(10:12 PM) | Anonymous:

Strange Days...

• The morning started when my sister woke me up from a dream involving Jake Plummer, quarterback for the Denver Broncos, myself, some friends, and several characters from The N Original Series, "Radio Free Roscoe." We went on several quests, one of which was to build an igloo and sleep there for the night. I woke up angry and yelled at my sister, even though she'd done me a service as I'd slept through the alarm clock and would have been late for work. My only defense is that I'm not a good wake-uper. In high school once I fell asleep during class and my friend Tim tried to rouse me to go to the next one. Before I was really conscious of what I was doing, I slapped him in the face. Really hard. I'm sorry Tim.
  
  That wasn't really strange other than the dream. After all, like I said, I often wake up by yelling at the alarm, the person or cat before I really know what I'm doing and have to apologize profusely seconds later. Yeah, I reason and rationalize my angry actions with both the animals and the inanimate objects in the house.
  
  
• I next mailed my Netflix DVD to myself. See, I've had Cowboy Bebop: Session 1 lying around here since last friday when I got a chance to watch all 5 episodes. So, as this is affectively costing me money, in that I could have had another Netflix DVD for the same price of having this one I've already watched, I was mildly upset. Thus, as I ran out the door I grabbed the DVD and threw it in the mail. But it was actually the unopened "Cowboy Bebop: Session 2"..which Netflix had sent to me a few days earlier. I, of course, didn't figure this out untill I got home tonight. Since it is still addressed to me and it is pre-paid postage..I think I just cost "your favorite mail-in DVD rental company" a cool 37 cents or more to have my movie driven in the truck today, and then delivered back to me tomorrow.
  
  
• Then came work. First off, someone accidentally lamenated the laminating machine last night by failing to turn it off. It was covered in about 3 feet of plastic. I am sure this wasn't me because I went home early and delivered all day Wednesday..so there's really no chance of this as I was never within 5 feet of the thing. Still, the blame seems to have taken a lesson from Phil Collins and "against all odds" is somehow pointing my way, which of course sucks.
  
  
• Second from work - A fellow coworker came in today, and after clocking in came and sat down at the computer next to me and following some idle chit chat and strange silence, began to cry. I asked if he was okay and he continued crying before saying he was okay, but had to go home as he was sick. He then got up, clocked out, and went home. This is about the last person I'd ever expected to see crying, if that gives you any better picture of the absurdity of the situation. His testicles have been making him complain for some weeks now, and often we've kidded that he'll have to have them amputated. I have to wonder if "the boys" are in trouble. That's all I can think of that would reduce a college kid of this stature to tears.
  
  
• Thirdly at work - While delivering to one of the larger and fancier building downtown I was maneuvering my dolly as if I were drunk on the way out, swerving back and forth. I get really bored doing delivery sometimes. Anyways, I managed to hit a wall in the main entranceway to the lobby, which didn't just scratch paint or slightly dent, no, instead it took a huge chunk out of the thing...more than fist sized. It's right by the elevators, and many people will stare and wonder..only me and the girl working desk who looked up will ever rightly know - and I think I can pay off that girl, one way or another.
  
  
• Finally at work - The near 71 year old man I work with told me "You know I always have liked to smoke some good weed though, but I haven't in a little while...few months maybe. I guess I'm starting to get worried I'll get caught with it or something.." Have I mentioned that this guy, Buddy, is by far my favorite co-worker?
  
  
• So, we come to the part where I go home. I pull up to get the mail and find no mail in my mailbox. In the place of mail I find a glad-lock bag full of recipies written on postcards. Not recipies for bombs or grenades mind you, but recipies for rhubarb pies and pumpkin-chocolate chip cookies. I don't recognize the hand-writing, or anything else. But I'd like to thank whoever you are, and I only hope that some Russian KGB guys aren't scowering the world looking for the microfilm contained within each card, as I'm not really up for having my life resemble a 1960's sitcom any more than it already does.
  
  
• After relaxing for a few moments, I got back in the car to go deposit my paycheck at the bank. I happened to switch from CD to radio right before I got to the bank and heard this promo on the station about giving away tickets to upcoming concerts, including those by Ween, Ben Folds, and The Weakerthans. They happened to be giving these away at the Buy For Le$$ in Yukon, which is next door to my bank. So, I went ahead and deposited the checks and then headed over. I had a whole scheme in my head about how I'd go into the Buy For Le$$ and get a candy bar or something, and some sliced Cheddar, in order to say I'd bought "Chocolate And Cheese" like the Ween album of the same name. However, I was saved from this cheesy, reminiscent of something my dad would do, moment in an unusual manner. I pulled up and there was a "105.3 The Spy" banner, but no one anywhere in sight. I went in the store and wandered to all the various sections, but found nothing. Talking to a friend later, he said the giveaway was actually held the day before. Apparently what I must have heard was a promo re-playing yesterday's "big winners."
  
  Oh well, I went ahead and bought my cheese at least. Now my daily ham sandwiches can be complete.
  
  
• I got home and played some basketball. My neighbor came out and I introduced myself for the first time after living next to him for a year. Apparently he is the Yukon Post Master. He told me about how our cat is over in his yard so much that his high school sophomore daughter has given it a name and a whole back history. The name was Rhubarb.
  
  RHUBARB. As in Rhubarb Pie. As in the first recipe I saw to answer the question "What the heck is in this glad-lock bag sitting inside my mailbox??" when I returned home.
  
  Conspiracy theorists, feel free to have a field day.
  
  
• Finally - I just now, in starting to write this posting brought in a granola bar from the kitchen. I haven't gotten up or anything since. However, I can't find it anywhere. And don't think I'm being hasty. I write this after searching a good minute and a half and throwing everything on my desk on to the floor and vice verse. It's disappeared. The only possibly culprit is the moth flying circles around my light. I will employ the scientific method later tonight to test this estimation.
  
  

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