Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

DIRT

Posted: February 25, 2010 in Life, writing
8

The Upwardly Mobile Executroid look was not a stretch for James.  He stood about 6’1″ tall, and had an immaculate Stepford hubby haircut – parted on the left side with half-inch sideburns framing his forgettable face.   He frowned at himself in the mirror, and gave a last lock-in tug on his Thomas Pink tie, then shrugged into his Hugo Boss jacket and ensured his shirt cuffs peeked out just past his jacket sleeves.

Then, he turned the bathroom faucets on and off precisely fifteen times.  James looked at the wall clock and waited for the seconds hand to reach twelve, then began soaping his hands for exactly thirty-five seconds.   As soon as the seconds hand reached the seven, he proceeded to rinse, for another thirty-five seconds.

Ablutions finished, he grabbed the folded towel, wiped his hands dry and threw it in the garbage.

James grabbed his small suitcase and briefcase from the bedroom, and looked around, thinking.  Suddenly remembering, he walked out to the living room, picked his stub-nosed gun up off of the coffee table, and stuffed into the briefcase.   The front door could only be accessed by walking through the kitchen, so he couldn’t help noticing a small dot on the lower left side of the refrigerator door on his way out.  Opening the cupboard to the left of the sink, he took out a handy-wipe, walked over to the fridge and removed the offending dirt, before depositing the wipe into the trash.

After turning the deadlock seventeen times, he finally escaped his small apartment.

**

It was almost noon when Betty asked her boss if she took a break.   “Can you hold out for another fifteen or so?” Abby responded.  “Harold isn’t back yet and I need at least three tellers for the rush.  He should be back soon.”

Betty sighed inwardly but pasted a smile on her face.  “No problem.  I’m dying of hunger over here but that’s OK.” 

Abby grinned.  “Atta girl!”    Both of them laughed.

At exactly noon,  James walked into the bank, suitcase and briefcase in hand.  He took his spot at the end of the queue and waited patiently until it was finally his turn to get to a teller.

Walking briskly up to the counter, he smiled at the slightly overweight bottle-blonde teller.  The second button on her blouse was impossible to miss, as it wasn’t completely done up.  It was sort of half in and half out of the button hole.  He tried his best to ignore it.

“Good morn, uhh, good *afternoon* sir.  How can I help you?” Betty asked.

James placed the briefcase on the counter and looked at his watch.  “Um, excuse me for a minute.  I have a deposit slip here.  Just give me a moment.”

“No problem sir.”

He could feel the sweat forming on the back of his neck as he placed his hand on the gun in the briefcase, waiting for the minutes to reach 12:05.

As soon as the seconds hand reached twelve, James calmly took the gun out and pointed it at Betty.  “Madame, I need you to give me all the money in your till.   Quietly please – we don’t want to frighten any of your other patrons.”

Although she had been trained for this, Betty was stunned.   She knew that the bank was scheduled to implement a new protocol which would keep all the cash behind a closed system but that was at least a month or two away.  This man had done his homework.    She quickly grabbed up all the cash and shoved it to him.

James whisked it all into his briefcase, placed the gun inside and looked back at her.  “Thank you madame. Have a nice day.”  

As he walked away from her, Betty noticed an odd-looking mark on the back of his pants, just below the knee-line.

James calmly walked out of the bank and into a nearby alley, where he opened the suitcase, quickly shrugged off his jacket, tie and shirt and donned the replacement white t-shirt and dark jacket that were waiting in the suitcase.  Then, he donned a pair of tan-framed glasses. 

Transformation complete, James threw the suitcase containing replaced clothes into a nearby dumpster, picked up his briefcase and walked out the alley again, this time changing direction.  

As the police car pulled up to the bank, James walked past, looking around curiously.  One of the two cops, a big beefy guy with a walrus moustache, looked at him for an instant and then dismissed him and followed his partner into the bank.

James smiled to himself and continued walking.

