Yeah, I know. I’ve always kinda-sorta come outta leftfield. Normal is ok, just not my style.
Lady at work the other day, cool lady. She’s in management, and she’s under HELLA HELLA pressure this timea year. We all are, but it all funnels thru her, and the tug from the top can be a bit overwhelming.
She’d put out three consecutive fires yesterday.. I hollered her name across the cubicle (we do that.) and she answered a little snippily “WHAT?”… I laughed, ya haveta, I understood it. But, then I said “__eri” (not her name, but rhymes wit it, and __eri almost always replies like that and far as I can tell she does so when there’s pressure or not.)… She “_ary” (not __eri) said “NOW WAIT A MINUTE”.. laughing, realizing that she had said it snippily. No offense meant, no offense taken - it was just one little snippet of making the day lighter.
I think, don’t u sumbitches steal my idea, I’d love to (attempt) to write a play (Broadway? Is that too idyllic?) called “Cubicle.” U could use real situations, and create new ones. There’s humor to cubicles. You’re cordoned off - yet too it brings about some sorta freedom. My space - speak your peace then get the hell out. Hehe. It’s routine, same ole, territorial, fun, easy to eavesdrop, and you can even pick your nose upon occasion. It‘s not beyond me either to send an email to the six closest cubicle mates to announce “ahm, I‘ve got gas, you might wanna stay away for awhile.” (Victor, you’re too fitty-five trying to act as if you’re twenty-something.) Eh, mebbe. I too thought I wouldn’t get boogers after 20-something, but the basta’s keep showing up.
We, the cubicled ones at work - are “wrapped around” by this humongous “L” hallway of fancy-dancy offices. I could care as L less if I ever get one, I’m happy in my little two wall abode. I enjoy ‘foot soldier’, and fingers crossed, by now the L folks have gained enough trust, seen that I work on their behalf to eyeball our monies spent - they leave me the hell alone.
Nuff about work. Man I been getting’ Dejavu of late. Same ole dreams, same ole wakeup in a cold sweat. Same (nice, but insignificant past job characters) in each.. Even happens whilst I’m awake, mebbe driving. If this is the beginning of dementia, I ain’t liken’ it!
Jackson and Figaro, at the very moment, are “holed up” in the bathroom not-so-proudly displaying their new flea collars. I hate the little bastards (fleas.) I NEVER let my cats out, yet each year, they hitchhike - somehow - inside. I’ve sprayed this ‘magical’ cheapy WalMart dust stuff on the carpets.. So their jail sentence will expire in thirty minutes after I’ve vacuumed again.
Yes I now all about Frontline/Advantage.. but it's like late fees at banks, mortgage charges when ya race to the due date, don't make it, so they add on. I could buy three months for each at such-n-such. But I just can't afford three months. Gimme one month please. "That'll be (four times what one month woulda cost had I bought three months.).." Ahm, hey, it's cool. I'm leaving now. Going to WallyWorld, I'll try somea their cheap stuff, but you have a nice day. Dammit Jim.
There’s two cabinet doors under the microwave. One of ‘em broke off in, I think 2003. (“I’ll fix that Tuesday.. Yeah.. Tuesday.”).. Well, Mr. Jackson, in his attempt to find seclusion from the fleas - now calls this cabinet home (he's gotta '2nd floor' apartment there.) Skeery in the morning to get up, peer and see them eyeball staring at you. Oh he still doesn’t miss a 6am food call, ever. He’s a Maine Coon cat - and they’re longhairs.. So we don’t call him plump, it’s referred to as ‘puffy’.
We sing the “Slim Shady” song in the morning… I start with “MY NAME IS” and he chimes in with “meow” (and a tilt of his head as he says it.) This is repeated three times, then he gives me that “just feed me dammit look” so I do. (Remember, leftfield. Sorry.)
My car has been running without repair for ten days. I’d go knock on wood - but what with the formerly raccoons in my attic, snake in the basement (a blog for another day), fleas in my carpet - I fear if I knocked on wood it would cave in due to mebbe like a termite infestation. So, next time I seeya ‘headsup’ penny, that’ll be my wish. “Keep on keepin on” Hot.. Rod… Lincoln.
Busy day. Victor, who cares? I know, but sitting behind this keyboard is like me being at Arthur Bryant’s with a full slab’a ribs infronta me. I just can’t stop. Left hand to the face, right hand to the face, wipe ‘em both, repeat. Drinka water, s’more left/right. Wipe hands. You get the gist. I’m addicted to……… writing……. BBQ ribs… and.. (just slap me) fine, fine derrieres.
My day. Up at 7am “dad, can u take me to the gas station.” Dammit Jim. Mickey D’s for fitty-four cent senior coffee, their $1.25 Sunday paper, and the company of other old codgers freeloading as I.
To local Home Improvement place for a new vacuum belt, and some flea dust magic. “No, sorry, we ain’t got no vacuum stuff.” Dammit Jim. Off to WallyWorld. Eight stoplights, 1,500 cars in the parking lot, a big enough place you could play Arena Football in.
Home. Sprinkle magic dust. Place flea collars on cats “NO, NO, PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME.” Sorry, oh, and you’re stuck in here (bathroom) for 45 minutes too… sorry!
Blog. Will vacuum. Go to laundromat (I have seven, count ‘em SEVEN, “expired” washer and dryers in the basement. One day I will get there.)… Hustle to great-nephews birthday party at 2pm… Then softball with old cronies at 5 and 6. We’ll talk for three hours about the two hours we just spent on the field.
Then I’ll come home and drop. I like ‘dropping’. Life’s an empty glass, why not fill that sucker to capacity?
You’ve probably heard the story of the professor with the glass jar.. Filled it with fairly big rocks.. Asked the class if it’s full. “Yes.”… Nope, you see, this is your family. Your foundation in life. Proceeded to pour some smaller pebbles in the jar, again asked “Full?”… “Yes” they repeated. Nope, you see, these are your friends….They help fill up your life… “Full?”… “Yes”, surely third time is charm.. Nope.. He proceeded to fill the cracks between the big rocks and the smaller pebbles with sand.. Once that was filled to the brim.. He poured two beers into the jar, and it literally was filled.. Then he announced.. “the sand represents all the others that come in and outta your life.”………. and was then silent…. Kid in the back row raises hand… “yes?”… “what’s the two beers for?”… “There’s always room for a couplea beers.”
So I will partake in a couple of beers. Come home, drop. And the day’s jar will be full.
I likes that. Ifn’s u were here, we could raise a mug together and toast friendship, flea riddance, cars keepin’ circulatin, and the thankfulness for the good Lord givin’ us another sunrise (even if it did occur too darn early. Chocolate milk. He wanted chocolate milk at 7am… One day he’ll be old enough for fitty-four cent coffee and he’ll understand the value of ‘sleeping in on Sunday morning until wheneverthehell I wanna wake up.
Mugs up, love, Victurd.
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