Saturday? I don't remember. Franklin came up to party for a little while on Sunday, and that was great.
It's Sunday night now. I'm broke, and may have overdrawn my checking account. Stay tuned...
I worked everyday this week, how about that? They love me, and I had a really good attitude. I went out a couple of nights, but it was no big deal. Static Girl is not getting any worse, so we are happy about that. Not much news here.
Anti-Aging Scream Dream Cream
and then some quality bar time. Maybe some exercise, too. Made it to work on Tuesday with no problems, and led my Jacksonville program (again). And we bonded with the incredible Miss Nikol. She shared her lunch, offered me a bud, and is really cool. More later. Donated plasma, and then a $5 dinner with Paul at the Del, where we talked about his next job transition--from Arches to RTM. Then it's home for some couch time with my awesome girlfriend. Now I'm here; staring at this 21st Century blank canvas. Kiss my ass...I want to write more about the "secret treasure island" that is Static Girl, but I don't want to clone out any dribble like '2 leaves drift'.
Man, it's so pathetic when an artist starts talking about what he refuses to accept during the creation mode. I mean, there is no 'paint by numbers' chronology to poetry; there is no corporate cue-card-reading 'station promo' for feelings. Unfortunately, I have done well with love poetry in the past, amazingly well at times, and even respectably well in the last couple of years for rift. Nobody expects to be floored again, least of all me. And that just absolutely sucks. Is this why some artists go wacky and destroy much of their own creations--so they can go back and start from scratch? As fucked up as that is, I kind of understand it. Wow; imagine a brand new "What You Are" for Static Girl; like the first one never existed. Dammit; where the hell was I? Oh yeah; wacky artists, and the 'crush, kill, destroy'.
I am not afraid to do some work. I loved it in my 20's when I'd stay up all night and write. I could lock myself up in here, too, if I wanted. It's just that it's all so different now. I used to LIVE to write; me, the crystal clipboard, and a smooth Pilot BP-S medium point black pen. We listened to Yes music on albums back then, yeah. But I haven't had a turntable hooked up since I got on the radio in '93. The clipboard is right behind me, upside down, gathering dust. I haven't written with a Pilot pen since the journal died in '96. Did we have a point, or was this just bullshit nostalgia?
One of the problems is that I have more to lose now. I can't just stay up all night and sleep through stupid college classes anymore. Writing may not be much harder now, it may even be easier, but the 'artistic glaze' is harder to get to and hold. And, there isn't anything inside of me burning to get out. I'm lacking some "oomph", I can admit that. And there I was trying to set restrictions on what I would put up with during the quest. Wait; shit, I've got a great example for you:
Back before the radio days, sometimes I would be in bed, not able to sleep, coming up with lines, triggers, clinchers, closers; I'd count syllables all the way through a verse, and then BANG, I'd have to get out of bed to write all this shit down. Trying to sleep, I would get so excited that I had to re-think priorities; "How long can I stay up, how much sleep do I have to get, what can I miss tomorrow morning?". Okay, you wanna hear me say it? "Boy, those were the days." Poor guy; can't sleep--he's gotta get up and write that poem. I doubt I could even keep one train of thought in bed now, much less count syllables. There's lots of reasons I can't sleep now-a-days, but the "need to write" ain't one of them.
While I'm in here, just let me ask; what happened to the voices in my head? They used to ride me, guide me, and ask what I thought were important questions. They/you act like theyou're embarrassed to know me now. You can lie dormant for months at a time, but when you do come out--you're still in my head. It's not like you can exist without me, because if you could--then you wouldn't be (pay attention) in my fucking head! If we're done, then why do you hang around? If we're not done, then what exactly are we waiting for? Are we gonna put this paragraph on the internet?
Wednesday I vaguely remember; no, I lied. Don't remember shit at work. After work, the landlord no call/no showed for my meeting with her, and then Bell Honda--after assuring us that all would be taken care of on this afternoon--didn't have Cheri's stereo or duplicate key; everybody was fucking with us. But I exercised, went out, came home, and made it to work Thursday...which I don't remember. Thursday night, out of sequence, I went out again. Friday at work went well; I was #2 on my program. After work, I went to go see TPG at his McDonald's. He was being groomed to be let go as I was there. So I waited around to see if we were going to moon the store in unison or something. We did not. At home, I could get no satisfaction from Bell Honda or my landlord. And then I got pissed. Seriously; I was upset. It resulted in my writing this little thing about snapping:
I Finally Snapped
and that felt good. It took awhile, but I got to feeling a little better, and did all of my Friday festivities. I woke up Saturday at noon to Brent calling me from his new cell phone. He warns me that the party will begin at 3pm. A few minutes later, I was summoned to help the cool downstairs girls move their washer and dryer to their new apartment. I even had to unscrew tight-assed hoses, and did it! Then it's off to see Brent's new place, and eventually to golf. 7 and a half hours later I get dropped off at home, drunk, with a couple of tasty nuggets. Woo. But I got some sleep, and went in to work the awesome Sunday morning 8am--noon shift. Unfortunately only 4 people showed up, so they sent us home. Now it is noon, and it's time for lunch with my unemployed best friend. By the way, do you see how Paul is lying on his ass and sleeping in, while I went to work bright and early on Sunday morning? Pretty cool role-reversal stuff, huh? I notice these things. Okay.
