The Shit

OK. So I get in to work this morning after a five-day absence. I didn't expect fanfare or hugs and kisses, but I didn't expect the cold shoulder routine either. I asked what was going on, you know "please give me an update" kind of thing, and they just looked at me like I was asking for the moon, like who did I think I was just then? Oh, could it have been the e-mail I sent out informing them that I would be reducing my work hours because gas is so incredibly expensive right now, and since you all aren't paying me, I can't afford to buy gas when I run out, so I'm going to work from home instead? Maybe. It's like I'm the red-headed stepchild at the family reunion. No one wants to talk to me. God, not the redhead. I feel like I'm in fucking high school again. No one talked to me then. At least now I thought these people were more adult than that. Apparently not.

So my decision to leave them is made all the more easy. They're going on and on about their VC meetings and their potential new clients and contracts, like that's going to bail them out and make them solvent again. I'm not trying to be a pessimist. I've stayed as long as they have, and I tried to maintain a positive attitude about all of this. It's not easy when bills come due and the bank is empty, you know? I've got to take care of myself, and they aren't helping me. If things were different, I would stay here and make the thing work. But I can't work for free. And what's worse is that they expect me to, and they wonder why I can't. I'm so angry I could spit nails right now. Or break things. Or scream my fucking head off.

On a lighter note, I changed my hosting service over the long weekend. I found a more blog-friendly host (who was considerably cheaper with more amenities than my previous host), and migrated. I hit a few bumps, not like I expected it to be perfect considering my technical skill level, but they all worked out OK. They are Blogomania if you're interested.

That's all for now.

Posterchild

This thing is the coolest! I've been looking for a better comments system for a long time (even though I don't get that many to begin with, but hey, I'm trying to be optimistic here by at least presenting the opportunity, you know), and I found it here. I am so not the programmer, and I thought it would be my death knell to attempt such a thing, but it was a piece of cake. It doesn't work on the free hosting services, though, but that's OK 'cause it doesn't apply!

Anyway, it's cool and easy, and I wanted to give a little credit. There's also a button on the left, over there. (I'm afraid that I'm getting a little button happy, and I don't know if that's a good thing or not.)

That's all.

Oh look! A band!

I love the radio. I have always loved it, and I hope to love it forever. It's great for me, though I have hundreds of CDs, because I don't have to worry about changing the content or deciding what the content is...until I get bored with the content and switch the whole thing off. But that's not my point.

When I was younger, I used to request songs on my favorite radio station all the time (WLS 89 AM, Chicago, which is now a talk radio station). It was before I had an FM radio, so AM had to do, and it did do. But that's still not my point.

My point is, and I did have one, when I was really young, I used to think that the music that was being played on the radio was played live, by the musicians in the studios of the radio station. (I was aware enough to realize there was a radio station playing these songs.) Isn't that funny? Every time I heard Fleetwood Mac, Fleetwood Mac was in the the studios of the radio station. I know it's silly; I was like six, OK?

Whatever. Just thought I'd share.

Redfaced

I have to get this off my chest. For a long time, like forever, I've been anti-windows. I hate Microsoft and their OS. It was nothing but bullshit for the last ten years. Unfortunately, I've been forced to learn it and use it at work, and as such, I've become pretty much a pro at using it and getting the most out of it. Well, I've been using Win2K Pro on my laptop for the last two years, and for the most part it's OK. I recently upgraded two different computers (at home for other people) to WinXP, and the process was so painless that I had to try it myself. So I took the liberty of installing WinXP on my laptop at work, and within about an hour and a half, the system was completely new and upgraded and everything worked! It all worked the first time! I mean, all of my system settings were maintained from my desktop picture to the office network settings. The installation was flawless. And I have to give thanks to the engineers in Redmond for making this process painless. I'm not gushing, well, maybe a little. And don't get me wrong. I'm not going Windows. I could never give up my Macs, especially with Panther coming along soon. I just wanted to say that I am an open-minded person, I am, I am, I am!

And that's all.

Oh

That's what that was.

I was lying down on the couch watching TV when this thing happened. Now I'm not one to relate earthquake stories simply because they happen too often to keep track of, and this isn't an earthquake blog. But, because I hurt myself as a result of this quake, I thought I'd share. Now, knowing me, this can't possibly be a short story, so go on 'bout your business if you have to.

About six years ago, I was at Laguna Creek Beach north of Santa Cruz. My car was parked like a half mile away, there was no one around, and there was a fairly intense trail to navigate to get from the road to the beach. Whatever. The tide was out. I'm walking on what I thought were dry rocks. There was moss on the rocks that was wet from the last wave. I slipped and fell on the wet moss. I would have hit the rocks with my head, but my left arm flew out to break the fall. It hurt like a mother fucker. I was winded. I was alone on the beach. I thought I broke the damn thing, but because I could move it, I knew it wasn't broken. Instead, I hurt the muscle bad enough to cause a bruise from under my arm down to my elbow. It was narly...as in ugly narly, not rad narly. Since then, my left arm has always been my weak arm. It doesn't hurt all the time, but if I lift wrong, it does. A pleasant reminder that I still have no health benefits.

