Saturday, May 19, 2007

Today is Saturday- baby shower night

Surprisingly fun baby shower.
It was a couple's shower which I am told is in trend. I drank about 6 apricot belinis, ate a ton of food, and smoked out with some dude who came with his pregnant girlfriend. I don't know if the guy works at our company, but if he is a worker there I won't acknowledge him in the future.
Nice sticky, purple, red weed.
One hit type, but mellow.
A hint of warm mud on the back.
The dude who invited me seemed alright; I couldn't tell if he was pretentious or clueless- he had that look of surprising doubt on his face. His wife was very beautiful, but quietly embarrassed. And as big as a truck with a nice big grill. I actually liked them for their simplicity in taste and air, but would not want to make it more than that. I think they had kids, but I only saw a few of them when I went out back to get high.
There were a few other hot women, but, alas, they were all pregnant or appeared not to be single. I am not sure if I would have even made the attempt if there were any singles.
Ended the party by opening gifts.
A bunch of small clothes, adult contraptions (seats, strollers, carriers, med kits etc.), small, soft stuffed objects, soft blankets and towels and a bunch of books- Wayne Thiebaud. Mormon.
I never touched any of the items, so I am only guessing that they were soft.
The weed speaking;
I guess;
that all babies things are soft.
I thought that baby skin is notoriously soft.
Baby eyes are soft. Even their poop is soft.
I remember very little from my time as a father of a newborn.
I just remember that babies are soft, sweet and very cute.

I am going to bed to watch some ESPN. I tried to do some star gazing, but there was a lot of sky and not any stars. Oh well. I heard about the horse beating the other horse by a head, or a nose. I think that might be exciting to watch.
Xioba

Today is Saturday- cool and clear

I couldn't sleep at all last night. I just felt like I couldn't breathe. Not enough fresh air in the room. The sheets felt like a wet, hot Hefty bag. Clinging to me; wrapping me up like saran on stinky cheese. I couldn't get far enough away from the stubble on Sophia's legs. I could feel the static electricity yearning to arch upon me. Her hair choked me like spider webs choke the doorway of a beach house. She was so clammy, sticky and sweating. She smelt a bit like me, and I am repulsed.

She is still upstairs sleeping. I dread the moment she comes down. I can see her now. Black Panties sneaking out behind a tee shirt. She will have her hair up. She will lift her shirt in order to clean her glasses and show her belly, glistening with salt; and her pudendum, engorged will be evident through the lace of her soiled panties.
She needs to leave.
I don't want to see her today; but, I can't tell her. I still need her for emergency purposes. Break the glass with the little hammer. Feel better for a moment as anticipated help is on the way. Burn, slowly and painfully as all exits are locked.
I need to go to a baby shower today. Some moron from work invited me to it. Why did I accept. I still need to buy a gift; I should probably just give cash. I think that is what everybody always wants.
I need to go check on Sophia. See if she is awake. I will kiss her head and tap her ass. Act like I care.
Xioba

Friday, May 18, 2007

Today is Friday- nothing of note

I didn't have the energy today. Had my TBs and just let my team talk to me. I could not respond and had nothing to say. Not sure if I even listened.
I just kept thinking of 'yellow panties' the whole time. I needed to find out where she goes out so that I can stalk her. Bump into her. I went by her desk before I came home. She was already gone, but I could still smell her. She smells a bit of tobacco and sweet hair conditioner. There is a small hint of fruity tea and honey.
Her desk was pretty empty except for a few photos of her and some of her friends. Five girls, standing next to each other, hugging. Looked like they were somewhere nice- Aspen, Cabo, Nice, Paris. I couldn't really tell. Looked like they were having fun. I liked the one on the left as well; 'yellow panties' was in the middle right. The one next to 'yellow panties' on the right seemed to be a bitch to me. Strange hair, very small 'mushroom cap' nose, lips very thin, big balloon type tits. I didn't like her waist as it reminded me of the koolaid man. She seems to be jealous of 'yellow panties' and appeared to be a joe.
'Yellow panties' left her computer unlocked. I checked her email and her IMs. Nothing spectacular, just a bunch of admin BS and some emails to friends about weekend plans.
I got her IM id.

