Procrastination Continuation, or, The Good Night

So, I know I should be writing about my trip to Portland before I forget but I have a feeling that writing all that will take forever and I just haven't had time to sit down and start writing everything. However, this post will not be a last minute post like the last two have been. I actually have a story to tell this time and I am writing it a couple of days in advance. Now, the story I am about to tell may not be the greatest story but I am sure it will do. Before we get to the actual story, though, I will give you some background.

I have a tendency to enjoy the darker side of human emotions. It doesn't make much sense to most people but it does to me and that is all that matters. It's actually kind of hard for me to get depressed because, as soon as I realize that I am depressed, I get excited about it which alleviates the depression. I still try my hardest to be be depressed as I believe that the whole gambit of human emotions are to be experienced and, dare I say, enjoyed as they are what makes us human. Along these same lines, I tend to enjoy when things go horribly awry. I don't like the middle ground as I prefer the extremes. Things either have to go perfect, or near perfect, or terribly wrong for me to enjoy them. If only a few things go wrong, it just ruins it for me and I get annoyed. However, if nothing or everything goes wrong, I tend to enjoy it. Point in case, a few weeks back the BF and I were going to watch a movie. That's not relevant so don't pay it any attention. Before the movie, we decided to have a bite to eat. We were not too hungry so we decided to just go to Subway. Now, my favorite Subway sandwich is the foot-long meatball sub on jalapeno cheddar bread with pepper jack cheese, olives, a little bit of onions and Parmesan cheese. You don't need to know all that. All you have to know is that I like the meatball sub. We arrived at the Subway closest to the movie theater and the BF, being a gentleman, let me go first. Mainly because I don't let anything or anyone stand between me and my food. It was a Saturday night which apparently is a slow night at Subways because there was only one employee. I ordered my sandwich and the sandwich artist, their preferred title, informed us that this was his second day on the job. He asked me if I wanted my sandwich toasted and I answered with a resounding, "Yes, please." I know that does not sound resounding but believe me when I tell you that it resounded the way I said it. He put my sub in the toaster oven and he started making a second meatball sandwich for the BF whose choice had been influenced by my own. The toaster timer went off. I looked at the sandwich artisan but he did not seem too concerned by it as he continued making the BF's sub. The toaster timer went off again and a creeping suspicion that something was off spawned within me. The sub virtuoso did not seem at all concerned though so I chalked it up to my paranoia. When the Subway handicrafter finished fixing the BF's sandwich and opened the door to the toaster to switch subs, we noticed that mine had been burnt. The poor guy got all flustered and apologized about the burnt sandwich and offered to make me a new one. I happily agreed and he started making a second sandwich for me after he put the BF's sub in the toaster. This is when he realized that he did not have enough meatballs to make another sub. Unfortunately, this was after he had already spread marinara sauce all over the bread. He apologized one more time and I just told him to make me a different sandwich that would go with marinara sauce. At that point the toaster timer went off but the sub creator's attitude towards that ringing bell continued to be very blasé.  I helpfully pointed out that the timer had gone out and he replied that the oven would stop heating by itself. Seeing as to how my first sub had burned I insisted that he open the toaster door and we found the BF's sub crisper than was expected but, thankfully, not burnt. The sandwich maker then asked if I wanted my new sandwich toasted and I replied with a kind, but emphatic, "No, thank you." At this point, I could tell that the whole situation was unnerving the BF. The sandwich artiste had already finished making the BF's sandwich so I asked the BF to find a table, which wasn't hard to do on the nigh empty diner, and to get our drinks while my sub was finished. With the BF gone and my sandwich completed, the sub composer/cashier/only employee proceeded to ring me up. I handed over my card and when I got my receipt back I realized that he had overcharged me. He had charged me for three drinks and we only really needed two what with the free refills and all. At this moment, I could not feel worse for the guy if I tried. He had a few other people waiting to be helped and he did not know how to fix my ticket and, when he tried calling his manager, his call went to voicemail. He kept apologizing and offering me some cookies in exchange for the drink price. I just smiled, declined his cookie offer as we really did not want any cookies, and instructed him to just give the extra drink to the people waiting in line behind us. He thanked me with a sheepish lopsided smile of relief and hurried over to help the next customers. I grabbed my sandwich and headed over to the table the BF had chosen and sat down. He looked up at me and asked me why I was smiling and I told him that I had really enjoyed my Subway experience. When he asked me why I told him that it was not because it made me feel superior, it's not that at all (really!!!), but because it reminded me that people were still human and that we, as humans, can cause hiccups and disrupt even the most streamlined designs that scientific management can throw our way. In a way, it reminds me that mistakes are what makes us human and they remind me that we are alive. I don't think he really quite got it. I think he usually thinks I am crazy and just goes along for the ride because it is easier than arguing with crazy. But, there is a method to my madness, or, at the very least, I have to believe that.

Why did I tell y'all that story? Was that the whole point of this post? Maybe, but no. Not at all. We are just getting started, so, buckle up. The reason I mentioned that story is so that you can maybe understand my frame of mind yesterday night which could possibly be considered a very bad night. It all started with a horrible week. It had been a terrible week at work. I was actually having to work and I am a strong believer that my current employers are paying me enough to show up everyday and work every once in a while, but I am not getting paid enough to actually work all day, everyday. So, last night, after I got off work, I had a plan. Let me set it up for you bullet point-style,

• I was going to go to the store after work to pick up some wasp spray as they were building a new nest right outside my door.
• I was going to go home and change into shorts and a t-shirt in order to go into the very hot shed and look for a post-hole digger Dad wanted and that Sister would take to him on Friday.
• I was going to spray the wasps with the recently acquired wasp spray.
• I was going to have some dinner.
• I was going to do dishes and clean the kitchen.
• I was going to clean my room and bathroom.
• I was going to take out the trash as Thursdays are trash day which I made clear in a previous post.
• I was going to take a shower.
• I was going to watch an episode of Supernatural.
• I was going to go to sleep.

