Redefining

Now that the smoke has cleared a bit from the big project at work, I've had a flood of intropection hit me, as if I need to make up for lost time on that front.

In regards to my no-dating vow, which is now in its tenth month, I've come up with a re-reasoning for my choice...an complete alteration of my motivation, and this realization is bitter as hell. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Everything bad that has happened to me in my past relationships is now officially my fault. I accept full responsibility for letting these things happen to me in the first place. In some cases, I should've fought harder. In some cases, I should've walked away before I got shown the door. And in other cases, I should've known better than to get involved in the first place.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda, DIDN'T. I got to live with that. And I'm not just fixating soley on the negative. I'm simply accepting responsibility for them and saying I'm ready to move on from them. I consider myself fortunate that the good times I've shared in the past I've been openly thankful to those I've shared them with, just in case some ex-girlfriends happen to be reading this.

The main recurring theme in my relationships over the past few years has been the friendship thing. In a way I've been blessed that I've been able to be good friends with the women I've loved and come close to loving in the past. On the flip side, I've worn that on my sleeve without any thought to the consequences.

I'm not saying that the following is true, but it feels pretty true at this point in my life. I may feel differently tomorrow.

I made the decision to be open with every woman I've dated that several of my friends are women I've dated in the past. The only alternative was to let that information come out later and create a rift. However, my openness may have subliminal message that whatever happens, at least a friendship could be salvaged. It didn't eliminate any and all doubt in the relationship, and might have absolved them of much of the guilt in the breakup. Enough time has passed in any case that this argument is now a moot point. Nevertheless, I let it all happen.

I've now seen all of these women move on and are now with guys that are much better matches...taking whatever they might have gained in their time with me and applying it someplace else leaving me as a friend, making me sorta like the Junior College of relationships. Credits are easily tranferrable, and their always welcome back for alumni mixers.

I, on the other hand, have been following the same cycle to some extent. Considering the idea that it's all a matter of keeping the same standards all this time, I found myself drawing a blank on what those standards might be. I guess my needs were to have something simple and uncomplicated. In that respect, I had that in my last serious relationship, and guess how that ended? Simple and uncomplicated.

At the time I took the vow to not date, it was to find out more about myself. To be honest, it's been a lot like driving the same car for a really long time and only now looking under the hood. Sure, it still runs, but there's a lot of work that needs to be done to it.

I warned you that this would sound bitter, but don't worry. I'm not fastening a noose and wishing I had a taller ceiling or anything like that. What I'm saying in this diatribe is simply a "I've got good news and bad news" type of situation. You always get the bad stuff out of the way first.

As for the good news, I'm still working on that. Suffice to say that I'm gonna continue my pledge not to date until I've got it everything under the hood back in working order...or in the off chance that I find someone who makes me want to stop thinking like this. Whichever comes first.

Monday Night Caption Contest

Post your captions in the comment section below:

Here are mine for the week:

1. Terry Gilliam's Lord of the Rings.

2. So, this is supposed to Cupid?!? Well, that explains my relationship troubles.


There's still time for last week's Caption Contest. The winner will be announced next Monday.


The winner of May 14th's contest is Candace with the caption: "You think you gotta double chin? THIS is a double chin...THIS, right here is a double chin...keep dreamin'."

At least I get to sleep in

I've noticed that I don't vocalize my expectations in most areas of my life anymore. More often than not, I'm pretty open about having no clue as to what will happen next and even less of a clue as to what I'm doing. But I've noticed a trend of getting a minor plot twist in the things I do have some hope and wishes towards. It's nothing major...it's not a Sixth Sense kinda thing. Hell, it's barely a The Village kinda twist (hey, if you didn't see that shit coming, you're a moron).

It's kinda like playing a casual game of chess, and you're a few moves away from checkmate, then your opponent suggests checkers instead. It's like having a girl you're mildly infactuated with introduce you to her heretofore unmentioned boyfriend. It's like having a clerk stop you admitting he overcharged you for your purchase, giving you the proper change, then realizing he had the price right the first time, but tells you to forget about it and keep the 69 cents. Getting bent out of shape would be unreasonable, and the proper response is simply, "Oh, okay..."

More to the point, it's having your mind set on working on Memorial day, but your boss tells you to take the day off. I've been working my ass off, and the finish line is in sight. I'm running the race, and I'm winning by a wide lead, and suddenly I'm told to sit and rest for a minute.

I know it's pretty damned sad when I don't know how to react to a day off anymore.

Rumors of my death are not far from the truth

Holy. Fucking. Asscrackers!

