Am I a deadbeat or a victim...find out next week!

I just talked to the landlord. As it turns out, their office manager has been embezzling from the company for about 3-4 months now. She's been targeting specific accounts, pocketing any cash payments and stealing the money order payments somehow... and guess who was one of the targeted accounts?

So, the landlord is trying to sort everything out while at the same time trying to build up any evidence for the D.A. against this theiving bitch. My June and July payments were not recorded into the books, I had a receipt for June, but july is gonna be trickier. The recipt stub I thought I found was actually for a Consumer Credit payment from last year. In order for me to prove my payment, I need to have QuikTrip check their records, plus I need to get fresh receipts from Home Depot and Lowes for the parts I bought to fix my shower that was taken out of that month's rent.

The landlord told me that they're still trying to backtrack on the books, look through all of the records they have and try to separate the victims of this scam from the people who just didn't pay their rent. I've been told to call back in a week, so I have one week to get my paperwork in order.

This will be the last I speak of this today. I have already wasted half of my birthday worrying about this shit. I am now gonna go out and enjoy the rest of my birthday, and I will not even think about any of this mess until 2:00 tomorrow afternoon...24 hours from the moment I click "Publish Post".

All I want for my birthday is a place to live

I'm back in town as of thirty minutes ago, and right now, I'm too pissed to go to sleep.

Last night, I got a call from Colleen & Britt, who I've had come over and feed Chuckles while I'm away. They assured me that Chuck was doing great, but there was a note attached to my door from my landlord informing me that if they don't receive the last two months rent within five days of the letter's posting (August 12, even though it showed up on my door the evening of the 15th), that I will be evicted.

Boy, nothing allows one to fully enjoy the last day of visiting the folks like a little sphincter-pucker like that tidbit of news. Anyway, I'll be dealing with this shit as soon as they open their doors tomorrow. This should be fun.

From what I can gather from the letter, my landlord has:

1) ...completely neglected that clause in my lease that warned me that the rent is officially late on the second of the month and eviction proceedings are started on the third if no rent is received.

2) ...doesn't have a legal leg to stand on because the letter is not signed, is not notorized, did not have any prior warnings (not even a fucking phone call), and claimed to be posted three days before it actually WAS.

3) ...obviously has no idea that I have the receipt stubs from the money orders (no checks allowed) I left them, proving I did pay. Now, seeing as their office hours are 1-5 monday through friday (when, gee, I'm WORKING!), I have no choice but to slide the rent through the little mail slot, which is clearly labeled AFTER HOURS PLEASE SLIDE RENT THROUGH SLOT.

4) Seeing as I can't account for what happens to the rent once it's pushed through the slot, and the fact that they are signed over to them in permanent ink, there's very little chance that any theft of my rent money is involved. And even if someone there might be skimming the till, it's not my fucking problem.

So, between having to fix the damned shower myself and this new little fiasco (sensing a pattern here), odds are I might be moving for the second time in six months. However, if I do get evicted, I'm gonna sue their asses for every dime I paid them, every dime I'm gonna have to pay for my new place, plus an added amount for pain and suffering, and I'm gonna double it for being the cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is.

Hallelujah.

Holy shit.

Where's the Tylenol?

Is my skull horribly misshapen, or is it just me?

No photoshop tricks in this photo, folks. I really did shave my head...to the frickin' scalp this time. The first time I've been completely sans hair since I was born. There are three reasons for this move:

1) Never done it before and it's on my list of things I've never done that I feel I should go ahead and do...along with getting a tattoo, finishing one of my screenplays/novels, sky dive, get started on the Tulsa Music Family Tree Project, etc.

2) I'm gonna go visit my folks for a few days, and anything I can to cause my mom to stare at me and say "Oh, I don't know..." is totally worth it.

3) Thursday is my birthday, and chances are good that I'll be drinking until I pass out. And, whenever someone in my social circle ever passes out drunk, someone else decides to cut their hair. This time, I'm not letting them have the satisfaction. Now, if I can only keep them away from the magic markers.

Even though I'm opening myself up for a ton of Mr. Clean jokes, but all day yesterday, I cleaned every square inch of my apartment. I figured that if I'm gonna have my friends come over while I'm gone and feed Chuckles the cat, it'd be best to have not my instructions include the words "I wouldn't walk around barefoot if I were you.".

A few other little random tidbits here:

The flash bulb on my digital camera has burned out, and since it's one of those built-in flashes, it's time to buy a new camera or take my chances with natural light.

Ever since dinner last night, anything I've had to eat or drink has caused me to hiccup like crazy. I fear something might be wrong with my esophagus. It feels like everything keeps getting stuck on it's way to my stomach...a little like heartburn, only without the burn.

