I'm trying hard not to be become a crotchety old man that bitches about everything. I guess I'm not that old -- 41 now, as of this writing (that's not terribly old is it?). But I can be crotchety. Rawr! So here I go...
I have a stalker. At first I thought it wasn't to that level. Its good having friends. I've got all types in a variety of ages, shapes, sizes, colors, etc. One is my neighbor -- a lady about my age, single, appears to be somewhat lonely who has had an unfortunate and colorful history. She takes care of my dog when I'm out of town and I'm grateful for that. But it appears that our relationship is getting...shall we say, complicated?
One of the first signs of this was several weeks ago when I got a phone call from her one morning around 9 am.
"Hey, where have you been? I drove by your house this morning at 7:45 and your car wasn't there."
"Uh.... I was at the gym."
"Oh, I need to join that gym so I can go along with you and work out. I'm so out of shape, blah blah blah...." and on goes the conversation for another 15 to 20 mins. That's the average length of our phone conversations -- 20 minutes.
I work from home. She doesn't work, so is home all day as well. When the phone calls started happening at regular intervals, every few hours, 4, 5 or 6 times a day, I finally told her that I am too busy with work and just can't take personal phone calls during the day. Most of the time, it's chatting about nothing. Small talk -- drama about her family, other neighbors, funny stories about her dog or two cats. The truth is sometimes I am too busy to take phone calls. But most of the time, I just don't want to talk with her. My energy gets drained so quickly. But I still have this nagging in the back of my mind telling me to be nice, she needs friends, she takes care of the pooch for free, deal with it! So I do.
But I'm about to crack. I realized this yesterday. Yet again, I was at the gym and missed a phone call from her where there was a voice mail message, "Hey, you're not home very much anymore. Where are you? Or are you just ignoring my calls? Give me a call." I laughed to myself, "Who? Me? Ignore your calls? NEVER!"
But I put my halo on and called. I explained to her that I was at the gym (the same convo occurred, "Oh, I need to sign up so I can go with you, I'm so out of shape blah blah). But then she asked if I could come over and help her lift some heavy things and I felt bad for being bitchy in my head.
"Sure, I can do that. No problem. Give me a couple of hours, I need to shower, get cleaned up, make lunch, etc. I'll call you in a while."
"Okay, chat later" she responded. Wow, a phone convo less than 20 mins! Things were improving.
But then.... I'm in the shower, not more than 5 mins later, and I hear the phone ringing. It was her. She leaves no message. 20 mins later as I'm cooking lunch, the phone rings again. It was her. And then it happened -- boil over! And not my lunch. I remember a string of expletives flying out of my mouth, aimed at the ringing phone. A gaggle of swear words so bad my mother's ears were most likely burning as the fumes and spittle flew. My dog even ran for cover. "Bling" my phone chimes, indicating a voice mail message. "Hey, its me. I was thinking maybe we should put off the heavy lifting since its so hot outside. Call me back." Argh! Could she not have just told me that when I called her back like I promised her I would? And at that point, it finally rang true -- I have a stalker! What else could it be? And before you speculate, let me set the record straight: she is not in love with me. She's a lesbian!
As I was formulating the impending "Come to Jesus" conversation I told myself I needed to have with her, I decided to log onto my phone account online for shits and giggles to run an activity report and see how often she really calls me. I thought maybe I was exaggerating in my mind the number of calls she makes because it does seem to drive me INSANE. But the cold hard facts told the true story. The tally at that point for the current calendar year, 2008: 215 calls. My folks were second in line with about 15.
Get thee hence, stalker!!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Love that Halter Top
Picture this:
You're having an early dinner in a darkly lit Bangladeshi restaurant, seated in a booth next to a window with a couple of friends. The blinds are down, but you can clearly see outside since its still daylight. As you're enjoying your shrimp korma and other Bangladeshi niceties, you notice something strange.
Is that woman staring at you, watching you eat? She's standing outside the restaurant, looking into the window, pulling her hair back, hair clip clinging to the bottom of her halter top, just above the bared pudgy midriff.
