I coulda been a ...Kingpin!

Ramblings Post #355
I made a big deal about getting back to writing, at least on here, then I just kinda whiffed. I'm still not writing enough of anything , shorts, poetry, etc, and with the big one coming up at the end of the month I'm still not quite there. I have stories I've been meaning to write and I have been using this as an excuse to write them, but this year feels different. To many things in flux I guess.

So let's see how many half finished posts I have that I can't get done right now: Construction near office causes professional fatigue, bad television show critique, political post that got trampled by current events, other bad television show critique, other political post and more trampling, middle age rant about traffic, middle aged rant about cleaning my house, book planning for November writing frenzy, and office bowling teams.

That last one: Office bowling teams. Yeah, I signed up for the bowling team because at work ( i.e., the Ranch) I can spend hours not speaking to anyone. Because of the nature of what I actually do, It is possible to go in, ride herd and stack hay and not have an actual conversation with a live person until mid-afternoon. My fellow cattlehands have embraced the headphone lifestyle, rocking out all day oblivious to the goings on around us, and that combined with a series of rolling meeting schedules that mean its not uncommon to look up and me be the only ranch hand I see on these particular forty acres. So in an effort to be sociable, I signed up for an office bowling league team.

I need to have my head examined.

I signed up as an alternate, so that what I should have been able to do was show up and have a beer or two while cheering the rest of my team on. You know, just being sociable. No fuss, no muss. They even threw in a free T-shirt for my trouble. So, planning to breeze in late and leave early because I actually had another stop or two to make, your boy slid through for a quick meet and mingle with the "other farmhands." Have some laughs, drink a bit, knock the kinks out of the old social mojo, that sort of thing. 

I got roped into playing as the inaugural event had a sparse showing. But I guess you saw that coming, didn't you?

Our spot wasn't near this nice. This is a "representative picture" of where we were.

I might have last been bowling over a decade ago. Have the lanes gotten narrower? I think the lanes have gotten narrower. I'm going to partly attribute my poor showing to the fact that by arriving late I did not have time to warm up. And that my ankle was sore. And that Mercury was in retrograde, causing my chakras to become misaligned and knock my vibes out of sync. Something like. Could it have been I'm just not a good bowler? Nah. Or yeah. One of them. They're all equally valid reasons. 

The guys in the next lane (also farmhands) could have been on the pro tour - they had that classic spin on the ball, the made it curve like a bow, picking up spares off splits and other bowling lingo that makes them seem cool. I was bowling with people who once the ball left their hands would turn around and ask us not to look at the lane and we cheered for two or three pins going down. I was bowling against someone from the Bedrock bowling league who literally heaved the ball a quarter of the way down the alley Flintstones style. The sad part is that he is still a better bowler than me.

The Ranch provided us with some "social lubricant", but me being of a certain age and temperment I decided to go get what I actually wanted. The bar, in a throwback bowling alley that looked like it was time locked in 1973, was a bit of a surprise. Not that it was there, I mean where else does the beer you're supposed to drink while bowling come from? No, what was a shock was that I spotted a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle. Seriously. I asked the bartender if I was seeing things and he assured me that he was not. I asked how much it was and he indicated that it was $40....a shot. Not a drink, a shot. So I went back to the beer.

It was a fairly good evening. If the point of the game was fun, then my team clearly won. Unfortunately the actual point of the game is knocking down pins, and we knocked down less than they did. But this wasn't like bowling but golf rules, right? No? I went out again for week 2, but this time they'd made such a big fuss about all the fun  even the company execs showed up. And none of those deep pocketed bros even broke down and got the Pappy. Weak. It was still fun, but halfway work associated fun, you know? 

Barkeep. How much is the Pappy? How much? A glass of your finest  *cough* cheapest, beer on tap please. Thank you.

The New Office Odd Couple

Ramblings Post #338
Work. I want to say something profound and memorable, but all I can muster is "There must be more than this. Isn't there?" I realize you can't chase your dreams forever, but I'm of the opinion you can still walk slowly in their direction while you keep your eye on the important things. Depending on how you define important things.  