I had everything planned. I had even planned a bowel movement but figured I would leave that out of the list for the sake of decency. The best laid plans... though. At first, it started out smoothly. I went to the store and bought two cans of wasp spray. One to use that day and another just in case I they decided to build a new nest again. I would have made a great boy scout since I am always prepared except for their whole anti-gay agenda of course. I also bought stuff to make sandwiches because that sounded good for dinner. I even bought some bolillos, a type of Mexican bread, and some avocado. I digressed from the plan a bit, but I had to have something for dinner so I did not feel that bad about it. Usually, it is when I get home that I abandon all plans I have made for the evening and end up just watching TV. Not yesterday though. I got home and, since I was not hungry yet, decided to change and head out to the shed. I grabbed the keys to the shed and locked the door behind me. I, however, failed to grab my house keys, a mistake I realized the moment the door clicked shut behind me. I don't have an extra key. I used to have a key hidden outside but we changed our locks about a year ago and I never hid another copy. My first instinct was to panic. Then I realized that the Old Man should come back soon. The time was around 6:30 pm and he can't drive in the dark so he should be home before sunset. With that in mind, I decided to head to the shed to get the post-hole digger. The temperature yesterday was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It was a lot hotter inside that shed. On top of that, and despite the many wonderful qualities Dad possesses, being organized is not one of Dad's strong points. He tends to hoard stuff, which has worked to our advantage before, but without an organizational schematic, that shed, to continue quoting The Big Bang Theory, was a swirling vortex of entropy. Scratch that. It was a sweltering, fever-inducing, blister-creating swirling vortex of entropy. In Dad's defense, he did have all his shovels and long-handled tools in the same area in the back. In Dad's offense, if that is how you say it as I am not clear on the correct terminology, there was no clear path to them. At one point I was stepping on a lawnmower while straddling a bicycle and using a crutch to try and move the handle of the digger within arm distance. Needless to say, a misstep would have been a very painful, and dangerous, development. After about fifteen to twenty minutes of acrobatic feats the likes of which I never thought myself capable of achieving, I was standing outside the shed with the post-hole digger in hand. I felt accomplished. At least I did until I remembered I was locked outside of the house. Then the wait began.

The Old Man has a cell number but I did not want to disrupt his evening with my stupidity. I went back to the porch and, being careful to avoid the wasps, had a seat in a white plastic chair and started waiting. I realized that I may have to cut my to-do list down depending on what time the Old Man made it back. I figured I would still be able to get the wasp nest because that way I could spray it after the Old Man went inside and that way he would not be exposed to the harsh chemicals. The bottle even recommended that one spray in the evening when the wasps are less active. I figure I could at least get that done and then get at least some of the cleaning done. While I was waiting, I decided to play Candy Crush Saga. I refuse to play anything on Facebook as I refuse to get on Facebook much anymore. Also, I know how annoying it can get to keep getting requests for lives and stuff of that sort so I decided to play it solo. What that means is that at the end of every section, you have to pass three specific stages to unlock the new section. Each time you pass one of the stages, you have to wait twenty-four hours to play the next one. I was in the middle of one of those twenty-four hour periods so I started playing from the beginning again trying to beat my own scores. That kept me busy for about an hour. Yes, an hour. Bear with me, I still have a ways to go. Next I decided to text people whom I have been meaning to contact but hadn't had time. I had time now. I had nothing but time and about forty-five percent battery left. Well, I got to catch up with some people and I did not hear back from a few others which made me question whether or not I should keep their numbers. I have not decided yet. After another hour had passed, I looked around and noticed that, although there was still some light, the sun had set. I decided to give in and call the Old Man. Unfortunately, he did not answer. I figured I would give him a few minutes and call him back. At around 9:00 pm I called him again. This time, he answered. When I asked where he was, he had no qualms in explaining that he had found a boil in his fundillo, as he put it, and he was at the hospital. If you did not follow that link to the Urban Dictionary definition, the word he so eloquently used is crude Mexican slang for "butt". Point being, he was going to have to spend the night at the hospital. I told him about my predicament and he said that I could come by and pick up an extra key he had. I was now faced with the daunting task of finding a ride to the hospital. I called Sister but she didn't answer. She sent me a text saying that she would call me back in a minute. I texted back telling her to make sure to do so. Well, it was after nine at night and I had ten percent battery left and there was only about a fifty percent chance Sister would call me back. I decided to look online for locksmiths but then changed my mind because I don't want to know how easy it would be, for someone with the know-how, to break into my house. I decided to start walking to the hospital, as I only live about two miles away, and hope for the best. I figured, worst case scenario, I would call a taxi and pay them once I got into the house. I started walking and I thanked my lucky stars that I was wearing a white shirt because most of the way I had to walk did not have a sidewalk and I had to walk on the shoulder. I remembered from my Driver's Ed class that, if you had to walk on the side of the road, it was better to walk on the side of oncoming traffic. The reason for that is that you can see a car coming and have a chance to get out of the way if the driver fails to see you. Despite the fact that I had very low battery, I was texting Preggo while I walked. When she was caught up on the whole situation, she said she was sorry I was having such a bad night. The problem was that I was not having a horrible night. I was quite happy in fact. Almost euphorically actually. I tried to explain it to her but she replied by saying that she did not understand me but that it did not matter as it was part of what made me special. Luckily, fifteen minutes and a quarter mile into my journey, Sister called me back. I answered and asked her if she had a key to my place and she said she didn't. When she asked me why I was asking her that, I told her that I had been locked out of the house for about three hours and was currently walking towards the hospital to get an extra key from the Old Man. I think at that point she was kind of exasperated with me. She kept asking me how come I had not told her that earlier. I said that I had called her and that she had texted me saying that she would call me back so I was waiting for her to call me back. She then informed me that being locked out for three hours was an emergency and that I should have texted her back informing her of my situation and that she would have come sooner. I was not aware that being locked out was an emergency but I am glad to know that for future reference. Actually, I thought being locked out was a very stupid, thoughtless mistake but to each their own. Sister and Brother-in-law (Bil) came to pick me up and, after a failed attempt to jimmy my door open with a Starbucks gift card, drove me to the hospital. BTW, I was very glad to find out the house could not be broken into using a five dollar Starbucks gift card. If there was a silver lining, that was definitely it. When we arrived at the hospital, Sister told me to tell the Old Man that I had gotten a ride from a friend so that he wouldn't go into long health explanations. I walked into the hospital and was immediately reminded of the horrible state I was in. I was wearing blue basketball shorts, a white undershirt, gray dress socks, and slip-on blue plaid shoes. To say I was embarrassed to be seen in public like that is an understatement. It did not matter that there were people dressed worse than me at the emergency waiting room, this was probably the low point of the evening. I arrived at the Old Man's room and was careful enough to knock before I entered to give him enough time to become decent. It did not matter though. He was wearing a hospital gown but we all know that those things don't close in the back and I got an eyeful of old man tighty-whiteys. Scratch what I said earlier, this was definitely the low point of the evening. He grabbed his wallet and handed me a spare key. It was not the house key. I told him that and he insisted that it was. I told him that it looked like a car key and that is when he remembered that he had made a copy of his truck key. He dug into his wallet one more time and fished out two more keys, one for his P.O. Box and the extra key to the house. I tried to leave as soon as possible, just as my sister had instructed me, but was unable to extricate myself from the room without first hearing about how they had given him a shot in the buttocks to numb them and that then they had lanced the boil and squeezed a whole bunch of pus out of it. As bad as hearing that was, it still did not take the low point of the evening prize from the earlier exhibitionist show.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. I made my way back to Sister and Bil and they proceeded to drive me back to my place. I gave them the extra key for them to keep in case of future "emergencies." as they called them, as I know I am careless enough to lock myself out again. After they left, I made myself some dinner and sat down to watch Supernatural as I ate. It was eleven o'clock at night, my whole plan was shot to hell (pardon my French but it seemed appropriate), but I had had a very pleasant evening. As near perfect as I am, I like having these kind of nights when I am reminded of how human I still am. Ironically, as much of a misanthrope as I am, I do cherish when my humanity shows up unexpectedly. I know this is not a perfect story, but that is why I like it. I am tired of perfection. Humanity is imperfect and it is time we let our imperfections shine through. I am getting off my high horse now. 'Til next week.

