Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Sometimes, I just want to crack myself in the jaw.

Three and a half hours, there and back

After I made coffee and finished the dishes from the day before, I went out the back door to the shed and pulled out the hedge trimmer. I had just found my Carhartt Coat (mine's dark brown) which I thought would fit the bill for the weather outside but it was actually too much. I walked to the front of the house and placed the trimmer on the porch, then walked back to the side door, went in and took my coat off.

While inside, I opened the front door, picked up the trimmer and brought it inside. I then proceeded to find all the parts to my Xbox and finished Halo 2. I turns out I had one mission left.

I wrote a post or two, that may or may not get published. I tried to reply to an email but the only words I could find didn't convey my message, so it's just a draft.

I called Lady G because I hadn't told her I wasn't in work. I didn't want her dropping by and not find me. She was in Bermuda; she had planned to stay another day but later she called and asked if I would pick her up at the airport, and I did.

"So why'd you take time off?"

"Because I was letting things get to me."

"What things?"

"Mostly just people complaining."

"About you."

"No! About things they really shouldn't be complaining about."

She continued to ask questions and I continued to short answer them.

"You should go to Vermont and check on the house or something."

"I dunno, maybe."

"Just get away for a couple days. Shut off the phone."

"I can't stay over night. It's not set up."

"Then stay at a bed and breakfast. You really should go."


Sunday, October 29, 2006

vents and shafts

It's a dance. A crude clumsy dance.


He complains about others. His complaints reveal that he must hate himself.


He's a great shot at leg's length.


I half expect him to ask me how I am for the third time in seven minutes.

"Getting more pissed off by the minute."

He comes in all wound up and bounces his craziness all over the place.

Dude, freaking chill.


They wanted a fancy craig's list ad. One solution I heard was to make the ad in Microsoft Publisher, convert it to a PDF and then convert the PDF into a JPEG and post the JPEG to craig's list.

I believe my response was a slow blink.

Two or three days later...

"They said it was written by HTML."

"That's not quite accurate. It can be written in HTML but it can't be written by HTML."


I was shown an ad. It kicked ass on 98% of all the other craig's list ads.

"But it doesn't print out well. When you print it you lose things on the sides," I was told.

"Yeah, that's the trouble with a fixed format, like you have with tables such as that and you need tables to get that look."

Our logo sucks. It is very limited. It does not translate to the internet too well. It's some fancy doorway drawn by a bunch of fine lines.

I'm no artist. I'm not a design guy. I can tell you what things should do, how things should feel, but I can't tell you how to do it. I lack vision but I'm good with 'feel.'

Breezy, casual, elegant, business like, friendly, quick, bright, cool, warm, "It shouldn't hurt my eyes. This hurts my eyes."

"It needs to be simple and clean, contained in a relatively small area, compact."

I try to make things like I want them but it's hard to get the image in my head onto the computer screen when I actually do not have an image in my head.

"I like the looks of this."

"Yeah, but can you read it?" I'll ask.

"It's a little difficult but..."

If it's a fluffy piece I don't care whether you can read it or not but if its function is to convey information than you need to be able to read the information.

My number one goal when I creating things is not to piss people off (unless I'm trying to piss people off but I haven't found a need to do that yet).

I don't like saying "Check this out" because I don't think Northern's like being told what to do. I know I don't. If someone says me "Hey you, read this" I say bug off. Okay, it's not 'bug off' that I say but the message is the same, albeit profaner.

You don't butt in, you invite. Have them come to you, don't force yourself on others. There are some businesses where you can't be edgy.
"Timmy, you didn't have to move."

"They looked like important people."

"That's my brother and his boyfriend," she air quoted boyfriend.

I smiled and she said "Thank you." It was my favorite seat but I figured two seats over would serve me just as good.

I forget how she ended up sitting to the right of me. The regular that had occupied that seat was now standing behind her right shoulder. We started with some small talk which I have forgotten all of, then as she was leaving for a smoke she asked if I would mind her beer.

"Sure, I'll do my best."

"Can I trust you?"

"I think you can and they all know me," I said with a wave towards the three bartenders.

"Good because once when I was up the street, someone put something in my drink and I couldn't remember five hours after that."

I wanted to say 'holy shit' not so much because it was a horrible thing but because my guess that she might be a little left of center seemed to be getting a confirmation; What I did say was "That's not good."

She looked like a cross between Christina Ricci and Angelina Jolie. Her speech was a calm slow. She told me she was twenty eight and name was Dawn.

