Tuesday, August 29, 2006

I've forgotten most of the titles I have read

I'm tired.

I wrote a post whose sole purpose was to actually say that I finished reading "The First Five Pages: A Writer's Guide to Staying Out of the Rejection Pile" but then I really didn't give a care about writing about what I have read so I deleted it.

So, that door I installed over the weekend. I know you were wondering about it. I replaced the door because I thought that was where a leak was coming from but after I tore the thing out, I wasn't so certain. I found no evidence of moisture where I thought there ought to be but I consoled myself because the old door was hardly weather tight so my effort would not be in vain.

Yesterday, it rained and to my surprise, the ceiling beneath wasn't wet, so the new door may have fixed that pesky leak. I almost smiled.

spaces are doubled

She is uneasy with her beauty which causes me to grin at her expense, mostly because I'm a cad.

Eleven years, come November. They say once you hit ten years you're a lifer.
I feel more like a deader.

The trick to replacing the water bottle so it doesn't spill is to pour the water from the bottle into the cooler hole as you're inverting the bottle. Don't try to flip the bottle over quickly while trying to shove it in the hole. Pour the water while tipping the bottle gently and just continue the tipping until you stand the bottle up in the hole.

Sometimes people will hear me laugh because I think their world is silly.

Pluto should have been grandfathered in as a planet. Astronomers have no respect for history. I will refer to Pluto as a planet until the day I die. "When I was a kid Pluto was a planet," I'll tell my greatnieces and greatnephews.

I can get people to like me on purpose but I don't try to, I would rather they do it on their own which is one of the reasons I'm not overt.

Maybe I should become a literary agent. I wonder what a literary agent does.

Sometimes I try to escape my Hell Hole by buying lottery tickets

Sometimes I'll scratch lottery tickets at the bar. Sometimes, I'll bring one for the bartender and the waitress as well. We'll trade any winnings in for more tickets until we're all complete losers.

During this process yesterday, I was asked to get the new Bingo scratch tickets and the ones I brought back were numbered 25 to 29. The waitress got excited for a brief moment because she thought she might have ticket 33.

"Is thirty three your favorite number?"

"No. Three is but thirty three is two threes so it's even better."

We won twenty bucks on that go round so when I went to buy more, I made certain I got ticket number 33. I let her scratch it. It won three dollars. I then took a picture of it.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a picture. A friend of mine collects pictures of thirty threes."

"Which friend?"

"I only know her from the internet."

The conversation sort of ended after that.

My hole isn't really that hellish

Sunday, August 27, 2006

it's fifty year caulk - it'll last longer than I will

She needed something by Sunday morning; I wasn't due in until Sunday afternoon so on Saturday morning I found myself in.

She called me Friday when I was at the bar. She said she wanted custom stickers for the signs and mentioned that she wanted a picture of some friend's dog. I don't like using photos in cases just as this but she's the boss.

After a trip to the office supply store, I mocked something up and called her. She didn't have the photos she wanted. I smiled a little at least I was going to get my way somewhat.

She asked for twelve of them. I made fourteen. She said they could be square. I cut them round.

Photo Hosted at Buzznet

"These look great!"

"They'll do."

After I got home at around 3:30PM, I hung a new exterior door on the second floor. My house isn't quite plumb but the door is level so a little bit of day light could be seen. I caulked the gaps.

It'll do.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

They said that they might swing by and we hadn't been out in some time so I stuck around. By the time we left the bill for the three of us was seventy five dollars.

J and I take the same way home so I was walking with her to the subway station. When we're alone J likes to try to find out what my deal is.

"So is Lady G your girlfriend?"

"Technically, no. We're just very good friends."

"But you'll go out on dates and travel with her."


"Do you love her?"

"Yes. I love her."

"And you love her kids."

"Yes," I confirmed her statement.

"You're not gay?"

"Nope, I'm not gay."

"Because I know woman like you and I know you didn't hook-up with that woman that was all over you…"

"Yeah, I'm not gay."

"I didn't think you were. Not that there is anything wrong with that. So why didn't you hook-up with her?"

"I just didn't want her to be ahead of others."

"So you're saving yourself for Lady G? Because I know she's not saving herself for you because she has kids."

