First, hello. I don't believe we've directly chatted before. Nice to meet ya.
The dichotomy I see created after your comment "Bob, Wow, I didn't realize this thread was your personal amusement, interesting," is best depicted by the difference in our photos alone.
What I am unable to decipher specifically is your meaning of interesting. If you were to decide to expound on your intended meaning behind that word, I'd find it ever so enjoyable. Especially, if it contains comments most would find offensive or at the least...true.
Today's featured writer at 100words.net
My pansy hands which normally type all day are scratched with what my fellow workers call defaggotizing marks.
Apparently, construction jobs in my area are predominantly homophobic in nature or don't ask don't tell. All I know is a piece of sheet metal just extended my lifeline longer than I wanted it to be.
Sure, this employment isn't so bad. Call it paid exercise or an escape from the rants in my head.
Either way, I'll be glad when I get Friday off. I'm going to drink myself...
A few seconds to pause and ponder the answer on multiple levels. God no! I absolutely refuse. I could use the dough. No way am I reporting to an office.
"Doin' what?" "Concrete work." "I'm in." "There's beer at the work site." "Sweet!"
Work leads to an evening of backaches. A couch potato artist turned construction worker.
It's in the cards and in the stars.
"What's right about you?"
"My wife, the son and the salsa is hot."
"Brainy, what about you?"
"Uhh, I, I'm the most honest person you'll ever meet in your life."
"You're a salesman.
"What's wrong about you in one sentence?"
"What's right about you in one sentence?"
"You're an idiot."
I learned nothing from these people, but I did reinforce my spite for the human race. A few asked me to answer the questions. "I'm too self-absorbed. I am slime."
"Now I have to sit by Bob?"
"It's a curse."
"Be still my beating heart."
Temptation comes in about eighty-five flavors and I stumbled upon one of the tastier. Stumbled in all actuality as a weekend of decadence was the backdrop for an unexpected meeting. The gravitational force of green eyes and vows to others has me locked in orbit. An asteroid hurling in a belt prepared to crisp and burn in her atmosphere.
Happy Birthday to Sarah and the State of Minnesota, 1973 and 1858, respectively.
Just because it's Friday and I'm employed doesn't mean that I feel any relief at all about the approaching weekend. What I want to happen won't. Even if try to make it a reality the impending doom of failure has already been there and reported back. There is no hope.
Alright, maybe I need a tranquilizer or a longer nap. Somehow, over the course of the last year, I've grown into some feelings. I've shed a lot of my apathy and have even let go of disgust, at times.
I didn't think of the other one. Her unavailability to disconcerting. I needed the peace of mind. I'm giving it all away. If I hold it in, I'll burst open.
But I love this woman. She walks into the room and my entire being floats on joy. Bad thing, I can barely keep myself sober in her presence. It's all I can do to not act like a wild animal.
I pulled the chute and landed safely a ways away from truth. Hit and roll.
I'm praying for rain and I don't ever pray. I'll meditate every now and then and have even seen a happy Buddha with my third eye. However, I prefer to poison myself and this whole work thing is good for getting the poison out. Maybe give the liver a break. I don't care.
You know how when asked to repeat a lengthy, humorous but somewhat veiled insult, you look at the ground and chuckle to yourself?
You kill with kindness and slay with a turn of your back.
Bob Show! Bob Show!
You drink yourself until your liver kicks.
You work harder on two hours of sleep than some jackass who scrapes his wife's ass with his concrete-eaten hands.
You're badgered to get a response.
"He's funny but sometimes he's just obnoxious."
That's just Bob."
"Is this where we say fuck it?"
"We'll get the job done and we'll do it right. Then we'll get some beer and call the boss."
"Is that when we'll say fuck it?"
"Hook the chain higher up on the bucket."
"I'm not interested."
From above his head, Bryce poured long strings of alcohol only and a splash of something turn into a blood red concoction. Whatever it was, it went well with the Percocet. I felt little to no pain, believe me. Sedated.
"I'll have a double cognac on the rocks and a narcotic analgesic!"
The party wound down and became a deep conversation slash light petting chat with another. The topic being, mainly, about her long distance relationship. Which explains why I'm at her house at five in the morning touching her.
"It's easier for me to hate you than to be your friend."
"I'd love to steal you from your husband but I can't."
"I'm sorry I read too much into your correspondence."
"You're the one who said it could never happen."
I guess she was the only one who believed it could.
She left twice and neither time said goodbye.
Another chance encounter with Christiana Moeschka led to a smooch that put me to sleep dreaming of her chapstick. All thoughts of late night deviance were suspended by one kiss.
Parental unit's 35th anniversary today. Look at me! A nuclear family byproduct!