"I wouldn't mind taking you home with me," She said as she sat back down but I didn't take it as an actual offer. It seemed to me she was just being polite; offering a verbal reward for keeping an eye on her beer and her purse.

"I think it important to show that sometimes you can trust people."

"I do trust you."

"Thanks," I said as I wondered why.

"I'd give you my number if I thought you would call," she said as she grabbed my left hand. "No ring, you're not married?"


"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes," I half lied. She's more of a girlfriend in spirit. And this spiritual girlfriend was in the middle of giving me forty days of birthday celebration, I thought it would be disrespectful to her to leave the bar with someone even though our twenty year relationship has seen boyfriends, girlfriends, kids and a husband and has been mostly unchanged since high school.

"I'm sorry, I was flirting with you. It was wrong of me."

I had been there for over five hours, people were buying me drinks and I was reciprocating and I may have had more than usual which is often the case when people buy me drinks. I may have let her go too far. I may have led her on a bit. I was having a hard time reading her. I didn't know if she was fishing for drinks, just being friendly or looking for a one night stand. I did know that latter wasn't going to happen but my ego like to feed off the offers.

I always worry about one night stands. I wonder how all the previous nights were spent before they got to me. I don't think I even got her a drink; I'm not that charming.

I labeled her damaged goods and once that happens, sex is out of the question but I didn't want to just leave her. I wanted to try to fix her. I wanted to love her to prove that she could be loved without getting screwed over but I heard a question from the back of mind: "How you, gonna pull that off?" I had no answer.

I couldn't save her. I can't even save myself.

"Don't worry about it," I told her. "I just thought you were being kind."

Thursday, October 26, 2006

I scheduled a vacation next week mostly for mental health reasons. I've been letting things bother me and I don't seem to be solving the problem so I'll avoid the problem. Maybe I should try relaxation techniques.

"She's going to work for F e l t." (there are actually no spaces between the letters, I just don't want it showing up in any searches)


"F e l t."


Gawd Fuk'n Damnit is what I wanted to say because we had a conversation about the place just the day before, however I just repeated the name of the club again.

"What's that?"

"It's a bar, a club."

"That's a good name. Do they have strippers?"

What the fuk is the matter with you? Is what I wanted to say, however I just said "No." Boston Proper has just two strip joints left and he knows this; place isn't one of them.

(When I hear that word, I think of the fabric, he thinks of groping)

"Is there a cover?"

"Yes," the bartender said.

"Then I'm not going."

I may have mumbled "Asshole."
So, I swung by that place where I buy a lot of my CD's and picked up a copy of Fred Eaglesmith's Milly's Cafe. I ride the elevator back up with my big boss.

"What ya got?"

I pulled my CD from the bag. "You probably don't know him. Fred Eaglesmith."

"You'd be surprised at what I don't know."


There been some shuffling around of some staff and one of the ladies I would casually flirt with, left. She's two floors away now and has very little playtime. So, I hear her voice in my office so I make like I want some water because she has to walk by the cooler to leave and I'm slick like that.

My plan works well but she's in a hurry or so I surmise because she's sort of running so I just wave and smile and she does the same and as she passes by she says "Hey, I am on email, you jerk."
So, I was struggling with staying motivated. I started walking around like I do when I'm bored; part of the routine is the take money out of the ATM even though I don't need to be carrying any more cash than I have in my pocket.

I stand and stretch. Look at the clock. It's late enough to go to lunch but if I leave now then I get back all the sooner. I sit back down because I would rather tough it out before lunch than to try to tough it out after lunch.

I check my email accounts yet again and then get up to take another walk but this time I hear a familiar voice. The voice belongs to Lady G. I find her at the front desk.

"Nice sweater. Who gave you that?"

I looked at the sweater. I was pretty certain I bought it because I have a maroon one just like it and I know she would never by me two sweaters of the same style. I say "I don't know" because even though I'm certain it wasn't her, I 'm certain as to who it was.

"It looks like Express."

I say nothing because my mind is still processing sweater information. She walks over to my desk. I follow.

She suggests I leave my desk for seven minutes and I do. When I get back, there are five shirt boxes cascaded over my desk, along with a mug that exclaims "How the #*@!! did I get to 40" (there is no question mark at the end).

I looked at the desk and smiled and without looking at her I said, "The sweater's Claiborne."

"I didn't get you that."

"Yeah. I got it myself."

"I know I didn't get it because I wouldn't buy Claiborne."

I worried that there may be some quality or political issue with that designer that I'm unaware about so I ask "Why not?"

