An interesting life

Thanks to Jeff for the nickname

Someone pointed out something interesting to me today, that made me think of you people who fawn all over the Yawni? Some of us--and by some of us, I mean people who have actually had the priviledge of meeting him in PERSON--are continually bewildered by why people think he's some wise sage, or for that matter, even link-worthy. We finally figured out why. He deletes almost every comment that contains dissent or correction, no matter how innocuous; therefore, it looks like everyone agrees with him; therefore, he must have a clue. So, he holds down a happy finger on the delete button and then claims to love the silence. If that's true, and there's very little to indicate that, it's only because in silence, it's easier for the Yawni to hear his own voice.

He has no clue. Which is fine. Most of the time, I have no clue either. But I'm aware of that and most of the time, I come with a disclaimer. The Yawni not only thinks he has a clue, he thinks he has ALL the clues. And from what I read, he very rarely has even an ORIGINAL clue, he just vomits up other people's clues.

Please, this is a guy who tried to form a group of "technological jasminelive entrepreneurs" between the ages of 28-35 (or whatever it was); no one could figure out the reason for the age limits. He claimed because people in that age bracket were the people who were more likely to be at the same place in their professional lives as himself. My ass. He's a fucking recruiter. He didn't mention that. So I'm going to go out on a big, wide limb, close to the ground and guess "the real reason": He didn't want anyone in his little group too entry level and he didn't want any "Cobol Dinosaurs" either. He wanted a little networking group full of marketable tech people. To profit from. Not a bad little idea, that (I know, I used to be a member of that austere bottom-feeder profession). But it's telling. (Oh, yes, I made some assumptions and I'm sure he'd have the time of his life telling me how wrong I am, but I don't really give a fuck: he doesn't have a problem making a lot of assumptions about others.)

So, for those of you who have lived through the wrath of the Yawni, know this: One day he'll get his comeuppance. It's going to hurt. I just wish I could be around to see it.

I'm not sure why!

My parents just left for Europe; I hate when they travel together. Worse, Sunday night I had another one of my airplane-crash dreams. I'm not in the plane, no one I ever know is in the plane, but I'm always somewhere to witness the plane go down. It's not always the same kind of plane...or, for that matter, the same type of aircraft--once it was a blimp near Kiener Plaza.

This time it was an American Airlines jet; it flew in low over my street, turned towards the river and then tried to get immediate altitude; and then it went down to the east.

I'm 34 years old, but watching them leave today felt a lot like it did when I was 8. I'm not sure why--it probably has something to do with living with them for nearly 2 months.

Jeff made me cry last night, too. He had hoped to see me on Saturday; I told him that I'd be by some time for my mail. So, he stayed home and barbequed so that if I came by, I could see my cats. However, for reasons that are not very clear to me, the person who did go get my mail felt it necessary to tell Jeff who I was with--despite the fact that everyone knows how he gets. It was completely extraneous information and much like the night that that same person called for me on Jeff's phone, I suspect this was calculated. On the other hand,since I made my position vis a vis "us" very clear this weekend, so I imagine things will be changing in my life. However, even though Jeff didn't make a big deal about this last night, I will hear about this later, I'm sure. I am prepared for Tom. B to be added to the list of accused "secret boyfriends met at" So, if you know me and you know my ex, just don't tell him any of my personal business.

And then, last night I got all torqued up about the fact that I still hadn't gotten my period. On Day 31. I really had nothing to worry about--it's been almost 2 months since I broke my leg; I had a urine test the day I had surgery--but I've been pretty nauseated the last few days and despite the fact that I know my body inside and out, I was a little concerned. And then, while I was being all concerned, it happened. To be honest, I'm not even totally sure that pregnancy was a danger.

According to the calendar, my period is due today

It is the only thing about me that is regular.

I should equip every person I know with little pocket sized calendars with red circles around days 26, 27 and 28 with a note that says: "Don't fuck with me today." In fact, perhaps I should draw a circle around day 25, just to be safe.

Normally, I'm fine. I have trace amounts of "the blues" that I'm able to recognize for what they are; alcohol will hit me a little harder (and, as I've discovered recently). Usually, if I can't shake off the funk, I just hide out. I did this the day before my birthday, even, knowing full well that I could not possibly hang out with drunk people and not get into a fight with someone.

Tuesday marked the 26th day of my cycle. Jeff, aka The Pissed Off Bastard, had reached a certain level of detente. He called me to let me know what mail I'd had delivered. As an afterthought, he mentioned that the night before, when he turned on the light in the bathroom, a bulb blew and now none of the switches in the bathroom worked. None of them. Day 27 was not happy that he waited until 5:30 the following day to mention this. Jeff and Day 27 argued long and hard. Jeff and Day 26 had argued the night before about calling me as he agreed to let me know what mail I've received. "Why can't Larry come get it?" he asked me. "Because Larry isn't LIVING IN MY HOUSE."

