch crowd is gone before I get there. I'm not a big fan of crowds so it works out for everyone. And I like the personalized attention.

When I had to go back to work the barkeep asked my buddy if he was staying, he started thinking so I told him that I would be back at four. He decided that he would be back at four as well.

When we got back my buddy stuck with his usual after work beer. I started with beer and then started to mix things up, and I guess when you help train the new girl you get a lot of complimentary drinks because I got a few free drinks, kind of like getting your hair cut at a barber school, you don't pay full price. I think it also helps if you'll drink anything in any size glass.

"What do you want?"

"What's most instructional?"

I ended up with a chilled shot of Stoli O. I was knocking it back when I noticed some ice. I assured myself there is often a little bit of ice and that it was no big deal and that's when I noticed more ice, too much ice, I actually laughed a bit because I was screwed, because it was too late to turn back but I had wondered how much ice I could actually swallow. But then the choice of trying to keep most of the ice in my mouth popped into my head but I figured I wasn't going to spit it out, so I just swallowed it all, so in actuality it was only nearly too much ice.

So when it comes to the choice of spit or swallow, I swallow.

...

He looked at the answer chart to the Su Doku and asked if anybody knew how to play it. So, we explained the game to him.

"Oh, I didn't know. Nobody ever told me before."

"Nobody ever told me before either. I just read the instructions."

He got himself banned. I may have helped

"What the fuck do you know?"

I thought it was a good question. What made me think that I had answers to anything? I hardly had my life in order but then I've never been knifed or dated someone hooked on blow.

...

"Tell her what we were talking about"

Maybe he didn't think I would be bold enough to say it but the words were his, not mine, and he meant nothing to me so I repeated the words that he told to me to her.

"What, that you think she doesn't have as good a body as *the other bartender*?"

I was surprised by her initial reaction which was nothing other than walking away after a pause and when she came back she started the ensuing hell storm off slow but before too long I was brushing brimstone off my shirt sleeve.

I turned back around after I noticed him walk in with his latest low class female. He likes to show off. I wasn't going to be caught looking. He stood behind me as he ordered a bottled beer and a Cosmopolitan. When the drinks were being passed closer than I would have preferred passed my left shoulder, I steeled myself for the possibility of Vodka and Cranberry juice going down my back. I must have tensed up a bit because that's when his bed mate spoke.

"Don't worry brother, I won't spill any on ya."

"Yeah, I know I can always count on you, sis."

When I got there Dave had a Scotch on the rocks in front of him, I got a beer, just two days prior the drinks were reversed. I glanced at his glass and smiled.

"Do you want one?" the barkeep asked me. I was thinking whether I should and decided that I shouldn't because I still had the second job to go to but the delay was too long.

"That's a yes" Dave said.

The Glenlivet went down smooth and I started back on the beer. I was asked about my job, part of which is advertising prices.

"What if you get a price wrong? Does anything happen?"

"What like if I try to type 356K and leave of the K, so we have to sell it for $356 instead of $356,000? No. It's just a typo. Nothing happens."

"Oh, I didn't know."

Come on know lets be real

...and it's you that can't handle the hard stuff, anyway.

The following is over 500 words just because I wanted to write the sentence

She summed it up by saying, almost apologetically, that she was "Just being a girl."


So if I were you I wouldn't bother reading the rest.

I left the house because I was tired of it. I really had no place I wanted to go so I went to an art supply store, but before I went to the art store I went to Best Buy because it was in between of where I parked and where I wanted to go. In Best Buy I was just browsing about. I looked at things for iPods and PDA's, I looked at notebook computers and then digital camera accessories. I had just arrived at the smart cards section and noticed a price that indicated $60 off of a 1GB card when I was bothered by a sales person. I do a lot of browsing and I really don't need any help using my eyes so when I hear "Can I help you?" I usually say "No" but this time I said something different. I asked if that $60 discount shows up at the register or would I have to mail stuff in. He replied that I would have to mail stuff in but he ran a price check anyway.

I wanted a 1GB card, I don't really need it but I want it, I've wanted one ever since I got the new camera but I don't want to mail stuff and then wait for a check because often those checks don't make it to the bank so it ends up being a waist of my time and I knew that even sixty dollars wouldn't motivate me to go to the bank but the card rang up at $49.99, it surprised the salesman. I bought it.

