The Unwanted

Well, this post has been a long time coming. For those of you who know me, I have ranted about The Unwanted for a long time now but it is time for me to share this with the rest of the world, or all 9 of you who actually follow this blog. But first, I gotta catch up on some things so give me a minute.

First of all, Happy Fourth of July!!! There, I have used up my patriotic spirit for the year. Come back next year and I may be able to summon one more. I may even be able to add an exclamation mark.

Second, I am giving up on ever getting the clipboard back. It has been too long and I am sure I am not getting it back now.  I should have kept that thief's phone number. Oh well, you live and you learn... and then you stop trusting strangers. A lesson, I feel, I should have learned earlier in life. I guess it is better late than never.

Third, I have come up with a name for my car. Thank you all who commented and provided input as to what the car's name should be, whether you did it online or in person. After much consideration, I am following GunDiva's advice and have decided that my car is a girl. I have also decided to call her Wilhemina. It is an awesome name and everyone that read her comment seemed to agree. However, a friend of mine who reads this blog yet never comments, and thus will be known by the moniker "He Who Reads from the Shadows", gave me the idea of giving it a nickname on top of the name. He provided many suggestions and I finally settle on one. Therefore, my car is a girl who shall henceforth be named Wilhemina and shall be known by the nickname "Dirty Willie". Yes, it's kind of a weird nickname but it is kind of fitting since I hardly ever wash it and because Wilhemina is too long a name to say so it's easier to shorten it to Willie. Also, Dirty Willie just sounds good because it lends itself to many puns and double entendres. You can like it or not, my mind is made up.

Fourth, for those of you who have been wondering about the Sons of Pitches, our softball team, and our progress, I must say we have been doing great, even though we have lost both games we have played so far. It does not matter, we have only lost by one run every single time and we have had a blast playing. Also, sometimes it is better to lose than to go on to extra innings. I am just saying. I am also proud to announce that so far I have only been responsible for three outs. I have been struck out once and, though I have hit the ball twice, I have been tagged at first every time. If nothing else, we have an awesome name. The last team we played kept saying how much they liked the name "Sons of Pitches" during the hand shaking at the end of the game. So, we might have lost the game but our name was cooler so I think that makes us winners. I shall keep you updated on the progress.

Fifth, and last, I hope you guys enjoy the little mini post series of reasons why I am going to hell. As you can tell, my blogs are usually too long so I am glad I have a way now to post something small every now and then. I hope you enjoyed the first installment on the series. I have the next one ready to go but I needed to write today's post before posting the next one or otherwise it would make no sense.

Now, today's topic, The Unwanted...

A couple of weeks ago, on a Tuesday to be exact, I came home from work and took a nap. (Stick with me, the story picks up after a while.) This to mean that I did not talk to my parents until about nine at night when I left my room in search of sustenance. While talking to my mom, she casually states that aunt, one of my dad's sisters, had called to inform us that they, meaning her family composed of her and her husband and their three kids, would be arriving on Friday. Count the days, that is only a three days notice. I groaned and complained and whiningly asked how long they were gonna be here. I was given the good news that their stay was of an undetermined length because they were coming to try and find a job. Remember, this was only a three days notice they gave us. I went into freak-out mode.

I started thinking of all that I had to do and how I did not like kids. The first thing out of my mouth was "Well, I am going to have to start taking my laptop to work."  My dad seemed to be a little upset at this and told me that they were not going to allow the kids in my room when they were here, which I had already assumed was a given. I happened to point out, and my mom backed me up on this, that we had to work during the day and those kids are not the most disciplined kids we know. He seemed to understand a little more and said nothing more on the subject.

I was also informed that I was gonna have to clean my room before they got here. I was flabbergasted at this news. Cleaning my room is usually a full week's undertaking. I am not dirty, per se, but my room does tend to get cluttered. I call it organized chaos. My room may look like a mess, but I know exactly where everything is. Now I had to clean and organize everything in two days, since they were arriving in the third day.  I was just daunted by such an undertaking. Usually I would employ a three day weekend from dawn til dusk to do so and I had to do it in two evenings.