It's Saturday night. I just got home from work, having clocked 82 hours and 22 minutes so far for the week. So far...yes, I'll have more ahead of me tomorrow.

The good news is, the hardest part is done. The layout of the big project is all done and ready for the last rounds of proofing. After that, all I gotta do is make the changes, pun the film out and I'm fucking done!

I pulled a 36 hour shift on Wednesday/Thursday. When I finally got home, I was still hyped up from my thirtieth Dr. Pepper that I wasn't ready to go to sleep yet. So, I pulled up the finale of Lost on the DVR...which I don't recommend after staying up for 36 hours. I brushed my teeth and crawled into bed. However, I woke up on my sofa the next morning. This was the first time in nearly nine years that I had proof of sleepwalking.

Now, what to do with the rest of my night. I'm gonna go grab a bite to eat, then grab a much-deserved beer.

Monday Night Caption Contest...belated

I know...I'm late. I worked 16 hours Monday. So sue me! Post your captions in the comment section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. "HOW my watch got stuck in there is not important right now. Just help me get it out of there!!!"

2. "We're gonna need a bigger bottle of cocktail sauce."


The winner of last week's caption contest will be announced next Monday.


The winner of May 7th's contest is CleverName with the caption: The National Confederation of Gay Civil War Reenactors once again misinterprets the meaning of "Manassas"

Every entry in my day planner ends in "-ish"

A word of warning for everyone I know: Time estimates from me don't mean shit. Last night, I told my boss I'd have to leave around 7:30, but he asked me to sty a bit longer. I told him Id be able to get a lot done by around 9:30. I left at midnight having not completed what I said I would be able to get done.

Tonight, the opposite happened. I initially told my boss I'd be able to pull another midnighter, but I left at 9:30 because I couldn't focus my eyes on the screen anymore and hoped to get a full night's sleep. However, just when I get home, I get a bit of a second wind, and I decide to put together my drafting table. Again, my time estimation proved to be wrong.

It's not that I'm an unreliable worker. I'm just going through the phase of the big project where my body is wanting to throw a few curve balls into the workflow.

Tomorrow, I may just end up pulling an allnighter in order to get enough done to assure myself at least one day off on Memorial Day weekend.

The caffeine should be exiting my system in a few minutes, but the insomnia could mean I'll be up for another hour. But don't call me on that...I've been wrong before.

69:23

I'm tired. So tired. I'd be in bed right now if not for the three Dr. Peppers I had to have this afternoon and evening to keep me working on the big project at work. And despite my strong-to-a-fault work ethic, I managed to have a little bit of a life this week.

I managed to keep up on my TV shows, thanks mostly to that glorious invention called the DVR. I got almost all of my season finales this week, and I've got only two left to go, and both are on tomorrow night (Heroes and 24). It's funny how my TV shows wrap up for the season just in time for the final sprint to the finish line on the big project.

I left work Sunday night with 75% of my work ready for the client to proof. That only leaves 10% more that I know I can work on, and the other 15% left I have no information whatsoever on...and we gotta start printing on Wednesday. 67 8-page sections with a 2-page insert. 100 hours of press time at the quickest. And I've only got another week left of hearing my boss bitch about having to work on Memorial Day before having to hear him bitch for the next two weeks about having to work on Memorial Day in the past tense.

I had originally made plans to be at the office by noon on Saturday. That plan gave me plenty of time to take care of all my laundry first thing before heading downtown to hear Three Penny Upright play at the Blue Dome Arts Festival. Well, that turned into seeing Cairde Na Gael play at Mayfest at 12:30, and wandering around with my friends taking in the sights.

For those who don't know, Mayfest is Tulsa's annual outdoor festival showcasing local musicians (good and bad) and not-so-local artists who seem to have made a killing selling their wares to Days Inns across the country. I find myself looking at most of the (cough) artwork, not so much admiring the craftsmanship as I am looking for the holes in the frames for mounting on the wall with theft deterrant security screws.

The Blue Dome Arts Festival is a bit different. It has a little more of a hippie vibe, a little more local flavor, and much better beer thanks to our friends at Arnie's Bar setting up a few outside taps. The beauty of the Blue Dome Arts Festival, from the standpoint of planning, comes from the fact that it's set up two blocks away from Mayfest, at the same time as Mayfest, and located between Mayfest and the only free parking lots downtown. Their success stems from people passing through on their way to Mayfest, then realizing that Mayfest kinda sucks, and coming back through on their way back to their cars.


