Monday, July 31, 2006

“Timothy Green! I saw you frolicking in the grass with your niece.”

What could I say? That’s basically what I was doing.

That’s the price you pay when you frolic in your huge front lawn when you live on a rather popular street and co-worker live near by.
Connection speed has a lot to do with it, on why I don't comment like I used to. I used to read a site then read other sites and then go back and comment if I could; dare to comment if I would.

The flesh and blood world has been catching up with me.

...I really just wish he would shut up...

I want a new laptop. I don't want to pay for a new laptop.

His wants to bank in on his popularity. He is receiving an award. He says he is going to march in to the boss's office and state that he wants a raise. I think his idea will be very unpopular.

Popularity is a like a strong wind.

Winds change.

I was watching a documentary on Muhammad Ali and I got angry at the people responsible for breaking his brain.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

"Timmy!" it was quite a loud greeting but then me showing up on a Saturday is worth a celebration. "Look at what I did to my knees," she said as she came out from behind the bar and bent over to grab the bottom of her pant legs. "Now don't laugh"

I promised nothing as she raised her pants to reveal two slightly oblong rather dark but kind of small bruises beneath both her knees. "Man, those look like they hurt."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I fell just that one last step," she said as she looked to my right toward the staircase.

"Are you going to eat?"

"Yeah but can I order off the specials from *the bar next door*?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said with a smile, there has been a lot of seafood on the specials; I'm not big on seafood. "Do you want a menu or are you just going to order something you always do?"

"I don't know yet but I'll take a menu."

"Get something new."

"There isn't much on here I haven't had." We then went through the six pages of items skipping one whole page of seafood.

"You're a rather particular eater."

"Yeah, if it's my choice, but I'll eat whatever if it is served to me."

I don't know why I'm typing this. There really is no point, there is no punch line.

I ordered an item I usually order for lunch, had a couple beers, had a raspberry margarita and then a whiskey sour both of which were larger than normal; bought a round of shots and at one point left and returned with chocolate cover strawberries, and watched the Red Sox win a game in extra innings.

Danielle showed up for the second shift.

"Hey, I was hoping to see you."

"Here I am."

"I guess you're working Wednesday."

"Yeah, but I should be alright, it would have been easier to study if I had Wednesday but…" she shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't in a great mood so I left her alone to get settled and later joined her at the upstairs bar.

She hinted that she might quit before Wednesday.

I'll probably find a new bar.
"What did you do before us?" the bartender asked.

"Usually I was at *some placed the closed* and also *some place that is still opened* but I was only there maybe two or three times a week."

"So, you'll leave us some day?" the waitress who is also the bartender's sister asked.

"Someday, maybe," is the answer I gave but usually it's the staff that leaves me.

Bartending is usually a temporary job for twenty-something females. I think one of them is ready to get on with her life. I'll miss talking with her. The bar is really our only common denominator without the bar we become strangers again.

"Tim, I'm going to be leaving, but Mary's still here. Do you have keys to lock up?"

Do I have keys? I built this place, newbie.

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The game was that she would run a bit, fall down and then lay back in the grass, then I would follow.

I never did get the front lawn done.

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Driving Lady G's son to pick up his car from the garage a berry eating bird shared its lunch with my windshield.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

“My phone’s not a camera. I used a regular camera.”

“Dude, why would you have a regular camera with you?”

Oh, I don’t know, maybe to take photos like this:

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“Sometimes I just carry a camera.”

“Joan still has that hanging up and I asked her why. She said “Oh, I can’t take that down. It’s a classic.””
write that down

i'll do it later

you'll forget

how can i forget that?

yeah, i forgot


She doesn't like seeing the mice in the traps.

I had just pulled one trap out from under the stove and moved the other closer be being not underneath.

"Did you get anything?"

"Do you really want to know?"



"Where is it?"

"Underneath the stove. I was being discreet."


I answered his question and then asked one of my own.

"Not for nothing but how is that your job?"

"Because the neighborhood group asked me to look into it."

"So you're going to go against what that division head wants?"

"No. I'm not going against him."

"Yes you are. He's said I don't want it and you are saying, on behalf of the neighborhood, that you do. You shouldn't be the middle man. You should give the phone number of the division head to the neighborhood group. Are you going to champion their cause when he says no again?"


"And when he says no, you're going to have to tell the neighborhood group and then they are going to argue with you. Give them the phone number."

He sheepishly agreed with me but I know he won't extract himself from the situation that he shouldn't be involved in. I know I'm going to hear about how this neighborhood group is hounding him about this issue and instead of saying "Well, you put yourself into that situation. You dumbass," I'm going to stare at my feet.


I think I might benefit from medication.

"Yes doctor, I'm having trouble concentrating and I would like some drugs."

I wonder how hard it's supposed to be to concentrate on something. How hard is it supposed to be to stay motivated? Is my problem something other than laziness?

Will drugs make me care more or will they just make me care less about not caring?

What if I like the drugs when I don't really need the drugs? What if the drugs have little effect like most other drugs I have tried?

Maybe I need to up the dosage.

And that is why I stick to just drinking at the bar.


Holy crap Wendy's up to almost sixty dollars a share. I bought them at twenty five.

I should sell but I won't
"That's our secret."

Heck, so now I can't blog about it.

Actually, when she first told me I didn't quite hear her. I pieced some possibilities together and then honed in on it with two questions.


It's tough when you've spent so much time and effort into trying to make someone happy, to the point where you're no longer happy and you have to finally decide that you deserve to be happy to, so you stop trying to make that other person happy and then focus on yourself.

Some might think that you should always do more for others than you do for yourself. Some might call it selfish; I'd call it survival.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

I'm a decent shot

So, the rat episode got us talking about wildlife and someone mentioned that they have skunks in their yard and that they want to get a pellet rifle and shoot them because the town won't of anything about it.

I said that I thought that a pellet rifle would do very little, if any harm to a skunk.

"Oh and why is that?"

"Because once we had ducks in the yard and—"

"As pets?"

"Yup, and a rat started bothering them and I couldn't poison the rat because the ducks would get poisoned and the same with a trap so one night I shot the rat in the head with a twenty-two caliber rifle and the thing was still twitching."

"Where was this?"

"When I used to live in you neighborhood."

I think a rat can take a blow delivered from a plastic hose head while the water is running.

Sitting at coffee, watching them water the plants around the tree pits, a rat ran out. The guy with the hose took a whack at it. The plastic hose head hit the granite walkway and started to spray erratically. He didn't even come close to hitting the rat.

Hell, I have no problem just pushing buttons.

Just because things could be worse doesn't mean things aren't pretty shitty right now.

We were commiserating. She told me the first time she went to therapy. Her mother told her "Sometimes that you just need to talk to someone;" she avoided it at first.

"I was in a relationship were the guy was very mean to me and I was telling all this to the therapist and she said "You've had it rough," and that just brought a lot of relief to me because usually everyone says "Things could be worse" but to hear her say that things were rough was a comfort because at least I knew I wasn't crazy to be worried about it."

This is something I need to remember.


