I just had a thought.
It's amazing how you'll never run out of days in your life time, and each day is the result of the decisions, the attitude that you take.
Hmmm... so am I stoned? No, not for years.
Am I trying to write a chapter in a self-help book? Nah..
No, It's just one of those kind of days.
First of all, this Monday I worked over the weekend doing manual labor, not the sit on your ass bit wrangling I normally do. This was paint prep work: scrubbing walls, ripping up tile, tearing down an old bookcase, sanding, scraping, putting things in boxes, etc.
So after a very busy Sunday I walk into work dogass tired and sore.
Things start badly when boss (call him Lumberg) asks co-worker, "So make any progress over the weekend?" Lumberg has a black eye for some reason and a new haircut that makes him look very odd and stupid.
Lumberg made an ass of himself last week when he brought the not ready, untested product to corporate headquarters in Dallas against our consensus and common sense. Guess what? It didn't work. Wow, what a surprise. Can you believe it.
So he has egg on his face and a black eye to boot. Supposedly his dog jumped and hit him in the face. That's my kind of dog. Well anyway now he got a licking he wants to distribute it to us.
The co-worker responds to Lumberg's question with a lame, "I tried but couldn't get much done". Great, now it emboldens him to expect this.
So then Lumberg asks me for "status" on how I'm doing. Well, I tell him I sent an email explaining it last Friday before I left. Lumberg presses with, "Well, how about over the weekend?"
I tell him, "I didn't do anything related to work over the weekend.. That's what weekends are for, right?"
"Okay, I'll let it slide this time".
"Thanks asshole" I'm thinking so hard it was just struggling to break out loud. So I'm pretty pissed and edgey already first thing and I haven't even had a cup of coffe yet.
Mr. Dumbass Lumberg doesn't realize that he's just done a great job of motivating me... to quit, to do jack all day because I feel like like saying, "Fuck you!" right to his face.
ahh... forget the anger
So throughout the day I'm on irc bitching to everyone else in the office about Lumberg and other assorted things.
I do what I want which is to get my new Perfect Circle CD-ROM/DVD playing. This leads to a chain of getting the latest mplayer, the latest sound and video drivers, etc. Finally, I have it all setup, video with audio playing a DVD.
Later I tried to actually get something done. You know, like that "work" stuff that they pay you money to do.
So I end up staying late -- the last person. Everyone's gone.
I'm thinking, hey I have something I downloaded that I never got to work right before, namely: Paris Hilton sex tape.
Cool! This work crap always gets in the way of fun stuff, so I copy it over from my home box and then there it is on a 21" monitor in all her green night-vision glory Paris Hilton is getting worked in my cubicle.
In my mind this somehow countered the day's Lumberg effect.
watch out I'm regressing
Yep, well then I visit the GF. That is a very long and tangled subject but anyway I make the 3 to 4 times a week 50 mile round trip to see her.
avoid that subject
On the way back at about 11pm. I go the usual way past the same strip club that I've drove past a thousand times or more. I've only been in once six years or more ago.
For whatever reason, whatever impulse, I feel like going in. I drive into the parking lot and sit there nervous for a while.
...
Back when I was about 20 or 21 I was something of a typical adolescent, screw-up escapist sort of life at home with mom. That was a time when I actually had too much free time on my hands.
I'd like to go for walks around the neighborhood. I was something of a inconspicuous, mildly degenerate mexican-food loving kind of guy.
I had my rituals -- the tall boy and burrito combo, the walk to the field to get away from it all and look down at the bay and the freeways with the cars like ants.
I had a real pot smoking phase about that time -- forays down the canyon trail smoking jays behind bushes.
I'd wander down the hill and walk through an industrial area near the railroad tracks. It was an eery area because at night it was so quiet, yet so brighly lit. It was all washed out yellow from the mercury street lights. I used to like to take photos there.
One time in particular I remember I smoked a cig tightly stuffed with pot (my favorite technique -- a stocky, stealthy joint) I smoked it right out in the open as I walked down the empty brightly lit street at night letting out an enormous cloud of smoke. Stoned in minutes.
I liked the freedom of it. The unexpectedness of where I would end up or where I'd go.
