I essentially operate as a mobile homeless person.
I spend a lot of time in parking garages. Two jobs, two different garages I park in. Typically get there a little early in case all the fucking spaces are gone and I am forced to search out a spot on the street like the less fortunate do.
This has not happened yet. But it could. Because 75% of the spaces in the garages are reserved for the privileged elite. Businesses who lease the spaces, 50% of which typically go unused.
But there are signs. Don't park here, lowlife motherfucker. Or we will get you.
It is ironic that I obey those signs because generally I don't pay for the spaces I occupy, or I only pay for 50% of the time that I am there. I only got bagged once and it only cost me $15, so it is a worthwhile and exciting gamble.
Anyway, I get there early and I sit in my car in a dark, concrete, cold-hearted garage until it is time to report for duty.
The garage related to Job II sits opposite a day care. A very large day care facility. I often park facing the facility because I find it so bizarre.
It is a huge, brick building with gigantic insane asylum windows on the second floor. Probably built in 1225. Freaky.
As I sit, killing time, I watch the moms roll up and dump their precious children off. They park in the garage because they can zip in and out conveniently without having to pay. They are only there for 10 minutes.
It breaks my heart, but is mostly only in my mind. Most of the kids seem fine with it. Skipping, talking to mom as they walk by, no overt signs of unhappiness.
What I see is moms dropping their kids off like packages and rushing off to work. I hate it.
Occasionally I do see unhappiness. One cold morning a fat mom crawled out of her mini van holding her kid who was asking her to zip up his jacket. She kept telling him he did not need it zipped up; it was not cold.
We all know that fat people do not experience cold the way normal people do. This explains why you see fat folks walking around in January on an 18 degree day wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
I have experienced it myself since I have become morbidly obese. I experience cold and hot differently.
This kid was unhappy. This kid was cold. Mom didn't care. Her main priority was to dump the kid off and get the fuck out of there.
That one broke my heart for real. Life will suck enough for this kid over the next 70 years. He does not need artificial unhappiness introduced into his life by his own mom.
Recently I watched a mom walk her kid in. He did not seem unhappy. Body language seemed positive. Five minutes later, as mom walked back down the walk the kid appeared in one of the insane asylum windows. It was cracked open a bit so he called out to mom and waved to her. She spun around in surprise; but they both appeared OK with the deal. I did not sense unhappiness.
But the image bothered me.
When it was warm I would eat my lunch in the car in the garage (operate as a mobile homeless person). Job II has no lunchroom, no place to escape to wolf food. I think this sucks. It should be a fucking law that all work places have a lunch room.
Instead, every person in my office goes out for lunch. Bizarre.
One day I am sitting there eating my Spam sandwich, facing the brick mausoleum, when a kid suddenly appears in an insane asylum window.
In a darkened room. No lights on. He keeps walking up to this huge window and looking out, then disappears as he apparently walks around the room, then bops back into the window. No apparent adult supervision.
I was fantasizing that he somehow avoided whatever classroom he was supposed to be in and was hiding in this room. Having the time of his life.
It could happen. It is a big building and kids are delightfully devious.
I enjoyed the show. I was happy for the kid.
And for ten or fifteen minutes he made me forget I am a gainfully employed homeless person who lurks in dark, concrete, cold-hearted garages.
Sunday, January 19, 2020
Sunday, January 5, 2020
Inside Joke
Johnny Iglopop changed his name to Bobby Pooklebloik and he still wasn't happy.
Not about the name change. He was ecstatic about the name change. It conveyed exactly the message he intended. He was bracing himself for a massive increase in sexual encounters. Chicks were bound to go wild over him the second he was introduced to them. Melt before his very eyes.
Bobby understood women. He was simpatico to the way they think. What they feel. What they want.
Oh my God his dick was about to get raw.
Problem was the fucking holidays were over. Thanksgiving - dead. Christmas - dead. New Year's Eve - dead. New Year's Day - dead.
What the fuck was Bobby gonna do now?
