A nut, in a nutshell

I have come to realize that wearing my heart on my sleeve like I do, it's a double-edged sword whose edges are fucking sharp. On the good side, those that know me well really recognize what makes me tick. They all understand exactly where I'm coming from. On the bad side, it means I am completely incapable of playing it cool when something (good or bad) comes along. And the people who don't know me tend to be very suspicious of my actions. There is no poker face in these situations, and while the edges are sharp, all I wind up doing is repeatedly hitting myself in the head with the blunt end of the double-edged sword.

Unexpected surprises are my worst enemy.

When it is time to sit back and quietly reflect on the simplicity of the moment, I can't stop my mouth from nervously rambling on about anything and everything in a vain attempt to avoid the silence.

When it is time to say something, my mind is a tangle of wordless thought swirling at a million miles a second. To say the first thing that comes to mind, as the situation demands, leaves me in a mess of um's, er's and uh's.

It's like a game of king of the mountain between my brain, my heart and various other parts of my body. Everyone's jockeying for position at that huge megaphone in my head that tells me what to do next. I'm charming, I'm shy, I'm brave, I'm a nervous wreck, I'm a winner, I'm a blathering idiot, etc. It's no wonder now why my thighs have the most developed muscles in my otherwise overweight body...it's because I am in a constant fight-or-flight response.

Any attempt to explain this becomes confusing to the listener, which naturally leads to over-explanation, which leads to me sounding like a tactless creep, then I over-correct and somehow manage to play it off as "the clumsy approach". Clumsy is putting it lightly, In actuality, it feels like every Hugh Grant movie played int the span of just a few minutes.

Impulse control is gone at this point. If the situation is positive, all I do is crave MORE. If the situation is bad, everything goes into slow motion with my brain constantly reviewing the instant replay.

They say that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. What they never tell you is the other steps towards recovery are a bitch and a half, and step two in this case seems to be confused bitching.

And now, I'm off to bed to try and shut off the megaphone for a few hours.

Pleasantly surprised

I woke up this morning with this need to prepare myself for my boss' first day back from vacation. In general, when he spends any time away from the office, he comes back in a really bad mood, as if he needs to make up for any lost foot-up-the-ass time. However, he was in a great mood and a real pleasure to work with today. I had gotten myself all worked up for nothing.

Between the events of late Saturday night (nice guesses, Gene and Steve) and today's personal lowering of the terror alert level, I find myself in a state of pleasant surprise. It feels really good, I gotta admit.

Sorry for the short post tonight, but I'm kinda busy right now.

Good Night and Good Luck

Okay, folks...whenever I write on this blog, it's for one of three reasons: 1) to vent frustration, 2) to try and figure out something, or 3) to boast.

However, I cannot write about the events of last night in the spirit of those three reasons because 1) no frustration to vent, 2) I don't want to question it, and 3) I don't want to jinx it.

So here it goes:

mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm WOW mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm warm fuzzy feeling mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm holy crap it's getting late mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm and off to bed I went and had a pleasant dream.

Come to your own conclusions, folks, because that's as clear as I'm gonna be for now.

Stupid car tricks

It never ceases to amaze me the stupid things people do with their cars. I've ranted before about the stupid accessories and weird-assed paint jobs some people have, but this time I want to talk about the little stupid things I've seen people do WITH their cars, not TO them.

I stopped for an oil change after work yesterday, and at the gas pump, there was a guy washing his entire car from top to bottom with the windshield squeegie. Somehow he managed to get to every nook and cranny on his car. While he did a decent job with the squeegie, I couldn't help but wonder if he knew how old that windex/water/window grime combination really was that he just sloshed all over his Lincoln Town Car to "clean" it.

I really wouldn't have brought this up if it hadn't been for the fact that A) he was ten feet from the automatic car wash that whole time, and B) after he finished, THEN he pre-paid for his gas and filled the tank...I mean, for fuck's sake, man...If you're gonna do shit like that, pre-pay first and clean while you pump your gas. Because now, you just look like a cheapskate with no time management skills.

Another stupid thing I saw was today at lunch. I was waiting in traffic (first at the light) when driving on the cross street was an old Ford Escort with a guy leaning half-way out the back passenger window trying to close the gas cap door WHILE the car was doing about 30 MPH through the intersection. Now, there's a guy with good time management skills, but piss-poor judgement and a really stupid friend.

And the ultimate story of stupid car usage was with one of my neighbors at my old apartment who asked to borrow my jack so he could jack up BOTH sides of his car in order to rotate the tires. He told me he had one side up already using his jack but wanted to elevate the other side. I looked out in the parking lot and he e had already taken the tires off on one side. As much as I wanted to witness how he could possibly balance his car perfectly on two jacks and pull this off, or maybe just watch/videotape the dmage/possible injury that this guy would inevitably inflict, I politely decined his request. I did, however, watch from my window as he spent 45 minutes trying to figure out what to do next.