I may be away from the blog for a few days. In the meantime, faithful readers, might I suggest submitting for the caption contest I posted a couple days ago.

It's always with the goddamn fucking chicken

I caught a screening of Little Miss Sunshine tonight, and aside from several critics, let me tell you that this flick is amazing. Well crafted, well scripted and well performed all around.

This is another in a stream of movies that have caught my eye at just the right time in my life. Going into the theater, I was led to believe that at the very least, I'd have fun just seeing a group of characters more fucked up than me, but I was very surprised to find that every character was well rounded in their own level of dysfunction, and that every thing they said and did had a great payoff in the end.

The road trip aspect of the film reminded me a lot of National Lampoon's Vacation, the direction reminded me a lot of the Roysal Tenenbaums, but the general themes each character reminds me of American Beauty. Like American Beuty, we deal with drugs, homosexuality, depression and a desperate need to do something with one's life other than deal with the real problems at hand. Each character embodies one or more of those attributes with wonderful balance.

You have the heroin-addicted grandfather, the suicidal uncle, the depressed brother, the overbearing dad, the mother struggling to keep everything together...and then there's the titular little miss sunshine, the daughter; the last bastian of purity this family has left, and whose goals of winning a beauty contest sets the film and the road trip in motion.

What surprised me was what kept the family together through all of this. In a traditional Hollywood movie, the conflicts would have just kept adding up, but in this film, the filmmakers took the time to allow the characters to bond through their common miseries without letting the underlying tensions tear them apart. While at the same time, they've avoided the pitfalls of a family movie where in the end all that matters is that they're family. No, in Little Miss Sunshine (my vote for best title of the year, by the way), they all accept the fact that escape is not an option when it comes to your family, and that you must perservere despite that drawback.

One by one, we see hopes get shattered, we see their worst fears realized, and their the lives they carved out for themselves crumble at their feet, and what I found great about the film is that, much like real life, it's not the end of the world. So what if things don't end up exactly as you planned it. So what if everything you set out to do blows up in your face. So what if you don't entirely enjoy the ride or the people you're riding along with. You gotta stick with them or else you're never gonna get back home.

It was perfect that I saw this film with friends. In the discussions I had with my friend Mary at the bar afterwards, the perspective I gained from the film helped me better articulate the anxieties I have with my own life.

I turn thirty one week from today, the age where my parents' generation determined you were no longer able to be trusted. Looking around to my friends' lives, with their marriages and their children, I feel like I'm still a child. Of my circle friends back in Arkansas, I was the one of the first of them to get engaged, yet it seems like I may be the last of them to finally get married. Of my friends here, I'm well trusted and well loved...if only I could see myself the way they do though their eyes.

I feel I'm getting better and better at getting my mind straight every day. It really helps when I don't think about it so much. I'll know I'f ready for whatever's next when I don't automatically balance out a positive with a negative. When the scale tips more towards the good side, I'll be to my goal. As for right now, I'm gonna sit back and enjoy the ride.

The "because I'm bored" caption contest

Time to light up the comments with captions, folks! Here are mine:

1. Having fallen on hard times, Wilt Chamberlain is reduced to reduce, reuse, recycle.

2. How original! Most people just put up mini-blinds.

3. Gee, Steve, I like how you cleaned up the place for your big date, but don't you think this is a bit much? Maybe you should just light some candles instead.

The winner of the last caption contest, seeing as he was the only real entry, was Gene, with the caption: Jackie Chan's School of "Getting kicked in the balls for Film" is now open for summer enrollment.

Political cures that may be worse than the disease Vol.2: Military Funeral Protests

Well, it looks like the Westboro Baptists are at it again.

I read this latest article today, and an idea hit me. Here's the great way to really screw with these protesters:

Go up to them and pretend to join their protest. Whatever they shout, you repeat with great enthusiasm. Get more and more riled up and make yourself look like a really passionate person who wholeheartedly believes in their cause.

When you get to a fever pitch, Move to the front of the group. Pull out a gas can full of water and pour it all over your body. It might help to put just a tiny bit of gas in the can to get the smell in the air, but not enough to risk catching fire. Now that you've gotten their attention, pretend to be having a lot of trouble getting a match lit. When they try and stop you, start shouting crazy shit like, "C'mon! We're not getting their attention. It's time to show them some smoke to match the fire in our bellies!"

My guess is one of two things will occur, either A) you'll disrupt their protest enough to make it too unnerving to continue, or B) some of them will take your advice and set themselves on fire. It's a win-win either way.