Needless to say I was pissed off. I may or may not have wished they would have a car wreck on their way here so they would not make it. Yes, I know how horrible that sounds and that is one of the reasons I am going to hell that comprise reasons one to seventy-six. They would have had it coming though. It is just plain rude, if you ask me, to give someone such short notice for moving in. They must have known for a while that they were gonna do so. A decision to uproot your family is not made overnight. It's not like we could deny them shelter. They are from El Paso and we have stayed with them plenty of times on our way to Mexico. We have never, however, stayed for more than a few days and we have always given them at least two weeks notice.

As time drew nearer to their arrival, I kept thinking of ways to safeguard my stuff.  I even asked my parents if I could use a padlock. They mentioned that a padlock would not look good on a bedroom door. I guess they did not understand that I meant to use the padlock on the front door. Apparently, you can't lock out your relatives. I don't see why not. Stupid societal rules.

They arrived on Friday evening. Thankfully, I had practice with the Sons of Pitches and was not there when they arrived. When I got home from practice, I said hi, took a shower and left for my best friend's house where I spend the weekend. I came back on Sunday for the first Sons of Pitches games, against a team by the name of "The Shockers", which cracked everyone in our team up. We still think they have no idea what their name means. For those of you reading this that are also in the dark, urbandictionary.com can clear things up for you. After the game, some of the players went to the pool and, despite it being Father's Day and my family having a cook out, I went with them because I did not want to deal with The Unwanted. This is also included in reasons 1-76 of why I am going to hell.

I had been told how I would have to be social and nice. So far, nice for me has been not yelling at the unwanted kids for daring to talk to me. I have stayed in my room for the most part since they have been here. Luckily, my aunt's husband went back to El Paso a few days after arriving. I was not aware of this for a while but it made my day when I found out. Not that I don't like him. Let's just say that if there was a world catastrophe, he would not be very high on my list of people I would make sure survived. I think he would make the list, I just am not certain of it.

As for now, The Unwanted consists of four people:

The Unwanted Aunt is my dad's sister. I have never really liked her much. I remember a Christmas, a long time ago, when she got everyone of my cousins and my siblings really cool toys as gifts and yet I got a notepad and some pencils (not colored pencils, just pencils). I was actually really happy to get a gift so I did not mind. It was not until later that someone, maybe Medea, told me that the reason I got such a crappy gift was because my aunt had forgotten about me completely so when she saw me at the Christmas party she wrapped the first thing she could find. I was not even aware that my gift was crappy but leave it to Medea to burst a young boy's bubble.  I guess I should be upset that Medea told me that, but I was never really close to my aunt so I just have never felt really close to her or cared much for her.

The Unwanted Boy is the Unwanted Aunt's oldest child. I think he is about thirteen but I am not sure because I could ask but I could not care less. He is annoying in that way in which kids who never know when to shut the hell up are. He is the constant questioner with the "but why?" questions. He is a thorn on my side and one of the main reasons why I stay in my room. So far, he has asked to use my iTunes account and annoyed me beyond belief when I said no because he did not understand why I would not. A simple, because I don't want to did not suffice.

The Unwanted Girl 1 is the middle child of the Unwanted Aunt's family.  She is kind of quiet and possibly the one I can deal with the most. Not that I want to deal with but if they were all to die and I was asked, forced, to choose one to live, it would probably be her. I have no clue what her age is either but she is younger than 13. The one thing I have noticed about her is that she giggles a lot and I can't stand her giggling. It is still better than the relentless questioning of Unwanted Boy.

