All her sweet mouth really wanted was lost in his smile

I've made it through my work day and I'm ready to molt its grungy skin. Kreg is on his way over and we're going to make a return visit to Deli-icious for some food that will barely be good for us. I'm going to order the Cuban sandwich, I think. Yes, that sound deli-icious. To borrow from Picard, I will make it so.

After that, it's off to Luke Warm's house for the party. I believe I will meet my future wife there, and we will live happily, and sexily, ever after. And yes, sexily, is a word. Consult your American Heritage if you don't believe me.

While they're searching in vain for a word that does not exist, I will now divulge some very deep, personal secrets I've been harboring for quite some time. It's better this way, with some of you gone, to get these things off my chest. Well, here goes..........

Oh, they're back.

I'll save it for another time. I suppose you're wondering how I feel about the Celtics giving up their draft pick and a couple of players for Ray Allen, an aging superstar. Well, I feel pretty good about it. I'll miss D West, though. He was a strange cat. Once, when he was asked how he felt about playing with the old ball again (the league had tried a new ball for a while but it wasn't a hit with the players), he said it didn't matter to him what he played with. For all he cared, he'd play with a sock. Okay, maybe that doesn't sound very peculiar; I guess it was the way he said it. Anyhow, he will be missed.

And so will I, by you, because I'm off to Deli-icious. See you next month.

I will try not to breathe, I can hold my head still with my hands and my knees

The day is nearly through and so is my work week. I will get through tomorrow and go to a party at Luke Warm's house. Tonight I will retire to bed early, but not before watching an episode of Rome, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite shows.

Until we meet again, please enjoy the following. I feel it sums up the way I think some of my conversations go.

Sing song swan

Before I get into anything here, I just want to reiterate my feelings about Dane Cook: I strongly dislike the man and wish he would just stop polluting this already dying planet with his atrocious comedy act and whatever else he's doing to get attention. I'll stop short of wishing death upon him, but I would like it very much if he would retire from public life forever and ever.

Ok, I feel better now.

Work has been brutal these last couple of days. Between the heat and the necessity for me to participate in a couple of very large jobs, I was pretty much a goner when I'd get home from work, bedraggled and dull-witted as I was. Ah, but despite it all, my spirits, though wrapped in the thick gauze of exhaustion, remained high. But, damn, I don't want many more days like the last couple to darken my door any time soon.
--
Much to my displeasure, I witnessed Ryan, the rotund-bordering on obese, college kid I have working with me, pick his nose and eat what he dug out. I saw this happen twice. I let it pass the first time for two reasons: First, I didn't want to embarrass him by pointing out his infantile behavior, and second, I wanted to erase the image from my mind as soon as possible. And, frankly, I was a bit shocked that before me was a grown man munching on morsels of snot like a four year old would. I wondered if he'd been doing it all his life or if he was new to the habit.

Anyway, the second time I saw him do it I had to say something because I was talking to him when he did it. I said, " DO NOT do that ever again in my presence!" His response was to grin proudly and shrug, as if to say, "It's probably going to happen again because I'm too deep into this snot game to even consider quitting, but I'll put a mild amount of effort into not doing it when you're looking". I just can not believe this kid! Oh, and he also bites his nails and swallows the pieces. This kid is addicted to eating: when he's not wolfing down ribs or candy bars, he's snacking on himself. I eagerly look forward to the day he goes back to school.

While I was waiting in line to pay for my bottle of water at J&J's, the little Portugese restaurant next to my work, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a somewhat dangerous looking man enter
the establishment and get in line behind me. I immediately imagined him pulling out a gun and holding up the guy behind the counter. I plotted a course of action. Should I, the minute I saw the gun appear, make a run for it? No, I thought, even if he was a terrible shot, he'd still have no trouble filling me with lead. Ok, what if grabbed the gun from him? No, he'd overpower me easily. This was no small man. I finally decided the best thing for me to do would be to throw the bottle of water at the wall behind the counter. This would distract the robber and while he was trying to figure out what had just happened, I'd be out the door. And to assuage his anger at having been out witted, he would then put a bullet in the head of every one that remained. Yeah, but at least I got away. That should account for something.

Alright, it's time for me to watch an episode or two of Rome. I also need to find out who the Celtics picked in the draft. Ciao.

In the garden I was playing the tart

Before I went to sleep last night, I noticed a disaster waiting to happen on my nightstand. I had a tall glass of juice on it's surface and in front of it, resting in the open drawer, was my cell phone charging up. I realized that with one bump of the glass my phone would be submerged in a lake of sticky juice and would consequently be of no use to me anymore. So I moved the phone out of the way in the rear corner of my nightstand.

When I awoke this morning, I grabbed my phone and took the charger out. I put the phone in the nightstand's drawer and then, right on cue, I knocked the tall glass of juice into the drawer. I quickly pulled my phone out and proceeded to dry it off with the only thing that was available: a pair of boxers. I then spent the next several minutes cleaning out the draw and wiping down its contents. What a way to wake up.

My phone was in critical condition for the first half of the day. The LCD was scrambled beyond all recognition. I was able to call out, only I couldn't see what number I was calling. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to get a new phone, but put it off with the hope that the phone would somehow heal itself. And you know what? It did. The LCD is back to it's old form and all seems well. I've had this phone for a few years now and I'm surprised it's taken this long for something like this to happen to it.

Speaking of resurrection, the other day I watered my aloe plant, the one that Spira gave my mother years ago and was passed on to me, and the following day the plant looked like it was dead. I grabbed one of the stems and it came out of the pot with no effort. The soil was as soggy as a Seattle afternoon. I had over watered the plant, apparently. I gently pulled all the other stems with the same effect. With sadness, I plucked out most of the plant and tossed it outside into my garden. I left a piece in the pot with the faint hope that it would be revived. I checked on the plant today and that piece has taken root. It is firmly connected to the soil and I'm hoping it will remain healthy.

I took Spira's advice and went to TJ Max to look for pillows. I had gone to Bed, Bath, and Beyond but their pillows were to expensive, the cheapest at thirty dollars. At the Max today, I bought two fluffy pillows for ten dollars each. Good call, Spira. My bed is coming along. Next, I'm thinking of getting a nice mattress pad for it.