Who the hell is Lisa?

I normally don't remember my dreams, much less wonder what they mean. Dream analysis, to me, has always seemed a bit hokey. I mean, how accurate of a science can it be when there's always the alternate reasoning that you shouldn't have had that slice of pizza right before bed?

However, The past two nights, my dreams have been very vivid and strangely similar. In each dream, I'm going through my normal life. The night before last the dream was me at home, fixing dinner and playing video games. Last night, I was out at one of my favorite restaurants with a bunch of friends. The only slimilarity between the two dreams was this one woman was there, a woman I have never met.

Like I said, these were very vivid dreams. This woman was about 5'6", thin, with black meadium-length hair, long face, striking features and minimal makeup. In both dreams, she's just hanging out like I've known her for a long time. She pokes fun at me in a flirty manner, the kind that always brings a blushing smirk to my face.

Given that the environments are totally familiar, and what I'm doing in these dreams are nothing out of the ordinary, I couldn't help but notice this woman. That, and the fact that she seems to be as much of an attention hound as I am most of the time.

Anyway, this morning, as I was waking up, she told me her name: Lisa. I don't know a Lisa, and the last one I met was back in Junior High, and she looked nothing like this woman. There isn't any way that she could be an amalgam of different women I know or have known, because No one I know has any of those features.

Rhetorically asking: What the fuck, man?!?

The check is in the mail

My folks reached settlements with the credit cards on Thursday, but the checks were'nt getting in the mail until yesterday...so I got about fifteen phone calls from the credit card people over the course of the day. This begs the question: Why would I go to the trouble to try to settle, then NOT give them the money? How many people have been stupid enough to do that kind of thing that it has become part of their collection protocol to call every 45 minutes?

My boss was supposed to be on vacation all this week, but yesterday he was in the office taking care of some last minute things. He kept saying to us, "I'm NOT here." But he was...even when he's gone, he's still fucking there!" He just kept working on his stuff and kept out of our hair all day. Today, he was gone, and I'm kinda pissed he wasn't because I was really kicking som major ass on my work and he wasn't there to notice. Not that I care what he thinks about my work, but then again, I want to be noticed not caring what he thinks about how I do my job.

I talked to my mom on the phone last night, and the conversation drifted to my love life (or lack thereof) and I wound up having a hearty laugh about it. I got to thinking about where those women are now, and how the guys they've ended up with are quite similar to me. I said that I've sometimes felt like that one beige sports car on the car lot that everyone test drives, but then decided they want one just like it, only in another color, or with different options. I guess Lily Tomlin was right when she said that comedy is tragedy plus time. Enough time has passed that I can look back and laugh at the disasters I've had in the past. I'll give myself some more time and learn to laugh at them with a little less bitterness. I'll know, the day my stories of ex-girlfriends sound like clever anecdotes rather than cynical bitching, that I'll be ready to throw wade back into the dating pool again.

V for very good

I went to see V for Vendetta this afternoon. From what I understand, the graphic novel it was based on was written in responce to Margaret Thatcher's role as Prime Minister of England back in the eighties. The film apparently strays from the source material enough that the man that wrote the graphic novel has asked that his name be removed from the film. While I get why he would do that, in principle...but this is a great movie nonetheless.

However, the filmmakers fell victim to one of the pitfalls of politically-charged storytelling: It is impossible to make a film denouncing the use of propaganda without it feeling like propaganda itself. Most of the film's themes seem so possible it's almost scary: A totalitarian government in England, loss of civil liberties, domestic spying, the United States at war with itself, homosexuality and any non-Christian religion is outlawed, and every citizen seems to know that the information their government is feeding them is a bunch of bullshit. I feel sorry for that one guy in Michigan who has/had the bad luck to sit next to Michael Moore during a screening of this film. Don't get me wrong, I love Michael Moore...I just wouldn't want to have to sit next to him when he starts foaming at the mouth.

Every kind of conspiracy theorist will have a field day with this flick. Some will draw comparisons to the Bush admisitration, some to Saddam Hussein or maybe the Taliban. Me personally, I'm not one to believe in conspiracies, but as a smoker, I was noticing that the evil govermnent's double-cross emblem looked suspiciously like the American Lung Association logo.

This is the eighth film I've seen with Hugo Weaving in it, and in those eight films (including two trilogies), he has played a drag queen, a computer program, an elf and a masked vigilante. If you graph the way he's going, he'll eventually out-weird Gary Oldman. In V, he manages to generate a very complex character with real charm and emotion with his face completely covered by a mask the entire time.