He waited with a crowd of people at a stoplight.  In the noise of the city he almost missed the voice of a small child behind him.

“Mommy look!  It’s Santa Claus!”

James looked around, wondering what he was talking about when he suddenly saw the little boy, who was holding his mother’s hand with one hand, and using the other to point to him.  Or more accurately, to his pants.

Frowning, James looked down to where the boy was pointing, and couldn’t see anything.  

The boy added, “no Mommy look!  On the back of his pants.  It’s Santa Claus!”

“Shhh, Mikey.  Don’t point.”   The light turned green and the mother pulled her child away.

James looked down at the back of his pants and there it was.    He had no idea what it was but it was offensive to him.  Wrong.  He needed to get rid of it now.  He examined the odd-shaped mark on his pants.  It wasn’t a stain, really.  It looked like dirt – but where could it have come from?  His apartment was immaculate.

He crouched down and opened his briefcase to get out the handy-wipes and continued to think furiously.  And then he remembered.  Before getting on the bus, a construction worker had stepped off.  How could he not remember?  The man had encrusted dirt all over his boots.  So ugly.   He had probably put his feet up on one of the seats, too.   And then James had sat down on it.  What was the matter with him?  He *always* looked before he sat down.  Always.

James scrubbed furiously at the dirt, and got most of it off, except….well except that all the rubbing and merely smudged the dirt in even further.   He got another handy-wipe out and attacked the dirt with a vengeance.

The traffic light had only changed another three times and the dirt was *still* not gone before he heard the words he’d only heard his nightmares. 

“Sir, get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head.  NOW”

*******************************************************************************************

A few days ago I challenged readers to write about pencils, and then give me a topic to write about.  One reader – Nadia – took up the challenge and did a wonderful job of it, which you should read over at her blog.  It’s called Mr. Smooth – by Simply Nadia Chyme.

In turn, she challenged me to write about dirt.  So there you go.

Oh by the way – the challenge is still open.  If you’d like to accept the challenge to write about pencils, please make sure you give me a topic or object to talk about too.  I can’t think of a better way of honing your creative skills.  :)

Talking with Her About Dating

Posted: February 24, 2010 in dating, Life, romance
10

“I can’t understand how someone has beautiful as you doesn’t already have a boyfriend.” 

It was an honest question, not intended to flatter.  Those who know me, know that I refuse to flatter.  Flattering feels too phony and seems to be indicative of an opportunistic mindset. 

Fortunately she took the question at face value.   “Oh I don’t know.  I’m kind of private, I guess.  I listen well to others but they don’t get to see who I am very often. ”

I was still processing that when she turned the question back to me.  “What about you?  Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”  

I looked at her.   She had such clear gorgeous blue eyes.  (Yeah, Ok so I was distracted.  Time to get back to the point)

“Well, ” I began, “I’m very picky.”  Wait, that sounded resoundingly cliché.   “I mean, you know, when you’re a young guy and you see a hot girl, all you want to do is get with her.”  I thought about that, and how this encounter was so different.  She was beautiful too, obviously.   “If you’re lucky, and you grow up a bit, and you understand yourself better, you get to realize that beauty is only a small part of the puzzle.  Some guys never grow up and they continue to date women solely because they’re pretty.”

And then, waxing even more cliché, I added “beauty will get you in the door but you’d better have something more if you want to stay.”   I winced.   Fortunately for me, English wasn’t her first language so maybe she didn’t realize the seemingly ostentatious use of that phrase.   Anyway, she nodded.

I barreled through.  “I tend to look for a sparkle in a woman’s eyes.  I think that’s key.”

She glanced at me. “Always?  You have to see that sparkle?”

I grinned.  “Yeah.  Like I did with you.”    She smiled.

“Seriously though – that sparkle isn’t always there.  Sometimes it can be buried.  I suppose we all hold something of ourselves back, don’t we?”

She nodded.  “I do.  For sure.”