"Because Claiborne doesn't go with jeans."

For some reason I look down at my jeans even though I know exactly which pair of jeans I'm wearing. "Yeah, I don't care about things like that."

"I know."

"But I try to pick it up a bit when you're around."

"I know you do, sweety."

She waits as I open all the boxes. The shirt boxes, as you may have surmised, contain mostly shirts save the one that contained a jersey.

"I love you, baby," she said as she left.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Grade Four

I've never had many friends with all my walls and shit but I would always a couple. This one friend was the cousin to the most popular kid in the whole grammer school.

Once we went to some community center that had a bumper pool table. When it was your turn, you played the winner. Joey played first and won and then I beat Joey. The kid that played me next was the brother of the second most popular kid in the school. I beat him. The kid after that didn't go to our school but he was known as a tough guy in the neighborhood, among the preteens anyway. There was a girl with him, she was sitting at the pool table leaning on his end, the end I was shooting to. She was pretty and a year older than Joey and me, she usually hung out with the older girls. She wasn't known as a good girl, although nobody could name names or give specifics.

I was beating this second kid and it started to bother him. I didn't give a care because I was just playing to play and mostly because I didn't like him. He was a punk. He had a problem getting beat but some quiet 'unknown' kid on the honor roll. I guess the girl that was with him had a problem with it too because she started putting my pocketed balls back on the table.

I don't know how many she put back on the table, it couldn't have been more than two, but my friend and I caught her in the act with one of them. She was going to take it back off the table but I told her to leave it where it was and then beat the kid anyway.

I handed off my cue stick to the next kid in line and walked out. Joey never asked me to go back. I pretty sure he caught some heat for being my friend but that didn't stop him and he never said anything.
I can wait. I'm actually good at waiting as long as it is required and I don't have anything pressing to do. Jury duty, DMV, long line at the grocery store - no problem because I get to do nothing, nothing is required, nothing is the best thing you can do.

Why fret and heavily sigh and fidget about? You knew, most likely, you would have to wait, you should have scheduled for it. Read a book, think about the day, watch all those other people spazing out because they have to wait.

Most regular - Is that most normal or most consistent?

I thought it would bother me but I'm almost glad.

Over the years I've gotten to know them. We, in some ways, counted on each other. There would be stretches where I would show up during the slow times and they would pick up my drinks at the busy times.

When I first started going there, I got to know Jen and then Lauren and then Melissa and then Danielle and then Emily. There were a couple other bartenders that didn't stick around, I never got attached to them.

Melissa was the first to leave, she got a job as a manager at a Mexican restaurant and bar. She stayed there a few months and then left. I don't know where she is now. She left maybe three years ago.

Emily still works there, although she got a nine to five about a year ago. I don't see much of her but occasionally I'll drop by on a Sunday to say hello.

Lauren left the beginning of September. She eventually went to the same Mexican restaurant and bar as Melissa. She says she likes it. I don't believe her.

Danielle left last Saturday, sooner than she had planned. She might be working at two different places. I know she'll be definitely at one. She'll be better off. The yuppie crowd will tip her well.

Jen is still there for now. Jen stays away from the drama that sometimes embroils the bar. But Jen has plans. She going to nursing school.

I've been careful not to get attached to the new bartenders, they don't see too much of me but when they do, they treat me well. I could invest my time in building a relationship with the new crew, it would be rather easy but I'm not certain that is something I want.

Most regular regular is a title I don't mind abdicating.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

fade to black

Despite it all

I don't see the value of my friendship

I'm going to miss it when it's gone

I was there for lunch with some of the guys and later returned after work with some of the same guys. Fridays I’ll usually stick around for the shift change because usually D² is on the schedule. Eventually, all my work friends left so I started talking to the bartender on what was happening at the bar.

D² came in three minutes before five, before all the drama she would come in twenty minutes early. After all the hellos, the bar and all its customers disappeared as the two bartenders entered into conversation. I started slow drinking my beer, I knew it was going to be awhile.

Once the two rejoined our world J rolled her eyes at the ongoing situation and then asked for my next order. She only asks for my order when she gets tired of serving me beer. I asked for a draft anyway and then opened it up to her suggestions.

“A drink.”

“Yeah, I know a drink but what?”

She thought for a moment and then said “I don’t know.”

Normally I would have given her a hard time but her mind was elsewhere.

“How about a Raspberry Margarita?” I offered before her gaze focused on a different something another million miles away.

“Sounds good. With salt?”


