I Dare You To Try And Figure That One Out

The countdown is set to Alex Rodriguez.

Είναι πιθανός της παράφρονος μετάβασης πραγματικά συμπαθει ένα κορίτσι;

K bye.

The Lesson, As Always....

I'd headbutt, but I don't really mean it.

First things first: I'm an idiot.

An ability to deal with pressure is always something I've prided myself on. I like to think that when stuff needs to happen, or things are tight, I have the power, near almost an ability to will myself, to come through (despite what you might think, pressure is not what caused us to have three straight 3rd's in the 4x400. I did not collapse under pressure, I was just done. Spent. Toast. You can tell the difference because I could not lift myself off the track afterwards. I didn't even have enough energy to string together a coherent sentence, I mostly just muttered, "shoes...", but that's neither here nor there.)

However, I have faltered. You see, this wasn't comfort zone, been there a hundred times on the track pressure. This was foreign. This was something I was not used to, and haven't been for a long long time. This made me think I was Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer.

Bottom line, I blew it. And if I knew what to do, then I'd do it.

The next line is something about getting back around to the point you had, but I don't really have a point. I did kinda yell at myself, say some bad words that I would never say around the Kid, and prepare myself for the inevitable onslaught of "why didn't you?"s that will come my way tomorrow in the office.

You're looking at the receiving end of some harsh lectures tomorrow morning, let me tell you. Oh well, here's to waiting for the weekend to do what you should have done today.

K bye.


UPDATE:

I march to the beat of my own, slightly off-rhythm, drummer. Bring on the jokes, oh office workers, because it's when I'm good and ready. Also, why did I put on dress socks this morning, but then throw on my sneakers? Sometimes I amaze even myself.

The Game

Headbutt.

First things first: doubles and Michelle provide inspiration.

There's a lot of times when I feel the need to write, but I can't think of a topic. This is not one of those times. Instead, I have a topic that needs to be written about, but I can't think of the right way to do it.

It's not a matter of creating some kind of story to get my point across. I could do that, but it would never actually tell the story exactly how it should be told. And the part hasn't been reached yet where someone would say, "you know, screw it" and just go for broke. Could that point be reached? Definitely, but not yet.

You see, it's all about waiting. Patience. Sitting around asking your roommate, "what in the hell is going on?" Now, I can be a patient person sometimes. But if there's one thing in the world I hate doing, it's waiting. It's waiting and doing the work before you get to that finish line. I'd much rather just get to the finish line first. But there's one huge problem with all of this.

The waiting is inevitable.

You can't get around it. You just have to kind of do it, all the while wondering. And with a brain as highly advanced as mine (editor's note: hah! Whatever.) that wondering can be merciless. You know it's coming, but there's nothing you can do until next time. When's next time? Who knows.

But that's the thing. Even though your brain gets eaten alive, you keep doing it. Why?

You do it for the chance at that next time.

It's all in the Hotel Paper.

K bye.

Someone, Whose Name I Am Not Allowed To Mention For Fear of Stoning, Absolutely Refused To Give This A Title

A headbutt straight from the heart.

First things first: I wish I was a brewmaster.

Today, as you might have already been told by Kay Jewelers, is the holiest of hallowed holidays: Valentines Day. I could give you a history of the day, mentioning how Saint Valencio de Vacura started this whole thing by accidentally placing the wrong address on a rabbit in 1583, but I won't bore you with the details.

Instead, I will tell you a story. It's my own personal story, one of disappointment and heartbreak.

Through various circumstances, mostly pertaining to my ability to be a giant chicken, I went into this morning sans valentine. Seeing as how my giant chicken powers would continue to run at an all time high and I would completely skirt this valentine issue with all relevant parties, and Meg White was unavailable, I decided the following: I'd simply call someone while at work and ask the question.

Here's a transcript of what went down:

"Hello?"
"Hi, is Kait there?"
"Sure, let me get her. Kaitie, your uncle wants to talk to you."
"No."

You see, I got rejected by my potential valentine. By my own niece. She's three. Once again proving that I can fall farther down the ladder than I originally thought, I was rejected by a three year old blood relative.

Now, I could pretend that I'm okay, I'd be used to this after 23 some-odd years on Earth and countless rejections in my love life. But I think this time, it stings a little. My only solace is that maybe she found someone else, some rugged looking 4 year old in a sandbox at some park, where they'll send the day making tiny castles and chasing the leaves.

So enjoy your Valentines Day, my adoring mob. At least you didn't get turned down for a kid that still wears pull-ups.

K bye.

The First Step Is Admitting You Have A Problem

Headbutt.

First things first: this is funny on so many levels.

Hello, my name is Rich, and I have a problem. I love music by female pop stars.

Now, I don't admit to loving all pop stars. Like so many others, I like to think that I've refined my tastes. I like my singers to have songs with feeling, with meaning. I could say that I don't really know where this thing started, but I do. I remember oh so well.

It's really Ginger's fault. If I hadn't been with her, if Michelle hadn't come on the radio, and if Turb hadn't gone, "watch this", and proceeded to belt out entire ballads at the top of his lungs, I don't know where I would be right now. Instead, that started me down the long path I have walked. And I've walked it alone up until now.