It wasn't fair, really. All that fun, all those days off from work, all that alcohol consumption crammed into such a brief period in time. And then? BOOM! Back to what some people describe as reality.
Reality? You are fucking kidding me. Bobby worked on December 26. He worked on January 2. Holiday dreams and happiness and memories shattered by the screaming annoyance of a morning alarm.
Fortunately, Bobby thought, we are still in the single digits of January. There is still hope. You approach January with wild, unruly thoughts of a changed life. New direction. A raw dick.
What you get is more of the same. Crushing. Nothing has changed. But if it is January 5 you are thinking there is still a possibility of turning this ship around. Just gotta get a little momentum.
Double digits roll around - January 10 - and you are done for. You dig in your heels and lean back, pull on the fucking reins as hard as you can but the fucking calendar keeps rolling. 11, 12, 18, 23, 31 and oh my fucking God it is February. February of 2020. The magical year devoid of magic.
That's when the visits to the liquor store increase in frequency. More joints are rolled. More nips tossed out the driver's side window.
Bobby had been there before. 40 or 45 times. He recognized the symptoms and despaired of the disease that was about to torture his brain, his life; mock his very existence.
Unless.....................unless he could really pull it off this time. Could it happen? Had he learned his lesson? He was a smart guy. Looked up the definition of change in the dictionary. "Make or become different". Recited it like a mantra. Make or become different. Like changing drinks, painting a wall, raking the yard.
That's it. Make or become different. How hard could that be? How hard should it be? An intelligent approach could result in success. Even though his life to this point belied the concept that change can come easily.
Bobby was exhausted. Too much to think about. But it was only January 5. Still time.
He splashed some Brut on his body, downed two quick double shots of tequila and drove on down to his favorite bar. Broken Dreams. He loved the irony in the name. His dreams were still alive. Always would be. He dreamed them every year. They never changed and never materialized but still, you gotta have dreams, right?
Walked in, ordered up a double shot of tequila and confidently walked over to a table where three hot chicks were sitting. Kinda hot. They looked to be 40 or 50 years old. A little dumpy with hints of beauty not long past. Just the right demographic for Bobby.
They were watching him and laughing, obviously about some inside joke shared through their devoted friendship.
"Hi. I'm Bobby Pooklebloik. Mind if I join you?"
Their eyes glazed over, obviously expressing the intense desire he had fired up in the depths of their carnality.
Bobby was pleased.
It was gonna be a good year.
Not about the name change. He was ecstatic about the name change. It conveyed exactly the message he intended. He was bracing himself for a massive increase in sexual encounters. Chicks were bound to go wild over him the second he was introduced to them. Melt before his very eyes.
Bobby understood women. He was simpatico to the way they think. What they feel. What they want.
Oh my God his dick was about to get raw.
Problem was the fucking holidays were over. Thanksgiving - dead. Christmas - dead. New Year's Eve - dead. New Year's Day - dead.
What the fuck was Bobby gonna do now?
It wasn't fair, really. All that fun, all those days off from work, all that alcohol consumption crammed into such a brief period in time. And then? BOOM! Back to what some people describe as reality.
Reality? You are fucking kidding me. Bobby worked on December 26. He worked on January 2. Holiday dreams and happiness and memories shattered by the screaming annoyance of a morning alarm.
Fortunately, Bobby thought, we are still in the single digits of January. There is still hope. You approach January with wild, unruly thoughts of a changed life. New direction. A raw dick.
What you get is more of the same. Crushing. Nothing has changed. But if it is January 5 you are thinking there is still a possibility of turning this ship around. Just gotta get a little momentum.
Double digits roll around - January 10 - and you are done for. You dig in your heels and lean back, pull on the fucking reins as hard as you can but the fucking calendar keeps rolling. 11, 12, 18, 23, 31 and oh my fucking God it is February. February of 2020. The magical year devoid of magic.
That's when the visits to the liquor store increase in frequency. More joints are rolled. More nips tossed out the driver's side window.