The Unwanted Girl 2 is the youngest of the Unwanted Clan. She is spoiled beyond belief. She is about 8, though I may be off on that. So far, I have heard her whine instead of talking when she wants something and it took everything in me to not reach out and slap her and see if she stopped. What's interesting is that I am not usually a violent person. I also heard her cry once and I couldn't stand that either so I guess I am glad I did not slap her because she would have gone from one annoying sound to another. Oh and because it would be wrong to slap her, regardless of how much she deserved it. I think.

So these are the people I have been having to deal with. Four new and annoying people all crammed into the one extra bedroom we have. They have been hogging everything. They ate all my oreos! (In case you are wondering because of that last statement, I am 26 years old at the time I am writing this.) They have been using my internet because I was asked, forced, by my dad to give them the key for the wireless modem. I have not stopped being spiteful though. Every morning before going to work, I start downloading videos on my laptop, which I decided to leave here to see if they dare face the consequences of touching my stuff, so that it will slow down their internet access. Yes, I know I am evil and a master of passive-aggressiveness thanks to Medea, but as He Who Reads from the Shadows said to me when I was telling him of my woes, "Family are like fish, after three days they start to stink." I may have misquoted but you get the gist of it.

So far, I have survived but keep me in your thoughts because if they push me the wrong way I am not responsible for my actions. That is my defense and, though it may not hold in court, I am sticking to it for now. As usual, I will keep you updated on any new happenings. Write to you guys later!

I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad friend.

And a bad blogger to boot. Honestly, I have had some things to write about for a while. I just haven't made myself get on here and get with it lately. Let me update you on a few things first. No, I have not gotten my clipboard back. Yes, I wussed out and turned in her application so I don't have the thief's number anymore. I think this is a lost cause so I may have to let it go. You gotta know when to cut your losses. Next, unfortunately my jersey number for The Sons of Pitches will not be Pi, but 42. Or 44. At this point, who cares, right? Just kidding. I still love the team and am looking forward to our fourth practice. I have realized though that the sport is a lot more dangerous than I was initially told. For example, on our second practice, a ball hit me on my left thigh. I am not saying I overreacted, but I wore an athletic cup for the third practice. But when one of our teammates got hit on the chin with the ball on our third practice, I realize that a cup is not enough. I need a freakin' suit of armor to play this sport. Unfortunately, those are not easily accessible or conductive to a good range of movement. Plus, I don't think it would meet the uniform requirements. All caught up? Let's move on.

Allow me to whine for a moment. I had a horrible week. It didn't start out too bad. I was off Monday since it was Memorial Day (insert something good about soldiers here to make you feel better and make me look good). But Tuesday, oh god Tuesday, was a whole different story. Now I don't want to be all gross, but we all know I am going to so brace yourself. Let's just say that, halfway through my morning shift at work, I kept getting the urge to pee. Let's also say that, right before lunch, I realized I was peeing blood. I don't wanna say this scared the living daylights out of me, but I started writing a will before realizing I had nothing to bequeath to anyone but debts. So during lunch I went home and looked at the ever handy WebMD site. It said that it was likely a urinary tract infection. Under home remedies, it said to drink lots of fluids and specifically cranberry juice. I called work and informed them that I would be unable to return to work and immediately headed to the grocery store to buy cranberry juice. I got one of those one liter bottles of it and downed it hoping it would help. Let me just say this, cranberry juice should never be drunk without some form of liquor accompanying it. Then I just sat at the toilet for the next few hours as the urge to pee would not abate and it was pointless to go anywhere. I cannot say if the juice did much but by the end of the day I had stopped peeing blood, even though the discomfort was still there, and I thought the worst was over.

I was wrong. On Wednesday I got up and figured I would go to work. I realized, when I was driving to work, that I wasn't all there. My reaction time was slower than usual and I was moving slow. Well, slower. Touche. I must say that I hate doctors. The last time I went to one, I was forced to go by my parents. This time, I willingly made an appointment and left work shortly after I had arrived.