Kreg came by the other night and seemed a bit closer to accepting our offer of moving in when Bob TV makes his exit. Right now he's living in the hinterlands of the Cape and, in my opinion, he needs a change of scenery, whether it be here or somewhere else. We spent part of the night going over some 4 track songs of mine that he's in the process of converting to cd. Hopefully soon I'll be playing it in my car and giving away copies to people.
--

After work on Friday, I was driving home and spotted Spira walking towards me. I recognized her just in time and pulled over to talk to her. She jumped in the car and told me she just come from my house. Her intention was to pick a Netflix film that was erroneously sent to my address. When she saw that I wasn't home yet, she walked back to her house, hoping to intercept me on my way home.

I drove her back to my house and we decided to walk to Deli -icious on College ave for dinner. They had just added a Cuban sandwich to their menu and we both ordered one. It was a transcendent experience. After the meal, we hurriedly walked back to my house in the rain. When we returned, I told her I was going to stay in and hit the sack early. My day at work had been taxing and all I wanted to do was take a shower, do a little reading, and go to sleep.

So, I drove her home. But before I did, she checked the hidden pocket in the front of her shorts for her key and it wasn't there. She explained to me that she had put her cell phone and apartment key in her mailbox and then locked it. She had then placed her mailbox key in her shorts and then walked to my house. Without this key, she wouldn't be able to get into her apartment.

I drove her back to her apartment and we both crossed our fingers that the building manager would be there to let her in . He wasn't. So walked back to my car and she said there was nothing for it but for us to retrace her steps all the way back to my house, scouring the ground for her missing key. About three blocks into the search, I had had it. I was already exhausted from work and the prospect of a two to three mile walk to my house was more than I could bear. I told her I'd go back to my car and double check it, and if the key wasn't there, I'd go back to my place and search there.

On the way to my car, I made a detour to the inner courtyard of Spira's apartment complex, hoping to come across someone who'd have the number of the building manager. Almost immediately, someone popped out of the building and was kind enough to give me the number. I went to my car and searched for the key. It wasn't there. I then went and picked up Spira on the roadside and told her to call the building manager. She placed the call, but of course he didn't pick up. On his voice mail, he had left a number to call in the event of an emergency. This wasn't quite an emergency, but if I didn't get some down time shortly, there would be one.

Spira called the number and spoke to an operator who told her she'd call the building manager. We waited and waited for a call back. It was getting late and pretty soon it would be past my bed time. I tried to remain patient, but it was difficult. At one point, I suggested to Spira that she wait for the call at Luke Warm's house so I could go to sleep. She didn't take to well to that, but in the end it didn't matter because the call came through from the building manager not long after. I drove her back to her place and asked her if she'd tell me if it turned out the key was on her person the entire time. She gave it a little thought and told me that she would. I dropped her off and went home to bed.

The following day at work, she called me. She told me that the key was indeed on her person. Somehow it had fallen out of her pocket and ended up in another section of her shorts. The next time anyone loses their keys in my presence, I'm going to demand they take off all their clothes and inspect them before they begin searching elsewhere. And hopefully it will be an attractive woman who loses her keys.

Never seeing no one nice again, like you, mama

A terrible dream. In it I was somewhere with my sister and father celebrating someone's birthday. I was feeling festive and had fun with a hool-a-hoop that was lying around. We talked about our lives and shared fond memories of my mother. In the dream, she had been dead; for how long I don't know. It seemed that she had passed only a year prior. Then the dream cut to me standing naked facing my open closet. It was morning and I was getting ready for work. As I picked out which clothes to wear, the memory of my get together with my father and sister came to mind. Apparently, the me that was standing in the closet wasn't aware of my mother's death, because the realization floored me. When I was satisfied that she was in fact really dead and there was nothing I could do to change that fact, I let out a wail, primal and mournful.

"Why did you leave me? Why can't I make you come back?", I sobbed.

The only response was the sound of my alarm going off. I wiped tears from my face and began my day, lamenting it's less than cheery start.

We take things for granted. We deny that each of us owes a life. My mother will die someday, that is true. Perhaps I will go before her, perhaps I won't. One thing is for sure: if she goes first, I am not bashful about saying that I fear it will be a very, very hard thing for me to deal with. My mother and I have always been close. As healthy as my attitude about death and it's consequences is, I know that the child in me, the little boy who always looked to his mother for guidance and attention, will not understand, will bellow in anguish, "Why did you leave me? Why can't I make you come back?"

You reach your hand to hold me but I can't be your guide.

A few years ago when I was still living in Nashua, I came home from work on a Friday night to an empty house. It was fairly late and most of my friends had already made plans, so I resigned myself to a night of reading. That is, until I checked the answering machine. On it was a message from my hairdresser, which was odd because our relationship never went past the haircuts. She was wondering what I was up to and gave me a number to call her back at. I wrote it down and gave myself a few minutes to ponder this development before I took action.

I was leaning towards not calling her after giving it some thought. I liked her okay, but I wasn't really in the mood to hang out with her. However, my curiosity got the better of me and I gave her a call. She sounded surprised that I called her. After a little small talk, when it became apparent to me that she'd had a few in her, she asked me straight out if I liked her tits. Put on the spot, and not wanting to offend her, I answered in the affirmative. Even with hindsight, I still think I would have answered the same way because: A) I was telling the truth and B) even if I didn't like her tits, it would have been impolite for me to have responded, " Actually, your tits are disgusting and I'd appreciate it if you would have them removed".

After the tits question, which threw me for a loop, by the way, she asked me to come over her house. I told her I'd think about it, but when she told me she needed to know then I told her I would. I figured what the hell---it had been a dog's age since I'd last had sex and I didn't have anything better to do, so I got in my car and drove down to Massachusetts.

About a mile from her house, I called her. Someone, a little girl by the sounds of it, answered the phone and told me her mother wasn't there. I knew she had a couple of kids, but I didn't think they'd be at the house when I got there. I pulled into a Little Peach to grab a drink for my ride back home. As I was getting out of my car, I saw her talking to a couple of people by the pay phone. I called her over to me and she got in my car. I asked her if she remembered I was coming over and she said yes, but I had my doubts. She was pretty buzzed.