The chairs at the bar were all full so I sat at the table behind my buddy who sat at the bar. Danielle handed me a beer past my buddy. Later when two more friends showed up she brought the beers over to the table.

"One of these is for you," I said as I showed two scratch tickets. I was trying to get her to pick the one she wanted but she mentioned her luck as of late and said that I should make the choice.

I tossed one on the bar. She came back to my table to scratch it.

"If I win a million we're both out of here. If I win five hundred thousand then it's just me."

She didn't win, neither did I.

"If I had hit for a million, I would have bought Dick a watch that doesn't go off at ten minutes to nine every day," I said when she returned to behind the bar.

"Seriously, do you know how to fix it? I would but I've lost the instructions."

"Take it off." I didn't know for certain of how to fix it but basically setting digital watches are all about the same.

The labels for the buttons were mostly worn off so I just pushed a button and 8:50 was displayed. I then pushed another button and the tiny little "alarm" indication disappeared. I handed the watch back to him without a word.

"Is it fixed?"

I just nodded.

At ten minutes to nine the next morning I just smiled at the silence.
We were talking about how the clientele has been changing, becoming more freakish, become greater losers. I mentioned that sometimes I'll look down the bar and wonder where I fit in. She said that the consensus behind the bar is that I'm the most normal. She said that I'll talk to anyone and not let too much bother me.

And then she looked at my buddy sitting next to me and pointed at him with her chin and said "You're kind of normal too but not like Timmy."

So, there it was, I was indeed at the top of the list of freaks and losers.


"I'd like to make these two payments."

"Okay. Weren't you in here recently? You have a lot of payments."

"Yeah. I was here yesterday. The gas company wasn't a big fan of how I was paying the bill so they said I had to make some payments."

"I can imagine."

Just then we both look towards the entrance and noticed a cop walking a guy in handcuffs to some small room behind the service counter. We could here the guy stating "That wasn't my stuff."

"Alright then," Greg said

Greg continued to type in a bunch of keys some of which produced a beeping noise. A customer then approached the desk; he looked a little irritated. Greg answered the ringing phone and once he hung up he asked the guy if he was all set.

"No, I am not"

"How can I help you?" Greg asked as he returned to his typing.

"I would like to know where your chicken wing sauce is."

"All our marinates and sauces are in isle ten."

"I was just there and there is no chicken wing sauce."

"At the top, they have Frank's Hot Sauce," I said, interjecting myself into the conversation because I didn't like the guy's attitude.

"The Tabasco sauce."

"It's by the Tabasco sauce but it says right on the label that it's used for buffalo wings. Maybe they are out of stock but that's where it usually is."

"I like Nance's"

"Would you like me to call someone?" Greg asked as he picked up the phone.

"No. I will check again," the guy said and then left. I half expected him to return.

"It's seems like it's going to be an interesting night," I said to Greg.

"Yeah" and then Greg picked up the ringing phone again. I started to think about how much of a nuisance it is to have to answer the phone while you're trying to get things done. "That was the second guy who does carriages to call in tonight. So guess who going to have to do carriages...while answering the phones?" He picked up the ringing phone again.

"That's for you." Greg said to the deli guy that was at the counter to play a lottery ticket. "They want the deli."

"You can handle it."

"Joe's not around?" I asked regarding the deli manager.

"Joe's not around even when he is around."

Greg finished with my bills and told me I was all set.

"Hey, thanks. I hope your day changes."

"Yeah, but it won't."

"At least you'll have some stories to tell."

On the way out I checked the status of the carriages most where still in the corral.

I just stare at my shoes

"Timmy, do we hate him the most?"

"I think he is the one that draws the strongest reaction."

"That's Timmy for you always putting things in a nice way."


I've been trying to stay away from him the best I can without being rude and when I can't get away I've been mostly quiet.

It's hard not to yell "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," when it's pretty damn close to the dumbest thing I have ever heard.

But I would yell it in a nice way.


The alarm on his wristwatch goes off everyday at 8:50AM. He is hard of hearing so it alarms for a full minute and then stops.

"Why does it do that? What is it about 8:50? Do you know how to shut it off? I don't. One of the buttons is broken off. My wife gave this watch to me, it cost her four dollars. I don't want to just buy a new one."

I just stare at my shoes.
"Hi, is Joan there?"

"She took a half day. Do you want to leave a message?"

"Well, Maureen just transferred me to Joan because she gave Joan the letter I need a response to by tomorrow."

"Well, I'm pretty sure she took a half day."

"But Maureen gave her the letter..."

I love it when someone over the phone argues with you on whether or not someone is in and I think I might know the status of someone that sits in the cube next to me better than Maureen who's down the hall.

the crazy train has frequent stops in Looneyville

"What the fuck?! You gotta be fucking kidding me." He walked over to my cube with a note that I wrote to him yesterday and the fax that the note was about, but I was on the phone taking a message so I couldn't say anything to him. He walked the four steps back to his cube and started up again when he heard me hang up the phone. He walked back to my cube.

"How can you not read this?"

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"Well what's that say right there?" I asked as a point to a place where his words sort of connected. "Listen, I don't know why you're getting so upset over this. It's a fax. Maybe he doesn't have a good fax machine. You don't know what his copy looks like. And blue sometimes doesn't fax too well."

"I didn't know that."

"Yeah, they sell special blue pencils that don't show up on copy machines." I didn't really believe that his use of a dark blue pen had much to do with any fax problem; I was just trying to get him to calm down.


He called the guy.

"So, you can't read my writing?"

After he hung up the phone he said "Maybe, I should say I can't understand your talking."

All because the guy said was that he could make out the fax.


He's been on the crazy train lately and I've been too eager to hop on board.


I dare them to fire me, it seems at times. I think they don't out of spite.


I'm surprised I haven't heard him complain that he has to separate the colored laundry from the white.

His wife must always do the laundry.

"And I have this one white shirt that has wide blue strips. What am I supposed to do with that?"


Usually what will happen is that I'll smile right at the person that giving me trouble. The smile will be an honest one because it means I was just given a free ticket to open a can of whoop-ass.

I haven't been smiling lately, I've just been walking around with a can opener, daring folks.

Monday, July 24, 2006

She called me down from my office. I thought she was going to tell me something I didn't want to hear.

"Look at this," she said as she googled a phrase. "Those few changes you added got us up to number six. Aren't you happy?"

I just shrugged my shoulders. It was good news because before we didn't even show up or at least not in the first thirty pages or so but I was hardly excited.

Later, she walked up to my office with the invites I did for a special event one of the agents is having.

"These came out great. You did a good job."

I really didn't like them much. It was a first draft that printed out 24 copies when I only wanted one because I forget to reset the 'number of copies' from a previous job, so I just went with it.

Two pieces of good news and I just shrugged them off. She probably thinks I'm depressed.

She's probably right.

this post existed before I read Radio's comment

I should have axed this post but bloggers better than I say 'never delete'.

This is how I wrote it originally in my notebook which I had left at work in my Timbuk2 messenger bag, so I wouldn't forget it at the bar.


