When it rains, it's a motherfucking category five fucking hurricane.

Having one of those days...

My job is stressful, but I love it, and apparently it can't be both.My boss is pissed, I'm uncoachable. My girlfriend is pissed, and long past the expiration date for listening to any venting about work. Now things are weird, and I give up for today. I want to crawl under my desk, suck my thumb, and cry myself to sleep. Instead, I'm going to justify why my job isn't unmanageable, just high pressure, while simultaneously trying not to get defensive about the barely unspoken implication that maybe its not really that stressful and I'm just incapable of coping; and all this while making sure I don't go too far the other way and give anyone the impression that I'm just making a play for some sympathy and attention.

I really party like a rock star on Fridays, huh?

Last Minute Magic

I've grown up to be a fairly responsible adult. Granted, my standards for this are low--paying my cable bill on time, remembering my dad's birthday, doing my laundry before I'm down to one pair of clean boxers, and a million other things you probably take for granted.

Time management is still an issue though. Not when it really counts, mind you. When I'm at work, I can get more done in half a day than some of my coworkers do in two. Getting to work on time, on the other hand, not so much.

My problem isn't a lack of time to get stuff done. Not by a long shot. Say I have to be at work at eight, like this morning. I was up at six-thirty, out of the shower and dressed by five to seven. If I leave my house at seven, I'm at work in forty minutes. Due to the vagaries of suburban traffic, if I leave my house at ten after, I'm at work at five after eight. So what do I do this morning? I put my jacket on, get my shit together to leave...and sit down at my computer, reading blogs and sports news I could easily get at my desk, until seven-fifteen. I'm a moron.

I have a similar problem Christmas shopping. I had plenty of time to get it all done, just like the rest of y'all. I got the remix taken care of early, because I knew exactly what to get and where to get it, and because she's the one I'm most excited to give a gift to. The rest of my gifts, though? I feel like I still have time. I do, sort of. But then again...my family is exchanging gifts next Sunday. Between now and then, I have two Christmas parties, my brother's graduation party, a trip to St. Louis for a Bears game, a Holiday reception for a work event, and probably at least one more after-hours work event. So how many shopping day do I have left? One. Next Wednesday or Thursday, whichever I have free. And here I sit bitching to the internet about how little time I have left to go shopping. Awesome.

Home - Heat + 8" of Snow = Sappiness

What a week...after hustling my ass off trying to prove that I still have what it takes to be a damn fine fast food employee, they turned us loose at 6pm last night to head for home. Of course, Chicago was under eighty-seven feet of snow, so my mom called four times to beg me not to try to drive home, but the air outside was clear, and the ground was dry, so I said the hell with it and hit the road.

It was a smooth roll home, for the most part. Besides the parking lot of my building, I didn't really have much trouble with snow. Of course, when I rolled into my apartment at 10 last night, I discovered that my heat was off. I was too tired to look up the maintenance number, so I grabbed an extra blanket and a sweatshirt and bundled off to bed.

I couldn't stomach another day in Michigan. I couldn't do it. I missed home, sure, my own bed and my own cats (any cats, really, it's not like the Holiday Inn has rental cats you get with the room), but most of all I missed my Remix. It's kind of funny, actually--we've gone five days without seeing each other before (five years, but that's a different matter entirely), but almost as soon as I'd left I was wishing I was home with her.

I didn't just kind of miss her, either. It was an acute sensation, a literal ache. It wasn't the absence, exactly. It was the unavailability. Even when we're busy at home, when we can't get together during the week because of this thing or that, there's always some comfort knowing that we could drop everything and be together if the need was there. Four hours from home, not so much. We talked on the phone every night, but after a while those conversations become a little disjointed and tense, the layers of nicety peeling back to reveal the raw frustration underneath, the chafing at not being able to wrap our arms around each other and fall asleep.

I missed home while I was gone, sure. I knew I would. I just never realized that home wasn't my icy apartment in the suburbs. Home has warm arms and sexy eyes, fabulous legs and an easy smile, thick brown hair and a perfect laugh. And I think home missed me, too.




P.S. -- Don't forget to leave me some music suggestions, kids.

There goes my hero....

Awesome moment of the week number four: I hired my first ever employee at work. I've had people working under me for over a year now, but this kid is the first one where I've done all the interviewing myself, put together the job offer myself, and actually made all the decisions without my boss being directly involved. Now let's all cross our fingers and hope he doesn't turn out to be a colossal fuck up, shall we?

Awesome moment of the week number three: I get to go to pizza school! Woo hoo! My company works closely as a produce and logistics supplier for one of the major pizza chains, right? I have absolutely nothing to do with this, ever, in any way, but somehow my boss elected me to go with the account manager to a three day school where they teach you to make pizzas, deal with lunch rushes, properly attire your employees, etc., etc., etc. Apparently it's something they have in place for new franchisees to learn the ropes before opening their doors, but much cooler to learn just exactly how much cheese constitutes "extra" when you know you don't ever actually have to do it again.

