The damned cake.

The edible graphic reads ''King for a day.'' Grandma had them add ''Thanks to the queen!'' in orange icing.

Wanderlust.

Mother's Day is fast approaching. Are you ready? My celebration of my own mother will be incredibly low budget this year. Incredibly. Think indie film and then make it a radio monologue instead. Low, low budget. Still. It's all in the gesture, right? Let's hope so.



I'm not getting a tattoo. Well, maybe I am, but this wouldn't necessarily be my first choice. Nothing wrong with it, except... well... I would eventually like to get laid. This tattoo wouldn't help in that effort and this digression isn't helping in my attempt to celebrate the special occasion. So, back on point: Happy Mother's Day, punk!

I may or may not be leaving in eight days. I will know for sure either way in three. Doesn't really leave me a whole lot of time to prepare if I am leaving, but I guess I really don't need much. I've been ready since December to do something - read as anything that pays - but I can't say I haven't enjoyed being a jobless bum. It's boring, but it's very calming. At least, it's calming when I'm not completely freaking out about my financial situation. I'm a little excited about this job and a little anxious. It definitely pays what I want - not just what I need - which is more than I can say for most of the jobs I've been reluctantly trying for recently. It will mean getting out in the world and putting distance between myself and the rest of it. I definitely like not being part of the collective. I can't imagine going a day, much less a week or possibly months at a time, without having to be polite and fake for the sake of keeping a job. In fact, my contact with the general public will be rather limited. I can't even wait. You have no idea. All of this is very exciting, but there are hoops to jump through just to make it through the screening process. I've cleared all of them so far with the exception of previous work experience which is what I should get a verdict on next week (Tuesday). Then I'm off, hopefully, to begin rigorous training. My only concern is the physical and only because I have no idea what my blood pressure or any of that is doing. That would be devastating, to make it all the way there and then be disqualified because I have an irregular heartbeat or diabetes. I don't have either of those. Those are just random health complications that could screw over if I were to have them. Which, again, I don't. I just like freaking myself out. Anyway, that will be an experience. That's exactly what I need, an adventure. The only real downside is going there will mean spending my birthday in a small hotel room in Indiana. Yay. That wouldn't be nearly as disappointing if I hadn't just moved back home - I use that term loosely. But, there are a number of sacrifices I would gladly make in order to start making real money once again. It's quite an impressive list actually. I won't be sharing that with anyone ever.

I spent Friday morning with the grandparents. That was prompted by a rather rudely toned voicemail I received on Thursday morning which I didn't return until late Thursday afternoon. Again, I really didn't care for the tone of the voicemail. It was from... (hmmmmm. I haven't named him yet. I just realized that.) It was from Toolbelt. (I'm going to take a few moments to smoke a cigarette and giggle like mad before coming back and finishing this post. You won't even notice the delay, but I had to underscore my amusement. The break is for real. I'm doing it. Be right back with you after the parentheses close.) He said something to the effect of:

"Hello, Mr. J. It would be so nice if you could find the time in your busy schedule to call your dear grandmother. She would love to hear from you. Today. In case you forgot the number, it's ###-###-####."

I could be more certain if I hadn't immediately deleted the message upon hearing him actually reciting my grandmother's phone number - including area code - to me. There may have even been more of the message. I'll never know. I don't actually care. It wasn't so much the phrasing and the attempt at invoking guilt (which is most definitely an inherent family ability that you can't just marry into and expect to pull off with the same passive-aggression or subtlety) as it was simply the tone he used. Actually, it was equal parts of all of that. I didn't care for any of it. But the tone was especially enraging. Also, the Mr. J thing is peculiar. He's technically my uncle now by marriage, so... I don't know. Whatever. It's bizarre, but none of my aunt's husbands have ever been anything but that. I do have to say that Toolbelt is a slight upgrade from Soup, but only very slight. They were friends at one point, afterall. Wow. Even I sometimes get completely lost and confused in my attempts to explain the ever changing ranks of my family and the various allegiances and relationships of the people within it. I'll just move on, I think. In summation:

Toolbelt called me and left me an asshole voicemail. He and my aunt were going out of town to retrieve his son from college in Toledo. They wanted to know if I could be at my grandmother's house on Friday morning to assist her in moving my grandfather about. Which I very well could having absolutely nothing to do ever. It was an interesting and horrifying experience. I now know that I could never be a caretaker for the elderly. I possibly could, but I won't. Anyway, I didn't have to look through thousands of photos having already taken care of that on a previous visit. I was prompted to look around and take anything I wanted. I had also already taken care of that on a previous visit. But if I hadn't, that would have been the perfect opportunity to remove something from the house without the intervention of the family hoarders who have taken up residence there - namely my aunt and Toolbelt. I should also mention that I was a little late arriving that morning. I had woken up two hours before I was scheduled to arrive and decided I could go back to sleep and still wake up on time. I was obviously wrong. I woke up half an hour after I should have already been there, but I have a valid excuse. When I went back to sleep, I had a very lucid sort of dream. In this dream, I did wake up at the appropriate time and was actually engaged in a very heated argument with my grandfather at his house when I woke up to realize I was alone, still at mine, and late. The fact that I was exchanging words with my grandfather was what alerted my unconscious brain that my subconscious, while very cunning and deceitful, wasn't entirely educated in my personal current events and family history. In short, my subconscious is a tricky idiot. At least I finally did show up and perform my duty with varied levels of enthusiasm. I suppose that's something. My sister had intended to go as well, but she also slept in and did not wake up until I returned from the visit.

