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I’ve been having problems with my T-days lately. It seems like whenever I speak, I say ‘Thursday’ when I mean Tuesday and ‘Tuesday’ when I mean Thursday. That’s not to say I get the days of the week confused. If I’m talking about an event or appointment, I always have the day correct in the aspect of before or after Wednesday–I just use the wrong moniker. I’m not sure what caused this breakdown of basic preschool skills, but it’s getting pretty bad. At this point, folks are better off assuming I’m incorrect instead of believing what I say. I consistently refer to Thursday softball team as the ‘Tuesday squad.’ Weekly Tuesday appointments are always described as a Thursday event. I gotta find away to fix this. I know I get hit in the head a lot, but this mix up has to stop before somebody gets really confused.
Like me.
As mentioned before, I’m a big believer in doing the little things to make someone else’s day (just as long as they don’t inconvenience me). Thursday was a good day for me. Not only did I do a good deed, I got reward for it. That whole ‘pay-it-forward’ concept.
I . . . . .
I never understood the joy of fishing. You sit there and nothing happens. As far as I can tell, it’s all luck. You give two guys the same bare, pole, and lake, there’s nothing either one of ’em can do to catch more fish. They throw their lines and hope something is dumb enough to bite.
Gas prices are skyrocketing and I have little sympathy for those who complain at the pump. America is a society where people really couldn’t care less about the price of gas. Sure, they’ll bitch and complain about how much it cost to fill-up. The evening news will cover numerous stories regarding the hardships people experience. You might even catch a person or two suggest they’ll drive less.
But the truth is actions speak louder than words. If Americans really wanted to do something about the price of gas, they’d take action against it. Look at the roads today–the streets are jam-packed with SVUs and other non-economical vehicles. American’s are obsessed with big cars and powerful engines. There’s a reason there’s more Suburbans on the road than Focuses–Americans love their big cars.
Rising fuel costs isn’t anything new. A decade ago, I remember when gas . . . . .
I work for a television station. It’s a crappy television station–but it’s still a television station. Some folks are star-struck when they hear I work in TV (I used it to impress chiks when I single). But when someone gets a first-hand view of it, they realize it is a crappy television and nothing to be impressed with. People have this romantic view of television. They think of stations as big, well-executed, high-tech machines…which is about as far from the truth as possible at my job. The point is no one knows it’s a crappy television station until they see it.
Because we are a television station, any time there’s a job opening–no matter how mundane or small–we get a ton of applicants because people want “to get their foot in the door.” It doesn’t take long for folks to realize that door only leads to a closet–but like I said, no one knows until they’re there. I can’t tell you how many pretty young things with aspirations and dreams we hired…only to quietly disappear a few weeks later. Mailroom assistant, president’s assistant, even assistant’s assistant–all crappy jobs usually applied for by people who want bigger and better things.
Back . . . . .
I hate traffic. It’s probably because I’m an impatient person. Disneyland is my worst nightmare because the lines and a traffic jam is nothing but a line with cars. My job, my girl, my family–they all live within ten minutes because if I had to drive 11 minutes, I probably wouldn’t see any of them again.
Last month I caught in the mother of all traffic jams. I know there have been 80-car pile-ups in the Midwest, but since that hasn’t happened to me I’m gonna pretend they never happened. I was sitting on the 210 freeway–completely not moving–for reasons unknown. I know this is SoCal and folks sit in traffic jams everyday–but not me. The idiots who work in LA and live in OC brought that upon themselves. If they wanna sit in traffic for an hour each way, that’s their business–the lifestyle they chose. But not me. I hate traffic more Kevin Costner movies and people who vote for the Green Party. You’re forced to do nothing but sit and wait. I’m not an important person–but I have more important things to do than sit around twiddling my thumbs.
I called The Girlfriend up. She said according to . . . . .
I am so over eating. It’s such a chore–and the process never stops. The typical human eats three meals a day–that’s three times a day you gotta figure out what to eat. Three times a day to cook. Three times a day to clean it. I feel like a stray cat–always on the look out for my next meal. And the worst part is this process never ends. We always hafta eat. There’s always going to be a next meal (unless you’re on death row: than it’s your last meal).
Maybe it’s ’cause I’m in a relationship now and eating for two. In the past, I never thought about my next meal. I always just waited until I was hungry and ate something like a box of cookies or bowl of cereal. Even when I cooked, it was much simpler (it’s not hard to grill up chicken and put it in a tortilla with cheese). When I was single, I didn’t have ‘meals’–I ate food. But now that I’m in a serious relationship with a girl I have two meals a day–it just requires more planning. No junk food. No fast-food. No pizza. We gotta have healthy meals–plates with green . . . . .
My dear friend Red Jesus owes me a rather sizable sum of money and when I bought pizza tonight, it bumped up the tab ten bucks. “That’s $83 you owe me now,” I reminded him.
Being the kind of person who doesn’t like having debt hanging over his head, Red Jesus reached for his wallet. He didn’t have the $83 on him–but he had some cash and wanted to make a dent in his outstanding debt. “Here ya go,” he said and handed me some cash.
“Three bucks?” I said to him.
“You’ll get your money,” he said, tying to justify the smallest good-faith payment the world has ever seen. With deadbeats like that, who needs enemies?
Let’s dive into a quickie about the health care industry. Since Dr. Zaius and Sacred Heart Hospital tried killing me (which is another story I’d like to tell–but we’ll save that for different day), I wanna see a different doctor regarding my deviated septum. I don’t know why it took me two months to contact the insurance (maybe it’s because deep-down, I knew it’d be a pain in the ass). I called the insurance and explained my situation. Dr. Zaius said I had . . . . .
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