Wait, she CAN'T see you! She's using the window as a mirror! But does she know you're there? It's possible, but you don't know for sure. She removes the hair clip from her top and places it on her head, turns from side to side to ensure it looks good. Then she begins pursing her lips, checking her make-up and adjusting her bra. At this point, you and your friends are laughing hysterically, watching the hot mess that is standing just inches away from your table.
Sadly she finishes her business and walks away. But before she does, something crazy happens. She blows you a kiss!
Its kind of like that Seinfeld episode where Jerry is dating this hot chick that Kramer swears is a phone sex operator, and you never know for sure until the end when she tells Jerry not to ever call her again, then turns to Kramer in her sultry, slutty voice and says, "You either!"
Who knows if that kiss was for us, or if she really saw us...but that shrimp sure was good.
You're having an early dinner in a darkly lit Bangladeshi restaurant, seated in a booth next to a window with a couple of friends. The blinds are down, but you can clearly see outside since its still daylight. As you're enjoying your shrimp korma and other Bangladeshi niceties, you notice something strange.
Is that woman staring at you, watching you eat? She's standing outside the restaurant, looking into the window, pulling her hair back, hair clip clinging to the bottom of her halter top, just above the bared pudgy midriff.
Wait, she CAN'T see you! She's using the window as a mirror! But does she know you're there? It's possible, but you don't know for sure. She removes the hair clip from her top and places it on her head, turns from side to side to ensure it looks good. Then she begins pursing her lips, checking her make-up and adjusting her bra. At this point, you and your friends are laughing hysterically, watching the hot mess that is standing just inches away from your table.
Sadly she finishes her business and walks away. But before she does, something crazy happens. She blows you a kiss!
Its kind of like that Seinfeld episode where Jerry is dating this hot chick that Kramer swears is a phone sex operator, and you never know for sure until the end when she tells Jerry not to ever call her again, then turns to Kramer in her sultry, slutty voice and says, "You either!"
Who knows if that kiss was for us, or if she really saw us...but that shrimp sure was good.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
KLRR, Episode: "Next"
KLRR = Knots Landing of Rainbow Row, for those of you who aren't good with acronyms.
Episode: "Next" because I can't remember which number episode was the last one, and at this point I'm too lazy to look.
"NEXT TIME I SHOULD BRING RUBBER GLOVES"
As luck would have it, my neighbor just happens to be a former veterinary technician. She's the one that takes care of Baxter when I have to travel for work. She's quite a character. I'll reserve details on her for a future blog entry.
This is Baxter.
I didn't know of her former profession when I first met her. But now it makes sense, thinking back on the random comments she used to make. For example, sometimes we would walk our dogs together, and she'd say "Uh oh, Baxter has poopy-butt." By the time I could react, as the brain chewed on the words "poopy-butt" and their possible meaning, Baxter would be squatting to leave a present on a neighbors lawn. "Ahhh," I'd say, "that's what you meant by poopy-butt." Clearly something only noticeable by former veterinary technicians.
Well, having such a person as a neighbor is quite helpful. Every couple of months or so, Baxter will have issues "back there" and will chew on his nether region (and usually attempts to lick master's face thereafter, which is always rebuffed). Enter former-veterinary tech neighbor: "He needs his anal glands expressed."
Once again, before the brain can process that statement, she drags him to the deck in the back, pulls him across her lap and starts squeezing his ass. Voila -- anal glands expressed! While Baxter didn't seem to be a big fan of this process, the fact of the matter is that it seemed to work. He stopped chewing on his tail for a few weeks.
Not to seem ungrateful, I usually thank the neighbor profusely for the exercise. After the most recent episode, her response? "Next time I should bring rubber gloves." Uh, yeah!
Episode: "Next" because I can't remember which number episode was the last one, and at this point I'm too lazy to look.
"NEXT TIME I SHOULD BRING RUBBER GLOVES"
As luck would have it, my neighbor just happens to be a former veterinary technician. She's the one that takes care of Baxter when I have to travel for work. She's quite a character. I'll reserve details on her for a future blog entry.