I haven't spoken to the subject of my last post since the events of the last post. Before yesterday, I had only an idea of when I might be leaving. Now I have a very defined, but not yet confirmed, time frame. I think it would be fitting to simply leave it as it is. It won't be the first time I've simply exited his life for an indefinite amount of time. It may or may not be the last. Alot of my life can be summarized as a sentence fragment concluded with a comma or hyphen. To be continued? Fuck if I know.

I've just been baking.

That's a fairly appropriate movie reference which parallels my whole life right now. If you have any idea what I'm talking about then you already know far too much about me to be allowed to live. We'll simply move on and I'll try to stop smirking.

In a misguided attempt to take some form of control over my ridiculous and unraveled existence, I decided to cook a number of dishes from a fascinating cook book that has been on my shelf (maintained in prime and mint condition and only once skimmed over) for possibly the better part of a decade. I suppose my state of mind was something to the tune of "It's soooo much better to do something than not. Right? I guess." Yeah, I was seriously just as motivated as I was sarcastic. Status quo for me. After skimming through the cook book several times, I chose three dishes to make. The first dish seemed simple enough for my purposes and possibly just as delicious. One of those assumptions proved more correct than the other. Anyway, I started with pepperoni rolls. Chopping the pepperoni was fun. I think I just like the act of cutting things up into tiny pieces. Observe:



After adding all the other ingredients and rolling everything into tiny balls of dough, I was ready to do the actual baking. I was under the impression that at some point during that baking process the tiny balls of dough would grow into something that didn't look like the product of an absurd Easy Bake oven experiment. Again, assumptions making an ass out of me. You, too, if you went with me on that one.



The finished product was... disappointing. Extremely disappointing. I had a stockpile of bite size mini pepperoni rolls that were incredibly dry and nearly tasteless. Not a very inspiring start to my sudden impulse to submerge myself into the wonderful world of cooking. Still, I had some momentum and could make it through another dish before submitting to frustration and total failure. Hopefully, my next dish would be slightly more successful and allow me some sense of accomplishment to build on.

Stupid pepperoni rolls.



I decided not to attempt a main course after my appetizer set back. I skipped ahead to dessert instead. I would make an apple pie, but not just any apple pie. No, this could be the most amazing apple pie of all time. At the very least, it would be the most amazing apple pie I had ever made. It was all about the crust.



Chocolate chip cookie dough infused with oatmeal to form a delicious layer of crispy cookie crust and then filled to capacity with sweet apple goo. I would completely lose my mind and start destroying the kitchen if this didn't end in absolute confection perfection. Fortunately, it did. This was the most amazing apple pie of all time and I made it. Hell to the yes.



Thanks to my amazing pie success, I was sincerely motivated and ready to tackle anything - except more pepperoni rolls, which I will never make again from that recipe. For the main course, I had selected '50s-style creamed chicken. I was a little apprehensive since I have a varying tolerance for mushrooms. Luckily, they were barely noticeable. Actually, the dish tasted very much like beef stroganoff. Probably alot cheaper to make, too. I wouldn't know, but maybe someday I'll find out.



Overall, I'd consider my kitchen experiment a success. Since then, I've tried a few additional recipes with similarly varying levels of success and failure. It's an exciting process of continuous trial and error.

1,667 words/day.

You may have noticed I haven't posted in awhile. Trust me, I've had a few things to post about:

New tenants stealing my cable/internet.
Halloween. (with photo, maybe)
My contribution to Goodwill.

But I'm probably not going to do any more posts until December, and by then I'll have several more things to post about in addition to those pending topics. If I ever leave my apartment, which I probably won't except for work. So, see you in December.

December?

Yes, December.

But, why?

Well, you may or may not have noticed a new box to the right at the top of my menu bar. This little icon displays my current word count for NaNoWriMo. Follow that link to learn about the program or sign up for it yourself. We can be WriMates. Basically, I'm writing a 50,000 word novel. I have only the thirty days of November in which to write at least 50,000 words and complete the novel. At the time of this post, I'm at 10,333 on November 5. I have 25 days left in which to write the additional 39,667 words.

Exciting, right?

Brother from another mother? Hmmm.