One of the things about being a freelance ranch hand is that you keep running into characters. I'm talking about fellow Ranch Hands who apparently ride the range because they're just a little too bronco to bust, they ride rough in a world with smooth edges, or they just don't fit in anywhere else. These are people who either make you happy or dread heading out onto the spread. It is from those people you get the best stories, who with you have the most interesting experiences, and who create those moments that make you consider the priesthood.

For the purposes of these recitations I shall call this pair Shotgun Minnie and Pecos Slim.

When I moved to the big new ranch, I didn't move alone. A few of us rode up north, and among them were these two. Both of them are like me, long time Ranch hands with lots of miles under the belt, and how they ended up out here freelancing like me I refuse to ask. I've seen Pecos Slim turn down a spot in a law practice and Shotgun Minne says she used to do work all over the state. I'm freelancing because this is just where I am right now. They apparently have other views. But the two of them couldn't be more opposite.

Pecos is a middle aged guy like me, maybe a little younger, who worked at big Ranch until he just decided he didn't want to do that anymore - something that happens but nobody talks about. He holds himself out as a GQ type, and a bit of a rake, and to my honest surprise seems to do okay with the ladies. Maybe he's more charming to people with nice thighs? He eats healthy and works out a lot, sometimes twice a day, so maybe that's it? But he's also very thin skinned, wanting things his way always, as evidenced by the time I pointed out to him he was thin skinned and he nearly went ballistic. That and his declaration that his latest gym sucks, not because the equipment is bad or being too crowded, but that he can't get a wifi signal and I should have know that's the most important part of working out.

Shotgun Minnie by contrast is a older white female and may actually be the text book definition of the term "piece of work." She openly admits she thinks the word 'budget' is how you say get your buddies together in French and may have seen every single local band to play Atlanta in the last two years. Every single band. I'm not kidding. She also once asked to take a day off because she read online that a local singer she saw ten years previously had died and she needed to process it. At the old spread she would find an excuse to leave early every single day, such a doctor's appointment or something she has to pickup or something she has to do, which is odd because she also disappeared for hours at a time when she claimed she was there. If it rained she went home for the day. She told me that she preferred to go grocery shopping at 3am the day we got paid and she once sold me a commemorative coaster to get gas money.

Both of these people are firm believers that they are God's gift to the world.

At the previous spread their interaction was limited. Back down south, myself and the "trail boss" worked with Shotgun Minnie on a daily basis, trading off who would help her when she called for assistance. For everything. The running under/over for calls for assistance was six, but I think Minne beat it everyday (we're cowhands, not bookies). Pecos Slim and I shared an office, but he would arrive and put on his headphones and pretend nobody else was there. Several times a day however, he would suddenly ask a question out of the blue, usually about a news article he'd just seen online or something existential. Then get peeved if we didn't understand.  

At the new Ranch however, well, then get on Abbot and Costello. Like Crosby and Hope. Like a mismatched Cheech and Chong. Pecos still puts on his headphones, but he seems to take joy in needling Shotgun Annie about her inability to stay at her desk so he has them off more often. We counted one day and were able to get to 14. Also, this new spot requires a full eight hours, something foreign to her, and Pecos Slim doesn't seem to want to let her forget that either. Then, he talks about popular urban culture to her as though she knows what he's talking about, and holding her own she talks to him about local bands and clubs she's trying to go to in the future like he's trying to tag along. The, um, long time local ranch hand who we've been paired with and who looks like she's always laser work focused told me that she thinks the two of them are a hoot.

***

I'm not sure how to take that.

Barkeep. Some of that old Snake Eyes and some ice water. 

The New Chicken Plucking Factory

Ramblings Post #276
It is what it is, and it is what it's gonna be. The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, but sometimes the path leads to places you never thought you'd have to go. This is one of those stories. Or something like that. I forget, these early mornings are killing me. 

There is a very old saying: Know thyself and to thy ownself be true. In the past few years I've tried to
follow this advice, staying true to who I am and what my goals are, because I've found that attempting to make other people happy by pretending or just going along usually ends up with consequences and repercussions. For me, usually.