This is Baxter.
I didn't know of her former profession when I first met her. But now it makes sense, thinking back on the random comments she used to make. For example, sometimes we would walk our dogs together, and she'd say "Uh oh, Baxter has poopy-butt." By the time I could react, as the brain chewed on the words "poopy-butt" and their possible meaning, Baxter would be squatting to leave a present on a neighbors lawn. "Ahhh," I'd say, "that's what you meant by poopy-butt." Clearly something only noticeable by former veterinary technicians.
Well, having such a person as a neighbor is quite helpful. Every couple of months or so, Baxter will have issues "back there" and will chew on his nether region (and usually attempts to lick master's face thereafter, which is always rebuffed). Enter former-veterinary tech neighbor: "He needs his anal glands expressed."
Once again, before the brain can process that statement, she drags him to the deck in the back, pulls him across her lap and starts squeezing his ass. Voila -- anal glands expressed! While Baxter didn't seem to be a big fan of this process, the fact of the matter is that it seemed to work. He stopped chewing on his tail for a few weeks.
Not to seem ungrateful, I usually thank the neighbor profusely for the exercise. After the most recent episode, her response? "Next time I should bring rubber gloves." Uh, yeah!
Porn Star Fever
What is so alluring about being a porn star? I mean, come on... the whole world sees your junk in action? Hardly seems appealing to me. The money must be really good.
Why the hell would I blog about this, you ask? Oh, you know....I just happened to get a note from a friend yesterday that said "recognize anyone?" with a video file attached. Let's just say I recognized the guy's face -- and not the rest of him, since it was the first time seeing all that was on display. Which leads me to ask...doesn't this guy realize that people he knows are gonna see that shit? Perhaps he doesn't care.
Incidentally, this isn't the first time this has happened to me. The scenario was slightly different, but the end result the same -- someone I know who had become a West Hollywood star-slut. Sheesh!
For all my friends out there, rest assured -- you will never have to worry about seeing ME in such a condition. Luckily I don't have porn producers knocking down my door. But if you do, watch out! Some day, I'll catch you!
Why the hell would I blog about this, you ask? Oh, you know....I just happened to get a note from a friend yesterday that said "recognize anyone?" with a video file attached. Let's just say I recognized the guy's face -- and not the rest of him, since it was the first time seeing all that was on display. Which leads me to ask...doesn't this guy realize that people he knows are gonna see that shit? Perhaps he doesn't care.
Incidentally, this isn't the first time this has happened to me. The scenario was slightly different, but the end result the same -- someone I know who had become a West Hollywood star-slut. Sheesh!
For all my friends out there, rest assured -- you will never have to worry about seeing ME in such a condition. Luckily I don't have porn producers knocking down my door. But if you do, watch out! Some day, I'll catch you!
Monday, February 04, 2008
Its the Number One Killer of Domestic Cats
Wah waaaaaaahhhhhh! Perhaps you're familiar with this phrase -- about feline aids. From Debbie Downer, one of my favorite SNL skits.
Other favorite lines:
"Steer clear of the Sudan. It makes Fallujah look like Club Med!" Wah waaaahhhh.
"By the way, it's official -- I can't have children." Wah waaaahhhhh.
"My life sucks, I have no money, I hate my job, and no one loves me." Waaaaahhh Waaaaahhhhh!
Oh wait, that last one wasn't from SNL. It was from one of my friends who's a regular Debbie Downer all on his own. Here are a couple more of the most recent quotes:
"I wrecked my car. It cost me $1,300. I'm just not equipped to handle crap like this."
"Do you ever just wanna give up and not even bother trying with this life crap?"
"I'm just feeling so overwhelmed and it doesn't feel like anyone is really here."
I know I should be more compassionate. But good lord, it gets to a point where you just can't take it anymore. If its not one thing, it's another. There's rarely a bright moment in this person's life. Damn, I'm getting depressed just writing about it.