There were more questions which I really didn't answer before she got off, one station before my own. We also argued a little over whether or not I'm cool. Her argument was that I'm a nice guy, I'm always laughing and people like me and that makes me cool. I argued that those things don't make a person cool.

We then argued over whether she was a bitch or not. My argument was that just because a person does bitchy thing that that doesn't necessarily make a person a bitch, sometimes people deserve to receive a bitchy attitude. She countered with "No, I'm a bitch."

I'm not really saving myself, there are just some people I don't want on my list.
It was still raining so we relocated from outside the Market to the inside. The Market usually is bustling with business people and tourists but we were too early for the normal crowd.

One guy was wearing a lime green sports coat with smiley buttons. The yellow buttons perfectly matched the color of his pants. He would occasionally burst into song as he walked from one end of the Market to the other.

Sitting at the set of tables across from us was an older guy who at one point walked over to our table and carefully placed three free magazines on our table. From behind it could be seen, under his baseball cap, that he had had several stitches from what looked like a rather serious injury. We didn't acknowledge him and he returned to his seat by his cart.

We watched as the rain started to come down in a torrent as we were rescheduling our mornings so we would not have to leave when the old guy with the magazines came by for another visit. I've seen the guy before. I assumed him to be someone mostly forgotten; a man just waiting out his time, spending his last days in some set rotation that involved the Market during the day and some sort of an assisted living housing by night. I've seen him interact with people before but I had never heard him talk. We again didn't acknowledge him.

"This is what I do," he said as he pulled a small bundle from his pocket. He had a variety of little leather pouches some with zipper and others that just folded. The leather appeared to be unfinished and the stitching was of some type of natural cord. "I used to be a shoe maker. These are very strong. I sell them for five dollars," he then demonstrated the strength of his little pouches by putting an index finger in either side and he appeared to pull with all his might. The little crudely stitched pocket held up to its maker's test. "The zippers cost three dollars."

"I'll take one. I just need to get change."

"I got five bucks. You can give it to me later," I told my buddy and then decided that I needed a wallet too. The old guy was already holding my last five so I handed him a ten and wondered if he could do the math; without delay he handed me the five back. I smiled.

He told us he was seventy five years old and that all of his family had passed on, save his wife. Teary eyed he told us of how he used to travel to France every year.

"I'm retired now," he said. I wondered how a shoemaker in today's society could really retire and then he added that he used to work for GE in Lynn. I knew that plant closed a few years ago. "I retired at sixty two and now I have nothing to do. I just go home and..." he then acted like he was just sitting, slumping in some unseen chair.

"I go to back to France in November. I'm a French man. Over here there is nothing for me to do. Over there I can go to the bar, met friends and..." he then danced a little and made a joyous sound.

He showed us pictures of his siblings, of his parents and of some friends. "All dead," he said and then he pulled out a wedding picture.

The rain was still very heavy and I was looking for an escape. He was making us uncomfortable. He was reminding us of death, old age, being forgotten, time passing you by, and being alone. I did not want to be there but I didn't want to just walk away for him either.

I wonder how many people won't have time to listen to me in thirty six years.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Fourth? FOURTH? Boston, is that all you got?

Milwaukee has been ranked by Forbes.com as "America's Drunkest City" on a list of 35 major metropolitan areas ranked for their drinking habits.

Forbes said Tuesday it used numbers from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to rank cities in five areas: state laws, number of drinkers, number of heavy drinkers, number of binge drinkers and alcoholism.

Minneapolis-St. Paul was ranked second overall; followed by Columbus, Ohio; Boston; Austin, Texas; Chicago; Cleveland; Pittsburgh and then Philadelphia and Providence, R.I., in a tie for ninth.


He appears to think he has some sort of hands on activity in running the world.


"I knew someone would be inconvenienced..." I overheard him say into the phone and then later he said "I thought everyone was for it."

My question is: Who was for being inconvenienced?


It's like he's struggling to hold up a wall that isn't in danger of falling down. He needs to just step away.


I think my typos are getting worse. My real problem is that I will type the wrong word but I'll type it correctly.



Just because I frequently chose not to bare my teeth please don't let it be construed as a lack of willingness to. Cross a line and you will see them all.


