gall bladder for sale...cheap!

I've just been informed that my unemployment application has been rejected. Apparently, it seems that I didn't earn enough last year to qualify for unemployment. Of course, the reason I didn't earn anything during this time was because I was unemployed. So, to sum up. I'm not earning any money because I'm unemployed, but because I'm unemployed and not earning any money, I'm not making enough to be considered eligible to collect unemployment. Now, if I get a job and make money, I'll then be earning enough to collect...of course, I won't be eligible at this point because I'll no longer be unemployed.

All said, I'm very close to selling off a few organs in order to make ends meet. Do I really need both lungs and kidneys? I think not...and I'm planning to let these go first.

religion...it's a group thing

My recent unemployment has provided me with ample amounts of time. And with this newly acquired time, I called an old friend who had a day off this week, and we decided to meet for lunch.

At the restaurant, pleasantries were exchanged. I told her that it was good to see her again. She asked how long it had been. I said too long. She said that I was looking good, and we sat down to eat. Being the good friend that I am, I didn’t even play ‘no work, no money’ card in the hopes of getting a free lunch out of her. I paid my own way, despite the cries for mercy from my wallet. I’m just a peach like that.

So we sat, and Cyndi mentioned the book The DaVinci Code. Cyndi has always been just a little bit behind the pop culture curve…clearly missing the heavy hype surrounding the book that occurred several months ago and only having it now make a blip on her ‘hot list’ radar. Granted, I really didn’t want to get into a whole religious discussion with her, especially considering that this was the same girl who dabbled with the whole Wiccan thing and was currently exploring ‘alternative’ churches with her husband and six year old son, who almost got bit by a snake that was passed to him, but stopped crying when the communal ‘Welch’s grape juice’ was blessed and passed around. But being the incredibly great friend that I am, in all my good natured peachiness, I figured that I’d indulge her in some religious talk.

“You know,” she told me, “the whole point of that book, and the only thing that really spoke to me and made me think was that scene where that group of people were having ritualistic sex in the basement. I mean, I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and the whole idea of group sex in the form of a ritual or religious experience is really intriguing to me…not that I would necessarily do this, but then again I might, I just don’t want people judging me on this, and that’s why I haven’t told anybody but you because I can just talk to you about this kind of thing, you know? So I found on the internet this group of people in West Virginia that get together a few times a week and have this big orgy, but they time it according to the phases of the moon, like, when it’s nearing a full moon they have lots of sex, and as the moon ebbs, they have less and less. Now, I’m not sure if I’d jump in and have sex with them or if I’d just watch, or what I’d do, but I want to see what form this experience will take for me. I’ve talked to my husband, and he’s willing to go to, so it’ll be interesting to see where this all leads, don’t you think?”

I set my fork back down on my plate, the food having never actually made it into my mouth, and started babbling about that kid who sold his forehead as advertising space on ebay for about $40,000 bucks and how I needed a stupid idea like that myself. “Just think of all the sex that kinda money could buy,” I told her.

After the meal, upon exiting the restaurant and heading toward our separate cars, she told me again how good I looked and that I was ‘quite the dish’. And while I rarely consider myself to be dish-worthy…at best, I can perhaps reach the ‘appetizer’ phase, but even this doesn’t happen often…I was flattered and thanked her. And it didn’t even hit me until I was on the road and driving home that perhaps all of this flattery was meant to recruit me for her religious sexual orgy that she seemed so intent on trying out.

And while I’m a fan of sex, and could even accept the whole married women sex and orgy sex, I draw the line at mixing sex with religion. Call it a Catholic thing if you will, but hearing people scream out, ‘Can I hear an Amen!’ while they’re about to reach orgasm would really put a damper on the mood for me.

the end

Exactly one week ago today, at precisely 5:00, I officially became one of the unemployed. My time spent at Justifacts, which was the credential verification place I worked at, was abruptly brought to an end. The dimwit old hag that owns the place called me into her office and explained to me that business was slow and that she was eliminating my position.