Dad did come out to visit his friend in Apache Junction. I went out there and mooched some food. The need for benefits at my job was stressed, and since Static Girl's accident--and the out-of-pocket expense for it, I have to agree...Albertson's grocery gives great benefits, so I went to talk to the nearest store about working there. The hiring manager was this nice pretty lady, and we had a great talk--almost on the verge of flirting, and at the end she said 'oh yeah; you know this store is closing in 3 months, right?' So my career at Albertson's was shot down before I even got in the plane.
So; on Friday the 8th (I really did buy a calender) I signed up for the insurance package at my great little IMG marketing company; and dental, too. It costs around $104 a month. And they made me pick a dentist out of a book of dentists. Turns out that the nearest dentist to me is a Dr. Robert Ito, so of course I picked him. I wonder what the "Fat Hawaiian Gymnast" Robert Ito would think about this. TPG says 'What if they're related?'.
It was another week of taking care of Static Girl; she is holding up well. The road to recovery is slow, but we are making progress. Was my partying hindered at all during this week of substantially increased productivity? Yes...except for Wednesday night (my one blowout this week). Not bad.
At some point in the recent past, I told you that I was reading a new book. It is by the under-appreciated comedian/writer Al Franken, and it's called "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot...and other observations." After reading the extremely safe yet still entertaining Rush Limbaugh book "The Way Things Ought to Be", Dad wanted me to get another side of the story. So now I am.
Friday night, the 8th, was very nice. We even exercised. Then I went out. On Saturday night, Static Girl and I watched 2 bad movies on the couch together. Even though they were "single star" movies, I really enjoyed sitting with her. On Sunday night, at the bar, I had a 135 million game of Medieval Madness pinball; and a 90 million, and a 70 million game. All without the Damsel ramp. Beat that.
And on Monday, at work, while leading the room, I got all 4 Scrabble words. 3 7-letter words, and a 6-letter word, to score 229 points; my personal best.
Dad may come for a short visit on Tuesday, on his way back through town. Cool. I've got to make it TO payday, and then start a new crash budget diet thingie--where I lose weight, save money, and still catch a buzz. Wish me luck.
There was a Tuesday, Wednesday, and a Thursday in here somewhere. I worked most of them, and then we got paid on Friday. I went to Famous Sam's 6 of 7 nights this week. I did 4 Scrabble words again--topping 200 again, yay. And there is no Dentist Robert Ito, never was, either. Paul and I found awesome cheap Mexican food; I finished a chicken Quesadilla, and then had to finish his too. More later.
Inspired by a never-ending crowd of completely dumbass women insistent that this world needs MORE children, I have written my first commentary of 2002:
We have these damn Olympics happening only a couple of hundred miles away, and I just don't seem to be intrigued. My girlfriend's messed up because of some other idiot driver, I don't have any health insurance (yet), and I either smell death or hear ticking noises everytime I go outside. No offense to the dead morons who'd give anything for a chance to come back here, but screw this; I don't want to live like this.
Perhaps you were expecting a bit more from me; and perhaps you should. Perhaps time-constraints are casting a negative shadow in the same space that used to appear cool and dark. That's a bitter pill.
If the humming slows, and it might; if there is another calm before the impending storm, then I do want to smell flowers. I also want to see beauty. But this isn't some grand expression of love for mankind, or hope, or peace; this is me being selfish. The constant ringing in my ears screams of the "do-or-die" home-stretch run. So fly fast and dive deep. I can't even hug my girlfriend tight--like she deserves, because of her pain. Boy, now there's some irony.
New Year's Day: I don't remember much, but I think Famous Sam's was open. So I probably played golf and drank alot. I've been hanging out with Brent most everyday. Somewhere in here little Bill came by and told me about Franklin's bike wreck; or that may have been last week. Fuck if I know. Wednesday we're back at work, with the new attitude going strong. This was the day that I got 6 sales, and ruled the universe. Yay. I have been doing well at the program. Out Wednesday night, at work Thursday. Out Thursday night, at work Friday. I'm broke, and I'm having a blast. Brent owes me big, but we're all having fun.
