Just Off Center

It's been far too long since my last post. I won't bother with excuses, because (1) I don't feel like it and (2) none of my readers care to read it anyway. However, there have been some circumstances lately that have given me pause with the whole blogging thing. No, nobody has discovered my blog that I didn't want to know about it. In fact I try to just tell it to people. That way I just skip straight to the proof of whether or not they are friends or just whiny little pussies who can't take a joke.

I was in Ft. Wayne IN on business for the past couple weeks. I absolutely love doing these site implementations. It's especially fun when someone gets all shitty with me for being there and starts cussing me out. I'm getting good at taking the bile from their miserable lives. At any rate it was me and two executives from our Atlanta base, one of them being our President and CEO. We went out for dinner at Joe's Crab Shack and talked about many things. One of the major topics of conversation was books. Apparently our CEO is an avid reader and was spouting title after title of recommendations. This is annoying as hell to me because I don't read books but rarely. However I feigned some interest in whatever gibberish he was campaigning for, to which he responded with "Hey, let's all go to Borders after dinner!"

Fuck. I fucking hate bookstores. The books are all over priced, they always have one of those bullshit coffee shoppes in them, and they're jam packed with every trite, popular rag on the planet. Case in point, they had more romance novels than educational, more bibles than dictionaries, and more desk calendars than anything. So I'm roaming around trying to make good use of the time by thumbing through the movies for sale and generally strolling the isles. After about ten minutes I got a call on my mobile from Bob, the general manager of the plant I work at. He never calls me unless he has good reason, and usually when the reason is based in my having done something wrong. So I'm nervous before I even answer the call.

After the obligatory minute of casual conversation about how things are going out in Ft. Wayne, he dives in tot he reason he called. He asks me when I'm getting back. He wants to schedule some time with me for a "talk". I can tell by his inflections that something is seriously wrong. I tell him that I'm not going to be back in Phoenix for nearly two weeks and if he doesn't at least give me a clue as to what is up, I'll be a nervous wreck my entire time here. He tells me that he got a call from our sponsor (the employee at the plant that contracts us out who acts as liaison between his company and ours) who told him that Internet Security Services has identified several employees within my company who have been "visiting inappropriate or offensive sites" and that our image has been damaged as a result. My name is on the list.

This is bad. I know that several people who have been busted for doing shit that they shouldn't with the company bandwidth have been walked out by security that same day. It's a week before Christmas, Nina's just been turned down by Social Security and Long Term Disability, and is still unable to work (yet is doing this goddamned paper route every night). This is definitely one of the worst times possible for me to get canned. I nearly choke on the request for more information about how this will "affect my role". Bob tells me that I won't get fired, but that it is a very serious matter and it will need to be dealt with. He tells me to put it out of my mind (yeah right) and just do good work out here in Indiana. He'll schedule a meeting for when I get back.

I feel relieved that Bob specifically told me that I'm not going to be fired. And knowing that I am not the only offender gives me some security as well. Then I start to wonder, what the hell have I been doing on the Internet that's so wrong? I don't download porn, or visit porn sites. I don't visit sites with any political or religious agenda (much). The worst thing I have done is pump various key words and phrases into Google just to see what pops up. You'd be surprised what hits you get when you search for "buttfucker jackoff". No, actually you wouldn't. But I've also searched for things like "coffee blends" and "stray dogs". It's completely random and I haven't done it in months. Regardless, I have now identified a potential offense on my part and I'm stressing. I begin pacing the bookstore.

A few minutes later I see that our CEO is in the checkout line with a couple books, and is on the phone. Using my super perfect vision I am able to read his lips and make out the words "Bob", "Internet" and "God damnit". Now it occurs to me that just because Bob said I wasn't getting fired doesn't mean I won't. After all, a CEO does tend to pull more weight than one of his employees. After check out he goes over to the coffee bar to buy a mocha and some biscotti. He offers to buy one for me, which I respectfully decline on approach. As I get within earshot of his muffled voice I hear him talking over the situation with Dennis, the other guy from HQ. He doesn't seem to know the names of the offenders yet, but he is definitely aware of the situation. He says point blank that he'll "fire them without a second thought". I nearly faint.

