I actually tell people I'm genius quite frequently but really, at best, I'm just cleaver

So, I was given a bear from Build-A-Bear because I’m such a great guy. It was given to me by the receptionist; the receptionist that for the most part drives me crazy. At Build-A-Bear, you build your own bear, you stuff it and dress it and I imagine there are other steps involved. She dressed it in blue jeans and a jersey shirt. The jersey shirt was emblazoned with “Happy Halloween.”

She could have picked whatever she wanted for a shirt but she chose Halloween for a motif even though as she explained to me that she doesn’t like Halloween. Once Halloween had passed, she said she was going to get a new shirt for the bear and when she tried, the shirt didn’t fit. So, the other day, after being tired of seeing “Happy Halloween,” I turned the shirt inside out, so now he’s wearing what looks like just a plain orange shirt.

The receptionist saw what I did and told me that she liked my creativity. I replied, “Yeah, I’m a genius.”

If I think it's funny and ridiculous, chances are I'm going to say it.

I baked some bread on Veterans’ Day. I baked enough for the house and then whatever else would fit in the oven. The total was six medium size loaves. I like the medium size loaves because mostly it means you don’t have to worry about a whole loaf of bread being started.

Despite the holiday, I still was committed to drop by the second job. In between my house and where the second job is located, is my friend Joe. Joe will usually cook for his family when he’s at home so I dropped two loaves to him and brought a loaf to the owner of the Real Estate company, to were I was heading.

Baking a double batch of bread isn’t too much more effort than baking the one, and I’m sure that it saves a bunch of the natural gas that powers my oven, so if I know I’m going to be baking and have a convenient way of unloading the bread, I’ll bake extra because I’m good like that.

But I still have reservations about just showing up to someone’s house with fresh baked bread even though if a trusted baker showed up at my door, I would happily take whatever was offered.

It would be more convenient giving away bread if I had an actual relationship with my direct neighbors.

…

I was there with a Sprite on ice trying to decide what I wanted off of the menu when he walked in. He sat at the bar next to me.

“Hey, you’re right on time. It’s two for one entrees on Tuesday. We can get a free entree. It will be like a date.” The bartender laughed a little but he was not amused.

“It would be like a what?”

“Like a date,” I repeated and then added, “Don’t worry; I know that you are happily married.”

I think offering two for one entrees on Tuesday in a bar in the Financial District in the capital city of Massachusetts is a little bit silly. I don’t think it is a big draw but maybe I’m wrong.

He then asked me what an entree was.

I pointed to the entree section of the menu.

We didn’t get two entrees for the price of one. I just ordered an appetizer to the disappointment of the newly pouting bartender. He just devoured two baskets of free tortilla chips.

He quietly complained to me later when he was handed a bill for $6.00 for four beers; he claimed he only had three.

we speak through glances

“Obnoxious,” is all she said with a slight tilt of her head towards the guys sitting at the end of the bar.

“I’ve kind of miss that.”

“What?!”

“Come on, some of that stuff is funny,” I said but I could tell by her look that she didn’t agree so I added, “Well maybe not funny for you.”

“Yeah, definitely not funny for me.”

“But the guy just seriously said that he’s a meatball aficionado. That’s funny.”

Nov 10

I don’t know if I’m going to make it. I’m letting the things that he does drive me crazy.

For sixty two years old, he’s rather immature.

So, I just confirmed that I didn’t finish the crazy guy phone call story.

There a phone line that rings on everyone’s desk in the division. We usually give this number out because that’s the best change to get to leave a message because the chances are greater that someone will be at their desk, then the receptionist picking up the phone.

I pick up the ringing line and the person asks for the crazy guy by name. I can’t hear the crazy guy at his desk at that moment but I think that he is still around so I ask, “Who’s calling.” The guy on the phone answers, “Virgil.”

I know Virgil. I’ve dealt with him in the past. Virgil is a little bit of a cook and a whole lot of a pain in the ass. I certainly don’t want to deal with him so I get up from my chair to go find the crazy guy.

I don’t even leave my cube when I see the crazy guy sitting in someone else’s cube trying to figure out his cell phone; the same cell phone that he has had for at least two years.

I tell him who is on the phone. “I’m not talking to him,” he said, which was fine by me. I was just going to take a message but then he continued.

“He’s looking to get some signs replaced that were damaged in the fire so he needs to talk to someone else. So, I’m not going to talk to him.”

