Surreality.

Every day I see people who knew you in life, sometimes running into them for the first time in decades; and, they inevitably ask about you as if they expect to find out that you’ve moved away to Canada, like you always threatened to do. The news of your short battle and premature death unfailingly drops jaws all the way around, and I regularly find myself in the position of having to firmly convince someone that you are dead and gone: a highly dissatisfying instance for me.
At least once a month I see a dress or a couch or a set of dishes that oozes your still lingering essence, and this essence permeates my existence for some time – maybe an hour; maybe a day…and as much as it stirs the burn of the embers inside the firepit called Pain, I greedily and secretly lean into the heat because it’s the only way I feel like I still know my Mom. Like I still have my Mom.
Every single night I walk my dog down the street your house is on. Although somebody else lives there and its appearance has been drastically altered since you died, I sometimes see your faint ghost on the front porch doing a crossword puzzle. I see your ghost watering the lawn too, or occasionally it even excitedly waves a hand at me from across Camden Avenue in the darkness.
I catch myself more frequently spitting out random statements and sayings that were always unique to you, alone.
Things like,

“In like Flynn.”

Or I sing stupid bits if stupid songs like,

“Here we come,
on the run,
like a hamburger on a bun.”
Or,
“Jonathan Joe had a mouth like an O”

I know its really you speaking in my voice, but I wonder what any of it means.

I often thank the Gods that you and I were able to at least scratch the surface of our reciprocal amendments to each other before you died so horribly fast and miserably. I’m continually thankful that I was able to thoroughly explain myself to you after all was said and done between us, but before your brain got so full of metastatic tumors that you were unable to comprehend me. I’m ever thankful that your passing wasn’t during any of our many former years apart, and that I was there to hold your hand when you asked me to be, because I can vividly remember that you were afraid, truly afraid. You never lost face though, you remain a bonebreakingly strong idol of my candlelit shrine. And no matter what else life throws at me, I will meet my last day on Earth with your smile on my face and your strength in my bloodstream. And, while your death killed off parts of me and stole any comfort I knew in the big, bad world, I haven’t let it burden me.
Though, I still bitterly wish we could have had Christmas in Sutter Creek, but it wasn’t meant to be.
Every single day passes with a strangling sense of your absence. And some days, I find you staring back at me from a mirror or the reflection from a storefront window as I pass. The tiniest and subtlest bits of your essence still trickle from the hole that losing you that way has left in my heart.

Gay Penguin Couples Making Headlines!

I Love This!

It’s Not Rocket Science.

It can’t be possible that I anywhere in the world, there is someone saying to himself:

“Gee…I just LOVE the way my dog has destroyed my floors by pissing and shitting everywhere in my house since I brought him home NINE years ago…”

I have the hardest time thinking about the fact that The Old Man who I take care of actually paid money -like, lot’s of money- for the stupid ass, neurotic, total loser of a dog that he calls his own. It actually makes me laugh to myself, seeing as how they say you get what you pay for. Not in this case. In this case, The Old Man was ripped off horribly on the doomed day that he picked out the Red Headed Devil and brought him home.

I know this because even before I was living here to take care of Rodger, I cleaned his house for over a decade. I know the change that took place upon the Devil coming here and creating a space so disgusting and full of filth and absolute nastiness as it is now. The stupid dog does what he wants, even now. Upon moving in, I at first, didn’t have a problem cleaning up the puddles and piles on a daily basis until I realized how futile it was. I then explained to The Old Man that I will not pick up after his spoiled rotten and despicable dog any longer, as the dog is not reprimanded at all for his pathetic behavior, so there is no point in even cleaning it up because he will simply do it in the exact same spots the next day.

If I wanted to spend moments from each day in cleaning up after a dog, I would have a dog that behaved like a jack ass. However, my FREE of CHARGE rescued dog who cost me nothing to adopt (in comparison to the hundreds of dollars that The Old Man spent on his piece of shit pet) doesn’t have the many problems (and is almost 7 years younger than the Devil, mind you) that the Devil displays regularly. In fact, my dog would die before he let his bowels or bladder loose in the house. He is just built that way and has NEVER been a problem in this area at all. I do not feel in the least bit badly or wrong for refusing to enable a spoiled rotten and completely hopeless waste of money and hardwood flooring.

I struggled at first with keeping my word on this, and have had to adjust my daily tasks to avoid the growing number of puddles and piles around the house. The Old Man either ignores them, hopes that I will clean them up after all, or doesn’t see them at all. It’s really disgusting and sad on many levels, how the dog rules the roost between them. I have started spending lots more time in my room with my good dog as means of getting around the ever-growing stench of dog waste in the common areas.