In the car ride back tot he hotel, I'm driving the rental and the CEO is in the passenger seat. His phone rings again. He says "holy shit." I just know that he's realizing that there are several of us. He gets a stone face and turns his head a few degrees in my direction, casting a glare in my general direction. He knows I'm one of them. With no doubt left in my mind I feel as though I am marching to the scaffold, having accepted the inevitable. We get back to the hotel and as I depart to the elevator he stays down in the lobby on the phone. I get no sleep that night. I wonder what other jobs are out there for me. Am I willing to sell the house and move? How long do I look before I just take the first thing that comes along? Would the honorable thing be to just resign? It was one of the most restless and worrisome night in memory.

The next day goes by without incident. Our CEO departs back to Atlanta, without so much as looking at me. This is not good at all. I'm hoping to make management with this company. I need to, so that I can apply for a management job in the future with experience under my belt. Now my image in the company is that of an Internet offender. And I STILL don't know what the hell I've done wrong. I try to put it aside as instructed and just do good work. Bob sends out an all hands urgent memo requiring everyone in the region to read and respond that we have read all of the policies on Internet usage. I have a meeting set up for Wednesday, 12/29 at 11:00. That's a day off, but I'm not about to argue.

All this time I have kept this whole thing from my wife. In case anyone hasn't noticed, Nina has been....well... let's just say overwhelmed as of late. Worrying that I might be fired before New Years may well send her over the edge. So I wait until Tuesday afternoon to tell her about it. I explain what's going on, and that I don't know what I did wrong. I apologize for the secrecy and explain my reasons. She is very understanding of the whole thing, for which I am very grateful.

The next morning, I take Nina's car, and a list of things to do since I'm in town anyway, and go to face the music. I've always had a great fear of discipline. It's probably because it was never necessary. As a boy, whenever I'd do something bad, I always felt genuine regret and sorrow. Spankings and the like weren't necessary, so I never got hardened to punishment like many other men I know. But I'm also not going to pussy out and start crying or anything. I did it (whatever "it" is) and I intend to take my counseling like a man. When I get to Bob's office, he already has my counseling form filled out and ready to sign. He greets me with a smile and a handshake, and we briefly discuss the potential benefits and obstacles of the Ft. Wayne contract.

He then tells me that everyone on our side and the contracting company's side is ready to just put this behind us. The form is filled out in very strong language, which he explains as mandatory for such an offense. I sign the form and am handed a copy of the policies regarding Internet usage to read. And there it is, under the heading of "inappropriate usage":

8. Creating, maintaining, or visiting a personal website, such as a weblog.

My blog? This is all about my fucking blog? I've been wondering if I'm gonna be publicly shamed unemployed because of my affinity for blogging?!?!?! I am both relieved and pissed. So now I know that I'm not going to be fired and I can talk about why I got nailed without fear of sounding like a pervert. But I also know that my image has been hurt in the company and should I ever allow this to happen again, I will definitely be gone. So that's it for blogging at work, which really sucks because nearly every post I've ever written has been at my desk. It's my element. Outside of the office, I just can't get the words out. Well I guess I've overcome that dilemma today. Jesus, this is a long one. But it still sucks.

So, in conclusion, I will try to keep the content rolling here on this, my only effective creative outlet. But there may be longer lapses between posts. If this is a problem for you, blow me. I'm not getting fired just so you can get your daily dose of "wisdom by Michael". I've got a gimp Ukranian wife and three cats to support.

Hi everyone. I'm Marcia, Nina's mom. I just wanted to take a few minutes out of my day to explain why Nina is a mean and selfish bitch. You see, recent events have made me realize that despite all my proper rearing and my toiling for her benefit, that I'll never be able to prevent my child from being the evil person she's determined to be. I'm sure that you all have read her blog. She may seem like a sweet, fun and smart little lady. But take it from me. She's more likely to stab you through the heart then shake your hand. And since you all seem to know her, I'm sure you'll listen with an open mind.

About two months ago, Nina was complaining (as she always does) about how she doesn't have any money for groceries or the mortgage and all. She said that she needed to get a job, something under the table so that she wouldn't get busted by her Long Term Disability people. I know. I know. I should have chastised her for trying to cheat the system. I should have told her to just stop lying about her back being hurt and take some responsibility for her life. But after 27 years of her abuse, I just don't have much fight left in me.