So, this afternoon, I'm dozing on the couch, and I hear this rumble. It was loud and the whole place shook. I thought that one of my (larger) neighbors fell down or something. That's what it felt like. That or a car running into the wall of the building. In the process of jumping up from the couch to figure out what happened, I pushed one way, my torso went another way, and I re-injured my left shoulder as I did six years ago. I literally screamed in pain, at the same time cursing my neighbors for being negligent. (I'm sorry folks.) I had no idea there had been an earthquake until two hours later when I read this link. My apartment is like two blocks away from Piedmont. In fact, some of my mail comes addressed to Piedmont instead of Oakland. Oh my god, I'm so making a big deal out of this. I'm sorry folks. It's California, but in thirteen years, this is like the third quake that I've even felt. No big deal.

OK. Story's over. Only that it was on the Hayward fault which, as I learned in Geology 110, is potentially more dangerous than the much touted San Andreas fault. I can't remember the details on whether it was because of the size of the fault itself or because of the population density along the faultline. In any case, one of these days it could go really big. Yeah yeah, just like Southern California will fall into the ocean. (No big loss. Just kidding.) And just like one of these days the levels of the world's oceans will rise so high that Florida will be consumed and drowned. Now that's really no big loss.

So now my arm is sore, and I'm freezing cold. I was sitting in the setting sun coming through the window and I was shivering, I was so cold. Now I'm just tired. Gotta go to bed soon.

On another note, I applied for eighteen (18) jobs today. I counted. Let's see what happens.

Bye.

The Friday Five

1. What housekeeping chore(s) do you hate doing the most? Cleaning the bathroom. But I can't be bothered with such things because I'm going to see Cher tonight.

2. Are there any that you like or don't mind doing?
   Sometimes I actually like to do the dishes. The warm water is soothing, and I can listen to music and kind of relax. But that's not too often. Oddly enough, I don't mind cleaning other people's homes...except the bathroom. But I don't care about that because I'm going to see Cher tonight.

3. Do you have a routine throughout the week or just clean as it's needed?
   Sadly, I just clean when it's needed. Roommate and I never had time to clean on a regular basis. You know, our social calendars are always so full, and we're going to see Cher and all...who has time to clean?

4. Do you have any odd cleaning/housekeeping quirks or rules?
   Just make it look clean. My mother always said, and I'm sure if I got to talk to Cher tonight she would agree with me, especially with dishes, if it doesn't look clean, chances are it's not. But housekeeping is one thing I'm definitely not a freak about.

5. What was the last thing you cleaned?
   The dishes. Yesterday morning. It took me ten minutes. Then I filled out a dozen more job postings, watched Regis and Kelly for the first time ever (and kinda liked it, but that was probably because Seth Green was one of their guests, and I adore him; he's so cute, and red [redheads are the best], and short, and just adorable), found my tickets to see Cher tonight, then, you know how it is. I'm starting to feel like a housewife.

Oh and about this quake business...I thought I was going overboard with my little story yesterday afternoon, but I watched the news last night and that was all they would talk about: roving reporters in the streets gathering the reactions of passers-by, checking out the USGS in Menlo Park with close-ups of the seismograph, pictures of the neighborhoods of Piedmont and Oakland. I always thought that people who lived in this area were numb to earthquakes, and kinda blasé about it. But no, of course not. It's news after all, darling, news!

Fabulous

In one word, that's all I can say about Cher. She was fucking amazing. OK, two more words. I was on my feet for two hours screaming and crying and standing amazed at how awesome she looks and how wonderful it was to see her perform live. I don't know exactly how old she is, but I know she's older than my 55-year-old mother, and she fucking works it hard! Throughout the concert, and during her numerous costume changes, she played videos of her past all the way back to the "Sonny and Cher Show," and from where I was sitting, she looks just as good now as she did then. I love her. She is fabulous.

The crowd was elderly. I mean, old! Most of the people sitting around me were of my mother's generation. I was surprised at this, but then I realized that these are the true Cher fans, the fans that are her age, who watched her on TV from the very beginning. Only most of these people haven't aged as gracefully as Cher has. Can't judge a book and all that.

That was my birthday present to myself. I'm so glad that I had that chance. She is fabulous.

Monday

I got in the car this morning to head over the Bay Bridge to pretend I have a real job, when I was hit by a backup of traffic that I haven't seen since the dot-com days (oh, so long ago, yes). Perhaps I was just leaving a little late, it was 9:00 am after all. And considering that I was not really in the mood to pretend and sit in traffic on the way to the land of Make Believe, I got off at the West Oakland exit (the last Oakland exit before the Bay Bridge), and drove home.