"Slather up the sunscreen... I had a mole looked at recently and the doctor told me that due to the extent of its irregular borders I'm flirting with a melanoma." Whew... thanks for that Debbie. I needed a laugh. HA HA
Other favorite lines:
"Steer clear of the Sudan. It makes Fallujah look like Club Med!" Wah waaaahhhh.
"By the way, it's official -- I can't have children." Wah waaaahhhhh.
"My life sucks, I have no money, I hate my job, and no one loves me." Waaaaahhh Waaaaahhhhh!
Oh wait, that last one wasn't from SNL. It was from one of my friends who's a regular Debbie Downer all on his own. Here are a couple more of the most recent quotes:
"I wrecked my car. It cost me $1,300. I'm just not equipped to handle crap like this."
"Do you ever just wanna give up and not even bother trying with this life crap?"
"I'm just feeling so overwhelmed and it doesn't feel like anyone is really here."
I know I should be more compassionate. But good lord, it gets to a point where you just can't take it anymore. If its not one thing, it's another. There's rarely a bright moment in this person's life. Damn, I'm getting depressed just writing about it.
"Slather up the sunscreen... I had a mole looked at recently and the doctor told me that due to the extent of its irregular borders I'm flirting with a melanoma." Whew... thanks for that Debbie. I needed a laugh. HA HA
Debating the Appropriate
There are lots of stories to tell in life. I'm best at telling them when they're about me! I don't mind letting my ass hang out there sometimes, baring my embarrassing moments for people to consume. But now that I'm thinking about my newly-created soap opera dialog, The Knots Landing of Rainbow Row, I'm finding myself hesitant to hang other peoples' asses out there.
For example, is it appropriate to blog about:
For example, is it appropriate to blog about:
- the lady that might be a pot dealer
- divorces and restraining orders
- crazy people
Friday, February 01, 2008
Mrs. Cratchett
Knots Landing of Rainbow Row -- Chapter One
After moving into the new house last year, I quickly learned that the neighbors are all super nice. And apparently, some are super nosey.
I was invited next door to a Cinco de Mayo party shortly after moving in to my place. A friend was over and we started the evening off right by having a few margaritas at my place before the two of us wandered next door to the neighbors' back yard. I had a decent buzz going, was feeling friendly and looking forward to meeting some new folks. Chuck and Gene have a beautiful space that's immaculately groomed, as it should be -- don't all gay couples have flawless taste and design style? The party was quite a bash with people from all over the neighborhood and beyond, an open bar, and lots of snacks. Most people seemed sufficiently loosened up by the tequila when my friend and I got there and we had fun meeting many of my immediate neighbors and having another drink or two.
One of them was named Sarah -- heretofore referred to as Mrs. Cratchett. Her home is across the street, kitty-corner to mine. My side of the street is on a slight slope, so our homes sit up on the top of a small hill. This allows for a nice view of the tops of the trees in the yards across the street. I have to look down slightly to see their houses over there. Well apparently its easier for them to look up at us on this side.
"Todd, meet Sarah" Gene says, introducing me to Mrs. Cratchett.
"Oh, so you're the new guy eh?" she says, shaking my hand with one hand, holding her margarita with the other. I can see the fog of alcohol in her eyes and knew she was feeling pretty good. "Just so you know," she continues, "I sometimes stay up late at night, watching TV in my front room, so I've got a great view of your house. I can see when people are coming and going -- you know, for the booty calls." She grins.
I laugh and replied, "Well, unfortunately, no booty calls yet."
Her response was dead pan: "I know."
Damn Mrs. Cratchett!
After moving into the new house last year, I quickly learned that the neighbors are all super nice. And apparently, some are super nosey.
