They say you can never go Home...

Soldiers of Sparta were allowed to return home after lost battles, only if carried dead upon their shields. I'm convinced this is a more practical and time-saving way to go about it.

Sunday, September 04, 2005

My brother was relating a story tonight, about a customer that he waited upon at the Incredibly Mediocre Italian Restaurant where he works.

The customer was an older woman, shaved bald, with a bandana around her head. He brought her the lunch she ordered, and after eating it for maybe five minutes, asked for a box to take it home with her.

My brother, attempting to be polite, asked if everything was to her liking.

She replied, “Oh, yes. I have Brain Cancer, and it’s difficult for me to eat very much.”

My brother, naturally horrified, expressed his condolences like a madman and made sure to take good care of her for the remainder of the meal.

“What the hell is someone supposed to say to that?” my brother asked us all.
Dad was thoughtful for a moment, and said, “You should tell her: ‘Well, if you keep eating here, you’re going to get rectal cancer, too.’”

Thursday, September 01, 2005

A Year in Numbers

It has been well over a year now, since the Year of Zeke was begun. And, it must be owned, a rather long time since any post was posted, from the time whence the year was truly a year.

I feel that there is much relevant for me to document about how Life is; much that I would like to preserve and crystallize upon the interstices of the electronic interweb for my own future arrangement and rearrangement.

Of perhaps greatest relevance would be to get brave and finish writing how things ultimately went down, regarding my dad and working for him. But for the meantime, I have decided that the Year of Zeke will be the Year(s) of Zeke.

I have also decided, in the interests of time, to resort to the type of copy usually found in New
Years Eve additions of any given city newspaper; a sort of Bests and Worsts of the years, to fill in for the missing months.

1 = The number of car-related accidents

2 = The number of syphilitic, decroded rental cars used while car was repaired

40 = The duration in minutes of my morning commute.

80 = The duration, in minutes, of my evening commute.

1= The number of coworkers who have confessed their love for me

1 = The number of microseconds I hesitated while considering the possibility of dating a coworker again.

50% = The probability that I have successfully and politely extricated myself from the above expectation of romance.

1 = The number of female coworkers who has confessed her true hatred for me (to everyone else except me, of course).

2 = Number of attempts above coworker has made to torpedo my fledgling career

100% = The likelihood that above mentioned coworker is a bitch of the highest magnitude who will remain bitter and unmarried for the rest of her miserable life.

3= The number of small (albeit controllable) laboratory fires which have been caused by Yours Truly.

2 = Number of Job offers I have been offered since becoming a temporary worker.

1 = The number of above offers coming from California

Countless = the number of times I contemplated moving back to California.

3= The number of successful mortgage approvals.

1 = The number of offers made on a new abode for Yours Truly

1 = The number of offers accepted on aforementioned abode.

1= The number of mortgage brokers I have fired for being generally incompetent and fucking with my livelihood, by virtue of their incompetence.

1 = The number of broken-hearted younger brothers, whose girlfriend admitted she kissed his (former) friend.

1 = The number of sisters fervently debating how to let said boyfriend know that she wants to get married, without sounding like a total bitch.

33 = Number of miles round trip to get to work

Jobs quit = Two

Quitted Jobs Regretted = Zero

Level of intensity for the gratitude of having quitted those jobs = Avogadro’s number. Multiplied by Faraday’s Constant. Divided by 1 over infinity.

Number of jobs currently holding down= Two

Number of hours I generally work: at least 55.

Number of times sexually harassed while working as a Temp: potentially once

Endured number of attempts to Get Me Fired after rebuffing potential sexual advances in a gentle, naïve way: Three NASTY weeks worth.

Satisfaction derived from seeing this bitch get fired and me getting hired on full time: Godiva Chocolate to the power of 18.

Other Highlights:

  • I turned twenty-seven. I moved out of the compound.
  • I bought my own place and became a homeowner.
  • I made some really good friends.
  • Told my good friends that I’m still a virgin.
  • Learned that my ex girlfriend was a slut, who really just wanted to get laid, and got tired for waiting for me. And therefore dumped me. (And here I thought I was being really forward.) Decided that being a virgin might be worthless at this point. And that I am a total idiot.
  • Had somewhat of a spiritual breakdown about this decision, which is sometimes still in progress, depending on my need for deep emotional drama in my life.
  • Decided that I do belong in grad school, in one form or another, no doubt about it.
  • Taught the Nervous Beagle to understand German.
  • Inclination for the Nervous Beagle to listen to me when outside, irrespective of language employed: Absolute zero degrees Kelvin minus two.
  • I cut my hair really short.
  • Lost about 20 pounts.
  • Shaved off all my chest hair, on a whim.
  • Went clubbing, met girls, danced with several of them.
  • Went to a gay bar and had a good time, despite learning about sexual toys that will do some gnarly things to a dudes testicles (they had a gift shop).
  • Improved my tennis game immeasurably, though my backhand remains a travesty.
  • Swam 2.8 miles in the Gulf of Mexico, without vomiting on the teeming shores at the termination of the race.