It's probably just as well. I'm not too keen on one of my office mates right now, and the other one, the pregnant one will be there today. Lord knows I need none of that! Besides, my left arm is still almost immobile after the earthquake scare of 4th September. I'm typing this with one hand. Tee hee. No really, while it's not exactly immobile, it's still tender and sore. I sleep on my sides, and my unconscious doesn't know (or doesn't care) that my left arm is sore, I end up sleeping on it, and it hurts when I wake up. Oh well, those are the breaks, kiddo.

My sister had a baby last week. Did I mention that? She had a bouncing baby boy on the 4th. Eight pounds even, 21 inches long. I just got pictures from Ma. He's cute. I don't normally coo over babies, I'm so not the baby type (but I think you could have guessed that), but my new nephew is cute for sure. Sis is lucky to have such cute kids. All seven of them are cute. Seven? No, silly. That's a joke. She has three now. Two boys and a girl.

That's all for now. I have work to do, you know. Wink, wink.

Just a little something to keep me busy

1. Bookends :: Hold 'em up
2. Compliment :: Why, thank you!
3. Gutter :: Oh, honey, aren't we all.
4. Obsession :: Magnificent
5. Heavy :: Duty
6. Real :: Deal
7. Disposable :: Razors
8. Breeze :: It feels so good.
9. Work :: Ha, what is this work you speak of?
10. Sweetheart :: Darling

Smoke Signals

I found the most perfect job for me today. I found it in a different category than I normally search, and it just happens to be absolutely up my alley. So please give me this job! I promise I'll be good!

I'm not diggin this stay-at-home thing. I was excited about it at first because I could listen to the radio without my headphones, and I could eat and dance and stuff in between whatever it was that I was supposed to be doing. But it turns out that I really am an office kind of person for work. I guess I need the rigidity and structure of a workplace to make me work. It's all too easy to tear me away from what I was supposed to be doing when I'm at home.

For instance, Roommate and I recently had a scrumptious homemade pizza, which had a mountain of mozzarella. Some of that lovely cheese ended up on the bottom of the oven, dripping off the sides of the pizza and the oven rack on which the pizza sat. We didn't clean it up quickly enough, for when R went to cook something else, the cheese just continued to burn and burn, becoming charred and a mess. So he suggested that I clean the oven while I was at home today. No prob. The oven'll do it all by itself.

Well, little did I know, the oven also expels all of the smoke that the cleaning process creates through a tiny little vent at the top of the oven. The smoke then fills the kitchen and the rest of the living space, creating havoc on my unsuspecting eyes and lungs. And of course, because our landlord didn't install a range hood for whatever fucked up reason he can think of today, there was nowhere else for the smoke to go but throughout the apartment.

Oh my god, I freaked. Thankfully it was mid-morning, and my neighbors were all somewhere else. So I opened all the windows and the front door, turned on a couple of the room fans to get the smoke circulating and dissipating, but it just took too long. The whole place was just lousy with smoke. And I wonder why I quit smoking. It would have been so much more fun to light up a ciggie-poo and have a seat in the kitchen. Like anyone would notice the difference.

It's all over, and the oven is much more clean than it was. Supposedly, the thing heats up to like 700° F (371° C) and sits there for a couple of hours turning anything left inside it to ash. And clean up was a breeze. Just whip out the dustbuster, get an old rag, and voilà, you've got a clean oven.

So. Tomorrow, I have a brief interview with a potential staffing agency. I'm looking forward to it. For some reason, I have a good feeling about this place. I see a lot of jobs advertised through this particular group, and I'm hoping they'll be able to find me a new home. No ties, please, if it's not too much to ask. I don't own any. But I really want that other one. We'll see what's meant to be.

Goodness, the sky looks almost yellow. It's all cloudy and the sun is just starting to set, and it's looking eerie. I love storms.

Fashion Over Comfort

As I was walking to BART this morning, on my way to an interview in the city, my right foot burst out in flames of pain and discomfort. It seems that these leather shoes that I've had for over three years are still not broken in enough to walk in them. And that sucked because I was just on time and could not turn around to change my shoes for comfort's sake. It's not even that the shoes look good, either. In fact, I kinda regret buying them. But they're the only black shoes that I have, and they fit the bill for the day. Oh well. Once I get working again, I think I should concentrate on buying some new shoes rather than a new scanner and such like that.

So, my appointment. About two hours after I got there, I discovered that I can still type 72.1 words per minute with a three percent error rate. Yay for me. I'm a tested expert in Word and Excel, and an intermediate user of PowerPoint. Again, yay for me. Now can I have a job? As I said yesterday, we'll see what fate has in store for me.

I was in such a hurry to get home to take off my shoes (which are now about to be put down) that I forgot the post office this morning. I'll have to go back tomorrow. That's OK. I need a break from this place. When I got home, the first thing I noticed was the faint odor of a campfire, as if the place had been on fire. Oh, that. Tee hee. That's just the result of oven cleaning. Oh well. I kicked off my shoes and discovered two very large blisters, one on each heel, and one on the ball of my right foot. Very large. I don't like blisters. I think they're gross. I mean, it's a piece of skin separating itself from the rest of the organ and just sitting there by itself. That's creepy to me.

