"if I had a nickel for every damn dime..."

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Buried Alive

So, yeah... So overwhelmed with work I've become underwhelmed. Bewildering, but I've quadrupled sales in one month. So while I'm away, click here and follow the instructions. It should make you feel better.

Um, Jaimie, "...a story about trying to kill myself with a fuckin crossbow. And Mrs S was a blonde. And HEP's nether-regions are showing," what in the HELL have I been missing?

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Thursday, April 21, 2005

To Untie is Such Sweet Sorrow

One in a million

Life is a series of events. Some great. And some very small. This is one of those. A small one. And great in it's own respect. The opportunity to wear a tie to work, every day, is one many "executive types" accept and practice. As do I. Unhappily. I do not include myself in the "executive type" club. Mind you, wearing the fucking thing isn't the worst thing that could happen in a day. No. And I digress... Back to life's small events. I tie that Goddamn thing around my neck every day as if I planned on hanging myself from a nearby tree. I loop over, loop through, loop under, and back through. I pull, and bam. I'm wearing my noose. In case no one's noticed, I fight small battles with what has been thought of as mild "obsessions." Reminder (1) and Reminder (2) and Reminder (3) I'm crazy. "A little." Sorta. And I happen to expect a tie to tie a certain way. Really. Certain. And today it happened. The application of the tie met every expectation. Perfect length. No crease between the collar on the face of the tie. The perfectly subtle and slight, delicate dimple at the neck of this fabulously tied tie. I admired it. I almost shed a tear. I proudly stepped out into the world and presented all its inhabitants with the perfect tie. I was asked for autographs, applauded, and admired. Well, maybe not. But I felt like it. When I got home from work, I reflected on the day I wore the perfect tie. When I began to undress, I heard bagpipes. And a holy blessing. I dismantled the perfect tie and wept.

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Sunday, April 17, 2005



I wish I was a real man...
Then I could grow a beard.

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Saturday, April 16, 2005

the good times are killin' me

Sleepy words to share on a page. Moby's "Hotel" plays on... And the search for words pushes through. San Diego is fucking beautiful. Sales meetings aren't fucking beautiful. "And what would you do if the chef tells you he wants plates priced @ $5 each?" Brilliant. Personally, I would explain to the chef @ $5 each, he could take every single dozen of them and shove them up his ass. Sales. Yeah. But I don't say that. Not at the meeting. Not to the chef. In case the question begs an answer, the job, in the time it took Bossman to push send on an e-mail, suddenly darted in another direction. $27k last month. $22k the month previous. Over $80k this month. No idea how it happened. The preference is to attribute it to hard work rather than sheer fucking luck. Right place at the right time. I'm his goldenboy. For the moment. But enough about work.

It's Saturday night. Home from a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. "I'm and alcoholic, and my name's Darek." No kids. No adults. No one to play with. Shhhhh, it's so quiet. Still getting used to the feeling of loneliness. Miss Mom, and love, and balance, and... Just missing something. These feelings expressed at the risk of sounding pathetic. I'm not. Nor am I sad. Exactly where I should be.

Pictures from the girls line the cubby I call my office:




Everyone person in each picture is so Happy. Very cool. Just thought I'd share. And Moby plays on.

And since I'm on the subject of horses... The countdown to the Kentucky Derby is on. Saturday, May 7. The big race. It may not be a big deal to anyone reading these words, but for those that know me, I'm not the sit in front of the tube all day watching sports kind of guy. The Kentucky Derby, the oldest traditional sporting event in America's history, is a big deal to me. Last year, I posted this. I loved that horse. And I love this race. Very exciting. Place your bets.

Yeah, this is fucking random. Sorry. Just typing words. Too tired to save to draft.


"if God controls the land and disease, and keeps a watchful eye on me, well if he's really so damn all mighty, who would want to be such a control freak?"

Isaac is just sayin'

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Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Jenny Jenny, Who Can I Turn to?

So... There is that. Up in arms. Paralyzed. Post traumatic shock. Got it. Clear, defined, lacking. Will, motivation, progress. We closed what appears to be the final chapter on Mom. The estate is solvent. It's dissected, distributed, accounted for. The stitches absorbed a blow and split wide open. Bleeding again. And that's not what I'm here to say.

The e-mail stated a few fucking gems: "you and I both know the numbers have to start making sense very soon..." (or) "You are now being evaluated on a month-by-month basis." (or this one) "we also both know that I can't 'plead your case' much further as the company has made a very significant commitment to supporting you financially during all your 'transitions'," And I subscribe to a very simple philosophy: I get up every morning and do the very best I can do. Period. I enjoy freedom from guilt, worry, regret because I give 100% to the task at hand. Sometimes it looks like 60%. Other times, 133%... Nonetheless, I drag my ass out of bed to give the day my best shot. Every day. And stealing money isn't the answer. You end up getting caught.

So I'm driving the girls home from their daily scholastic activities, and on the stereo, volume way too loud with children in the car, is the Music Quiz Choice for "Song that sounds like happy feels: Gansta Trippin, Fat Boy Slim." Glancing in the rear view, two sights catch my eye. One - The 4 year-old, asleep as usual, is slumped over like an assassinated president, drooling on her knee. And Two - The 6 year-old is staring at herself in the mirror, mouthing the indistinguishable lyrics to the song: "Whatcha doin witda, (x3) Fat Boy Slim." And the head jerking slightly back and forth, and she's serious.

I forget how this post started.

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Saturday, April 02, 2005

6 in the Morning, Police at my Door

I've never been able to pull off successful April Fool's jokes. Not even a few years ago when I was a complete liar. And I fall for 'em. Every single one. Thanks Jaimie. You sonofabitch. Yesterday, I read this. And I fell for it. Me: "it's okay man, this isn't good-bye, blah blah, fucking blah." Then I have someone tell me that their car won't start. At a very odd moment in our conversation. An illogical point in our conversation. She was supposed to come over the next day. And just after midnight, she tells me her car won't start. And I buy it. Just for a second. But she had to be the one to say, "April Fool's!!" I wouldn't have figured it out on my own. Dammit.

So I'm gonna start planning now. Hope none of you know me in a year. I'm gettin' someone.

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Chicken Little said the Sky was Falling

The Hash Slinging Slasher mutters from the center of the room. The sky is falling... Maybe too dramatic. I may have a problem relaxing. Vacationing this week: Visited the snow; Did 9 loads of laundry; Spent the day with Snoopy at Knott's Berry Farm; Did a "little" work to insure a smooth return to business as usual next week; Spent time at the favorite shopping spots; (Costco, Wal-Mart, Trader Joe's) Stayed up way too late strung out on Magnolia more than once. Had one wonderful day at The Evil Empire... Did we "vacation?" I ask the loaded question to illustrate how I seem to do things. Go go go! Fill every moment. Watch the clock. Push. Say it again: I may have a problem relaxing. The subject arises at the present time because it's now Saturday. Okay, okay, I have done two loads of laundry, but sonofabitch, I've done nothing else. Six episodes of Foster's, three cat naps, un-bathed children still in their jammies. I can't take it. But I must. Disney sucked the life from me. So I sit. Lie down. I think about what I should be doing. Les'see, I really should clean up the office. Should'a placed that order for steak knives days ago. Planned on re-organizing my account list. The floors are dusty. The bathroom needs cleaning. What in the hell is my problem?

Next vacation, I'm getting on a ship.

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