We went to her house and sat in the living room with her two young children. The only light in the room was coming from the TV. The kids were in their pajamas and looked to asleep, but in the dark it was hard to tell. My hairdresser sat next to me on the couch and proceeded to come on to me. After she pulled one of her breasts out of her shirt and tried stuffing it in my face, I pushed her gently aside and told her I wouldn't be doing anything with her in front of the kids. She got up and took the kids upstairs to bed while I plotted my escape. Right as I was about to bolt, she came downstairs and continued where she'd left off. I told her I should leave, that the timing wasn't right, etc, but she wouldn't have it. She took off all of her clothes right there in the living room and told me I wasn't going anywhere.

Despite not feeling right about the setting, I proceeded to have sex with her on the couch. Barely, though; I still had most of my clothes on, including my jacket. I stopped about a minute into it and told her I didn't want to go any further. She wasn't having it and she pushed me back on the couch and straddled me. As she did that, she knocked a mug off the coffee table and it landed with a heavy thud. From upstairs, a man's voice bellowed "Keep it quiet down there!".

Startled, I threw her off of me and asked her whose voice that was. She told me it was her father's, that he was staying over for the weekend to watch her kids. That was the last straw for me. Again, I told her that I needed to go. To keep me from going, she told me that the only place I'd be going was upstairs to her room to fuck her ass. I told her there was no way that was happening, especially considering the fact that her angry father was upstairs. Then, she told me it was alright if I didn't want to have sex with her because I was gay.

Apparently, because I didn't want to have anal sex with her in a room that I'm sure was only a few feet away from her father's, that meant I was homosexual. Fine with me, I thought. I just wanted to get out of there. As I was putting my shoes on, she continued with the gay talk. "You know, you don't have to be ashamed about being gay", she said. I told her I'd keep that in mind and made my way to the door. She followed me out, still naked, and the last thing she said was " I hope this doesn't mean you won't be coming by for haircuts anymore". Lying through my teeth, I told her I'd come see her for a hair cut again.

My ride home was an uncomfortable one. I felt horrible, like I had degraded myself somehow. But, I was also proud of myself. There had been a point at her house when it struck me that the reason I was doing this wasn't for a cheap thrill, though it may have appeared that way on the surface, but for something entirely different. I was trying to fill the void of my absent love life. I'm not against casual sex, in fact I've engaged in it before, and may again, but this time wasn't about that.

At that time in my life, I had a thing for someone and the thought of her was a motivating factor, not that I needed any, in getting me out of my hairdresser's house. In fact, I told my hairdresser that I was in love with someone else, though she didn't buy it. I say that, in addition to feeling lousy about the events of that night, I also felt proud. Oddly enough, I felt that way because I felt lousy about the situation. If I hadn't have felt that way, then I would have truly misrepresented myself. Again, I'm not against casual sex--in fact, I'll engage it in right now with any woman of your choosing if you want me to---I'm just more in favor of the fruits of a committed relationship.

So would I have gone through with it if her father and children weren't at the house? Maybe. I'm glad, in retrospect ,that it turned out the way that it did. I didn't belong there and I'm fortunate I was given reasons to leave. Even though the woman I told my hairdresser I was in love with subsequently didn't see me as anything more than a friend, I still continue to pursue meaningful relationships over casual ones. Of course, I did miss out on some anal sex.

Everything good is gone into the western sky

To give you an indication of my level of professionalism at work, I present the following. Ryan, the rotund and bratty college kid who works for me finally got on my last nerve the other day with his endless complaining and overall laziness. He'd spend half the time decrying everyone's poor work ethic and the other half throwing tantrums when I'd ask him to do pretty much anything. Directing him to shut the fuck up and get to work doesn't work with him when he gets all worked up like that, so as any good manager would, I've altered my approach in an effort to get more and better work out of him.

I had an epiphany that I should leave him by himself in the show room and call the store from my cell phone from another room, with the idea being that I'd call the moment he got up to do something, thus making him have to scramble (hopefully) to get the phone. The purpose of my little game would be twofold: It would amuse me to no end and it would force this lazy son of a bitch to actually do something that resembled work.

Man, did my plan ever succeed. It was perfect! I'd get up and hurriedly leave the room with some arbitrary invoice, as if I had something quite important to check on out back, and call him from an area where I could see him but was out of his line of sight. It was damn funny watching him go in the bathroom, taking one of several shits he takes throughout the day, only to be forced to rush out and get the phone. And you'd know what I said when he picked the phone up , his voice shaky and thin with exertion? Nothing--I hung up.

For the last couple of days, I've been playing this game with him. I find it's a great way to relieve the stress of the day and it makes me a more effective manager in the process. I can't tell you exactly how, but it does.

Your happiness won't find you underneath that canopy of trees

Without much fanfare King James was dethroned yesterday. He had showed up to work late yet again and Karen had had enough. She performed the deed without anyone present, which surprised me. Last week she had been so spooked by James' demeanor that she was considering calling the police before she fired him and she wanted at least me and two other people there when she confronted him. She wanted him gone so badly, she fired him without anyone there. It was just the two of them in the building. He didn't put up much of a fight and left after Karen handed him his final check. Karen's got a bigger set of balls than most men I know. I know I was relieved when I heard the news this morning. It would be an understatement to say I was dreading having to fire James myself.

For what it's worth, I think James is a pretty good guy. Sure, he freaked both Karen and I out on several occasions, but his laugh, when it was let out, was something to be heard. It showed he was human, if nothing else. Oh, well, what's done is done. And despite the fact that I don't think James is as bad as Karen makes him out to be, he needed to be let go. There was a palpable sense of a piano being lifted off our collective back in the shop today. I just hope the next guy is an improvement.

There will be more lopping off of heads in the weeks to come. Karen and I decided enough is enough; the inmates will no longer be running the asylum, and those who don't get with the program, will be unceremoniously booted to the curb. Hell, yes!

Of course, I say that and then I think about how, despite their incompetence, fond I am of most of my crew. I won't shed a tear or sink into regret if any one of them gets fired, but I will sincerely wish them the best. Aw, heck, maybe I will shed a tear or two. Go ahead, call me a Nancy-boy, I know you want to.
--

I love my new bed and sheets so much! These sheets are something else, I tell you. Whenever I get beneath them, I feel like I'm getting a massage. Okay, it's definitely not like a massage, but it feels good and I'm too lazy right now to work up a way to accurately describe the sensation. And besides, who the hell wants to know how my sheets make me feel? I'll tell you what, if you really want to know, contact me, and I'll write a special blog about my sheets. Don't think I won't, readers.

