Beef: It's what's rotting in your colon.
Okay, so I'm dressing as Dr. Frank N Furter for Halloween this year. I've been trying to practice walking in these freaking shoes. Man, oh, man. Six-inch platform/pump/heels/whatever you call 'em are NO PICNIC. They're not like stilettos or anything; they've got a pretty thick heel, but they still suck. These have got to be the most uncomfortable thing on earth. An iron mask or a ball and chain would be more comfortable.
Now, that you all know that I do NOT enjoy wearing these things, let me say that each night this week, I've walked around the house for a little bit, trying to get used to these things. Another thing that sucks for shoes like this is thick carpeting. Talk about not having any balance. So, I use the kitchen floor as much as I can. See, I have to get my walk down before I actually wear this thing out. I can't have the whole costume and look awesome while standing in one spot. I need to have that walk. It's hard. Tim Curry is now a god in my eyes.
Let's see what else?... Oh. I'm sick of going to work, just to try to not get fired. Seriously, I've always thought I've had pretty good job security here at [my office], seeing as I'm the only one who knows how to fix stuff around the office, or call the proper person to fix what I can't. Not only that, but there are tons of things in the office that I'm the only person who knows how to do or deal with or whatever. I bust my ass, I'm good with clients, and potential clientel, I always get everything done on time, I do quality work and I do it quickly, yadda yadda. Yet, because I have a tendency to be late once or twice a week (even if I call in for something out of my control!) I get a firm talking to about showing up on time and improving my work.
Honestly? My work does not need to be improved, and if I get fired for getting a ten minute late start a few days a week, I'm going to be really pissed. I really do bust my ass here. And when there's nothing to be done, I find something. I've limited my internet use to lunch only, like I've been asked. EVERYTHING always gets done on time. There's no need for a firing here. But why do I have this feeling like I'm always trying NOT to get fired.
For those who didn't hear, a friend of mine from high school was killed in a car accident a few weeks ago. Really sucks. She was only my age; 25. She hadn't been drinking or anything, she just went through some confusing construction and got on the highway going the wrong way. She was hit head-on. She stayed alive in the hospital all night, but died early the next morning. Andrea had a very nice funeral. I went last Saturday evening.
Briefly before the service, I saw lots and lots of pals from high school. Some of whom I hadn't seen since then about eight years ago. Most of them looked the same. Some of them had much less acne. Some of the got fat. Some of them got skinny. But one of them is the most memorable. It was a guy whom I had major, MAJOR beef with in high school. Seriously, I think we wanted to kill each other.
We'd give each other the dirtiest of looks when passing in the hallway. From time to time we'd hear something that the other said about us behind our back. Name calling under our breath would occasionally happen from across the classroom. Neither one of us ever did anything to each other, though. Thinking about it recently, I keep asking myself, "why did we hate each other, so?" I thought, and thought, and thought about it. I came up with bupkis.
I remember that we had the same baseball cap. It was blue with a "NIRVANA" logo on the front in yellow writing. You would have thought that would have made us friends, wouldn't you? Nonetheless, it didn't. He had called me a "poser" in passing in the hallway. Then again. Then again.
I never understood why it was that I was the poser and not him. Besides, he was the one who wore this green fuzzy cardigan exactly like the one Kurt Cobain wore for Unplugged. Wouldn't that make him a poser as well? So, one day, as I passed from one class to the next and heard "poser" from across the hall, I finally got up the guts to stop, turn to him and say, "shut the fuck up."
This obviously took him by surprise, as he stopped as well with a look of shock, and could come up with nothing more to say back other than, "shut up." I think this is where the major beef started. The minor beef, I'm not sure. Maybe he just wanted someone to pick on, and I was the chosen one.
Anyway, we pretty much just avoided each other after that. Well, except for in biology class Senior year (the same one where I was lab partners with Andrea.) There was an incedent with an adam's apple comment. Dirtly looks were exchanged afterwards, but not much else.
So, after the funeral, I'm walking out with my friend, Chanda and we see Jereod standing there near the entryway. Chanda started to talk to him a bit, but then I could see in her body language what she just remembered... that he and I can't stand each other. She moved on politely, and his eye contact moved from hers to mine. He looked exactly the same, just no Nirvana cap.
"Hey, man," I said as I extended my hand to shake his.
"Hey," he said with a half smile as he grabbed my hand.
"Hey, I know we had some beef in high school, but..." I didn't get a chance to say anything else before he stopped me.
"Yeah, I know. It's cool. I never knew why. I always just said, 'that's just Joel. He's cool.'" Then he laughed.
I was a bit confused by what he meant, but I laughed back and smiled. "Good to see ya," I said.