True, business was slow for the Account Manager which I was working under…namely because the old hag kept taking her client load and giving them to Byron, her star employee who is actually quite a doofus. I realize that the real decision to get rid of me was because she disliked me. I hated the old lady and had actually gone five weeks without looking her in the eye, a record which I was quite proud of. She, however, being the micromanaging control freak that she is, demands worship and fear from the people she hires, so avoidance of eye-contact does not make for stellar employees in her book. In any event, I am no longer receiving a paycheck. Or benefits. Which has combined to create an odd mixture of feelings. You see, on the one hand, I’m quite glad to be gone. Of course, the whole money thing then becomes a large problem.

And while I’m eligible for unemployment, I’ll only be receiving a percentage of what I was earning there. So while I was working for peanuts, now I’ll be earning only a fraction of that peanut.

I heard from a co-worker that, the very next day, the slimeball office manager, Robin, told one of the girls that work there that she’d soon be getting a ‘promotion’, and that the plan was to ‘re-create’ my position in a few weeks and replace me with her.

So I have a new secret fantasy…and what’s funny about secret fantasies is how they change depending on your situation. When I had a job, my secret fantasies usually included gallons of whipped cream, a roomful of Playboy bunnies, and Britney Spears. Now, however, I’ve had to readjust this fantasy. I would now like to somehow find out that this ‘position elimination / re-creation’ violates some type of labor law, I sue the old bitch, and effectively bankrupt the company. I know, though, that this will never happen.

So I turn to my fall-back fantasy, which is that one afternoon, while the old hag and the office manager are sipping their eye-of-newt brew in the office, a large, smoldering asteroid lands squarely upon them, instantly killing them both and sending them directly to hell, no passing Go, no collecting $200.

I then race over to my ex-place of business and dance, gleefully, around their charred remains. So while others sleep at night dreaming of lottery winnings that will be spent on flashy sports cars, and setting world records in the Olympics, I will be spitting upon the graves of two very despicable people.

weak minded

Being alone can get lonesome at times, so I succumbed to the proposition of being set up on a blind date. I thought that it might be nice to meet someone, and with these thoughts in mind, I was determined to make a real attempt to like this lady, whoever she might be. Mind over matter, right?

I showered with great precision, even making sure to soap up behind my ears and in between my toes...two spots that haven't been thoroughly scrubbed since I was five. I gave myself an extra close shave. Deodorized, moisturized, gelled, brushed, and gargled. I applied just the right amount of my 'special occasion' cologne, which hasn't been applied for quite sometime now, taking careful precautions to ensure that just the right proximity would be needed to get a whiff of my musky yet intoxicating scent.

Keeping an open mind, I headed off to the restaurant...determined that I was going to like whoever this lady happened to be. The power of persuasion, right?

I waited in the lobby and watched as you entered, thinking silently to myself, 'please, don't be the one...please, don't be the one'...but you were the one. So we sat. I stared across the table at you, determined that I would come to like you...the way your chins bounced and billowed upon your neck, the peculiar beak-like shape of your nose, the dry and outdated mass of hair which sat atop your head. Perhaps, if I tried, I could come to find these things endearing...it's all about will power, right?

Our waitress approached to take our order. I looked up and found myself wishing that it was her sitting across from me rather than you. It was at this point that I had to admit defeat. Alas, my powers of mind control just aren't strong enough.

renew now for additional savings

While some of us awake at the crack of dawn and drag ourselves to jobs that we hate, others have the luxury of sleeping until noon, enjoying their second or third cup of coffee while still in their pajamas, and catching up on all their daytime soap operas. A friend of mine is one of those people in the latter category. Of course, lack of money persuaded her to actually set her alarm and get up early one morning this week to head off for a job interview.

She applied to a telemarketing company for a 'Magazine Renewal Specialist' position, and was offered the job on the spot. And while she admitted that she had hit rock bottom by actually accepting a telemarketing job, luxuries like 'food' were becoming hard to purchase. So she reported to work the next day to complete her mandatory training.

She was ushered into a room with about a dozen other new employees. Their trainer, a middle aged Japanese man named Yan, began his speech about the company and what their daily responsibilities would be, when she pulled out a pen to jot down a few notes. It was at this point that Yan abruptly stopped.