A Few Random Thoughts

This week's post will probably be very short, but I have a very good reason for it. I will be going on vacation on Wednesday and I am still not ready. There is so much stuff to do, mainly because I have procrastinated but there is no point in assigning blame, that I am starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. I will be going to visit Hillary and Zeke in Portland, Oregon. I am very excited about it, I think. I don't show excitement well. It will be cool to visit Portland and to see if it is anything like Portlandia portrays it. For those in the know, I am very worried that when I am done packing I will forget to put a bird on my suitcase. Cacao! (It means something, I promise though it may be more of an inside joke.) Since I still have a whole lot to do, I will attempt a random post. I apologize it for it in advance as I know that my attempts in the past have not gone so well. Anyway, here we go...

• The way I ended that sentence made me think of when Noodle says "Here you go" in the song 19-2000 by Gorillaz.
• Yes, I go on tangents like that quite often.
• Point in case, I lost like fifteen minutes from the first bullet point to the next because I started looking up Gorillaz and whatever new music they have out. 
• I am actually listening to them right now. 
• About the vacation, I will take a plane for the first time in my life and I am a little bit nervous.
• I just lied to you in the last bullet point. It will be the second time I fly but the first time I was fifteen and it was right after my brother passed away so I don't remember it well.
• Plus, this will be my first time flying after 9/11 and, again for those in the know, my middle name sounds kind of middle eastern-y and that is of concern to me.
• If I had one, I would wear a sarape or sombrero so that it will be clear to TSA officials that I am Mexican and not middle eastern.
• And, more importantly, I am definitely not a Muslim. As an atheist, I can't stress that enough.
• I really want to avoid going through any invasive searches. I have only been frisked once and it was only nominally fun so I doubt that something more invasive would be more fun.
• Not to disparage those that would enjoy it. I mean, to each their own.
• The BF is coming on the trip and I am kind of worried that he will be bored as his sense of humor and mine differ greatly and Hillary and Zeke share my sense of humor. I can just see Hillary, Zeke and me in laughing fits and the BF just looking at us with a tilted head trying to figure out what is wrong with us.
• That being said, I am glad he is coming. If nothing else, he will help with the flight anxiety, if there is any.
• Also, Wednesday will be our six month anniversary so it will be a reason to celebrate.
• Something else that worries me, and this may be TMI but I often over-share anyway, is the bathroom situation. I always been uncomfortable with bodily functions and I will be sharing a hotel room with the BF for four and a half days.
• I know that should not be a big deal but I am childish about somethings. For instance, I hate the word "fart." I don't find it funny and it makes me uncomfortable.
• On a different, and quite less disgusting note, Preggo sent me this pic a few days ago,

  

  She sent it with the caption, and I quote, "Memories :(" 

• I know that the picture itself means nothing to you, but that was the park where I sat for three hours hoping to hear from my parents the time they left me in Odessa. 
• I am glad to finally have  a pictorial reminder of the time my parents taught me that I should not expect them to not leave me 300 miles from home.
• I think I had it coming, it's been three years now so I don't remember it, but did it ever open my eyes.
• It wasn't all bad though. I like to believe that I am stronger for it.
• On a sadder note, that was the last time I saw my then best friend Jenny as she gave me a ride home after a took a bus to Abilene.
• There is a wasp nest outside my house and I went to buy wasp and hornet killer yesterday so I feel pretty butch about that.
• Now I am kind of scared of using it and being stung so any butch feeling is gone. I will get it done though. I just don't know when.

I think I shall end this post now. Once again, I apologize for it but I do think it is better than nothing. I mean, it even has a picture on it so what else could I have done to make it better? Plus, it's 1:37 p.m. right now and I have yet to have something to eat so I need to take care of me now. Hope you all have a great week. I know that after two days of work my week will suddenly get way better.