I just figured it out. The majority of the random people I run into out in public here in West Virginia think I'm this guy. I know what you're thinking: But J, he has decidedly less blood on his face than you usually do. I know. I'm a very intense person and it's hard for other people to reach that level of bloodlust and insanity. But he's trying. That's something, right? Anyway... Meet Owen Schmitt. Here he is with his face covered in his own blood as he prepares to take the field for the Seattle Seahawks. Now, you're really confused. Why in the hell would anyone in West Virginia confuse me with a professional football player for Seattle? Well, he wasn't always a professional football player and he's no longer with Seattle. Now he's in Philadelphia. Even more confused? I know. The world is crazy and random and usually doesn't make any sense. But this does. Or at least, it will once I explain it to you. Just enjoy this clueless moment. Still nothing? What if he catches another football? Does that help? You know I'm enjoying this. In fact, I'm not sure I want to complete this post. I'm having too much fun. Secrets are delicious. Football is also delicious. This is my current favorite post of all time. Love it. So, I guess you're more than ready to know the whole truth now. Oh, the suspense! This is the image I found while running a Google search for "West Virginia crazy". The original plan was to write a post about how I'm adapting to the culture and community of West Virginia and all the things that make it "Wild and Wonderful". When I saw this photo, I said "Look at that crazy fucker. He's got my hair. And my mouth. Oh. I get it now." Then I sent the googlebots after Schmitt. Neither disappointed. Scmitt was a walk-on at WVU. (Gasp! What?) That's right. He played college football in Morgantown and West Virginia fell in love with him. And why not? Look at that mug. Check out his wiki. Schmitt came to West Virginia with nothing but a dream and a mohawk, much like me, and he left with an enormous fan base and a highly lucrative career, much like me (I hope.). Schmitt left West Virginia to play for the NFL, which explains why no one has seen him around lately. But he was a very, very big deal and still is after playing fiercely for the Mountaineers. When you account for the physical similarities between us and the coincidental fact that I now reside in a state that completely adores the guy, it's not a huge leap for most people to assume we are in fact the same person - especially when I just show up at random around the area highly populated by his loyal and loving fan club. So, that explains part of it, but it leaves one unanswered question: Is Owen Schmitt responsible for people continuously soliciting me for illegal substances? I don't think so. I believe that's someone else entirely and I doubt I'll ever know anything more about that person. I base this theory of yet another alternate copy of myself from the press interviews I've been watching and the fan testimonials. Schmitt seems like a really decent guy - if not somewhat crazy. But when you've got that much testosterone flooding your veins, there's very little chance of being anything remotely close to sane. He seems like a genuinely appreciative and respectful guy. Now, I'm not saying that this means he's incapable of committing crimes such as possession, intent to sell, or even trafficking, but there are no records of him ever being arrested or suspected of any of these things. (He did have a DUI charge which was reduced to reckless driving and resulted in community service, but he apologized for that and that only proves that living in Seattle makes people more prone to alcoholism and poor decision making. Hi, K. That one's for you. LoL.) Anyway, I don't believe that he is responsible for those instances of mistaken identity. Even if that is the case, I'd prefer to think better of both of us. I do, however, believe he is the reason why random strangers (especially males between the ages of 25-50 and females between the ages of 25-30) are so helpful and flirtatious (respectfully, but not always). No, being mistaken for Schmitt is always a good thing for me - regardless of whether I'm interested or appreciative of that specific kind of sudden attention. It feels good, even if it's not actually about me or for me. In a way, it kind of is because I'm the physical body present and the object of that affection/attention. But it's really not. I'm not crazy in that way. Understanding the actual reason for the case of mistaken identity and being aware of the intended target of it helps me make more sense of what had previously been fascinating in that "why the hell does this keep happening" sort of way. Anyway, it's been fun and now it'll be more fun since I've landed myself on the inside of this joke. I'm sure at least some of you are wondering how he got all that blood on his face in the first photo of this post. Let me solve that mystery with a term that usually ends with most people being psychologically evaluated and possibly committed: self-inflicted injury. Yep. It could just as easily have occurred as the result of a tackle or other mishap during the course of a professional football game, but it didn't. It happened during the player introductions and the game hadn't even started yet before Schmitt received several stitches after falling victim to his own savage intensity and the protective gear meant to prevent exactly that sort of thing. See. We're not so different, afterall. We're equally intense and reckless with ourselves. However, if that photo montage was not graphic enough for you, I found a video of it on YouTube. Enjoy. There are several other YouTube videos from games, interviews, and even several fan tributes. The best thing to come from this sudden discovery? I have finally figured out my Halloween costume for this year. Even better, mine comes with a demotivational poster. Can't wait. This will be the best year ever. Hurray for Owen Schmitt! Photobucket banned the poster. Trust me, it's not a huge loss for anyone. I'll post Halloween pics as soon as I get some.

You lying bastard.

I know. Trust me, I am thoroughly aware.

In my defense, I had every intention of returning and revisiting the topic of the last post... three weeks ago. My how time flies when you're preoccupied and self-absorbed. Anyway... I shaved my head awhile back. My hair is growing back out now though, so the following picture is no longer current.



Yeah, I'm slacking. Is that surprising to anyone? Honestly? Refer to photo above for cocked eyebrow. Yeah. So, let's get this party started.

As for current events, I've just watched seasons 1 and 2 of Better Off Ted. I can relate so completely with this sitcom and I have one character to thank: Veronica, played by Portia de Rossi (whose legal name is now Portia Lee James DeGeneres following her 2008 marriage to Ellen DeGeneres) as pictured at left, reminds me so thoroughly of someone (I'll never say who.) it makes watching the show a real delight. Also, it makes work alot more entertaining when I can superimpose de Rossi over her real-world counterpart. Also, the show is hilarious on it's own merit. I enjoy the ambiguity of the characters' moral compasses... or lack thereof. Working for a corporation definitely tests your integrity on a semi-regular basis.

It should be noted that I do not work for an inherently evil corporation. My corporate structure is benign or Paula Abdul (who will not be pictured on this blog, ever) at best. But, having worked for corrupt persons/business entities in the past, I appreciate the situational comedy of merely trying to survive in that atmosphere between paychecks - assuming the checks are real, which often in those situations they're not. So, whether or not you can fully relate, I still recommend it to anyone with an active subscription of Netflix. Portia de Rossi! Ok, I'm done obsessing.

While visiting last week, my sister got me hooked on Sons of Anarchy. My DVR is now programmed to record any time it airs. Hurray for Tuesdays and something other than Glee to watch, which I also love but not so much for the singing as the drama and character interaction. Actually, I could probably do without almost all of the singing, especially the solos by Lea Michele as Rachel Berry. Anyway, back to SOA which I will definitely be watching tonight after a quick trip to the grocer and possibly an appliance store to look at the pricing of clothes driers and weep.