"Hey, thanks for all your help yesterday. I know it not a pleasant thing to be asked to do--"

"I wasn't even asked..." I was hoping to get into a heated discussion but he didn't take the bait.


I get angry.

I get angry at my anger.

I get angry that I don't act on my anger.

I get angry that at my core I don't think lashing out is the best solution.

Most days when the desire to get angry happens, I'll grin. I'll grin because I know I can open a justified can of whoopass...

post interrupted

"Hi, Tim how's it going?"


"I'll try not to hang you out to dry again."

post resumed

post ended


I wasn't prepared for her question when she asked if I had any ambitions.

An eager or strong desire to achieve something, such as fame or power. The object or goal desired. Desire for exertion or activity; energy.

She had just driven from Hollywood, across the entire country, to Boston with her boyfriend. When the silence went on too long, in the absence of my answer, I threw out the statement: "I take life as it comes." My answer disappointed the both of us. I'm free of ambition.

I think that's when I started with the Vodka drinks.

A stack of files means money but the stack that greeted me at the second job was more of an irritation than an inspiration. I didn't want to be there and if anybody was looking, I'm certain I was showing it.

"Those maps look great."

"Thank you," was my mere soft reply.

I rarely say 'thank you' to compliments; I don't mean to rude, I just don't think much I do is praiseworthy. My reply is usually akin to: "Yeah, I think it'll do the job." The purpose of my answers last night was to kill any further conversation.

I said "Thank you" a lot last night and for the most part I was left alone.



I thought producing one hundred laminated custom maps in one day from scratch was kind of impressive but what I heard was "It's hard to read."

"Maybe for old eyes," was my reply. I could read them just fine.


Sometimes I just want to say to the World, "Fuck you." I'll think that is what I want to say and then the World will say "Yeah, but you know what my reply to that would be." And it's true I do know the World would say "I'm only what you made me," and of course that's true so I would only have myself to blame so I would really be saying, "Fuck me."


I returned to my desk and found that I hadn't closed my browser which was still displaying some blog so at best the author of that page thinks I'm a slow reader. I closed the browser and later when things quieted down I went back to the blog because I hadn't had a chance to read it and I was called away again and again I left the browser opened. So, she probably thinks I'm some cyber stalker but really I'm just a retard.


The internet, itself, is cool sometimes.


Hot dogs are best cooked slowly.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

used cape for sale

The day job sucked more than usual; people missing, machines down, supplies out. I could have walked away and let the whole situation boil over because none of the problems were mine but I didn't.

I stood alone as I told the room full of people that we were having staffing problems and computer problems were compounding the issue. While I was explaining the situation, I lost heart. I realized I was the only one that cared. I was the only one willing to fill the gap.

I hate asking people for anything and there I was asking for understanding from a bunch of strangers and for a job that wasn't even my own. I was wishing people would get angry and lash out verbally at me, as I was the sole representative of the place because then I would have replied in kind but no harsh words were stated; even though some had been waiting over an hour.

"You don't always have to be the hero," I heard from the shadows of my mind. The voice had the same ring as an offer of a free drink to a reformed alcoholic. By that time there must have been twelve innocent victims waiting in the slightly padded chairs or standing along the bare concrete walls. "Just leave. No one asked you to be there. It's not your job. No one can fault you."

The voice was the dark was correct but I continued to ask "Who's next?" Someone was called in the afternoon to help and then the computers partly began to work, and then the crowd finally began to disappear. I stayed when I could have left and finally the crowd was gone.

I'm tired of this post

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

She told me I didn't sound happy.

"I'm at work!" was my reply. I'll dance a parade later.

She called because she wants to take me out to lunch, a nice lunch at a nice place. I have to pick the nice place.

I argued that I wasn't unhappy but as soon as the words left my mouth I didn't even believe myself.


She was in front of the Seven Eleven with a 16oz Dunkin Donuts cup and a cigarette. It was an odd place; the side walk is too narrow for a sitting beggar and high volumes of pedestrians. I couldn't hear what she was saying but her body was communicating she didn't appreciate the grief she was being given from financial district's lunch crowd.

"Care to make a tax-free donation?"

"Tax free, huh? Do I get a receipt?" I asked as I stopped to shoved two singles in the cup. She was young, blonde, dirty and wasted. On my return trip, four minutes later, she asked again.