Bobby had been there before. 40 or 45 times. He recognized the symptoms and despaired of the disease that was about to torture his brain, his life; mock his very existence.
Unless.....................unless he could really pull it off this time. Could it happen? Had he learned his lesson? He was a smart guy. Looked up the definition of change in the dictionary. "Make or become different". Recited it like a mantra. Make or become different. Like changing drinks, painting a wall, raking the yard.
That's it. Make or become different. How hard could that be? How hard should it be? An intelligent approach could result in success. Even though his life to this point belied the concept that change can come easily.
Bobby was exhausted. Too much to think about. But it was only January 5. Still time.
He splashed some Brut on his body, downed two quick double shots of tequila and drove on down to his favorite bar. Broken Dreams. He loved the irony in the name. His dreams were still alive. Always would be. He dreamed them every year. They never changed and never materialized but still, you gotta have dreams, right?
Walked in, ordered up a double shot of tequila and confidently walked over to a table where three hot chicks were sitting. Kinda hot. They looked to be 40 or 50 years old. A little dumpy with hints of beauty not long past. Just the right demographic for Bobby.
They were watching him and laughing, obviously about some inside joke shared through their devoted friendship.
"Hi. I'm Bobby Pooklebloik. Mind if I join you?"
Their eyes glazed over, obviously expressing the intense desire he had fired up in the depths of their carnality.
Bobby was pleased.
It was gonna be a good year.
Perfect
"So I guess that's what I'm really upset about. The world is moving faster and I am moving slower and technology is changing how everything is done and I still can't find my fucking keys."
Billy Crystal, "Still Foolin' 'Em"
Billy Crystal, "Still Foolin' 'Em"
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
January 1, 2020
"This year I will be more thoughtful of my fellow man, exert more effort in each of my endeavors, professionally as well as personally. Take love wherever I find it, and offer it to everyone who will take it.
In this coming year I will seek knowledge from those wiser than me and try to teach those who wish to learn from me. I love being alive and I will be the best man I possibly can."
Duane Allman from his diary on January 1, 1969.
In this coming year I will seek knowledge from those wiser than me and try to teach those who wish to learn from me. I love being alive and I will be the best man I possibly can."
Duane Allman from his diary on January 1, 1969.
Something Else To Shoot For in 2020
"You think you're talkin' to the person I was. But that man is dead. He didn't die easy, Jim. Came in parts..........................................All my dreams fucked. But that pain did to me what flame does to wood, everything unnecessary burned away. And what's left, Jimmy, is hardened."
Mickey Donovan from "Ray Donovan".
I believe this is part of the transformation of my character that needs to happen.
Mickey Donovan from "Ray Donovan".
I believe this is part of the transformation of my character that needs to happen.
2020 Mantra
"Never apologize, never explain".
A good mantra. I have tried this out before and failed. So I will try it out again in 2020.
So it is not original to me. It is not original at all.
I connect it to Hunter S. Thompson. He used it. That's where I picked up on it. But there is a lot of debate about who originated the quote.
Doesn't matter.
I like it. One of the changes I need to make is to get tougher. Apologizing and explaining are weak.
Just do what you do, be who you are and keep moving on.
This is part of my goal for 2020.
A good mantra. I have tried this out before and failed. So I will try it out again in 2020.
So it is not original to me. It is not original at all.
I connect it to Hunter S. Thompson. He used it. That's where I picked up on it. But there is a lot of debate about who originated the quote.
Doesn't matter.
I like it. One of the changes I need to make is to get tougher. Apologizing and explaining are weak.
Just do what you do, be who you are and keep moving on.
This is part of my goal for 2020.
I Take This Shit Seriously
I am sitting here thinking about my birthday.
It is important to me. Off and on during the day I will think "This is my birthday". I am rock solid aware of it. It means something to me.
A lot of people will say "It's just another day". That is a sad way to approach life. You need reasons to celebrate; you need milestones that make you think, make you evaluate your life. You need to feel good about yourself or at least be moving down the road towards feeling good about yourself.