“No salt? What about sugar?”


“Is it because I made fun of you for the salt?”

“No, it’s just a lot of work.”

“I don’t mind.”

“No. It’s a lot of work for me.”

“Oh! I’m sorry that I thought you were making things easy for me.”

For payback she let me know that ordering a Scotch on the rocks for my next drink didn’t increase how people perceived my station in life.

I hung around awhile and then asked for my bill.

“I think J took care of it” D² said after checking the register. I did some quick addition and the bill should have been upwards of forty dollars. I looked at her and shook my head. She just shrugged her shoulders. I called to the other bartender as she walked by because my bill was being rung in under her name.

“J, D² won’t give me a bill.” She looked at me, balled up her hands and then rubbed them beneath her eyes as she feigned a pout. I laughed.

“Bye, Timmy” they seemed to say in unison.

“That ain’t right,” I said as I shook my head and tossed some money on the bar before I left.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Got Rope?

I really don't have an active payback scheme but I'm a heck of a rope salesman.

Yeah, I love candy

The bar has been a little crazy lately; personalities are clashing. I consider most of them friends. I don't like it when friends fight even when that friendship is just of a casual nature.


Photo Hosted at Buzznet

So I'm taking a picture of some school candy that I purchased from one of the parents in work and I'm having more difficulty framing the shot than I would like when the boss walks by, he doesn't say anything, he just looks which is probably for the best.

Did you say "Thanks?" - I so want ot kill you

"Thanks, I got it. Thanks."

"No you don't get it."

I wanted to shake him because merely telling him that all the problems he has come from him sticking his nose into other people's business. It's not your responsibility and if you told me what you told that other person I would have told you to go fuck yourself.
Sometimes titles are my mistress and other times they are a hated step child.

the walls have new sets of ears.

and the walls are actually only half walls 'cause I work in a cube.


I like to say most every thing I write here is straight off the cuff but the truth is that I do a lot of editing inside my head and a lot of quick little rewrites as I go.


How can you hate a step child? Didn't you know the deal going in? Seems like you made a poor decision.


I was right there. I heard the whole conversation and when he told it back to me, he got it wrong. I want to shout "Dude, fucking listen!" but I never swear and I'm never rude so I just correct the story as he tells it.
Sometimes titles are my mistress and other times they are a hated step child.

the walls have new sets of ears.

and the walls are actually only half walls 'cause I work in a cube.


I like to say most every thing I write here is straight off the cuff but the truth is that I do a lot of editing inside my head and a lot of quick little rewrites as I go.


How can you hate a step child? Didn't you know the deal going in? Seems like you made a poor decision.


I was right there. I heard the whole conversation and when he told it back to me, he got it wrong. I want to shout "Dude, fucking listen!" but I never swear and I'm never rude so I just correct the story as he tells it.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

The real and present makes me want to cry sometimes too

My nieces are daycared in my place of employment so sometimes I see them as they are walked about the building or the grounds. Today was a day when I saw the younger one whose thoughts were nowhere in the vicinity of the concrete sidewalk she walking on.

I partially stepped in front of her but still she was in a daze of thought so I stooped a bit and called her name. She was shocked into the real and present and almost started to cry.

I'm a great uncle.

I'm glad her handlers know me

the ladies love me

We were let go at lunch from jury duty. My duty placed me a block away from my day job, so at lunch I walked to my normal lunch place. My plan was to have lunch and split; I had lunch but I didn't split.

During lunch I overheard a phone conversation between the manager and the owner. Names weren't mentioned but I knew it involved my favorite bartender. I looked at the clock, it was one thirty, she would be in at four. It was a lot longer than I wanted to wait and even longer than I had planned but I decided to stay until four.

"Timmy, I was going to email you and ask you to be here, so I'm glad you're here. What would you have done if I emailed you? Would you have thought I was crazy?"

"No, and I would have been here."

When I got a chance, I told her what I had heard. I don't like being a rat but I dislike it more when a friend is about to be thrown under a bus.

She asked me to stick around so I did.

"Are you going to stay?" she asked later "I have to go setup upstairs."

I looked her in the eye, she looked o.k.. I looked at my beer, it was just about finished. I said "I think I'm leaving."

She walked past me to the stairs and shouted over the loud evening crowd. "Thanks, Timmy. I'll see you tomorrow," she paused a moment and then added. "I love you." She then bounded up the stairs.

Duty this

Things and stuff and mostly laziness are the reasons that nothing has been posted. I think I have five unposted posts from the 17th on the thumbdrive, they were supposed to be posted on that day but things came up.