I try to convince myself that air drying clothes in my apartment is not only earth conscience and energy efficient but it's also somehow glamorous and reminiscent of a canal in Venice. That works for about thirty seconds and then I return to how aggravating and unsightly the situation actually is and I don't care how much money I'm theoretically saving by waiting two days for my clothes to dry. And the stiffness when it does... I need fabric softener to live, damn it. I know where most of my next bonus is going. In the meantime, I need to find a laundromat because right now every piece of my wardrobe can be combined into a full-body, armor-plated body shield. I like to be comfortable, which is only possible when I'm not wearing clothes now. The "No Pants!" Revolution is alive and well in Apartment H.

Speaking of which, everyone in my building was evicted. Everyone. I can park where ever the hell I want and it's glorious. Hurray for being the only tenant able to pay his rent on time. YES! I also paid my utilities. Love me some online banking.

There's a surprise on the immediate horizon for my family. I'm not saying anything else. We'll just wait for Christmas and no one but my sister and I will have to pretend to be shocked by the sudden revelation. Exciting. Can't wait. I'm sending gift baskets in my absence this year. Coffee themed, I think. I want everyone to be hyper on top of being crazy, abrasive, and openly hostile. Good luck, Ohio. You'll need it.

I've been plagued with alot of uncertainty lately. Most of that uncertainty involves the immediate future of my supposed career. The time to decide the next step is here and I'm still not convinced I want to advance any further up the ladder that I've been passive-aggressively and occasionally agressive-aggressively climbing. Sure, I would love more money and theoretically more control. However, I'm not sure I want to be the person I would inevitably become in that alternate reality. I think I'm fairer than most when it comes to the welfare and concerns of my employees, but I also realize that there are several times when the only thing stopping me from killing every one of them is not having anyone left to clean up the mess I'd make by doing so.

And it would be messy. You have no idea.

Besides that lingering homicidal rage, I'm not sure I'm ready to be the ultimate authority of anything. It's alot less exhausting to have a higher power to answer to and for in work situations. I'm only somewhat ambitious. There are limits to it, very real and quickly approaching limits. I would not, however, be opposed to moving again - anywhere. Location no longer matters to me, if it ever did. I'm comfortable in my current position and am working daily to improve my efficiency and competency. I would like additional real world experience and some more diversity in my management setting. More diversity as in: new people, new places, new anything and everything. Change and a lot of it. Constant and forever.


Anyway, it's something for me to think about and obsess over in the meantime while the higher powers decide what to do with me.

Grandpa's Hands. [for Jake] (Updated with 9 more photos.)

One of my earliest memories was being completely horrified by the ugly, bluntness of the fingers on my grandfather's large, hairy hands. They seemed so horrible, rough, and careless. I compared them to the beautiful, delicate fingers of my own thin, smooth hands. It seemed impossible that genetics could differ so greatly in just two generations. That's when I convinced myself that I was not a member of the family unit presented to me. I thought I had uncovered a terrible secret. But as I watched those hands, I discovered another secret - they weren't as careless and useless as I imagined. Those hands could do things I couldn't imagine. They built strong, towering, powerful structures from nothing but wood, blood, and sweat. Those ugly fingers took quick, swift measurements and then cut through beams of timber and slowly, expertly brought all the tiny pieces together to create something new and useful and brilliant. The first thing I remember those hands building was a deck for my aunt and uncle in California. It took days. I was bored before the end of the first. I spent my time mastering the fine art of nintendo entertainment while just outside in the heat of the desert my grandfather was building a foundation and then covering it with diagonal planks that would provide us all with a platform to stand upon. The finished product was massive. We saved the irregular remainders - strange wooden blocks that formed trapezoids, parallelograms, rhombuses - and I played with them for years trying to re-enact the grand scheme I had seen that day. I had missed the construction of it, but I wasn't completely lost on the magnificence of the transformation from absolute nothing to completion of a new presence in the world. I was in awe of the power and knowledge and ability in those ugly, ridiculous hands.

I was also terrified of them. Whenever I misbehaved at my grandparents' house, my grandmother would threaten that grandpa was going to spank me. The very thought of it scared me senseless. I had seen what those hands could do to trees and stone. What chance could something made of mere flesh and bone stand against the immense power of forces like that? I was a very well behaved little boy - most of the time.

I no longer doubted my heritage, either. I found myself wondering if perhaps one day my own hands would grow and mature into the forms I had admired and feared. While they did come to master many things with grace and precision, they did not ever physically change - except in size and hairiness. I still have the thin, delicate, beautiful fingers of an artist. Still, I can't help but imagine what it would be like to control and shape the elements of the world and to re-shape them as I chose.



My grandfather cleaning what appears to be either a chicken or turkey. I remember this photo a little differently. In my mind, it was fish he was cleaning, as I'm sure he did on several occasions - just not on this one.



My grandfather laying the brickwork border of the rear patio of the yellow house. The brickwork kept the swamp of the yard from overtaking the patio, until later tenants broke it up and let it drain back.



Grandpa and grandma renovating the shed behind the yellow house.



Grandpa sewing up the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.



Grandpa roasting the turkey on the spit, which he also made - of course.



Grandpa helping his neighbour with a massive project.



Happy Birthday, Grandpa.



Grandpa cutting and serving the turkey.