That's all.

When You're Good to Mama

Remember when I said that I was going to spend the whole day in the city tomorrow? Well, plans have changed. Roommate got the mail (at 9:00 pm), and in it I found my very own copy of the DVD of Chicago, so I'll be inside watching it over and over again until my ears bleed. K?

Don't call me.

A Call to Arms

Anyone in San Francisco who can respond to this freak's worthless post on Craig's List, will you do so please? This is the kind of bullshit that incenses me beyond belief. Let's not attack Willie Brown or Gavin Newsom on their supposed violence and back-stabbing and gossip. Let's go to the independent, to the man who makes an honest living as a decent, friendly person (and hunk of beef) and trash him instead...all based on rumours, lies, and gossip.

Fuck you and your little paper, little "journalist" man. His e-mail is in that post, too. So feel free to give him a piece of your mind, personally.

I'm so fucking sure.

Today

For a while, I was thinking that we were going to be spared the Indian Summer of the Bay Area, but no. Of course not!

I left a little late this morning and ended up in the City after lunch. I had e-mails and newsgroup postings and NPR to deal with. I truly love the Usenet. Thanks to whomever is responsible for that gem.

So, I got my gay vampire books in the mail, my Strawberries Wild® smoothie from Jamba Juice and a CD set of Caroline Myss (who sounds just like my aunt) lecturing us on our sacred contract and sat in the shade near the Embarcadero for a few hours. It was very pleasant. And hot. But 's OK because there was a hottie in the same shade as moi-même who graced us all with his buff, shirtless self. Thanks to you, whoever you are.

Then, I set off in search of a new phone. I had a little accident with one of the house phones the other day, and since it was my fault, it was my responsibility. I sought high and low for an Office Depot in the Financial District of San Francisco (where I swear I had seen one before), and finally hauled my cookies out to Harrison where I knew they had a big one. A big Office Depot that is.

Well, let me tell you. After an hour of hiking through downtown San Francisco, I show up at the store, drenched and literally dripping in sweat, only to find that the goddamn store is closed up! I mean, not closed for a holiday, but packed up, boarded up, gates locked and everything. WTF? Why was I not informed? Man, I was fucking livid.

So I let my fingers do the walking, as they were the only part of me that wasn't dehydrated by this point, and found a Staples on California that was two blocks...TWO MOTHERFUCKING BLOCKS...from where I spent time in the shade earlier. Someone, somewhere was trying to tell me something.

I bought the phone, got on BART, and came home. When I returned home, I stripped bare and took a nice cold shower to refresh myself. Remember those blisters that I mentioned the other day? One of them had bled somethin awful. There's a big reddish-orange circle on my sock. I put lots of Neosporin and big bandages on all three of them before I left, but all that walkin torn 'em the fuck up. And here I was going to offer myself up for coffee, tea or me tomorrow. I don't know if I can do that. I think I might want to let these things heal a little before I set off again. I haven't driven in three days. It's wonderful...as much as I love my car, that is.

You know, I'm starting to think that the absence from the land of Make Believe is making me gayer than I was before, like being around the straight women who don't really understand gay men forced me into something that I'm not. Could that be another reason for my extreme dissatisfaction with that job? No, I think that's too obvious. What I mean by that is that I've been much more free with my flailing arms and my darlings and honeys. Maybe I shouldn't admit that.

OK, then...

The Friday Five

1. Is the name you have now the same name that's on your birth certificate? If not, what's changed? Yes, it's exactly the same.

2. If you could change your name (first, middle and/or last), what would it be?
   I wouldn't.

   (And this is where I get all new-agey and stuff. And I will speak for myself here.)

   I believe that I chose this name, as well as the time, place, and parents of my birth, in order to be put on a path in this life that will teach me things that I am meant to learn in this life. Does that make sense? I've read quite a bit about reincarnation, and one of the common threads in this line of thinking is that we have a lot of control over where and how and who and when before we are born here. The why part is also known elsewhere but purposely forgotten or blocked out when we arrive here in order that we learn it for ourselves in this "mortal coil."

   So, I wouldn't change my name, but if I thought it would teach me something that I needed to know, I would probably do so. Although, I'm one of the most stubborn people you could possibly meet, so I think I wouldn't change it unless I absolutely knew and was one-hundred percent certain that it would be beneficial to me.

3. Why were you named what you were? (Is there a story behind it? Who specifically was responsible for naming you?)
   As the story goes, my first name is from my father and my middle name is from my godfather. I think my mother had most of the decision. Somehow I don't see my father as the kind of person to take a stand on something as "trivial" as a child's name. In fact, and I haven't talked to him in over seven years, I don't remember his ever taking a stand on anything...except maybe football or golf.