“Right”, I went on.  “So sometimes I’ve gone on dates, not knowing if this woman would do it for me. ”  I thought a moment.  “In fact, maybe a month ago I went out with a woman who seemed perfectly fine.  Our interests were in sync, and she had the same life outlook that I did.   Oh, and she was great looking too. ”

I thought some more.  “We set up a second date–”

“Wait – you had a second date with her?”

I smiled.  “No.  We first dated on Wednesday and we were set to go out for the second date on Saturday night but we never did.”

“Don’t you think you should have given her a second chance?”   I could tell she was putting herself in this women’s shoes.  Obviously, this blond beautiful creature beside me had a heart for others.  There must be something wrong with her.  But what?  Maybe she had bodies buried in the basement.

“No, not really.   You see – in that between time before the second date, I kept thinking about excuses I could make not to meet her.   It was all subconscious though.  When my conscious mind finally figured out what was going on, I realized I didn’t really want to see her.”

She looked at me, one delicate eyebrow raised.

“Right.  I know this sounds hokey but you know what?  That’s how it happened.  I finally decided it was better to tell her straight out that I didn’t think we should go out.  And I did.”

“Wow.  That’s a bit cold.”

I shrugged.  “Well, there’s a way of handling information like that.  I told her I didn’t think we had chemistry.”

“Was this on the second date you told her that?”

“No, I phoned her the day before.  She seemed ok with it at first but I think it hurt her a little bit.”

She nodded in agreement. 

I continued.  “She phoned me up a second time, asking if she did anything wrong. I said ‘no no NO!  You did nothing wrong!  Not at all.’   I told her about all the things that I found attractive about her but ended with ‘ but we just don’t have chemistry’ and left it at that.  She told me she appreciated my honesty.”

She digested this.   “Well that’s a ballsy move but yes – honesty is better.”   Then: “do you prefer it when women are honest with you?”

What a question.  “YES.  I absolutely prefer honesty.  In fact, in the last serious relationship I had – five years ago – one of the things I said right from the start was that I preferred that she be honest with me, and if she didn’t like how things were going or wanted out for any reason, that she let me know as soon as possible.  I don’t like the games couples sometimes play with each other.”

We walked on in silence for a bit.   Then, for no reason I can think of, she looked at me and smiled, playing with the corners of her long scarf.  I smiled back, suddenly a little giddy.  This girl was a bit of an enigma.  Secrecy, wrapped in a smile.

“You know” I said, “when I first saw you a year ago, I was pretty sure I saw that ‘spark’ in your eyes.”

“You did?”  

(That’s another thing:  she seems completely oblivious to the effect she has on me)

“Yes, I did.  And then when I saw you a month ago, I said to myself  ‘there it is’.”  

What I didn’t tell her was that the look we gave each other at that time left my heart pounding like crazy.   Just as it was doing  just now – now, after our hours-long talk which only served to put an exclamation mark on my first impressions of her.

She laughed.   

We continued to walk in comfortable silence, each absorbed in our own thoughts.

Crashing the Gates of Consciousness

Posted: February 23, 2010 in Life
Tags: , , ,
12

OK I started writing this blog without attempting to title it first.  That will come after, and then you’ll get to see how utterly awe-inspiring my writing can be. 

First off – my hat is off to fellow bloggers Simply Nadia Chyme – who wrote a blog about her writing process and Roger’s Place in Cyber Space, whose email provoked her wonderful blog.  (By the way, those who know me will appreciate the fact that I never flatter anyone.  I try always just to speak the truth.  When I say her blog is wonderful, I mean it.  Go check it out for yourself.)

Nadia’s blog inspired this one, is what I’m trying to say.

So the question everyone wants to know (well, everyone who has followed me here from Myspace.com anyway) is:  dear Wolfie – how do you come up with some of the terrific stuff that you write? 