“Fine, but does he know that?”

“He sent me an email the other day. I’m not talking to him.”

“Yeah, but my question is: Does he know that? Does he know that he needs to talk to someone else? Did you actually tell him that?”

I want to know what was said to Virgil so that I can handle it appropriately. He’ll get more patience from me if I know he hasn’t talked to anyone before but if he’s just trying to get around the system then he will get less patience.

The crazy guy then gets out of his chair and talks to Virgil on the phone, which is what he should have done in the first place. From the conversation that I hear, he never told the guy what he needed to do.

Sidenote: The crazy guy also thinks that if he doesn’t actually open an email then he doesn’t have to respond to it. “Yeah, I saw your email but I was working on other things so I didn’t read it.”

“Yeah, electric company, I saw your bill but I was using my money to buy Keno tickets so I didn’t open it.”

“So you received our bill but didn’t pay it?”

“Yeah, I received it, but I didn’t open it. Aren’t you listening?”

eh

On Tuesdays for the second job, I go right from the day job. I hop on a bus which drops me off literally right next door. I do this because I am no longer a resident of that neighborhood so I can't park my vehicle on the street for long periods of time, so instead of worrying about getting a ticket, I just use my monthly public transportation pass to get me where I need to be. One of the downsides is that I have to leave before bus service stops but that is also an upside.

Anyway, I walked through the door, I'm greeted and then informed that the information that I need to do my job hasn't been provide yet and then I'm complemented on the design work that I did over the weekend.

Can you guess which happenstance I had a problem with?

Not the greeting.

Not the info that I needed was missing.

But the complement.


I hate being complemented by people for whom I have little respect. But what can I say? I would love to say, "Fuck you," but that's very, very, extremely rude and most witnesses would think I'm the asshole, if I said that, so I just said, "Thanks."

"Nice Job, Timmy."

"What the fuck do you know about anything? Much less about print design. Go fuck yourself."

There is just too much anger over nothing sometimes but I don't suffer fools lightly.

"Oh Timmy's such a nice man."

"No, Timmy is not. It's just that often he controls himself."

It's a little weird, sometimes

So, I write more 'posts' then you actually get to see. I don't publish them because I think the story sucks, the storytelling suck and the writing ain't far behind the storytelling.

Anyway, I posted those things below because they sort of coincide with someone I read, and whenever that happens I look to see who wrote what first to see who's coping who but sometimes people just write about similar things or say the similar phrase like 'I don't talk politics' or explain why some people don't/can't eat bread no matter how good that bread is when someone else has said that if you don't like good bread, then you have no soul but with the caveat that possibly that statement isn't true if the person has a medical reason for not eating bread, and all these things were done independently of each other.

(I do think you're psychic but I'm okay with you reading my thoughts)

I wrote this on November 9th and did publish it, although I don't know why

It’s like dealing with the mentally ill.

Probably because the guy genuinely has a mental illness, even if he never seriously admits it.

He got upset during the card game when it was his deal. He was slightly confused at how we were betting so the total bet would be three one dollar bets for a total of three dollars. He thought that it was only going to be two dollars total.

We bet the say way all the time and we have been doing so for the last seven years.

He threw his cards onto the table and said, “That’s it! I’m through! I shouldn’t even be playing. My mind is not in it.”

His cards landed face down, so we had him pick them up again and we finished the hand.

He was sitting next to me and leaned over and asked what the problem was.

“The problem is that none of us know why you are all upset about it.”

“It’s a friendly card game. Relax,” someone across the table added.

There was another hand where a straight was the highest hand called using a called wild card and the dude is still trying to decipher what’s in his hand. We play “cards talk,” which means that if you show your cards and your hand is the winning hand, whether you know it or not, you win, and we always tell him to just show his cards and he continues to not show his cards.

So, the guy with the winning hand starts to take his chips, so the dude tosses his cards onto the table, most hit face down but I get a glimpse at all of them and he had a full house.

I should have told him he lost because he refused to show his cards in time but we let him win anyway.

I need to me meaner. I need to go more with that first instinct to be mean.

So, I answered the common phone line in work and it’s for the crazy guy

I wrote this on November 8th and didn't publish it

I feel that it would be best for me to leave.

I feel that she gives me no reason to stay.

1986.

24 years.

It’s a long time.