Sometimes I'd end up really baked drinking a beer in a strip club. It was something of a reverie just to totally space out to the music watching boobs. I'd sip a beer and soak up the atmosphere.
It was warm, smoky, and sleazy.
I guess you could say that was something of an angst fuelled, escapist, rebellious, isolated wierdo trip that I went on for a while.
Sometimes I'd go out with the guys in party mode to strip joints but it wasn't the same. Maybe as a prelude to or accessory to regular drinking, or pool playing, but not as an event of itself. I prefered my low-key tripped out version.
I didn't go much except for that time for about a year.
.....
Anyway, back to tonight.
I get out of my car and tentatively walk in. There wasn't even anyone at the door. No charge. No doorman.
Take a leak. Sit down.
There was a lithe, dark haired girl. I like the glasses, the tats and the not-too-big breasts.
But then the strippers start coming at me fishing for lap dances. In general any woman in high-pressure salesman mode is not appealing. I really didn't even want to be appealed to by anything or anyone in the first place.
Seeing me for the out of place freak that I am they must have adjusted their pitch, "She's new there...'".
Okay... just a nervous polite response saying something like, "Just thought I'd come in and chill for a while"
Man, that must sound lame though.
How about, "Sorry I know you're trying to make a living and you must be repulsed by every man that walks in here, but I'm here for no rational reason that I can think of and I'm not like the horny out-of-control animals you must normally see every day that give you $10 bills so you can rub your ass in their face".
Maybe that would have been better.
Well then soon after I just walked out.
I couldn't get into anything of course. I didn't expect to.
I just wanted hit the "reset" button on my brain, my life.
So anyway.... what hell does this all mean anyway?
Maybe it's rebellion against Lumberg, the job, the lifestyle of the last several years
It's like going back in a cycle.
You got some of the same factors rearranged and refurbished in new forms -- the isolation, the transition, the anxiousness from the chasm that's opening up around me.
Just another day, another mystery.
And lot of more days to go....
It's amazing how you'll never run out of days in your life time, and each day is the result of the decisions, the attitude that you take.
Hmmm... so am I stoned? No, not for years.
Am I trying to write a chapter in a self-help book? Nah..
No, It's just one of those kind of days.
First of all, this Monday I worked over the weekend doing manual labor, not the sit on your ass bit wrangling I normally do. This was paint prep work: scrubbing walls, ripping up tile, tearing down an old bookcase, sanding, scraping, putting things in boxes, etc.
So after a very busy Sunday I walk into work dogass tired and sore.
Things start badly when boss (call him Lumberg) asks co-worker, "So make any progress over the weekend?" Lumberg has a black eye for some reason and a new haircut that makes him look very odd and stupid.
Lumberg made an ass of himself last week when he brought the not ready, untested product to corporate headquarters in Dallas against our consensus and common sense. Guess what? It didn't work. Wow, what a surprise. Can you believe it.
So he has egg on his face and a black eye to boot. Supposedly his dog jumped and hit him in the face. That's my kind of dog. Well anyway now he got a licking he wants to distribute it to us.
The co-worker responds to Lumberg's question with a lame, "I tried but couldn't get much done". Great, now it emboldens him to expect this.
So then Lumberg asks me for "status" on how I'm doing. Well, I tell him I sent an email explaining it last Friday before I left. Lumberg presses with, "Well, how about over the weekend?"
I tell him, "I didn't do anything related to work over the weekend.. That's what weekends are for, right?"
"Okay, I'll let it slide this time".
"Thanks asshole" I'm thinking so hard it was just struggling to break out loud. So I'm pretty pissed and edgey already first thing and I haven't even had a cup of coffe yet.
Mr. Dumbass Lumberg doesn't realize that he's just done a great job of motivating me... to quit, to do jack all day because I feel like like saying, "Fuck you!" right to his face.
ahh... forget the anger
So throughout the day I'm on irc bitching to everyone else in the office about Lumberg and other assorted things.
I do what I want which is to get my new Perfect Circle CD-ROM/DVD playing. This leads to a chain of getting the latest mplayer, the latest sound and video drivers, etc. Finally, I have it all setup, video with audio playing a DVD.
Later I tried to actually get something done. You know, like that "work" stuff that they pay you money to do.