4. Are there any names you really hate or love? What are they and why?
   I don't really like names that are obvious concoctions just for the sake of sounding ethnic and unique. For example, if you're from Romania, I would expect you to possibly have a Romanian-sounding name, but if you're from San Leandro and you're not Romanian, I wouldn't expect that. Do you see the difference? I mean, why not take a name from that ethnicity or heritage that already exists?

   Having just written that, I feel that I have limited myself somewhat, but fuck it. That's my opinion.

   I love the name Maritess and Marisol. For reasons I can't quite describe here without being toxed out on champers, ale, or other kinds of alcoholic liquids.

5. Is the analysis of your name at kabalarians.com accurate? How or how isn't it?

   I'd say it's pretty accurate. Here's what it had to say:

   Your name of Michael gives you a clever mind, good business judgment, a sense of responsibility, and an appreciation of the finer things of life. You are serious-minded and not inclined to make light of things even in little ways, and in your younger years you had more mature interests than others your age. Home and family mean a great deal to you and it is natural that you should desire the security of a peaceful, settled home environment where you can enjoy the companionship of family and friends. Whatever you set out to accomplish you do your very best to complete in accordance with what you consider to be right. In the home you assume your responsibilities capably, having the self-confidence to form your own opinions and make your own decisions. Others can rely on you; once you have given your word you will do your utmost to fulfil a responsibility. However, there is a tendency to be a little too independent in your thinking and it is difficult for you to accept the help of others when you should.

   That sounds a lot like my horoscope or the description of a Cancer.

Happy Friday.

The Final Frontier

I went up to the Chabot Space & Science Center last night. Roommate and I were looking at Mars through his "big eyes," a set of high-power binoculars, and we decided to go up to the observatory to see with even bigger eyes.

It was a beautifully clear night, and there were hundreds of people there who wanted to see the same thing. I was able to see Mars through a 16 inch telescope that was powerful enough to show me the polar ice caps of Mars. I was amazed. We went into the big dome of the observatory to see a star cluster, M15, about 40,000 light years away and orbiting our own galaxy. This telescope was a 20-inch refractor named Rachel, and almost a hundred years old. The view was phenomenal. But my favorite part was viewing the Moon through someone's personal telescope. It was so incredible and bright. You could see in three dimensions the surface of the Moon and the depth of its craters.

When I was like seven, my grandmother gave me a telescope. It was a simple little thing, but after I spied on my neighbors and the street lights a bit, I looked up at the moon and I have never stopped looking since. I can't help be fascinated by how beautiful it is. And it's always up there, just hanging around.

So I think my next big hobby will be astronomy, specifically either buying or making my own telescope. I think making the thing would be a little more ambitious than buying one, though. I love looking at the stars.

It's miserably hot again today, and while the temperature was at 98° F (37° C) at noon, it's 92° F (33° C) now, and it's still nasty. If my blisters weren't raw and still a little bloody, I'd be soaking in the Bay right about now.

It's too hot and I'm a wimp. Bye.

Unconscious Mutterings

1. Wedding :: Bell Blues
2. Roach :: Coach
3. Expense :: Report
4. Fight :: for the Future
5. Air :: Mail
6. Protect :: and Serve
7. Glance :: At a
8. Boo :: Hoo
9. Steamy :: Sex
10. Caviar :: "Should we finish off the Beluga, or should we have some smoked salmon and nibbly things?" "Whatever, sweetie." "All right, we'll finish up the Beluga."

OMFG!!

I can't believe that there are really people out there that would believe this. What is this world coming to?

That's sad.

£11490 (about $18100 as of 16 Sep 03). That's what my soul is worth. And I told the truth, too.

No More Drama!!! Please!!!

Some people just can't live without drama. I swear to god.

Last week, around Wednesday evening, I had had enough. There was enough stress on my shoulders to warrant a hissy fit temper tantrum, and rather than subjecting my innocent neighbors to my screams and pleas for release, I packed a bag and took off. I got in my car and drove to my secret spot for the night. Thursday morning, I got out my map of California and planned a road trip like I hadn't done before. I had limited funds available to me, so I couldn't go hog wild, but I needed to get away from life, the universe, and everything, and that was the best way I knew how. In retrospect, I should really have learned to meditate. A long time ago.

In the meantime, my "boss" had been pestering me to make up my mind about how much support I was willing to give him for free. As I've reported here ad nauseum, the company I work for can't pay me, but they want my support, blah blah blah. I found myself at a crossroads, trying to figure out what I'm doing and where I'm going with my life. At the risk of sounding melodramatic myself, this is not a decision I could make on the spur of the moment or even within 24 hours. I had a lot invested in this company. I had high hopes for my future there. I wasn't so quick to throw them all away. So this person's "need" for a reply was so...I don't know another word for it...needy, that it pissed me off.