"You, too."
As I walked outside with Chanda, she turned back to me with a look of utter embarrassment and said in an exlaimed whisper, "sorry!" Then she laughed a little.
I knew what she meant. She was talking about saying hi to Jereod, but I still asked, "for what?" She kind of motioned back toward the door and opened her eyes real big trying to subtly acknowledge Jereod and her stopping to say hello. I knew what she meant. "Don't even worry about it. I even said 'what's up' to him."
For a second she looked surprised. "You did? Ohh, that was nice of you."
We stood out front of where the service was for a long time. There were lots of people to see, say hi to, hug and cry with. From time to time, I noticed Jereod standing there not talking to anyone. When the crowd thinned out a bit, I moved over to where my pals Joe and Nate were. Jereod was there also. We all had a little conversation about what we've been doing since high school, where we've gone, who we've dated or married. All that good stuff. People came and went from our little circle of conversation for about twenty minutes. Soon, we were the last four out there. Eventually, Joe and Nate went inside to get some lemonade, leaving Jereod and I out there alone. It wasn't as awkward as you would think. We actually stood there talking for a good hour or more just bullshitting. I finally asked something about where the hell Joe and Nate went. We went inside to look for them and see if there was any lemonade left. Lemonade, there was. Joe and Nate, there wasn't.
There were only three or four ladies inside, cleaning up the cakes and cookies and whatnot.
"I guess they snuck out the side," I said.
We both went back out front and continued our conversation. He said something about wanting to go to the bar where a few of our buds said they were headed. He had mentioned that he didn't have a car, though, so he was planning to walk. I told him I would be happy to give him a ride if he didn't mind waiting while I cleaned out the passenger seat. He said not to worry, because he enjoyed walking.
In the very dark parking lot, we exchanged phone numbers and agreed it would be a good idea to grab a beer sometime. I also told him that I'd look for him on myspace, which was also a conversation topic earlier.
As I got into my car and pulled out of the parking lot, I thought more and more about what he said at first, and what Chanda had said.
"That's just Joel. He's cool."
"That was nice of you."
There were several other comments here and there that made me think... wait a second. Did I start the beef?? Was I the reason we didn't get along? I thought and thought, but never came up with a beginning to our tiff. All I remember is that we had the same hat. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe it was his. Maybe all this time I was thinking he just hated me and wanted to make my high school life miserable, he was thinking the same thing about me. Did I make his life hell??? If I did, wow. I never knew.
I guess we'll talk about that when we grab a beer, if we ever do.
Now, that you all know that I do NOT enjoy wearing these things, let me say that each night this week, I've walked around the house for a little bit, trying to get used to these things. Another thing that sucks for shoes like this is thick carpeting. Talk about not having any balance. So, I use the kitchen floor as much as I can. See, I have to get my walk down before I actually wear this thing out. I can't have the whole costume and look awesome while standing in one spot. I need to have that walk. It's hard. Tim Curry is now a god in my eyes.
Let's see what else?... Oh. I'm sick of going to work, just to try to not get fired. Seriously, I've always thought I've had pretty good job security here at [my office], seeing as I'm the only one who knows how to fix stuff around the office, or call the proper person to fix what I can't. Not only that, but there are tons of things in the office that I'm the only person who knows how to do or deal with or whatever. I bust my ass, I'm good with clients, and potential clientel, I always get everything done on time, I do quality work and I do it quickly, yadda yadda. Yet, because I have a tendency to be late once or twice a week (even if I call in for something out of my control!) I get a firm talking to about showing up on time and improving my work.
Honestly? My work does not need to be improved, and if I get fired for getting a ten minute late start a few days a week, I'm going to be really pissed. I really do bust my ass here. And when there's nothing to be done, I find something. I've limited my internet use to lunch only, like I've been asked. EVERYTHING always gets done on time. There's no need for a firing here. But why do I have this feeling like I'm always trying NOT to get fired.
For those who didn't hear, a friend of mine from high school was killed in a car accident a few weeks ago. Really sucks. She was only my age; 25. She hadn't been drinking or anything, she just went through some confusing construction and got on the highway going the wrong way. She was hit head-on. She stayed alive in the hospital all night, but died early the next morning. Andrea had a very nice funeral. I went last Saturday evening.
Briefly before the service, I saw lots and lots of pals from high school. Some of whom I hadn't seen since then about eight years ago. Most of them looked the same. Some of them had much less acne. Some of the got fat. Some of them got skinny. But one of them is the most memorable. It was a guy whom I had major, MAJOR beef with in high school. Seriously, I think we wanted to kill each other.