File under venting

A woman at work was severely pissed at me today...which thankfully manifested itself as the silent treatment with the occasional passive aggressive eye roll. It all has to do with what went down on Friday.

Friday, she brought her daughter along to help us out with the massive amount of bindery work we've got going on in the back of the shop. It was an all-hands-on-deck situation, so early in the day, when I noticed her daughter was on the clock and playing around in my office, I went and ratted her out.

Later in the day, I went back to help out on the work, and that girl was nowhere in sight the whole time I was back there. Towards the end of the day, I found the girl had been hanging out in the front office almost all afternoon. It was apparent that by this time, word had gotten around that I was being a big tattletale, so asking the question "How long has she been up here?" was answered by "None of your damned business."

While I was clocking out, I took a peek at the girl's time card. Yep, she was still on the clock, and she hadn't done a damned thing all afternoon.

So, today, this girl's mother was pissed at me. She didn't say a damned word about it until five minutes before quitting time, when my boss' son was in my office and I was playing around with him. The words she said were, "Well, isn't this ironic."

As if distracting the boss' kid from repeatedly hitting the button on that Goddamned Napoleon Dynamite figurine on our other artist's desk for five minutes at the end of the day, with nothing else to do, is anywhere CLOSE to her kid wasting close to FOUR hours on the clock not doing jack shit when there's plenty she should be doing.

Here are four reasons why this is not only my business, but why I'm justified in having it irk the living shit out of me:

1. If I were to bring in someone I know to help out with this kind of work, and that person spent most of his time doing absolutely nothing, everyone else might get more than a little pissed about it. Plus, I'd be on their shit list by mere association.

2. If there's work to be done, babysitting shouldn't be a part of ANYONE'S job description...particularly if the person needing to be babysitting is supposed to be working in the first place

3. I haven't been able to get a raise for a long time because, as I've been told, the company just can't afford it. Yet, certain people are allowed to draw a wage by sitting around and doing absolutely nothing. I work my ass off every day, and I'm still well below the average pay for my job title and level of experience. However, pickings are really slim in this town and if a job ever opens up, there's a usually good reason why no one's doing it.

4. Apparently, no one notices the first three reasons, and so the unwritten rule is there's no such thing as a double standard if your not being screwed by it. Another rule is that the squeaky wheel just needs to shut the hell up and mind his own business.

Just a few suggestions

Here are a few things that popped in my head that might just help out our troubled world.

1. Ticket discounts for people who sign a contract vowing to shut the hell up while in the movie theater. Violators will be charged double.

2. If our government really wants to revamp our disaster preparedness plans, they should start by hiring Samuel L. Jackson to make the emergency broadcast system announcements. They should also fill him full of coffee and slap him a few times before he makes the announcement. If the voice on the TV tells you to "GET YOUR DAMNED ASS INTO THE MOTHERFUCKING SHELTER, BITCH!"...you'd get your damned ass into the motherfucking shelter tootsweet.

3. Appoint a Secretary of Public Forums, whose job it is to find the appropriate time and place for each specific public debate. Wanna have a debate on immigration reform? There's always the annual tribal meeting of any of our many Native American organizations. I'm sure they can spare a few minutes to the subject. Against gay marriage and you want to hold a rally? Your choice: New York's Greenwich Village, Key West or San Fransisco's Castro District. Flag Burning? I'm sure the Korean factory that makes the flags has a meeting room available. Intelligent design? Museum of Natural History. Tax cuts for the wealthy? Homeless shelter. The point is, if you truly believe that your cause is for the good of all people, you shouldn't be afraid of a tough crowd.

4. Make the FCC complaint hotline a 900 number that costs $5 per call, and add a $5 processing charge for each letter sent in. Overly sensitive people might have to ask themselves if it's really worth getting that bent out of shape if the choices are paying five bucks to complain or just changing the damned channel.

Working for the weekend

I really needed a night like tonight. Tonight, Larkin was playing and I was working the door. Given the frustrations I experienced the last time I worked the door for them, I was expecting complete chaos yet again. However, the whole night was rather uneventful as far as frustrations go. I only had to tell one bum to fuck off, nobody tried to sneak out of the bar with a beer, and I only had to deal with three irate customers (and that was over in less than a minute), and everybody else was on their best behavior.

The only thing is, I wasn't watching the clock and switched to cokes a little late...so it's two o'clock and I'm completely wired.

Last night, I had to work the door as well, and although I had to deal with fewer people the hits just kept on coming. The three people I caught sneaking drinks out of the bar each gave me the same excuse: that they were from out of town, and where they're from, they can take drinks outside. Well, it that's true, why did they feel the need to hide the beers from me as they walked out?