Natalie Portman knocked it out of the park, as always. She's one of those rare actresses that can grab my attention no matter what the role, and make me totally forget what she's done before. Christ, even when I see Jodie Foster do something like Silence of the Lambs, there's part of my brain that flashes back to Freaky Friday. You'd think being as much of a Star Wars freak as I am, I'd be saying, "Why are they shaving Queen Amidala's head?"

I think one thing that impressed me most of all in this film is that, for once in a action movie, everything was used to further the plot in some way. The special effects were great, but there wasn't anything that just screamed LOOK AT WHAT OUR EFFECTS GUYS CAME UP WITH...PRETTY COOL, HUH?

And we pulled it off without ANY green beer!

A couple of months ago, I was asked to help out at Arnie's Bar on St. Patrick's Day. Seeing as it is my favorite bar, and I would do anything ot help out (and get free beer), I accepted their offer.

Urban Tulsa Weekly, our local (chuckle) entertainment newspaper, had royally screwed Arnie's. First and foremost, they always put their ad right in with the strip clubs and adult novelty stores, and in the back of the paper near the crosswords and classifieds. That was nothing new...they've been doing that for months despite anyone's protests. However, this St. Pat's is the 50th anniversary at Arnie's. Kind of a big deal here, folks! Not to mention the fact tha St. Pats is a pretty big deal no matter where you go. So, what was their brilliant idea over at Urban Tulsa Weekly? Do a cover story on POKER! Plus, the only mention of Arnie's is a small caption under a photo, barely even a paragraph, that mentions, "The green beer will be a-flowin'"

GREEN FUCKING BEER?!? I'm sorry, but green beer is only for the fraudulent one-day-a-year Irish wannabe's. Now, I know that's pretty bold coming from a German guy from Arkansas, but I have immersed myself at Arnie's to the point that I have been adpoted by the tribe. I know what the fuck I'm talking about. The Irish that I know drink whisky, Harp or Gunness. Drinkin Green beer on St. Pat's is like wearing a propeller hat during Channukah. It's disrespectful and only makes you look like a fucking idiot.

So, I call for the citizens of Tulsa, and surrounding areas, to just stop reading Urban Tulsa altogether. Not just because of this little blunder, but because it sucks, period. Face it, here's nothing enlightening about any of the local writing that goes into that rag. The political commentary is lame, right-wing hot air that even my conservative friends find obtuse, Their movie critic will take five paragraphs describing the fucking popcorn and only talk about the movie in two sentences. Anything of any value in Urban Tulsa, like Life in Hell, News of the Weird, and Free Will Astrology (although that's a bit of a stretch), are all available online anyway, so you can still get your fix without having to turn to Urban Tulsa Weakly.

Interesting side note: In this week's The SPOT, the friday entertainment section in the Tulsa World. where Arnie's doesn't even advertise, did a brilliant article about Arnie's, and even put it on the fucking cover!

But I digress

Thursday night was the usual thing, Arnie's for a a few pint, listen to the band, go home slightly toasty. I talked to Chris and Joann, the owners, about what I needed to do on St. Pat's, and I was asked if I'd like to work the door on a regular basis. Boy, WOULD I! For a guy like me who loves to people-watch, working the door at a bar is like a dream. You get it all, the friendly people, the weird people, (naturally) the drunk people...not to mention that you never know what's gonna happen!

The job itself is easy. Just stand next to the door, take three dollars from everyone who comes in and check their IDs. I love the look on older poeple's faces when i ask for ID. Women tend to be flattered for the most part, but I have to explain that if your license is expried, it's the same as if you are underage. In my few times working the door, I've only come across two guys with expired licenses, and they left without any problems. the thing that gets me is the number of people who show up alone, not in a cab, with suspended licenses. I can't deny them access, but I'm left to wonder how they got here and how they're getting home.

Anyway, last night was St. Patrick's Day, and like I said it was the 50th anniversary at Arnie's, so it was fucking HUGE!. I showed up around 5:30, figuring I'd hang out a little until they needed me in the office to help with the money. They were already to capacity inside the bar when I showed up, and the tent area outside was pretty crowded. So, needless to say, I had to hit the ground running. I found Joann, and she took me into the office and gave me the rundouwn of the money count. I settled into the office and got to work.

five bars were set up, and each had its own cash drop and tip count. In essence, my job was to count out $25 in singles over and over again. Every couple minutes, someone, beit one of the bars or one of the entrance gates needed singles. About halfway through the night, we were running out. We had to send a couple guys out to get more from other bars and restaurants, but the saving grace was one of the local casinos. We were down to one last bundel of singles when we got these huge stacks from the casino. The trouble now was, that there was one stack of mint condition and one of well-worn bills which needed to be shuffled so that they wouldn't stick together. Time consumign to say the least, but it was a bit tense because we had to get it back out to the bars right away.