In the art supply store I seen some nifty things and bought some other things, like a sumi brush and sumi ink and black markers and a forty five degree triangle and some sumi paper. Some pompous arrogant artsy fartsy old maid with no true friends jumped the checkout line but it was the spot after me so my concern was of a lesser amount. She dumped all her items on the checkout counter.

"Do you want to go ahead of me? Because you were here first, you can go ahead" she said to the guy behind me. The guy didn't move, he just said "No go ahead."

I looked up from signing the receipt for my credit card purchase because I just had to get a better look at that piece of work. Upon leaving the store I had wished she jumped in front of me because I certain would have voice some of what went racing through my head.

On the way back home I dropped by the bar to check on the bartender. I didn't have to say much, I played it cool because it was really none of my business. Through the course of our normal banter she said she was dealing with not getting anything on Valentine's Day. I mentioned that Friday didn't seem good for her.


She summed it up by saying, almost apologetically, that she was "Just being a girl."

I didn't know he was from out of town because he looked like just any other working class bloke but then he started asking questions.

"What's that tall building across the street?" he asked.

"That's the Custom House but now it's part of the Marriot Hotel chain"

"And what's that old building up the street?" In Boston, there are a lot of old buildings, up the street or otherwise but there is only one old building he would be asking about.

"That's the Old State House. They read the Declaration of Independence from there." I sort of trailed off at the end, for some reason, at that moment, that old building's place in history cause a bit of awe in me.

"Really?"

"Yup, and that's where the Boston Massacre took place, too. Right in front."

"Tim's full of history, that's why we keep him around" the bartender added. I think she was slightly mocking me in jest.

I told myself "Yeah, old news" and I turned my attention to making my draft beer a thing of the past.

I hadn't seen her for awhile and though I think it could be problem prone to swing by the bar on a Sunday afternoon, I did it anyway.

I told her I was there to see her.

"You didn’t even know I was going to be here."

"I asked about you" there was some drama at the bar and she actually left for about three weeks, she had recently started a regular job and I hadn't been seeing too much of her anyway. I had missed her, so dropped by. I was surprised to see a couple other regulars.

The plan was to have a Glenlivet on the rocks and then leave but things didn't work out that way. When she asked "What now?" after I finished the Scotch, I said "A Bud Light" and then a Red Death and then an Amstel Light.

She asked when she would see me next. I told her that her new schedule really wasn't working for me. She then told me I just gave her the brush off. I disagreed as I told her it was nice to see her. Walking away I wanted to prove her wrong but I wasn't going to commit to coming in next Sunday so I picked her up two of her favorite things, the white chocolate sea shells from Godiva and some oatmeal raisin chocolate chip cookies from the Chipyard.

I returned and gave her both as I said "Just to prove that I haven’t forgotten about you" and then heard her say "These are my favorites. You just made my day."

I'm an opportunist.

...

I entitled this 'Unseen Jester' which was mildly more humorous after a few drinks

Friday night in Timmy Town

“Timmy you’re the only one that got me anything for Valentine’s Day”

She told me this across the bar. I wasn’t certain if she meant no other patrons got her anything or nobody at all. She has a boyfriend so if it’s nobody at all, that’s not a good thing.

“Nobody at all?”

“Nope”

“Nobody in the whole wide world?”

“Nobody. Text messages don’t count.”

“I want to say I’m sorry...”

I made certain I didn’t actual give her something on Valentine’s Day. I gave her something the day before and even told her she was getting it the day before because it would be inappropriate for me to give it to her on Valentine’s Day.

She wasn’t in a good mood, I imagined that she wasn’t in a good mood since Tuesday and here it was Friday. I wanted to talk to her but the nature of the conversation shouldn’t have been shouted out across a crowded bar. I wanted to tell her that a text message should count for a little something, maybe half a something or a quarter something. I wanted to tell her a lot of folks nowadays don’t put a lot of stock in Valentine’s Day. I wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t discount all the things his done because of this one thing he didn’t. I still want to tell her. The next time I see her will be on Monday.

I asked a different bartender how she was doing. She told me she broke up with her boyfriend. This time I said I was sorry.

“How’s work?” She works for her ex-boyfriend’s father’s company.

“Work is good.” She said and then smiled at me because she knew I wasn’t just making small talk. I knew she was previously worried about what breaking up with the bosses son could do to her job.

My attention was drawn away when she tickled me at the waist on the side because that’s where I’m ticklish. She hadn’t known that until then. She was a one of the regulars. She wasn’t having a good day either. Her boyfriend of eight years just bought a condo in the sunshine state with his ex-wife of five years.