Closing time was another matter. Nobody wanted to leave, even though the lights were turned on full blast, barstools were being put up on the tables, and "Hit the Road, Jack", "Closing Time" and "Danke Shoen" were playing in the speakers. Most of those people were friends of the bartenders, which I didn't mind, but that was no reason for them to smart off to me as I was reminding them that the bar was closing, and that they needed to tab out, drink up and go the fuck home. Apparently, I need to work on my "angry face" because no one was taking me seriously.

One particular guy was being a total dick about it. As I made my announcement to everyone on the patio, he sat back down and told me he'd get right on that. I knew he was one of the bartender's friends, so I let it go...but not without calling him on how much of a prick he was being. Ten minutes later, I had this exchange with the guy:

PRICK: "Hey, man. I'm sorry about all that back there..." (I love it when these assholes try to get back on my good side) "...I want you to know I meant no disrespect."

ME: "Well, that WAS very disrespectful. Not for nothing, dude, but there are still a lot of people who aren't cool with the bartenders that I'm trying to get the fuck out of here so all of us can go home. They see you sitting there and think that they don't have to leave either."

PRICK: "I'm just trying to say I'm sorry, man."

ME: "And I appreciate that. I'd appreciate it even more if you actually meant it, instead of just trying to smooth it over with the guy who was ready to throw your ass out on the sidewalk for being a dick."

PRICK: "Do you know how much money I spent at this bar every week?"

ME: "What, like we have some sort of frequent shopper bonus program here?"

PRICK: "I spend more money in this bar than practically anyone else. What do you say to that?"

ME: "That you might need some counseling for alcoholism?"

PRICK: "Look, I know [the owners], and if they were here, they'd be throwing YOUR ass out right now."

ME: "I work here. The owners trust me to do my job. You only drink here, and judging from that Miller Lite in your hand, you're not exactly shilling out for the good stuff, are you now? Look, It's not like I give a rat's ass who you know or how much you spend here, just don't be such a dick about it when I'm just trying to get everybody else out of here, got it?"

PRICK: "Whatever."

Tonight, he was back at the bar and he apologized yet again when he left. I later found out that he does spend a considerable amount of money at the bar...when he actually remembers to PAY his tab. I told one of the owners about the incident and she just rolled her eyes about the whole thing. Claiming to be the most frequent customer at any bar is like boasting the world's record for eating the most raw chicken. Sure, people will remember you for it, but mostly because they wonder why the hell you would brag about it.

I tried to sleep in a bit, but I had to go do laundry and go do some work at the office for a couple hours. I thought I could grab a short nap before I had to meet my friends for dinner, but instead got a call from my buddy Scott and the chances for a little bit of rest greatly diminished with each minute of talking to him. I kinda got into my diatribe about the no dating/sex vow, and I kept having to explain myself over and over again. I finally got the point through to him, and I managed to put it in simple terms for anyone who might ask about it in the future:

Everything I need to make myself a complete person again is right here in front of me. The only problem is that it's all in one giant pile. I can't tell what is what until I go through it all. I need to sort it all out and find a place for all of this shit before I can go outside and play.

40 Days and 40 Nights, the home game

There are very few subjects that I consider off-limits here on the blog. Unfortunately, many of the events of the past few days have fallen under just such categories. Much of what I'm about to write here is gonna be left up to the reader's imagination because I'm gonna just gonna jump to the moral of the story.

I'm amending my earlier vow to not date for a while to also swear off sex for the same duration. Yes, I note the irony of a guy like me taking a vow of celibacy; a guy who, for many years, seemed like he couldn't get laid if his dick was made of $100 bills and sunshine.

The fact of the matter is, wardrobe choices notwithstanding, I've never been built for anything casual. Some part of me has always wants to put more meaning into everything than I generally should. However, lately my libido has been writing checks my better judgement shouldn't have cashed, and for once, my choice in women is not to blame...it's the situations surrounding these encounters that have freaked my shit out.

The reason I took the no dating vow in the first place was to get used to the idea of being on my own again, but somehow, that pledge has opened the door for many supposed no-stings-attached encounters that I'm now positive aren't helping me in that quest. Sure, I will concede that sex is healthy fun and an incredible form of stress release...but so is bowling, and you never leave a bowling alley feeling like your life is dramatically different as a result.

The things I've been doing so far to make myself feel more comfortable in my own skin have obviously not been working. It's apparent to me that before I can see myself being ready for any type of relationship, I must first find a more life-affirming existence. That being said, the first person to tell me I just need to get laid is getting a cigarette put out in their eyeball...and the first person who suggests finding Jesus is getting set on fire...and the first person to mention that I need to not focus on the negative so much will be told "Yeah, you're probably right."