Ye Olde English mostly sucks, almost as much as ALL CAPS

bad typology can lead you astray

Touché is touch in french.

As the guy walked past, she told me she didn't like him. I mentioned that I knew the guy he was sitting with. She told me she didn't like him either and why.

One was a groper and the other, one who leers. I wondered how many times she had caught me leering.

…

It was a tough table. I was glad to see them go and I was sitting across the room and with my back to them.

"I hope at least they left you a good tip." I said as she came back to her station. She said that they had but there was no hint of satisfaction in her voice.

"Was it worth the effort?"

She raised her hand to eye level and lowered her index finder close to her pointing out thumb. "I was this close to punching them."

I made the mistake of looking past her fingers and square into her soft brown eyes. I'll meet people's gazes all the time, if I think there is no danger in doing so.

Sometimes, looking someone in the eye, a sort of duel takes place. People try to peer deep, past the shutters that others do their best to keep tightly closed. Others still, see what you will do when they throw the curtains wide. Parries and ripostes and standing on guard.

The eyes are the window to the soul.

After our eyes met, I slowly blink and reset my gaze on something down and to the left as if I were pondering what she had just said but she got a view when I didn't think she would be looking and I think she knows she scored a touch.

I stopped reading and made the mistake of listening. Once I left my world of words, my sense of smell picked up. The guy at the table next to me was eating soup.

I tried reading again but I could only get my eyes to see the words. I put the book down.

The talking man, who caused me to listen, had an accent which I couldn't identify; I guessed: something European. He was quietly speaking to an attractive woman who sat with perfect posture which made me a little self conscious as I slouched in my chair and wrote this very thing.

I watched her as she rose. Her womanly form was muted by her thinness. And that was too bad.

Don't you just hate it...

Don't you just hate it when someone posts a bunch of crap all at once. Like let's say 1500 words or so.

I like Oh man, I love my pencil! the best out of the new ones.

So, you've been seeing the macro feature. I took this one (below) because I liked the color and the little icon and after I uploaded it I noticed the little guy's huge arrow protruding from his groin area and wondered "What's up with 'dat?"

I had thought she was just being polite

I smiled a little when René came in for the next shift because it was a two birds with one stone type of situation. I wouldn't have to visit her now.

I moved my seat due to a invitation of some other regulars and it did look like I was being antisocial, sitting at the extreme end of the bar by myself while the four of them occupied the opposite end.

After I moved some new patrons filled the empty seats. A conversation about photography started between the bartender and two of the guys. I was half listening when I heard her say "Like that picture you took of the wood and the long view."

I thought that was cool.

The guy's a big fat nobody

I'm really not there like I used to be. I only miss the convenience the place offered to waste an occasional lunch hour and the time after work I picked up from not going there, I'm enjoying better than if I were there.

Before I infrequented the place, some of the new help got to know me. I feel it would be rude not to show up every once in awhile, especially because they know I still go there every Friday when Jen's working. If I were smarter I would just leave before the early Friday evening shift change but an hour doesn't seem enough time to accomplish whatever it is I'm doing there; it's not just about the drinking.

I try to visit everyone that knows me by name on one of their solo shifts at least once a month. I hadn't been in on one of Michelle's shift since six weeks prior. She placed a beer at my chair before I even sat.

There was a weird uneasy vibe in the place or maybe it was just me hating on the three guys sitting at table fourteen. The mood changed a bit for the better when the manager walked it and then changed back when I overheard him say "I can't fight all three of them. I'll just call the cops." At least my vibe was shared by someone else.

When Shawn first walked in, the fat self-important leader of the trio shouted a generic greeting at him.

"You remember me right? You're the manager, right?"

"Guy, I see a thousand people a day."

"Oh. You don't remember me? What's your name?"

After Shawn answered, Jimmy offered his name and his right hand.

"Let me introduce you to my boys."

I had to turn away but before I did I found out the one that looked like a heroin addict was named Frank. Frank couldn't sit still for more that three minutes and couldn't make up his mind on whether or not he wanted to wear his woolen hat. The other member of the group was fairly quiet and went up for the free appetizers at least four times and he devoured his food like he was homeless.

I was put at ease when they left.

My ease left when an older guy sat next to me. I had seen him once before and just like that time he offered to buy me a beer and just like last time I told him that the one I was working on was doing me just fine. And also just like before, I got a weird vibe off of this guy.

He offers to buy beers like it's something worth more than a dollar fifty and there is an air about his offer: a beer for you soul. So far I haven't found a need to be owned for a dollar and a half.