I went out last night. Spent the night with Stella and Sophia- they are roommates. We smoked and drank too much and passed out on their couch. Stella was the first one up, so we showered together. She is nice. Stella went to work, so Sophia and I got coffee, and I dropped her off downtown.
Peets.
Great taste, but brewed a bit too strong.
I started to have a bit of an anxiety attack during my first meeting. I emailed my admin to get me another Peets coffee.
Like Hegel's eternal return. Come full circle with too much caffeine so that the anxiety ceases. Find the correct, high frequency so that the jitters flat-line. I think it was Hegel. I am too tired to go to my library and re-read anything.
I made plans with Sophia. Some sort of tapas/ small plate place. I hope they have bourbon. I actually want to sleep alone tonight. I am not sure how to do that though.
That reminds me.
I need to tell the story of my ride the other morning. 33.7 miles of hills, but one small moment of complete dread. I can see the image in my head, but I am not ready to write it out. I will get back to it once I get my emotions back together.
I am stressed right now, but I need to go meet Sophia.

Xioba

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Today is Thursday- bike to work day

Rocked the Love #3. Red.
Aluminum, zinc, magnesium, scandium, and zirconium.
Record. SLs. Garmin.
45 miles. A lot of slow bodies out in the cold wind.
People at work seemed impressed. Fuck them.
Get on the bike and ride in.
Do something.
Saw a guy from my bike club. I wasn't wearing my 'colors'. I wore Craft jacket (black), Castelli shorts (black), Assos knee warmers (black). Black dress socks. Sidi.
Fuck him.
Ride the Giro or Le tour, Milan-San Remo or Paris-Roubaix, moron. Cut the attitude and just enjoy the ride you are not a 'pro'.
Looking forward to the weekend. I have stress today.
I have 3 TBs tomorrow with members of my team.
I hope I am in a good mood in the morning.
I would like to ruin one of their weekends.

I want to wake up next to the cold ass and warm breath of a stranger.
I should probably go out.

Xioba

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Today is Wednesday- small thoughts

I keep thinking about the old foot-binder in the turret of Krims Krams palace.

But, I need to reflect on my thoughts of April (the woman from yesterday's meeting.) I woke up this morning thinking about the poor girl that I thought said, '....dump some pork on me.'
After my shower, but before my coffee I vowed to make an effort to seek her out and resolve and seek some sort of self-redemption for my mistake. Francis Francis and some quick toast.
After getting dressed and during my trip in to work, I imagined how sweet and understanding she might be with my gesture to her. Easy commute today, nice songs on the pod.
At my desk, but before seeking her out, I did a quick search of her name and image in our associate ID database. 200+ new emails.
Turns out, her name was April, but the unfortunate thing is that she is not that attractive- not ugly, but not yellow panties hot. She is clearly fit, but only the type of fit that works in the dark. She has a nice smile, but it has clearly been altered by bad orthodontics and sub-standard whitening. Her hair has no life, only style. I just didn't want to waste my time today.

So, I ordered a new telescope- 10" Dob- overnight delivery. If only to peer into Krims Krams and get a peek at those tiny, pruned, compressed, mangled, scented flowers. Catch a glimpse of the light that reflects off that crystal white hair, and the four-toothed gummy grin that evokes memories of when her feet were desired, treasured and wanted.

Her heart is filled with unrealized love and the scent of painful, meticulous gauze; but it pounds on, slowly, like a desperate Jay's caw late in spring. Tears no longer flow from her eyes as her heart dried up long ago from too many wasted, wan beats. The grimace on her face oscillating like Janus on Carna's wedding day.

I imagine her heart to be beautiful and pure; had we met a few generations ago could she have loved me?

I am not sure how I am feeling these days, but I might need some company.

Xioba


Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Today is Tuesday- well almost Wednesday

Work was amusing today.
Several people came up to me to ask how I was feeling. I kept forgetting that I was 'sick' yesterday, so I kept answering with a very irritated, yet quizzical, "fine!?".
Suddenly, it rang as clear as a bell; if you are going to lie when telling a story then create one that is as close to the truth as possible- unless of course you are Lacie Peterson's husband. I want to say something clever about him, but the words fail me. I will think of something and get back to you on it.

Anyway, back at work, I started to tell my lie about how I ate the bad Indian food restaurant and it appears that they didn't meet the necessary sanitary standards as required by law. Not sure what I caught, but it was a mean one.
In the NYC, it was the 'Thursday night food poisoning'. In the NYC, for some reason, more people called in sick on Fridays due to eating out and getting food poisoning then any other day of the week. It is an epidemic in the NYC; especially between July and September. It Doesn't really translate out here though.

Back in the hallways at work, and depending on the person I encountered, I chose from a variety of next steps (kind of like Dragon Slayer) for my elaborate story-lie. I would start it the same way by speaking about taking Francis out to Mother's day dinner, and then ending it as follows:
To my male peers, "Went in hot, came out hotter."
To my direct reports, "I would not recommend the Sag Paneer, I think that is what did it to me." And, of course, to my boss, "You know, there are no good over-the-counter options for diarrhea. We should really put some R&D behind it. You know, I would have spent $100 bucks....."
You get the idea.