Later that morning when I got to the doctor's office, he was not too happy with the fact that I had not had a physical in over ten years and that I had not had a tetanus shot in just about as long. He asked what my symptoms were and I described them to him, adding that now I actually had body aches and was sore all over. He proceeded to examine me, a bit too roughly if you ask me. I mean, when he was checking for hernias and asked me to cough, I could swear he applied so much pressure a tear may have slid down my cheek. Then again, my body was just probably a bit more tender because of being sick but I still held a grudge. To make matters worse, he looked perplexed when he announced that I had a urinary tract infection. He said that men rarely ever got them. I did not say much, but what the hell? Was he questioning my manhood? I mean, he knew I was a guy. He almost made me cry while handling my equipment. Can you see why I hate doctors? Also, he said guys "rarely" got them. He did not say "never." Let's just say I was happy to get my prescription for antibiotics and get going.

Does the story get better? For most people it would after that. For me, it did not. I dropped the prescription at the pharmacy and they told me it was going to be about an hour and a half. I asked, very nice and politely, if they would please give me a call when they got the prescription ready. The nice lady said she would, so, when I got home I took a nap trusting I would receive a call to wake me up and pick my meds up. Four hours later, Medea got home from work. First thing she asked was why did I not go to work. Simple enough, I did not feel well. Plus, I did go to work, I just did not stay. I told her I had to go get my meds and she said that she would offer to go get them for me but she had to cook dinner. I figured that was fair so I went and got my own meds. They are supposed to be taken with food so I also bought a whole bunch of cans of chicken noodle soup and I picked up some Azo the doctor had recommended. For those of you who don't know what Azo is, and I speak mainly to any guy readers I might have (as if!), Azo is a urinary analgesic that makes peeing less painful when you have a UTI. It also makes your pee a bright orange which is really weird. Back to the story, I get home and start preparing a can of soup for myself so I can take the meds. I am moving really slow as my whole body aches and I am really tired. Medea, upon noticing my state, commented that the reason I felt so miserable was because I was just too lazy and had slept the day away. Oh My Freaking god!!! I could have slapped her if it hadn't taken so much energy. I was furious though. There I was taking care of myself, making my own soup, picking up my own meds, feeling like I am dying, and she has the decency to say that. She did not stop there. She said that if I wanted to feel better, I should clean around the house. When I did not respond to that she then suggested I just go outside and just walk or run for a while so I could shake the lethargy off. She wanted me to go running! I could not believe it. I was speechless, which was a good thing because who knows what I would have said. I did get her back a few minutes later though because she said that she had a headache. I quickly suggested that she go for a run to get rid of her headache. Funny, right? She didn't think so. So now she was mad because I was upset because of what she said. I have no idea how she does it, but she always turns things around and gets mad at me for being offended because she insulted me.

Anyway, I would love to say that I felt better right away but I actually felt worse before I felt better. That night I had a fever of 101 degrees. Not too high a fever. What sucked though is that I had not had a fever in over twenty years and I can no longer say that. But it does paint a picture of how sick I was. In the past, regardless of how sick I got, I had never gotten a fever. I would get close, but no fever. That is when I started worrying. That night was the toughest one but once the fever broke, the worst was over. I still took Thursday off to fully rest and allow the meds to get me back to feeling better and take away all the pains and aches. The headache was the last to leave on Thursday night.

I don't want to say I have become paranoid, especially since I have been one to always check my urine to make sure I am drinking enough water, but let's just say I pay extra attention now. Unfortunately, I scared the hell out of myself Friday at work when I went to pee and realized my urine was a bright red. I almost had a mini-panic attack, which is not good when you are using a urinal and you have to keep aiming, until I realized that I was still taking the freaking Azo and just had not had enough water because I had been busy at work. That is one of the most relieving realizations I have had while relieving myself.