.

I baked bread for the card game. I thought it was a good loaf but it wasn’t my best. I felt that the flavor was a little muted but then I was fighting a cold; the problem could have been with my taste buds.

Everyone else said that the bread was great.

“Why don’t you sell this?” or “You could do this for a living,” usually follows after people find out some of my talents.

The reason I don’t is because the moment that you take money for something there is a contract to perform and when I “have to” do something, I no longer enjoy it.

I’ve also had my own business for awhile and the convenience and the benefits didn’t outweigh the hassles and headaches.

And you can’t bake professionally from your home kitchen, not in the City of Boston, anyway.

“Oh, you beat the rest of us at poker. Why don’t you play poker professionally?”

Isn’t that a ridiculous question?

The bread was an addition to what I had promised to bring, I brought it to show off and also to share some very good bread.

Very good bread is a great thing. If you think that bread is bread, you are ignorant. If you don’t like bread, absent of any medical conditions, then you lack a good bit of soul.

I actually share bread mostly so others get to experience it and not so much to show off because I always let people know that the ingredients are just flour, water, yeast and salt and that I bake it in just a regular oven. Although, there is also barley malt in the dough and my oven is tricked out with baking tiles and a cast iron pan that I use to create steam.

But, I think that it’s basically simple. It just takes time and attention and both are rather forgiving. A lot of good bread baking is just waiting for the yeast to do its thing.

One of the guys started taking about how his wife and daughters will sometimes purchase premade bread dough and place two loaves worth together to make one big loaf and that there are tricks to get the bread to rise quickly.

“So, you’re giving me bread baking advice?” is what I thought but what I said was, “With good bread, you don’t want a quick rise.”

His reply was, “Oh.”

I doubt that he knows what good bread is.

I wrote this on November 1st and didn't publish it

It’s mostly moments of failing charter mixed with moments of what could be misconstrued as greatness.

We need a better plan for Halloween 2011.

I’ve always been told that my nieces would prefer not to trick-or-treat but the oldest one told me something different while we were passing out candy, so we found a bad for her and her sisters and took then to a couple houses.

Also, I have a large front lawn, so the front door isn’t close to the sidewalk, so there is a bit of a walk involved, so some people won’t make the effort to walk to the door, so we’ll sit on the short retaining wall were our property meets the sidewalk. Next year, we’re staying in our house. I would rather throw candy away than free my ass off for four hours.

Also, it’s hard to socialize when you’re 75 feet or so from the house.

.

The craziness in work that stated late Friday morning continued into Monday morning.
Sometimes, politics dictate my work load.
It seems some folks are scared.

.

I don’t talk politics much here because I don’t like politics. I think it’s important to vote and I think it’s important to know what you’re voting for; I also think that if you want change or even if you don’t want change, you have to be willing to invest more than just your vote.

I don’t talk politics much anywhere but if they come up, I’ll respond.

I wish there were more viable political parties in the United States.

.

I think this stuff is a chore to read.

I guess I gotta read it now

I tend to procrastinate. It may be due to my arrogance but I think mostly: I'm just lazy. It's hard for me to self motivate. So I was up past one finishing those reports because I'm a volunteer treasure for some nonprofit.

I could have done then after I finished diner which consisted of meatloaf, mash potatoes and carrots. It was important to use some of the ingredients today or else I would be too busy later in the week and things would spoil. But after diner I sat in the room with the TV and started to doze off, I didn't fight it too much because I figure that I could use the rest because I fighting off the start of a cold.

I finished the reports and then went to the kitchen and then passed where all the mail gets put. I check the mail earlier so I was surprised to see a box there.

In the box was a copy of John Steinbeck's "East of Eden." It was sent be someone with a very cool phone.



In my mind, I like Steinbeck, even though I've only read two of his books but I sort of remember reading something about him, on why he wrote, that made me like him but I can't remember what that something was.

Thanks for the book Cool Phone User.

I'll get to it when I get to it

I walked through the door and the second greeting from the five folks in the room was: "How's your backup?"

There are two guests in the room so I have to be civil so I merely ask: "Why?"

I was then told that the owner deleted some stuff from the front desk computer and one thing that went was a program that was needed.

"I don't backup program files; I save the install disks."

"So, we will have to start from scratch and reset everything up?" someone else asked.

"It depends on where you were saving the files. Just because you delete the program files doesn't mean that you delete the data files."