I got a couple of small breaks, and I went outside and talked to my friends, had a couple of beers and tried to condense as much St. Patrick's Day partying into that short time. I completely missed Cairde Na Gael (my friends' band), and I got to catch a little bit of the headliner, Larkin. Larkin hadn't played in several months, due to Karen (the fiddle player) being pregnant. Her timing with the pregnancy, though not exactly intentional, was perfect. The baby was born in January, a beautiful little gril named Alaexandra, and that allowed for their return show to be at Arnie's for St. Pat's. From what I understand, the show went perfectly, excapt for one drunk idiot trying to pull CHad (the lead singer) off the stage at one point.

Being in the office most of the night, I got to hear about almost everything weird that went down. The office was next to the men's room, so I heard all the drunk idiots act like bigger idiots simply because they had to take a piss. If anyone stayed in there too long, they'd start pounding on or kicking the door. Joann yelled at one of them to stop doing that, to which he replied, "Hey, relax, you could just buy another door at Home Depot."

That's what really cracked me up. The weird-assed logic that drunk guys come up with. Sure they could always buy a new door, but that doesn't men the old one had to be destroyed just because you had to pee! I heard guys saying, "Let me in, I'll piss in the sink!" or better yet, "I'll piss in the trash can!" I just wonder if these assholes knew that there were about thirty porta-potties outside.

In the office, I had a walkie-talkie to communicate with everyone at the bars, the gates, the security personnel, etc. I got to hear about all of the fights, the drunks passing out, you name it. Also, the phone and the answering machine were in the office with me, but I was too busy to ever answer it. Almost everyone that called hung up after the message, telling them which bands were playing at what times, etc. However, there was one message I heard that kinda broke my heart, while at the same time made me want to laugh my ass off. A lady left a message pleading to talk to a bartender or someone about finding her husband, who she said was drunk off his ass inside and she couldn't come in to get him because she was underage.

For about five seconds, I wanted to help. I can't imagine what it'd be like to not only have a five-alarm hangover, but be in the doghouse with the wife. But then I realized that there were about a thousand people out there, all of them matching her description of her husband: Drunk off his ass. Every available worker and volunteer was up to his/her neck in their work, and there was no way to ever find this one guy out of the crowd. Then the cynical gear kicked in and I almost called the lady back to tell her to call a pet store instead...so she could buy a tighter leash. But then, a fresh round of tip money came in and I had to get back to work.

Fortunately for the security guys, it started to rain heavier right after last call, so it was a lot easier for them to get everyone out at closing time. In the end, I think Arnie's Bar had a really kick-ass St. Patrick's Day, and I was glad to be a part of it.

Do you like to be interrupted when you're nancying around in your little garden?

Not to just bitch again about work, but if you want to know what my day was like today, just take a DVD of the movie As Good As It Gets. In the beginning of the film, there's a scene where Melvin (Jack Nicholson) is sitting at his computer putting the finishing touches on his latest novel. As soon as this scene starts, start your DVD player's repeat function. After his neighbor knocks on the door and Melvin yells "SON OF A BITCH!" hit that repeat button again. Let that little scene loop for about eight hours and you have an idea what my day was like. Then after eight hours, skip ahead to Simon ripping off his cast so he can draw better. That little elated scream he lets out? That's me at five o'clock.

Tomorrow, I find out the final tally on my credit cards. Long story short, I'll have my parents paid back in less than 17 months. That's not just some forecast based on some pre-determined payment plan...that's my promise to myself. I will have this completely off my chest by my 31st birthday. NO exceptions.

Why have I decided this? Because I realized that my 31st birthday falls on a Friday, and with the payment schedule I will have set up for myself, the first time I will have no payment to make will be that week. I will try as hard as I can to get some overtime the week before so I can afford to have an all-weekend party for myself. More on this as it develops.

As soon as the final figures come in tomorrow on what I owe to my folks, the countdown begins. Every cent of disposable income will go towards paying them back. My social life and entertainment budget might suffer, but it'll be soooo worth it.

The kitchen is closed

Not much happened at work today. I had very few jobs to work on, and what did come in I was able to handle pretty quickly. The rest of the time I spent on the internet, for business and personal reasons. On the business side, I looked around for cheap upgrades to our hardware/software...seeing as we're falling behind many of our clients. On the personal side, I checked my email, goofed around on Myspace and responded to comments (thanks again, Krista) on the blog. All in all, a really good day.