We'd give each other the dirtiest of looks when passing in the hallway. From time to time we'd hear something that the other said about us behind our back. Name calling under our breath would occasionally happen from across the classroom. Neither one of us ever did anything to each other, though. Thinking about it recently, I keep asking myself, "why did we hate each other, so?" I thought, and thought, and thought about it. I came up with bupkis.
I remember that we had the same baseball cap. It was blue with a "NIRVANA" logo on the front in yellow writing. You would have thought that would have made us friends, wouldn't you? Nonetheless, it didn't. He had called me a "poser" in passing in the hallway. Then again. Then again.
I never understood why it was that I was the poser and not him. Besides, he was the one who wore this green fuzzy cardigan exactly like the one Kurt Cobain wore for Unplugged. Wouldn't that make him a poser as well? So, one day, as I passed from one class to the next and heard "poser" from across the hall, I finally got up the guts to stop, turn to him and say, "shut the fuck up."
This obviously took him by surprise, as he stopped as well with a look of shock, and could come up with nothing more to say back other than, "shut up." I think this is where the major beef started. The minor beef, I'm not sure. Maybe he just wanted someone to pick on, and I was the chosen one.
Anyway, we pretty much just avoided each other after that. Well, except for in biology class Senior year (the same one where I was lab partners with Andrea.) There was an incedent with an adam's apple comment. Dirtly looks were exchanged afterwards, but not much else.
So, after the funeral, I'm walking out with my friend, Chanda and we see Jereod standing there near the entryway. Chanda started to talk to him a bit, but then I could see in her body language what she just remembered... that he and I can't stand each other. She moved on politely, and his eye contact moved from hers to mine. He looked exactly the same, just no Nirvana cap.
"Hey, man," I said as I extended my hand to shake his.
"Hey," he said with a half smile as he grabbed my hand.
"Hey, I know we had some beef in high school, but..." I didn't get a chance to say anything else before he stopped me.
"Yeah, I know. It's cool. I never knew why. I always just said, 'that's just Joel. He's cool.'" Then he laughed.
I was a bit confused by what he meant, but I laughed back and smiled. "Good to see ya," I said.
"You, too."
As I walked outside with Chanda, she turned back to me with a look of utter embarrassment and said in an exlaimed whisper, "sorry!" Then she laughed a little.
I knew what she meant. She was talking about saying hi to Jereod, but I still asked, "for what?" She kind of motioned back toward the door and opened her eyes real big trying to subtly acknowledge Jereod and her stopping to say hello. I knew what she meant. "Don't even worry about it. I even said 'what's up' to him."
For a second she looked surprised. "You did? Ohh, that was nice of you."
We stood out front of where the service was for a long time. There were lots of people to see, say hi to, hug and cry with. From time to time, I noticed Jereod standing there not talking to anyone. When the crowd thinned out a bit, I moved over to where my pals Joe and Nate were. Jereod was there also. We all had a little conversation about what we've been doing since high school, where we've gone, who we've dated or married. All that good stuff. People came and went from our little circle of conversation for about twenty minutes. Soon, we were the last four out there. Eventually, Joe and Nate went inside to get some lemonade, leaving Jereod and I out there alone. It wasn't as awkward as you would think. We actually stood there talking for a good hour or more just bullshitting. I finally asked something about where the hell Joe and Nate went. We went inside to look for them and see if there was any lemonade left. Lemonade, there was. Joe and Nate, there wasn't.
There were only three or four ladies inside, cleaning up the cakes and cookies and whatnot.
"I guess they snuck out the side," I said.
We both went back out front and continued our conversation. He said something about wanting to go to the bar where a few of our buds said they were headed. He had mentioned that he didn't have a car, though, so he was planning to walk. I told him I would be happy to give him a ride if he didn't mind waiting while I cleaned out the passenger seat. He said not to worry, because he enjoyed walking.
In the very dark parking lot, we exchanged phone numbers and agreed it would be a good idea to grab a beer sometime. I also told him that I'd look for him on myspace, which was also a conversation topic earlier.
As I got into my car and pulled out of the parking lot, I thought more and more about what he said at first, and what Chanda had said.
"That's just Joel. He's cool."
"That was nice of you."
There were several other comments here and there that made me think... wait a second. Did I start the beef?? Was I the reason we didn't get along? I thought and thought, but never came up with a beginning to our tiff. All I remember is that we had the same hat. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe it was his. Maybe all this time I was thinking he just hated me and wanted to make my high school life miserable, he was thinking the same thing about me. Did I make his life hell??? If I did, wow. I never knew.
I guess we'll talk about that when we grab a beer, if we ever do.