“Timmy! You want a shot?” the first bartender asked. I really didn’t want to start drinking shots just yet but usually when I’m asked this question it’s because the bartender doesn’t want to do a shot alone.

“Sure”

“What do you want? Anything but Patron.”

“I’m up for anything...No Patron?”

“No, *the manager* wants to do a shot with you” I was surprised. The manager has never done a shot with just me before and he rarely drinks while working.

“Yeah, I’m a baby” the manager chimed in. I was about to explain myself when I heard the bartender shout out the name of a shot.

“Washington apple?”

“Yeah” I said to her and then turned to the manager and added “Those are good”

We touched glasses and shot them down. He then bought me a beer. I made gestured as if to ask what’s this all about.

“Just because I like you. You’re a good man.” I responded with a little bow of my head and hoisted my glass towards him.

She was standing next to me and had her back to the bar so she could look me in the eye. I wasn’t meeting her look. I was looking at the empty space to the left of her bottled blonde hair.

“Everybody loves you. You know that don’t you.” I could feel her searching for my eyes as she waiting for a response.

I smiled as I said “That’s good to know”

“Everybody...” she then started naming everybody, the bartenders, my co-worker, herself.

Her conversation was hands on with an occasional brush against with her breast and a pressing of a thigh.

“You’re a good guy, Tim.”

I looked her in the eye and smiled “I was going to say “you’re a good guy, too” but that doesn’t sound quite right.” Every time I look her in the eye, I see a shallow emptiness.

She suggested that I could call her a good gal, so I went with that, even though by her own admission she’s not a ‘good gal.’

I asked another bartender for my bill.

“Why?” she asked. I looked at the clock. “No! Stay till nine. What do you want?”

“What do you suggest?”

“A drink and a shot” I was hoping for something more specific and without the ‘and.’ “What do you want?”

“You can pick ‘em”

“How about a gin and tonic?”

“That’s good” She placed a gin and tonic with two limes and a lemon in front of me and I thought I was getting away without the shot but as I placed my drink down she gave me a Washington Apple in a double shot glass. “Thanks...I think.”

I think I left after eleven

Yeah, I don't talk too much. What of it?

I listen more than I talk and it's not because of some sage advice that wise people listen more than they talk it's because I've been there during my life. I see me everyday. My stories are old to me, passé. I much rather hear your story.

I casually watched them as they interacted and then I wondered if he knew anything about women. Well, anything other than of where to shove his dick.

"What did you get pulled over for?" he asked

"Going 90 on 93 (interstate 93) but he let me go, and he told me 'You're too pretty to be smoking' which is great to hear" she said

"Yeah, I've never be told that"

"Do you smoke?" I asked.

She hinted at a private thing between us which is probably why the private thing didn't get any larger than it did. The talk afterward, the something to be held over someone's head, I wasn't too drunk to calculate that at the time, safeguard - I thought.

Whatever I hear today is less than it could have been.

So, I've lost the ability to comment on posts at work and I've lost the ability to reply to comments at work.

And sometimes I don't get to see the pictures and sometimes I don't have access to certain blogs and woe is me

I demand your pity!

I'm actually going to say that out loud some day because I think it's hilarious.

Anyway…

And I don't concern myself with the internet when I'm at home so that pretty much just leaves me with Tuesday and Thursday nights and some time Sunday when I'm working the second job but sometimes I just want to get my work down and leave so I curse the day job for making me work on the things I'm supposed to be working on

So the point of this is that I'm still around reading sites and wanting to leave comments and stuff but I'm lazy. There I said it.

But if you call me on the phone at a time convenient to me, I'll tell you what I was going to say.

I made a change today. I wonder what the line is on me changing back.

You can't win by betting against yourself. You either lose the bet or you fail your objective. I have a habit of betting against myself.


Her voice was deep, her hair brunette. She was sitting on the stairs with her back to me and she had her left leg lifted one stair higher than her ass. She was dressed in layers but her womanly curves could still be detected. Later, she shifted her position and rested her left leg against the trash barrel at the bottom of the granite stairs. She held a previously unseen bag of ice against her knee. She held it there over her clothed knee for a couple minutes before she bared her smooth and tanned leg to provide direct contact with the ice bag.

I couldn't hear the conversation she was having with her man friend but the tones weren't happy ones. He seemed to be doing his best to make an unpleasant situation better. She seemed to be doing her best of hanging on to the unpleasantness. I surmised he might have had something to do with injury, or that she was just a bitch.

