Cool Jesus has been M.I.A. lately and he apologizes.
I haven’t really been up to anything terribly time-consuming. It’s just that one day off from The Diatribe so easily turns into two, which in turn melts into four, and so on and so forth. Where does time go? It’s November 9 and I still have four rotting jack o’lanterns sitting on my front porch. It’s November 9 and I still haven’t moved two air conditioners down to the cellar. Should I feel guilty for not doing truly meaningful things with my time? Sure, I have projects on my proverbial to-do list, but I also value my quality of life. The way I figure it, if I can cross off one item per week, then I’m doing alright. Now, I try to cheat the system by telling myself that emptying the dishwasher or doing my laundry are meaningful projects, but the inner Cool Jesus knows better. But I still have a whole season of built-in excuses to ensure that my to-do list will only grow until January. There are the Captain Larby/Miss Angela nuptials, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and then New Year’s. Quality of life: 4, To-do list: 0.
Last week I was able to cross an item off my list (I might be list-crazy because of my new favorite TV show My Name is Earl), but not without wratcheting up my blood pressure. I had a few bags of old clothes ready for donation. Big Brother, Big Sister is one of several not-for-profit organizations that is righteous enough to pick up such donations. I scheduled the pick-up for Thursday and was told the truck would be by anytime from 7:30 am to 5 pm. I left the items on my front porch and headed to my car to leave for work. Sure enough, the truck was there right at 7:30 am. What’s better is that the driver blocked me in my driveway. Now, you’d think a truck driver for a non-profit would be cool. Well, if you thought that, you’d be dead wrong. I was grateful that he was collecting my goods, so I waited patiently for him to re-enter his truck. At that point, I gave him another five seconds before honking my horn. No response. Another honk. Not even a glance. He moved stuff around on his passenger seat and checked off items on his clipboard. Another honk. This time I got a quick, yet nasty glare, and he sped off. The moral of the story: never do anything charitable or nice for anyone.
And since I’m fired up after reliving that Mexican standoff, let me leave you with this thought, which I emailed to both Petro and H-Train the other day after hearing a co-worker on the phone…
What the fuck is up with "buh-bye?" I want to slay anyone who ever says "buh-bye." What a fucking nonsense fucking thing to say. Do people ever say "hib-hello?" Fucking idiots.