I got home and made a dinner that I know I could've done a lot better. I'm no gourmet in any way, but this was prison quality grub made from scratch and botched completely because I got a little too experimental. In watching the Food Network as often as I do (I will not be ignored, Rachael Ray, so please unblock my number) I should know better than to have gone the way that I did. I cannot tell you what I was trying to make, but I will tell you that with as many colorful ingredients as I put into it, it turned up...well, gray. That's the best way to describe it, in flavor, texture and color: gray.

Oh, well, I guess the sun can't shine on the same dog's ass every day. Culinarily speaking, I guess I need to learn to play the classics before I work my way up to jazz.

As for now, I'll be eating an oatmeal cream pie to clense my palette, then maybe a Mocha at Borders.

Divvying up the trash

Yesterday I decided to rake the yard for the first time since...well, since last spring. 24 bags of leaves. I even piled all of the bags at the curb in a nice pyramid, but later I was reminded that the trash man will bill me extra for more than 8 bags. So, about 2/3 of those bags are now sitting at the side of the house waiting for trash pickup on Thursday and next Monday.

Exhausted, I sat my ass on the couch for my Sunday night lineup: Simpsons, Desperate Housewives, Gray's Anatomy and Adult Swim. Everything but Adult Swim kept getting interrupted by weather reports. I understand that when dangerous weather strikes, it's important that people are informed, but this was just ridiculous. After the meteorologists tired of repeating themselves about possible rotation, they'd cut to the stormchaser videos or viewer emailed pics of golf-ball-sized hail. The last thirty minutes of their reports were all about how the storms are leaving the viewing area. I mean C'MON!

I had to wait until halfway through the news at 10 to find out when they were gonna repeat the one show I really wanted to see, which was gonna be at 2 AM! I set the VCR and watched Adult Swim until bedtime.

This morning, I got caught up on the fallout from over the weekend. My boss was stressed out as usual, but since none of what was stressing him out had anything to do with me, I made it clear that I wasn't gonna let that affect my work for the day. I handled all of my priorities, no mistakes, and without putting up with any crap. I had a good day.

I got home and planned to clean my room, do some laundry and watch my shows. Istead, my all of my clothes are still on the floor, I'm on the internet and I'm watching what I taped last night. Zero motivation right now.

I talked to my Stepdad, and he informed me that whatever settlement I reach with the credit cards, I will have to pay taxes on what they have to settle for. So, basically that means my tax refund next year is going bye-bye. How exactly can they get away with this? I'm giving them a shitload of money and they say I have to pay taxes on it?

Tomorrow, if I have time, I'll have to call my credit couselor to get copies of all of my records. This is at my step-dad's request. I'm willing to just tell them to go to hell and whatever I got screwed out of I'll except as my punishment for letting it get this bad. However, my stepdad is mentioning a potential lawsuit. It's possible I'm getting in over my head here.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta clean the kitchen, lest my roommate castrates me with a broken Coke bottle.

Last Night

My friends Brian, Mike and Aliceson came to town last night to go see the Strokes at the Cain's Ballroom. I had completely forgotten to get myself a ticket before they sold out. I was just planning on having dinner with them and hanging out with them after the show. Then, the idea hit me: Scalpers! I cruised by the Cain's to see what I could find.

The trick, I've always believed, is to find the one scalper with the most questionable hygeine and bargain with him. It's always the ones with the nice clothes and combed hair that'll try and screw you. I found my guy: Hairstyle by Reverend Jim from Taxi, Old Marlboro windbreaker, mud-stained jeans and what I can only imagine is a big mustard stain on his shirt. I pulled my car over and asked him how much for a ticket. He said sixty, I told him forty-five or I walked. I guess my Stepdad is rubbing off on me. The guy barely took any time to think about it and sold me the ticket. Considering that face value was $32, He got a pretty good profit and I got a pretty good bargain, especieally since I heard from another friend of mine that his ticket cost him $75.

We all met for dinner at the Spaghetti Warehouse. Like a dumbass, I ordered my usual: the lasagna platter. I say like a dumbass because I really didn't realize that in the past few weeks, I've been eating a lot less, so my stomach has shrunk, and I just ordered a huge dish of expanding carbs. There wasn't any way I could take any of it home, so I ate it all, like a dumbass.

We sat around for a while talking and catching up. We didn't have much of a choice in the matter because our waiter was a bit on the slow side. I've noticed that any conversation I have with my friend Mike could be comprised entirely of pop-culture references, and I love it! He and Aliceson are getting married at the end of April, and I can't wait for that. One good thing about all of my friends getting married is that most of the times I see them, we're partying our asses off.