I went back into the office around 3:30 and left close to 9:00. During that time, I got a lot of work done, got caught up on my CSI: DVDs and really lamented not wearing sunblock while at Mayfest. I decided to call it a night when I found myself trying to match my skinburn color with a Pantone swatch book...I was somewhere around a 182 red uncoated.

I went down to McNellie's to catch Larkin's show Saturday night, and I'll admit it, it was mostly to spend time with a girl I'm interested in. It's a tough situation to read. I know I kinda like this girl, and I have a feeling she kinda likes me. It's enough to make me want to break my no-dating vow, but with my work schedule being like it is, it sounds a bit off-putting to ask someone out with the provision that it be sometime after the 10th of June when things will start to ease down at my job. In the meantime, I paid for some of her drinks, and ended the night with a hug and a split-second kiss.


This morning, I slept in and went back into work around noon. I clocked out around 7:30 with 69 hours and 23 minutes for the week. This was par for the course this time of year, but the difference this year is, I'm not trying to reach this amount of work as a goal. Instead, I'm just working until I can't bring myself to work anymore, and figuring out my hours at the end of the week. Normally when I reach this level, it means I'm getting burned out by the routine. Not the case this time. There's nothing routine about my job anymore. Sure, I get kinda bogged down, but I can't plan any of this shit out longer than a couple hours in advance. Shit keeps changing at a moment's notice, and the only choice I have is to just roll with it.

On the other hand, I found myself listening to an episode of CSI: and they found a sign with a saying that they pointed out was also above the gates at Auchwitz: Work will set you free. When I heard them recite that phrase, I didn't quite think of it from the viewpoint that the prisoners did, and that frightened me. It was at that moment, I decided to shut down my computer and go home.

Monday Night Caption Contest

Post your captions in the comments section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. "Verily I say: Word to your mum!"

2. You gotta give it to the Brits, even when they're choking, they maintain a proper composure.


The winner of last week's caption contest will be announced next Monday, sometime after Heroes and before the Colbert Report.


The winner of April 30th's contest is CleverName with the best of the two punny entries: "The leading cause of US casualties in Iraq, IEDs, or Insane Emaciated Dogs."

Family visits, parties, brunch, gifts, and bullshit (and I mean actual bull shit)

I worked my ass off this past week in order to get the weekend off to go to Little Rock to see the family. Sunday was also my niece's birthday, and I assumed we'd be having a party Saturday night to mark that occasion. This assumption led to confusion/borderline outrage when my brother called me on Friday to let me know that the party was to start at three...and that he ordered a keg and a margarita machine. My niece is ten. Turns out the birthday party was gonna be on Friday night, and the party on Saturday was merely a block party.

I had planned to leave Tulsa at three o'clock, laeving me enough time to sleep in and recover from the party I went to Friday night. Instead I was up at ten (got at least 8 hours), packed up, left plenty of food out for Chuck, and ran the trash out before I left. When I went to throw the trash in the dumpster, I was given an unkind and very gross reminder that it had rained a lot the past week when dumpster juice splashed all over me.

Halfway up my steps, my phone rang and it was my mom wanting to know if I was on the road yet. She was excited that I was coming down to visit, as was I, but the more she talked the more I kept fixating on the fact that I was drenched in garbage water. So, I had to cut my mom off and exclaim that I needed to take a shower, and perhaps a immunization shot of some kind.

The drive in was as uneventful as a four-hour drive in a truck with no A/C and a weak radio antenna could be. I wound up listening to the MP3 player on my phone throught the mono earpiece the whole way there.

The party was pretty fun. The margaritas were plentiful, the BBQ ribs were awesome, and the boiled crawfish were really fresh, in that they were indeed still living when they were thrown in the boil. Most of the people there were my sister-in-law's work friends, and the reputation that preceded me with these people was mostly limited to the People Magazine article, which my sister-in-law had talked about/showed to all of them. My folks left a little early, and my step-brother and I left a little while after that. We wound up spending the rest of the night playing Playstation instead of going back to the party to do tequila shots. Nothing against my brother and tequila, but I was tired from the drive in and didn't need any more to drink.

Sunday, we went over to my brother's neighbor's house for Mother's Day brunch. That was the only meal I needed all day. Afterwards, since I had brought the truck back, my stepdad decided it would be a nice present to my mother for my stepbrother and I to help fetch and unload four truckloads of topsoil for her new garden...topsoil with enriched, composted manure blended in it. At this time I'd like to note that I only brought two pairs of footwear with me: My brand-new sneakers and an old pair of flip-flops.