So that is my week in a nut shell. Why then is my post called "I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad friend?" Give me a minute. I am getting to it. I just don't know the meaning of the word "brevity." Anyway, when I posted on my facebook that I wasn't feeling well, I was flooded with people asking if they could do anything for me or bring me some soup. I even had someone offer something that made me blush. Well, it didn't make me blush so much as it made me wonder what the hell he was thinking. But I digress. My best friend checked up on me daily and kept asking if I needed anything and could not be any sweeter. She kept saying that if it weren't for my parents she would come see me and see what I needed. I called her today after work to let her know I was all better and I find out that she has strep throat. I had nothing to say other than, "well, call me when you get better." See how horrible that is? But I could not bring myself to offer anything. I mean, I am still on antibiotics and I am pretty sure my immune system is still down and I already spent a whole week sick. I can't risk getting strep. Yes, I am selfish. One thing I can guarantee though, I will not tell her to go running so that she will feel better. Hey, I guess I am not that bad after all, right?

First Amendment

To those that are wondering from my last post, I still have not received my clipboard back. To make matters worse, I have already lost two pens since Friday. I guess I am too nice for my own good. People, man! They just bring you down, turn you into a monster and then call you one. Still, I am holding out hope that I will see my clipboard back. Oh, where is my clipboard?

Moving on, if you have read my last blog, in addition to being up to date on the clipboard situation, you also know I spent last weekend helping a friend move. Now, I live my life by a set of rules. Some are inane ones like I have to eat the fortune cookie before I read the fortune. Don't look at me like I am weird. I am not the only one who does that... I think. Anyway, some rules I have set just to protect myself and my right to be lazy. One such rule is "I will never help anyone move, regardless of whether they are my friends or not." I have worked hard to uphold this rule. I have gone as far as to introduce myself by saying, "Hi, my name is Carlos and I will never ever help you move regardless of whether or not we become friends." Yes, this sounds funny and insincere. It usually works as a really good icebreaker too. Unfortunately, people rarely believe me and later on the road, once we are friends and they are moving, they ask if I am willing to help them move. To this I reply by simply saying, "Do you remember what I said when I first met you?" They often don't and I am only too glad to remind them. They always say that they thought I was kidding. And I always tell them that I wasn't and that regardless of how good friends we are, I hate moving and will not help them.

Heartless? Callous? Mean? Maybe. But the important thing to remember is that this makes me happy. I don't have to lift heavy boxes and move furniture or make a million trips up and down stairs hauling someone else's stuff and being paid with nothing but some fast food and a soda. I am sorry but gratitude is not enough payment for all that hard work. I like having people feel like they owe me, but they will never be able to pay me back if I help them move. I think by now I have made it clear that I hate, loathe, despise and abhor moving.

This brings me to the first amendment in my book of rules. It goes like this: "I will never help you move. This applies to all my friends and acquaintances." There is however one exception. "If your name is followed by the title of "friend" and this title has the modifier "best" in front of it, then, and only then, will I help you move. Only one person shall have the modifier "best" in front of the "friend" title at any point in time. Offer not valid with any other promotions. I reserve the right to change the terms of this exception at any point in time with or without further notice."

This is actually the first time I put this exception in writing. I only noticed it myself this past weekend. Looking back, this exception has applied since the establishing of the rule. I helped my previous best friend move twice. Once, it was even to a city 200 miles away. Now, I have helped my new best friend move. Yes, I carried boxes and moved furniture and even used tools. What did I get out of it? Well, we ate pizza and had a few drinks. But as with a lot of things in life, it is not what you are doing but who you are doing it with that matters. I guess I am a better friend than I care to admit. There is really not much I would not do for my friends. But let's keep that our little secret.

Oh, and by the way, to all of my readers, old and new, known and unknown, regardless of whether or not we ever become friends, I will never, EVER help you move.

