She walked in...

and over to where I was working and whispered "It smells like dying dreams in here."

On May 14, 2008, I read a post by Jamie

and Jamie was mentioning Merkley???'s book. So anyway I bought one.

Jane with an L

She said her name and he asked ”What?” So she said it again and told him “It’s Jane with an L.” At the time I thought it was a horrible summation for who she was but I wasn’t going to interrupt the conversation she was having; I kept to showing my solidarity.

I walked in after work. I saw that my usual spot was open although there was a guy sitting right next to it. The guy’s a regular but I’ve never spoken to him; but there wasn’t anybody sitting next to Bobby. Bobby is a regular I have spoken with; I was torn between seats. Bar buddy protocol was telling me I had to sit next to Booby and that Bobby would be offended if I did, but Bobby likes to more from bar to bar and he wouldn’t be staying long and I would lose my favored seat if I sat next to him. Then I noticed that one of the empty seats by Bob had a beer so after a brief delay to say “Hi’ to Bob, I went to the other end of the bar. Possibly somewhat rude but not outright rude; and Bobby knows the deal – I like sitting where I like to sit. I’m there for the night.

“It’s time for mixed drinks. Right?” she asked. I smiled and turned up my palms and said “Sure. Why not?” Which set off a string of mixed drinks and shots of Vodka. After her shift, I stood next to her as she sat in my former seat and later she escorted me behind the bar. Few patrons get to go behind the bar.

I forget what brought it up but she was talking about her name again which caused me to say “You know, I was a little angry the other day when you said “you’re Jane with an L” because you’re so much more than that.” I’m quite the smooth talker once I’m liquored up a bit. And thankfully she took it as a complement.

Anyway, I have nothing against the name Jane. I like it. It’s nice but it often conjures up plainness and commonness. Women named Jane have that stereotype to deal with, which men named Jane don’t have. So I guess I’m sexist too.

Cc

I have this feeling that I’m going to forget something. But so far all is good.

Sometimes, after the fact, I’ll think “That charm was unnecessary.” Sometimes, I’m just out of control.

If you pay attention and then act on what you know some people will think you can see into the future.

...

My sister told me a conversation that she had with our three year old niece. She said our niece came to her and said “Did you know that grasshoppers can fly?” after she saw something on the television. My sister told her that she did know and then she said mentioned that “At least you learned something.”

Our niece then replied “No, I didn’t learn it. I just know it, now.” My sister then asked her “Isn’t that learning?” to which she replied “Knowing isn’t learning.”

A couple days later, my sister and I were listening to someone tell a story about how he will tell the kids he coaches on how to properly field a ground ball and he’ll have the kids recite it to him but when they get on the field, they still do it wrong.

I leaned over to my sister and whispered “Knowing isn’t learning.”

Created by OnePlusYou - a Free Dating Site

I got a PG rating based on me using the word ass three times and the word hurt once

cool as ice tea

I was sitting on the part of the granite stairs where folks can’t walk, sipping an iced tea, planning the rest of my day. I had to get through another hour of the day job and then I had some things to button up on the second job and I really did need of do a load of white laundry.

From those granite stairs I watch the tourists and the locals; the locals are the ones with the places where they need to be, the tourists have nowhere to be. I looked left as I took a large sip and noticed a familiar face. It was Jason.

I know Jason from the bar, he’s an OG there (an original gangster). I’d found out that he’s not one of their favorites, which surprised me because, although he talks a lot, he often says funny stuff; but I guess it’s a different story when he’s had too many.

I spoke first as I offered my hand.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good. Good.”

“See I get around a bit.”

“Yes, I see.”

“You’re looking relaxed.”

“When I went on the internet it said if you want to relax do what this guy does and there was a picture of you.”

“Well, I think you’re doing it better than I am.”

“No, man, you’ve got it down pat.”

We talked some more and then he walked off. I finished my ice tea. Walking back to the office I was thinking about how he’ll sometimes say these brilliantly funny things and then sometimes it seems like he’s not getting your joke but then I thought: maybe I’m the clueless one.