Her friend left to browse the vender carts when someone known to me appeared on the stairs to her left I was sitting on the next set of stairs to her right. He called to me and I waved back. In route to my location he stopped by the injured party. He introduced himself and announced that he was single, he's slightly impaired, I figured I was about to find out what type of person she was.

She answered the questions he had and she seemed rather patient and understanding of the situation. Listening to Mike question her I found out that she hurt her knee two days prior when she fell while at the beach. Mike lost interest in her when her friend returned.

I was standing there at the edge, nickel in my hand. I hate nickels but I certainly didn't have enough faith to throw a quarter into the well.

Destiny or fate, skill or luck - was a nickel really going to help?

A good luck wish for five cents, it seemed like a bargain but you get what you pay for, I wondered what wishes went with the copper-toned pennies already at the bottom. I wondered if solid copper pennies worked better than the coated zinc pennies and then I wondered why I wonder about such things.

I tossed the nickel, not for a wish but because I hate nickels.

She was angry. She had just yelled at the guy that she didn't like him and that he is never to return while she's working. I was sitting right next to the guy. He was perplexed. He left.

"Why were you talking to him?" She asked me still rather riled up.

"You know I'll talk-listen to anyone. What was I supposed to do? Ignore the guy?"

"Timmy! I don't like him. Don't ever speak to him again" even though she was phrasing what she said as commands there was a sense of pleading in her voice. She then crumpled up the five dollar bill the guy left as a tip and threw it into the trash bin. She had told him that she didn't want his money before he had left, I guess she wasn't joking about it.

"Why do you let that guy get you angry? He's nobody."

"Yeah but he comes in here and starts throwing money around like he's something. I hate him."

The guy did buy me three or four beers and he bought a few drinks for a couple of women at the table behind us. He's a player. He thinks money is more valuable than soul or character or honor or goodness. Where he lacks in life he fills with loot.

you can see it in his eyes

it looks like he's a little drunk or a little tired or a little of both, not exactly but similar.

a little deadening directly behind the eyes

a little something less than normal

a little lack of life

it's only noticed when you look him in the eye. The talk, the laugh, the smile, all seem genuine until you look into his eyes.

it reminds me of a room lit with a forty watt bulb

I listen to his kind because it reminds me that I don't want to be his kind.

She came out from behind the bar and sang karaoke, first "I've got you babe" which she sang as a duet with the waitress and then "Great Balls of Fire" as a solo. She left the catalog of songs in front of me and when she came back, she caught me looking through it.

"What are you looking at that for? You aren't going to sing."

"I might. I'm seeing what's here."

"You won't sing"

"No?"

"No, because you're a pussy"

I wasn't even looking at her during the whole exchanged and I just smiled and shook my head at the catalog. She walked away looking over her shoulder, smiling, waiting for a reply because she knows usually I'm up for dares that come my way but I wasn't biting that night, although if she asked me nicely I might have sung Mrs. Steven Rudy which I was surprised to see listed.

I like the hat. It's an okay hat.

It was too early to go to lunch so I grabbed a coffee instead. I wanted to sit down so I did so in the upper level of Quincy Market. I was drinking and thinking when a bunch of young school children started to fill all the empty tables around me, I calculated that there were more butts than chairs. I gave up the table I was hogging and ended up sitting on some stairs out of the way of any travel lanes.

"Nice hat."

"Thanks" I replied

"When did you get it?"

"About four years ago" (it's actually about eight)

"Did you get it there?" (Grand Teton National Park)

"Yup. I was there in March so there was still snow on the ground and the weather wasn't great but there were a couple days I got to see some things"

"It's beautiful out there, isn't it?"

"Yep"

That's the third time in the eight years I have had the hat that someone has commented on it and two of them in the last two days

"I don't think he was for real. I don't think anybody is truly that gay. I think it's mostly for show. I'm not saying he hasn't had a dick up his ass. I'm just saying he's mostly show. He likes the attention. He couldn't get attention playing a straight man so he gayed himself up, he went over the top with it. Why else would he be bragging to us that he got the waitress's phone number and got to kiss the bartender's cheek? Go tell your girlfriends. Most of what you see if fake."

I'm full of advice at the moment. It's hard to keep it to myself. Vodka makes me smart.

the large scale plotter is being fussy


how come fussy and pussy really don't rhyme?