I was invited next door to a Cinco de Mayo party shortly after moving in to my place. A friend was over and we started the evening off right by having a few margaritas at my place before the two of us wandered next door to the neighbors' back yard. I had a decent buzz going, was feeling friendly and looking forward to meeting some new folks. Chuck and Gene have a beautiful space that's immaculately groomed, as it should be -- don't all gay couples have flawless taste and design style? The party was quite a bash with people from all over the neighborhood and beyond, an open bar, and lots of snacks. Most people seemed sufficiently loosened up by the tequila when my friend and I got there and we had fun meeting many of my immediate neighbors and having another drink or two.
One of them was named Sarah -- heretofore referred to as Mrs. Cratchett. Her home is across the street, kitty-corner to mine. My side of the street is on a slight slope, so our homes sit up on the top of a small hill. This allows for a nice view of the tops of the trees in the yards across the street. I have to look down slightly to see their houses over there. Well apparently its easier for them to look up at us on this side.
"Todd, meet Sarah" Gene says, introducing me to Mrs. Cratchett.
"Oh, so you're the new guy eh?" she says, shaking my hand with one hand, holding her margarita with the other. I can see the fog of alcohol in her eyes and knew she was feeling pretty good. "Just so you know," she continues, "I sometimes stay up late at night, watching TV in my front room, so I've got a great view of your house. I can see when people are coming and going -- you know, for the booty calls." She grins.
I laugh and replied, "Well, unfortunately, no booty calls yet."
Her response was dead pan: "I know."
Damn Mrs. Cratchett!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The "Knots Landing" of Rainbow Row
Last year I bought a house. Having been in Atlanta for a year at the time, I decided it was time to sink some money into a home as an investment. I missed having the tax benefit of the mortgage interest deduction. Plus, my work was paying me $5k towards closing costs as part of the relocation package from Utah to Georgia and the money was scheduled to go away. So I needed to use it or lose it.
I had the cutest little realtor, a sweet lady by the name of Pattie. She was probably around 65, fully gray with a very slight build -- maybe 5' tall and no more than 100 pounds soaking wet. But she knew Atlanta like the back of her hand. We searched high and low for a place to my liking. I initially thought I'd like to stay somewhere close to the city center and get a cool condo in a high rise tower, or a loft or townhouse somewhere. But I quickly realized that there was a glut of inventory of these types of places in the city. It made me think twice because I had such a difficult time selling my townhouse in Utah before the move and when I finally did get a buyer, I barely broke even. Condos and townhouses are the first to go south in a soft market and the last to come around when things pick up. Add on top of that the monthly HOA fees they charge in this neck of the woods ($250 to $350 a month), plus the incredibly high property taxes for the city and county, and I was definitely disheartened.
So the search continued. I told Pattie one day that maybe we should look at houses. Her response: "Oh honey, you'll never find a house inside the perimeter within your budget." haha The "perimeter" is I-285 that runs in a big circle all around the city. Houses "inside the perimeter" or "itp" are generally much more expensive than those "otp" in the burbs. But that's the rub -- who wants to live way the hell out there in the suburbs? Not me.
Well, to make a long story short, the decline in the housing market helped me because in the end we found a cute little house "itp" that was just in my price range and which had been completely remodeled. It was built in 1959, is a single story brick rambler, super small (1120 sq. ft.) but had a huge yard with big mature trees on a beautiful, wooded street. The property taxes were much lower and while it wasn't in the city center, it was only 10 minutes away. I made the offer, negotiated a bit and settled. It's been almost a year since.
Now here's where the story gets interesting -- up to this point its all been back ground (and if you're reading this, you must be thinking "get to the point, damnit!").
It turns out that this place is rainbow row. The "gayborhood". Little Castro. Whatever you want to call it. Right next door there's a gay couple that's been together 12 years. Across the street is another gay couple that bought their house 4 or 5 years ago. Next to them is another gay guy who's boyfriend from NYC just moved in with him. Next to them is a lesbian. Down the street is another single gay guy, and further down is another gay couple. AND, the lady that sold me the place was a lesbian (who did a lot of the remodeling work herself -- go figure!) and there was a lesbian couple that lived in the house before she bought it. Whew! Now, I knew Atlanta had a big gay population -- the third largest in the country, from what I've heard. But who knew my new little house was gonna be surrounded by "family"?