I toyed with the idea of posting a bulletin on myspace about my new sleeping arrangement. It would have gone a little something like this: " Attention ladies: I have a new FULL sized bed and some sexy sheets that make you feel like you're getting a massage, or something. I will be accepting applications for a copilot. You owe it to yourself to find your way into my bed. Act now, before it's too late."

I only toyed with the idea because I'm not sure how effective the bulletin would have been. It would have at least been better than those other inane bulletins people post. Who knows, maybe after a couple of glasses of juice, I'll be able to muster the courage to set the wheels of my burgeoning love life in motion.

It's a sunny day outside my window

I just came back from Davis Sq., where I received a haircut from Franco, the Italian hair stylist. I'd been to him once before, on Spira's recommendation and figured why not see him again.

My first meeting with Franco consisted of a lot of talk about how much Spiridoula was like a daughter to him. He sounded sincere enough, and I certainly believe he likes her, but isn't that laying it on a little thick? It's not like she's going over to his house to attend little Anthony's birthday party or sharing a beach house with him and his family. I think she's only known him for a little over a year, anyhow. Like a daughter, you say? I think not, sir. I think not.

But as I said, he obviously has affection for Spira, and I was more than happy filling up the space with talk of someone we had in common. For this cut, however, Spira was only mentioned once, when I was trying refresh his memory as to who I was. That was it. So, without talk of Spira, I listened to him ruminate on:

--how he dislikes the word sexy, especially when applied to males. He prefers the word handsome. When one of the hairdressers told him she thought he was handsome and sexy, a smile ballooned on his face. The hairdresser, who in my opinion said that primarily in the interest of earning some brownie points, then razzed him about how when it was him who was being called sexy, it was ok. I admired her pluck and was willing to forgive her for the ass-kissing she had previously conducted. There was a brief pause---everyone stopping what they were doing to hear how Franco would respond---and Franco said, "Ok, true, but I still no like that word sexy". When I asked him why, he told me it had to do with the "gays".

--how if you want to keep a bakery going, you have to put your " blood and life" into it. According to Franco, a bakery is one of the most demanding and unforgiving businesses to get into.

--the gays. I briefly touched upon his feelings about them already, but unfortunately he elaborated. Franco does not like gay marriage because it makes the lifestyle too public. Back in his day, everyone knew about the gays, he said, but they let them be. We should have let sleeping dogs lie, he said. I wondered how I would have felt listening to him opine about "the gays" if I was homosexual. Probably the same way I felt as a heterosexual: slightly amused. For the record, I don't think Franco is a homophobe, but even still, I could have done without the editorial.
--

Today will be a lazy day for me. I plan on catching up on some reading and watching "The Wire". At some point, I'd like to check out the show "John, From Cincinnati". I think I'm predisposed to dislike the show, because the creation of this show had something to do with the cancellation of Deadwood, the best show on television. But, in Milch we trust, so I'll give it a shot and try not to hold a grudge.

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

Yesterday was brutal. I had a host of unthinking errors made by members of my staff to contend with along with an excessively busy day. And added to the thick of things was me attempting to work out a time for Christopher, the guy I was buying my bed off of, to deliver it to me. I'm of no mind to relive the hell I went through at work, but I'll delve a bit into the frustrating and suspicious nature of the bed sale. I began the telling of this tale in a previous post, but for those of you who haven't read that post and have no plans of wasting any more time on my page than is necessary, I'll start at the beginning.

This guy Christopher posted on his Craig's list ad that he would deliver the bed free of charge and immediately. Well, he stuck to the first part of his pledge but he did not hold true to the latter part. It took him three days to bring me the bed. From Thursday to Saturday, he blew me off five times. He'd tell me he'd bring the bed to me after work between six and seven, and wouldn't show up. I'd call him and he'd tell me was sorry, that something came up, and can we do it at noon the following day. Before noon would hit, he'd call and reschedule to after work. When it was close to quitting time at work, he'd call again, and reschedule for the following day. I wasn't too bothered by his indecisiveness---after all, he was bringing the bed to me---but I was sure starting to become frustrated. If it was any other kind of sale, if I was buying a car or a computer off of him, I would have walked away from the sale, but it was a bed and I figured there weren't too many ways I could get fucked over on a bed sale.

When Saturday rolled around, I received a call from him imploring me to be at my house at noon so he could drop the bed off to me. I told him I'd manage it but it would take some finagling. When noon approached, he called and told me he'd be at my house at twelve thirty. I told him I'd be there at that time but not much later than that. So, I went home for lunch and twelve thirty hits and I get a call from him. He tells me he's on his way and had just entered Massachusetts from New Hampshire, and consequently wouldn't be arriving at my house any time soon. I was starting to hate this guy. I arranged it with Bob TV that he would stick around and scope out the bed for me. I told Christopher that if Bob TV didn't like what he saw, whether it be a dip in the mattress or the stench or urine, he would walk away from the deal. Christopher didn't like hearing that and told me I'd love the bed, that it would be my new best friend, and there would be no problems. For reasons evident, I had my doubts.

I went back to work and about twenty minutes after I returned, Christopher called me and told me he was on Rte 2 and would be arriving at my place shortly. Finally, I thought, this mess would be over soon, for better or worse. Two hours passed and no word from Bob TV or Christopher. I called Bob TV and he told me no one had showed up yet. I called Christopher and he told me something else came up and he was running late and wouldn't be able to get to my house until after I got out of work. I was miffed, but I thought it was probably better that way because I'd be there to inspect the bed.

Thirty minutes later, Christopher called and told me he was about ten minutes from my house. I asked him how that was possible, considering that just a half hour ago he was nowhere near my house. Unless he was traveling inter-dimensionally, I didn't see how this could be. He suggested I call Bob TV to make sure he'd be at the house to let him in. I replied that Bob TV was now out of the equation and that if anything was going to happen, I'd need to see the bed myself. He then had the balls to recommend that I leave the money in my mail box for him so that he could just leave the bed on my porch and go. Livid, I told him there was no way that was going to happen and that I was really beginning to reconsider things, that I suspected him of trying to screw me over. Either he meets me at my house after work or no deal. That put him off and,with a grumble, he told me he'd call me back.

When he called me back twenty minutes later, he agreed to meet me at my place after work and told me he and his helper would go grab a bite to eat somewhere close by. He begged me to get home as soon as I could, because he had places to go. I told him I'd do my best but I wasn't making any promises. I had taken control of the matter and was setting the terms.