A few months ago, unsure of a number of things and having come to enjoy things like heat and food, I agreed to pluck some chickens. Not really pluck chickens, but you know what I mean. In my quest for a new career I knew there could be detours and tracks that might lead me off the beaten path, but I had hoped those could be minimized. Why? Because being true to myself I know I have a tendency to "get a little too into things" sometimes. I mean, I got so into my last chicken plucking job there was a stretch there I didn't take a vacation for five years. I might have a problem.

So here we go again.

It's a throwback gig, as in I've done work like this before, so being able to do it is not an issue. I'm worried about losing my focus on the big picture. You know, the one I worked all those nights after my last chicken plucking gig to get? Since I passed that last milestone I was hoping to turn my attention to detail and indomitable drive towards my new career exclusively...and I will....but just not now. Apparently.

The really weird part about the new gig is that management knows that I'm vastly overqualified for the position. More than one of the trainers and managers have mentioned that they "saw my resume", in that special tone of voice people get when they pretend they're trying to keep a secret. And it seems to have generated expectations that I will get most of the concepts on the first try.  Okay, I have gotten most of the concepts on the first try, but that's beside the point. It's off putting to some degree, but it's always nice to be able to walk into an office and get respect.

And originally this was to be my segue back to working full-time, because as old pros know that it takes time to get you mind and body back on the idea of constant work. There is in-shape, party-shape, and work-shape. I was in video game shape, which means my thumbs are real strong. That long climb up the stairs in the mornings got my calves looking right.

A lot of things in my life have started off as one thing or for one purpose and become something else. This cannot be one of them. If I intend to actually make the big picture work, then I'm going to have to get my mind right...before I get my mind right.

Barkeep, put that good bourbon on the bar. 

She said she was just thinking about it...

Rambling Post #255
Life shouldn't be stagnant. We should all sally forth and attack this experience with wonder and excitement, drinking in every drop of life not through a straw but in hefty quaffs that leave us out of breath for the next surprise. Or something like that. But they did just open up a Krispy Kreme store like just up the street, so maybe I'll get to quaffing life like next week. Week after for sure.

Art by Adam Hughes

A few years ago, my girl Spanky up and went to Scotland for a job. She did just over twelve months in a town small enough to fit into a high school baseball stadium, then came back with pockets fat enough to deck out her house, then under renovations, in one quick swoop through the furniture district.  I toured it via Google Maps (they go everywhere) and it looked absolutely charming. I was a wee bit envious.

So she hits me up last Wednesday with this message she's gotten via email from some company. She was looking for a new gig (we're all looking for new gigs) and so when they "found" her resume on the internet and contacted her, she was quick to send them back a fresh copy. Cool beans I thought. Then she said she was gonna have to leave the country again, but the money was great. Knowing the less than romantic situation from which she has been inexplicably unable to extricate herself, I thought maybe this wouldn't be the worst idea. Overseas, see the world, etc. From Scotland she'd visited London, Paris, and other places that broaden the mind. Bully! So I asked her where was going. Cabal, she says. I ask her again, because I've never heard of it and got ready to look it up. She says it again and I catch on.

Kabul. As in Kabul, Afghanistan.

If were possible to look at somebody like they were crazy over the phone, I think I pulled it off. But, my mind kicked in, probably happy for the diversion, and said to check it out before passing judgement, it might be a huge base with movie theaters and one of them golf course setups. So I checked out her given destination. Looked at a couple of blogs, checked out a few videos, read a few articles. Let's see, 3,000 people, housed, with offices and all other base facilities in a space 1000 x 650 feet, in downtown Kabul. No off-base for security reasons. Rooms in shipping containers. They just had a suicide bomber in January. Hmmmm, how much money again? The term "shitload" popped into my head. I sent all this to Spanky, suggesting she consider it all before making up her mind.