According to Dottie, I Am a Whiny Little Bitch

I am not sure what my stance has been on swearing on this blog. This is at the front of my mind considering what the title of this post is and because I will have to use the word "bitch" at least a few times during this post. I do know my regular stance on cursing. I do not believe words are inherently good or bad but that it is our usage of them that assigns them a moral connotation. That is, however interesting for me, not relevant. I looked through the settings to see if there is anything that would indicate that this blog contains profanity but the only option I saw was one that asked if it contained adult material. I don't consider curse words adult material so I chose the "no" option. Thus, it will be up to your discretion whether this blog is appropriate for you and yours. I will not use profanity lightly but I do believe it has a place in our culture and, in instances where it is relevant to the story, I will not shy away from its usage.

All that will come later though. First, I want to keep talking about the wonderful weekend I had. Why was it wonderful? Well, it's mostly because of a single person, the BF. It all started Saturday when I arrived at his house so we could ride together to the wedding. We had not seen each other in two weeks because he travels a lot for work and, even though he had been in town the previous weekend, I had been sick and was unable to meet up with him. I got to his house and he was ready. This is important for two reasons. First, it shows that he is dependable to be on time. Second, it shows that I was running late and thus am not dependable to be on time. When I walked into his house, he announced he had something for me and unceremoniously presented me with this;

Note that the patriotic motif was the BF's and not mine as I consider patriotism to be a granfalloon.

That star-spangled emblazoned key that he gifted me grants me access to his house. I must say that I was moved by the gesture. Especially since earlier in the week, two days earlier to be exact, I was talking to Preggo about how I am a horrible boyfriend since the BF had asked me to help him put out his trash on collection day since he was out of town and I had forgotten. Twice. I had forgotten two weeks in a row. I told her that, in my defense, I had asked the BF to remind me and he had not done so because I was sick. I still felt bad about it, though. I also told her that I did not know where his trash cans were. Preggo asked me if I did not have a key to his house. I replied that I didn't and that I wasn't sure when and if I would get one. Cut to two days later and he is giving me a key, however gaudy, to his place. That right there put me in a good mood.

I was nervous about the wedding as the BF hadn't really ever seen me in a social situation. Plus, I was planning on drinking and he had not, and still has not, seen me drunk. I am taking it one day at a time. After all, easy does it. First things first, I want him to get to know me before I can scare him away with drunken antics. For those of you who noticed; yes, I used three of the slogans used by AA to refer to my drinking. Thank you for noticing as I only knew two and had to look up a third. It was hard work and I hope it pays off. If you read last week's post, then you are aware that there was an hour wait before the ceremony began and that I get antsy easily. I kind of felt bad for the BF because, when bored, I become very childish and immature. I went as far as to send him a text, even though he was sitting right next to me, asking him to entertain me. When he responded, I replied with a text saying that I was busy and would text him later. I found that funny. I also kept asking if I could go get some water and I even started making up illnesses, i.e. fever and stomachache, to see if he would let me go for a walk. He was unyielding and I had to sit there for the whole hour and I was not too happy about that.

As I may have mentioned in last week's post, I don't remember and I am too lazy to go back and re-read the post to make sure, I knew more people at the wedding than I expected to know. Therefore, at times I felt like I was neglecting the BF. I apologized to him in case I did while we were driving back to his place and asked if he had fun and if I had embarrassed him much. He said he had fun and that he had only been embarrassed when the honeydew incident happened. I would explain the honeydew incident but, if you haven't read last week's post, maybe this will serve as incentive for you to go back and read it. The BF did point out though that he was surprised at the ease with which I talked to people that I had told him that I strongly disliked, not to say hated. I had told him in the past that I was a very good hypocrite but he had never seen me in action. He also said that he was surprised that I introduced him as my boyfriend. I explained to him that there were two reasons for that. The first was that this was an event attended by people who were not my family, they were co-workers and friends, and therefore knew that I was gay so I felt comfortable presenting him as my boyfriend. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I wanted to make sure the co-workers knew who he was. If you remember, he had bailed out on me once for a co-worker event and they had taken to calling him "the imaginary boyfriend," implying that I had made him up. I had to put a stop to that and show them that he was real so it was almost a requirement to introduce him as my boyfriend.

When we were getting close to his place, we noticed that a cop was driving behind us and, about a block and a half from the BF's house, he pulled us over. It was very entertaining because the BF freaked out. See, I have failed to mention that he has been having problems with some back pain. To alleviate the pain, he has been taking over the counter medication. He is not a fan of "western medicine," as he calls it, and follows the instructions on the labels to the letter. At the wedding, even though I had many glasses of wine, he only had one glass of wine and nursed it all night long. I thought he'd had two glasses and kept telling him he'd be okay to get a third. I came to find out, while the cop is checking out his license in the patrol car, that the BF was relieved that he had only had one which is a lot fewer than I had. I mean, when the cop asked if we had been drinking, I gleefully raised my hand and cheerfully announced that I had, at which point the BF just pointed at me and said that he had been the DD (designated driver for those not in the know).  Luckily, the BF only got a warning since the reason we were pulled over was because one of his headlights was out. He was still freaking out about it though and I had to explain to him that a warning was nothing more than the cop justifying his time by explaining that he had pulled over someone with a headlight out.

I know you're thinking that everything so far sounds perfectly pleasant and you would be right. We got to his place, had a few more glasses of wine and went to bed. It was the events of the next morning that are alluded to in the title. As I mentioned before, the BF travels for work sometimes. He had just gotten back on Friday and he was flying out again on Monday so I knew he had errands to run. I also knew that he had to meet a friend of his at ten thirty in the morning and would be occupied for the rest of the day. Now, I am not a morning person. I used to be. When I was a senior in high school, I would get up at six in the morning every day even though I did not start getting ready for school until seven. It has been a long time since then and I have become more of a night owl. The BF, on the other hand, considers getting up at six thirty sleeping in. So, he got up at his usual early time and I decided to get up with him as I would not see him for two weeks once he left to meet his friend. We got up and had some coffee. I then suggested going somewhere for breakfast but he said he had to do some things first before he left the house. Apparently, I still looked very sleepy because he added that I should just go back to bed and take a nap/finish sleeping. I was tired so I went back to bed and promptly fell asleep. I felt him moving around the room a few times and considered getting up but I was very sleepy. Plus, it felt like I had only been in bed a few minutes every time I heard him and woke up. When I finally decided to get up, I looked at the clock and it was ten fifteen. I must explain here that along with not being a morning person, it takes me a while to fully wake up and become the wonderful person that people know and love. Point in case, if my sister ever happens to wake me up when she calls me, she knows to hang up and wait for me to call her back in about ten minutes or the conversation won't go well as I will be very upset for no reason. Okay, keep that in mind as I tell you what happened.