Grandpa and grandma celebrate their wedding anniversary.



Grandpa, younger than I am now.



Grandpa and the boys.

Wag me.

It's 5:30am. I work today. I'm not sure when, but it's going to happen and it'll last for 9 glorious hours. How would I rather spend my day? See photo. Oh well. We do what we must to do what we want.

Rent.

No, this isn't a musical. Settle down.

So... as of January, I've been renting my old house out to a former employee. I did this out of desperate necessity. Obviously, not ideal circumstances. Since January, I've received two months of rent. I'm still waiting for April, May, and June - soon to include July.

This would be fine if the damn electric company had terminated my account one of the five times I asked them to do so. Well, they finally did. This month. How lovely. So... I've got another massive electric bill to pay. I'm very excited.

I would subtract that from the rent I'd collected so far, but $0 minus $700+ is still $700+ in the hole.

Yeah. My financial situation is inspiring. But, it gets better. I left my phone in my jeep yesterday evening when I got home from work, so I missed my grandmother's call. It's land tax time again. How exciting. I can't wait for that bill to make it through the mail system and into my hands. Again, I would subtract that from the rent I'd collected so far, but -$700+ minus maybe another $600+ is a very painful $1300+ in the red.

Someone should kill me. I bet it would cost alot less. Bargain assassinations. I'm going to Google it. Oh, how completely unsurprising. Assassinations are much cheaper if you have them done in Mexico. I guess it's time for a roadtrip.

To summarize, renting the house has cost me about $1400 for 6 months.

Wait a minute. What happened to the rent from the two months I did receive? Oh, that went to paying off the previous electric bill which was just as massive. October, November, December, and January are the worst months for electric bills, by far. I still have the previous land tax bill to repay to my grandparents.

A wise man - who also happened to be a complete asshole - once told me that if I ever found myself in a hole, the best way to get out of it was to stop digging. Of course, I'd then push him into it and fill it back in. I mean, who wants a giant hole in their yard and some know-it-all asshole standing there looking smug? Not me. Unfortunately, I'm not the only one digging this hole and I stopped digging nearly a year ago. There may be hope, though.

I talked to the renter a month ago to find out if there was any chance in hell of ever seeing some money from him or if I should just evict him. He assured me he had every intention of paying and that money would be forthcoming and soon. Well, that worked out very well. Anyway, I just had another chat with my tenant. I'll hold by breath until this Friday. That's as much patience as I have left.

I mean, I understand we all have problems and shit happens and things fall apart. However, I got bills to pay on top of the house bills to pay. I just got my Jeep back from the shop and I still think there's something seriously wrong with it - something completely different that's just as seriously wrong with it, to clarify. I could also use an eye exam so that I can see things singularly instead of in multiples of two or three depending on distance. Whatever. I lost where I was going with that. Oh, we all got bullshit expenses and living costs money. So, that said... I can empathize to a degree, but I got no sympathy for anyone that can't step up and take care of business. I think I've demonstrated a fair degree of patience up to this point, so it's out of my hands after Friday. I can't help anyone who won't help themselves and I defintiely won't help anyone who won't help me back.

I totally understand why my grandmother was so eager to wash her hands of the whole messy situation. I got enough stress without the house bullshit to deal with. Seriously. Also, I don't need help accumulating more debt. I have more than enough and I was making great progress with that. But... yeah. I don't need more ways to spend my paycheck. It's stretched as far as it will go already.

I'm hoping it works out and my tenant makes an effort - some effort, any effort at all would be great at this point - to pay his rent and help me with that growing pile of savage bills.

Damn. No wonder my landlord fucking loves me. I pay that shit no less than a week early. I'm like clock work - easy money.

[/freak out and sigh]

Escapism.

Sunday... It's like Monday, but... Yeah.

4 hours to freedom, suckas.

Do panic. (Almost noon.)

I'm still awake... So far. It's been a weird day. Incredibly strange. Time isn't quite synced with reality. It's just slightly off like terrible low budget dubbing.

To keep everyone - including myself - on their toes and alert, I keep quizzing people on disaster response protocols. I'm glad there isn't really a tornado. No one wants to assume crash position huddles in the restrooms. We may be doomed, but we'll maintain our dignity in the face of natural disasters.

It's a little alarming the responses I got on how to respond to a fatality. 

''Am I a suspect?''
''I don't know. For the sake of the exercise... It was an accident.''
''Oh. Then I guess we should dial 911.''

But only after we determine none of us are murderers. Of course.

I'd be a lot more worried if I wasn't slightly delirious.

Fun with stick figures.

"Lost my head." This is the image I cropped my profile photo from. I made it several years ago and used it as a horizontal rule to separate my posts. Yeah, I'm weird. Enjoy!

Fun with science.

Why I really left Ohio.

If you're not completely certain you want to know this, you better stop reading right fucking now. I'm giving you the opportunity I never had. I'm giving you the option to gracefully walk away unscathed from the total shitstorm that I'm about to lay to type. You really don't have to read this. I, unfortunately, do have to write about it. It's time. It was a year ago now and 277 miles away. I think that's a safe distance on both accounts.