So last Sunday when Spanky, Serve and [nickname forthcoming] and I went to West Egg for a late brunch, I was a little suprised when she announced that she'd made up her mind that she was going, and that she'd already sent them the paperwork. She said she'd spoken with her family, had looked at all the pictures and was prepared for whatever came. Wow.

By the way, they serve brunch all day at West Egg on Sundays, and they ain't even playing.

Now, Spanky can be impulsive. And since when she makes a decision, then sticks with it and if you're not with her 100% then you're her sworn enemy, it gets a little awkward at times. With that in mind, I raised my objections, but the opportunity was flashing before her eyes and she didn't even notice. Yes, she says she's prepared to be trapped on a teeny tiny base in a country that now might not even have Americans after next year. Her contract was supposed to be for three years, which now seems less cute when before it just an ugh feeling. I suggested she start learning some foreign languages.

Later after Spanky and Serve had split,  me and [nickname forthcoming] had a long conversation about the whole thing. My concept was, in a nutshell, that three years in Kabul would fundamentally change Spanky. Which [nickname forthcoming] on the whole thought wouldn't be the worst thing. But in think what the girl needs at best is a little tinkering, and this expedition would be more of a complete overhaul. Spanky can get "testy" at times and one of the descriptions I read described the place as a minimum security prison like atmosphere. That kind of living I understand has a tendency to bring either the best or worst in a person, so I'm not sure how that's gonna play out. Plus it's dangerous.

A few years ago Slim broke out for the Middle East - Qatar - because it was technically safer than her house in Atlanta (that's not a joke). Last year she said that she and the new hubby might be moving to Bermuda and invited me for a visit, the new hubby being another American she met while out there. And Spanky has been desperate to get married. What are the odds another one of my crew would run into the same luck? 

Barkeep. I need a box, figured I'd help my girl Spanky out by taking care of her alcohol while she was away. Big box. Um, bigger than that.

Obama, you're taking too many punches kid!

This is a political post. 

I would like to believe that the President is employing some kind of political rope-a-dope in this situation, letting his opponent talk himself into a corner. But watching last night I think Obama got caught flat footed by Romney - who presented yet another version of himself that I don't think anyone saw coming.

Romney won. I think this despite the fact that there is something about his voice that I find generally annoying. I'm not sure if its his patter, his cadence, or what, but there is something there that I find unsettling. And despite that I still think he debated the President to a standstill. But then that maybe because Romney last night didn't sound anything like the Romney of the past few weeks as he denounced his own previous statements multiple times from the podium. Suddenly he's for regulation? When did this happen?

Jim Lehrer didn't help, letting both candidates go over time, talk over one another and dance around questions as though they trying out for the Russian ballet. I think the next moderator should have a little buzzer and if the candidate hasn't started actually answering the question in 30 seconds they get buzzed, the moderator repeats the question and says quite clearly "That's not an answer, try again." After their third try the moderator just turns their mic off.

But the first round is over, and Obama's corner men need to man up and tell him he sucked last night. He took a lot of jabs, didn’t move his feet. Obama is going to need to counter-punch, work the body and do all of the following:

1. Facts to back up facts.

Romney's budget plan, one which is too complicated to explain to anyone, does haves a five trillion dollar tax break. This figure comes from the estimated revenue loss created by making the current tax cuts permanent, Romney's proposed twenty percent additional reduction, and the elimination of the estate tax, all over a ten year period. It's not set in stone because Romney has been cagey with specifics. Obama should have known this is where the number comes from, who created the math, and been able to hold Romney to that figure. Or where any statement he was going to make is based on, so that when called on it he could easily respond. This is bad prep, plain and simple.    

2. Add Logic to the Discussion.

When Romney trotted out that old Republican chestnut that "profits create jobs", I wanted to cheer because this is the easiest of all topics go at with a logic weedwacker* in the past three years. Basic economics - markets create jobs, not profits. But the President didn't start educating, touting instead his own efforts to cut taxes. Because I doubt the next moderator will be as easy, he may have missed his chance, but whenever possible Obama needs to be able to in the Clinton-ian style walk people through the logical flaw (or question) in thirty seconds or less.