Finally Saturday comes, and my big plan is to go get work done on the van. They screwed it all up, but rather than throw a fit, I got a deal. Back to the Famous Sam's party. It all gets fuzzy from there. What was that; Saturday?
Sunday was football, after some kind of brunch with TPG.
Monday: I made it to work, and made a sale. I guess I'm drinking tonight. Brent said we'd have to golf, so we did. He had scored some therapy, so we were placated. Dad e-mailed me to say that he's coming out in February.
Tuesday: I worked well, made a sale, went and gave plasma (started coughing at the clinic), and came home. TPG told me that Wendy's restaurant founder Dave Thomas had died. In his honor, we went and had Wendy's for dinner. Right before we went, Franklin called to check in; he is alive and semi-well after his big motorcycle wreck.
Wednesday: Okay, now here we go. I woke up at 5:30 am, and cough-puked twice. I am not familiar with this cough-puking thing, but my introductory course in it was about a month ago--that strange morning on the freeway on-ramp (I casually mentioned that I had puked on myself--I did NOT know that this was going to be a continuing trend). That one on the on-ramp was not fun, and neither was this pair. But rather than go back to bed, I went and got ready for work. On the way to work, I cough-puked again; twice. Gross. But I still went to work. In fact, I was the only morning person with more than one sale. I coughed all through work, but stuck with it, and finished the whole day. Wow. Came home, played "Time" really loud (in case I was dying), and went to bed. Slept till 6:15 pm, when Static woke me up and suggested that I eat rice. She likes me. We watched West Wing, and I layed low. I certainly don't feel any worse now. No exercise, but no drinking either. Boring.
Thursday I went to work again--even while feeling like shit. Made a sale, and went to go give plasma later. Read some more in my book. I decided that it would be a great night to golf, so I met Brent up there. -17 on Rattlesnake, and then -16 on Pine Meadow. I am the man. 2 beers, and 2 trips outside; fun. Part of me wanted to stay and get trashed, but I opted to try to make it to work on Friday.
At work on Friday, I made a sale. Yay. Am now planning on a fun Friday night.
Yes, Friday night was fun. No luck with the greenery, but golf was awesome. With witnesses, I got a -25 on Rattlesnake Ridge; 10 birdies, 7 eagles or better. I missed 4 putts; so it COULD have been a -29 game. I do not know how people get over -30 on that machine.
Saturday was a great day to start coughing early, cough hard, and to cough all day, too. More golf, early and late, and luck with the greenery. I like sitting in Bill's garage and puffing. We did it twice. On golf, I scored a -21 on the other machine's Rattlesnake Ridge. I am unstoppable. On the way home, I got a bag of Mexican food; yum.
And all of a sudden, it's Monday, then Tueday, and about to be Wednesday; so I had to upload something here. Bye.
Monday was Christmas Eve, day 3 of my wonderful 4 days off. I went and bought the 3rd edition of the Scrabble Player's Dictionary, because I have been kicking ass with the Scrabble words on the comics page (7 letter words everyday!). Opened the boxes from both parents--lots of cool stuff. Tuesday might have been Christmas. I got an e-mail back from Joe @ 99X in Atlanta, so he may actually still work there. Wednesday was a really slow work day, but I wrote a thank-you letter to Static Girl's parents. Wednesday night at the bar was one of the best ever. Bill followed me home, so we went to the balcony at 1 am, like morons. I couldn't work, or even talk on Thursday.
Thursday night, while laying (lying?); fuck it, I was IN bed, okay? And I had this revelation about how I need to be the good example. There's lots of reasons for this--none of which you need to read about. I have MUCH work to do.
On the way to work Friday, I just missed being in a traffic accident. It was a scary yet defining moment, and I passed. Friday at work was slow; no new leads. But I was a good example. Friday night at the bar was even better than Wednesday. Brent and Bill combined with me to be loud and fun. I ruled golf, as always. Hungover Saturday I did some house-straightening, pet-spoiling, and plant-drowning. "If there are problems, then let them be problems of too much attention--rather than neglect." Look at that quote, baby! That's me sounding all sophisticated and stuff. Damn I'm hungry. Do you think TPG is up yet?