Add to that a few other things that I don't want to get into now, and there you've got a mini-breakdown.

Thursday, Roommate called and called and threatened calling my mother and such like that, so I sent him a text message telling him that I was alive, safe, and out for the weekend, sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Yeah, cheers, thanks a lot. I really threw all of it out. I was not having any of it.

So. On Friday, I went to see Underworld. I don't know who Kate Beckinsale is, but she's pretty, and she looks good in the leather cat suit. The whole myth of vampires is so fluid. I mean, every new story I read or hear about vampires has a new twist or added features to what I've read before. They all have constants, mind you: sunlight will kill them, they need to drink human blood, they're immortal, stuff like that. But it's the creation of the vampire race, the limits (or unlimitedness) of their powers, and what vampires are vulnerable to that make each tale unique. It's kind of unnerving because I feel that once I've got one myth down, I've got to learn another and keep them separate from each other. Too much work for fiction sometimes, you know?

I also bought a new pair of shoes. Even though my funds were limited, I was spending money like I had a job or something. But I did need the shoes, and they were on sale and everything, so I couldn't resist. Plus it helped keep the animal at bay, so to speak.

The rest of the weekend was hot and peaceful. My mobile phone's battery was just about out, and I didn't bring my charger with me, so I forwarded my calls to my home number. I don't know exactly why I did this because any messages would be saved in voice mail until I had a chance to answer them later. I think it was another way of escaping my present situation and not taking responsibility for it.

By the way, that's a theme I've heard a lot lately. I was watching Oprah's interview with Madonna last week, and Madonna said that when she was learning the Kabbalah one of the most important lessons that she learned was taking responsibility for all of your actions, good and bad.

OK, I believed it when she said it on Oprah, but then I heard it in several different interviews and radio stories with different people over the weekend. It's like someone was trying to tell me something even though I already knew it and accepted it. Reinforcement? There are no coincidences? (Another common current theme.)

So back to the phone. Because the calls were forwarded home, Roommate had a chance to hear all of them. On Sunday, "boss" called and left twelve (12) messages on the machine. They were all, "Michael, please call me, you know the numbers." The time stamps were "Sunday, 11:03 am." "Sunday, 11:05 am." "Sunday, 11:37 am," until finally he called and said that he had discussed this sitch with his fellow co-founders, and they threatened to go to the police to file a missing persons report. Hello? Come again?

I'm not allowed to go off on my own (admittedly running away and playing hooky from life) without telling anyone? The last time I checked, I was an adult, native-born American citizen. Why, all of a sudden, did I need special permission (from a committee) to take time off and get away? And not only that (which I admit is short-sighted and self-indulgent, but sue me, OK?), "boss" and I had been apart for longer than three days and neither one of us felt the need to file a missing persons report. So, as far as I am concerned, dude has ulterior motives here.

So, Roommate heard the message about the missing persons report (every time I type that it seems more and more ridiculous) and decided to call "boss" on one of the various numbers he had left in the messages. "Boss" and the posse were at one of Oakland's police stations in the process of filing the report when Roommate called. "Boss" didn't even talk to him, and instead passed the phone on to the officer they were talking to. What the fuck is that about? "Boss" wouldn't even talk to him. Roommate told the officer about the text message I sent him on Thursday, and the officer said that I should call him when I got back into town to clear everything up. This is getting way out of hand.

When I got home this morning at about 9:30 am, I heard all twelve (12) messages, went starking raving mad (almost as much as when I left on Wednesday night), and stormed off to the shower. Who the hell does this person think he is involving himself in my life like this. What did he think he was doing? And what did he think he would get out of it?

The more I think on this, the more angry I get at this man, who isn't paying me anymore, who totally just interfered in my life and basically harassed me over the phone and with the cops. And don't give me any crap about how much he cares and shit, because I know he doesn't care that much. He's worried about something bigger. He put his sister on the phone in an attempt to get me to call back because I always do when she calls and he knows that. He knows that I'd call her before I'd call him. I haven't talked to her in almost six months, and since neither of us had called each other, I know she was only calling because he asked her to. Plus, I think the reason he went to the limits of the police report was to coerce me into calling him up...pushing the limits of the drama to see how far I would go...calling my bluff. Well, he called, I didn't answer, and now he looks like a lunatic. There has got to be something important at work for which he needs me, otherwise I can't think of any good reason for this kind of behavior.

Now I have to call the police to tell them that the report about my missingness is just a false alarm. Then I have to totally calm myself down and breathe, a lot, and find the strength to call the "boss" and not strangle him through the phone. What a joke.

After all that mess, I didn't have any epiphanies or revelations from on high, but my situation did become a lot more clear to me. I have a good idea of where I'm headed and what I'm willing to give up. I realize that I'm still young and have a lot of life ahead of me. I can make choices now and still have time to correct them if they turn out to have an "undesirable" effect. If the human race continues to extend its life expectancy, I should have more than enough time to make up for it. As a result, I don't have time for games like this, and I certainly don't have time to wait for the man with the money to come in here and pay me.