There was Michelle's first album, and grasp it held me under. At that time, I refused to give in to any other album purchase, denying that I enjoyed what I listened to so much. But then Michelle's second album hit, and the downward spiral began. I was transfixed by that creation. The night before races, the day of races, sometimes multiple times a day I would listen, singing lyrics gleefully loud when no one was around, whispering them when people were. I must have listened to Hotel Paper over 300 times, and I wasn't ashamed.

Then I found Vanessa. My problem only got worse. Here was more fuel for my blazing inferno, more water to try to quench a thirst that was unslakable. There were more songs to hear, more emotions to go through, more words to sing, and more swaying to be swayed. Vanessa's second was bought, and the cycle began anew.

Then Kelly came into the picture. I had no idea she even existed until I went to a baseball game no less (baseball: slowly, and willfully, sucking away my very being). But once I found her, I couldn't be stopped. Prancing, while not done, was thought about. My spiral deepened and deepened with no end in sight.

Sure, just like gambling, drinking, and Ginger, I think I can get away. And I do. But only for awhile. Inevitably, I always come back. And once the album is re-found, I can't stop it. Over and over, play after play, the songs keep pouring forth. Is it a comfort? Yes. Do I wish I could stop?

I never want to stop.

Never.

K bye.

Every Book Is A Children's Book If The Kid Can Read

A rather dizzy headbutt to you this morning. But not too hard, I'll fall over.

First things first: lazy Sunday.

I thought about editing the post right below this one when I got into work this morning. But then I thought, "you know Rich, that's not really your style. That's not how you do things. You're better than that. And you look like hell this morning." So instead of making my changes in the post, I'm going to do the editing right now, out of said post.

-Fawning should be replaced by another word that I can't think of.

-He is awesome, I like that guy.

-I forgot a comma on line 3 of that paragraph.

-Boss will not be coming into work today. She's going to the A.C.

-Upon thinking about it more, I would still choose work. But then I'd punch the guy in the gut and steal the season tickets. It's a very New York way to go about it, plus they're freaking Yankee season tickets.

-I don't think indubitably is a word.

-For some reason my bedroom clock and my computer clock are off. This creates the problem of me saying that it's 12:35 at the beginning of the post when at the end of the post I published at 12:33. Somehow I de-aged two minutes. Go figure, I'm that good.

So there you have it. A purposefully, carefully, and any other "fully"-word edited post. Does it make any sense? No, but you know this man.

K bye.

You Will Want to Read This

Headbutt.

First things first: this post might not interest the general public. Too bad.

It's 12:35AM. Yes, you read that correctly. This post started out in my head as a recap of a kickoff party from Saturday night (how you doing "two-time"?). It morphed into a recap of tonight. However, I've decided to stray from the beaten path, and open up to you, my fawning audience.

I currently have a job, as shocking as that may be. At some point in time, as recently as the beginning of December, I thought about leaving my job. I, like so many others before me, thought, "I need more money. I need a bigger paycheck to validate what I do. I, because I am not receiving said bigger paycheck, am not happy."

However, I have stumbled upon what some might call an epiphany. Others might call it an awakening. Yet others might call it drunkenness. What is this epiphany, you ask?

It's tomorrow morning.

My epiphany is knowing tomorrow morning I will have someone say hello to me and ask, "how's it going?" (this person would be the man I affectionately refer to as Milton. He's awesome.) My epiphany is knowing that in the morning Boss is going to ask, "so, Rich, how late were you out drinking last night?" My epiphany is knowing that at some point I'm going to have to balls up and apologize to Carrie in person, knowing that she is the better person for having apparently forgiven and forgotten my wrongdoing.

See, it's not all about the paycheck. Would it be nice to make $50,000 more than I currently make? Sure, because that would mean many more trips to Best Buy (which is dangerous). But what's even more satisfying is the idea of family. The idea that when I stroll in to work tomorrow at some odd hour that I choose, Hillary's going to be there wishing me a happy Friday, trading websites with me, and asking me if I want some liquid crack (it's a Coke mom, relax.) It's knowing that there are genuinely people that I do not want to let down because they matter to me on a level that's greater than "the workplace". They matter to me as individuals. They make it personal.

I wouldn't trade that for the world. If someone said, "you can either have season tickets to the Yankees or continue with your work environment now" I'd have to think about it long and hard (hey, what can I say, I love my Yankees. Sometimes it's sad when I realize this). In the end, I'd probably ask for both. After I was told that I couldn't have both, and a court order was imposed on me to choose one, I'd choose the work. Because you'll always have another opportunity to have season tickets to the Yankees. You might not get another chance to work with a group of people that truly matter to you.

Are these the rambling of a madman? Indubitably, yes. Do I care? Not one bit. Do I have a point? Probably not, but then again, I've told you I saved a manatee in my life, and you still read it, so what do you care?

Now, I know I've promised you a link for every post since my Batman review. But this one's different. No links for you. Instead, I end with this...

Thanks guys. I really appreciate it.

K bye.