"You got me going that way already," I said with a hand motion.

"Yeah. That's right. You gave..."

"Two," I held up the appropriate amount of fingers while making a scissors motion without missing a stride. I made the mistake of looking her drug weary eye. She was beat and broken and her hard lived live came at the cost of her youth. Two bucks wouldn't even buy her a half a pack of smokes.

If she had been a cat, I would have taken her home.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

looking back at all your right guesses

recalling all the forks in the road

remembering all the choices were your own

wondering why you wanted this


it's kind of like running on a beam when you start to lose your balance.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

After standing at the urinial for the third time not being able locate the fly in my boxers I looked for a tag.

I found one.


The younger niece wanted to use the camera too, which I really didn't have a problem with but she was grabbing it out of her sister's hands before any pictures had been taken. I grabbed the camera which was still held by the both of them and the youngest one shot me an angry look. I must have shot her an even angrier one because she backed down.

Once I stood back up, I turned and smiled as I thought "Yeah, that's a victory to be proud of."

Photo Hosted at Buzznet.com

I handed my $300 camera to my three year old niece. My heart sank a bit because I knew if she dropped it, it would be gone and you can't yell at a three year old for your mistakes. Well, you can but you shouldn't.

I wanted to say "Not so close" and "Watch out for your fingers" but I didn't. Shots look different from two and a half feet high, like a land of giants and of short things that are just your size.

The camera survived.

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She's a little loud and I'm pretty certain at one point in time she said "Fuck class! I'm going with style."

love is not rude - that's Bible

He mustn't value his words. He mustn't because he is careless with the way he uses them.

"The letter supplements the memo..." I heard him say it three times while we were just sitting there.

"Actually, the memo supplements the letter. It's the letter that has the power, that carries the weight, the memo supplements the letter."

"Yeah, the letter supplements the memo."

"No. It's the other way around. The memo isn't required, the letter is. The memo is in addition to the letter, the memo is nothing without the letter. The memo supplements the letter; the letter comes first and is the only thing required. The memo is just a reminder."

"They supplement each other."

I just sat quiet.


He'll say "Hi" to everyone. It's not because he's friendly but because he likes to interrupt people, he likes to interject himself into their day. He does it because he wants to be ignored so he then can say that people are rude to him.

Get there earlier and then you can pay

I waved him off as he was reaching for his money.

"Why do you always so that?" I always do that because the beers are $1.50.

"Anything you throw in is for tip" I said as I showed him the bill and the cash that was already collected.

"Is that right?"

"You know how I do math," I said mostly as a joke but also to let him know it was a large tip and on purpose.

"That's like a thirty dollar tip."

I just shrugged my shoulders. We have a system when we have commitments later in the evening: ten bucks per person if we're just casually drinking, twenty if we're eating and drinking which usually leaves a tip over 50%.

Given the choice, I'd choose Coke

here's the thing: it's no difference if I walk to the toilet or out the door to the bank.

There is a difference when I get to my destination but in the eyes of those watching there is no difference, that is, as long as they always think your trips are trips to the toilet or at least you state as much.

So I was making a trip to the 'toilet,' the kind with the ATM, and I noticed this Coke truck screwing up traffic as he was exiting a small side street and said Coke truck had two of the roll-up side doors opened. I was wondering if he knew his doors were opened or not and I also wondered if I could abscond with a case of 16oz Cokes. I was still doing that wondering as I was passing behind the truck when I noticed that his dolly thingamajig was still left in the street and I concluded that the Coke truck wasn't going too far. My conclusion can right at the same moment as when I heard his backup warning beeping start.

I did a holy shit type reaction thing to keep from being run over and catch the reaction of the driver, in his side mirror, who finally noticed that he was just about to commit vehicular homicide. He looked worried. I just laughed because it would have been very hard to explain how I got hit by a Coke truck while I was on a trip to the toilet.

I then thanked God that at least it wasn't a Pepsi truck.
"Oh sorry. Was I keeping you waiting?" Danielle asked my buddy who had set his empty pint glass at the edge of the bar.

"That's okay. I ain't got to leave yet."