The bartender carded him but he didn't have proper ID and started to make a scene. I always wonder what the deal is when someone makes a scene. He only had an ID card, usually if someone only has an ID card, they have either done time or had their license revoked neither is a good candidate for intoxication.

I was minding my own business the best I could, I was even turned away from him to give a sense of privacy until he got louder with the bartender. I tried to calm the guy down but he was too incensed. It seemed like all of his honor was contingent on him getting a beer at this establishment. And then just like before he bypassed my objections for a beer and told the bartender to get me one. He was told he couldn't buy any beer for anybody until he showed a valid ID.

"Did you have to show ID?" he asked of me.

I wanted to say that I was indeed carded but I wasn't. I didn't care about lying to the guy and a lie could have helped the bartender out but I was bothered that she would then know me as a liar even if I would just be a white liar. I answered the best I could.

"They know me, but when we first met, they did."

I must have answered well because Michelle then placed a cold pint in front of my warming half of one. When the manager returned from his errand he promptly asked the guy to leave.

"I'll leave but I'll leave on my own," he said in parting.

'Foolish pride' came to mind.

at the urinal the other day...

Where he was standing bothered me. The way he was washing his hands bothered me. The way he was looking around bothered me. I labeled him a retard and tried to rush out the men's room door but he quickly followed and I hated him even more but I did hold the door for him and he said "Dank yoo."

Oh man, do I love my pencil!

"Centuries ago, the pencil was considered to be a revolutionary work of genius. Its invention set a new benchmark, greatly facilitating writing and drawing."

"It has become a very symbol of our era and, coupled with refined, modern-day mechanical pencil technology, now creates an impressive symbiosis of design and function. Future needs tradition." - the Staedtler Company


I've been trying to grip the pencil much less than like a low land gorilla.


My pencil has no eraser

My pencil is made by Staedtler.

My pencil is made in Germany.

My pencil is a Mars Lumograph.

My pencil is of the type HB for hardness and blackness.

My pencil is blue with white lettering and has a small white band under the glossy black top.

My pencil had a UPC code of 0 31901 10481 8.

My pencil has an item number of Art. No. 100-HB A6.

My Pencil - I call him Mr. Scribbles.

fun facts about pencils



My pencil comes to a point sometimes and other times it's blunted; it travels all the sharpnesses in between.

My pencil can leave my love on the back of an envelope or with graphite lines tell you you park like a dope.

My pencil can point and scratch and type one letter at a time, it likes the 'enter' key the best.

My pencil has but just one hand for a home because some people bite and those people suck.

My pencil thinks I should use my time more wisely

Here I whine

So, I'm mostly retarded but that you know. I like to keep extra crap on my desk. I keep extra crap on my desk because people are always taking my crap. I don't know if they take my crap because they think it's extra so I won't miss it or because they are inconsiderate pricks.

I could possibly be enabling bad behavior but I've found if I want a certain amount of things on my desk, I have to keep 500% more than I require just for myself. People are thieves and I've found that I cannot easily prevent thievery so I just make amends for it. Kind of like my neighborhood Home Depot; 40% of its merchandise that leaves the store never sees a cash register. It's a warehouse you can hire two people for every exit and hole in the fence or you can just jack the prices up to cover the loss.

What brings this post to be? you might be asking. Well, I'll tell you; all I wanted was a notepad. I usually have three on my desk at all times because I'm anal and today I found none and I could deal with that if the Department were actually out of notepads but we're not, there is a whole case of them just sitting in the copy room in a box marked "Notepads."

Whatever, I'm whining like a baby. I've got six sitting on my desk now. I wonder how long they will last.

They were talking about cameras and then she whipped hers out.

"What? Are we showing cameras?" I asked as I unzipped my case. We traded cameras, I was looking at all her buttons when I heard her say "Interesting photo" and that's when I panicked a little because I forgot what was on there.

It's a small thing

but I like the smaller logo better.



I was asked why and my answer was I think the big one looks cheap.

Coffee Sleeve

You know those sleeves for the coffee cups that old woman and big babies use to keep from getting their hands too warm?

It's not a super simple thing to design an ad for.

And before you go off crying because I made fun of people who use them: I use them too but not habitually.

but if you ever have to do one yourself, here a template free of charge.



you may want to click on it (to make it bigger)

One of us is moving on so it was one of those thanks-for-the-memories type of things on Thursday after work. Only he's not going far and he's still going to play poker with us so we were actually just using his situation as an occasion for gluttony.