I guessed she was raised in a house with a lot of yelling by the way she snuck her fun.

She was hopping down the pink granite stairs behind her mother's back. She missed the last one.

She landed on her knees just as her mother turned around. I guess even the yelling mothers have a maternal instinct.

She got a look of worry about her and then she quickly sprang to her feet as she examined her knees. I'm pretty sure we both expected blood and yelling but her knees shown clean.

She laughed.


If I were to rewrite it, it might look like this...until tomorrow.

She was probably five years old and I guessed that she was being raised in a house with a lot of yelling by the way she snuck her fun.

She was doing some dance routine behind her mother's back as she hopped down the pink granite stairs. She was being careful not to let her mother catch what she was doing.

When she got to the bottom stair, there was a misstep and she landed on her knees just as her mother turned around. I guess even the yelling types of moms have a basic maternal instinct. The little girl had a look of fear and worry as she sprang back to her feet while checking her knees. We both braced for the verbal barrage. The future played out in front of me as I pictured the child being raised by her arm that her mother would be lifting to height higher than what would be helpful all the while yelling "I told you not to play on those stairs! It's your own fault you got hurt! You never listen!"

I'm pretty sure we both expected blood and yelling but her knees shown clean, which cause her to smile and then to laugh like she had just cheated the devil in a game of checkers.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

She was probably five years old and the way she was sneaking her fun I surmised her mother was a yeller. She was doing a dance routine as she walked down the pink granite stairs, looking every once in awhile to see if her mother was looking.

She fell from the last step and landed on her knees. A look of worry came across her face and she looked towards her mother. I guess even the yelling types of mothers still have a basic maternal instinct because she had just turned around to she her daughter on the ground. We both braced for the verbal barrage. The little girl quickly hopped to her feet while all three of us checked the status of her knees.

There wasn't a mark on her which caused her to smile a smile that exploded into a laugh like she had just cheated the devil in checkers.

I think her mom was disappointed that she didn't get to yell.

Friday, July 21, 2006

I've always had trouble seeing myself as part of a scene mainly because my point of view is looking out from my eyeballs. I see what's around me, I don't see me around.

It's usually most evident when I'm the only white dude around. I won't see any white dudes but everyone else does. But that's a different story.

I haven't been hanging out at the bar like I've used too. Not too long ago, I was sitting in my usual seat, all the seats at the bar were taken and for some reason I started to look around. I wondered where I fit in.

To my right was a guy with a beer in his left hand. I wondered where his right hand was. I wondered what cause his right arm to end in a stub.

To my right, the rest of the bar, starting with some new found friend whose name I still don't know but he knows mine, he has a moustache that he should shave off. The age of the patron increased in direct proportion to the seating arrangement. I was the youngest and I ain't too young.

In the seats around the bend, were K and her group. She being a busty blonde usually surrounded by men.

Not one person was unfamiliar to me. Not one person would I have gone out of my way to have a cup of coffee with.

Freaks and losers is how I summed us up. I wondered where I fit in. How freakish? How much of a loser? I thought that even if I listed as the best there, it was still a list that I didn't want to be on. I wondered how the bartender viewed me.

I tried to picture myself in the scene to see if I blended in with the rest of the crowd of if I somehow shined a little brighter. I couldn't visualize that third party view and it seemed to be just as dark by me as it was by anyone else.

I then stopped looking around.


I've stopped repeating myself. I mostly just sit quiet. All his complaints are the same. I tell him why things are the way they are and he will agree with me but then the very next day he will make the same complaint and say he doesn't know why things are the way they are.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

My advice to him would be to stay away from stairs

How ya doing?

I'm okay.



Are you winning?

Excuse me?!

Are you winning? At being mad? Are you doing more damage to him than you're doing to yourself? Is thinking up vengeance that you will not carry out, helping?

(no answer)

Or are you just wasting energy on something stupid?

I have a right to be mad at him.

Maybe but how is that working out? It's been almost six hours.

I could do things to make him pay.

I know. But you won't.


What's the longest you've ever carried a grudge?

About a week. My grudges rarely survive the weekend.

Most don't last more than half an hour. Most don't begin. How long is this one going to be?

I haven't decided yet.

Is he worth the energy?


So, is it the principle? Do you want to teach him a lesson? Do you think he'll learn?

(no answer)

You'll most likely do nothing. Your worst vengeance usually ends up being just not helping the guy in the future.


Well, good luck with the anger thing…You're the angriest peacemaker I know.
I haven't been this pissed off in quite some time.

I still want to tear the guy a new asshole

but then he'll be able to shit twice as quick.

I would have talked someone down by now so why don't I talk myself down?

I still want a pound of flesh.

I was thinking about severed digits in the shower today. I forget why, maybe it had to do with a scene in that book I'm likely never going to write based something I had witnessed.

There was a sense of urgency as he came up from the kitchen. He was holding his left hand. It turns out that he lopped off the top of his index finger. He was rushed to the hospital ten blocks away.

I've heard that if you ever lose a body part you should wrap that part into a paper towel soaked in a saline solution and then put it on ice. The part shouldn't be submerged in water.

I was sitting at the bar so I would have used the salt they have on hand for the saline solution and then put the saline soaked paper towel wrapped digit into one of the plastic carry out bags and then filled a second bag with ice and put the first bag into the second bag. It probably would have taken just a minute to do but in that minute he was probably half way to the emergency room.

I was going to tell them all of my severed digit knowledge but it was already too late. I just sipped my beer.

But I'm sure the attending medical staff would have been greatly impressed.


I'm most upset that he chews like a retard and talks with his mouth full. I could care less that he said shit

It was a threat that didn't preclude physical violence.

He was kneeling by the receptionist desk talking to her about what he had spoken to me forty minutes earlier. He was still having an unfavorable attitude. I bent down to speak to him.

"If you ever speak to me like that again, there is going to be trouble."

"Tim, I apologize--" He wasn't actually apologizing he was trying to avoid a confrontation he could not win.

"I was telling you there was no one down here to transfer calls upstairs but you wouldn't listen--"

"Tim are you hearing me?"

Cutting me short proved he didn't think his attitude was incorrect. If he thought he was wrong he would have given me the courtesy of hearing me out. "I refuse your apology."

The exchange set off a cascade of points and counterpoints of which I wasn't a part because I walked away.

But after the guy had left, I did overhear, "Tim doesn't react like that for no reason. That guy's full of shit."

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

I will still do it

Been Played

“I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”

Nothing is in it for me. If there was something in it for me then it would be a business deal.

I will still do it

I've actually said that but without the f&ucks

Mostly, I don't say much but when I do say something I stick with it.

He started talking about how some guy was bad mouthing him. I suggested that he not get too angry about because he heard the information second hand and the guy that was supposedly bad mouthing him is a pretty good guy. I told him that he really didn't know what was said and sometimes people say things or hear things a certain way which leads to a misunderstanding.

"There are times I've heard you say that people were yelling at you for stuff when they were just asking you for things."

He leaned back a bit, stared at me and challenged my statement "So you think I exaggerate things?"