We decided to walk the four blocks to the Cain's rather than find closer parking spaces. It gave us all a great opportunity to walk off a little of our dinners, When we got to the show, the opening act was on their next to last song. They permitted smoking at the show, and it was sold out. so it looked like a Keith Richards sauna in there, and it only got worse throughout the night. Not that I could really complain, being the pack-a-day smoker that I am, but even for me...DAYYYAAAMMMMN!

The opening act was a band called the Eagles of Death Metal. Like I said, they were almost done when we arrived, so there's not much I could say about them except their lead singer looked just like Tyler Durden from Fight Club. As I write this, I feel like I broke the first two rules: You don't talk about it, and you don't talk about it.

The Strokes were awesome. I had never been to a show quite like it. Apparently, the band doesn't like spotlights, so the whole show was lit from the background stage lights. As soon as one song would end, the whole stage went dark, only to blind us with light as the next song began. That, combined with the ever-increasing haze of smoke, meant that I really regret not getting really really high before the show.

They played for two solid hours, and there was no loss of energy throughout the whole show. As soon as the house lights finally came up, I saw the couple hundred people in the crowd wander around in a deafened, smoke-inhalated, drunk daze. Maybe I'm getting too old for shows at the Cain's because I looked at the spilled beer, discarded cups and fott-stamped cigarette butts on the floor and I worried about the beautiful hardwood floors getting ruined.

After the show, we went to Arnie's for a couple drinks. I was in the mood for drinking and my friends had to get up early the next morning, so I slammed down a couple beers and a shot and chatted with them before they left. I got home around one and fell right asleep. My ears still ring from last night, and everything sounds like a blown-out Chevy speaker. The important thing is I had a great time.

Working for the weekend

I got to work this morning fairly hung over, and my boss was pissed off about something that happened elsewhere in the shop. I know this because NOTHING about what he started yelling at me about could be enough to warrant the amount of anger he was throwing at me. He started ripping into me and I stopped him almost immediately, saying "Do you mind if I clock in before you start berating me like this?"

I clock in and let him continue. You see, when I'm on the clock it's much easier to stomach this kind of treatment. Legally, it's the difference between a hostile work environment and terroristic threatening. I could tell his ranting was running out of steam fast when he segued into the fact that I can't give him a simple answer to any of his questions. Because in the context of how my job works, it's never that simple. Our plate processor was crapping out on us. No, we couldn't run out plates at that moment, but I could if I tried a couple of things to fix it. There was a job that the client was still looking at. No, we're not ready to send it to press yet, but We will in about two hours.

My boss is the kind of guy who believes that if one thing is out of whack, then EVERYTHING must be screwed up. And while he and I have similar negative attributes (short fused temper, easily stressed, low tolerance for stupidity, etc.) our approaches are worlds apart. He's big on blind rage...taking things out on everyone who crosses his path, rather than the person who actually pissed him off. My rage is much more focused and quite measured when compared to his. And when he gets in one of his moods, I kick into one of two gears: 1) I tell him what he wants to hear so he'll leave me alone, or 2) I match his rage and hopefully he'll see what an ass he's making of himself.

Today, I got to do a little of both. But one thing I've learned above anything else in this life is that the best remedy is never give them anything to complain about at the end of the day. My boss may have tried to insinuate that I was an incompetant slacker, but it was me who came into HIS office at 2:30 to say I was caught up on my work and iask if there was anything I could do to help him out. With a heavy sigh, he looked at all of the jobs on his desk and told me that he still had to do a lot more before they needed me to work on them. If this was a MasterCard ad, this is where the voiceover guy would say, "Priceless".

I clocked out at 5:00 on the dot. I shut down my computers and went home. I made a nice dinner, scrubbed the bathroom and hit the GameCube for a while. I talked to my buddy Scott for about an hour. He told me of his first Mardi Gras. He prefaced the story with "...and I didn't see a single bare breast." Sometimes I worry about that boy. That's like saying that you went to Paris and spent the whole time at the airport gift shop. I should probably send my step-uncle down there to give him the tour he gave me when I first visited the French Quarter: "Yeah, I puked on that corner, passed out in that alley, made out with a stripper in that club, got arrested just down the street here, kicked a guy's ass over there..."

The main problem with my friend Scott is that he doesn't really stop to think about the poetry in the experiences he's had in life. When he was in college, he was on a school trip to Moscow and had a one night stand on a train from St. Petersburg. He lived in Baltimore for a while hanging out with several people who worked on some of John Waters' movies. Now, he lives in the French Quarter, he is a painter, and will soon be selling his art there. Some of these things, if viewed properly, would be the makings of a modern-day Hemmingway. But to hear him describe these things, he'd tell you that the sex wasn't all that good, those people were just extras, and that his new apartment has no shower. I'd say he's the glass-half-empty type, but you'd have to convince him that there's actually water in the glass.