Or was it stuff? It doesn't really matter and if you are reading this they are most likely posted by now.

I had jury duty. It was a blast. I wasn't impaneled.

"What do you have electronic in here?"

"A PDA, an iPod, a camera--"

"We need to keep the camera."

I thought about asking about camera phones but I didn't. I should have taken a picture with my phone but I didn't.

a little harsh

So I'm covering the desk because folks are out and I'm a chump but it's a slow day so I can hang around by my desk and just stroll about checking to make certain no one is waiting for help.

I start the trip from my desk to the other desk and the crazy old hag of a receptionist starts spraying air freshener about. Any stink she is trying to get rid of emanates from her own self. So, now I have to be olfactory assaulted to do my job which isn't even my job.

She should be sent away.

Past Present

I slid the large gold bag across the granite bar, premium chocolates were boxed inside. "Your main present is that I actually drove out here to visit you." She smiled and told me that she hadn't had Godiva chocolates since she quit her other job, the beginning of September.

She started lamenting that no one was showing up for her birthday party. Her birthday wasn't actually until the following day and she was working behind the bar, news that she was having a party slightly surprised me.

"What do you mean? You just said Dave called you and you didn't call him back. The people that have been there for you are reaching out and you just ignore them. Maybe, he was asking when it begins."

"I was busy getting ready to come here."

"You ain't that busy now."

"I can't talk on the phone," she said as she shot a look towards the back of the bar.


Her new boss is actually her old boss, she has just changed from one bar and grille to a Mexican bar and grille, after a month away. Her boss was always against his employees talking on the phone but now, at the new place with an office on site in the back, he could enforce it better.

"And, I really don't need you talking shit right now."

Little victories. But it was her birthday, sort of, so I smiled and knocked it off.

"I can't talk on the phone or give the finger or throw things or swear at the customers," she continued.

"Yeah, I've been here thirty minutes and I haven't been hit with any flying ice."

"Yeah, I know..."

The old days are gone.

He was in Nam so he gets a walk

sometimes I'm a cocky son of a bitch

(no offense, mom)

He is the boss of me

"What problem are you trying to solve?"

"There is no 251," he said again a little exasperated as he was holding plan number 251 while showing me the index map with number 251 on it. I was seeing two pieces of evidence that 251 did indeed exist, so I still couldn't understand his question.

"Are there two two-fifty-one's?" I asked and he was stumped. The index map showed a different location for 251 than the plan he was holding. I watched the gears grind and finally he said "No."

"Is not 240 correct?" There were two numbers on the map by the location he wanted; one was in ink and the other in pencil. The index map was incorrect; that much I knew but I didn't know if the map as wrong because the plans were wrong or if someone just put the wrong number on the map. My question was met with more silence, so I just got up and checked out all my questions myself.

The solution was simply to erase the number 251 from its wrong location on the index map. There wasn't a missing plan, there wasn't a wrong plan, there was just a hand written 251 in the wrong place. So I grabbed my eraser.

"I can do it."

"No, I've got it."

Bitchy much?

She acts like a bitch. She says mean and hurtful things. She would rather be liked for her rack than for who she is; her trouble is she can't be mean all the time. I've seen her struggle with it. She bothered when she's kind to someone; she fears showing affection. She worries about heartbreak. She worries that being kind will make her look weak.

I would only, rarely and casually, state what I knew to be true about her; her usual reply would be "So."

So don't struggle with being mean.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

I thought I heard someone at the door

I keep trying for the subtle exit, that point in time where I can slip out the door unnoticed. At gatherings, I'll rarely bid adieu. "Yeah, you were talking to someone when I had to leave. I didn't want to interrupt," is my standard excuse, a day or two later.

I've been edging closer to the door, but I always seem to turn back around.

sometimes I'm foiled by my own charm

I hate it when I'm supposed to he hating on someone and I'll see them around and toss them a friendly 'hello,' actually, it's always a 'hey.' My hello's are sometimes kind of rude and frigid.

I'll be like "Hey" and then remember "Oh, yeah. I still hate you," but by then it's too late. I can't take back the greeting and I can't fault them for me forgetting. Hating is my own responsibility, I really should better keep tract of those people I hate.

Hating is hard work for me.

sometimes work is slow

"Sweet, some work that matters."

That's what I told myself because sometimes looking busy all day long is actually harder to do then the things I actually get paid to do but that's partly because I rock at what I do.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

"Did you get my email?"