He thought he was just being fussy

I thought he was just being a pussy


He thought he was just being cool

I thought he was just being a tool


the heinous penis

the fussy pussy


I bet my mom's real proud right now

he looks at what everyone else has
he looks away from the things he has
he doesn't even want what they have
he just wants them to be without

it makes him mad



He's trying to make himself look busy, he's actually trying to be busy but after years of not being busy it's hard for him to find things to do.

She was running the tips of her fingers through the hair over my ear, I could feel her breathe on me. I wanted to be mad at her, after all that was the plan that I agreed to but it all went wrong when she touched me. The best I could do was to maintain my silence.

"You know, you’re going gray?" she whispered. I offered no reply. "Does it bother you?"

I wanted to tell her what did bother me and it certainly wasn't a few gray hairs. I wanted to tell her my whole philosophy of life and that I wasn't certain she still fit in it. I wanted to tell her all the things I've kept from her. I wanted to lay bare my soul but all the reasons why I haven't told her those things before where still in place.

I slowly closed my eyes, took a slow deep breathe and kept my silence as I thought about how much I had missed her touch.

I wouldn't say that he is evil but I can see him whispering mischief into the Devil's ear

During our usual routine of having coffee together in the morning the subject of football squares came up.

"Yeah, he asked me and I told him exactly what I told the other guy, I said that I don't buy football squares during work and that I don't like it that they have nothing better to do during the day than to sell football squares"

"And what did he say?" someone asked

"He said that he didn't need to be lectured to by me"

There was a quiet pause until I asked "Not for nothing but what did you accomplish? You just got him made and you made yourself made. He's not going to stop, as a matter of fact he might start selling them just to spite you."

"Yeah, you got to pick your battles and we all get away with something." another voice said twenty five minutes into our coffee break.

It was karaoke night and I heard three country songs in a row. The first two were recent releases but the third was "North to Alaska," I turned to look who was singing it. It was an older guy, I'd guess mid fifties, he looked like a garden gnome that gave up the family business of watching front lawn gardens to become a businessman. I turned back around and laughed a little.

"What's so funny?" the bartender asked.

"I want to make fun of that guy but I actually have that song on my iPod" only it's sung by Johnny Horton

who also sings:

The Battle of New Orleans

Sink The Bismarck

I told the owner I would be in on Tuesday but that I didn't know what time and I told her why I didn't know what time.

"Why don't you have the front desk and call everybody and tell them you need all their stuff early."

"I was going to do that but I didn't want any pissy attitudes."

"Well, then let me do it. I'll have the front desk call"

"Okay. Thanks"

"Well, I don't want you there until after midnight"

"I've been getting out earlier, lately but I'm often there after midnight anyway."

"I know but I don't want you to have to be"

"Alright"

So, I was done with the second job at five o'clock, I took off from the day job. I went home, cooked something, hung out and then drove my sister to her gig, then went to the bar, then picked up my sister once her gig was over, then went home and caught some analysis on the President's speech. Lara Logan started to speak and I asked "Who's really listening to what she has to say? Look it, that old guy's not listening. He's just watching her mouth." because although she seems to have the coldness of a vampire, she is still pretty hot and the South African accent only adds to the distraction. "I'd buy what ever she was selling, if I did listen, though" I added.

She wasn't scheduled to be there but there she was, I hadn't seen her through the windows when I drove by before looking for a parking space.

"This must be my lucky day. Timmy's here." After awhile she told me she went skiing.

"Did I tell you that already? Anyway, I went skiing and I'm not that good but I'm pretty good for someone who has only been skiing twelve times or so in all my life, but I hurt my knee. I fell a couple of times, it was all ice, I think I have a chipped bone or something. it hurts really bad when I get down on my knees" I must have gave a look that I was about to say some smartass comment because she added "I know that sounds disgusting but "

"So you haven't been doing a lot of praying"

I got a laugh and a high five for that one.

Some young thing stands besides and she takes off her coat and reveals a low cut sweater. I don't look because I figure she wanted me to and I've seen better. I was slow drinking a Tanqueray & Tonic because I was just killing an hour or so while I waited to pick someone up.

"I'll have a Gin & Ginger and a Bass Ale" I heard her say and I was a little impressed. Gin & Ginger is a fine drink and Bass Ale is good too.

"What type of gin?"

"The cheap kind"

I waited for the barkeep to look at me because I knew she would, I rolled my eyes, she shook her head. Cheap Gin costs the same as good Gin in a mixed drink. Her next order was two Bud Light drafts at a dollar fifty a piece.

You are what you drink.