But, despite my girlfriend's constant pressure to just cut her loose and end the suffering, I decided to help her by coming up with some ideas for work for her. Then it occurred to me, all by myself without anybody's help. Nina could get a paper route! That way she can have something to eat. Her loser husband doesn't take care of her. I might as well try. So I had my girlfriend (why does it seem weird when I talk about my girlfriend?) take a really really easy route in her name and I fronted the deposit money to get her started. I've never mentioned the money again to her. I even went so far as to run the route by myself so that I could get used to it and be prepared to hand it off to her. But when the time came for Nina to step in and do the route with me she said "Why do I have to split the money with you? You're not even gay! I hate you" That really hurt my feelings because I am soo sooooo very gay. Even though I've been married three times, had countless affairs with men, never have sex with my girlfriends, and tend to only date women who prefer to be referred to as men, I am sooooo gay.

But I explained to Nina, as calmly as I could, that equal work deserved equal pay. She just grunted, farted in my foyer, and walked out. Why is she so mean to me? Everything I say is the truth, I swear. I never lie about anything. And I drink myself into a stupor every night because my knuckles hurt. I am the victim here people, and I deserve your pity.

Anyway, last night, Nina and I were driving along on a route that I told her she shouldn't take because it's too hard. And for four hours straight she screamed at me. It was all "where do I turn" this, and "did I just pass the house" that. I tell you it was all I had to keep from breaking down and crying. But I didn't. Whenever I cry, Nina punches me. But then I felt something welling up inside of me. And no, it wasn't my true heterosexuality or a pint of gin. It was this feeling that I don't have to sit here and take this abuse any further. So in the third hour of our route I screamed back at her. We exchanged verbal blows through the remaining two hours of the route, and I never even lost my place on the really really easy paper route guide. Damn I'm good!

Beat, but not beaten, I dropped Nina off at her house after the four and a half hour ordeal with a renewed sense of self. As Nina began her usual morning routine of climbing onto her roof to snipe school children with a paintball gun, I walked into my house and had a revelation:

I don't have to help my wicked daughter deliver these papers on this paper route that was all her idea and that I tried to talk her out of, and that I've been so patient and helpful with.

So after discussing it with my girlfriend (there's that word again...weird) I decided to call Nina's husband Michael, who is currently halfway across the country on business. I figured he'd be the perfect person to call since he has stated over and over again that he wants nothing to do with this paper route and the drama that goes on between Nina and me. I explained how mean she was to me. But he just remained silent and asked me why "the hell" I was calling him about it. Nina always did like to pick boys that are somewhat dumb and easy to manipulate. I don't know where she could have gotten that from. But I called him and told him that I would go with Nina to the paper place to wrap and stack the papers. I'd even load them into her car. But I just couldn't take another night of abuse like that. Especially since her chain smoking is what gave me my cancer in the first place.

I've just gotten off the phone with Nina to tell her my decision and I feel so refreshed. It's unfortunate that no matter how much love and structure you give, some children are just meant to be rotten. But I love her anyway. You can tell I love her because I never EVER left her for months on end with strangers while I went on drinking and drug binges when she was a child. That's love. I hope she finds a way to make it through the night without my calm and accurate guidance. Perhaps her husband can take over the route with her when he gets back. That would work out best for everyone. But knowing Nina, she'd probably just throw it back in my face (along with her brass knuckles) and make me feel like I was a bad mother again.

I think she does drugs too.

HERE'S YOUR EFFING NEW POST YOU WHINY TWATS!!!!

Actually, I have been really missing my normal lifestyle. But these business trips are a great way for me to get back to the front lines and really take an interest in the work we do as a company, and not just sit back and meet my minimum criteria. I really shine in the field. It may sound arrogant, but we all know that there are certain times and places that we consistently show up with our "A" game. Even though I spent most of today doing mindless, soul-sapping data entry to prep a new database, I still feel really good about the day.