I woke up and saw what time it was and had this sinking feeling in my stomach that the BF had left without saying good bye. I stumbled groggily to the kitchen and looked out the window to find his truck was gone. I am not going to say I was mad, but I was upset. I wasn't going to get to see him for two weeks so, in my head, he should have woken me up to say good bye. Because I was upset, I got dressed very quickly, grabbed my stuff and went to my car. Once I was in my car, I called him. He answered in a very happy tone and asked me how my morning was going to which I very drily replied with a simple statement. "You left." He did not say anything to that so I added that he left and that he hadn't said good bye. He said that he did not want to wake me and I told him that he should have. He then asked if I had eaten the breakfast he had left for me in the fridge. I told him that I hadn't opened the fridge because I left as soon as I found out he was gone. He informed me that he had gone out that morning and purchased some stuff for breakfast and left it for me in the fridge and told me to go back inside to get it. I told him I was already down the road and did not feel like turning back. At that point, he arrived at his friend's place to pick him up so he had to let me go and we hung up. I thought about the fact that he had bought me breakfast and that it was a nice gesture but I was still upset that he had not woken me up before he left. A few minutes later, while I was still driving back to my place, he called me and asked me not to be upset. I said that I wasn't upset but that I was sad that he hadn't said goodbye. He then asked if I had seen the note he left me. Apparently, he had left a note for me on the floor in the entrance from the bedroom hall to the living room. I saw a piece of paper in the ground but I figured he'd dropped something and did not pick it up and read it because I did not want to be nosy. He had actually written two notes as he had left one when he went to buy breakfast, in case I woke up then, and he left one when he left to do what he needed to do. When he told me that, I knew I was being difficult, but I still felt a little slighted.

After we hung up, I called my friend Hillary so she could tell me that I was wrong. Unfortunately, she did not answer. I decided to call Dottie then since I needed someone to tell me I was being spoiled and stupid. I knew I was wrong on some level, but I was not fully awake and I needed someone to set me straight. Fortunately, she did. After hearing what had happened, she said;

"Carlos, get over yourself. He was trying to be considerate so stop whining like a little bitch."

When I articulated my surprised over being called a "little bitch", she responded;

"I meant to say "big bitch" but figured it would be nicer to use "little" instead. You need to apologize to him though."

As much as I respect Dottie and her no-nonsense approach, and because I wasn't fully awake yet, I took her advice with a grain of salt because I still felt my point had some validity to it. When I talked to the BF later that day, I did apologize and explained that I was not fully awake when I talked to him and thanked him for being so considerate. He asked me if I was mad and I reassured him that I wasn't so everything worked out in the end.

However, the next day, still trying to find a leg to stand on, I decided to share what had happened with Preggo and some other co-workers. This did not work out to my advantage. Among the many things that they told me, I was instructed to make it up to the BF for the way I had behaved and was told that I needed to appreciate having such a wonderful person in my life that is willing to put up with all my b.s. I talked to the BF about it that evening and told him what I had been told and that, although I was not gonna make it up to him as I still think I had a little bit of reason for acting like I did, I was apologizing one more time. He deserved at least that and that was as far as I was willing to go.

I guess the whole point of this post is to acknowledge that I have it very good with the BF and I should be thankful for him. Yes, he does not understand sarcasm and most of my jokes fly right over his head, but he more than makes up for it by being so caring and considerate. Also, he told me to write something good about him as he felt I was being too mean. So... here it is. I said something nice. Take a picture (screenshot) of it because it doesn't happen often. On a serious note, I am glad to have the BF in my life and I hope to have many more stories to share with you all about him.

Happy New Year!

So what if I am a month late? I still hope you have a happy new year. Also, I know it has been almost two months since my last post.What can I say? I have been lazy. I can't say that there has not been anything to write about because there has. I cannot say that I haven't had time to write because I have watched about 7 seasons of SNL reruns on Netflix in the past month alone. What is my excuse then? I simply don't have one. Since it has been a long time though, now that I am back, I will attempt to catch you guys up in what is going on in my life.

First things first, Medea came and went to Mexico. She spent about six weeks over there taking care of her mom since her health is not what it used to be. Nothing about her is what it used to be. I mean, after all, she is old. As a matter of fact, when I wrote the last blog entry on December 12, Medea was already in Mexico. My dad, my sister and I went to drop her off on the weekend of Thanksgiving and my dad and I went to pick her up sometime in mid-January.  If you remember last time I drove to Mexico with my parents, when my dad's father died, I was left behind in Odessa (although to hear my parents tell it, I left them in Odessa with the car so they were the abandoned ones). I was hesitant to go to Mexico because of obvious reasons, but Medea said her mom was really ill and that she would like for me to go because this could be the last time I got to see my grandma, the last of my grandparents, alive. Although I am pretty much immune to most guilt trips, I fell for this one. The trip to drop her off was uneventful except for a horrible allergy reaction that made me break out in hives that itched like crazy. I still don't know what caused them. I went to the doctor in Mexico and despite the fact that he prescribed two shots, it did not get better. I had to go to the doctor once I came back to the US and I had to take steroids. I, of course, did not hear the end of it from my family. They kept saying that I was way too American now and that I was allergic to Mexico. It did not matter that the allergic reaction started in El Paso, which is technically, and I mean barely technically, still the US. The trip to go pick her up was even more uneventful.  Although, when we stopped for lunch at Midland, I did text Preggo to let her know that I had made it past Odessa this time.