Oh, yeah. I meant to write "He smiles like Budda," but I forgot.

consider your gut busted

Your lucky numbers are:

2 - 17 - 34 – 54 – 69


I got tired of reading so I made ready to write but again I have nothing to say.

I got in after the meeting and there were three messages on my chair, so I put them to the side to deal with them later. And then later, I started calling them, and that is when I started to read the dates on them: 05-06-08, 05-09-08, 05-14-08.

The freshest one was a day shy of being two weeks old.

Thanks for making me look like an ass.


Not that I really care but I prefer to look like an a-hole on my own accord.


Monday was a beautiful day, weather-wise and when I realized that I was wasting it being inside, I grabbed a book and went outside. And hilarity ensued.


I finally moved those tables to the basement and hilarity ensued.

There are some chores I handle better than others

I can’t say that my dad ever sat me down and taught me anything; that just wasn’t his style. What my dad would do is to let me watch.

The handle on my expensive front load washer broke off and to no surprise it was right at the stress point. It’s a plastic handle and sometimes you can glue plastic and it will be fine but it will almost never hold up at a stress point, so I didn’t even bother trying.

You could still open the door by pressing your fingers hard against where what was left of the handle with only a little bit of bother but today that little bit of bother became too much. So, I removed what was left of the handle and took it to the basement. I set the table saw fence against it and the blade and cut off a small piece of plexiglass that I had sitting around.

Once I had the width, I put it in a vise and then heated it with a propane torch and carefully waited for the top to start to fold over. I was going to stop there and drill some holes to fit the screws but it felt a little flimsy so I heated it some more and folded it over completely, so it was double thick on one side and then while it was still hot I placed it on top of the curved handle piece I had and let it take its shape.

Then I drilled two holes and screwed my creation to the washer door. I was a little too steep on the angle; I bent it too much towards a J shape instead of an L shape but it works.

Anyway, my dad used to have this thing, it looked like a thick piece of tape with a wire hidden inside, that would heat up and if you laid it on top of a piece of plexiglass, the plexiglass would bend at the heat source.

I’m not sure I’m back but I’m here.

I wouldn’t say that I actually yell at the guy but I can’t deny that I get a little involved trying to get my message through.

More than once a bystander friend has told me to calm down.

“Calm down?! Calm down? Did you hear what he just said?”

“Yeah, I heard but it’s not something to get riled up about.”


Sometimes people try to get under my skin; often they fail because they try insulting language, they don’t know that what gets to me the most is sincere stupidity.


We’re there a lot; together, separate and with other friends, so we’re known and we speak freely. I used to be known as a good friend, as someone who looks out for a pal but lately that my have changed. I’m losing strength; I’m tired of holding up other people’s sky.

whatever

It’s like I’ve forgotten how to tell a story.

It’s devolved to just talking.

My heart is not behind it any more.

I wonder what has changed because I’ve never had good stories to tell but at least I could tell them.


We were talking about my work and she asked who was higher up the ladder. I said the other guy was; then she asked even though you’re always yelling at him. I was surprised and defended my actions and blamed it on his dumbass decisions.

I don’t know why I’m bother so much by the fact that he doesn’t make his life any easier when it’s in his reach.

I'm still around I just ain't got much to say

I had turned to my left, just like I always do, I was just looking around, just like I always do instead of staring blankly at my beer just like the guy at the other end of the bar does. I saw Meg and smiled. I smiled large but then I tried to tone it down a bit because my present bartender was still tending to my bar needs.

Meg had sent me a MySpace message which had gone unread because my work place doesn’t see the value in letting their employees have access to MySpace. “I see you got my message,” Meg said after she gave me a hug. I didn’t want to explain to her that the reason I was there was because I was really just a part time drunk. Her news was that she was starting a new job that very night at a place up the street.

We caught up a little but she had to run. I think my present bartender got a little jealous, which is odd because the only reason I was there was because at lunch she asked me to come back.

My route walking to the public transportation station from the bar takes me by both Godiva and Meg’s new place of work so I picked up a mid-size box of chocolates and left them with the hostess. “A friend of mine, Megan, is starting her first day of work tonight, and I was hoping you could give these to her, I said. Without a word she turned to check a list and tuned back and said that she would.