Here are the highlights:

• I've been in Arizona for about six years now. I actually look forward to feeling those hot summer days wrapping around me like a heat blanket. I love the desert and it's dead mountains. Except now I'm back in Indiana. North Indiana. North Indiana near Chicago. North Indiana near Chicago in the middle of December. It's snowing here. While you arctic types may say "Mike, you're a big pussy!" the rest of my temperate mammal friends understand what I mean. And I don't mean little flurry snow. I'm talking like the shit that makes the headline news before you leave for work. I'm hoping that it piles up against the fourth floor of my Amerisuites room so that I can slide down it to the car. WEEEEE!!!
  
  
• The elevator at this hotel is a peculiar thing. First, there are two of them and only one is operational. Yet there is no sign up to suggest otherwise. Second, it makes scary sounds. It's creaking and popping, and occasionally some buzzer starts going off in the background. But most odd is the sign right next to the elevator telling me that in case of fire use the stairs. There are no directions to the stairs. They should be by the elevator. They're not. And the little stick figure going down the stairwell looks like he's doing a jig. The big, Mario type flame on the floor above the stairs looks as though it might have actually been started by this guy. The stick figure man is an arsonist. Only I know this. Such is my curse.
  
  
• I have been without regular food for three days. I love going out to eat. But three squares a day? I just want some chicken breast and green beans. Nina, I miss you.......('re cooking). So in an attempt to return to normalcy, I decided to take a trip to the local grocer for some staples. This was about an hour ago, after having a friendly meeting with the CEO and two other guys. As I was driving a saw the Cap n' Cork liquor store and thought that it would be so impressively ballsy if I got some beer and called my CEO asking him if he wanted some. I got a 12-pack of Red Stripe (Don't worry Nina. It was on sale and it'll go on my expense account). I skipped the grocer, because I didn't want him going to bed on me and I got back to my room. Long story. Needs another bullet.
  
  
• I stood there with my hand over the phone like I did when I was contemplating calling some girl to ask out on a date. I just froze up. Are you disappointed in me? You shouldn't be because I called him anyway. I told him (most nervous and hurriedly) that I had beer and asked if he wanted one. He thanked me and told me that he was on the phone with his wife. I hung up and wondered if I had just sounded like a total jackass. But he's a beer drinker and down-to-earth guy. I bet he'll just pass it off as the low man trying to spot a window. But it still felt like the girl had just said "thanks, but I heard that dick who beats you up every day was going to ask me out, so I'm just going to wait for him. Bye."
  
  
• I'm great with women in their thirties and older. At least as far as work is concerned. Whenever they send me on these assignments, I just charm and charm and charm. It may be hard to imagine this because you already know me. But at a new site, with new people, and a renewed sense of professional purpose, I'm a goddamned lady killer. And face it, if you have the ladies you have the world. On a related topic I'm getting much better at traditional male bonding in work environments. The alphas still see through me, but the rest of the guys see me as...well...one of the guys. I rule!
  
  
• I miss my wife. I just read her recent posts about being all stressed out, and every word of it is the truth. She's getting pretty good at painting a mental picture with words. She's been a stress case lately. I probably am too. We have been snippy. Not really fighting or anything. Just...snippy. Being away from her is good for my career in a way. At the end of the day I have nothing but my work. I don't have anyone that I want to hang out with or tell anything to. At home I may not say much, but work is left at work and home time is home time. Here I'm all professional. I love her like a subatomic particle loves uncertainty. But...well that's good enough as it is. I'll be home soon enough and her presence is the air I breathe. Blech!
  
  
• I miss Grace too. I talk to Grace over IM most days of the week, sometimes for a while. Aside from Nina, she's basically my best friend. You all know how much she rocks. We talk about big things and little things, but mostly insignificant, stupid things. I've never been friends with a woman I didn't want physically. It's strange for me. Even if I did, I wouldn't bother. I'm pretty sure Steve lives in some bizarro world where there are 36 hours in every day and everything just gets done perfectly the first time. I hate him for that. O.K. I don't hate him. And I hate him for that too. Argh. Anyway, I miss you too, Gracie. May I call you Gracie? How about Chingoo? Fine, Hobag it is then.
  