This brings me to the next subject, Preggo. In a way, it is thanks to her that I am writing this entry right now. It's not that I don't want to write but it is so much easier to just sit and watch TV. She is always pestering me, in a good way, to write a new entry. She is the one that, shall I say, demanded that I write an entry since I did not work today because of the wintry weather. As a sidenote, she did not work either and I don't see her starting her own blog. She did however start her own facebook and, although now everyone and their mom has a facebook, it is a big step for her. Well, she is now back at work from her maternity leave. As I mentioned before, I think I did anyway and I am too lazy to go back and check whether or not I did so I will just continue assuming that I did, she had a baby girl sometime last year. The girl's name is not "The Thing" as I have been informed countless times by Preggo. I would use the girl's real name but I don't feel at liberty to disclose it, and I can't ever remember it most of the time, so I will call her "Phoebe", like the character from Friends (obscure enough of a reference or should I make it even more so?). The problem had become what to call Preggo since she is not pregnant anymore. I have reached a decision, heretofore she shall be known and addressed as "Preggo". Why? Because it is easier to just keep calling her what I have called her so far. So y'all can rest easy since you won't have to learn a whole new nickname for the same person. One last note on Preggo, I should mention that I made her cry on her second day back at work. Apparently, sometimes I take things too far. I also think she was no longer acclimatized to my abrasive personality and the many hurtful things I say while joking around. I have already apologized to her and she has forgiven me but this is just a heads up to everyone who is, has been or will be a friend of mine, I will eventually say something that will hurt you. I may or may not apologize, depending on how I feel at the moment. I apologized on this instance but I don't plan to make it a habit. I have too much pride and I refuse to swallow any of it because I do not know how many calories it has.

On the job front, I got a promotion. You may be completely surprised to hear this since I always claim to be lazy but apparently I am a pretty good worker. I guess I like money. Not a lot, just enough.
*BREAKING NEWS: WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO ANNOUNCE THAT I JUST RECEIVED NEWS THAT, DUE TO THE HAZARDOUS WEATHER CONDITIONS, MY WORK IS CANCELED AGAIN FOR TOMORROW. THIS MESSAGE WILL SELF-REPEAT. WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG.*
I am pretty psyched about the promotion. I now have my own office and my own phone extension number and my own work email. Yes, I hear what you are saying, "But Carlos, your office has no windows!" What most people don't know is that I love the fact that my office has no windows. I am really safe in the case of a hurricane, except for the fact that I am on the second floor. I was actually making a joke about how I would need fake dead plants to my friends Hill and Zeke and they came up with an ingenious solution. I was sitting in my office one day when the receptionist asked me to come downstairs. When I walked down the stairs (as I usually do since I asked for a key to the stairs to take advantage of the fact that my office is on the second floor and finally get some form of exercise), I found Hill and Zeke waiting for me and holding this:

The picture may not be too clear, but it consists of dead flowers and a spray-painted black balloon that reads "whatever." I absolutely love it. I had said I needed dead fake flowers but they upped the ante and brought me dead real flowers instead. All I have to say is that if I
*BREAKING NEWS: WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO ANNOUNCE THAT I JUST RECEIVED NEWS THAT, DUE TO THE HAZARDOUS WEATHER CONDITIONS, MY WORK IS CANCELED AGAIN FOR TOMORROW. THIS MESSAGE WILL SELF-REPEAT. WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG.*
were a bouquet, this would be it. It will now sit in my office until it completely falls apart. I am lacking more decorations for my office though. I mentioned in passing to my friend Kristin that I was going to get a firemen's calendar and I think she is thinking of getting me a desk calendar with pictures of guys in them. I am excited about it which segues neatly into my next paragraph.

On romantic news, there is nothing to report.

I think that may be enough catching up. Now about the future. I do not plan on abandoning this blog. Yes, my posting cannot even be called sporadic but all I can say is that, so far, it is as consistent as I am in most everything I do. Speaking about things I do, I have a new project in mind. While I was writing my last post about Dottie and her inability to read one thousand books before she dies I wondered if I would be able to read one thousand books before I die. Granted, it is not that original but I figure it will be at least interesting to try. Of course, I will document everything here in the blog. Since I had the idea on December twelfth, I was going to try and start the project on the new year but, since I am a procrastinator supreme and I am just now getting around to mentioning it, I will try to start by March 1st, 2011. That being said, feel free to submit books that you think I should read and to tell me what your favorite books are. Since there is no way to count the books I have already read, I will start from zero and re-read some of the ones I have read previously. Each book will count once, and only once regardless of how many times I have read it or will read it, into the count for the one thousand book project. What do you think? Will this be a good idea? Will I follow through on it? I sure hope so.

Anyway, I shall stop the post for now. I am glad I had a chance to reconnect. Be aware that normal posts will hopefully resume from now on at a rate greater than, but hopefully at least, two posts a month. I have been very -ahem- "well behaved" as of late so I don't have any additions to my "Reasons I Am Going to Hell" series but I hope to resume those as well too. Furthermore, I recently acquired a Twitter account. I don't know if I will use it much but in case you are interested my username in there is cosilvar (I really don't know how to fully use it so I can't give you detailed directions on finding me so good luck, if you even look.) I guess that is all for now. Until later, sincerely, Me.

Reason Number 81 Why I Am Going to Hell

This actually happened a few months back yet I think it is still worth telling. As you all know by now, I don't really have a social life. Thus I usually don't have much to tell. If it weren't for my co-workers, I probably wouldn't have much to share at all. Luckily, I am surrounded by quirky co-workers that keep me entertained and put up with all my idiosyncrasies.  My friend Heidi, who was featured in two of my earlier reasons I am going to hell, is one of such co-workers. Heidi is, of course, not her real name. I shall never reveal her real name or where we work in order to protect her privacy (along with the Co-Worker's [who has unfortunately recently informed that she will not be reading this blog anymore due to the inconsistency of my posting]and He Who Reads From the Shadows'). I am adding a new co-worker as I am sure that she will give me more than just this one story I am about to tell. She shall be henceforth known by the moniker of Dottie. (On a personal note, I chose that nickname because I know she will hate it.)

When I first started my current job, I was excited because I thought I was going to have plenty of time to read. I did not however know that, although I would have time, I would not have the willpower to read as often as I could because I would waste too much time playing around with co-workers and watching videos on the minuscule screen on my iPod.