I remember using the word ain't in a conversation and someone felt the need to correct my English. I think instead of explaining it was part of my story telling style, I just rolled my eyes.

I drink all the classics

I’m slowly organizing my life. I can no longer just take life as it comes; I no longer have time for doing that.

Sunday I was downtown and watched a basketball player transcend his playing level. My plan was to drop by for two beers but she asked if I like Bloody Marys and then, my plan went out the window. I got there at two thirty and would end up leaving five hours later.

She pulled out a chart of mixed drinks from some bartending school. I only got half way down the front side before I switched back to beers.
I hadn’t been counting what I was actually served so I just doubled whatever the bill was she put in front of me after I asked her to close my tab out before she started splitting tips. She was serving me doubles and charging for regular drinks and not all of them were getting rung up. “Your tips are ridiculous,” she said as she put all of my change in front of me. “Your service is ridiculous,” I counted as I put the bills on the bar runner.

After her shift, she can out to my side of the bar and she sat three stools over. It was the only empty one. She was next to a regular who has a rather fragile ego. He likes to say that he’s a ‘Gold’ customer but he always adds that I’m a ‘Platinum.’ I think when you start grading your worth at the local bar you’re a bit of a loser. I’m sure he took it as a victory that the bartender sat next to him. I was content to let him have his day but when the regular to my left got up to use the men’s room she changed her seat.

I turned to look at the TV that hangs from the ceiling on the right and smiled a little as I pretended to reaffirm the final score that I reaffirmed eight times already. The C’s still won in seven games and the Sox won too.

When it was time, she started to say her goodbye’s from the far left, shaking hands with the guys. When she finished with me, I got a handshake too and then a kiss on the cheek. I smiled then too, being careful not to make eye contact with any fragile egos. That poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.

eh, at least it's a post

It was kind of cool seeing the boxes. They were shipped from California over a period of five days. There were five boxes total but taped together: in a group of two and then a group of three. Each set had a sample business card taped to the end. My design exposed for all the UPS personal from the West Coast to the East Coast to see.

Okay, so the package only actually passed through two warehouses but I’m trying to tell a story worth reading here.

I don’t know why all five boxes didn’t have a sample card taped to its end and I don’t know why the box of Sue’s business cards had a sample card of Melissa’s taped to it. But then maybe that’s how print shops out on the West Coast roll.

I stole a few from each box and lined them up in five small stacks. “I made this,” is what I said to myself, even though it wasn’t proper English. I make a lot of things; usually small runs, usually highly custom, usually seen by few. But these were five thousand business cards that looked like some professional charged a boat load for the making.

I called the owner at her house.

“Hi, it’s Tim.”

“Hi, Tim. I love the cards.”

“The business cards?” I asked with slight surprise because I didn’t think she had time to see them because I had just left the office and she wasn’t there and know she was at home, which is only a half block down and across the street but still I was certain she couldn’t have seen the cards but then it dawned on me that just the night before I had printed one hundred postcards and she and I had talked about those yet. So, ever so smoothly I said, “Oh yeah, the postcards. I ran out of time for cutting them. I cut a few and then left the rest.”

“Yeah, Mary was cutting them today.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I actually need to be cutting them. Someone else can do it.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“The business cards are in.”

“Oh, when?”

“I dropped them off on the way to mowing your lawn.”

“You mowed my lawn?”

“Yup.” Her mower has been broken for over a year so when her lawn gets to be an eyesore I’ll mow it.

“I was wondering do you want my old mower? I think it still runs but it wouldn’t have been able to handle what was there today.”

“I actually just dropped off my mower to the repair shop, finally.”

“Good.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

I then mentioned how one of her neighbors, who happens to be a captain in the police department noticed me mowing the lawn. He recently knows me from sitting in some weekly meeting which he occasionally attends, not from pushing a mower so I think the sight confused him. I dropped some clues as we started the appropriate small talk. He caught on and I think it helped our business relationship.