As mentioned in a earlier blog:  there are about a zillion thoughts that go through my head within a half hour.  I have taken the liberty of saving myself some hard-earned cash – thus avoiding the psychiatrist’s office – by self-diagnosing myself as having ADD.  I think that’s the catalyst for this explosion of thought that comes my way, every day, without fail.  So really, when it comes to topics, there is no dry desert in this noggin of mine.  No, the tough part comes in deciding which shiny thing in my skull is deserving of attention at the moment.

A friend of mine once said: “I’ll bet you could write about anything – even toilet paper.”   Her thought intrigued me, so I decided to try to do just that.  It seemed to work, too.  If you’re willing to make a little bit of a fool of yourself, you can sometimes accomplish Great Things.

Hmm.  That last paragraph provokes another thought.  No surprise, I suppose.  We’ll get back to that thought near the end.

Seriously, though – once you become self-aware, you begin to learn a heck of a lot more about yourself and about people in general, then you ever did when you were just going through the motions of life.  (If pushed, I can explain that thought further, but really it’s another blog).   In real life verbal conversation, I like to blather long and intensely about some of the things I’ve learned.  This does not translate well to a written format, as it can get a bit long-winded or dull.  I like to avoid dullness when possible and in fact when speaking with someone who’s making dull conversation over the phone, I’ll usually find a way to end the call as quickly as possible.  “Sorry, but my toupeé just caught on fire.  I have to go.”  (I don’t have a toupeé, by the way – I have a full head of spikey hair. )

There are times when one of these life lessons seems to jump out for attention so I’ll spend some time thinking of real situations and examples, usually while typing, and so that’s how the process gets started.  Since humour is important to me (bad childhood, multiple siblings, a need for a way to release the bad energy, you can take it from there), there is a tendency to wrap significant and serious situations in a humorous bubble-wrap.   Those who aren’t me can find this annoying; they don’t seem to appreciate the loud noises that attend the process of popping those bubbles.  People sometimes think I can’t take anything seriously.  I like it when they make that mistake: it puts me under the radar, so to speak, and I get to learn more.   (And poke them more, too)

This all shows itself in my writing.  At least, I try to make sure it’s there.  If it isn’t, I’ll scrap the entire blog.  Before you ask – yes, I’ve done that many times.

There are times when I have no idea what to say; times when I just have to write, period.  That’s when it gets really interesting:   I’ll sit down at the computer, click on “New Post” and just start writing.  I have no idea what I’m going to say, either.  It just comes out and I’m either entertained or on the rare occasion, disappointed.  If the latter, then it goes to the trash.  If I can read my blog two times and find it entertaining, I’ll keep it.  In the end, I write for me.

Sometimes the only frustration  is finding the right ending.  It’s possible to write what one believes to be a provocative and thoughtful blog, only to discover there’s no easy way to end it.  Let’s face it: the last thing you read in a good blog is the last line, and if it doesn’t punch you somehow, it seems to lose some of its luster, right?  So it’s got to end well. 

Which of course brings me to the end of this blog, and how to end it.

Remember earlier in this blog – about the seventh paragraph from the top – when discussing my “toilet paper” blog, we talked about a thought I had after that?  Well here it is:

Maybe we should challenge each other, whether we’re here on WordPress or over on Myspace.  Maybe this will help our artistic writing abilities somehow.  Or maybe we’ll just have some fun with it.

Here’s the challenge, then:

You are to write a blog about pencils.   That’s it.  Pencils.   There are no rules for this blog:  it can be poetry or prose, funny or serious.  It can be as long as you like, or you can make a Haiku out of it.  Do it.

And if you choose to take this challenge, in return, you get to challenge me with writing about something.

Go ahead – I dare you.  I double-dog dare you.

Crowded grey matter

Posted: February 22, 2010 in Life
Tags: , , , ,
10

“You’re not paying attention!”

She was right.  I knew she was right but no way did I want to admit it.

“Sure I was.”

She frowned.  “Ok what did I just say?”