It really wasn't that bad. My stepdad kept giving us shit for not being able to do manual labor as fast as he is used to. I explained to him that my step-brother sells cars, and I make pretty pictures for a living. We each made conscious decisions in our career paths to avoid having to ever shovel shit-rich soil and lamenting my casual clothing choices while doing it. Nothing says "I love you, mom!" like a dehydrated, exhausted thirty-year-old man wearing shitty-mud-soaked flip-flops and drenched in sweat.

After what was my fourth shower in two days, I squared up my part of the cost of the transmission repairs with the folks and got packed up to head back home. My mom, true to her nature, loaded me up with all sorts of goodies. Earlier in life, these goodies were far more impractical: Toys from my childhood, things she saw at the store, miscellaneous goofy shit, etc. This time around, I got my old drafting table back, a book on personal finance, a Star Wars design book (which is very practical to a guy like me), and their old fax/scanner/copier/printer. It was particularly fun to watch my mom go on and on about how to run the fax machine, then suddenly realize that I didn't have a land line to use it for that purpose. I'm sure I'll tinker with it and use it for printing stuff out, but mostly I took it so I'll have one less piece of office equipment to buy if I ever get Helper Monkey Design Studio off the ground.

Before I left, I made the decision to just leave food out for Chuck and leave him fresh kitty litter for the night. I figured he'd be fine for the 35 hours I was to be leaving him alone. When I got home, everything looked exactly as I had left it, except for the fact that in place of my trusty, old self sufficient cat, there was a talkative incredibly needy ball of nerve-racked fur clinging to my ankles for at least an hour after walking in the door. It's so nice to be missed.

Plus, the tights would make me itch

I saw Spider-Man 3 on Sunday. The short review: Good, not great. The slightly longer review: Even with a running time of two hours, twenty minutes, it needed to be twenty minutes longer. Twenty less of the Peter Parker/Mary Jane subplot, twenty minutes more of Venom (not the black suit Spidey, mind you), and twenty minutes more action.


The movie did get get me thinking, though. Assuming it would be possible for someone to develop superpowers, which side would I be on? Most days, I don't have the confidence needed to do something remotely selfless, much less save the world. On the other hand, I don't have near enough of a mean streak to be an antihero, and not enough spite or anger to be a bonafide villian.

Which begs the question: Is there a such thing as a sorta morally ambiguous superhero?

The strange thing is, if I did have superpowers, I would probably use them to do the things I normally do. If I could fly, I wouldn't need to drive anywhere. If I could move things with my mind, I'd do my job from the comfort of a La-Z-Boy while flipping through magazines. Healing powers...well, then I wouldn't have to exercise much care when I'm using that X-acto blade, would I? Super-senses would allow me to hear my boss coming a mile away, I'd be able to get rid of my glasses, and since I live by the river, let's not go into super-smell.

Even though I love stories of superheroes, the big problem I have with the genre is the lack of morality in them. By that, I mean that the main thrust of any story is to stop the bad guy by any means neccessary, killing them if you must. If you let them live, they always come back for revenge. If you kill them, then another guy just takes his place as public enemy number one. Sounds pretty futile to me.

I'm overanalyzing it, I know. How exciting would a superhero story be if in lieu of the big fight scene there was twenty minutes of negotiation? Or, if the climax was replaced by an intervention?

Who cares, really? It's just more fun to see things blow up and guys in tights beating each other up than it is to see how it'd happen in the real world.

Monday Night Caption Contest

Post your captions in the comment section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. How often do you see streakers this organized? I mean, single file and everything!

2. Charity nude walkathon for skin cancer research and ironically, they chose the hottest, sunniest day of the year.


There's still time for last week's contest. The winner will be annouced next Monday.


The winner of April 23rd's contest is CleverName with the caption: "I tole you no park in Gozirra driveway!"

This Day in Fritschistory: May 6

1976: (in utero) Learned how to use these newly formed legs to kick my mom in the ribs from inside the womb.

1977: Discovered new combination of "B", "W" and "M" sounds, leading to hours of non-stop "Bwabamubabuwamabababam...". My parents thought it was cute for the first hour.

1979: Won my first "MINE!" argument with my mother, only to discover I didn't want the damned toy anyway.

1983: Ruined the garbage disposal, as well as many of my Star Wars action figures, while playing "Saarlac pit."

1986: A cousin bets me I couldn't eat an entire can of frozen lemonade concentrate. He lost. I spent the remainder of the day in my room with a bellyache, shaking uncontollably and believing I could move things with my mind.