Previous to this incident, I had stated my intentions to my boss that I was very, very interested in exploring my options - especially in the case of the newly proposed and exciting West Virgina expansion. Since she had completely denied me the opportunity five months previous to that when there was a similar opportunity in North Carolina, I decided I would contact the recruiter and add my name to the list of those considered before speaking to her about my interest in doing so. Tacky, I know. But, what else was there to do? I was bored. It felt like I was slowly dying only... more monotonous, more futile. I had forgotten all about doing it, to be honest, when I received a phone call from the woman running the show in the new region of West Virginia. I was completely unprepared. In fact, I was working my other job when she called. I dropped everything and I gave the phone interview of my life. I gave that interview like my very life depended on it. For me, it was an opportunity to do something bold and new and amazing with a life that had become simply a matter of juggling two jobs and attempting to find the time to sleep inbetween. I was tired in so many, many ways.

Anyway, not the point of the story but relevant to establishing the timeline in the sequence of events and my state of mind/being/whatever.

That afternoon, when I clocked in at my primary job, I smiled at my boss. I imagined a time when I wouldn't be able to anymore. I imagined what my new life might be like. It was all hypothetical and magic.

"We need to talk." And I explained the situation.
"Wha... What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing. What?"
"That's not the way you do things."
"Well, that's how I did them and that's how they are."
"Are you so unhappy here?"
"Not unhappy, just... There's zero chance of me advancing my career here. Unless you die, of course. Same thing at the other place. No one just quits their job at this level. I have to wait for someone to retire or die. I'm ready now. I don't want to waste the next ten years growing bitter and lazy."
"Wow. I still don't like the way you went about this."
"I didn't think they were going to call. I sort of gave up and forgot about it. It's been quite awhile. I wanted to at least try, though. You never know unless you try. Anyway, I forgot all about it until today."

So, I made the trip to West Virginia. I got paid to do so. I got paid very well to do so and just to take a look and hear what they had to say. If anything, it was worth the paid vacation and mileage. The first thing I noticed was the speed limit sign after I crossed the Ohio River and crossed the state line.

70 mph

I was in love.

We, the potential transfer candidates, all met for dinner in the training center - a small facility next to Borders in the largest mall I'd ever seen - with the future managers of the area and the district manager. We asked questions and they answered. They asked questions and we all answered in turn. They took notes. I wondered if I should be doing the same. This guy kept staring at me and it made me nervous. I tried to imagine what he was thinking. It didn't matter. I was here so there was a chance. That was enough to obsess about. I kept thinking that this was just the casual introductory dinner. The interviews would be the following morning and that's when I was going to win them over. Only, it turned out, that was the interview. It was an impromptu completely casual group interview. How obscene. The next day we were told to get out and explore the area. We were told the sites of the new locations and set loose. It was absurd. I made the best of it. I logged nearly 100 miles that day. I saw a lot of promise and opportunity and hope. I could live here if they let me. I really could. I think it was March. I went to Camden Park which was, of course, closed. I was sad. I might never be back and I'd never get to see it alive and working. I went to the Blenko glass factory. It was even less thrilling than the closed amusement park. I saw mountains of coal but felt no desire to tour the facilities or mines. Seeing the coal was enough for me. Then there were the bridges. There were so many of them everywhere. It felt like the entire state was lacerated by tiny snaking rivers. I crossed more than I could count. That's exaggeration. I crossed more than I could care to count. I came back to Ohio so eager and hopeful. That feeling slowly faded as the months passed silently. I did not receive a call, letter, or email. There was no response at all. Which seemed appropriate, actually, since there had been no official interview. The people I had told about my adventures and prospects did not look me in the eyes by the time May came to an end and June began. They pitied the poor foolish boy who still believed in this ridiculous fantasy of a better life that someone was just going to hand him. I tried not to resent them for it. I also wished I had simply kept those dreams of mine to myself instead of sharing them so freely with whoever would listen to my manic ranting. Life went on much the way it had, but with a new undertone of rejection and defeat.

It was an anonymous Saturday night when I noticed that my Jeep was pulling to the right side a little as I drove home from work at 2am. I assumed it was the air pressure. I checked it in the dark when I got home. The tires were all firm. I would test them tomorrow when I went back to work, just to be sure. Then I thought maybe the roads were a little slick or perhaps the wind was a little stronger than usual. Then I didn't think much at all because I was tired from working both jobs that day and not sleeping very much. Sunday was my recovery day. I only had one job to work and not until the afternoon. I could sleep until then and I did.

I was immediately reminded of the problem Sunday afternoon as I drove to work. This time, however, it wasn't a slight pull to the right. Things had escalated severely. I am, however, a very stubborn bastard and I was determined to make it to work. I would deal with this problem after I made it there on time. I never did make it to work that day. I had just come down the off ramp from the highway and made a left hand turn at the stop light onto the road leading to my work site. There was another light immediately after to allow the other side of the highway to turn into the other lane. It was after the first turn and before the second stop light that I heard the noise that made my heart stop and my Jeep as well.

"Oh shit, I just hit something."

I scanned the areas around me with all my mirrors and could not identify what I had hit or why I had come to a complete and sudden stop. I began to move forward. It wasn't easy. Something was flapping around somewhere. I assumed I had a flat tire. Then I heard that noise again and both my Jeep and heart stopped once more. After that, I was done. I could not move any further. Fortunately, I had made it to the second stop light. Unfortunately, it had turned green. I turned on my hazards and waved people around. I still had ten minutes to get to work and I could actually see it from where I was. I called work.

"Hi. Are you near a window?"
"Um. Yes, I am."
"Do you see that mess of traffic at the light by the overpass?"
"Yeah. I do."
"That's me. I think I have a flat. I might be late."
"Ok. Call back if you need help. Rob's not here, though."
"That's ok. I think I can handle it. See you soon."

