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* editor's note: this is a poorly written bitchfest that I composed Friday night around 11:00 on my cell phone. It's poorly written and not really interesting other than it ties into the iRANT titled Delusional paranoia, my upcoming day & how to procrastinate your way out of it.

I hate it when I'm right. Today had all the makings of a really lousy day. They only thing missing was the helicopter following me around.

The plan was for me to get to work around nine, but in a couple hours, and head back to The Fortress at 11:20. At 11, our graphic designer/photographer came knocking on my door.

"Hey guy, we're going to do that shoot in about ten minutes."

See, all week long Old Man Peabody had been trying to sage a faux remote shoot with our satellite truck, a reporter, and a cameraman. I told him I'd help and planned accordingly. I think Old Man Peabody's organizational skills need a little work. We initially said Tuesday, but that never came to fruition because he couldn't find a camera. I made the necessary arrangements and secured a camera for our usage and the event was rescheduled for Wednesday. That didn't fly because Wednesday morning, our truck was out on assignment. Once again, I brokered a deal with the news director to give us access to the truck. Once again, the shoot was postponed a day. Thursday morning with the truck keys in one hand and the camera in another, I hunted down Old Man Peabody. We were ready to go except for one minor problem: Old Man Peabody didn't check with our reporter's availability and she was booked solid with appointments throughout the day.

At that point, I had given up on the project because, well frankly, it wasn't my responsibility in the first place. So you can probably imagine my horror when Old Man Peabody came knocking at my door ready to go.

"I can't do it. I've got a million things to do and I gotta hit the road in 20 minutes."

"C'mon guy -- it'll take ten minutes," he said.

"Ten minutes?"

"I promise."

"Alright," I agreed.

"Great!" And before I had a chance to say another word, he left and added "Meet me outside in ten minutes."

And just like that, I knew I'd be really pushing my departure time.

I met Old Man Peabody, our reporter, and the truck all at the designated spot. Wane looked ready to go and asked me where the camera was.

"I don't have it -- you gotta reserve one with the news director."

As Old Man Peabody scurried off in search of a camera, I immediately knew I wanted no part of this project. I quietly found someone else to take my place and headed home.

The plan was for my buddy to pick me up at 11:45. We'd go play softball for an hour or so. He'd go home; I'd finish work and drive the sat truck home. This way I can take the truck to Vegas without having to stop by work in the morning to pick it up. As a courtesy, I called him at 11:30 to make sure he was on his way.

He was still asleep.

So even though I had this enormous to-do list today, I still had to waste 15 minutes or so 'cause Sleeping Beauty couldn't figure out how to set an alarm clock.

But on the brightside, I did enjoy softball (far better than sex).

I got back to work and was able to tie up those loose ends that were hanging over me. In way, I felt relieved. My voiceovers were done. I had no assignments or projects that needed completing. I was needed to be part of the crew for a live news report later in the evening, but there wasn't much to worry about there, right?

Lured in a false sense of security.

I assembled the temporary truck last week. I put it up and down a bunch of times during the week and had no glitches or problems. Since I had about an hour to kill before we had to go out for our live shot, I figured might as well fire the thing up one last time.

It didn't work.

I couldn't figure out why it wouldn't sync with the satellite. Sometimes a building or tree somehow gets in the way and blocks the signal, so I decided to move the truck a few feet. No such luck.

There was no explainable reason why it couldn't sync, so I moved the truck again -- this time far away from anything else around. And again, it would not work.

I got the company on the phone and we did a few little tests but couldn't get the equipment to properly communicate. Before I knew it, our backs were against the wall and we had to leave for our location.

"Instead of me fiddling with this here, lemme get out to our site and try to link up over there," I told the tech. It really made no sense for us to connect where we were anyway -- I had to take the satellite down when we hit the road.

Unfortunately, it made no difference. Tried and tried we did; a successful connection we did not find. There was a real aura of disappointment as headed back to the studio. We lost the shot because of faulty equipment.

I was most pissed. I knew this stuff worked -- I've been using it all week and had no problems with it. I felt like Han Solo when he left Hoth (it's not my fault: I thought I fixed it).

The boss-man needed to know what had happened. I called him up and explained the situation. "You are not to go home or leave for Vegas before the truck is fixed. We can't leave it like this."

Which leads me to where I am right now. I'm sitting in the lobby of our satellite manufacturer, composing this iRANT on my cell phone. After being completely and totally stumped, they told me to take the truck to their warehouse. They dragged a tech away from his family dinner. He's fudging with the equipment. Even though he's using curse words I've never heard, I know exactly what he's saying.

I don't know when I'm gonna be outta here. I don't know how I'm gonna have time to pack. There's only two things I'm sure of: I gotta be on the road in less than ten hours...and I hate it when I'm right.

The only thing missing is the helicopters.

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2006