"I didn't"

"Oh, I sent you an email that said happy birthday," and then she recited my private email address.

I smiled. She's never sent me an email before. I asked when she sent it and then told her that I hadn't checked my email since the previous afternoon. Her email was waiting for me.

She's close to leaving, even closer than before.
"Hey, birthday boy" is the greeting that she gave me that caused the nearly fully seated bar to look my way. She wasn't having a good day, she had only gotten an hour's worth of sleep. She kept apologizing to me when the silence came as she stood by my side.

"You're going to have to carry the conversation today."

"Then we're in trouble," I said.

"But it’s good when friends don't have to say anything, they can just be near."
It was ten in the morning, I was lying in bed, I had taken the day off from work, and the thought that she hadn't called me worried me.

We're just friends, friends that have been through a bit and have always been there for each other even though we haven't always been around each other. We're surrogate boyfriend and girlfriend, we know we're not the best lovers for each other but we would tough it out if we had to because we love each other. It hasn't come to that yet.

No call – I suspected that she has a non-surrogate boyfriend and I'm okay with that because she can do better than me but I'm not done loving her yet; I worried about complications. I rolled out of bed, I had some drinking planned for this day to; I flipped open my phone. I only got the phone a day and a half ago, I still missed my old phone. The new phone told me I had two messages waiting. The first message was a hangup. The second message was her. She sang the entire birthday song, I could hear some of her friends in the background and she through in a "I love you very much."

I saved the message.
"He's a guy's guy"

So you mean the guy is some sort of meat head.


On Tuesday, I was told there would be money on Monday. "That's a week away" I told myself. Normally, I would do the company-has-no-money shuffle until Monday but I'm tired of having all the same dance moves as a trained monkey. I wrote out all the checks and gave them to her, she can delay them on her own.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

I'm trying to survive.

Give look


Give look & nod

maybe shake head no

maybe just keep quiet
Sometimes, I can sense it is there, at arms length as long as I don't reach for it, much like a stray cat that doesn't quite trust you yet. Touching but not being touched.
Providing for a future drunken state doesn't seem right to me. Provisions were made for Wednesday night but D² will not be there, so the plan is leaning towards Thursday day.

I have no problem drinking before 5PM. I have no problem drinking in the AM but I usually try to wait until at least noon.
The cough is sticking around so I walked over to the local CVS to buy some cough drops. I was standing there trying to decide and some dude was there for a similar reason.

"Tim Green, right?" he asked as he offered his hand.

"Yeah" I said as I took his hand.

"Tim Halley, I remember you from *work*."

I'm pretty good with faces but I didn't recognize his. I'm glad I wasn't buying personal lubricant.
I didn't have time for the planned egg roll concoction for Saturday so I did them on Monday. I had three egg roll wrappers left over after I ran out of the planned filling so I folded two slices of salami in a piece of American white cheese wrapped that up and tossed it into the deep fryer for two and a half minutes. Both versions were good but the salami one was best.
I wonder where my patience has gone. Although, I've never been actually patient; I persevered quietly.

Usually, I'll have a change of heart.

I type things out as they appear in my head and later say "Now isn't that stupid?" or "Now, why do you think that?"

Monday, October 09, 2006

I don't sit next to him anymore at the poker table. He would just end up asking me too many questions, at first I didn't mind to help but hearing the same questions over and over caused me to loose patience. So, before I screamed "Why can't you fucking learn and very fucking simple thing?" into his face, I decided not to ever sit next to him.

Now, he asks his questions to either guy on side of him or the whole table.

"How do I deal that?"

"What? Five card stud? You just dealt that the last time and the time before that, you deal it the same. It's always the same."

"Yeah, I know but I forget."

"You forgot from the last time?"


The host then turned to me and asked "He's got to be kidding, right?"

I just turned up my palms. Welcome to my world.
I guess I was a little bitter, and I'm certain losing seventy dollars at the poker table didn't help.

I ended up bring: mini English muffin bacon egg & cheese sandwiches, chicken fingers (much like you get from the Chinese restaurant), and little pizza slice-like things baked on top of puff pastry. We were told by the host that we could not "do take-out" this time we had to make something.

I got there late for two reasons: one because I wasn't finished making the egg sandwiches because splitting little homemade English muffins is a little tricky and also because I was tired of being the only one of time. I got there at quarter to five for the four o'clock start. Seven of us were scheduled to play, I brought the count to five when I arrived.

There was a crock pot of chili and some Chinese dumplings in the oven and with, what I brought, I thought it was a decent start. It turned out that was it, other than store bought cookies and store bought Halloween cupcakes.