"Yeah. Sometimes you do."

like this little show right now.


"I'm surprised he hasn't called me yet."

"Why would he be calling you?"

"Because I'm supposed to be out driving around."

"I thought you just said that he told you to stick around the office."

"He did."

"So then why would he be looking for you?"


It was nearly a full week's pay I earned over the weekend. Technically, I only work thirty five hours a week. Technically, I'm not paid for my one hour lunch break.

It worked out to be the equivalent of twenty nine hours.

I usually refuse overtime.


"What do you expect? I'm crazy."

"We talk about it every time you come in here."

"I forget. All right?"

"How can you forget every single time? You are crazy."

"I'm not crazy."

"You, yourself, just said you were crazy."

"I know. I am."


"Every time I'm away something like that happens, even when I was in school, if I was out for some reason one of my friends would get into a fight or something."

"That's because if you were around, you would have talked everyone out of it."

That Spokesperson

She's taller than I thought

She's hotter than I thought


"Did you fix it?" He asked.

"No. There are some things I cannot fix."

"I'm glad you're man enough to admit that."


"I've never heard of it."

"That doesn't mean that it doesn't exist."


"What?!" I asked as perturbed sounding as I could muster. I heard his question. I just wanted him to repeat it in a civil manner. I was tired of him just shouting out questions and expecting me to answer them.

When he repeated his question, it was in a calm and mostly polite manner. I did not answer likewise.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?!"

"I'm sorry I just thought you might know."

"No! Seriously, how the fuck am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to know a conversation that you had over the phone with some guy I've never met, when I wasn't even in the office for most of last week?"

"I'm sorry. Forget it."

"No! Come on. Please tell me. How the fuck am I supposed to know?"
She was looking at the pile of stuff next to my printer. The pile of voided checks, printed out web pages, and the like is presently higher than the printer is tall.


"Yeah, *your aunt* gave them to me. I keep forgetting to take them home."

"They're opened."

"Yeah, she didn't give me a new box, just the leftovers."

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Type of things I hear too often

"What are you kidding me?! I would love to see those nips get hard."

Said by a fifty-two year old married man with two daughter in their twenties about the twenty-five year old bartender

Would you like to see your daughters' nips get hard too?
"That's okay, I don't need a copy. She told me what she wanted."

"The times and everything?"

"Twelve to two."

She gave a blank stare. I knew she was going to give me a copy even though she knew I didn't need one. She had to give me a copy because that's what she heard the owner say to her. She's not a risk taker. She's timid. She likes things in straight lines.

If I were smarter I could tell the whole story all at once

"Why do you always have to be fair?"

I wanted to ask what the matter was with being fair but I knew the answer and I knew I didn't want to hear it spoken out loud.

The question came after she asked if she should serve the hung over waitress the shot glass with the most peach stoli in it. The waitress had stepped out for a cigarette and I had asked if we could wait for her to return before knocking one back. The waitress had asked me earlier if I would do a shot with her but at the time I had to hold off. I've never had a drink to lessen the symptoms of a hang over so I don't know if there is a fine balance of the amount of alcohol that will help or not. "You would know better than I," is how I answered.

The truth is that I don't have to be fair; it's just something that I chose to be. It's a constant struggle of turning away and then turning back again. There are many times I don't want to be fair, I just want to turn away and leave it at that.


I'm starting to no longer enjoy it there; too many strangers know me. Too many strangers want to be my friend.


"How's your watered down ginger ale?"

I just shrugged.

"He likes it better that way" the waitress laughed.

I thought it was because the ice was melting.

It was a slow day


She let me know she wasn't having a good day. I saw someone walk pass the window and knew her day was about to get worse.

It turned out that not only the bartender's day got worse but also for some of the regulars as well.

Other than his smell, the guy doesn't bother me too much. I've pretty much mastered the murder of the casual conversation.

He carries a portable DVD player with him which he doesn't mind setting up on the bar to watch a movie. I don't know if he watches the whole movie or just parts; I'm never around him long enough to find out.

If I were management I would put up a sign that said 'No Outside Entertainment'.


"Where's you partner in crime?"

"I don't know. He might be by or maybe not he's in one of those 'I'm important' moods."

"I love it when you tell him that people just don't care about what you guys do."

Mostly, people in charge don't want to get angry phone calls and you don't get credit for all the angry phone calls you have prevented, you get hollered at for the ones that you haven't, and if you were gone, as in fired, when the angry phone calls came in then the bosses will just say "Sorry, we don't have a person that does that anymore."

They would like to see you gone, most likely.
It's an effort sometimes. I'm not certain how it came to be. I'm not certain when it came to be but I'm sort of expected to make an appearance. They will call into each other to find out who shows up and who doesn't. I think it's kind of like a competition.

Friday I showed up to try to even out my visits. I stayed around awhile to catch the shift change. At one point, I bought a reciprocal round for the guys around me.

I asked for my bill and watched as Jen walked to the cash register and pushed some buttons. She walked back empty handed.

"Timmy, you're all set."

I smiled because I knew the guys next to me heard it. I smiled because I like being a favorite.

"Gee, can I be on his tab?" one guy said. He was ignored.

I thanked her and walked out after I shook the hands of the guys that were near me.

I walked half a block away to Godiva; they were about to close.

"Can I help you?" I was asked as I had just started looking about. They had changed the shelves once again so I was having trouble seeing what I wanted.

"You have an assorted box of truffles..."

He pointed to the display. "We have these."

I didn't see the size I wanted, "You have a box for about thirty one dollars..."

He pointed to the top shelf which displayed an opened box of the assorted box of truffles I wanted, and closed boxes behind it, "We have this box for thirty two."

I smiled as I said "I'll take it." I smiled because I was going to be a smartass. I smiled because I couldn't find chocolates that were close to right in front of me. I smiled because I thought of the scene I must have been at that moment. I smiled because I had had a few.

I walked back and went to the opposite end of the bar than I was at just moments before.

"Hey, thanks for showing us up with the chocolates," a regular said. I just shrugged my shoulders. "You know I love you, man. I'm just joking," and then the guy hugged me.

"They just picked up my bill. I had to do something," I said as I maneuvered around him, thinking how that hug was longer than I had wished.

I passed the gold bag over the bar to where all four of the bartenders had congregated before two of them had to go upstairs.


"I know you think I'm crazy. I know you say that you like to get out of the office but you get dumped on a lot."

Last Friday, I was asked to meet a crew out in the street. Some changes needed to be made and they wanted to make certain they would be done right. I was available. I was able. I was sent.

"That's part of my job. That's what we do. You can't say we're needed just sometimes for these things because then someone will say 'Well, you weren't needed there. Why do we need you here?' It's an all or nothing type of thing."

"Still, you get dumped on."

A boss needed a job done correctly and he asked me to do it, a job that fell into my job description. The job required me to get away from my desk out into the bright sunshine were for the most part I was just standing about. I don't call that getting dumped on.

And although I do complain about it sometimes, I don't call being the go-to-guy getting dumped on either.