"Timmy's so nice, he doesn't drain the glass, so it doesn't look like he's been waiting, so I won't feel bad."

I just smiled.

"Screw you and your glass!"

Yeah, plastic cups suck but then so didn't he. I don't think he liked it when the bartender came back with an ice cream for me either, or that I was getting shots I hadn't ordered.

"How come you get to clean the bar without getting yelled at?" I was asked by the guy the bartenders call the complainer.

"Because I don't ask for napkins, I just do it. I don't interrupt them."

I sat wondering why the bartenders didn't like the guys sitting on either side of me. I wasn't a fan of either of them but I didn't think they were too troublesome. I think it comes down to how we perceive ourselves to be, when we sit at the bar. They act as customers to be served. I behave as a guest in someone's house. And we each get treated as such.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

So, there's this writer that frequents the same bar as I; I've never read any of his stuff until today when I noticed his picture next to a by line in the local free paper. He states old facts that he doesn't connect. It's a very hard read about something that nobody cares about and lacks importance.

I really should be making more worth of myself.

I overheard him say that he was just musing. So, all that bullshit I just endured was all for naught.

I really should start to worry about myself. I really should do what's in my best interest at times. I don't feel so well today.

Thumb Drive

I shoved some guy's thumb drive into my USB port and it felt like I was doing something dirty. I shoved it in kind of hard.

I think I'll take up smoking.

and pillaging.

"Here is my pillage" I'll say proudly.

while smoking a cigarette

and squinting.

smokers squint when they speak while smoking.

I spent half an hour trying to fix my mechanical pencil because I needed to draw something and once I fixed it, I didn't care to use it.

I hate his worrying.

It's not that initial plopping sound of the bullshit that bothers me; it's the lingering stench.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

it just went away and I'm not sure I even want it back

She told me I was the only man that was allowed to just come over unannounced. She was wearing a dark plum color brazier and a dark blue towel. She stated she was naked. I stated that she was only almost naked. "Not if this towel falls" she said as she went upstairs to put some panties on.

I may have watched her go up the stairs.

She came back down with the same towel on. I wondered if she was then wearing a matching set.
She likes to brush up against me when she telling me her stories. It still surprises me she's soft like a woman ought to be.
Twice I've been told the windows look great. Twice I had to say I didn't even bother to look at them.

Twice I came in when I wasn't supposed to and worked on them so even though today is Tuesday, it feels like a Thursday.

I wish I could enjoy my work.


my tailbone divot is acting up, in truth I really don't pay it much attention. I guess it likes to let me know it's still there and a tail hasn't filled it or anything.

I think it's deeper than the average tailbone divot.

(I know you envy me)

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Big clients will be coming by on Tuesday.

The dog is at the groomers and the pony threw a shoe. You can't have a dog and pony show without a dog and without a pony.

I dressed up a monkey; he'll have to play both parts.

a picture kiss

I've wasted or let rot a lot of what I was given.

I've read that sentence above is not good writing.

We were at the same place for lunch and then after work we were at the same place for beers.

"I think that's the first time I've spoken to him since…the last time."

"Yeah, I don't know what his problem was but I think I figured out why I have trouble with those interviews. I think that job would be it for me, that would be as high as I could go and I'm not certain I'm ready to be done. Also, Al, God bless his soul, died at that job."

"Al was quite happy with the job."

I stopped talking about, what I had said took a bit out of me. If I had continued, I would have said that the job is different now than it was when Al was doing it. Al was drawing by hand with pen and paper. The job now is digital; hands don't actually touch the paper. It’s the difference between a kiss and a picture of a kiss.
"Hi! Is this Little g? It's Tim."

"Hi, Tim. I'm not at home but you can leave it by my door."

"The turtle food?"


"What about the birthday card?"

"You can slip that under the door."

"I actually already did. I just called to say happy birthday. I'll talk to you later."

"Thank you. Bye."

Saturday, August 05, 2006

It took awhile and what seemed to be a pint of whiskey on the rocks at the end.