I left work physically spent and grouchy, as ifI had just been in several minor car accidents. When I got home, I called Christopher and summoned him to my house. I was pleased that I was physically spent and grouchy because in that state of mind, I wouldn't take much guff from anyone. So when Christopher arrived in his pick up, I was ready for him. He had long black hair held back in a pony tail and his clothing matched his hair. His helper looked like an aging Irish thug, but was pleasant enough. A couple of visages from the rogue's gallery, to be sure. The transaction lasted a few minutes. I checked the bed out and was pleased with its condition. I paid Christopher and he left. A few seconds later, he walked back in the house and told me he thought we agreed to fifty dollars more than what I paid him. I disagreed with him. He told me he's never forgotten a thing in his life. I suggested to him there was a first time for everything. I then told him I'd be happy to give him the bed back if wasn't happy with the proceedings. We don't have to do that, he told me, we'll just take off the fifty for the inconvenience he caused me.

For all the hassle, it was worth it. The bed is in great condition. I bought some Beech sheets for it today. I've never had any sheets like it. The material is soft and stretchy and airy. I took a nap today and I felt like I was wrapped in silk. With this new set up, I'm going to have to sleep a lot more.
---

Last night, Kreg, Mike, Jaegan, and I watched the Weng Weng movie. Luke Warm, though he was the one who rented the flick, opted out of watching it with us. Let me tell you in no uncertain terms, that this movie is well above average. I must find a copy of "For Your Height Only" and purchase it.

It's muggy and I'm considering putting in my air conditioner. I'm not sure if I will, but fret not, I'll notify you if I do. Until then, I bid you good night.

And the county judge held a grudge

I expect that, by the time my feet enter work tomorrow, King James will no longer be an employee of Taylor Rental. We had sent him, along with Arkam, home early yesterday because they weren't doing much except acting like they were high, which in my esteemed estimation, they most definitely were. We told them not to come in today, either. This afternoon, while formulating a game plan for tomorrow's work load with Karen, we both arrived at the conclusion that James should not be part of the equation. And after thinking upon it a minute longer, we decided Arkam was not needed, either. Then, we wondered aloud why we need to have them back at all. Karen said that after work she was going to call King James and let him know his presence will no longer be needed at our establishment. I'll believe it when I see it; this guy keeps hanging on despite being fired once already and being a corruptive influence on my staff. I don't dislike James the way Karen does---the word hate is often used when she comments on him---but he is a real drag to work with and he needs to go. The bottom line, as I said, is I'll see it when I believe it when it comes to those louts being fired.

I found a great deal on a bed on Craigslist today and because the guy selling it offered to deliver it to me immediately and more importantly, for free, I bit on his offer. After I was satisfied he wasn't a scam artist, I arranged to meet him at my house at six thirty tonight. Around seven thirty I called him and he said he was just about to head into a meeting and would be out in a half hour, at which time he would head over to my house. He then asked if tomorrow was okay instead, and I complied, but what was up with not showing up or calling? And what's the deal with the meeting? A little fishy, my gut tells me, but I can't see too many ways I could get screwed in this deal. How badly can you fuck up a bed? I can always back out if I don't like what I see or smell, so I'm not too worried. It will be great having a real bed again. I miss feeling like a grown up.

There's a fog upon L.A.

Recently, I've been meditating three times a day: after breakfast, after lunch, and no, not after dinner, but before bed. Sometimes I wonder if I'm better for doing it, if I'd be worse off without it. Tough to gauge, but I'm confident my life has improved because of meditation. So, I'm doing it three times a day. Better than staring at a tv screen. And who knows, maybe I'll reach enlightenment before I leave this mortal coil. Maybe I'm already there. Have you thought about that? All is bliss, all is bliss, my brothers and sisters. Heed my words and you too shall be free.
--
We postponed watching the Weng Weng movie to this weekend. So far, it looks like more than a few people will be darkening Luke Warm's door to experience the adventures of our pint-sized friend. I'm thinking there's no way this movie will disappoint. No way. Hold tight, Weng Weng, we're coming.
--
Years ago I was laying beside my dog, Mandy, and I remember thinking, "There will come a day when she will die". I shivered at the thought, at the simple truth of it, and then, to alleviate the sudden sense of helplessness, I thought "She will die someday, but not today". For some reason, years later, when she died in my arms, I thought back to that day. That someday had arrived. Her time was up. My friend was gone. That was it, the inevitable had arrived. Lately, I've been thinking that way a lot more. When I see my parents, I know that my time with them is shorter than it's ever been. And there's nothing I can do to stop it. I guess it's the child in me that rebels against change and the inevitability of things. Yes, someday my parents will die, but not today. And who's to say I won't go before them? Well, enough of such thoughts. Better to appreciate the here and now and worry about later, later.

Blue moon sinking from the weight of the load

James has got to go. He needs to be fired immediately, but every time Karen and I go to do it, more pressing issues pull us away. He speaks to Karen as if she's a subordinate, which is crazy because he knows she's the owner of the place and signs his checks. And on a whim she can fire anyone she wants. We've wondered if he wants to be fired, if he's baiting us into doing it. The sad conclusion, though, is that he seems to want the job. To give you an indication of what we're dealing with, here's a scene from act one of "King James is 'Bout to Blow" that went down this morning.

Dramatis Personae:

King James, the loose canon

Kendall, the driver

Karen, the owner of the establishment and arch enemy of King James

Kevin, the hero with a pure heart


The scene begins with Karen and Kevin working at their computers. Kendall comes in from the warehouse and addresses Karen.


Kendall: Hey Karen, why is that tent top in front of the building and not with the rest of the parts?

Karen: It's there because we had to take it off in a hurry this morning because James was an hour late.

(James, like a wraith, appears from the top of the stairs behind Karen)

James: (with booming voice) What do you mean because of me?

Karen: Well, because you were late, we had to take the tent off the truck at the last minute because the truck needed to go out. If you had come in on time, we could have gotten to it earlier and taken our time with it.

James: Don't blame me for your mistakes! That had nothing to do with me and you know it. You need to take a look at who you're blaming for shit.

Karen: I have and you're the one I'm blaming.

(At this point, Kendall leaves the room, probably in fear)

James: So does that mean every time you guys screw up I can come in here and blame you?