Needless to say, this makes for lots of interesting stories and gossip galore. The "Knots Landing" of Rainbow Row has been born on my blog. Stay tuned for future entries of the craziness that is my life in the gayborhood.
I had the cutest little realtor, a sweet lady by the name of Pattie. She was probably around 65, fully gray with a very slight build -- maybe 5' tall and no more than 100 pounds soaking wet. But she knew Atlanta like the back of her hand. We searched high and low for a place to my liking. I initially thought I'd like to stay somewhere close to the city center and get a cool condo in a high rise tower, or a loft or townhouse somewhere. But I quickly realized that there was a glut of inventory of these types of places in the city. It made me think twice because I had such a difficult time selling my townhouse in Utah before the move and when I finally did get a buyer, I barely broke even. Condos and townhouses are the first to go south in a soft market and the last to come around when things pick up. Add on top of that the monthly HOA fees they charge in this neck of the woods ($250 to $350 a month), plus the incredibly high property taxes for the city and county, and I was definitely disheartened.
So the search continued. I told Pattie one day that maybe we should look at houses. Her response: "Oh honey, you'll never find a house inside the perimeter within your budget." haha The "perimeter" is I-285 that runs in a big circle all around the city. Houses "inside the perimeter" or "itp" are generally much more expensive than those "otp" in the burbs. But that's the rub -- who wants to live way the hell out there in the suburbs? Not me.
Well, to make a long story short, the decline in the housing market helped me because in the end we found a cute little house "itp" that was just in my price range and which had been completely remodeled. It was built in 1959, is a single story brick rambler, super small (1120 sq. ft.) but had a huge yard with big mature trees on a beautiful, wooded street. The property taxes were much lower and while it wasn't in the city center, it was only 10 minutes away. I made the offer, negotiated a bit and settled. It's been almost a year since.
Now here's where the story gets interesting -- up to this point its all been back ground (and if you're reading this, you must be thinking "get to the point, damnit!").
It turns out that this place is rainbow row. The "gayborhood". Little Castro. Whatever you want to call it. Right next door there's a gay couple that's been together 12 years. Across the street is another gay couple that bought their house 4 or 5 years ago. Next to them is another gay guy who's boyfriend from NYC just moved in with him. Next to them is a lesbian. Down the street is another single gay guy, and further down is another gay couple. AND, the lady that sold me the place was a lesbian (who did a lot of the remodeling work herself -- go figure!) and there was a lesbian couple that lived in the house before she bought it. Whew! Now, I knew Atlanta had a big gay population -- the third largest in the country, from what I've heard. But who knew my new little house was gonna be surrounded by "family"?
Needless to say, this makes for lots of interesting stories and gossip galore. The "Knots Landing" of Rainbow Row has been born on my blog. Stay tuned for future entries of the craziness that is my life in the gayborhood.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Doormat, Revisited
Okay, so he came for dinner and was very gracious and sweet. But damn, I was pissed off earlier. This friendship is definitely a roller coaster.
My Name Should Be Mat
As in "doormat."
I have this friend who can be the biggest sh*t. Sometimes I wonder why I make an effort to maintain a friendship with him. Someday maybe he'll find my blog, read this and realize that he IS a sh*t -- a big, brown, steamy one. Until then, please allow me to vent.
I invited him and a couple of others over for dinner tonight. He seemed excited about it when I asked him yesterday. Unfortunately the other couple had to cancel, so I wanted to confirm that...we'll call him "George"...was still planning on coming. So today when I saw him online, I pinged him to confirm the time -- 6:30.
Here's the text of our convo:
Me: Hey, did you get my voice mail? Will 6:30 work for you for dinner?
George: Do I have a choice?
Super long pause as the steam begins to rise and I try to choke back an angry, scathing response. Deep breath, count... one....two...three....(am I crazy or somehow psycho that his answer angered me??)
Me: Well, I suppose you can choose not to come.
George: Well, 6:30 it is then.