It took awhile but I waited it out for my regular seat a combination of strangers and friends and a sense of what’s polite and what is not kept me in the chair I started in. People will stand next to my regular seat and order beers. They’ll order other things but mostly the request is for beer. This one guy was resting his forearm on the bar with a twenty folded longwise in his left hand. When he first arrived, his twenty was at the near edge of the bar, the longer he waited the closer to the other edge of the bar he moved his twenty, pointing it right at the bartenders

I found his actions to be mildly humorous. It was like he thought showing a twenty was going to get him attention. It was like he thought he wasn’t being seen.

When the bar is busy and you’re not being served it’s most likely because they are busy. It’s not because you’re not seen.

I turned away from the guy and smiled at his folly. I’ve been in that seat more than enough times to know that flashing or waving money at one of the bartenders is something they don’t like. Danielle finally took the guy’s order, she passed his Bud Light draft passed my right arm.

“What’s so funny?” she asked me as we met eyes. Usually, I would say that I would tell her later because I wouldn’t want to talk about the guy with him standing right there but I thought the guy was an ass, so I spoke up.

“I just find it funny that some folks think that showing money will get them attention.”

She laughed as her gaze traveled to the guy next to me as she said “Yeah, I know, like this guy.”
He thinks everything is so wickedly important. I think he thinks this because he has self doubt.

I have this urge to send you an email but I really have nothing to say

Usually, I don't address bloggers on this site with pronouns but I just did then.

I think the lady at the pizza parlor has the hots for me. That's not true but she always gives me a smile.

Sometimes, I just don't know. Sometimes, I just don't care.

Often, I just wait things out.

Why triple spaced?

He said that he wouldn't mind meeting someone at the site and showing them the problem. I told him that he would be showing us anything we don't already know. He wanted to know why things weren't fixed, if we already knew of the problems. I wanted to say the reason was because sometimes things can't be fixed but instead I started a verbal dance, kind of like a tango.

"I fear for my life every time I go by there." Then don't go by there or stop over exaggerating.

People like to think they all have unique problems but mostly the problems are all the same. It's usually just the severity that changes. Except for bloggers, they're a fucked up bunch.

There are moments that I think I might actually be able to write if I wished to do so.

"That's right, brother, I keep my paper over there now so you will not have a reason to bother me."
"You're like Norm. Everybody waving at you," she said as she rested her elbows on the bar next to me.

"I'm a friendly guy."

"No, it's just that you're always here."

"I'm not always here."

"Were you here Monday?" She knew I was there Monday because she was the bartender but I answered anyway.



I nodded. It was Thursday and I knew where she was going with her questions. I hadn't missed a day all week. "You can't count this week because it was hot."


Thursday, August 03, 2006

I try not to brag. I really don't but often hot chicks sing my name.

So, my boss's boss asked how I was coming with the project because his boss's boss wanted to see something later that day.

I thought you said next week is what I thought but what I said was "Okay" and then AutoCAD crashed four times on me. I worked through lunch and came up with something presentable an hour before my quitting time.

The plan was presented to the big boss and he suggested some minor changes before he presented to his boss, the biggest boss, on Monday. My boss's boss knew I worked through lunch and said I could go but I stayed to make the changes.

I left about twenty five minutes after three. The big boss rode the elevator down with me.

"I gave the company twenty seven minutes of my own time today, so if you see someone in charge let them know," I said just to let him know I wasn't bagging out early.

"Yeah, I'll try to make sure that trickles down. How's the house coming? Are you still plucking away at it?"

"That's what I tell people but it isn't true. I'm happy just keeping the lawn mowed."
It's kind of like having a little brother; I can kick the crap out of him but nobody else better try or my friends can pound the heck out of his shoulders or thighs as long as they get my go ahead.

When you're the only on in the office that can produce interesting stuff, people tend to look about.

"Just keep walking buddy"

"Everyone's leaving. Did you hear the manager is leaving? Actually she has already left."

It was news to me. I had heard that the owner and someone else were involved in a conversation that had gotten loud. I didn't know who it was with until I heard the manger left.

I just play it cool when I hear things like that, partly because I want others to play it cool as well. I've been with the owner for over twenty year. I'm the one constant. People come, people go; I try not to get attached. People think I'm cold.

The manager is a friend of the owner. I believe she lives in a house the owner owns. I believe what she does for the owner is her main source of income.

I was in the office last night. It was an off night for me but things needed to get done. The owner was there.

"She won't give me the passwords. I just wonder what she is thinking."