"Oh no, no, no, no...There are no pens or pencils allowed here. Everything needed is on computer screen. No need to write." And he swept up the aisle and confiscated her pen. Thinking that 'pens' somehow breached a confidentiality restriction, she sat and listened attentively...trying to commit everything to memory since she wouldn't have any notes that she could refer to later.

After about half an hour, Yan decided that a break was in order, and he took this chance to discuss 'break time' procedures with the group of trainees.

"Breaks all at 10:30 and last 10 minutes. Whole office goes together at same time. You allowed in main hallway, but not outside office. Must stay in hallway. If need to use bathroom, you must get key card from manager."

She later found out that these guidelines were in place because the company employed several work-release people from the county jail. After carefully weighing this new information, she decided that this would be her first and last day at work.

"You know," she later told me, "it wasn't even so much the fact that I'd be working with convicts, but more that my health insurance wouldn't kick in for 60 days. If someone decided to file down a tape dispenser or something and then stab me with it, I wouldn't be covered for the hospital visit that I'd need!"

So it appears that she'll continue to be sleeping in late and strapped for cash. But at least she won't have any gaping flesh wounds to contend with.

the quest for beauty is ageless

Years ago, while completing my student teaching in a first grade classroom, I was privileged enough to get the classroom that had a bathroom connected to it. With a built in bathroom, I was excused from the task of having to round up twenty-some first graders and venture out into the hallway in order for them to relieve their little bladders.

Of course, bathrooms in the classroom also created problems, which I discovered one day when water began seeping out from underneath the bathroom door because one of the students decided to see what would occur when a pencil was flushed down the toilet.

One afternoon I noticed an odd trend developing. It appeared that the bathroom had become the 'hip' spot to be, and every little girl in the class, one right after the other, needed to use that bathroom. No sooner would one walk out than another little hand would fly into the air and the next little girl would head inside. Even when considering the miniscule size of these tiny, first grader sized bladders...which rarely holds more than dixie cup full of liquid...my suspicions were aroused.

The fifth consecutive girl had been inside the bathroom for close to five minutes...which was an eternity by six year old standards...so I walked over, gave a knock, and opened the door to find a little first grader named Rachel sitting in the sink.

She was staring into the mirror, and holding a tiny little pink Mike & Ike candy which she was ever so carefully applying onto her lips, leaving a sugary pink hue behind. Upon looking out over the classroom, I realized that every single little girl had the same shade of sugary pink color upon their lips...all in partial disrepair at this point, because the temptation to sit and lick off sugary pink lipstick is, apparently, very great indeed...which meant that every few minutes a trip to the bathroom was needed to reapply.

Needless to say, bathroom trips were restricted the rest of the day to bladder bursting emergencies only. And candy make-up was hereby banned during classroom time. Non-educational reasons aside, candy make-up is simply too impractical.

Besides, isn't this why cherry flavored Chapstick was invented?

the absent dinner guest

I went to dinner with a couple of friends last night, one of whom, Bob, is an ex-roommate of mine. Bob is also one of several reasons why I will never again live with roommates. Among some of his less than endearing qualities were his uncanny ability to locate food or drink, no matter how well hidden, and devour them, his skill at blocking virtually any toilet on Earth regardless of its suction capabilities, and his frequent 'forgetfulness' when it came to carrying a wallet...though this has less to do with 'forgetfulness' than it does with 'cheapskatedness'.

And, true to form, as the three of us headed into the new Chinese restaurant that had opened up down the block, Bob announced "Gee guys, it seems that I forgot to bring my wallet along."

We approached the counter, studying the pictorial menu choices which adorned the wall behind the cash register, and I told Bob that we'd spot him the money and he could pay us back later that evening.

"No I won't," Bob said, looking me straight in the eye.

"Well then Bob, I hope you enjoy your glass of water for dinner," I told him.

Soon after, we headed to our table, food in hand. I had ordered the General Tso's Chicken with rice, my friend had opted for the Sweet and Sour pork, and Bob sat down with his glass of water.