3. Employ Republican tactics.

The Republican party has for the past decade used the fairly simple idea of "if you repeat it often enough, then people will think it is true." In the debate, time and time again Romney repeated the idea that “he is for jobs” at least five times. Early on one phrase of the President's caught my ear - Economic Patriotism - but he never used it again. Obama is going to need two or three phrases which he can repeat over and over, that he segues to with ease to hammer home the idea he will be the better President. 

4. Let the Truth ring out.

When the President mentioned his use of Romneycare as a model for the Affordable Healthcare Act,  Romney turned it into a study of his own collaborative works. Obama should leapt on the chance to use this to delineate the difference that he's clearly received no support at all, if not outright hostile opposition from his Republican colleagues, since he's taken office. Idea put forth : Democrats work with you, Republicans don’t. Instead, we got nothing. Obama shouldn’t be afraid to state things that everyone can check for themselves.

5. Watch your language.

The President should be aware, as should his whole team, that any bad phrasing will be exploited by the opposition. After all, they made a bad juxtaposition of words into the theme of their convention. And Romney’s attempt at a "you are no JFK" moment in stating he doesn’t know of a tax break for taking jobs overseas should serve as a clear warning. I’m politically knowledgeable, and I realize the idea trying to be put forth is that we have granted to tax breaks to firms who then took jobs overseas anyways. Not stating it clearly is a gaffe. Language is very important. And not being able to correct him was just more of the previous bad prep work.                                       

In the future, Obama needs to prep not for Mitt Romney, but for the audience. Romney has demonstrated that he is not gonna be who any evidence has shown him to be. One can predict the usual questions, so prep to defend the administration's positions with short answers, and personal real people stories where appropriate.

Now, there are a lot people who think the race is already over, and that Obama has already won. Mathematically speaking, he should take the electoral college handily, but nothing is set in stone. There are still a few tricks left than be played that can make a difference, and a little difference is all that’s needed for the election to go into overtime. I realize Obama doesn’t have a lot free time here to get ready...what with running the country and all...but he’s gonna have to man up, down a few five hour energy drinks, burn the midnight oil and miss a few family dinners. I’m sorry his anniversary fell on debate night, but this is just too important. 

We don't necessarily need this guy to show next time. Okay maybe we do.

*The supposition is that businesses need profits so they will hire people. But corporations currently have high profits and they're not hiring. The response is that  the times are uncertain, and businesses need certainty. But I this conflicts with the idea of the job creator who gets the reward for taking the risk - if there is certainty, why is the reward for risk justified?  And this flies in the face of basic economics which says markets dictate business creation, not profit.

How to miss an Opportunity

Ramblings Post #190
I'm certain I've missed many opportunities in my life. I'm fairly certain my first kiss should have occurred long before it finally did. There are countless occasions where I'm certain had I simply not shrugged my shoulders I would richer and wiser. Had I taken that job offer in New York. Or called somebody back. Or simply said "I don't think we're just practicing anymore." They say live life with no regrets.  But I think if you live to the age you understand what regrets are, its already too late.


So today, my brother sends me an email. My email is pushed to my cell phone, so I know immediately, but because I'm paranoid I don't open it at that instant. And by paranoid, I mean I was in the car and had already seen two cars pulled over to the side of the road, and because the last time I got into a car and forgot to put my seat belt on just happened to be the day the officer pulled in behind me and noticed ....AND texting and driving is illegal, I decided to not check it right away.

Time: Right after eleven am.

I get to campus, roll upstairs to the classroom my 1pm is in and check to see what he's sent. It's a listing that a major firm is looking for in-house counsel, and the experience range is zero to two years. Wait, I have zero to two years! Well, closer to the zero, but I have so much other experience maybe I can make it translate. So, I break out the resume and start the process of making my other experiences sound like what they're looking for. I get interrupted by my classmates who also arrive early, and stop to discuss our last negotiation exercise...which raised some hackles during the process. Long discussion. But I only give that talk half my attention, and  I get the resume straight and ready about 5 minutes before class starts. 