Quite nice marketing. Got the sympathy up front and eliminated further questions in the back.

I must admit, that though this sounds pretty glamorous- spending the whole day walking about telling every employee my story- in actuality, I probably spent 10 minutes in total telling my lie. The rest of my day was spent in four, one hour touch-bases, three one hour strategy meetings with the director's of various accounts; and one three hour executive 'CRUNCH' prep- CRUNCH is the secret name for one of our new products.

In the CRUNCH prep, we of course had to silence and holster our Treos, so staying focused and alert was my goal; during the first hour of all the technical talk it was challenging as usual to stay awake. I got up and left for ten minutes in the second hour, as I needed to 'ask a question to one of my directors'. But, I just went down to the 14th floor to have a gander at a new admin. I did a quick 'drive-by' and walked up and said, 'Is he in? Oh never mind, I will get him on the cell. No, no everything is fine.'
I think she had on yellow panties today.
Got a quick glimpse.

Before going back to the CRUNCH prep, I grabbed my newest director who has been with the company for just about a year. 'Come with me. I need you in the CRUNCH prep. I know, I know, its ok, just bring up the work that you did on CRISPS (yes, we name our projects like the NOAA names hurricanes) if asked'. I now had an alibi for walking back in ten minutes later.

We walked in right as one of the account managers was speaking about deliverables and deadlines and blah blah blah. So, I waited and waited and waited and listened and listened. Until, she said '.....if you are going to dump pork on us then please give us fair warning.'
'What do you mean by that?' I said in a tone that was welcoming and good intentioned.
Seriously, I have never heard such a saying. By her accent I place her in the west not the south, and I am pretty sure she isn't Jewish or Muslim, so what the fuck does that mean?

She ended up backtracking, turning sideways, recanting, etc. until she turned a bit red in the face and made some sort of concession.
I was a bit confused, since in fairness to her, I came in mid presentation, I had no clue what she was talking about, but, she somehow saw my point of view and acquiesced to my opinion.

I was now very confused, but I chose to keep silent. I made it through the last part of the meeting, and offered up my new director for additional work.

Before leaving for the day, I stopped into see my boss and she thanked me for my input and support in getting the project finished. That's my job. I did ask her what April (I think that was her name) meant by what she said.
My boss responded, 'they are always complaining about us dumping work on them at the last minute. I am glad you pushed back on her, since........blah blah blah'

It was a good day all in all.
I might see how this April is doing tomorrow. I can't really apologize to her, but I can see how her workload is.

Xioba



Today is Tuesday- back at work

I watched the end of the Suns and Sprus last night.
The NBA is in such a bad place right now.
Basically, David Stern has ordained that whichever team can whine and flop the most will be the Western Conference champion. I sure hope that the Buzzsaw that is Utah (which by the way is the dirtiest team in the NBA) sweeps themselves into the finals.
It will be nice to see Nash/ Duncan complain and flop and whine when Jerry Sloan sicks his dogs on them. I hate Utah, but I like there passion; and they have Derek Fisher (Mr. .8)

Oh yeah, and Stu Jackson is awful. I can hardly wait to see the double standard he throws down with these suspensions. I guess Kobe will just need to sit out the first few games next year for Amare and Boris leaving the bench.
Stu Jackson should suspend Nash for flopping everytime somebody comes near him; and then suspend him for saying that the other player is 'dirty'. Get up off the floor you punk and don't flop, Horry barely hit you.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Today is Monday- after dinner

My mother called me 5 times today.
When I finally picked up, I learned what was so urgent.
Darren Ross' baby girl, she is about 1.5 years, is in the ICU.
She has a brain tumor.
There was some more blabbering from my mother.
When I finally got her refocused on the details I discovered that baby Emily was having seizures and they were becoming a bit too frequent, so Darren and his wife (I can't remember her name) took baby Emily to the ER.
The tests revealed that the there was a small, inoperable tumor right there in baby Emily's head.
Benign, but inoperable.
Apparently, this is pretty rare in babies, so not much can be done, except that baby Emily will grow up to be Emily as long as she takes some prescribed pills.
(When I return to work in the morning, I will look into these meds and relay to Darren all the information that the doctors never talk about.)

My mother was clearly upset, but I couldn't tell where the booze began and ended in her words. I did however, get a read on the emotions of the situation- my mother could always handle empathy. Some sort of defense mechanism for herself- feel others so you don't feel yourself.

Anyways, my mother said that baby Emily was born with small birthmarks on her fingertips and that this was a symptom of this tumor.
Odd. Why the fingertips?
If the body is that interconnected then why the meds and not something more logical like acupuncture or herbs or massage? Why rely on some chemical to eliminate symptoms? Treat the ailment instead. I probably shouldn't write this aloud, but it is what I believe. (Meds have their purpose and place- more on this later.)