  
• On trips like this, I find myself listening to Coldplay's Parachutes more often than anything. It's not a tradition. It just puts me at ease and makes me feel like everything is alright even though I'm not at home. All day long I have to seem like I love this travel more than life itself. But to balance out my normal feelings of homesickness, Coldplay just gives me all I need. Actually, I think it just brings out a part of me that feels at home anywhere, a kind of peace with humanity sort of thing. I wonder why I haven't met anyone with the basic same feeling about the absolute beauty of our bumbling species.
  
  

That's enough for now. So quit griping about me not posting anything lately. I'll post when I'm goddamned good and ready. You don't decide anything about my life! Quit bitching about my post frequency!!!

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was out of line. Don't go away. *sigh* I am a very pathetic man. I can't even e-cuss people I've never met. Don't look at me! I'm going to bed.

At my workplace I have to deal with literally hundreds of people every week. I work in a fairly large plant and have to do a lot of walking around so that I can get to the various labs where the engineers, technicians, program heads, etc. work. This means I see a lot of other people roaming about the halls going from room to room. The main difference between this building and others I've worked at is that this one is only two stories and is exceptionally long, with each smaller building connected by one large corridor running the length of the entire plant. Walking this corridor every day, I have to interact with everyone else trying to get from one part of the plant to another, and I can see them coming 100 yards away.

Most of the people I see are just ordinary tech geeks and disaffected middle managers. I smile and say hello and go on past. But there are those others that are occasionally wandering about that I wish I never had to see. I'm talking about specific people who for whatever reason make me uncomfortable. Most people have this problem I bet. I know that some women at work get really creeped out by certain men speaking to them. Some people get nervous around certain races. My creeps are a bit more specific and unique in their creepiness. Since I try not to get to know these people I'll just list them off as I know them.

FRUITY GAY GUY WITH FRUITY GAY SMILE - About halfway down the main corridor is an administrative section. There are always ugly, fat women buzzing around and discussing their stupid fucking kids and how many calories are in a pat of butter. But there's this one tall guy about my age who is occasionally sauntering around who just creeps me out. He's about 6'2" with salt and pepper hair. He walks like he's gay. He smiles like he's gay. His voice sounds like a pussy fart. And he's always giving me this really disconcerting, cutesy grin as he mouths the word "hello" to me. I try to grab my cell phone and make like I'm talking to my wife whenever I see him. I don't have a problem with gays, and I take it as a compliment when a gay guy acts flirty with me. But this guy creeps the fuck out of me. If I was gay, I'd still be creeped out.

SKELETOR THE SECRETARY - I'm sure she's a very nice person. I'm sure she's great at her job. I'll bet she volunteers at homeless shelters and shit. But this woman is a walking reminder of my own mortality. She looks like something out of a zombie flick or one of the victim's of God's wrath in an Indiana Jones film. She's in her late fifties at least, about 5'8", thin curly hair, slight build, and apparently no upper lip. Either that or her horse-like maw cannot be fully concealed by her mouth's flesh. She's always bug eyed and her face is sunken in. She's that woman that guys reference in the "for a million dollars would you..." discussion. I see this chick coming and I try and smile at her. I think she smiles back, but you can never really tell since her face is always such that the fronts of her molars are in plain view. Her existence bothers me.

CONGINITAL LIMB DEFECT MAN - Some of you may think me an ogre for this one, but every time I see this guy coming (which he is every fucking time I leave the office) I just say "GOD DAMNIT!!!" in my head. He's a short, German fellow in his forties. Aside from his height he looks pretty normal. Oh yeah, except for the fact that both of his arms are the size of an infant's. I know it's not his fault, but I just don't want to see this guy coming toward me with his little, gnarled nubs. I didn't make him like that and I'm not standing in the hall shouting, "HEY STUMPY, SHOW ME HOW YOU WIPE YOUR ASS!" I just lower my head or look out a window. He does the same. And this guy is always near me. If I go to the bathroom, he's there. If I'm in the hall, so is he. If he ever comes into my office, I'm resigning. Call me a prick, but this guy freaks me out the same way I'd be freaked if I worked by a man who simply didn't have a face.