Time: Just before one pm.

After that three hour class I go to the bookstore, get some notepads I've been needing for a while and head to the classroom for my class that starts at six, which is empty right about then. Thinking maybe they'll ask for a cover letter, I pull one of my previous ones up and spend roughly a half hour phrasing things to show me in the best light, highlighting how my previous non-legal experience fits into what they're looking for and expand on an item or two in the resume. You only get one chance to make a first impression, so I need to make it stick.

Time: Quarter till five.

I pull the link back up, create the obligatory log-in at said company's site so I can add my resume...and the listing is gone. I work sideways, searching through their entire database, then using the job listing number, then searching all legal jobs at the firm just to be sure, although that's really just a subset of the earlier search. Gone. They've stopped taking applications.

Just like that. Damn.

I have to be quicker the next time. Faster. Stronger. Not that getting the application in would guarantee me anything, but still, I'm fairly certain I would have gotten a second and third look. Yes, I'm just that good. Or at least that interesting.

Barkeep. Red Bull with bee pollen. I got to get it! 

So that's what happens....

Ramblings Post #155
There is only one thing constant: change. Rarely if ever are the we same person who awoke this morning as the person we take to bed that night. Life, sometimes in sudden swoops and sometimes incrementally, has a way of changing us, of making us other people. It's why sometimes people who haven't seen us in a while don't really know us anymore. We're changing. All the time. Scary, isn't it.


I been gone for a minute, but I feel the need to yell into the darkness.

I have pressed the shiny red button. It's ova.

I am no longer a chicken plucker. It's been a long strange trip but now it's onto the next phase. That spring of 2003 the job was supposed to be a way station to the next big thing, but after a while I just got used to it. It became routine and I let myself get mired in the client's issues, which in many cases were amplified by third parties really only interested in themselves. I got used to Sporty being there, having the ability to hang out with friends, to occasionally splurge on something for myself. I wish I could say now that I'm leaving I have to dial it back, but its been dialed back for a while. A lot of what this position initially gave me, I haven't had for a while. So now, in the middle of an economic downturn, I walk out the door? Buying low they call it.

My stomach is unsettled.

For the first time in a almost a decade, I'm not sure how I'm going to get to the next. Before now, there was always a next check, knowing that if I went in and did what I had to do, that money WOULD come. When it reality they could have eased me out the door at any time, for any reason and in hot skippy minute I could be scrambling for something. It's eerie to think I had convinced myself that that place was "my spot" when I never really knew for sure. At least the way I'm leaving, it's on my own terms. Still, "pushing away from the table" is mental struggle.

My stomach is unsettled.

This whole period is bad for my diet, as for the past two weeks while things have been working themselves out - the money, the classes, the job, my life - I've been over indulging like its going out of style: fried chicken, copious amounts of red meat, too much bread, not enough fruit. I've been sugared up and salted down. But I'm too tired of thinking about what comes next to take the time to make something healthy. But I'm going to have to tighten that back up as soon as I can. The sugar and salt are now just fleeting joy in the sun.

My stomach is unsettled.

There was time a long time ago when I lived off temp jobs and hook-ups, and what I'm about to do was the norm. But that was a long time ago, and like a pro athlete trying to regain his step, this is going to take a minute. I want to say that there is no fear...but I'd be lying. They say god watches out for drunks and babies...and I stopped drinking like that years ago. Let's hope I can get a toddler exemption.

My stomach is unsettled.

Someone once described my approach to life as metaphorically comparing me to a glacier. Slow, steady, but always moving forward, almost inevitable. I've thought of it more in term of a freight train. Slow to start, but once its rolling it is incredibly hard to stop. This experience right here, is more like an ejector seat. I was just doing this one thing...then bam! I'm 500 hundred feet up and rising.

My stomach is unsettled.

I'm in it for the full time this last year of law school. Now, I did jimmy it - five classes, three final exams, one paper so it's not completely ridiculous. And since the paper is due before the end of the semester, once I'm done with it I can focus on the exams - and only one of the three already has me nervous. It's more but it's not more, ya' know? But now the shenanigans leading up to taking the bar are about to start. It's gonna be a matter of my focus and my discipline. In the end you just want to get to the next part, but what happens when you actually get there?