Wait, yeah. So we go to the airport on Saturday, after the awesome Del Taco run (grrr, still no food). I find the gate, I buy a paper, I sign up for a credit card. I wait PATIENTLY for my girlfriend to show up in my Mountain Dew jacket, and she did! Yay! We came home, although she tried to get us lost from the airport, and all was well. I set her up, and went to the bar, where I ruled golf (gee, imagine) and had a blast. Came home and Gran Turismo'd until almost 4 am. That does it, I'm starving over here. Wake the fuck up, narul, I am calling you NOW!
Static Girl left me on Friday; we got through the airport in a total of about 15 minutes. Airport Security? I would say not. I am missing her badly but I will survive.
Merry Christmas, okay? Save your P.C. Holiday greeting for some other moron; around here it's Merry Christmas.
So when his office opens at 9 am--I start calling. I got through at 9:20, only to find out that the earliest I could be seen was on Friday afternoon at 4pm. This upset me a little. The nurse offered to call me in case somebody cancelled, so I said 'please do', but I was pissed; really pissed. But then I figured out that being upset doesn't fix anything--and I decided to deal with it. Against all logic other than my own, I mashed in on both of my ears--hoping to relieve some of the pressure, and it worked! I thought about what TPG'S advice would be, and I thought about what Static Girl's advice would be, and I thought about what my advice would be to somebody else in this mess...yeah...So I changed my mood from pissy to productive, and started making sales. In fact, I led my program at the end of the day. That's right folks; the sick, old, deaf guy was showing the kiddies how it's done. I felt good, and much of the pressure was gone.
Later that night, at 5pm-ish, the good Dr.'s office called to offer me 11 am Tuesday morning. I said 'yes', and carried on with my Monday night.
So then there's Tuesday morning. Went to work early for Harriett's awesome oatmeal breakfast. Yum. I even made a sale before leaving at 10:30. To Dr. D's.
So he looks in my ears and says 'they're just as messed up now as they were in April of 2000'. 'But aren't they infected and full of fluid?' I ask. "No." Okay. But he wrote me out a prescript. and I went away. I even went back to work.
Later, I took TPG to the Hometown Buffet where we ate and talked about how Mr. TPG is too fucking nice to all of the idiots in his life. Reluctantly, he did agree with me. So we're going to create a new TPG; a little more selfish, a little less doormat. Stay tuned.
Wedneday at work was good; 3 sales. Wednesday night was weird, but I made it work out well. Thursday I didn't feel like working, so I didn't. But I donated, and then it was time to take TPG to the Pizza buffet; yum.
This might be a good time to mention that I have done some writing and reading this week. I told the highly disappointed static Girl that we should write seperate 5-paragraph essays on the new
Beautiful Garbage CD
She's too pissed to write hers yet; oh well. I also bookmarked this independent news website that has an occaisional good article like
by Charley Batch. And, as of Thursday night, I am about 80 pages in to this "The Way Things Ought to Be" book by Rush Limbaugh. Mom sent it to me last year. As it turns out, I may be quite the Conservative; I shit you not. TPG agreed that I might be a conservative. 80 pages into the book, I don't disagree with the man yet. Stay tuned.
By the way, I want some barbeque. Alot of barbeque. I want to have a reason to think about barbeque everyday. That new Lovejoy's place is good and close, too. Hmmm.
Somewhere this week, I got back in touch with Franklin, and he's doing okay. MIght go try to catch up with him on Sat. or Sun. (don't call me anti-social). Friday? It was only 2 days ago, and I can't remember shit. Wait...I worked, got paid, made a sale, went to the bank, ate catered food (not in order here), eventually went Wal-Marting, Safewaying, and ended up at the bar playing golf. Gee, imagine.
Saturday the 3 of us went to the Metro mall thing. Then after we dropped of the Static Princess here, TPG and I went and ate #7's at Que Pasa. (It ain't the Taco Stand, it ain't even cheap, but it's damn good sit down--tablecloth--waitress brings it to you--kind of food.) They still have the best salsa ever, too. Now it's Sunday, and I'm missing football.
Partied with Brent Sunday night golf. More later.
More about Sunday; got up at 6:30 to go and work for 4 hours (2 sales). Then went and had the football day. Static Girl bought us pizza (I like her). The heartburn was my own problem, and I dealt with it very well. Came home and did not freak out about the large farting dog in the house. Later I talked to STT, DaD, and MoM on the phone; pretty good for a deaf old fat guy. This was an amazing day I did here; no naps, no drugs, and no whining. I persevered like a good boy. By Sunday night, I knew that I HAD to go see the doctor; my ears were (and still are) water balloons--all I can hear is my own heartbeat; over and over, like 50 or 60 times a minute. It sucks. Monday should be interesting (and it was...stay tuned).