"She's not thinking of the big picture."

"That's for sure."

It was just assumed that I knew what was going on. I've found out that even if I don't know what's going on, enough gets said so I can figure it out. The manager had a bit of a breakdown; she's having trouble with her children and the stress of the office just got to be too much for her. She took some time off without any advance notification during the busy season.

We were able to figure out some passwords.

"How do you remember those things?"

I don't know. Doesn't everybody have that ability? There are some things that I do forget.

We got a special request at the day job. Something that needs to be done lickety-split, meaning next week sometime. My boss is all in a fluster and is trying to help. He needs to stay out of my way and he needs to relax. We have today and all of tomorrow before next week.
Everyone likes to take up my offenses. The trouble is: I'm not offended by most of the things of which people take offense.

"I didn't like it when he said that to you."

What do I care what some a-hole says? He isn't my boss. He doesn't know me. Everyone knows he's an a-hole that's full of B.S., so no one takes him seriously. Why would I trouble myself with anything that he says? He really isn't worth my time.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

"I still can't hear and it's getting worse."

Which reminds me I have to google sudden hearing loss


So, I'm walking out of the office by the TV-less TV cart that has some plant sitting on it and notice a cockroach. Play it cool is what I hear with inside my head in situations such as this. The first objective is to kill the roach. The second objective is to not bring attention to the fact that there is a roach about.

I turned back around because I had walked past the roach and following me is a male co-worker, who I swear saw me looking right at the roach but he didn't acknowledge the insect, just my weird behavior. I want to say "What?! There's a roach?! Freak!" but that doesn't fit with objective number two. I decide to worry about him thinking that I'm weird later. I wonder how he couldn't see the roach.

Once we pass each other, I sweep the roach with my bare hand onto the carpeted floor.

"Never step on a roach because if it had eggs, you'll bring them home one your shoe," I hear in my head. I step on it and then drag my foot across the carpet leaving a smear.

I'm pretty certain it was a male cockroach.
I was pretty confident that I would see Danielle behind the bar but Jen was the one pouring beers. I did my best not to worry.

"Are you surprised to see me instead of Danielle?"

"Kind of. Did she just need the time to study?"

"Yes. She's studying Statistics which is pretty intense."

Later Jen spoke with Danielle on the phone and Jen passed a message on to me.

"Danielle said that she will see you Friday."

I just smiled.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

"What?! Are you going to tell me that I won't because I never have when I've said it in the past, like you always do?"

"I didn't hear what you said."

"I said I'm going to die."

"Do whatever you want but I think you're a survivor."

"Help me play a joke on her," I said as I pointed with my chin to her sister.

"What's the joke?"

"I have a frog in my pocket—" I said which caused her got this excited look on her face, "…it’s not a real frog. It's a wooded frog magnet. I'm going to give it to you but sometime tonight give it to her."

She nodded in agreement. I was sitting at the end of the bar by the taps so when her sister came by, I started my show.

"Bridget, you're right I was ignoring you at lunch so to make it up to you I got you something."

"Oh, you did?" She had trouble opening the bag using one hand because she had a fork in the other but one she opened it she held it up and pulled the sting that made its legs spring out.

I was watching her sister who was getting made and twice wanted to say something but didn't. She wouldn't even look at me. Bridget then stepped behind her and mouthed "Oh my God." I smiled and turned away before I laughed.

"Timmy can I give it to her?"

"It's in your hands."

"No! I don't want it. He bought it for you. It's yours," Lauren said as Bridget passed the frog beneath the taps.

"He bought it for you—"

"I just thought it would be funny to give Bridget a frog in front of you because I know you like frogs."

"You like frogs?"

"Yeaaah, I like frogs!"

My buddy left for the men's room and Bridget left to wait on a table. I was sitting quiet because I didn't know if I had went too far when I heard a quiet "Thanks for my frog."

I'm an asshole sometimes because I think it's funny.
This too shall pass.

How do you know?

Sometimes, things don't pass. Sometimes, things are constant, permanent, like an amputation. Sometimes, you learn to live with it; you forget your hobble until you want to run.

That which does not kill you will only make you stronger.

How do you know?

Sometimes, things weaken you just enough for some other thing to come along and do you in.