They rarely do what I ask them to do so when I shit hits the fan, I don't sweat their inconvenience too much and the lady that dropped the backup question on me is the worst at doing what I say, mostly because she thinks she knows better. She mostly just knows what people tell her, all her knowledge is second hand and when I challenge her on things her defense is always that she was told that by someone.

I'll get to it when I get to it.

Oh, you like to cook? No. I like to eat.

I always have to force myself to continue or at least it seems that way. If the deadline isn't sometime in the next hour, I'll put the thing off. I'll convince myself that I got a good start on it and that I'll finish it tomorrow.

Do it now!

Just do it now, please.

And usually the things that I think are going to take me a half a day takes about just an hour.

.

The nieces will be over for Halloween. They like dressing up in costumes but they aren't much for begging for candy but they like giving the candy out.

We're going to have some adults over too, so there are some things to do. I'll bake a few things.

I was called a showoff the other day. I was told the only reason I put such an effort into showing up for a poker game with some tasty treats is because I like to show off.

I was about to disagree when I realized that it was mostly true.

But I don't mean to showoff for myself but to show that cooking can be simple and easy and great tasting.

I'll be showing off a little on Halloween.

What so funny? Ah, nothing. I was just going to tell you to go fuck yourself but that would be rude.

"How are you doing today?"

"Fuck you."

When I'm at that desk I could see over one hundred people a day.

"How are you?"

"More than ready to get this over with."

But number 99 has little idea what has happened the 98 times before.

"How's your day going?"

"Annoyingly."

I hate when people calling into talk radio ask the host how is he. Fucker, didn't you hear the previous fourteen callers ask that same damn question? Get your real question out. Time is limited.

It bothers me being asked how I'm doing person after person. Listen, neither of us want to be here, so let's just get on with it.

"How are you doing?"

"Why? What are you going to do about it?"

My facade is usually pleasant though but I sometimes laugh at how much I just want to be an asshole.

I know it's a 2 but it also kinda looks like a 7

This week his job is my job and my job is also my job.

Although my job is never his job.

I'm pretty sure that I could make a pretty good masochist.

Every time she says. "Oh Timmy, you're such a nice man," in front of people in the lobby, I want to tell her to go fuck herself.

I overheard him say that they must be screwing up his request on purpose just to make him look bad. I wanted to rise from my chair to shout over the wall of the cube but instead I just shook my head.

If they purposefully screw up, then they just have to do it over again and the ones that aren't too busy are too lazy to be doing things twice. They couldn't give a care less about the guy. He's the fuckup.

I've told him many times that he should write foolproof paperwork - like I do, if he wants his stuff done right. "No! They should know what I mean!" is his usual reply.

Dude, you get paid four times as much as those guys. You're lucky that they admit that they know how to read.

I have no life but I'm too busy. What's up with that?

Sometimes, I'll cut and paste a long blog post so I can read it offline because I feel it's less of an imposition.

My dad was a minister for the last fourteen years of his life; I remember him talking about those retreats that some ministers go on. He said, "I used to go to try to get away from everyone telling me their problems but whenever I would go, I would still have someone telling me of their problems."

And it wasn't that he didn't care about people's problems, because he did. It's just that sometimes it just really wears you down and you'll want to take a step back so that you can take a breathe but you can't because the moment you create that distance, it gets interpreted as being uncaring.

It was past eleven at night and I was searching someone's facebook page for a photo. I shouldn't have had to be searching for it, it should have been emailed to me so that I didn't have to search for it but that didn't happen and I was slightly pissed.

Then a chat window opens.

It was a friend that I used to hang around with in high school but graduation day was the last time I had spoken to him. He mentioned that he noticed that I had also missed the reunion, that had recently took place. I corrected him that I was, indeed there, but how was he supposed to know? He wasn't and I don't have any pictures of it on my facebook page. I told him that I left early because I am still not a people person.

He then told me that I am a people person, I'm just not a party person and that one on one, I am actually great.

I told him that "great" was pushing it a bit, which I thought was ironic because I really just wanted to tell him to leave me along because I was in the middle of something.

So, I was doubly angry and facebook was partly to blame but I mostly blamed the folks that didn't email me the photo.

If the photo is so damn easy to get from facebook, then YOU get it.

(I don't mind text chatting to much, just not when I'm doing stuff)