PRINCESS BUTTERFACE - There's another secretary here who is just the very definition of butterface. Especially for her age (approx. 45) she is just smokin' hot. She always wears tight, boot cut jeans and a nice top. She wears thin-heeled boots and walks like there's a camera crew behind her. But old girls is looking a bit haggard topside. That's putting it mildly. She actually looks like Deputy Dog in the face. It's as if someone took a rake, smacked it into her forehead and started violently jerking it downward. Droopy cheeks, baggy eyes, etc. It's just a fucking tragedy. She would win Howard Stern's Butterface Competition in five seconds. And somehow, with all this unfortunate head going on, she still finds it in her heart to avoid making eye contact with any non-gorgeous men. I can respect a healthy self-esteem, but damn people, know your limitations.

I'm sure I could think of more. I just got to work half an hour ago, so I haven't had the opportunity to run into any other freakshows, bitches, crazies, or weirdos. But they're out there. And I know they're everywhere, not just where I work. At every job I've ever had there have been those people who just gave me the creeps at first sight, so there's no use asking for a transfer. I'm just going to have to accept these things and try to have some perspective. Except about the little-arms guy...*shudder*.

Right now I feel all sad and vulnerable. I hate when this happens. Boys aren't meant to feel like this. After getting beat up to a certain point though I'm just about ready to curl up in the fetal position and take a month off of life. But I can't. So I'll just continue with my job and my life as it is and hope that nobody says anything to me that makes me want to cry/kill them.

We spent the weekend in Vegas. I love Vegas. You can win or lose, but the fun you can have is so unique. It's like no place else. This time we went because my little sister (and by little I mean 24) was being flown out with her entire work staff. She works for a gyno and this trip was their Christmas bonus. Since she was going to be so close, and she was bringing her kickass boyfriend Ryan, we couldn't pass up the chance. But problems arose just as soon as we arrived. We couldn't get her on the phone. She doesn't have voicemail. Who the fuck doesn't have voicemail in this day and age? But I ignored this and kept beating down the blackjack table for a couple hours while getting smashed on free drinks.

After meeting up with Pam at the historic, but utterly low-tier Riviera Hotel and Casino, Nina hit a full house on Let it Ride, netting 2.5 fresh C-notes for daddy. After that we hung out with Pam and her entire fucking crew in their hotel rooms for about nine days. After everyone decided what they were going to do with their evening, I went back down stairs to play some more. Pam played with me for about twenty minutes, then left to do something more interesting to her.

Saturday was pretty fun too. We played for about four hours and then one really nice dealer showed Nina how to play craps. This man will be on my shitlist forever. Nina played very well, but she didn't make herself the kind of money she was making for everyone else. Of course I still couldn't get Pam on the phone until that afternoon when she told me that she and everyone else were going to a friend's house for some barbecue. They picked me up in one of those limo-busses. It was kind of cool, but hokey at the same time. Pam's friends are idiots. They just kept saying shit to make them sound cool, but ending up sounding like junkie retards. The party turned out to be really lame. The host grilled up some dogs and chicken and steak. But there were no sides. So we all sat around eating meat. Then people started disappearing into rooms to do coke. I've never done it and probably never will. I'm just glad my sister didn't either. I spent most of the time watching Rocky II.

By the time we got back to the hotel, Nina had lost a couple hundred, but was ready to win it back. Everyone else wanted to do clubs and other bullshit. From this point on, Lady Luck abandoned us both. I don't mind when Nina has a run of bad luck. She's certainly been there through mine. We went to the Frontier and lost most hands. It happens. It's no fun to lose, especially when you're losing every hand you play. But that's Vegas, and if you can't stand the loss, don't gamble.

Sunday. This is when everything starts to break down. Nina and I get up later than usual (about 9) and start playing. We're both a little bit pissed off because my sister isn't trying to spend any time with either of us. She's just hanging out with her loser coworkers and her loser junkie friends, and their loser boyfriends and girlfriends who go about town losing all day in a constant state of general losership. I started to get ahead again. The first two blackjack shoes were good to me. After that we crashed and burned. In the last hour I was preparing to leave. I had a mellow beer buzz and had lost all of my money, so I was no longer enjoying myself and was ready to go home.