Day 27 turned personal; he accused her of being a slut who always has to have a guy, always has to have sex. Day 27 reminded Jeff that she had lived with a man for more than 2 years and can count on one hand the number of times they had sex--to which he responded: "See, you have proved my point." Day 27 went head to head with every one of Jeff's personal slurs, when really, all she wanted was to instill upon him the importance of letting her know when something is wrong in the apartment in a timely manner.

At the end of Day 27, Jeff promised to call her after he bought new lightbulbs and tried flipping the breakers again.

At 12 pm, Day 28 still hadn't heard from Jeff, so she called him. He told her he'd be home by 5:30. This was so that she could have him do the things suggested by the landlord, and then, if necessary, the landlord could go out there.

6:10, still no word. Knowing that this would be similar to Day 26 begging for her mail, she called him. "No, I'm not home, but I'll be there in 5 minutes." In 50 minutes, it becomes 7:00. It is important to note here that Day 28 is in a really foul mood. First, the Father snapped at her because the cleaning woman locked the cat in the basement, despite the fact that Day 28 specifically asked her to make sure all of the doors were left open ("Even in the basement," the Father asked. "Especially in the basement," Day 28 answered, because I can't get down there." "Well, you must not have been very clear." "Fuck you," said Day 28, mostly to herself). Father later snapped because the girl with the title to her car still doesn't have the duplicate. "Also not my fault," snapped Day 28, who was quickly beginning to suspect that the Father might be having a Day 28 of his own.

Finally, at 7, Jeff called Day 28, who by this time is seething. First, she listened to his excuse that he had to change a flat, and then listened to him complain that there are cops in the depressed section of downtown. He called her from the apartment. "I'm in the bathroom and nothing works." Jeff is still angry about the other phone call, and repeated the time of the day over and over ad infinitum. This was the tip-off that the POB is drunk. Not just a little drunk, but potentially even vodka-drunk. Day 28 ignored the plethora of personal slurs and tried to get to the point. "Does the heater run?"

"I don't know," he said, "I'm in the bathroom."

"That's the heater I mean."

"I'm downstairs. GOING to the bathroom."

"When were you upstairs then."

"As soon as I called you."

"I need to you flip the breaker back." (Jeff had told Day 28 earlier that after he put in a new bulb the night before, the same thing happened, only THIS time the breaker tripped. He didn't bother resetting it however).

The conversation continued in an ungly vein and then suddenly the POB said, "Everything works. The lights, the heater, everything."

"But you just said they didn't."

"I reset all the breakers; and now, it works."

"But when you first called nothing worked."


"And you performed this breaker magic while on the phone?"


"Fine. Thank you."

Day 28 called the landlord to tell him that everything was fine now. "Oh, yeah, I went over there already. It was just the outlet by the sink, it needed to be reset."

"That fucker lied to me," Day 28 muttered when she hung up. Day 28 waited a couple of hours and called the POB. "In the event this happens again, just press the little red button on the outlet by the sink."

"How do you know that."

"Because Don came by earlier and fixed it."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

"Yeah. And hey, don't lie to me anymore. There's no reason for it now."


"Just don't. Okay?"

He may not ever know what that meant. I do know that if there's a next time, he will throw the name "Don" out there as if he is my "secret boyfriend" he's been babbling about for 4 days.

He really does have people skills

I paid my phone bill today, over the phone. While we were waiting for the confirmation number to generate I asked the CSR if he liked his job. He told me he can't stand it. Fortunately, he doesn't let that get in the way of actually doing his job and I told him so. He appreciated the sentiment. He used to be a truck driver and was laid off in January and SBC CSR is what he could find. He did this in the early 90s, before the truck driving gig. He says he has a knack for customer service, despite the fact that he's not a people person.

I told him that I know I've been pretty grouchy with customer service people in the past, so I figure he must get that kind of thing all the time. He said I sounded sweet and he couldn't imagine that I'd get nasty or evil.

Last night, I walked

A little. But I walked. Which means that soon I will be WALKING. Which means that soon I can GO HOME.

My ex-boyfriend is an idiot. I mean, a true idiot. I'm letting him stay in my apartment FOR FREE and all he has to do is take car of the cats, keep the place reasonably clean and bring me my mail once or twice a week. You wouldn't think that this would be so hard.

Apparently it is. I practically have to beg for my mail and then all I get is attitude. As if he just can't be bothered. I mentioned this to him yesterday; I reminded him that he was staying in my apartment and wasn't expected to pay rent OR utilities. He said, "It always comes back to this, doesn't it." To which I responded: "Why is it that you're staying in my apartment????"

"To help you out."

"Then HELP, dammit."

You know what's really scary? When I get back and he moves out, he still won't have any place to go. It'll be back to couch hopping. I refuse to feel sorry for him, no matter how hard that is. I need to get on with my life, really.