(Karen doesn't respond)

James: I'm asking you a question!

(Karen remains silent)

James: So does that mean I can blame you for all your screw ups now?

Karen: James, go do your job.

(James exits the scene)


As you can tell , I didn't say anything during the exchange and it wasn't because I was afraid. Really. In hindsight, maybe I could have said something, but Karen knows how to take care of herself, and because part of the problem with James is his inability to work with a woman who holds a higher position than him, I didn't want to slip into the role of protector and save her from the big bad wolf. There is a part of me that wished I did step in, but I did what I did and ultimately, I'm fine with it.

So, we were going to fire him today, but again we got busy and had no time to talk with him. He left at the end of the day, like he does all the time, without telling anyone, so we couldn't do it then. By the end of the week, and hopefully before then, James will be a memory. It is long overdue. Long overdue. I'm not a betting man, but if I was, I'd bet that James' exit will be nothing short of explosive. And then there's Sam, the armed and dangerous man.

Sam sent his girlfriend to the store today to get his money back for the pressure washer he still has, but we weren't biting. The girlfriend gave the number of the guy who has the pressure washer to Karen and she called him. That guy told Karen that Sam was a psycho and that he has over twenty warrants for his arrest in various towns and cities across the state. Karen got the police on the phone and they confirmed this, adding that he was armed and dangerous, something we'd been hearing a lot about Sam of late. Karen asked his girlfriend if she'd call Sam and get him down to the store with the pressure washer, but when she got him on the phone and put in on speaker, Sam broke into his Chico Marx routine and blabbered incoherently for the next ten minutes. The end result: Sam never came by the store; probably because he was astute enough to know that if he did, he'd be met by the boys in blue. I still can't get over the fact that this cute little man is a criminal. Where did we fail you, Sam?
--

Late Saturday night, when we were sloppy with drink, Kreg, Luke Warm, and I were on Luke's porch discussing a woman we know. I had expressed shock that a bunch of guys I know, including Luke Warm and Kreg, have indicated to me at one time or another how hot they found this woman to be. And if not hot, attractive enough to sleep with. I've never been attracted to this woman, though I'm fond of her otherwise. Luke Warm told me he felt my feelings for her were the same as my feelings about Rachel Ray, which is to say I was disgusted by her. I told him this was patently untrue. I said that though I find Rachel Ray's personality to be unappealing, I think she's an attractive enough woman. Regarding the woman we know, I enjoy her personality but am turned off by her looks. And that's how the conversation ended.

Yesterday, my mother brought out a bag of stuff for me from the dining room. She pulled out of the bag a cooking pot and some ceramic bowls she thought I could use. And then she pulled out a cookbook she purchased for me. Guess who's cook book it was. I couldn't believe it. Life thinks it's funny sometimes and sometimes it is. Fucking Rachel Ray!

My cat is purring, it scratches my skin

The Sopranos ended with a bang and a whimper. A bang because the tension in the last scene was as thick as it ever had been in the show, and a whimper because the tension, it seems, wasn't warranted. Or was it? Anyhow, you don't need to get your Sopranos dirt from me, considering everyone with a pulse has, in some capacity, discussed the show today. I have my theories, but will save them for Michelle and whoever else is into the show.

This past weekend was eventful. A group of us got together together Saturday night and had some drinks at The Burren in Davis Sq. My friend Blake had just moved to Somerville that day with the help of Mike and Blake's friend Jeff (I hope that's his name), so Luke Warm, Kreg, and I, after dinner at Christopher's, met up with them. It was good to see everyone and I needed the night out. After the Burren, the group splintered and Kreg, Luke Warm, and I went back to Luke's place. I hung out for a while before heading home. I found out today that Luke had some vomit issues the following morning. It happens.

Yesterday, I went to my parent's house for my mother's birthday party. My grandmother was there and I have to admit, I never know what to say to her anymore. It was a good day, even still. At one point, my dad was heading out to get some pizza and noticed his car was blocked in the driveway, so he told my mom that I'd drive him to the pizza place. She didn't see the significance of the gesture and told him I could go by myself while he watched his grandchildren. He disregarded her advice and came with me anyway. I think I'll always remember that short drive to Parmount Plaza. It meant a lot.

I met up with Spira later on and put her air conditioner in her bedroom window for her. She made me some dinner, we caught up on things, and then I went home to watch the Sopranos.

Today, I stopped by work to get my check and Karen told me to call the police immediately if one of our customers came in when I was working because, as she put it, "he's armed and dangerous". She was referring to this guy named Sam who sounds like Chico Marx and runs a crew of painters. I met him a month ago when he came in to rent a pressure washer. He was a little, middle aged, guy who wouldn't shut up. He was really affable, though, so his jabbering didn't bother me much.

Sam never returned the pressure washer and, as a result, he was charged over a thousand dollars. When he saw the charge on his credit card statement, he called me up talking at a faster clip than usual about how unfair this charge was. That was on Friday. I talked to him several times that day for about twenty minutes each time. He was more pissed at one of his workers who, as it turned out, never returned the pressure washer, though he told Sam otherwise. We told Sam that as soon as brought back the machine, we'd take the hefty charge off his credit card. He said that was fine but he was going to go "handle" the guy Luciano who still had the pressure washer. I could be wrong, but I don't think that meant he'd give the guy a cookie or a Swedish massage.

I didn't get too much out of Karen about how she found out Sam is armed and dangerous because she was on the phone when I left. I'd sure like to know, though, especially considering I may have to deal with him face to face. I'm not too concerned; he told me several times on the phone that he liked me, that I was his friend. I don't think he said the same to poor Luciano.
---

I talked to her this weekend for a little bit. It had been a couple of weeks. Before the call, I had found myself thinking of her more than usual. Believe me, I'm not obsessively daydreaming about her---I'm often too busy busy to be afforded that luxury---but for whatever reason, thoughts of her abound. God help me.
---

I'm off to do some recording. It's getting humid up here in my room, so I don't know how much energy I'll be able to summon for this project, but I'm going to give it some kind of shot.

I called you back to a place beside me

Having gone a while not interacting with some of my friends and family, life, with its cycles, has peppered my recent days with calls and visits from them. I've come to expect this type of experience over the years, having seen the power of things coming in waves in action, but I'm still occasionally surprised.