“Something about ….”  I gave up.  “Something about our Prime Minister having the itchy disgruntled face of a woman with PMS”

She slapped me.  “I knew it.  I can always tell when you’re not listening.  Your eyes lose focus. ”

“I know.  Sorry.”

Seems I’ve said sorry for stuff like this for ages.  People think it’s a male thing.

I finally figured out just this morning that it’s not.  And it’s not that she was boring (she wasn’t).  It’s that I was bored.  There’s a difference.

You have to factor in this seeming inattentiveness with some other factors.

Like, for example, the fact that in the time it takes me to walk to work – about a half-hour – I can pretty much write a novel in my head.   It’s not a *great* novel, mind.  In fact, if I were to put it down on paper, it would just seem like the ramblings of a crazy man.   The topics would be myriad.

In short, my head is a very crowded place.   Lots going on up there.  All kinds of neat shiny things that pop in and out of my consciousness.  I’m the human equivalent of a dog with a waggy tail, just waiting for that shiny ball to go racing across the grass so that I can go chase it.

Consider too the fact that in my early years as an IT technician they had us attend some courses.  It’s a good thing there were no tests because I know I would have failed.   It’s not because I’m stupid either – I know I’m not.  It’s just that I can’t sit that long and not go off into the corridors of my mind, opening interesting doors and basically plundering every errant thought that ever occurred. 

Problems with concentration; problems with losing things like keys and things I just put down, damn it!  More excited and invested in my imagination than in what’s going on around me.  Unable to focus on simple tasks at work.

Does this any of this sound familiar to you?

Well these are the bits and pieces I began putting together today, when the local Breakfast Television show discussed  ADD/ADHD this morning.

Before, when I thought about each of these personal characters, I considered them separately:

  • Not paying attention when someone’s talking = “just being a guy”
  • Not able to absorb long speeches or classroom training = “might be a tad stupid”
  • losing things/words = “absent-minded” (whatever the hell that means)
  • unable to focus on tasks and finish them = “disorganized; undisciplined”

When you put them all together though…. well that’s a different story isn’t it?

We may talk about this more a little later.  I’d appreciate hearing your thoughts though.   Particularly from those of you who are able to hold everything together, focus a task to completion, completely absorb hours-long lessons and lectures.  I have no idea what that feels like. 

Must be pretty cool.

Date Night Anticipation

Posted: February 18, 2010 in Life
Tags: ,
9

As anyone who is single might attest – it sometimes sucks having to date.  Although you have to imagine it kind of depends upon what you’re after.   If you’re after just one night stands, then maybe it’s not so bad.

If you’re after The One though….that can get kind of tricky.  You meet someone and you hope things work out but more often than not:

– she’s suspicious of all men because of her past experiences; or

– she’s desperate and sees you immediately as The Answer To Her Dreams; or

– she wanted a handyman but you have no mad mechanic skills; or

– or she smokes and you don’t; or

– or

You know how it goes.  You just never know.  And sometimes the problem is you.  Maybe:

– you’ve had some bad experiences and are super-vigilant (read: paranoid) about the possibility you might be dating a crazy person; or

– you haven’t been with someone with so long you’re worried you might not know how everything works; or

– you haven’t read up on “The Rules” and this makes you wonder if you’re going to blow it (do I call her tomorrow?  Or the next day?  What?)

The thing that many of us are looking for is a vague thing.  Chemistry.  The “IT” factor.

I’ve been out in the dating world for about five years now.   The “IT” factor almost seemed mystical.  A construct of some teenager’s overactive imagination.  Wasn’t sure IT existed at all.

Then I saw her.  We saw each other.  I swear there was a slight background buzzing to the air.  There was enough of a question mark to make me wonder.  I mean, all we did was say “hello” to each other as we passed each other, each of us going a different direction.  People say “hi” to each other every day.  It doesn’t have to mean anything.  Sometimes they’re just being polite.  Maybe that buzzing sound was just my imagination.