Awesome moment of the week number two: This would totally be number one, but as you'll see, nothing could beat the top of this list. I'm bursting with pride, regardless. The Remix is going all Rodney Dangerfield and heading back to school. She's been selected (as one of two--TWO!--people from her company to go back for a master's degree, on the house. Great deal for her--job security, free education, and obviously she's the apple of the boss's eye. I had no doubt when she told me that this was a possibility, as long as I've known her she has excelled in everything she's ever wanted to do, and probably lots of things she didn't want to do at all. She's brilliant, beautiful, and (bewilderingly enough) batshit over me. I'm a lucky boy, folks. Anyway, like I said, this would totally have been the coolest thing about my week, but...

Awesome moment of the week number one: Ok, so my apartment is at the far end of a looooong hallway (we're talking The Shining all over the place) from the laundry room on my floor. I'm walking back from the dryer and as soon as I open the door at the end of the corridor, I hear the yelling. Reggie! I am not in the mood! Get off me, now! How can you do this to me? Get the fuck away from me! Uh oh. This woman is sobbing and practically screaming, and here I am standing in the hallway in my flip flops and gym shorts with a basket full of whites. I freeze momentarily, wondering if I should intervene or just mind my own business, panicky images of rape, a beating, or worse running through my head. Just as decide that maybe I ought to ring the bell, hopefully break things up and give the screaming woman a chance to escape or ask for help, the door opens. A black cat shoots out the door, and I've got goosebumps waiting to see what's going to follow. (A battered wife with a black eye and a seething Reggie--who is undoubtedly 6'5", 300 pounds, and fresh out of prison--is nothing for me to try to deal with before I've had my coffee.) Sure enough, there's the woman. No black eye, thank god, but definitely having herself a good cry. As she opens her mouth to yell again (oh please God don't ask for help! What am I getting into?) I cringe. And then. And then. Reggie! I told you I can't fucking deal with this today! Get back in here, now! Back in here? Huh? Oh jesuscocksuckingchrist, the cat? Seriously? I can't help but laugh, out loud and uncontrollably as I walk by, listening to her sob quietly into Reggie's fur as I pass. You're so mean to me. So mean. How can you do this to me, you bastard?!?

See, school (grad or pizza) and new hires are great, but nothing compared to being the knight in shining armor who rescues a poor, desperate woman from her abusive cat. I'm a hero, I know. No need to thank me. Any of you would have done the same.

Turn, and face the change.

We moved to a new office today. Predictably, everything was fucked, from the get go. The phones didn't work, the computers didn't work, the fax machine ate everything you put into it, and everyone was a little haggard by the end of the day.

My new office is nicer, by a long shot. It's sunnier, there's more room to spread out, everything is easier. I wouldn't dream of going back. Not everything is different, but the things that are most certainly are better.

However, I was almost freakishly stressed out, all day long. My shoulders ache, a sure sign of extra tension, and I'm exhausted. Upon further review, (and what, really, do I not subject to further review) I realized that even as a grown man, change makes me uncomfortable. Different, I like. Changing, not so much. My new office is better, without question. Yet I find myself stubbornly resisting to learn the new phone system and futilely complaining about the (beautiful) courtyard my fellow smokers and I are relegated to. I don't like having to stand idly by while major changes are foisted on me by powers beyond myself. The adjustment is too rough, like slamming on the brakes and taking off in a new direction. I like the new stuf, sure. I just don't like getting there. And in a couple weeks, I'll never want to leave the new place.

I'm like this in other ways. Give me eel sushi and pig's feet in my pozole--just don't ask me to go somewhere new to try it. I'll try The End of Alice--but only if I casually pick it up while the Remix makes dinner, otherwise I'm going to sit on my couch and reread A Confederacy of Dunces again. Bring on shared apartments and kids and marriage--just don't start telling me all the things I have to do differently.

This last is sort of what I'm driving (meandering?) at. When the Remix and I were first dating (does that make her "the Mix?" Hmm...) I wasn't ready for the relationship we were trying to have. Now, five long years later, I am. We always loved each other. The requirements haven't changed, I have. My priorities are different. The five years sucked, for the most part. Without them, we wouldn't be here. I changed on my own. No one asked me to, no one forced me to. We're different now, both of us; but in all the important ways, nothing has changed.

My new relationship is nicer, by a long shot. It's sunnier, there's more room to spread out, everything is easier. I wouldn't dream of going back. Not everything is different, but the things that are most certainly are better.

However, I am not stressed out. Upon further review, I'm not missing anything. I don't feel like the car is turning without me. I turned by myself, and somehow ended up back on the road beside the person I love the most. I'm ready now, sweetheart. I'm with you now. And it only took a couple of dates to know that I never, never want to leave the new place.

I just wanna bang on my drum all day

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Too tired to be tired.

Some days, I am tired. Occasionally for good reason, all too frequently for no reason I can discern without far too much introspection for a weekday. By tired, I don't mean sleepy, or insufficiently rested. I mean exhausted, wiped out, totally demolished. Today seems to be one of those days.