Driving home from work yesterday, I saw Luke Warm walking in my direction, so I yelled out to him through the passenger window, " Looking good, sweetheart, looking good!", and continued on my way. A few minutes later, I arrived home and took a call from The Bumpus. We chatted a bit and then someone knocked on my door. It was Luke Warm. He must have, once he saw his master drive past him, felt an overpowering urge to be near him. I have that effect on every single person I encounter. Or, you know what, now that I think about it, he may have thought I was propositioning him on the street, like I do with street hookers every week or so, and thought if he stopped by my house, he could earn a little cash. Maybe that's why he gave me a dirty look when he left my house. He must have been cursing my name for making him wasting a trip. Oh, well, I'll smooth it over with him some day.

Before he left in possible disgust, I made Luke Warm some Biryani with asparagus and vegetable shumai and we talked basketball and music over dinner. Afterward, we played a game of NBA on my PS2 . We used to play against each other, but we discovered it was much more fun playing on the same time. Team work, kids---spread the good word! After we won the game, Luke Warm went on his way and almost immediately upon his exit, I received a call from Spira, another one I hadn't talked to in a while. We had a good talk and I"m booked this Sunday to haul her air conditioner up to her apartment. That will be my first of two installations that day. Later on, I will help my dad put their's in. I may as well go for the trifecta and put mine in when I arrive home.

Having battled apprehension and worry throughout the day, I returned home in good spirits and had a nice conversation with Rich about old Dio records and whether we should get curtains for the house. We both agreed we should in the interest of appearing civilized. Rich is good people. Especially after dealing with hostility in various guises throughout my days, his laid back nature is much welcomed.

Bob TV came home not long after Rich and I had finished our discussion. He was in poor spirits, and from what he told me, has been for over a week now. Without going into his psychological issues, I'll say that I don't feel anything I said to him had a positive effect on his condition. I realized the best thing I could do was to listen to him. And that's what I did. Poor guy's heart is broken. Still pining for an ex who lives several states away and who doesn't see him the way he sees her. I know what he's going through---hell, anyone with a pulse would know. It sucks, sucks, sucks, to love someone who doesn't love you. Fortunately, I'm not in that boat right now. Or am I? Hmmmmmm, how mysterious am I?

Weng Weng will be here by weeks end, Luke Warm informed me. Hear that MacDonald? You better think long and hard about what you're going to do to make this viewing happen for you. And the same goes to the rest of you. Either you're for Weng Weng or you're against Weng Weng. Ok, I'm going to wrap this up because I'm losing my hold on this thing.

So with that, I will make my exit. I will send off emails that need sending and I will read from a book that needs reading. And I will meditate at some point so as to achieve the elusive, but utterly worthwhile, inner peace that is my friggin' birthright. And yours, too. Chew on that until I grace, or curse you, depending on your perspective, with another installment.

Yo trabajo sin reposo

Man, what an episode of the Sopranos last night! They're dropping like flies in New Jersey and I'm sure things will get hairier next weekend during the final episode. It's going to be a bittersweet hour of my life watching a show I've been involved with over the years make it's final broadcast. Fortunately, there are other shows like Deadwood and The Wire that are of equal caliber as the Sopranos. Season three of Deadwood is coming out on dvd next week and I'll probably trade in some old cds and dvds in order to get it.

It's odd, but I thought I'd know more people who'd be knee deep in the Sopranos, especially since it's the final season. Thus far, I've only been able to talk about the show with my friend Michelle, who is just as into the show as I am. T'was a time when everyone and his cousin Winnie was watching the show, but now..... Well, actually, I think just as many, probably more, people are watching, just not in the circles I run in.

Today, I made sure I didn't do too much in the way of chores. I had a tough week and I wanted to be sure that on at least one of my days off, I didn't exert myself in any way. Aside from some recording, I held true to that vow. I read a lot and watched the Wire. Not exciting, sexy stuff, but there you have it.

I watched V for Vendetta for the first time today. It was a decent movie, but I'd thought I'd enjoy it more than I did. I thought there was going to be a huge reveal at the end, ala the Sixth Sense---it certainly seemed like it was headed there---but there wasn't. Even still, a good movie, and its politics, despite being obvious, were welcomed. Anything to get people thinking about what's going on. Of course, a lot of people would rather not think about the crimes their government may have committed. It's so much easier to flip to the sports section or turn on American Idol. Life's hard enough without getting all wrapped up in world events. If we remain complacent house cats, though, life's gonna get a whole hell of a lot harder.
--

Luke Warm just informed me that the Weng Weng movie "For Your Height Only" will be arriving at his abode shortly via Netflix. To say that it's arrival will be the most important event of the summer would be an understatement. I hope we can make the viewing of this film into a party. Soon, Weng Weng, soon.


I'm going to meditate and see where the current takes me. I'll send you a post card if I end up somewhere cool.

A working class hero is something to be.

I woke up late this morning with one of my songs playing on the jukebox in my head. This happens frequently, especially when I'm in the writing process. I don't mind; I've woken up with far worse in my head. I slept late because yesterday was one of the most taxing days I've had at work. I didn't get home until 7:30 and, as much as I desired and needed to go out and be social, my body vetoed the idea and kept me immobile. I fell asleep almost as soon as I was able to sit down.

I don't want to relive much of what happened, and I suspect you don't want me to, either. So what I'll do is try to give a brief account and be done with it. Having said that, allow me to proceed with a lengthy retelling. It started at the end of the day on Friday, when I was, in the few minutes I had available, going over Saturday's orders with James. He had paperwork spread all over his desk and he showed me everything he had done. He told me every order was put together and ready to go out. He pointed to various piles strewn across the warehouse and indicated that they were the completed orders. It sure seemed like Jame was on top of things. As it was the end of the day, James then dismissed himself and punched out to go home. I told him I'd see him tomorrow and he responded by saying he probably wasn't coming in because he had his son over the house. Don't worry, he told me, Karen knew about this development. As he walked out the door he told me he was going to call her, anyhow, because he wanted to go over the orders with her, too.

Saturday morning arrived and chaos ensued. Karen had decided to come in because we had a lot going out. And guess what? Almost all of the orders were not put together and the ones that were turned out to be incorrect. And James was a no show. He never called Karen, either. As a result of his incompetence, we had to work double time. Oh, and Arkam, one of our drivers, was a no-show, too. He had banged up the front of one our trucks on Friday and didn't tell Karen or me. Rather than explain to us what happened, which was probably nothing more than a fender bender, he opted to remain silent. He told Gio, another of our drivers, that he didn't do it, even t hough everyone knew he did. And then he skipped out on work, rather than face the music. Well, he's done. And so is James, though that's what I thought the first time he was fired.