So I will think about this day. Think about my age. Think about who I am. Think about who I want to be.
New Year's Eve is something that is important to Carol and me. We always stay up to witness the birth of a new year.
Not easy. We struggle to stay awake. But it means something to us. And, of course, I like ringing in my birthday at the very second that it comes around.
I have lots of friends and acquaintances "my age" who do not stay up until midnight. Just another night, they say. I get that. It is definitely an age thing. I can cut them some slack. If you're not out celebrating why torture yourself. If you're tired, go to bed. It just doesn't work for Carol and me.
I was smiling to myself last night. In fact we talked about it. Talked about how things change as you stumble down the road of life.
I got out of work at 6:00. Picked up Chinese food, which Carol had ordered 6 hours earlier. We do this every year. Magically it was ready when I walked in the door. That is not always the case. In the past I have had to wait, but I don't mind. Carol will typically call the order in around noon for a 6:30 pick up. If they get that right within 15 minutes or even half an hour, I am OK with it. They are dealing with hundreds of orders. It is insane.
Besides, if the wait is long enough I'll treat myself to a beer.
Got home. Sat down around 7:00 and pigged out on Chinese food. And watched our own self created marathon of Sex and the City. Just dialed up HBO and let it rip.
Around 10 or 10:30 we switched over to the annual Three Stooges marathon. Finally around 11:40 we switched over to New Year's coverage.
I am a partyer. I like to party. I still would like to ring in the new year and my birthday at a party, but it would have to be someplace close and comfortable. But I would like to do it.
Instead we pig out on Chinese, watch Sex and the City, and the Three Stooges, struggle to stay awake, and, finally - ring in the new year.
I am OK with that. Because at midnight I kiss Carol, wish her a happy new year, tell her I love her, and cry. She kisses me back, and wishes me a happy new year and a happy birthday.
Then I text Keith and Craig and Amanda and wish them a happy new year, and they text me back.
Pretty subdued but it means something to me. Means something to us.
It was a good night.
I will think about last night. I will think about my birthday to day. I will think about me. I will think about my life.
I take this shit seriously.
It is important to me. Off and on during the day I will think "This is my birthday". I am rock solid aware of it. It means something to me.
A lot of people will say "It's just another day". That is a sad way to approach life. You need reasons to celebrate; you need milestones that make you think, make you evaluate your life. You need to feel good about yourself or at least be moving down the road towards feeling good about yourself.
So I will think about this day. Think about my age. Think about who I am. Think about who I want to be.
New Year's Eve is something that is important to Carol and me. We always stay up to witness the birth of a new year.
Not easy. We struggle to stay awake. But it means something to us. And, of course, I like ringing in my birthday at the very second that it comes around.
I have lots of friends and acquaintances "my age" who do not stay up until midnight. Just another night, they say. I get that. It is definitely an age thing. I can cut them some slack. If you're not out celebrating why torture yourself. If you're tired, go to bed. It just doesn't work for Carol and me.
I was smiling to myself last night. In fact we talked about it. Talked about how things change as you stumble down the road of life.
I got out of work at 6:00. Picked up Chinese food, which Carol had ordered 6 hours earlier. We do this every year. Magically it was ready when I walked in the door. That is not always the case. In the past I have had to wait, but I don't mind. Carol will typically call the order in around noon for a 6:30 pick up. If they get that right within 15 minutes or even half an hour, I am OK with it. They are dealing with hundreds of orders. It is insane.
Besides, if the wait is long enough I'll treat myself to a beer.
Got home. Sat down around 7:00 and pigged out on Chinese food. And watched our own self created marathon of Sex and the City. Just dialed up HBO and let it rip.
Around 10 or 10:30 we switched over to the annual Three Stooges marathon. Finally around 11:40 we switched over to New Year's coverage.
I am a partyer. I like to party. I still would like to ring in the new year and my birthday at a party, but it would have to be someplace close and comfortable. But I would like to do it.