I crawled across the seats and exited the passenger side of the vehicle. I immediately spotted the offending wheel and I immediately hit redial.

"I'm going to need a tow. Can you find a number for me and call them?"
"What's wrong?"
"Just call a tow for me, please."



This is what I was looking at as I made this call and said these words. What I was thinking was that I shouldn't freak the hell out and completely lose my shit even though I really, really wanted to. I remained calm which allowed me to remain objective and to investigate the situation since I would be waiting for that tow for over an hour. What I discovered was only one lug nut. The thread inside the lug nut which allowed it to securely screw into place seemed intact except for the very end towards the bottom which seemed like it had caught on fire and melted. I examined the rods which it and its fellow lug nuts had once been screwed onto keeping my tire in place. The threads on these were also intact. They weren't worn down or eroded or stripped. There was no logical, natural explanation for this event. Tires don't just fall off of moving vehicles and then get pinned underneath them. They don't.



I remember the first thing the tow truck driver said to me and the waves of horror and closure it sent through my body:

"Wow. Who'd you piss off?"
"I'm not sure, actually."
"You make any enemies lately?"
"Possibly several. I don't know."
"You... aren't in management, are ya?"
"Yes... I... (clearing throat) Yes. I am."
"Well, that explains it, then."



As we rode through town to the only garage that was open on a Sunday, he told me a little anecdote from his personal history. I think it was meant to make me feel better. Anyway...

He had been in management once. I think it was a restaurant in Dayton or Toledo or somewhere. Well, he had asked his dishwasher - who had no dishes to wash at that particular moment - to empty the trash and take it out to the dumpster - which was actually part of his job, no one else shared this responsibility, it was solely his specific job duty. Well, based on the surveillance video which would then become evidence, the dishwasher - after taking out the trash - smashed every part of this manager's vehicle that he could with a crow bar: headlights, tail lights, windshield, mirrors, all of it. He also sliced his tires and took a shit on the hood.

I sat, paralyzed, as I listened to him retell that story. I couldn't begin to make a list of people crazy enough to do something like that just because I told them to do their job which was actually my job. Oh fuck. Then there were the people I had legitimately pissed off: employees I had wrote up, sent home early, caught stealing, had arrested, terminated... Oh Fuck! Then there were the other people I had caught stealing and had arrested, banned for life for being drunk or crazy or both, found vandalizing the building and run off, or just stood up to when they were harassing and threatening my employees so they then turned their attention to me. My response was always "I'll be right here waiting for you. Bring it." OH FUCK! Oh, not to mention the previous tenants of my new home which I, accompanied by my mother and brother, had evicted on Christmas Day after they hadn't paid rent to my grandmother in nearly a year. Or, it could be someone completely random like a hooligan or street punk or something. Sonuvabitch. The list of suspects was impossibly long. I sat there silently as he drove along.

I sat in the waiting room and tried not to think about the whole situation as they worked on my Jeep. A thought occurred to me suddenly and I wish it hadn't. What if the wheel had come off sooner? What if it had come off Saturday night like it was obviously meant to? I could be... I willed myself to think about the sign reminding me to have my oil changed every 3000 miles. I focused on each letter of the print. I drew them in my mind. I would not think about anything else.

Rob bought me a Dr. Pepper because it's my favorite and I looked insane as I sat there concentrating on that damn poster for twenty minutes and mouthed the words like a lunatic chant to ward off the evil thoughts in my brain and their obvious, undeniable logic. I liked the kid. He had kept me sane on so many crazy nights. It seemed like we had always worked together, but that wasn't true. Still, I liked the kid. He had just completed his technical school and was now living his dream working at the only garage open on a Sunday and still working a full schedule with me at the place I never made it to on this particular Sunday.

"So. What happened? Your tire is seriously fucked."
"Yeah. I did a real number on it. That's what I get for thinking I could change a tire. I guess I forgot to tighten the lug nuts."
"Did you also forget to put them back on?"
"I might have. It was dark and I was coming home from work. You know how that goes. Anyway, I didn't have a flashlight and I was already a little frustrated when I got the flat. Careless. Stupid. But, it's all my own damn fault."
"Are you sure that's what happened?"
"Of course. What else would it be?"
"I don't know. The tow guy said something strange. It's nothing. Glad you're ok."
"Thanks."

I'd be better if every beautiful, believable, reassuring word I just said to him wasn't a total fucking lie. But, what am I going to do? Who the hell am I going to tell something like this? No one. Not one damn person. Well, maybe one person. But before that moment, I had to make it through this one. When they had finished the repairs and I had paid, I was waiting for one of the mechanics to load my dead tire into the back of my Jeep so that I could leave when he stopped suddenly and just whistled. He called someone else over. He said something stupid like "holy frijoles" or something. Someone else came over to see what all the fuss was about. I joined them.



When the tire had finally worked against the one remaining lug nut long enough to come free of the axle entirely, the axle slammed down on the rim of the tire. That's the first noise I heard. I kept trying to drive my Jeep and was mildly successful until the axle ground its way through the rim like it was nothing but cheap plastic and came crashing through to finally come to rest on the pavement. That was the second and final noise I heard. Then all the mechanics were gone. They went to find anyone else they could and they also went to get their cellphones so they could take pictures. None of them had ever seen anything like it before. Neither had I. Once they had marveled at it long enough, I drove home. I used a personal day because I had earned it.

The next day at work, my boss was talking to someone in the office. I don't remember who. I only remember what I said to them.