"Do you want a shot?"

"I was thinking about it but I was waiting until Lori gets back."

I was there after working some overtime hours. I was there because I don't get to see the bartender that was there too often.

Lori wasn't having a good day. She was hung over from the night before. She had asked me if I wanted to do a shot with her at lunch time but I was still on the clock so I had to refuse. But after work, I had only myself to answer to; I could do a shot.

Lori came back from a smoke break and the bartender poured three shots of flavored vodka. I ended up staying for awhile.

"Can I get my bill so I can see how off it is?"

"Timmy, there is one thing you need to know, and that is that I'm perfect. So, the bill is the bill."

The bill was for $10.50. It had three beers and one vodka shot on it. I put twenty five dollars under my empty pint glass.

"I'm not taking that."

"How much did I drink?"

"I'm not taking that."

"Did you ring those in?"

She gave me a look that indicated she knew I knew the answer to my question. I knew she rang most of what I requested under her name. "Yes. I rang them in."

"Well, then. I don't care whether it hits the drawer or the tip bucket."

"How about this? I take this and call it a compromise," she said as she overtly place the five into her tip bucket.

"It already was a compromise. If you don't take it then it will be there for the bartender coming in."

"Timmy, I get half off my bill and I have a comp tab, and you already tipped me today."

"I'm leaving it."


My life is high stress sometimes.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

I was walking pretty much in straight line to the subway station four stops closer to home then I usually do. The route I chose would took me through the shopping district which was in its last throws of life for the day. Trash was piled high at the curbs. Panhandlers, though still present, were done with their begging for the day. An elderly Asian woman was checking the trash barrels for redeemable bottles.

In route to the station, at a signalized intersection, I waited a step of the curb for a cab to drive past so I could cross against the lights. The taxi was the only one on the road, so I wasn't going to wait for a walk indication. It looked like he wasn't paying attention, he was rolling forward slowly looking at something in the passenger seat. I got angry with him for delay my crossing. I most definitely cursed his existence.

By partly walking around him and partly his going forward I made it past the cab and to the other side of the roadway. I was still pissed off at him so I gave a backwards glance.

The driver had pulled his cab over to the curb; he got out and handed an empty soda bottle to the elderly Asian lady.

Then I cursed my existence.
The best time to get anything done in the office is after it closes for the day.

I was leaving at nine at night which is a little earlier than I usually do. Usually she leaves earlier than me. Usually, she seems to hang around the office late, when I would rather she leave.

"I'm glad you were here. I don't like being here alone."


We were watching History's Detectives and there was a map which some great great grandson or other wanted to know if his great great grandfather or other carried it into a battle.

One of the experts they took it to said that he didn't think that it was a battle field map because it had too much detail to it. I said I could draw that map in less than one day if that was all I was doing and the battle lasted for at least twenty days.

"Oh? And are you a map maker?" I was asked.

"As a matter of fact, I am."

Thursday, July 13, 2006

I walked over to the place where we drink coffee. He was there by himself. I sat down, took a sip of my iced coffee and then heard his problems for five minutes. Towards the end, I'm not certain if I was really listening anymore but then he was just repeating basically just what I had heard the days before from him.

It seemed like all his problems were being kept inside and building up under pressure and I was some sort of safety valve.

I wondered what would have happened if I hadn't showed up.

A lot of his problems are what I chalk up to living life.


"Do you have the knife?"


"Do you have the cutter?" He said .I started reaching for the drawer where I keep my x-acto knife when he added "That's supposed to be let over here for people to use it."

Then I thought "Oh no you didn't' but what I said was "No! Someone probably took it and didn't bring it back"

Shove you damn judgment in a sack because if it weren't for me there wouldn't be any 'cutters' in the office at all and who calls a knife a cutter?


I think a whole tuna sandwich cut in half isn't as good as two half tuna sandwiches when the half sandwich is made by folding one piece of bread in half.

And I have debated such.


She said she was surprised she hadn't seen me the night before and mentioned who was bartending as a reason that I would have been there and then she asked if I had been at work.

It wasn't because I was at work. It was because I'm trying not to be a drunkard and secondly I'm trying not to pour so much payroll down my gullet.

I told her I had had things to do.


Normally, the 'best of...' suck but the current issue of Improper Bostonian did a pretty good job.

and I wrote that before I found out that there is even a picture of Lady G in that issue.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

The power was out. I showered by candle light.

I was about to put on a wrinkled jersey and leave for work when the power kicked back on.

I wasn't too aggressive ironing the wrinkles out.


She was first in line. She was pretty. She looked clean cut and professional. The normal guy was running late so they filled his desk with someone not normal.

I wasn't in possession of my A game so I tried to keep things all business; any friendly banter would be phony. I don't like phony. I asked only simple questions and never really looked at her.

As we were about to finish our business I glanced up at her from the paperwork. She possessed a power that was quiet. She seemed quite sure of herself. It was a surety acquired by experience and expressed due to knowledge and not arrogance.

Without cause she smiled at me. Her eyes were soft blue. I slowly looked away, trying and failing not to smile in return.

I wanted to damn her for making me smile when I didn't want to, but I could not.


We passed the guy as we entered the elevator as he was exiting. The elevator door closed.

"That was..." He recognized the guy we had passed but couldn't remember his name. He didn't look familiar to me so I said nothing. To help me remember something I never knew, he started making a rolling motion with his hands.

I was waiting for more clues so I said nothing.

"That was that guy" he added.

It was a guy with dark curly hair dressed in business casual and carrying a bicycle helmet, that much I knew because I just saw that much but he still thought he had given me enough clues as to the guy's identity and he seemed a little frustrated with me that I could not name the guy.

But then it came to him and he mentions the project that they both worked on.

Yeah, I wasn't with you on that one, is what I thought.


The publisher called me with a problem.

"Oh," I said trying to stall for thinking time but nothing got thought.

Then the owner called and asked what it was that I gave her for her birthday. I told her it was a memory card for her camera about four times the size of the one she has presently. She said I would have to show her and also said that her laptop would not go onto the internet. I told her a couple things it could be and then mentioned that the publisher called me.

"He said he left you a message on your cell phone but that you hadn't returned his call."

"Yeah, he did call but I could hear him."

I told her the problem and my solution to fix it.

"Oh, I didn't know you were coming in tonight."

"I wasn't until the publisher called."

"Can you fix my internet tonight, then?"

"I'll try"


He's a forty year old baby with a two year old daughter.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

My timing is off.


To spice things up I've decided to add a period to the number of periods from the previous break.


"Anytime you want to go out on the boat, just let me know."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

There was a brief pause before he added "Yeah, you and three or four of your friends can go out some time. I mean that's why I got that boat, so people can have fun. I like you and all so anytime you want, let me know."

"Okay. Thanks."

I figured he added that I could bring friends alone so that he wouldn't sound gay.

Boats are cool but at the end of the day I rather just stay on shore. Boat trips are okay, from point A to point B, but just tooting about the harbor just to toot about the harbor is something I can take a pass on.