On random days, though, I can be seen reading a book here and there. A few months back, I was reading Letters From the Earth by Mark Twain. It had come greatly recommended by a very valued friend and I was not disappointed. I was sitting at my desk reading when Dottie came up to it and asked me what I was doing. Always eager to engage someone in conversation and maybe even lure them into an argument, I quickly told her about the book. I know that the anti-religious sentiment in it would not bode well with her as we had argued about religion in the past. This time however I was surprised by the fact that she was not as judgmental as I expected and just went on a tangent about how she wanted to get an e-reader. She said she had recently been called to jury duty and that she saw a young girl, Dottie is "middle-aged" (I refuse to give her real age on account that she has already threatened to shoot me in the past), with one and she had become interested. I, having a Lit degree, quickly argued that you lose a lot from the reading experience by not having a physical book when you are reading. She said she could see my point but was quick to add that you could have up to a thousand books and could carry them more conveniently. I quickly countered by saying, "That doesn't matter. You don't even have enough time left to read a thousand books." Which might have been a bad thing to say. Especially if you remember that she I said she was "middle-aged", which is me being generous about her age. Still, I probably should not tell someone that they won't be alive long enough to read as many books as they want. Fortunately, once it dawned on her what I had said and after the quick shock of the comment, she laughed it off. I felt kind of bad and tried to fix it by saying that I probably did not have enough time to read a thousand books either. It did not seem too consoling that we were both too old to read one thousand books. Anyway, she did say that I was going to go to hell for saying something like that after which I had no choice but to write about it here.

Well, there it is. Reason number eighty-one why I am going to hell is that I reminded someone that death is nigh, and nigher every minute. I rather like this story but it probably is one of those stories which were better if you were there. Anyway, at least I had something to write. To be honest, I started writing this pretty late on Sunday night and after a whole day of cleaning and laundry. The only reason I did is because I promised Preggo, for whom I need to find a new nickname since she already had her baby, that I would write something on the blog this weekend. I do have one more reason why I am going to hell coming and a lot of stuff has happened so I do want to write a new post soon. Until then, thanks for still reading.

Reason Number 79 Why I Am Going to Hell

A while back, I had planned to take some of my co-workers to the drag show in Dallas. I find the drag show to be really fun and I believe it is something most people should experience at least once in their lifetime.  Due to the fact that we all have very different schedules I had planned it with a month in advance.  I even made a facebook event and invited the 6 co-workers that were to come. The first hitch we had was that The Co-Worker was not going to be able to come, thus reducing our number to 5. Preggo was also invited but could not attend. Since she is not a co-worker, and does not have a facebook page, she was not counted in the official list anyway. Other than that, everything seemed to be going smoothly, that was until one day before the day we were supposed to go.  This is what leads to reason seventy-nine of why I am going to hell.

We were scheduled to go on a Saturday night. The morning of the Friday before, everyone that was going had confirmed and we had even discussed logistics. Two of the co-workers are really close and had said that if one of them could not go, the other would not go either. That fateful morning, Heidi received a call from her mother. One of her aunts in Houston was very ill and had been given two days to live. She was going to have to drive down to Houston that weekend and was thus going to miss the drag show. Unfortunately, because she was not attending, her friend was not going to go either. When they cancelled, another co-worker said she really did not want to attend and that left me with just one more person who agreed that it would just be better if we re-scheduled.

I was so disappointed. It's just my luck to have one of my friend's aunts die on the weekend when I am planning an outing. Bear with me, it gets worse. I walked over to my desk, picked up my phone and called The Co-Worker and said, "Imma beat me a dead woman." I apologize for the horrible grammar in that sentence but I am quoting verbatim for two reasons. First of all, I wanted the quote to be realistic, and second, because I love how that phrase sounds. There you have it, reason number 79 why I am going to hell. Not only was I unsympathetic towards Heidi's family loss, I was mad at her aunt for interfering with my plans by dying.

Yes, I do recognize how horrible this is. I am pretty sure that hell will have a circle completely dedicated to me and that drag queens will somehow be incorporated into the punishment. I just thought that such a punishment would have to be so creative that it is a shame one can't blog from hell or I could do a follow-up to each of the reasons why I am going to hell with what punishment I was attributed for it. Hmmm, something to think about, perhaps?

Random Thoughts and Other Things

I woke up this morning not feeling well so I had to call in to work. Yes, that made my weekend a four day weekend, but I did not enjoy not having to work since I was throwing up all morning. I am feeling better now but I felt like I had wasted my day and, in order to do something productive, I decided to write a post. Unfortunately, I really did not have anything to write about so I decided to take a page from Crazy Texas Mommy and do a post with just some random thoughts. I am unsure why she always tries to have her random days be Wednesday, but since I have no discipline and/or follow through on anything, I shall just post them when the mood strikes. So here are my random thoughts of the day:

• It's kind of hard to be random on command. We'll see how this goes.
• I spent several hours yesterday playing super nintendo. It was awesome.
• My thumbs hurt today as a result of yesterday's super nintendo playing.
• I am still planning on playing again later. Quitters never win.
• I am thinking of writing a drunk post one day. I wonder if it will make much sense.
• I just found out a couple of hours ago that I will not get paid for yesterday because I did not work today. It sucks.
• My friend Preggo just found out she is having a girl.
• She hasn't decided on a name for her yet so, until then, I am calling her "The Thing."
• I would ask your assistance finding a name but I doubt she'll want to name her kid Wilhemina.
• I am definitely sure that she would not like her baby daughter to be referred to as "Dirty Willie."
• Or any kind of nickname with the word "Willie" on it.
• Arrested Development is the best show ever!!!
• Days off are just not the same since the Unwanted are here. Even hearing their voices ruins my day.
• I just realized I suck at writing random posts. This may be my first and last.
• Or maybe I will keep at it until I get good.
• I don't have to decide now so I won't.

Well, I guess I did not have that much to say. Sorry for the crappy post. I feel bad even posting it but I already wrote it so I might as well. Hope you all can forgive me. For now, I gotta go because the nintendo is calling my name.

So, If You Had a White Dodge Avenger, What Would You Name Him?