No More Mr. Nice Guy

So this is my first attempt at writing a blog that will be posted later. At this precise moment it is 5:28 pm on Saturday, May 01, 2010. I am in Euless helping my best friend move. Unfortunately, since she is just now moving, she does not have internet access. I bet it will be fun trying to copy and paste this onto Blogger since I have not as of yet figured out how to do that. I bet there is a simple way of doing it but I still haven’t found it yet. Give me time. Have some faith in me and I will figure it out. Also, if you have any hints and tips, they are more than welcome. It is not that I am the least computer literate man in the whole wide world but I have no idea how to write html. Still, if you are reading this right now, it means that I somehow managed to transcribe this post onto Blogger. Or, that after hours and hours of trying, I finally gave up and re-typed the whole thing. Luckily, I don’t expect this post to be as long as my last one so, even if I have to re-type it, it won’t be that much work. There is nothing wrong with work but I am lazy first and foremost and, though I know I have an obligation to you guys, I have been lazy for far longer than I have been a blogger, so my loyalty lies with laziness.

Anyway, I work at a front desk where I have my own sign-in sheet and everything. A sign-in sheet that requires its very own pen so that people can write their own names when coming into the office. Unfortunately, said pen is hard to keep at the desk. It often finds a way to disappear from the desk. I have lost so many pens that I have had to resort to getting nothing but cheap pens in an effort to dissuade people from taking them, but that approach has proved unsuccessful. People continue to take my pens regardless of how value-less they are. To make matters worse, I have seen people take the pens. Unfortunately, I am not assertive enough to stop the thieves in their tracks and reclaim the pens. Thus I quietly watch my pens as they depart never to be seen again.

Thursday, though, something changed.

About fifteen minutes before we closed, a lady walked into the building. She needed to fill out some paperwork. I handed her a clipboard and a pen so that she would be able to have a sit while I attended some other people that had walked in. A few minutes later, someone else walked in and, as I was helping this new person, the lady returned her paperwork to me and left. Once I closed the door after the last client, I returned to my desk to straighten everything out before I left. That’s when I noticed that the pen I had lent the lady was not there. Not only that but I was missing a clipboard. I would have been really upset, but it was time to go home and I try to leave work at work. I went home for the day and did not let it bother me.

Friday morning rolls around and when I get to my desk, I noticed the empty space where the clipboard usually sits. Since I was now on the clock, I resumed my indignation. I thought about it long and hard and decided to look up the form the lady turned in and see if there was a phone number. There was. After lengthy consideration, I called the number and left this really nice and polite message:

“Hi, my name is Carlos and I am calling from the [place where I work]. Sorry to bother you but I realized this morning that I don’t know where the clipboard you used yesterday is. If you can give me a call back and let me know if you remember where you left it, I would greatly appreciate it. I don’t see it anywhere and I don’t want to just leave it lying around anywhere. Our number is (###) ###-####. Thank you for your time.”

I realize the message is a bit petty. I was careful though not to sound rude or to accuse her of taking it, as I did not want to offend her… much. I was not gonna take it lying down anymore. I was going to try to get it back, or at least let them know it is not acceptable to take things just because. I have lost many pens, but a clipboard was taking it too far. Thirty minutes after I left the message I got a call from that lady. She said that she apologized, but that she had mistakenly taken the clipboard with her and had not realized it until she was half way home and, since she lived thirty minutes away and she knew we’d be closed, she did not turn back to return it. Still maintaining a sense of decorum I said that I had asked just because I wanted to make sure that I had not just misplaced the clipboard. She said that she would try to bring it back next time she came to town. I said that I would appreciate it greatly.

Needless to say, she learned not to mess with me. She also said that my message had made her laugh which might mean that she still did not take me seriously but I have become a force to be reckoned with. I will not let people walk all over me anymore. Granted, I still haven’t got my clipboard back and I am unsure of whether I will. But I stood up for myself. Later on Friday, I was actually bold enough to ask someone to give me my pen back when she was leaving. It’s a brand new me. Pretty much like the old me, but more assertive. I shall keep you posted on the clipboard situation, meaning whether or not I ever get it back.