Nina made me smile again by joking and just being Nina. I was content for a minute. So I turned to this trashy little white girl with a boyfriend ten years her senior and asked if I could bum one of her Marlboro Lights. She threw a quick glance at her cradle robber and then looked at me like "who the fuck do you think you are". But then, without a word she tossed me one. I just passed it off as her having a bad morning like me. After another hand or two I had exhausted all possible resting place for a lighter or matches, so I asked her for a light from the one she had on the table and she came back with "fuck, do you want me smoke it for you too?" I'm sitting there stunned. Not only have I lost all of my money and been treated like a side bet by my sister, but I'm getting dressed down by a white trash skank who stays 15 against a 10.

Rather than get into a fight in the pit, I just move over to Nina and wait for her to be ready to go. After losing about seven in a row, Nina called it quits. She had already hand-carried all of our luggage to the luggage check room. I gave this old, bald, liver-spotted guy with a Russian accent my claim ticket and he appeared with my suitcase and cooler. I took them and stepped to the side. When he thought he wouldn't be getting a tip for his strenuous efforts he cracked out a "thanks for nothing". So now I'm really fuming and I could blow up the whole place. But I regain my composure, reach into my suitcase for my jacket, put it on, and start to walk away. The prick says "enjoy your luggage" and then makes a nasty "hock a loogie" noise as if to say he'd spit on my stuff to spite my non-tipping ass. I turned around, gave him the finger and left.

I talk tough a lot. But it's extremely rare to see me in a mood to really get in a fight. But at this moment if anyone had stepped to me I'd have gotten up to my neck in their ass. I get outside and wait for our car. When is shows up I tell the valet to pop the trunk, hand him two bucks and ask him to just put the one suitcase in the trunk while I put the cooler in the back. He takes my two dollars, says nothing, and walks away. He heard me. He just decided I was that customer to steal on. I let out a furious roar as I shove my suitcase in the trunk and start busting speed limits on my way out of town. Nina holds on, trying to calm me down, half out of love and half out of mortal fear from my driving. As we leave Nevada I'm still clutching the steering wheel and grinding my teeth. Suddenly, the entire world is wrong and I am being taken advantage of by everyone I know.

Nina's upset too, mainly about how I've been blown off by my selfish bitch of a sister. I start having epiphanies. I start rattling off example after example about how my family's never been there for me, getting more and more incensed. Nina doesn't want to see me angry, but this is maybe the first real opportunity she's had in a long time to truly speak freely about how she feels about my family. I feel used and shit on. I'm broke and I have a six-hour drive ahead of me. I feel like a loser from all the bad luck. I'm cussing and angry to the point of nearly tearing up. I know that chicks cry all the time when they get mad. But when a man starts feeling watery out of anger, he is to be dealt with gingerly.

So I get home and go to bed. This morning I'm feeling a lot of the same things, just time has passed and I'm thinking more clearly. I feel guilt about my feelings toward my family. I feel guilt for not standing up to the assholes who share my blood. I feel like a pussy for not jumping one of those fuckers at the casino. I feel guilty about getting so angry about losing my money. I wonder why my company is so easily discarded by my own kin and what it is about my personality that screams "bust on me!". Basically I just feel...fragile. And that's just about the shittiest thing a man can feel. I'm sure it will pass. But on this particular day, I just want to lock myself up in my house for about a week without speaking to or seeing anybody. Is this what women feel so often when they cry and close themselves off? If so, what a shit job. I can always take solace in knowing how rare these feelings emerge. But right now I just want someone to hold me and tell me it's all going to be O.K. And that makes me feel like the biggest pussy of all. Tread lightly. I may feel the need to prove otherwise.

After reading Little Eyes' post on needing extra money I had an epiphany. With the holiday season coming into full swing we could all use a little extra cash for that gift we want to buy for our families (or ourselves). So many of my readers are women, and beautiful women from what I can tell. And since most of you are so articulate and smart, you draw lots of male attention. You know, because men find intelligence to be the sexiest thing in the world. So forget about getting a second job or selling your jewelry. How about a 2005/2006 Girls of Blogger Calendar?