I guess, in that respect, he and I are similar. I look at my life and could make the same no-big-deal kind of statements. I share the same bithday as my brother, my father died in a hang-gliding accident, my mother built stained-glass windows out of our den growing up, My ex-finacee and her husband are two of my closest friends, and I work at a company that employs every cliche sitcom character you could think of. In the right hands, this could be a story that'd fit in nicely between the Royal Tenenbaums and any Coen Brothers movie. To me, it's just my life.

Thursday night drunken rant

I called my mom this afternoon to get an update on my stepdad's progress with the credit companies. As it turns out, he called them and drmatically underbid their settlement offer. I expected him to try to underbid by a couple hundred dollars, but he went for a couple thousand. The thing you gatta understand is, financially I've always played defense because I've had very little ground to stand on. My stepdad has taken the ball and decided to play offense. Balls as big as church bells, this man. And since he's speaking on my behalf, I gotta run along side him. It's a frightening feeling, but it's also kind of a rush. I'm following his lead and it's gonna wind up turning me into Fritschie: Semi-Badass.

My stepdad rocks, period. When I first spoke to him about this whole thing, his attitude reminded me of the Devil Went Down to Georgia: Just sit right back in that chair right there and let me show you how it's done.

As far as work is concerned, things were kinda light, which is a welcome break from the busy busy busy of the past couple weeks. At my company, it tends to travel in waves. It may be busy as hell in the front office one week, but as that work travels through the rest of the company, there's a weird period as the front office is winding down, but the back of the shop is working on finishing what we had just passed on to them. I found myself doing nothing but answer the phones today as the rest of the front office went to the back to help out with the jobs needing to go out.

In most areas of my life (work, finances), I'm feeling the change. There's a felling of...what's the word I'm looking for...confidence? Yes, confidence, that's it. There's very little I can't do, and if I can't do it, there's a damn good reason why. The double-edged sword is that people are starting to recognize it, which makes them expect more out of me. To some extent, I'm willing to oblige, but there's another part of me that knows that the lower you keep people's expectations the easier your life will be...I learned that from Calvin and Hobbes.

Of course, Calvin is spending most of his time pissing on various logos and slogans, and Hobbes has kept a very low profile these past few years. I don't know which of them to listen to anymore. I've been burned before in these situations. I once thought Garfunkel would surpass Simon, I thought Futurama would one day replace the Simpsons, and I thought Brokeback Mountain would sweep the Oscars. To quote John Cusack from High Fidelity, "I always followed my gut. I realize now that my gut, has shit for brains."

Finally at square two

Okay, I'm now in love with the world. This whole debt consolidation thing is back on track, I'm finally caught up on my work, and I just had a great night hanging out with my friends. It looks like good karma has shined upon me almost to the point that I might owe the universe a little bit of karmic interest.

I contacted the credit counseling people and got the contact info on my other credit card. It wasn't nearly as bad as I suspected. In fact, with my stepdad's powers of negotiation, I should only have to pay a few hundred to get it paid off. However, the whole time I was on the phone with this guy, I was really hoping that my account was one of the ones paid off by the government. It would've been a thrill to demand my money back and threaten a lawsuit against these guys.

So, tomorrow I'll know how much I'll owe to my folks over the next couple years. In all probability, I'll wind up saving money each month.

I'm so stoked over this. I will be out of debt just in time for my 32nd birthday. I'll have a couple months of disposable income left to throw one hell of a party, or do something I've never been able to do...like afford a trip somewhere...or get a tattoo...or maybe just an eight-ball and a nice hooker (just kidding).

In short, this may very well be that elusive square two I've talked about before. Now, to fix my love issues and I'll be at square three, which means that square four (whatever that is) will be close behind.

Hooray, progress!

Do NOT hire me as a financial advisor

I got a letter in the mail yesterday from Chase MasterCard (my biggest creditor) with a settlement offer. I called them, found out that it's legit, only it has to be paid in a lump sum. Long story short, I make another phone call and now I'm pre-approved for a debt consolidation loan from the First National Bank of Parents.

My discover card is only $25 away from paid off, so there's some more good news. However, now it gets weird.

Back in 2001, I signed up with a credit couseling service, which promised to eliminate my debt by August 2006. It's now March of 2006, and my Chase card is as high as it ever was, mostly due to my payment schedule for the counseling service and the due dates for Chase never really synced up. I've had late charges and interest rate hikes out the wazoo. So far, I've been in denialfor the most part and felt powerless to change anything for the rest. I've been fucking stupid and now I have to pay for it.