I used to make part of my living pushing a mower. I don’t mow for money anymore but I do mow for free, especially for friends in need.

fight night

I don’t get out much but last night I was out. It was fight night. We bought seat but never sat; we just hovered by one of the bars about one hundred feet from one of the neutral corners.

After the last bout someone who latched onto our group started chatting up the girlfriend of one of the guys in our group. I felt the guy was a creep when I first noticed him, milling about. It wasn’t much of a surprise to see him trying to make his move; he had been testing the waters all night long with anyone young, pretty and female.

I had only just met her that night and I only know her boyfriend as a familiar face. Her boyfriend was off saying his goodbyes to another group of familiars. I was left with her and my friend who invited me; we were waiting for our group to reform.

I couldn’t hear what the guy was saying but I felt he was standing too close her; I kept watching for any signs of potential danger. She was being polite to a person she didn’t really want to talk to, is the impression I was getting but she never made any move to distance herself from the guy. It was a bit frustrating watching it; I wanted it to stop but I had no reason to step in.

I thought my chance had come when he reached out and touch her arm but somehow she moved her arm away without moving away which caused the touch to be ever so brief. She’s done this before, is the thought I had. She didn’t need my help.

After the creepy guy left we were talking about what had just happened.

“We almost had another fight when that guy touched you,” I said.

“He touched you?!” my friend asked.

“Just a little on the arm,” I said because I felt she didn’t want to make a big deal of it.

“I was here the whole time and I didn’t see him touch you.”

“Yeah, it was brief. She took care of it.”

When her boyfriend returned, we were still talking about it. He was saying that he was watching the whole thing from across the room.

“And when he reached for me, Tim said “Get your fucking hands off her, bitch or I’ll fuck you up””

I just smiled a little because I didn’t actual voice that sentence but something quite similar was said in my head.

It isn't the best part of town

My phone rang about twenty seconds after I made some reckless and illegal U-turn.

"Hello"

"We're following you on GPS. We know you're in Roxbury."

"What did you just drive by me or something?"

"Yeah and you didn't even wave or nod or give any type of acknowledgement."

"Was that before or after my crazy ass U-turn?"

"I don't know. You were looking down into your lap or something. I haven't a clue as to what you were doing."

"I was probably checking out my package."

"Oh. How is it?"

"I like it. It makes me happy."

"I'm glad to hear it makes at least one person happy."

books or not

I was restless so I drove to the bookstore

The Best Short Stories of Mark Twain

Selected Stories of O. Henry

Cooking

What's So Funny? by Donald E. Westlake

and some forgotten title

or maybe not, maybe that was it


I guess I figured that I needed some more books that I will never read in the house.


I wonder what it going to be like without books. I wonder how easy it will be to 'burn' the digital format of a book. "Just some random electronic pulse. Sorry about that," is what the government will say.

Paper will probably be outlawed for 'green' reasons.

It was nice just to be able to drive wherever I wanted and buy whatever I wanted. It was nice to think about just me.


I thought that if my archenemy had died that I wouldn't end up dancing on his grave. I would just more on with my life.

I know I won't burn out; and it sure is bright in here

I stepped out to see the Sun to ease that anxious feeling that had just started to manifest itself. I was going to use the excuse that I was out getting a coffee if anybody asked, even though I walked over and got a small red tea.

It was still a little cooler than I liked for just sitting so I made my way to a place inside but sunny; I sat and thought.

I wished I had something to write on even though I most likely would not have written anything. I thought about some people who like to live large. I thought about how I don’t strive to take up any more space than my two feet require.

I don’t think that having more eyes on you makes you any more important than what’s hiding in the shadows.

I could be wrong about that.


I thought about how for all of my life I have taken life as it has presented itself to me; life was mostly easy peasy. Now there is all that thinking and planning and responsibility.

Mo’ money in the big league.

The main difference is that I’m always on before I would just breeze in and save the day and now I’m some regional Atlas. I’ve forgotten how heavy some things are.

Lift with your legs.

There hasn’t been too much in life that I couldn’t get off the ground.

But I like it. I like the challenge. I haven’t been challenge much in my life but there has been plenty testing.

I’ve falling out of shape.

I think it’s time for some new history.