I did my best to keep quiet. Questioning how someone could always forget how to deal a game that they always deal was beginning to make me crazy, so I just sat quiet and when the dealer asked "how do I deal this?" and looked at me, I just shrugged.

"Where'd you get the little English muffins?" the forgetful dealer asked.

"I made them."

"From scratch?" someone who cooks asked.


"Did you use a press or something?" the dealer said.

"What!?" I said and waited for an explanation. Did he mean a cookie press like thing or one of those things you use to pre-form burgers? I didn't know and I was irritated but this non-food-bringing self-professed-'to-unskilled-to-cook' forgetful just-can't-shut-the-heck-up donkey's question about food preparation. Crack a cook book. He offered no further clarification so I looked away from him and said "No."

Next time maybe I'll just show up with a steak and cheese for myself.
• He doesn't listen

• He doesn't understand

• He doesn't take time to think

• He doesn't remember

Every single day, it's one or more of those things.


He wears his ignorance like a badge of honor


"You should at least get you ass down to the hot tub and, ahh, at least hot tub."
I can't remember the last time I lost a whole day to being sick in bed other than Thursday.

Frequently, non family females tend to sing song my name. I only mention it because I find it unwarranted and awesome. My family is rather unimpressed with me.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Silence is golden.

Gold is heavy.


At work, the trick is to get back before the screen saver kicks in.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

He's nuts. It's affecting me. The normal duck feather like protection of my own sanity isn't working like it normally does.

Craziness is sticking.
It was slow and our conversation of childhood tv shows morphed into movie trivia. I haven't been seeing movies for quite sometime. I really don't know why but I just haven't.

There was a time I could just glance at what movie was playing on the tv and name it. Those days are gone.


My world is beginning to bend me.


"Make copies of this," he said as he handed me back the latest project I was working on. I thumbed the pages, there were three copies and the original sheet that was marked up

"These are copies." I printed extra copies because I used color and we don't have a color copier.

"Oh, yeah, you're right."

"If you need more copies, I'll gladly print them but these are extra copies."

Open your eyes. It's a one page document. How could you not have noticed that three pages were identical? Do you not even know what you have been asking me to do?
tactile (this was for something else)

I'm often surprised that folks are not more discreet.

And further surprised when they don't understand why I have to be discreet.

HELLO! There is a reason, I'm not saying all that I know. So, stop with the questions.

I don't know if it's because she's ignorant or if she's just not that bright.
She's new; I've only been there three times since she's been doing the Monday day shift. I guessed that it was D² on the phone with her when I overheard her say: "My man Tim is here, well Bridget's man Tim." I'm possessed by many. I'm always somebody's Tim. I show up on Monday's to catch Bridget's evening shift.

Watching her is a like a lesson in tip getting. She has started the flirting. I appreciate the effort but I really have a set rate for tipping. I enjoy the game.

Usually, the new help gets broken in with one of the other bartenders. Not only does this help with the mechanics of how the place runs but it clues them in to how the regulars are treated. She was mostly trained at night so she had only seen me once prior to her being left alone to tend the bar.

She's only seen me interact with Bridget and Bridget is a jokester and always goes over the top when I'm there; she's the one that will hang on my arm and sing my name to the tune of the song on the sound system while she waits for her drink orders to be filled. Bridget is funny; she makes me smile. I don't even get to tip Bridget.
My life lies in a heap
My life is a heap of lies

I wish I could trust more people
He tells the truth but his truth is a lie.
There are times I wished I lived a larger life. I wonder why I have no desire to climb mountains or excel in anything. I'm certain the ability is there with some training.

What's left after you've climbed the highest mountain? What's left after you've bested your version of the world?

Why not just call it a day?

I sun will rise tomorrow. Do things ever really change? Or is everything just yesterday with a different coat of paint?
He needs to calm down and think.

He tossed the keys on my desk.

"Call Maintenance. The car you drove last has a flat tire."

I know I didn't drive it last because the keys were not around on Thursday but I'm pretty certain that no one else will own up to driving the car so I figured that I would try to fix the problem. I've never had to call Maintenance before but I know they like the keys left in the car which my supervisor should have done when he was there so I took the two block walk to deposit the keys.

Sure enough the car had a flat, I put the key into the passenger's side door because the driver's side door doesn't work so good but I couldn't turn the key. I then looked at the car's plate number. It wasn't the car I drove last.

"1014's the one with the flat. Not 1012." I told him over my cell phone.