Being so rusty and not wanting to appear foolish, it never occurred to me to, well, you know – stop and chat.  Besides, she was with some friends or family and were on their way somewhere.  It wasn’t like we were in a coffee shop.  (Believe me, being pole-struck and tongue-tied, I found all kinds of reasonable excuses not to move forward).

There’s a problem with meeting someone who affects you like that (and not chatting): you might not ever get the chance again.  It’s so important to act impulsively sometimes.  To take a chance.

So a year went by and I always wondered about her.

And then, one day I was rushing out somewhere, and was late, when I saw her again.  This time, she saw me first.  I saw her notice me, look down with a half smile, and then she looked up at me again and said “hi”.  I couldn’t believe it was her.  She was so pretty.  Way too pretty.  And I was running late.

“So how are you?”

“I’m fine.  You?”

“I’m fine too.  Good to see you!”

“You too”

“Well”, I knew I should say more.  Take it further.  “See you around!”

“See you”

We went our separate ways.

Ahhh!

It’s at this point you start to bargain with God.  “I promise – if You’ll let me see her again, I’ll try my hardest not to blow it.  ‘k, God?”

A month went by.  I kept hoping to see her but figured I had missed my chance, and that was that.

Then came last night.

I had been out to the drugstore to hunt down a birthday card.  Strange how utterly cheesy and stupid so many of those cards are.  You have to spend an hour searching through them, sometimes.   Often, like last night, you don’t find a single card, and so you leave the store in frustration.  I was frustrated.  So frustrated I forgot whatever else it was I had to buy.

It wasn’t until I arrived home (and had my boots and coat off) that I remembered that I needed salad for the next day.   I could have just left it until the morning but that would have made me late for work.  So I went through the winter wrapping routine and piled on my winter gear for another trek out to the grocery store.

Salad in hand, I made my way to the cashier.  There were three people in line ahead of me, and one person behind.

She walked by.

I have to admit: I stared.  It couldn’t be her.

Could it?

It was.  Definitely.  It was her.

I looked at the guy behind me.  I said “you go ahead buddy” and I went looking for her in the bakery section.

Finally I caught up to her.

“You’re from….”

“Yes, we ran into each other before”

“Well hi!”

“Hi!”

“I don’t think we introduced ourselves to each other before.  Did we?”

“No.  I’m…” and she told me her name.  I told her mine.  We shook hands.

I couldn’t think what to say next so I said the next thing that popped into my head.  Fortunately, it wasn’t stupid.

“Um, would you like to get together for a coffee sometime?”

I looked for microexpressions on her face.  “Or are you with someone?”

I mean, that had to be it, right?  No one as beautiful as her was alone.  She had to have had a mate.

“Sure.  I’d like that”

Well this was a surprise.  Shock really.  What do you say now?  Do you blurt out “Ok then.  Maybe we’ll do that someday”?

Fortunately the left side of my brain had some measure of control and realized how lame that idea was.

“Great.  How about tomorrow?”

She said “sure.  Tomorrow’s good.”

And then I remembered I had a doctor’s appointment after work.  Face palm time.

She saw this.  “Oh it’s ok.  Any time is good really.”

I looked at her.  I think I was smiling, but I’m not sure.  “How about late?”  I meant to say “later”, but it came out “late”

“How do you mean ‘late’?  Like, ‘late late’?”

I recovered.   “I mean, how about 8:00?  Maybe over there at Starbucks?”

“Ok 8:00 it is, then.  I’ll meet you at Starbucks”

“Great!  See you then!”

With that, we left each other.  A coffee date established, all was well, right?

Well, except for my pounding heart.

Chemistry.

And now….I’m up an hour before I need to be, writing this blog and anticipating the evening.  On the first date you just want it to go so well.  Especially when that “IT” factor is there.  Don’t want to ask too many questions.  Don’t want to find out you have nothing in common.  You can drive yourself a little crazy.

She’s so beautiful.

Almost as beautiful as me, come to think of it.

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