From 7:30 to 7:30, I was busting ass. I went on a ton of deliveries and when I was back in the shop, I was rushing out the orders that needed to be filled. And to make matters worse, Dan, one of the bright spots on our roster, slipped off the back of the pick up truck and broke his elbow, or so I'm told. So, now we were even more short handed. The fact that it was one of the more muggy days in recent memory, didn't help much in the energy department. We all cursed James and Arkam as we toiled through the mire.

Karen was livid all day. Because I'm the manager of the joint, I'm supposed to make sure days like yesterday do not happen. Even though I barely had time to even take sip from my drink on Friday, I should have, even if it meant staying late, gone over the orders with James in detail. It sure looked, on the surface at least, that he had his ducks in a row, but evidently that wasn't the case. Karen never bitched me out directly, but I suspected she was silently cursing me, among others, out.

Near what was supposed to be the end of the day, I was in Malden with Scott, a guy who does work for us on short notice, doing some deliveries. At that point, I was just about spent. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to shower. I wanted to be done with the day and it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon. And that proved to be especially true when, on our way to our second to last delivery, the truck ran out of gas on a steep hill. Scott was able to get it fairly close to the side, but its butt was sticking out in the road. I couldn't believe our shit luck. I almost lost it when some baseball hat wearing college prick pulled up beside us and went off on Scott about learning how to park correctly. In unison, Scott and I told him to fuck off and added a few other choice words. Fortunately, things got better. The guy who lived in the house we stalled in front of, gave Scott a ride to the gas station. There was that, at least.

Once we were filled up with gas, we made our way to our next delivery. I got a call from Ryan telling us to head back to the shop so we could load the truck for some more deliveries. More deliveries? I told him we were only a couple of miles from our next one and that we should do that before we went all the way back to the shop just to go back to the same place at some point. He gave me some wise ass response to which I gave a reply of "fuck you" before I hung up. I wasn't in the best of moods at that point. More deliveries? It was already six o'clock. Fuck!

On the way back, Scott and I talked about Nashua. Turned out he grew up there. He told me a bit about his life; how he lived in Texas, did some time for A&B and petty theft, how cleaned up his act and got married and had some kids, and how he ended up in Somerville. I've worked off and on with Scott for the last few months, and he's always smiling, always working hard. Too bad he only wants to be payed under the table, because he would be a good addition to our crew.

We got back to the shop and found out that there were about five more deliveries, none of which I was going to go on. Once we got the guys on the trucks with their orders, I pulled Karen aside and told her I was sorry for contributing to the day's mishaps. I expected her to go off on me, but instead she smiled and told me not to worry about it, that she was directing her anger elsewhere. She told me it meant a lot to her that I even said anything, because it showed that I care. During her first summer, she told me, she made a ton of mistakes. The job is not an easy one and it takes time to get the hang of it, she explained. That made me feel better.

James and Arkam will not be back. And there may be more guys on the chopping block, but even though they're headaches, I'm fond of them and would hate to see them go. When Karen left, I saw the drivers off. Despite being hurled out on some more jobs on a Saturday night, they were in good spirits. We joked around a bit and then they were off. I headed back into the shop, shut off the lights and set the alarm. I smiled at the fact that, despite the insanity of the day, I came out on top, unscathed, with my sanity intact.

Tell him what we said about Paint it Black

Another chaotic day at work, but I'll refrain from giving an account. Why bother? Even now, when the negative thoughts are attempting to flay my psyche, I'm not about to blather on about how much things suck. I'm going to take a cold shower because it's humid and because I feel filthy. Then I'm going to do what I've been doing all week, which is write some music and watch the Wire. I will fit in a session of meditation and try to accomplish some reading. That's it; that's my Friday night and I'm fine with that. Tomorrow night will be another story. I hope.

I just made a chile lime chicken burger courtesy of Trader Joe's and it was a truly transcendent experience. Trader Joe's, will you marry me? Your honor, I'd like withdraw that last question on the grounds that it was lame. Overruled? With all due respect, your honor, go fuck yourself!

I missed Lebron James single handedly tear up the Detroit Pistons last night. Double OT and King James literally won the game himself, scoring twenty nine of the last thirty points in the game. You've got to give some credit to his teammates, though; they knew enough to get out of his way. Not as easy as it seems. It's why they get paid the big bucks.

Ok, I'm all tapped out. What d'ya say we dip into the mailbag and answer some questions from my readers?

Sir,

How do I get the taste of cum out of my mouth? Please respond quickly.

Lil Mikey Mac, Nashua NH

Well, Lil' Mikey, I can't say I've been in that situation before, but I think I know what can help you with your problem. It's a three step process: 1. brush your teeth three times and rinse thoroughly. 2. Floss. You've got to make sure there are no, um, stray hairs lurking about, if you catch my drift. 3. Break out the mouth wash. Listerine's the only one that will work in this instance. Hope I've been helpful.

p.s. I'm not suggesting you give up this habit, if that's what it is, but keep in my mind what happened to Rod Stewart. I'd hate to see you reach that point.


Kevin,

Why don't you have a picture up on your profile. It's well known that you're very attractive, so what gives?

Jay Nelle, Milford, NH


Jay,

First off, thanks for the compliment. I agree, I am very attractive, but I want people to focus on my impressive writing and not my pretty face. Maybe someday I'll throw up a pic, but don't get your hopes up. I've been tossing around the idea of starting another blog that deals exclusively with pictures of me. And yes, I'm even considering posting some nude shots. Stay tuned.

Master,

I'm so sick of bagels. How do I make them exciting again?

Florian Fricke, Germany

Florian,

I thought you passed away, but maybe I'm thinking of someone else. Here's the deal: Toast your bagel and I mean really toast the fucker. Don't worry if it blackens a little bit. That's what you want. Then, I want you to spread some butter on one half. Next, sprinkle some garlic powder on it. Not too much, mind you. For the other half, I want you to spread some sunflower seed butter on it. Spread as much as you like, no one will be watching you. Remember, this is about you and what makes you happy, so go ape shit with that butter. That's all you have to do. Happy eating, Florian!