So, there is some problem at the day job and some folks are in panic mode; a boss three rungs up from me asks that I contact all the guys in my division to call in if they see any trouble.

"Okay but all my division is just DH and TD," I made a circling motion encompassing seven cubicles, four of which are always empty.

This is the same boss that has decimated my division.

Call *all* my division - please, you mean call Dick and Tim.


I remember him saying that the main reason that he bought a boat was to catch some tail.


"Who's the blonde?"

"I don't know, I didn't see her" so, I looked. "That's Sara. You've seen Sara before."

"I don't think so"

"She's been here for a couple months now"

"I've never seen her before."

"You've seen her."

"Maybe, I don't remember. Should I remember? Did I say anything bad to her?"

I was getting tired of his constant negative thinking so I figured I would have some fun.

"You don't remember what you had said to her?!"


"The manager threw you out because of it."

"He did?"

"Yeah, you were being rude, saying all sorts of things and Sara told the manager and then he threw you out."

"I don't remember her. You're making it up."

"Yeah, I'm lying. I'm making the whole thing up. Her name isn't even Sara. Why would I lie about it?"

"I don't remember."

"I bet she remembers you."

He just shrugged his shoulders as he went to the men's room, so I called Sara over.

"Sara, I need a favor, the guy sitting next to me name's Dick, just when he comes back say "Hi, Dick. I didn't see you sitting there" or something, he says he doesn't remember you and then he started like making stuff up. So, it will be funny."


Dick returned to the seat to my left and started talking again and then paused.

"Hi, Dick" Sara said.

After Dick did his double take, he said "Hi, Sara." Sara then walked away.

"I'm so embarrassed. I don't remember her but she remembers me. Wait! You told her to say something."

"Why would I do that? What would be the point? Like I'm going to say "Hey Sara, say hi to this guy when he gets back" Come on, now."

"Oh well, I didn't know."

I just looked to my right to CB who was a witness and silent partner to the whole episode and rolled my eyes as I smiled.

It wasn't as funny as I thought it would be.


"I'm gonna die"

"You've said that so many times, it has lost all meaning."

"Today I mean it."

"Then prove it."


"Then prove it, you say that all the time but you don't. I'm not daring you or anything, it's just that I think you're pretty stout."

She gave me a furrowed brow look of displeasure. I figured over my use of the word stout

"You're a survivor. You will survive it." I continued

'It' was drinking for twelve straight hours the night before.


"You guys are boring."

"And we weren't before?" I asked.

"No, before you guys were talking."

"You're supposed to be entertaining us. We're the customers."

"Yeah you should be doing a little dance for us or something." My forgetful friend said.

"Yeah, a dance or something would be nice." I said as I rolled my eyes.


Straight dialog


So, I read that the place had reopened; they had closed for renovations. It was a slightly longer walked than I wished but I actually had a desire for one of their sandwiches so I walked.

I had a sawbuck in my pocket. I couldn't remember the price of a sandwich; I guessed at six or seven dollars and a beverage would be under two bucks. I figured I had plenty.

"Can I help you?" two sandwich makers asked me at the same time. I looked at the counter between them as I placed my order. I figured I would let them chose who was going to fill it.

"An Italian with everything."

I casually watched as she made it.



"Including hot peppers?"


Hot peppers are part of everything and if I every catch someone giving anybody crap over putting hot peppers on an Italian sub after they ordered it with everything, I may commit homicide.


This is about the time I put in a request for a vacation.
It's getting harder to talk to the guy. His memory is shot or at least the way he files away his memories. The only way to get him to remember names and places is like playing some game show where you have to give clues until you hit that secret password that will unlock his memory.

"Devon starts today" J said.

"Who?" D asked.

Devon's not a common name and he has had more than one conversation about Devon, one of which was where he was saying that Devon should be hired back. I mention the conversation he had, he said he still didn't know the guy.

"The guy that moved to Georgia and then wanted to come back, you spoke to the boss about hiring him."

"I don't remember"

"He worked with TK on *that project*"

No reply other than a blank stare.

"The big black guy"

More blank stare.

"Looks like Willie" was the last thing I said before I gave up.

He probably didn't know who Willie was either.


During the drive home, a bird darted across the road. I knew it was going to be close but then birds do that sort of thing all the time. I had a SUV full of sleeping passengers and one all too attentive grandmother in the passenger seat. Hitting the brakes wasn't really an option; I took my foot off the gas petal.

I lost sight of the bird as it dipped below my line of sight; it was flying about head light level when I heard the faint thump. I checked my driver's side view mirror. There was a little bird with black wings and a bright red body lying just over the double yellow line. I hadn't noticed the red coloring while I knew it to be living.

I thought about pulling over but didn't. I just continued to drive, angry with the bird and his poor sense of judgment.


He seems to think the office falls apart without him. It causes him undue stress.


Things go down at the day job frequently mainly because the whole place is moderately retarded. And when things go down that's when you get the phone calls from people who seem to want to chat you up. The trouble with that is you can't really say "Can we cut out all this nicey nicey bullshit and get to the matter because you don't really care how I'm doing because if you did you wouldn't be wasting my time by asking me how I'm doing," all the while you got some guy at your desk requesting something that I cannot let him do while I am caressing the printer to print just one more copy because somebody didn't give the required three month lead time for ordering supplies, namely solid ink.

And then the division manager walks by and asks "How are things?" while you have the printer open holding a certain thing a certain way to trick the printer that it does have ink even though it doesn't and you say "A lot like shit" and then the division manager just walks away because he knows he's about to get an earful just like he always gets when he asks how things are going when things are going poorly.

How about stop having pompous jackasses setting up systems that they know nothing about?

How about when someone asks for a certain amount of redundancy and/or flexibility, you just build it in instead of taking the contractor at his word that those things will be unnecessary?

How about when folks ask what happens when that machine goes down, there is a different answer than 'we'll worry about that when it happens'?

How about you stop trusting the contractor's word after he has screwed us over for the umpteenth time?


I stole that from someone. I'm a thief. Intellectual property.


Dude, just because you're not in work mode after being out on vacation for a week doesn't mean that I don't need to get stuff done.


"How comes you aren't wearing the appropriate shirt like your sister is?"

She just looked at him and her expression went from anger to exasperation to just being weary. She didn't say a word; she just looked away.

I laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Because she was going to explain it to you but then she knows we've been over this before and so she just gave up."

"We've been told before?"


"Oh, I forget. Then don't tell me."

We didn't.


I couldn't find the wrapping paper so I was going to just wrap it in some custom paper I had on hand. The item was small, a one gig memory card, so a regular size sheet of would have been plenty big. Looking through the fancy paper I spied a piece of black corrugated cardboard so then I decided to make a custom box.

I tied the box with a red ribbon.

I still wonder where that wrapping paper is.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

I went with her to pick up Little g from camp. It's a camp that has a one to 1 ration of councilors to campers.

It was about a two hour drive and across a state line and off of a rural little numbered route. Lady G drove on the way up and for the most part talked with her grandmother who was sitting in the passenger seat. Her twins: one to my right and the other behind, we didn't talk much.