"I need you to leave this office now."

Once they did, I closed and locked the door.

"That was rude."
"I'm sure I don't care. We need to talk about yesterday."
"This couldn't have waited? We were in the middle of something."
"Someone is trying to kill me. No, it can't wait."
"What are you talking about?"
"Saturday night while I was working, someone removed all but one of my lug nuts on my rear passenger side tire. It took until Sunday afternoon for my tire to work against that lug nut and come off my vehicle as I was driving it back here."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I felt it driving home that night and then I really felt it driving back Sunday. I knew something was wrong but I couldn't figure out why it was driving so strangely. I thought if I could just make it to work... You know, I could call Rob and he could look at it and... whatever. It doesn't even matter what I thought. I'm in serious danger here."
"Well, you should just park on camera."
"No shit. Really? Should I do that? You think?"
"What do you want me to do? Do you want to call the police?"
"No. That's not going to do anything. They'll just file a report that means nothing and... No. Pointless."
"Well, what else can we do?"
"Apparently nothing but wait to see if they actually succeed at hurting or killing me next time. I can't be here if it's unsafe for me. Do you get that? I'm not going to work somewhere if there's a chance I might die from doing so. I'm not going to die for this job."
"You're not going to die."
"How do you know that? You don't know what's going to happen to me. This isn't in my head. This is happening. It could have already happened. I am lucky to be here right now. I'm lucky I'm not permanently disabled or worse right now. I could have died."
"Ok. I know. But you're fine."
"I'm leaving. I'm going to call today to see about that transfer and if I don't get it... I'm leaving either way. I'm not staying here. I'm just not."
"I understand, but you should just give it a little time before-"
"No. I've decided. I'm leaving. I'll work here until I find something else, but I'm gone. First job I'm offered, I'll take it. Just wanted you to know."

After work that day, I called the woman in charge of the new region in West Virginia. It went straight to voicemail. As I was leaving a very casual message about hoping to hear something soon, someone was leaving a voicemail for me. I listened to it. It was the call I had been waiting for. We had called each other at the exact same moment. I hit redial and it went back to voicemail so I hung up and answered my call waiting. When she made the offer, I accepted.

True to my word, I took the first job I was offered and I left Ohio.

When I'm not throwing my phone at random people, I can use it to take photos. Amazing!

Today, for your viewing pleasure, I am happy to present photos from my phone. Yay! I'll warn you in advance: besides adjusting the size of these images slightly to make them fit within my blog, I have not made any edits to them. These photos are raw, taken from life as it happened around me. That sounds exciting and a little dirty. Anyway. We will begin with some photos of Nurse Egg.



Photos of Nurse Egg jumping on a trampoline! Shocking!



I'll add that I, too, was jumping on the trampoline so that explains why nothing in these photos is in focus. Everything was in motion. From my perspective, anyway.



Here's me with extremely long hair. I'm not sure whether to call myself a hippie or an emo. I'm thinking emo is more likely. I'm not down with free love or pot.



This is my transition from emo to mohawk. I had died portions of my hair previous to shaving it all off, which produced this insane multi-colored mockery. This eventually leads to another transition to completely bald.



Here's my mother and brother on Christmas Day. We had a very strange but pleasant winter that year. No snow. In Ohio, in December, no snow. Needless, but interesting, information. They're trying to get rent money in this photo. They were completely unsuccessful but I'm pretty sure we ruined Christmas for everyone that year.



After our failed attempts to obtain past due funds from the tenants, we loitered around the property. We didn't have anything better to do. We're efficient people and we celebrate on Christmas Eve so we can do whatever the hell we please on Christmas Day. We have an understanding with Santa. We're very upfront with the whole process. No senseless sneaking around or chimney madness for us. Anyway, here's my brother displaying his best Randy Orton pose next to a fairly elaborate bird feeder. Wrestling... I'm gonna stop myself right there. Yeah. Well, it's better than ICP. Part of me dies every time I hear him proclaim to be a juggalo. So, in contrast, men in tights groping each other is a definite step up.



Here's my dog. My dog that I never named. He responded to Jackass and Dipshit with more enthusiasm than he did to Leo, which is the name the animal rescuers gave him. He got off his chain, twice, and then disappeared this summer. We didn't really bond at all, until the very end and then he was gone. I can't compete with dogs in heat. Even though I fed his mutt ass. And bathed him. And bought him an obscene amount and variety of doggy treats. Still, I can't compete.



This is a team bucket of chicken wings. Half are Arizona Ranch and half are Golden Garlic. This is the day I withdrew my boycott of all things chicken and ate more than my share of wings.



I owe it all to this guy for making that moment in my personal history possible. It was his idea to go to Quaker State - despite all my protests that chicken is the meat of the devil - and it turned out not to be the total tragedy I declared it would be - which still surprises me to this day.



Although, he honestly believes that grown men not only should wear pink shirts, but that they look manly and sexy in them. He is wrong. He is so very, very wrong. It is unnatural and wrong. If I ever tried this, I'd end up looking like a hot dog and not in a good way.



I'll close on a happier note. This is MTO Bot 5000. MTO Bot 5000 is my protege and he used his freelance gangsta technician skills to repair the busted grill on my Jeep from that unfortunate deer incident from last winter. I spent alot of time and effort grooming him to step up into management and I made that transition possible by taking the transfer to WV and freeing up some management positions at my former location. MTO Bot 5000 was not pleased with this sacrifice, but it was necessary and beneficial for everyone.