Now it gets weirder.

I'm now feeling even stupider for having signed up for this Visa card about 7 years ago. It was, at the time, a radical idea: nan internet-based banking service. No brick & morter institutions anywhere in the world, just on the internet. I was 22, and a fucking idiot.

When I signed with the couseling service, they told me that they were on top of it all. They would keep track of everything. So, when I didn't receive a statment from my Visa card for a while, I figured THIS is somehing that they know about. Well, a $300 discrepency for my Discover card and a nearly $5,500 discrepency for the Chase card later...coupled with the fact that the bank that held my Visa card was closed down back in 2002...means that I have long since passed being screwed and am coming up quickly on royally fucked.

Doing some Google searching on what happened to my Visa account, I've found out that about a third of the seized accounts have been bought out by another company, and they have taken over collection duties on the accounts at inflated interest rates. The rest of the accounts have been paid off by you, the taxpayer.

So, with the mystery of the missing statements somewhat solved, The question remains: Why didn't I get anything in the mail regarding this bank closure? Simple. It was an internet-based company and the letter was sent, naturally, by EMAIL! At the time of the bank's closure, I no longer had the email address in their records. So, FUCK YOU, PAPERLESS SOCIETY!!!

Tomorrow, I must contact the counseling service and inform them of the buyout offer for the Chase card, and ask them to figure out if A) My money's been going to some bank I've never heard of and they're screwing me on the interest charges and not telling me, or B) the federal government bought out my debt and my money's been going to God-knows-who-or-where.

However...

This Visa debt is still on my credit report, but given that the company went belly-up, I doubt they left anyone behind to clear that up. The more I think about it, if that job exists, it's gotta rank high on the list of worst jobs in the world (right up there with "assistant crack-whore"). The company is in ruins, the boss is under indictment, and you're left behind to answer the phones. Something tells me a raise might be out of the question, dude.

Tomorrow, I should have more answers. until then: AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!

While I was away

Okay, so I've been busy the past few days, so I'll just try to fill you in on some of the greatest hits from the past few days:

- I saw a truck with the most unusual accessory: a molded plastic set of testicals, apparently designed specifically to hang from the trailer hitch so that everyone knows that this truck has balls, even though the jury's still out on whether the driver has a pair.

- I heard a news report about a serial killer receiving multiple life sentances, and the reporter actually said that the man will be eligible for parole in 400 years. Why do they have to make that distinction rather than just say "without the possibility of parole"? It kinda frightens me that our legal system might be preparing itself just in case this guy happens to be the frickin' Highlander.

- I realized something about the Back to the Future trilogy that has pretty much ruined it for me forever. In part one, Doc Brown mentioned that he spent his entire family fortune building the time machine. Yet in part two, he lectures Marty over how he didn't build the time machine for financial gain, but later whips out a case full of spending money from different time periods. Where the hell did this money come from if he didn't make a little money on the side? Man, Doc Brown is a liar and I'm one sad, pathetic human being for realizing why.

- I bought Batman Begins on DVD and found out how close I was to forgetting how great that movie really was.

- My mom called me and told me that they had cancelled their vacation plans, so I wouldn't have to housesit for them. The good news, I wouldn't have to drive four hours the morning after getting smashed on St. Patrick's Day. The semi-good news, I won't have to take three days off from work during a really busy week. The bad news, I won't be getting money from my folks for watching their house.

- I've had at least five conversations with friends and co-workers that have made me feel very good about my station in life.

- At Target, I witnessed a woman buying three copies of Walk the Line on DVD...just in case she wants to see it more than once.

- As repulsed as I am by the idea of a full-length Curious George movie, the soundtrack is really damned good.

- The president's approval rating is now at 34%. What other political position in the world could you possibly keep if two-thirds of the population think you suck? Most recall elections held for mayors, governors, etc. only require a few thousand signatures on a petition. What the fuck do we have to do? Wait a minute, If he goes, Cheney will take over. Sweet Jesus, you gotta hand it to the Bush family, they really know how to pick running mates, don't they? If Cheney is to ever have to assume the presidency, we'd be so fucking screwed. Better be safe than sorry, folks: Always have the timer set on your microwave oven. Be prepared to hit START and fry out his pacemaker if that man ultimately decides to come door-to-door to terrorize the living shit out of you.

- Tonight, at my friend Nathan's birthday dinner (at a Chinese restaurant), I kept grabbing one fortune cookie after another and getting really lousy fortunes. If these combined fortunes are to be believed, I am a good and honest person with well-respected delicate features and I will become wealthy on a long journey with a secret admirer...in bed.