I guess he doesn't realize that I have spent $50 to purchase food, will be cooking for about 2 hours and all he has to do is show up and consume it. Heaven forbid that I should put constraints on his schedule and serve dinner at 6:30. Sheesh!
This is the same friend that asked if I could pick him up at the airport a couple of weeks ago on his return from spending the holidays with his family. I hesitated when he asked. I had already been to the airport once that day, dropping off another couple of friends for a quick trip to Europe. But having a friend drop you or pick you up from the airport is a nice thing. It's good having someone there for you after a long trip, to see a friendly face, and I can totally understand why he asked me. Although, to be honest, I rarely ask friends to chauffeur me to the airport. Atlanta is a huge metro area and many of us in my circle of friends are scattered about the city. I guess I'm the type of person that doesn't like to put people out or inconvenience them. Well, George isn't.
It's about 45 miles round trip from my house to the airport. But when you add in driving from my home, to the airport, to George's house and back to mine, it's around 70 miles total. That's a lot of driving, not to mention gas which is now hovering at $3.00 a gallon. But I still wanted to help and was looking forward to seeing him, so I made the suggestion that since I'd already been to the airport once that day, perhaps he could take the train to the station near my house. I would pick him up from there and drive him home -- still at least 20 miles round trip. His response: "No thanks. That's WAY out of my way."
Somehow I guess it doesn't register with him that for me to drive 70 miles and take an hour and a half out of my work day is somehow NOT out of my way.
Can you see the halo above my head? I swear, it must be there. Either that, or I'm changing my name to Mat.
I have this friend who can be the biggest sh*t. Sometimes I wonder why I make an effort to maintain a friendship with him. Someday maybe he'll find my blog, read this and realize that he IS a sh*t -- a big, brown, steamy one. Until then, please allow me to vent.
I invited him and a couple of others over for dinner tonight. He seemed excited about it when I asked him yesterday. Unfortunately the other couple had to cancel, so I wanted to confirm that...we'll call him "George"...was still planning on coming. So today when I saw him online, I pinged him to confirm the time -- 6:30.
Here's the text of our convo:
Me: Hey, did you get my voice mail? Will 6:30 work for you for dinner?
George: Do I have a choice?
Super long pause as the steam begins to rise and I try to choke back an angry, scathing response. Deep breath, count... one....two...three....(am I crazy or somehow psycho that his answer angered me??)
Me: Well, I suppose you can choose not to come.
George: Well, 6:30 it is then.
I guess he doesn't realize that I have spent $50 to purchase food, will be cooking for about 2 hours and all he has to do is show up and consume it. Heaven forbid that I should put constraints on his schedule and serve dinner at 6:30. Sheesh!
This is the same friend that asked if I could pick him up at the airport a couple of weeks ago on his return from spending the holidays with his family. I hesitated when he asked. I had already been to the airport once that day, dropping off another couple of friends for a quick trip to Europe. But having a friend drop you or pick you up from the airport is a nice thing. It's good having someone there for you after a long trip, to see a friendly face, and I can totally understand why he asked me. Although, to be honest, I rarely ask friends to chauffeur me to the airport. Atlanta is a huge metro area and many of us in my circle of friends are scattered about the city. I guess I'm the type of person that doesn't like to put people out or inconvenience them. Well, George isn't.
It's about 45 miles round trip from my house to the airport. But when you add in driving from my home, to the airport, to George's house and back to mine, it's around 70 miles total. That's a lot of driving, not to mention gas which is now hovering at $3.00 a gallon. But I still wanted to help and was looking forward to seeing him, so I made the suggestion that since I'd already been to the airport once that day, perhaps he could take the train to the station near my house. I would pick him up from there and drive him home -- still at least 20 miles round trip. His response: "No thanks. That's WAY out of my way."
Somehow I guess it doesn't register with him that for me to drive 70 miles and take an hour and a half out of my work day is somehow NOT out of my way.
Can you see the halo above my head? I swear, it must be there. Either that, or I'm changing my name to Mat.
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