"Wait a minute." I could hear him talking to the guy he was with about what car was where.

"I'm standing here on Elm Street in front of the 1014. It's the ten fourteen with the flat. It's the ten fourteen that's on Elm Street. I tried to get in with the keys you gave me and they wouldn't work. You gave me the keys to the ten twelve."

"Oh. Where's the ten twelve."

"I'm looking for it, now"

"They keys weren't labeled so--"

"The keys are labeled. It's etched on them."

"Oh. I'll meet you on Oak."

"Okay, but bring the keys to the ten fourteen so I can leave them for Maintenance."

If he had tried to leave the keys like you're supposed to he would have found out the problem himself. He could have found the 1012 parked on the next street over and he could have gone about his merry way. He could have even called to tell me that the 1014 had a flat and asked me to call Maintenance and I would have done such.
I hear lots of things, things that can be important to others but the others can't be trusted to keep things cool so I can't tell them the important things.

"Listen, I'm going to tell you something but you can't act upon it. You can't go flying off the handle, shouting and stomping. I don't even know if it's true or not. It's just something I've overheard so just keep it under your hat and keep your eyes opened," I'll say in vain.

My warning may last a day or two until the person I had confided in gets angry at the person I overheard something from and then will use the information as a weapon.

So, I get a call from Operations, there is some confusion about a piece of paper work.

"Let me look it up," I said and started searching the papers strung atop my desk.

"You're just rustling papers aren't you? You're not actually looking. That's okay, I use that too. "I'm looking but can't find it.""

I never thought about just rustling papers. I've always used the 'let me put you on hold' trick.
She's in the archives somewhere. Some guy was talking to her and even though she was being patient and polite to the guy, she was making it perfectly clear that she would rather not be in a conversation with the guy, so when the guy took a breath, I started talking to her. She shifted in her chair to face me, placed her hand on my arm and quietly said "Thank you."

After the guy left, I went back to my mostly quiet ways, involved in the conversation she was having with the bartender with an occasional nod when either of them looked my way.

Before she went to Florida, I knew she was sticking by her drug addicted boyfriend even though I surmised it was to her detriment. I think Florida was part of the plan to save him.

She always seems to attract the odd but she always handles it coolly; she doesn't seem to let much get to her. I wonder what it's like for her when she's bartending. There is more control when there is a bar between the conversation.

She has a calm strength.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Most of the time, I don't want to be involved but I'll look and see that everybody else seems to be doing nothing as well. So, I'll sigh a little maybe hang my head and do it.

I was already by her when I realized that I knew her. She was outside the bar smoking with a friend. I turned back around just as she was entering the bar. I thought about following her in and getting her first drink but instead I continued on my way. We're not friends, we've only seen each other at the bar a few times. She tended bar at the place up the street, her work place and my drinking place bookend the block. The bartenders from my bar visit her bar and vise-versa, when they get breaks.

The last time I saw her she was moving to Florida. I bought her a shot of Soco and lime and wished her luck, that was eight months prior.

She was there when I returned an hour later and when she was walking past me, to the restroom, I said hello.

"I thought it was you, but I was afraid you had forgotten about me."

"Naw. I thought you were in Florida."

"Things didn't work out, so I'm back."

"Well, it's good to see you."

When she got back to her stool, her and her friend ordered two shots of Soco and lime. I asked Jen to put them on my tab.

"These are from Timmy."

"Here's to Jimmy!" her friend exclaimed.

I just smiled and raised my glass.

"It's Timmy" she corrected and then she mouthed the words – thank you.
“This guy’s weird.”

I looked over my shoulder and recognized the guy she was talking about; he sat next to me. He ordered a beer and then helped himself to the free buffet. I could hear him eat.

“McDoogan’s, that an Irish bar, right?” I heard him say into his cell phone. That’s when I took a deep breath and then laughed to myself and then wished that he would head over to McDoogan’s.


The benches are a homeless hangout. I’m looking out the window enough to recognize the cast of characters. They’re not allowed in the bar but sometimes this one guy will come in when the manger’s attention is elsewhere.

The guy’s name is Shawn, I would guess his age to be early sixties, he’s one of the cleaner ones. He sat in the empty chair next to me, which was probably best for him because I’m not in the habit of making scenes.

He started talking to me, his goal was to get me to buy him a drink but I just stalled until the manager dragged him out.

“They always find you,” LB said. She was hanging out behind the bar even though she quit the place.

I smiled and nodded my head. They always seem to.