I'm serious here. It wouldn't be that difficult at all. Here's what we do. First we seek out a good photographer. Since blogging is such a phenomenon I'd be shocked if one of our readers isn't at least a photo hobbyist. Next, we start the selection phase. This is where each of you beauties sends me a small portfolio of recent photographs in various states of dress (and undress). Since I'm such a happily married man, you don't have to worry about any...unnatural treatment of your photos. Then the selection phase begins. In order to make this venture appeal to a larger audience we will have to shuffle in a couple of the more popular, woman-run, sex-based blog authors.

After selecting the twelve to fourteen lucky ladies, we fly our photographer to each of your respective towns for individual photo shoots. Since blogging is such a global activity, I find it sensible to shoot each of you in your personal habitats and climates. That way, you're real people, not just eye candy. Plus it will probably be cheaper in the long run. I would say that each of the ladies should put together their own shots, but that would eliminate a certain degree of my control over this situation, thus failing to boost my fragile ego. There's two ways to go here: my way or the highway. Now what's it gonna be Ms. Pink? Don't worry, my wardrobe selections will be fair, and I'll accept input from the wearer.

After we have the individual pics, we all get together somewhere on the Pacific coast. Since so many of you live in CA, you can decide where is the best place for the group shots. Then we take those oh-so-important "girls pressing up against each other while laughing and splashing around" snaps. And that's all you ladies need to do for the modeling phase. Did you catch that? From that point on you will all be able to say that you are models! How about them apples?

So then I will get together with a good (and cheap) printing company to assemble the calendar. On the side of each pic I'll include a brief bio with all the standard shit like name, age, location, measurements, blog URL, and a few Playboy style quotes. And within the calendar I'll mark key events that happen to each of you on certain days like birthdays and shit. But I'll also fold in more personal and fun stuff, like the date you broke up with your loser ex-boyfriend or experienced your first threeway. Sorry guys, but the words husband, fiance, wedding, anniversary, and monogamy will not be included. Remember your demographic. You're all sexy, single and ready!

After that it's just distribution and marketing. We divide the profits equally. Isn't that nice of me to waive my originator's fee for all of you? Then we can all get all the damn game systems we want with every conceivable option. It's rock solid. Hell, we'll make it an annual thing. We've got notoriety for the models, exposure for Blogger, and income for everyone. We can't lose!

I know it sounds hokey, but just picture it in your mind. You flip the calendar to January and there's Grace wearing a sexy secretary's outfit with the halfway unbuttoned top and miniskirt. She'll have on black, horn-rimmed glasses, because that's what sexy secretaries wear. I know Grace isn't a secretary, but that's hardly of consequence, is it? There she is at work with her blog on her computer screen, sitting legs crossed in a quasi-professional-come-fuck-me pose holding her finger to her lip in a "shhh" manner, to show she's using business time to post her dirty little thoughts and dreams. The caption below reads "Here Grace is, using company time for more enjoyable purposes again. She travels extensively around the world seeking fun and inspiration for her steamy posts. She might be coming to your town next!"

Flip to February and there's my wife...er...some hot chick I know named Nina. She sits on her plush, silk duvet wearing a pink lace teddy with a notebook between her thighs as she giggles, biting the side of her lower lip. The caption here reads "Nina can't think of many better activities to do in bed than writing about her exploits from her highrise loft bedroom. Can you think of anything to divert her attention?"

Not to bore our audience with a barrage of individual shots, we flip to March where we find Mel and Little Eyes sitting on a plush, leather sofa co-authoring a new post. They are wearing matching close fitting sleep shirts with Little Eyes sitting between Mel's legs, having her hair braided as they appear only partially interested in their notebook computer. Here we read "Mel and Little Eyes usually only post once per day. Are you curious what they'll do with the rest of their afternoon?"

And so it goes on through June 2005, shot after shot of sexy, adorable blogger girls. We have Quyen in a schoolboy's fantasy teacher's outfit with her viola, checking her pager as she receives another emailed comment on her blog. There's Veronica in her skimpiest runner's outfit stretching out by her PC in ways that probably wouldn't prep her for a run, but look damn fine. Cindy Lou bends over her kitchen island as she checks for updates. The sultry (and husbandless and childless) Cece sits with arched back in her desk chair biting the tip of her left pinky finger looking arousingly confused about how to update her blog template.

Whew. I need a drink.