1989: Upon advice from my therapist, I started my first stream-of-conscienceness writing exercise. Wound up transcribing most of Back to the Future from memory before I even started on my own feelings at the moment.

1994: First gave serious thought into my college plans, exactly one month before graduating high school.

1996: Gave up on my week-long Pixy-Stick and Pepsi only diet, which I started because I ran out of college meal plan coupons. Slept for two days straight after crashing from the sugar shock.

1997: After my first week of being a college graduate and staying with my brother and his family, finally cracked open a phone book and started looking for a job.

1998: Realized that my career may have gone a bit awry when my boss asked me what it is I do.

1999: Realized I may have overcorrected my career path when my new boss asked me who I was.

2001: Redoubled my efforts to revitalize my career after several hours sweeping up popcorn at a movie theater.

2003: Pulled my first 80+ hour work week. Was too tired to spend any of the overtime.

2006: While pulling a now routine 80+ work week and packing in preparation for moving at the end of the month, I got an email from a reporter from People Magazine, wanting to interview me about still living with my ex-girlfriend.

2007: Nothing so far.

Vehicle repair, work, music, religious humor, more work, housecleaning and superheroes

Following almost everyone's advice about the pickup truck, I set out Monday to get a few estimates. The one place that was highly reccomended by a friend, in that he's known the guy for 40 years, turned out to be a wash. Their phone had been disconnected, and giving them the benefit of a doubt, I stopped by there to find the front door locked.

A place my boss recommended told me after a quick drive around the block that it would cost between $1,400 and $1,800. The next two places, both of which boasted "complete car care" on their signs, told me that transmissions were not their specialty...but if they did fix it, it'd cost about three grand. Those two places referred me to the fourth and final place I went to.

The guy I spoke to asked to keep the truck for the afternoon so they can run some diagnostic tests. That question sealed the deal for me. I got a call at the end of the day telling me what it would cost to take out the transmission and check each part, and the worst-case scenario cost of fixing it. Note to all: Transmission fluid should be pink to red, not black.

A quick call to my folks later and the mechanic was given the go-ahead.

I picked the truck up yeasterday and it's purring like a kitten and able to go to 0-60 without a panic attack from the driver. I have a vehicle again. How much of the $1,737.17 I'll have to pay back to my folks is yet to be decided.


Work has been a bit intense. A couple of projects blew up in our faces, but luckily, I have avoided any fault in those matters. The huge project seemed to be off to a shaky start, but we're as on-track as we can be with as many people we have to rely on for all of the information. Needless to say, I won't be having a day off until at least the 9th of June.


Today, before going in for a few hours of work, I stopped at the Cherry Street farmer's market to listen to Cairde na Gael play. Across the street, the Methodist church was having a yard sale. Looking around, I got to ask a question not everyone gets to ask in their lifetime: "Hey, how much for the pulpit?" I couldn't help but think that they were upgrading to the ChristMaster 3000 with the "fire and brimstone" lighting controls built-in.

I also noticed a couple sets of crutches and a couple walkers for sale as well. I'm not sure if it was intentional, but I thought the Jesus healing the cripples alegory was kinda clever.


I went into work for a few hours and mapped out the big project in a huge list. I color-coded each item: Red for completed, orange for in progress, and yellow for in question. The amount of yellow on the completed list has me kinda worried, but a marathon meeting session early this week should clear it all up.


I got home this afternoon set to clean up the place, but I got sucked into the DVRed shows from this past week. Strange how many dishes pile up when you haven't had a meal at home in over a week. Laundry and dishes will have to wait for tomorrow night, after work and Spider-Man 3.


Speaking of Spidey, I saw that it made $59 million in a single day. How great would it be to have been involved in something that produced $700 a second? Just wait, Pirates 3 will knock that out of the water, no pun intended, in just a few short weeks.

The reviews I've read have been mixed on Spider-Man 3. I try not to pay it any mind because superhero movies are pretty much critic proof. However, even the hardcore geek-boy reviews are coming in as less than stellar. I'll still give it a whirl, though.

Monday Night Caption Contest

Post your captions in the comment section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. Aw, man! Why does he always go for the GOOD shoes?

2. In this week's adopt-a-pet segment, we have Mittens. He's a lovable little mongrel who's great with kids...particularly those who need a little "straightening out"...


The winner of last week's caption contest will be announced next monday night. Get your captions in now!


The winner of April 16th's caption contest is Anonymous with the caption "If you want my body AND you think I'm sexy, c'mon sugar let me know...."