Maybe this is stress related. This time of year, problems are so commonplace at work as to become run of the mill. Yesterday, I agreed to take on a new responsibility at work, the kind of additional project that comes without title or increased salary. The kind of project that carries enormous potential for success with little reward. I work too much, most likely. I take work too seriously. I love my job. I cling to it, devouring every bit of praise, no matter how minor; reeling from every criticism, no matter how well deserved. I take no satisfation in a job well done--my satisfaction and my relaxation are bound firm to being the best. Not perfect, but closer too perfect than anyone else. There is no form of obligation so taxing as a constant commitment to one's self.

I stress very little, about other things. I am happy with the Remix. I am happy with my apartment, my cats, my finances, my life. Bills don't concern me, much. I do what I want, when I want, and I answer only to the people I choose to. And yet, I find myself worn out.

Don't get me wrong. I am not a zombie, I am not clinging to my sanity, I am not falling asleep at the wheel of my car. I am merely complaining. Sometimes the best thing for me is just a good bad mood.

KFC always smells good.

Of course, yet again, the title of this bit has nothing to do with what I'm writing about, just thought it was an important thought to share with the world.

It's hard, sometimes, to be the butt of the joke. I've always been self-deprecating, for a couple reasons. One, it's funny. I love to be funny, and I'm not so conceited as to hold myself above mockery. Two, it doesn't hurt anyone. I can, and have been, cruel. I always find a way to overstep that invisible line with others, the line that separates what's ok to laugh at and what really hurts. Three, it sets people at ease with me. I have a tendency to be a little gruff, and a little self-taunting smooths out the edges a bit.

All that said, and what I always forget until it's too late, is that once you open yourself up, you've erased your own line in the sand, and you can't go back. It would be horribly confusing to everyone around if suddenly, I was easily offended. Problem is, sometimes you just don't feel like being the punching bag. More frequently, someone you don't think ought to be punching throws a shot in just where you don't want it.

I can take the punishment, that's not really the problem. What I have trouble with is the soft spots. I can't tell people what things are acceptable and what things piss me off, I've opened the floodgates already, and I don't intend to change the way I am just because it's occasionally uncomfortable. There's a list, though....

Remix? Mock away, even we think it's a little bit funny most of the time. You can't start dating your ex and expect your friends to let you go unscathed.

Divorce? Yeah, I brought this one on myself, but maybe we could let it die already? Believe it or not, even with all the jokes, it wasn't all that pleasant. I can joke, it makes me feel better. When other people joke, it makes me feel like putting a knife in someone's eye.

Weight? No problem, baby. I got enough going for me to ignore the fat jokes. I'll lose the weight, on my own terms, and probably slowly, but this one never bothers me. If it did, I'd probably have pulled a Jared from Subway by now.

Work Ethic? Fuck you. The best friend is the main perpetrator here, mostly because his own obvious insecurities are a little much for him to handle; the combination of my being the boss and my being the best is enough to set him completely off his rocker. I work my ass off, and until someone else can match my numbers, my hours, and my dedication, anyone who wants to give me shit for letting the phone ring can bite my left nut.

Haircut? Yeah, it's bad. What can I expect for $12.99?

The bigger thing is always the who, not so much the what. Do I want the nasty bitch across the way or the brainless pair of breasts who sits in the far corner to feel comfortable taking shots at me in any circumstance? Fuck no. Do I think the best friend could afford to shut his mouth and show a little loyalty now and again? Hell yes. Can my brother say things to me that my new employee can't? Of course.

Why this has come up today, totally beyond me. Oh well.

Mindless babble

Two more hours, and it feels like a lifetime. I don't recall ever enjoying this side of things so much, but I'm more than willing to roll with it. Hell, I'll try to drink lots of liquids and do some stretching, and let's roll all night, baby. Seriously, I feel like I'm fifteen again, walking around all day with a perpetual hard-on. There's more to this thing than just sex. I'm glad there's more to it, and I think the sex would be less enthralling if we didn't seem to hit it off so well. But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you the sex is worth the price of admission all by it's lonesome. It's that fucking good.

Things are coming to a head with the new guy I hired about two months ago. I work in a very high-energy environment, and there's no room for someone who doesn't seem to hustle. Forget hustling, man, sometimes I have to throw things over the desk to make sure this cat's still awake. He's a good guy, great sense of humor, easy to get along with, blah blah blah blah blah. Unfortunately, he's also as dumb as a sack of onions.

I was going to be a teacher, at some point long past. Then someone pointed out that I have no patience for people who aren't as smart as me. God help me, I still don't. If he had a hard time negotiating rates, or was shy talking to customers, or couldn't keep organized, any number of other things, I'd be happy to hold his hand and walk him through it. He's just too fucking dumb, and I don't see that having much potential for immediate improvement. So I do enough work for two people, and I let Mongo stare at his computer screen all day with a slighly befuddled half-smile. Gotta love it, right?

Anyway, I have to go take a shower and clean up the apartment before the girl shows up. If I can move under my own power tomorrow, there'll be more for you then. (Don't count on it.)