When we got there we were all offered a printed schedule. I kept refusing to take one. "I'm good, thanks," I would say.

The schedule was for a picnic lunch, guided tour and then a sing-a-long. The twins and I decided that we would be too busy for the sing-a-long.

Part of the going home process for the campers involved collecting their luggage. I was stowing away Little g rather humongous duffle/body bag away when a convertible caught my eye. It looked familiar, it was the same model that the owner of the RE company drives.

The luggage wasn't fitting, I was going to let Lady G worry about space later, so I dropped the bag, and looked around to see the owner walking towards me.

"Tim! What are you doing here?"

"Little g is here. I'm with Lady G," I said as I looked around for her and saw her running towards the owner.

I've never been comfortable when my various worlds collide. I show certain groups of people certain sides of me. Seeing two women, each I've know for over twenty years, hitting it off, worries me a bit but it also brings a little relief. Both of them have seen a side of me nobody else has, my life has been on the line for each of them. Both have said that I have been a rare constant in their lives.

We all had lunch together and walked around as a group for the most part. My presence would confuse the councilors when the introductions began. It would be assumed I was with the owner. I guess it's an easier assumption that the owner would have a younger husband than it is that Lady G has a white boyfriend.

I drove on the way back, Lady G sat behind me, her grandmother still rode in the passenger seat.

"You don't say much do you, Tim?" her grandmother asked.

"No, not much."

She didn't say much after that until she noted everyone else was asleep.

My dad never spoke much while he was driving, the same with the rest of my family. We would travel in our own worlds together in the same car.

I know a lot of folks that don't like driving long distances. I know a lot of folks that think driving twenty minutes is a long drive.

I like driving long distances. I like the quiet. It's a quiet I don't usually afford myself. It's the same quiet I get walking to work but the walk to work is short. Driving puts me in the same frame of mind as a hobby does, where there is just enough physical activity to keep the brain going but the activity isn't enough to occupy the brain fully so all these casual thoughts float in. I get to work things out.

I often wonder why so many people try their darndest to avoid quietness. I wonder what thoughts they are trying to avoid. I wonder why they can't just change the channel of their thoughts when there is something they don't want to deal with at the moment. I wonder if they can't find any thoughts worth having. I wonder if they are more messed up in the head then I think they are.

I wonder how easy I have it.

And then I stop wondering because I don't want to tempt fate.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

I asked him repeatedly to push the call forward button whenever he left his desk


I'm expected to be:

level headed
even handed
the voice of reason
the go-to-guy
a problem solver

There are times I wish to be none of those things. There are times I do want to fire bomb someone's truck and then whisper in their ear, "That was me."


I'm expected to be those things because I am those things for the most part.

I don't get to routinely fly off the handle.

I get stuck being the peacemaker.


I've started investing again - in place of playing the state lottery

or maybe in addition too


Today they are trading at close to their 52 week lows, which is usually when I buy stocks.


a co-worker's mom lives in a house I pass to and from in route to work.

"My mom wants to know why you're so sad."

I laughed.

"We were getting our nails done the other day and she said "Tell me about Timothy" and I was like Timothy who? and then she said the boy I see walking by my house everyday, he seems so sad."

I laughed again.

"I told her that you're really not that sad, it's just that you're kinda shy."

"Yeah, I'll try to skip more, in the future."


There was that one day he had to fish his phone out of the trash. Tossing his phone into the trash was easier than writing a note.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

He came in and sat down like he owned the place. His face didn't ring any bells with me so he didn't own the place.

"Hi. Can I help you?" the newest bartender asked.

"Yes. I would like a Bud draft."

"Okay. Can I see an I.D.?"

They check I.D.'s religiously, even mine still gets checked occasionally.

"You're checking my I.D.? I'm sixty four years old. I've been coming here for twenty years and I've never had my I.D. checked."

"Well, I don't know you so I have to check your I.D."

"Where's Shawn (the manager)?"

"He's at the bank."

"Well I'm going to tell him that you wouldn't serve me when he gets back."

"I'm just doing my job."

"They card everyone," I said.

He produced two forms of I.D.'s but neither was a proper I.D. for drinking.

"I can't serve you without a proper I.D."

"I've had this problem before."

I laughed out loud that the guy had just poked a couple holes into his own story. I had been sitting relatively quiet because truly it was none of my business.

She ended up calling the manager who actually vouched for the guy over the phone. She set a pint in front of him and told him that she spoke to the manager and that he can't talk to her like he had been. The manager came in four minutes later and heard the guy's story. I manager told the guy that he should apologize to the bartender.

"She should apologize to me!"

His request for a second beer was left unfulfilled.

The manager sat next to me after the guy left.

If I was after you your red truck would have been fire bombed by now

so the message was:

"I owe the company $2000
Please take 500 from this
check. Thanks"

It was poorly handwritten

and for some reason the 500 didn't register with me so I took the two grand. It was a debt from February so I thought nothing of it.

and if I did think something it was 'about damn time'.

He called me with an attitude.

"Yeah, the check you wrote was for the wrong amount…" he trailed off like I knew what the fuck he was talking about. I didn't know what he was talking about and I knew I double checked that check so I explained to him the commission percentage which is at times seems different for co-brokes. He explained to me that he understood the commission percentage and that I shorted him. So I explained that the note I read, that was written by him, told me to short him. He replied that the note said that only 500 was to be taken.

I explained to him that I read the note as to take the two grand and recited the note as I thought it to be "I owe the company $2000, please take it from this check"

"No! I cleared it with the owner that it would only be $500."

I didn't like his attitude and I was having trouble keeping the city punk in my under wraps but I was cool enough to realize that maybe I made a mistake. I do make mistakes.

"So nowhere in that note does it mention $2000?"

"The note is rather clear."

"Listen, I'm not trying to screw you. It's possible I made a mistake. I read that note as saying 'pay the two thousand from this,' if that isn't the case, I'll cut you a check for fifteen hundred. That's not a problem."

"Oh. Okay."

I reread the note. The note is clear if you can make out his hand writing which for some reason I didn't care to submit to forensic analysis, so I misread it.

If you are on my shit list to the point where I am actively screwing you over, there will be no doubt about it because a cock of rather sizable girth will be so far up your ass it will be hammering the back of your tonsils.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

there is a reason I'm still not comfortable referring to myself as a writer. actually there are quite a few reasons. most are in my sidebar.

Palm grease is the slipperiest
it's also the hardest to wash off

I console myself that it would most likely be some even bigger asshole that would fill the space that I currently occupy if I were not here

sometimes my demons and me break bread

it is like a low buzzing in my head
the need to express an idea of feeling

that was supposed to be 'idea or feeling'
and if I were to pretend I know what I am doing I would not mention this

i'll want to get that buzzing out and to get that buzzing out all I have to do and transfer that cause to the physical realm. The problem arises when I don't know what it is that I wish to express because if I don't export an accurate copy the buzzing remains.

it a brick wasteland that is called a plaza

surprisingly there was a butterfly there and it looked more to be flopping in the air than anything that could be called flying

So, he starts to tell my cube neighbor when the best days of the year are going to be and he mentions that they are the days in which he will be on vacation and the days will be good here so that when he gets back everyone will say that the weather was great.