I know it's long, but I wanted this all down for posterity.

Unconscious Mutterings

1. Savings :: What is this savings you speak of? (I think variations on this theme are getting trite, but I can't help it.)
2. On :: time
3. Wire :: Bird on a
4. Word :: to your mother
5. Bladder :: generous
6. Missing :: persons report (you're kidding me...wait, wait, don't tell me, there are no coincidences)
7. Side :: show
8. Window :: dressing
9. Digit :: 10
10. Swirl :: Raspberry

J'enrage

OK, it's done. I quit. Yesterday. In a screaming tirade against "Boss." But it wasn't exactly what I had intended. He called again, and I figured it was best to just call him back and get it the fuck over with rather than deal with it all week long.

Thirty minutes of mutual insults and rudeness and overall pissy hissy fits later, he asked me again if I could support him and his company. I said, "You want me to answer right now on the phone?" "Yeah." I thought it over for five seconds because after ten he would have to say something clever. So, I took a deep breath and said, "no." And that was it. And now I'm free to "pursue other interests," which I pursued about ten minutes after I got off the phone with him, and now I couldn't be more excited, only I can't say what they are because it hasn't happened yet, and I don't want to jinx it all. You know?

But what really pissed me off during this whole argument, was the fact that he had kept information from me that would have put all his fears to ease like, a year ago. He said that he had somehow intercepted a phone call between me and Roommate during one of our (common) vociferous arguments. "Boss" got really scared and worried for me, thinking that my life was in serious jeopardy living with Roommate. He even asked his posse if he should talk to me about it. And no one ever did. And because no one ever did, he let his fear get out of control to the point that he seriously believed that I had been the victim of foul play at the hands of Roommate. That's when I lost it. That's when I fucking blew my stack and reached into the phone to rip the "boss" a new asshole. Oh, what? You mean you didn't hear me? I was quite clear that I had made it to the stratosphere at least!

I said, "why didn't you tell me that?"

"Oh, now you want to have your cake and eat it, too."

"Huh?"

"You want us to leave you alone, but you want us to tell you all of this. You can't have it both ways."

"NO!! Apples and oranges!! You should have told me about the intercepted call when you intercepted it!! All of this would have been settled then and there and wouldn't have dragged on like this at all! 'Roommate' and I have known each other for over ten years. I know him better than I know myself. Our arguments are commonplace, as awful as it sounds, it's true. I am not afraid of him! He wouldn't hurt me. I don't think he could! And I couldn't hurt him. You see, after a decade of being lovers, friends, and enemies, we have an understanding, an understanding you could never begin to understand yourself. And more importantly, you took one phone call out of context between two people you barely even know and misconstrued it into something out of the mind of Danielle Steel or Sidney Sheldon! So the next time you 'intercept' a phone call like that, you need to fucking tell me about it! I'm so goddamn sick of all of your drama!"

Brilliant.

After that, it was just downhill. I'll turn in my laptop by the end of the week. He'll cough up the dough he owes me for August, and god help us if our paths ever cross again. I didn't intend to lose the relationship over this, because part of me does really like talking to him, even though he's an arrogant, egotistical, megalomaniac. Oh well, I guess some things aren't meant to be.

It's a huge burden off my shoulders, though, you know? I'm really excited about the future now. Leave the past behind. Leave my behind in the past.

rm -r *

There's one more thing that I remembered from last weekend that I wanted to add before it escaped me. When I got the call from "Boss" when he was at my apartment (presumably at the security gate trying to get it in), I didn't know at the time that the other three founders were there with him. When I learned this, I had an image immediately appear in my mind and it makes me laugh every time I think about it. It goes like this:

Picture a "Seinfeld" episode with the four of them out together causing mayhem and unnecessary drama. Then replace the four we know with these images: Laurel and Hardy (who argue like Laurel and Hardy), a tiny Filipina, and a nine-month pregnant Bulgarian in a tight-cut, revealing halter dress with (at least) two-inch spike-heeled sandals (no sling back) standing out on a street corner in Oaktown, California on a Sunday afternoon freaking out about something of which they know nothing, and there you have the next generation of Seinfeld, or perhaps we can call them "Seinfeld West."

It's all over now. I'm breathing a deep sigh of relief, or rather frequent shallow sighs of relief; they'll be deep when they pay me what they owe me. I know, I know, no one likes to hear a broken record.

It's been amazingly cool over here lately. I am loving it. I'm learning Unix on my Mac. Mac OS X is built on Unix, you know. It's not your father's Mac OS, that's for sure. I can't tell if I miss System 7 more than I completely adore OS X. Who am I kidding? Evolution is a good thing. This OS rocks! No more system bombs, no more extension conflicts, no more annoying drops in available memory. Plus all the pretty, glowing buttons and icons everywhere! It's just too fun. I am constantly impressed. And learning Unix is really cool, too. I never thought I would consciously seek out how to use the command line more effectively. Now I have, in a Mac forum, and it's just too cool.