Instead we pig out on Chinese, watch Sex and the City, and the Three Stooges, struggle to stay awake, and, finally - ring in the new year.
I am OK with that. Because at midnight I kiss Carol, wish her a happy new year, tell her I love her, and cry. She kisses me back, and wishes me a happy new year and a happy birthday.
Then I text Keith and Craig and Amanda and wish them a happy new year, and they text me back.
Pretty subdued but it means something to me. Means something to us.
It was a good night.
I will think about last night. I will think about my birthday to day. I will think about me. I will think about my life.
I take this shit seriously.
Gonna Try
December 30 and December 31, 2019 - two fucking annoying, miserable days. How fitting.
Two days of non-stop ice and snow. I was fucking furious.
Two days that brought out the absolute worst in me to an exaggerated level. Two days that exposed the part of me I hate the most. The part of me I most want to repair starting in 2020.
So, in a way, I guess it was a good experience. At least to the extent that I am aware of this massive flaw in my character.
For context: Snow and ice represent to me everything that is wrong with my life. Everything I hate about my life. I have made dealing with snow and ice the symbol of my unhappiness. So I react to them way out of proportion to what a normal person would do.
Didn't have to work Monday and Carol took the day off, but we still had to leave the house. I had dropped my car off on Sunday so it could undergo the annual inspection on Monday. We had to go pick it up. This was around noon.
My car is not great in the snow. I barely - barely - made it up the hill getting back home. And of course I had to shovel a little and clean off Carol's car before we left.
Overall I was pissed.
We spent the rest of the day lounging. Watched a terrible Adam Sandler/Jennifer Aniston movie. I mean terrible.
Went to bed knowing I had to work at Job 1 on Tuesday. Not knowing it would still be snowing when I got up. Looked out the window and my head exploded.
I shoveled a little and gave up because the snow was fucking heavy. Besides, we got a guy who we hired to shovel for us. I gotta get used to that. He did show up and did a great job. I cleaned off both cars, which wasn't easy either.
Carol decided to stay home from work; I decided to take her car because it is better in the snow. I got stuck in the driveway. Fucking car would not even move.
I lost it. My anger had been building for two days now. I stalked into the house, took off my jacket and flung it onto the floor. I took off my fleece jacket and flung that onto the floor. I threw my wallet onto the table and stomped upstairs to the bedroom.
I was literally almost hyperventilating.
In other words, I acted like a two year old child.
While I was doing this Carol calmly (although she slammed the French door on the way out) went out and shoveled the sand that was in her trunk under the tires and backed the car out of the spot.
She has dealt with this stupidity hundreds of times and basically walks around on eggshells until I calm the fuck down.
Know what bothered me the most? Maka was scared to death of me for about 15 minutes. After my tantrum, whenever I walked towards her she would duck under a chair or the bed or anything that would give her refuge from this maniac.
It broke my heart.
I need to grow up a little. Be more considerate of Carol. She does not deserve to see me this way. It creates so much tension.
Gonna try. Gonna try in 2020.
Two days of non-stop ice and snow. I was fucking furious.
Two days that brought out the absolute worst in me to an exaggerated level. Two days that exposed the part of me I hate the most. The part of me I most want to repair starting in 2020.
So, in a way, I guess it was a good experience. At least to the extent that I am aware of this massive flaw in my character.
For context: Snow and ice represent to me everything that is wrong with my life. Everything I hate about my life. I have made dealing with snow and ice the symbol of my unhappiness. So I react to them way out of proportion to what a normal person would do.
Didn't have to work Monday and Carol took the day off, but we still had to leave the house. I had dropped my car off on Sunday so it could undergo the annual inspection on Monday. We had to go pick it up. This was around noon.
My car is not great in the snow. I barely - barely - made it up the hill getting back home. And of course I had to shovel a little and clean off Carol's car before we left.
Overall I was pissed.
We spent the rest of the day lounging. Watched a terrible Adam Sandler/Jennifer Aniston movie. I mean terrible.