Wednesday I went to work, made 3 sales, and felt like shit. I couldn't even exercise on Wednesday night. Somewhere in this mangled mess of hopelessness, I started writing this little thing:
What Defines You
Thursday; too sick again. No work. I need to work, but I needed sleep more. An almost totally wasted day. Go me. Friday, I was at work early. I kicked ass for a sick guy. At least 3 sales, maybe more. After work, I stifled my cough long enough to give plasma. Yay me. I even exercised later. And when the pinball bugs began to bite, I told them "No way." (Have I ever stayed in on a Friday night before?) Now Saturday, and I'm almost well. Haven't had a cigarette in 5 days. Erugh. Check this; I stayed in on saturday night, too. And then I even went to work on Sunday morning. And then I had a great football day with TPG. Sidebar 32 is up, too. Kiss me--ass first.
Monday I worked. I made a sale. What were you expecting from a Monday? After food and exercise (ha!), I went to the bar. I met golf Todd, and he bought me a beer. Later I would find out that it was $2 Moosehead night. Stupid me. Much later, I would remember why I don't drink Moosehead: "Moosehead beer; the beer that thinks it's champagne--the bubbles go right to your eyes!" Okay, well, I've been hungover and gone to work before; I just didn't go on Tuesday.
On Tuesday I did some mailing, played online, and ate the Lovejoy lunch special; yum. Later, I figured that if I could just stay away from the Moosehead, going to work with a regular hangover on Wednesday might be "fun". So I went to the bar. I played pinball. On the still broken Medieval Madness, I had 65 million at the start of ball 2; that's better than I've ever done, and better than you'll ever do. I met pinball Brent, and he beat me twice--after I had done so well.
Right; so we went to work with a regular "fun" hangover on Wednesday. Woo-hooo, a humpday that thinks it's Friday. I made 2 sales, and then we had a feast lunch. It was the first of many dinners I would have; yum. And heartburn, too. After lunch, I finally wrote my little
'Overnight Guy's stand' on
Then I tried to go give plasma, and they laughed at all of the thick fat in my blood, leftover from the bar-b-que Tuesday. Oh well. More heartburn. When I get home, TPG says "I hope you're hungry; come and eat!" I wasn't, but I did anyway. (Have I mentioned that narul's wife is pregnant and still smoking? This makes his wife a "pregnant smoking mother"; and that's one of the easiest kinds of females to make fun of.) Great food; more heartburn. I don't ever remember eating so many Rolaids in one day. And I still had to exercise (ha!). After exercise, everybody expected me to go to the bar. Seriously; I didn't even want to go...okay, maybe a little...so I went. I met Karate John, drank like a fish, won pinball games, and had a blast. Came home and passed out. Are you bored yet? So am I! Let's go eat!
(Where are my damn Rolaids?)
Wow. That's about all you can say about the 2 pro football games on Thursday. Neither winner beat the spread, but the games were great. Watched both games with TPG at his place, and ate 2 more plates of food. As of 9 p.m., it's only been a 1 Rolaid day so far. See; that's part of the mental side of heartburn--Heartburn KNOWS if you're ready for it. Heartburn fucks with you; okay, well, heartburn fucks with me. Sheeeit.
I stayed up late on Thursday because I felt like it. Slept till noon on Friday because that was when Static came to wake me. Will go try to give plasma soon, and may go shopping a little. I would rather have worked today, but life isn't perfect.
We gave plasma, we didn't shop, and we came home. (Most idiots talk about themselves in '3rd person singular'; like "he" and "his". I talk about myself in '1st person plural'; it's all about "we".) We ate Static's contaminated pasta, erugh, and updated the music section (sort of), by finishing the long-awaited:
We had awesome exercise, and (imagine this) then we went to the bar. I'm pretty sure that it was fun, too. Oh yeah, the DUI task force was in the parking lot. I giggled at them.
Now Sunday, and my head hurts. I didn't work Saturday because my head hurt then, too. I may not have any newspaper news, oh well. I've been busy. Speaking of busy, how much can I tell you about early Sunday morning? 7a.m.; stuffed up, cramps, heartburn, headache, hungry, and on the throne. I can do all of this, shivering like an alcoholic--and still smile (ha ha; "like" an alcoholic). I'm broke, and could not care less. Look at my jovial Christmas spirit; still smiling. At least I'm not Jeremy.
Along with 65 million before ball 2 on the broken Medieval Madness pinball, I also scored a -22 on Rattlesnake Ridge golf (Golden Tee fore). Can your beer-flavored role model do this? Apparently so.
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