That's all. Happy Friday.

Happy Birthday

Well, I missed it. I don't know why it's important, but my blog's second birthday was earlier this week. Oh well. Why do we celebrate such things?

"C" is for Cookie

And that's good enough for me.

I've been the total domestic goddess lately. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, errands. I just can't help it. I've got to get out of this place. I haven't been unemployed for almost five years. It's terribly distracting, unemployment. Daytime TV, job searches, siestas. So all of these other things keep me busy and keep my mind out of the doldrums. What are doldrums, anyway?

I got a great chocolate chip cookie recipe from Good Eats. There was an episode called "Three Chips for Sister Marsha." Dude is a trip. You either like him or hate him. I hated him and then I got to like him. I even got to think he was cute. Three chips are three different styles of the traditional chocolate chip cookie. There's the Thin, the Puffy, and the Chewy. I love chewy cookies, so I chose that recipe for my test. I hadn't baked in a long time, so this was an experiment. Luckily, they worked out brilliantly, and I had myself a new gig.

Today I got a little brave. I found an oatmeal cookie recipe on the bag of raisins I was snacking from, and I got straight to making them. One thing I've learned about cooking is that it's not as hard as I thought it was. Another thing I've learned about cooking is that you should always follow a recipe...unless you're Julia Child, and most of us aren't, so follow the recipe.

Even though I followed the recipe for the oatmeal cookies, to the letter, the cookies came out flat and extremely thin. They cooled off and became crispy and kinda like peanut brittle only with oatmeal and raisins and no peanuts. Oh well. Three dozen cookies or so just waiting to be eaten. I'm not worried about that. Doesn't matter what kind of cookies they are. I am a total fool for cookies and cakes.

I got a call from an agency on Friday who could send me to Sunnydale Sunnyvale to work at a huge government contractor out there. That's even farther than the Palo Alto stint I did last year and could end up being closer to 200 miles round trip per day. Good gracious. What will I do for a job?

And for what? I need to earn some cash to tide me over 'til the "boss" can pay me. His skirt sent me an e-mail explaining that they're so hard put for cash that they can't pay me until December 2003 for services rendered in August 2003. "WTF?" I say. "WTF?" That's completely unacceptable. I was expecting to live off that money for that much time. No, really. That's just wrong!

And just the fact that his skirt sent me the e-mail says something. I think I may have really hit close to home, if not bull's eye right on his house last week. Whatever. He had it coming, you know. I mean, you can't (assume to) be bigger than life and not get shit on once in a while. He wanted to be closer to me than I wanted him to be and he got hurt when I told him so. I am not going to hold hands here, people. We're all adults...and anyone who isn't I still can't help you...and you shouldn't be here anyway.

I know that my life on this planet this go around is not meant to be filled with riches and luxury. Oh fuck it, Michael. Just talk like a real person. Jesus.

I'm not here to be a rich man. I don't think I'll ever see it. And that's not a lack of confidence or drive or ambition. That's realizing that I'm here to do other things, and that fame and fortune are not what I need to learn what I need to learn. It took me 32 years to figure that out, or at least to accept it. I have fought it all my life, and now I'm done fighting. Now I have to learn how to get by.

It's late, I'm falling asleep. Gotta go. Sweet dreams.

Unconscious Mutterings

Perhaps I should have done this after I had some sleep. They're quite lackluster.

1. Herpes :: Bo Derek
2. Freddy :: Krueger
3. October :: Hunt for the Red
4. Hunting :: Wabbits
5. MSN :: Evil
6. 36 :: in three years or so
7. Hotel :: Hell (a.k.a., NSGD–DLI, Monterey)
8. Travesty :: the Bush Administration
9. Health :: à votre santé
10. Conditions :: "excuses"

Sunday Brunch

I told you these would be the death of me.

1. Which season is your favorite? Winter
2. What kind of weather do you like the most? Cool and breezy. Even rainy.
3. What kind of weather do you dislike the most? Hot and not breezy.
4. What is the worst kind of weather you have ever been in? Hmmm, the desert in the middle of summer. Oh my god, I just hate the heat. Then there were the tornadoes when I was growing up in Iowa, but I wouldn't call that bad. I was like ten, so it was exciting. Come to think of it, there's a story that mother has told about her coming home from work one evening to find me camped out in the basement with a sleeping bag, jugs of water, flashlights, batteries, and a radio because of a tornado watch or something mischievous. She thinks it's a cute story. Guess you had to be there.
5. Have you ever been out and about in severe weather when you were advised not to be? Of course! Severe weather is meant to be challenged by the puny human being. Rise up and fight Mother Nature! We have big guns! We have bombs! We have the Stud Puppet, George W. Bush! No, no, Mother Nature. You cannot possess us.