First of all, yes, I referred to a car as a "him." Why? I don't know. I know most people refer to their cars as feminine, but that has always rang false to me. My cars are boys. Now, if it were a van or a truck, it would be feminine. That's a given. I think this stems from the fact that in Spanish the word "carro" is masculine and the word "van" and "troca" are feminine. All this, however, is neither here nor there. Regardless, I am going to go into excruciating detail because that is what I do best.

My first vehicle was an '89 GMC VanDura. I do not have a picture of it, but it was a huge van that was all metal. I mention that because it was a great car to learn to drive in. People will get out of your way if you are driving a big chunk of metal and seem to have no clue as to what you are doing. If they don't, they soon realize that a collision with said vehicle will damage their car while leaving mine mostly intact. In all the years I drove that van, only one car had to learn that lesson the hard way (it ended up with no back bumper). The van also emerged victorious from an encounter with a stop sign. In fact, the only object that managed to damage my van was a wall I backed into. I guess walls are sturdier than expected. I loved this van. I had it while I was still a church going kid and we used to drive it everywhere. It was not unusual for me to have anywhere from eight to fifteen teens packed in that van, which was really fun considering it did not have a/c. Lucky for me, I was always driving and the driver and passenger windows did roll down. I have many fun memories of that van. Among them, the very first parking lot talks of my life. Many of the great conversations in my life have happened in parking lots. We would sit in that van and discuss everything, from our biggest problems to the latest gossip. This led to us having a motto, "Lo que pasa en la Scooby, se queda en la Scooby." This meant, "What happens in the Scooby, stays in the Scooby." As you can probably infer, the name of the van was "The Scooby Van." It wasn't green, but it was big and it worked for us. Thus, the tradition of naming my cars was born.

My second car was green, but it wasn't a van. It was a Ford Focus. Do not expect me to explain why, but I loved that car as well. I have an eclectic taste for cars but from the moment the Focus first came out, it was on my list of favorite cars. And no, I did not like the hatchback but the four-door sedan. I know the car was not unique and that was part of its appeal. I never put a bumper sticker on it or anything that would make it stand out from any other green Focus. I loved that. The reason why I loved that, and this is going to sound shady, is that if I ever committed a crime and a witness was trying to describe the getaway car, they would have nothing more than "green focus." I am not planning on committing any crimes, but anonymity seemed really important for some reason. I don't remember how the naming of this car came about, but I do know that his name is Frank. I think at one point Frank had a last name, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was. Last year, and I know it was mostly because of how badly I took care of it for the five years I had it, Frank started malfunctioning so I had to get a new car. Thankfully, my dad needed a car to use so he could drive to and from work so I still get to see, and even drive, Frank fairly often.

This brings me to the white Dodge Avenger I have now. I have had it for about a year. It usually runs well and is pretty comfortable. The acquisition of this car was quite different from the other two. The Scooby Van was a hand me down from my parents. Frank, I went out and looked till I found him. It was funny because the only thing I knew when I went car shopping is that I wanted a green Focus. People thought I was weird. I called myself eccentric. The Avenger, however, has a whole different story.

I had told my parents I was thinking of getting a new car. This was of course last May. I was at my old job as a receptionist at the retirement village and I had to work for four hours on Saturdays. Well, one Saturday, I get a call from my parents asking me to step outside for a minute. When I did, I saw them drive up in this white car. They told me that they had gone car shopping in the morning and that they liked this car for me. I was then instructed to stop by the car dealership after work so I could sign the paperwork. When I got off work, I met them at the dealership. We talked for a few minutes in which I told them that I really wanted to just get another Focus. They said that they did not like the Focus anymore and that I needed something else. After that, I walked in and signed the papers. The car is under my name, purchased with my credit, I will be making the monthly payments, I am responsible for the insurance, in fact it's one hundred percent my car, except for the fact that I did not get to pick it.

I suffer from a big delusion. I think, and believe, inanimate objects have feelings. Which is part of the reason why I feel bad writing the next sentence. I am not sure I like my new car. It is not my style. Also, my parents took it to Mexico within a month of me buying it and tinted the windows dark. I guess that is OK, but it wasn't my choice as I tend to think of cars with tinted windows as drug dealer cars. Granted, that may be because I grew up in Juarez and drug dealers tended to tint their windows really dark. All I am saying is that it is not really my style. I still feel a disconnect between me and the new car. I think it comes from the fact that he really was not my number one option and that I did not have much choice in choosing him. Don't get me wrong, he has been a good car. That is until it broke down about a month ago.

I woke up on a Wednesday morning, got ready for work and stepped outside to go to work. I got into my car and turned the ignition on and, since I was a bit early, I even let it warm up a bit before I left. That's when things went wrong. When I went to shift into gear, I could not shift out of Park. I tried for a few minutes and, after failing repeatedly, I decided to take my dad's truck to work. Upon arriving at work, I consulted with several friends and got several tips on trying to get it to work. None of them worked when I tried them at lunch so I had to have it towed to the dealership to get it worked on. By Thursday, the car was working again.

It really wasn't anything more than a major inconvenience but it did get me thinking. Was I being unfair to him because I did not like him as much? Did he realize that he was the red-headed step child of my cars and thus was acting out? Had I hurt his feelings since I had not made an effort to bond with him? Was I taking him for granted and was he trying to teach me a lesson? While talking to The Co-Worker, her who convinced me to start writing a blog, I realized I had not even named this car yet. For one, she thought that cars having guy names was hilarious and was cracking up about Frank's name. But the fact that the Avenger did not have a name bothered me and we tried to come up with a few. We thought of Moby-Dick and such but nothing really seemed satisfactory which brings me to the title of this post, "If you had a white Dodge Avenger, what would you name him?"

I know I probably do not have a lot of readers left since I have been bad about writing often, but for those few of you that still read it, any and all suggestions will be appreciated. I don't have a picture of my car today but I will take one tomorrow and add it to this post to help give you an idea. Please help me bond to the car that I will have for the next four years at the very least. After all, he is a good car and it is not his fault that my parents chose him instead of me. He has performed admirably and he deserves a good name, won't you help him?


Picture courtesy of my friend Preggo (not her real name). Thanks for taking the picture Preggo!