We met at my usual place and hung around long enough for Jen to come in. Jen's schedule had been changed and she lost two night shifts. Bartending is Jen's only gig until she gets her nursing certificate, or whatever nurses get, so she wasn't having a good day.

Jen's the first bartender to ever really get me drunk. I was a late bloomer. Jen introduced my group of guys to the other bartenders. Jen's been really good to me; it bothers me when Jen's having a bad day.

We hung around a couple hours and then left to get Chinese food and after dropping two hundred there, the decision was made to go a bar that is across the street from our regular spot. I told the guys that I would meet them there.

They wished me luck on my cannoli plan.

At the second bar we ran into a braggadocios nurse, played and lost at Keno, and had a few more then left. The next day, we did our normal Friday thing and met at our regular bar, Jen was there again not having a good day.

I usually get there before the other guys, so I get any news first but the trouble is sometimes the news is of a private nature. And on that day I was hearing things that weren't for my whole group, it might even have not been for me.

When I first arrived the owner was there, when I sat at the bar he said that he would call to continue the conversation. About four minutes later the phone rang and Jen disappeared for twenty minutes; the waitress was left to serve my arriving friends.

I was asked what was going on, I merely stated that I would fill them in later, which was buying me time to figure out how much I could tell my friends without betraying any trust Jen affords me.

When Jen returned she was quiet. I was worried. I knew if I had asked her, she would tell me what was going on but I didn't want her to have to tell the whole bar, so I sat quiet.

Normally when there is a lull in my conversing with my friends I'll look the bartender, on this day I just looked mostly down. She wasn't meeting any gazes either. Then she stood in front of me, I had a friend on either side, she stared out the window with her arms crossed and began with "The thing is…"

She filled us in. She said there was yelling and crying. I heard the muted yelling and when she escaped the upstairs for the downstairs I heard a sniffle so I guessed at the crying. Sometimes, where she works sucks, often the veterans get moved around to accommodate a newcomer's schedule.

After she finished we both felt better.

"Oh wait, look what I still got," she said as she went to the cooler and pulled out a box of six cannolis. She asked if I wanted one. I felt a little disappointed that I hadn't hit the mark the previous night. I thought the little ricotta cheese filled delights would have been a nice distraction for her but obviously they went uneaten.

I don't really like mixing beer with sweet things but there was a slight moment going on so I took one. Jen brought over three small plates and then offered each of my friends a pastry as well.

"This cannoli is probably going to be the best part of my day," Jen said.

"Tim, I love your cannoli plans," my friend to the left said.

Surprisingly, I liked the cannoli and beer.

I was standing by my friends. She was standing next to me. Our conversation got started when she asked if the group of us were yuppies and/or out-of-towners.

She doubted me when I told her I was born and breed in Boston because I lacked an accent. She was a twenty three year old nurse who seemed to enjoy making trouble. She thought she was smarter than us.

"Wicked pisser" and "park the car in Harvard Yard" were both spoken by her; despite her claims, she was no true Bostonian.

She would lean her left breast into my right arm every time she spoke and she enjoyed talking. My elbow made it to second base more often than an All-Star base stealer. According to her story she was earning $200,000 and being taxed at thirty three percent. She was told she should hang out at better bar rooms with a salary such as that.

At one point she produced a pair of safety scissors and tried to demonstrate how she can cut off clothes by attaching my buddy's tie. She said "You never know when you need to get somebody out of their clothes." Her scissors looked as like a toothless man chewing on a cheap steak as the tie survived the assault. I suggested she learn how to use buttons and zippers. Later, I felt as if we were trapped in a poorly done infomercial as we started cutting pennies in half.

She was humorous for a while, entertaining from time to time and constantly unattractive. Her boasting soon wore thin and we grew bored; she moved on.

We concluded that Colleen would have done us all if asked and then bragged about it to the next guy.

The thing is...

"The thing is' is just a longer version of the way I open up a dialog with the word 'so.'

So, the thing is that I know I'm more virtuous then I like to believe. So, even though I will sometimes kick the crap out of myself, deep inside I know it's mostly baseless.

See ya at the strip club.

...

She was the first girl that I had a crush on who was close to my own age. I found perfection in her imperfection. A slight overbite. A little cockeyed. She was taller than the other girls but not by much.

I never did speak to her.

She was sometimes teased. I wanted to be her hero but chivalry took a back seat to my father's instructions of no fighting. And besides, she wasn't in my second grade class and if I were to stick up for her, we would have been married in the eyes of the other seven year olds and I wasn't ready for that type of commitment.