And the weather will be great because:
you're a dick and God is punishing you or,
when you're away, things are always better.

An ad for Mind Freak came on and the guy was saying how he was going to make an elephant disappear. I said "Too bad he can't make that lisp disappear."

I was called mean.

Someone mentioned my mostly reckless eating habits I said I figure that my high blood pressure forces my blood through my clogged arteries.

you may think it's all fun and games when you're a favorite regular at the bar with all the quick service and extra booze in your drinks but sometimes it can cause some problems like when you're just trying to grab a late lunch and having a beer or maybe two before you run off to your second job but then the guy down at the end of the bar buys you a beer and then the manager buys you a beer and then a double shot and then a beer.

"I gots other things to do" - you think but you don't want to be rude so you drink all the drinks except for the last half a beer.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

I write when I’m bored but I’m not always bored when I write.

I guess that’s some sort of apology.

I think reading here is like going through somebody’s junk drawer

Monday, July 03, 2006

So, today's a day before vacation so that means it's a lot like a normal Friday so I was doing the normal Friday things like meeting friends for lunch at the normal Friday place but today's not Friday so there are some people watching other people and I think I'm one of those people being watched so I leave the lunch place earlier than the other guys and they are like "What the heck?" and I'm like "I gotta go" but before I leave, I'm asked if I want a fajita to go because one of the wait staff doesn't want to eat all of her fajitas. She actually asked "Timmy, if I make you a fajita will you take it with you" so I said "Sure, I will" and she said "Thank you" and then the bartender said "Sure, you'll take one of her fajitas but you won't take one of my cookies" the phrase "I would love to eat your cookie" didn't even cross my mind. My actual response was "I'll take one of those too" which got my friends jealous because they were offered nothing but then they were offered cookies as a second thought.
"He's slightly OCD like you."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Like you have to wash a counter in just a particular way."

I do most of my food prep on the stainless steel kitchen movable island/cart. I'll spray it down with Clorox bleach cleaner, wait a moment, wipe it down in a broad arcing motion, top to bottom, then wipe all the edges in one continuous motion, and then wipe it from end to end in the opposite direction from the arcs. That ain't crazy, that's just thorough.

"And we won't even talk about how you make a sandwich," she added.

"What?! There's a proper way to make a sandwich."

The deal is that I can cope if I have to but if I don't have to, I won't.

Probably unnecessary noise is the worst, then lighting, then temperature.

I like things quiet.

I like things bright.

I like things cool.


I was at the kitchen table with my laptop, the plan was to work on some of the RE stuff but I wasn't really feeling it so I started on a blog post.

"Timmy. What you doing?" my three year old niece asked.

"Just typing."


"Sometimes, I just like to type. You sometimes just like to type."


"What do you mean? I've seen you just type before."

"Yeah, but those weren't words."

here's that post

“Timmy’s girlfriends were in.”

“Who are they?”

“Those old ladies she buys drinks for.”

“You did it more than once?” He turned to me as he asked.


“And you don’t know them or anything? You just buy them drinks?”


“I don’t get it.”

I didn’t even try to explain


I've never had Sangria before but that didn't stop me from downloading the first recipe I found from the internet and trying to make some. I wasn't certain I got it right because I wasn't too impressed with the results.

A few days later I found myself at a Mexican restaurant for brunch and I ordered a Sangria which turned out to taste a lot like my home made concoction.

"What do you think of it?"

"I feel better about my own Sangria but I have less feelings for Sangria on the whole."
"Excuse me, sir."

"How may I assist you ladies?"

Okay, I didn't actually respond that way. It was more like "Yep?"

They wanted to know where the Public Transportation Station was.

"Which one?" I inquired.

"The closest."

So I pointed and I was thinking what a poor choice of station that was.


"I'm going to make a movie about this place."

"I think we'd make a great reality show but we'd all end up in prison."


I'm screening my calls today.


And just because I write thousands of words of nonsense when I run out of posts from my regular blogs to read doesn't mean I'm OCD either.
So, I'm slightly worried I'm typing too much but it's hard to tell because it's over four or five txt files so I open all the files and cut and paste them into a Word document and find out that it's under eight hundred words which ain't all that much. I think the most I've done in one day is 1500 or so.

I was sitting there talking with a co-worker. My place of employment has started laying people off and a friend had to take a pay cut. This friend has a family which consists of a wife and two young children. The pay cut is about one hundred seventy five dollars a week.

"I'm trying to stop goofing around so much," I said.


"Because I think we're being watched and also because *our friend* is getting screwed and out of respect for him, I don't need to be goofing around so much."

"What?! Are you kidding me? You're one of the hardest workers up there. Name someone that does more than you."

"It's not that I don't get things done, it's just that I could be doing more."

"Most people up there don't do half of what you do."

"I know but just because you can find someone that doesn't do as much as you doesn't mean you shouldn't be doing more. And I fell bad that *our friend* is getting screwed. I don't want him to see me goofing around. It's out of respect for him"

"You do more than most. You're crazy."

I stopped trying to explain it to him.
"Where'd you park?" JD asked

"At S H Station." TB said

"Wait a minute. Don't you live like a five minute walk from there?" JE said

"Well, actually it's four but it gets worse. I parked at S H took the subway to P S got on the green line got off at G Center and then took the blue line--"

"You gotta be kidding me" JD said.

"I wish. So I got off at A Station, so all I had to do is walk across the street."

Sunday, July 02, 2006

It was a time I really wasn't home that much. I was busy helping someone's campaign. Between the primary and the main election there was a little bit of breathing room and as luck would have it the hot water heater gave out.

I drove to Home Depot purchased a forty gallon hot water heater, dragged the thing to the basement and started to hook it up. Everything was going fine until the water feed line wouldn't stop dripping. I plumbed everything I could and then tried a few tricks to stop the constant dripping of the water. You can't sweat a joint if there is water present. I didn't try all the tricks I knew because some of the tricks I don't like, like plugging up the pipe with white bread. I think only water should be in a water pipe. I'm odd like that.

I solved my dilemma with a new shut off valve and gravity. I found out that if I tipped the pipe I had enough time to solder one joint but I needed time for two so I soldered on side of a shut off valve to the feed line and then shut the valve off. The new valve solved the dripping problem from the point forward. I was cleaning stuff up when my father walked into the basement.

"I heard we had no hot water."

"Yeah, the heater went," I said as he looked at the water heater, "that's a new one."

He looked over the fittings. I was expecting to hear a disagreement over my choice of how to run the new lines or of a questionable solder joint.

"You put this in?"

I had busied myself with the clean up after I noticed his critical eye and I answered without looking at him.

"Good job" he said before he turned to walk away.

I've heard those words from him before but usually they followed a job that he expected me to do a good job.

Doing the right or good thing was expected.

Doing the right or good thing just broke you even.