Bob, having ordered the only thing that his dinner finances could afford, sat and stared as those of us with food began to eat. Upon realizing that no food was going to be offered to him, he expanded his food gazing to another diner...a young lady who was reading the paper and trying to enjoy her lo mein noodles.

After a few minutes of having her noodles ogled, she quickly grabbed a take out box and left. Which was unfortunate, because it meant that Bob's attention returned to the table at which he sat. Though, by this time, I had finished my meal, leaving behind some uneaten rice. I tossed my napkin onto my plate and pushed back from the table when Bob asked, "hey, are you done with that rice?"

"Sure Bob, it's all yours," I told him. He picked up the discarded napkin, cleaned my plate for me, and then helped himself to the one remaining piece of pork on my friend's plate.

As we left the restaurant and made our way through the parking lot, Bob said, "well guys, this has been fun. We'll have to do it again next week."

"There's a good Italian place up the road," my friend mentioned.

"Well Italian it is!" Bob said, "and I'll be sure to remember my wallet next time!"

Though we all knew that this was a lie and that Bob's wallet will be unable to attend once again.

I'm just hoping that the Italian restaurant has a good selection of water on tap.

purging the database

I'm not sure if it's because I tend to get bored easily, having grown up in the MTV generation where I'm used to a lot of glitz and constant stimulation, provided in easily digestible three minute segments, but people tend to bore and annoy me after a while. And by people, I mean everyone.

I enter into friendships well aware that the person I've become close to comes with an expiration date that, when reached, will mean that they will be downgraded to 'casual acquaintance' and then dropped completely...all of which probably explains why I'm single.

One co-worker that I'm friends with has been grating on my nerves lately and is rapidly approaching this expiration date. Today, during break, she was talking about her cell phone. She's had her current one for a year and feels that a newer model, with photo capabilities and a wider variety of musical ring choices, is just what she needs.

"You know, there were 80 people that I put in my saved numbers list when I got this phone last year, and looking through it the other day I realized that I don't even like any of these people anymore! I haven't called any of them in months and really have no desire to even see any of them again. Isn't that sad?"

I just looked at her and nodded, knowing exactly how she felt.

a new (but not improved) year

As a single guy, I consider myself to be fairly well versed on the popular 'single person' conversation topics. I can comment, with eloquence, on the sad state of the modern dating scene, television, music, sports, and can even throw in a quip or two about religion or politics if the situation requires it. This being said, as I set off for my friend's New Year's Eve party last night, I felt that I was pretty well armed in my arsenal of speaking points.

Upon arriving, I realized that most of the other people at the party were married and had children. I also realized that conversation topics mutate into something else altogether when people get married and start having kids.

I sat with my hors d'oeuvres in hand and was about to pop a tasty looking crab puff into my mouth when two couples sitting nearby began discussing breast milk. Mary just had a baby, and was relating the tale of her child's eating habits at Mary's Mammory Milkstand. Mary mentioned how happy she was that her son had not started teething, so as not to have her nipple nipped on, and other stories followed about the benefits of freezing breast milk, public displays of breast popping suckage, and how old each of their children were when they stopped partaking of teat treats. (It seems that Donny was seven when he finally stopped breast feeding). My response to all of this was to down my glass of wine, head into the kitchen, and refill.

I situated myself in a different room near a few older couples whose children were well past those breast feeding days. I found a seat, placed my new glass of wine down, and felt confident that images of breast milk would not detract from the stuffed mushroom that I was about to eat. And it was at about this time when Lynn began telling a story concerning her husband Frank's recent rectal examination. I chugged the wine, grabbed my plate of food, and quickly left the room.

Plate in hand, I followed the sounds of video game play into yet another room. I found a place on the floor to sit down and found that I was surrounded by the kids of all the party goers. I basked in the sounds of Playstation 2 games and conversations that centered around the toys they got for Christmas and their favorite Pokemon character and realized that I had finally found the crowd that I best fit in with.

And while I'm not sure that this is a good omen for what type of year 2005 is going to be, at least I was able to eat in peace.