I didn't think I would but I'm going to miss that spot. It was the outlet on the other side of law school. All I have now is me...and school.

Barkeep, something cheap. I got to make this little piece of change last...

The Office Moguls...the continuing saga

Ramblings Post #73
There are some people who, when you think about it, don't really know. You know? I mean they really don't have a clue about how the world works outside of that insular little bubble they've somehow managed to construct. Sometimes it's because of money, sometimes it's ideals, and other times it's just they're completely oblivious. And then sometimes, it's because you're a Mogul...even though you work with the rest of us.

Naive Mogul is back at the stocks. Apparently his father has given him a few more dollars to play with. He asked one of the actual learned and disciplined investors for advice, and because neither of them do any real work I half listened to them discuss strategies for like Chatty Mogul was there (thank God he wasn't). It's funny because the actual investor, who has dedicated money from each check going to an investment account he manages using tools he actually paid professional investors is being talked down to by Naive Mogul, who uses USA Today and Yahoo to guess at investments.

Daddy Mogul is experiencing the joys of contracting. He getting some work done on the house and his contractor, like every other contractor who doesn't have his own television show, hasn't shown up. He's spending more time "working from home" waiting for the contactor to show up than seems logical.

Chatty Mogul is...indecipherable. Chatty Mogul spent the last 24 months as the, hum...er.... "Head of Chicken Plucking Knowledge", the job he wasn't doing when he was doing everything else. Recently, at his own requests because the one monthly reports were just too much pressure, he was moved back to plain ole' "Chicken Plucking", something he did for two years before his promotion. Now of course, he's forgotten how to hold a chicken, how to pluck a chicken, and how to tell if a chicken has been plucked. A few days ago he spent the better part of hour avoiding his job arguing how he doesn't avoid doing his job.

And just when I thought it was over, because to do the regular "Chicken Plucking" your desk has to be much further away from mine and you actually have to pay attention to what you are doing and so where I thought I wouldn't be inundated with updates of the dear boy's life, management wants me to train Chatty Mogul on my job as a third tier backup person.

Oh joy.

If you see a news article "Man beats coworker after repeated dumb questions", that will be me.

Pray for me.

Barkeep, something to numb the pain.

Working Wounded

Ramblings Post#6
It is the current opinion of the current concept that work is good. Okay, maybe not good, but wholly necessary. Well, not really wholly, more as in a necessary evil. I'm about to the point where I wished I lived on television, because nobody apparently works on television. I mean really, nobody since Al Bundy really hated their job on small screen. And everybody is slim...or fat and funny. Go figure.

I am soooo tired of my job.

I don't usually gripe about my job. I agreed to be here, I told them I would do it, and since I'm a man of my word, I wake and trek in and do what I gotta do. The bills that keep appearing strangely in my mailbox are a bit of a factor. That pesky mortgage ain't that bad of an incentive neither. But lately...I'm just so done with the whole thing. Oh, to be five years old again.

My days are very limited. I wake up, go to the office, from the office to class, from class to the house and so on in a small circle. The majority of my purchases all occur at Publix (my favorite grocery store) or whatever gas station is handy. My weekends consist of long hours reading and writing. Although my legal writing probably could use more of that time.

Sporty has no idea how much I miss us hanging out. She made all this bearable. I can't even explain it.

But this place I call the job has lost it's luster. That and since I now cut out early for class, I'm making less money than before and it seems like the job keeps getting harder and more complex. And my coworkers seem to be getting slower. If I hear the phrase "could you take care of that?" one more time from someone who already has too much free time on their hands...you just don't know.

I'm tired of the arbitrary deadlines, the imagined urgency and an ever increasing workload. I may have to start buying lottery tickets.


The worst part is this is better than the job I previously had, a nightmare of a duty that had me contemplating homelessness as a viable option. I remember honestly praying, not hoping but honest to god prayer, to get something else to do.