I didn’t come here to clean up after an out of control and incorrigible animal that has no concept of good behavior. And, to be honest, I barely get paid enough to cover my legitimate workload here; and, most certainly do not get paid to follow around a piece of shit, poorly trained, bad dog and clean up his messes repeatedly and with no end in sight due to the shortcomings of someone else’s ability to control his useless and good for nothing pet. Call me what you will, but you can’t call me stupid on this point. Stupid would be the redundancy of dog shitting and pissing where he wants – and me coming behind him to clean up his filth. Maybe The Old Man should hire someone to come specifically to enable his useless piece of shit dog.

When Nobody Else Will Do.

From day to day, it’s just me and him.

And there are moments when…

Everything in the world seems to stop and stand still,

And the madness and chaos melt away to the edges,

And in those moments, I feel like his presence is a necessity,

And nobody else will do.

A Jewel Dealer.

The bellboy silently closed the heavy hotel door behind him as he left the cushy room. S swallowed hard and calmly shut her eyes. She let her head roll back against the wall and began to quietly count to herself in the dark closet. She heard J’s voice float to her in the darkness, boisterously speaking to the man who’s name was signed on the hotel paperwork scattered across the glass coffee table about 10 feet in front of the closet.

J was carrying on about pointless things, trifling topics that filled the empty space between herself and the jewel collector she was captivating with nonsense.

“75…76…77…”
S stealthily sat up on her haunches, readying herself to spring to her feet.
“85…86…87…”

“I hear it’s lovely there in the spring.”

She heard the sarcasm oozing from J’s low murmuring voice through the darkness.

“95…96…97…”

The footsteps were growing louder, getting nearer, the floor beneath S shook lightly as they approached the closet she was hidden it, lying in wait.

As the closet door opened, S registered the surprise in the face of the jewel dealer; he knew he had been gotten. The jacket he had intended to hang up in the closet was already wrapped tightly around his torso from behind, and J’s maniacal grin peeked at S through the darkness from over his left shoulder.

“Don’t make a sound.”

S was deftly binding his legs already and, rather gracefully, switching her position in the closet with the jewel dealer’s next to J. THUD. The man fell full on his weight like a sack of potatoes into a heap on the closet floor. Two wide eyes staring up at the calmly poised women from the floor of the closet.

“Give us the keys.” J thrust out her hand towards the panicked face in the inky darkness.

“I…I…”

The jewel dealers words stuttered pathetically through gasps and quiet sobs.

“You will be a ghost full of regrets if you don’t stop talking and hand me those keys.”

S was wearing her serious face as she said this. Nervous pocket shuffling in the closet; keys jingling, coins rattling, until finally a small ring with two tiny nondescript keys on it was tossed through the space between them. A groan of miserable defeat followed from the closet.

PART ONE: THE ACCOUNTING DEPT.

Shame on them all, the blind fuckheads that they are…how soon we forget where we came from.

  1. You’ve got Ms. Office Manager of “Deliverance”:
    too caught up in her own confusion and cluelessness to even realize what a mistake it was to put someone as lacking in workplace knowledge and ethic as herself in charge. She calls shots and plays smart as the accounting department goes to shambles because she doesn’t know shit about what she’s doing from day to day. Not cold hearted, but heartless. Not even kidding anyone about anything, despite her failed self-imaging of a Jedi Master.
  2. Then there’s lil Miss “Princess Complex” Assistant Manager:
    She’s like 12 years old, in every way besides her ungainly height…the very last kind of person on Earth you wanna give any control to because yeah, she likely blows kisses to herself in the mirror whenever she gets the chance. This one is single handedly holding up the accounting department, and this can’t last. The gods have put her quite the lose-lose predicament, though she doesn’t know it yet. Too young for me to really hate forever.

Next, there’s Wednesday Addams, the unknowing lame:
So what? Wow, she inputs data and walks around like a permanent Mad Dog, with the most miserably frowning face imaginable every moment of every day. She covertly snitches on co-workers, pays far too much attention to what everyone else is doing, and was personally offended by Miss Princess Complex’s promotion to Assistant Manager when it happened, talking long shot about the entire situation. I’ve never heard her say anything remotely positive about the company etc. If any workplace on the planet had fewer employees like her, the world would be a better place.

The kicker to this scenario is that the rest of “the team” bust their collective assets to hold everything together: good, bad or otherwise. It tolls heavily. Then, the instant somebody speaks up about the conditions that we’re working under, it’s announced that employees are not allowed to walk around expressing any type of dissatisfaction.
Well Wednesday Addams gets to walk around looking looking like her dog just got run over by a car.
Fuck that place, I’m blessed to have finally gotten out.