So I end up staying late -- the last person. Everyone's gone.
I'm thinking, hey I have something I downloaded that I never got to work right before, namely: Paris Hilton sex tape.
Cool! This work crap always gets in the way of fun stuff, so I copy it over from my home box and then there it is on a 21" monitor in all her green night-vision glory Paris Hilton is getting worked in my cubicle.
In my mind this somehow countered the day's Lumberg effect.
watch out I'm regressing
Yep, well then I visit the GF. That is a very long and tangled subject but anyway I make the 3 to 4 times a week 50 mile round trip to see her.
avoid that subject
On the way back at about 11pm. I go the usual way past the same strip club that I've drove past a thousand times or more. I've only been in once six years or more ago.
For whatever reason, whatever impulse, I feel like going in. I drive into the parking lot and sit there nervous for a while.
...
Back when I was about 20 or 21 I was something of a typical adolescent, screw-up escapist sort of life at home with mom. That was a time when I actually had too much free time on my hands.
I'd like to go for walks around the neighborhood. I was something of a inconspicuous, mildly degenerate mexican-food loving kind of guy.
I had my rituals -- the tall boy and burrito combo, the walk to the field to get away from it all and look down at the bay and the freeways with the cars like ants.
I had a real pot smoking phase about that time -- forays down the canyon trail smoking jays behind bushes.
I'd wander down the hill and walk through an industrial area near the railroad tracks. It was an eery area because at night it was so quiet, yet so brighly lit. It was all washed out yellow from the mercury street lights. I used to like to take photos there.
One time in particular I remember I smoked a cig tightly stuffed with pot (my favorite technique -- a stocky, stealthy joint) I smoked it right out in the open as I walked down the empty brightly lit street at night letting out an enormous cloud of smoke. Stoned in minutes.
I liked the freedom of it. The unexpectedness of where I would end up or where I'd go.
Sometimes I'd end up really baked drinking a beer in a strip club. It was something of a reverie just to totally space out to the music watching boobs. I'd sip a beer and soak up the atmosphere.
It was warm, smoky, and sleazy.
I guess you could say that was something of an angst fuelled, escapist, rebellious, isolated wierdo trip that I went on for a while.
Sometimes I'd go out with the guys in party mode to strip joints but it wasn't the same. Maybe as a prelude to or accessory to regular drinking, or pool playing, but not as an event of itself. I prefered my low-key tripped out version.
I didn't go much except for that time for about a year.
.....
Anyway, back to tonight.
I get out of my car and tentatively walk in. There wasn't even anyone at the door. No charge. No doorman.
Take a leak. Sit down.
There was a lithe, dark haired girl. I like the glasses, the tats and the not-too-big breasts.
But then the strippers start coming at me fishing for lap dances. In general any woman in high-pressure salesman mode is not appealing. I really didn't even want to be appealed to by anything or anyone in the first place.
Seeing me for the out of place freak that I am they must have adjusted their pitch, "She's new there...'".
Okay... just a nervous polite response saying something like, "Just thought I'd come in and chill for a while"
Man, that must sound lame though.
How about, "Sorry I know you're trying to make a living and you must be repulsed by every man that walks in here, but I'm here for no rational reason that I can think of and I'm not like the horny out-of-control animals you must normally see every day that give you $10 bills so you can rub your ass in their face".
Maybe that would have been better.
Well then soon after I just walked out.
I couldn't get into anything of course. I didn't expect to.
I just wanted hit the "reset" button on my brain, my life.
So anyway.... what hell does this all mean anyway?
Maybe it's rebellion against Lumberg, the job, the lifestyle of the last several years
It's like going back in a cycle.
You got some of the same factors rearranged and refurbished in new forms -- the isolation, the transition, the anxiousness from the chasm that's opening up around me.
Just another day, another mystery.
And lot of more days to go....
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
Engrossing words you put together above.
Reads like the first pages of a novel. I love the idea of strip clubs, but the reality of them is hit and miss for me. Haven't been many times, but I've been enough to know it is hit, and miss. The MOST fun I had in one was when I went with a group of girls. God, one girl nearly molested me and it was all in good fun. There were enough bouncers there that it was safe for us all. It was in Vegas. Club Paradise.
...roadtrip?
s