And this is better? I've been here longer than I've ever worked for I guess, non-family. I'm semi-respected and have a little bit of pull. But I just want out.

-But the economy is bad and other jobs are scarce.
-I have school to think about, learning a new skill set on top of that would be an issue.
-there probably is a third issue, but I'm beyond being concerned.

I should be happy I have a job (company actually had one of it's better past four quarters) and we're not looking too shabby for the future. And no, we're not an oil company. So I need to chill.

But I do so not like this anymore. And I miss Sporty. So very very much

Barkeep. Gatorade and five hour energy drink cocktail. I gotta keep on keeping on.

Ah, Law School

Mental Rehab Post #16
In clearing out who I am and what I is gonna be, sometimes it's best you concentrate on other things. Sometimes their mundane...like this post... other times it's stuff that affects lives and property and makes you wonder just how long you got. I mean really, sometimes you sweat the small stuff. Other times you let go. But you always got to think about it.

The first problem with law school is gonna be that everybody is gonna need a nickname.

The new schedule is kicking my ass. Point blank.

I'm supposed to rise at 6am, to get it rolling and out the door by 7am to be in by 8 which means I can breeze out at 5pm and get to class on time. After class I'm "supposed" to hit the library to debrief, then hit the gym and do my miles and some weights then head to the house and (special note) make sure I'm packed to leave BEFORE i turn in around 11 or 11:30.

Three days a week, I'm a warrior.

Did you know getting up at 6am is a lost art?


When I used to do the park I was up at 6am like a shot, out of bed and in the car by 6:15-6:20 to be there on time and rolling. The other morning I saw 5:59am...and promptly went back to sleep. Was it this hard when I started walking? Last night I went to sleep at ...let's see, roughly 9:30pm? Slept on the couch with the XM Jazz station playing in the background till 2am, then got up and went to bed.

AND I STILL COULDN'T GET MY LAZY ASS UP TILL 8 AM!!.

I mean really. What is going on here? I moved the alarm clock (I had figured how to hit snooze in my sleep if it's too close) and supposedly when I get vertical I can get moving. Supposedly. Hasn't worked yet.

Maybe a month from now I'll be happy to report I'm getting up at 5:30am and going to the gym first.

That kids, was a joke.

Barkeep. I need a mango-blueberry smoothie with a shot of B12.

Changes

So why a blog? Why now? I'll tell you why...changes.

For the past two or so years, myself and a "friend" have been squiring some time together. We've done up the Atlanta restaurant scene with nearly 100 outings, dinners, concerts and the like. Girl B, as she'll be referred to herein, is twenty six (I like'em young), bright and athletic, fun and colorful. She is also moody and busy as hell.

And this week she gets busier.

In a effort to mitigate the expenses of her upcoming home purchase (which looking back I may have accidently encouraged) she is taking on a second job. A second full time job. At night. Till 2:30am. And that worries me.

She is, for all her athletic prowess, susceptible to apparently every illness that rolls down the pike.

So stressing her system is a bad thing. I'm going to use a weird word here, "we" just got over the flu and today she was sniffling so I'm already concerned. Because as she and I both know, she doesn't take instruction well and is a little bit hardheaded, I'm hoping she doesn't burn herself out trying to avoid...well, burning herself out. Because among her other tendencies is that she pretty single minded.

***

Now, although we've established that we are "just friends", we just don't seem like that. When we hung out it always just me and her, I always paid, the whole vibe of it was always a me and her thing.

Okay, I paid for a plane ticket...or two. And bought flowers. And gifts...birthday, valentine and christmas. But she seemed with it. So how much of "friends" we were is a vast gray area.

The next few months will be the first time in ...gee, years that we haven't hung out on the regular. As in weekly. And to quote Rex Harrison..."I've grown accustomed to her face".

So I guess that means I'm back on the hunt. I would be as perverse to "wait for her"...but since she's not looking it would be like standing in the cold wind hoping for a summer breeze. Hey, I'm romantic, not stupid.

She's still just about my everything.