Went to bed knowing I had to work at Job 1 on Tuesday. Not knowing it would still be snowing when I got up. Looked out the window and my head exploded.
I shoveled a little and gave up because the snow was fucking heavy. Besides, we got a guy who we hired to shovel for us. I gotta get used to that. He did show up and did a great job. I cleaned off both cars, which wasn't easy either.
Carol decided to stay home from work; I decided to take her car because it is better in the snow. I got stuck in the driveway. Fucking car would not even move.
I lost it. My anger had been building for two days now. I stalked into the house, took off my jacket and flung it onto the floor. I took off my fleece jacket and flung that onto the floor. I threw my wallet onto the table and stomped upstairs to the bedroom.
I was literally almost hyperventilating.
In other words, I acted like a two year old child.
While I was doing this Carol calmly (although she slammed the French door on the way out) went out and shoveled the sand that was in her trunk under the tires and backed the car out of the spot.
She has dealt with this stupidity hundreds of times and basically walks around on eggshells until I calm the fuck down.
Know what bothered me the most? Maka was scared to death of me for about 15 minutes. After my tantrum, whenever I walked towards her she would duck under a chair or the bed or anything that would give her refuge from this maniac.
It broke my heart.
I need to grow up a little. Be more considerate of Carol. She does not deserve to see me this way. It creates so much tension.
Gonna try. Gonna try in 2020.
Good To Laugh
January 1, 2020.
I like the way that looks in print.
Anyway I started reading the perfect book today on my 66th birthday. Completely at random.
When Billy Crystal turned 65 he wrote a book titled "Still Foolin' 'Em - Where I've been, Where I'm Going, and Where the Hell Are My Keys?"
It is a combination autobiography and study of aging. Leaning more heavily on his thoughts about getting older.
It caught my eye somehow, someway - I don't always remember where I get my info on books that are out there. I did not realize how perfect it is for today. My birthday.
I read 50 or 60 pages and have laughed out loud many times.
I don't like being 66 but I am told it is better than being dead.
Aging is a universal thing - we all go through it and it is amazing how many similarities there are from human to human as we get older, and older still. We joke about it but the similarities are there - unavoidable and shared.
Why not laugh about it?
That's what I like about what Billy has done. He got me laughing about things that normally piss me off.
And why not?
Nothing I can do about it. I forget shit, my knuckles, knees, hip and back hurt in shifts - sometimes all at once. After sitting in my recliner for hours I get up like a 99 year old man - hunched over and limping for the first five or six steps.
I can make myself more miserable by fixating on my breaking down body - or I can just deal with it.
And laugh as much as possible.
It is good to be reading this book today. I am really focused on my birthday this year. I don't exactly know why.
It is good to laugh on January 1, 2020.
I like the way that looks in print.
Anyway I started reading the perfect book today on my 66th birthday. Completely at random.
When Billy Crystal turned 65 he wrote a book titled "Still Foolin' 'Em - Where I've been, Where I'm Going, and Where the Hell Are My Keys?"
It is a combination autobiography and study of aging. Leaning more heavily on his thoughts about getting older.
It caught my eye somehow, someway - I don't always remember where I get my info on books that are out there. I did not realize how perfect it is for today. My birthday.
I read 50 or 60 pages and have laughed out loud many times.
I don't like being 66 but I am told it is better than being dead.
Aging is a universal thing - we all go through it and it is amazing how many similarities there are from human to human as we get older, and older still. We joke about it but the similarities are there - unavoidable and shared.
Why not laugh about it?
That's what I like about what Billy has done. He got me laughing about things that normally piss me off.
And why not?
Nothing I can do about it. I forget shit, my knuckles, knees, hip and back hurt in shifts - sometimes all at once. After sitting in my recliner for hours I get up like a 99 year old man - hunched over and limping for the first five or six steps.
I can make myself more miserable by fixating on my breaking down body - or I can just deal with it.
And laugh as much as possible.
It is good to be reading this book today. I am really focused on my birthday this year. I don't exactly know why.
It is good to laugh on January 1, 2020.
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