Back to Darren; he spent the night in the ER with baby Emily; no sleep was had as there was another baby there (alone) crying all night; but, baby Emily arose the next morning and began blowing raspberries to the doctor- at least that is what my mother said.

Darren is a family friend. I have spent many Utahian days fishing and nights camping with Darren and his family. He is good folk. Sincere, genuine, well-mannered, and quiet(peaceful?) I have probably spoken to him once in the past 20 years and that is when he stopped over my place in the NYC. He spent the night on the couch and left $200. I tried to give it back to him, but he would not take it. I can't remember how I spent it, but I am pretty sure I wasted it.
Hindsight, I should have put it into a savings account for baby Emily's meds. $200 at 4% over 15 years would get her a good 3 months of meds.
Darren is as solid as they come. I know that he is an amazing father, I can tell by the way my mother speaks of him. I also know how she feels about my fathering skills, so it is actually a pretty easy visualization for me.
How is it that such a great guy, great father, great friend, and probably a great husband can stay all night in the ER with a crying baby and a sick daughter? Where do guys like this get the wherewithal to persevere? Shit, I can't get out of bed to go to work because I drank and smoked a bit too much, but baby Emily has a tiny tumor in her head and her dad is right there next to her; soothing her; making her feel like nothing is wrong. You see baby Emily, because of your dad's love for you, all this noise, this uncomfortable bed, this tube in your nose and the needle in your tiny leg; all this stale, putrid, arid air; that smell of cleanser; the strange echoes of hollow cries; the beeps and bings; the strange light that has no shadows and the shallow darkness that has no life; all these strange people in white and blue clothes that come into touch and prod; all of this will be a distant, distant story told to your children at grampa's house many many years from now. And in that story, you will recount, laughingly, your night in the ER. A night in which through all the strange noises, sights and sounds you can only remember the joy of your father softly calming your tiny head with his lips, his soft soft warm whispers of 'I love you', and the familiar friction of the dermal ridges of his thumbs and fingers on your tiny hands.

Today is Monday- called in 'sick'

I called in 'sick' today.
Last night was a bit rough on my body and my emotions.
I don't know where to begin, but I know that I need to at least put something down on 'paper'.

I need some coffee: Francis Francis is the best.
I need some grease: a nice egg sandwhich.
I need cool sheets and fresh air: Dux bed and Frette.
I want somebody to wake me before dinner.

Xioba

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Today is Sunday- it is also mother's day night

I just returned from a Mother's day dinner.
Giorgio Roberti, Zachary Childress and I took out Jennifer Palson and her mother Francis Palson.
We had indian food- the good place near the cheap gas and hardware store where
the weird old guy, who has a strange penchant for touching children's cheeks, stands over you and clicks his tongue while you eat; not the bad place where the owner got arrested for embezzlement and which has a great view and a decent wine list- I am not a big fan of Indian food and wine, and I think views are a bit pedestrian and are meant for naive lovers and un-educated tourists.
Wow, the booze is starting to talk a bit now.
I need to focus.

I have known Giorgio for at least 15 years; I met Zachary when I first moved back here; and Jennifer and I 'dated' for several years. I would guess that Jennifer is 'dating' both Giorgio and Zach right now. While, Francis has been a 'mother' to us for all the holidays, birthdays and other nonsense that people need to go through.
I look to Francis for purely geographic and emotional reasons- my mother is down south (which is good) and she is a crazy old bitch (which was funny in my twenties, but is now, in my thirties, sad).
Giorgio's mother died about 10 years ago from an awful argument with cancer- cancer wanted her breasts, and so did his mother (I think Giorgio's father went a little 'old school' and made his mother argue with cancer.)
Cancer won the argument.
Giorgio's father has a new wife.
He, Giorgio's father, did grieve for almost a year, though.
Zachary is adopted. He doesn't speak of his adoptive parents and has no desire to know his genetic parents.

We had Pakoras, Samosas, Chana, Palak Paneer, cauliflower dish (I can't remember the name right now), naan, and of course Taj Mahals- Zachary had King Fishers- he said I wouldn't/ couldn't understand.

When we were leaving there was that awful awkwardness of yearning between strangers. Jennifer wanted to stay out longer with one of us, but I could tell she didn't want to send mixed messages. So I said goodbye and left them.
When I backed out of my space, I almost got rear ended.

I need a cigarette, but I quit smoking.
I need more to drink, and my choices are: Grey Goose (chilled), Pappy Van Winkle, and some shitty Longboard Island Lager (which has been in the fridge for sometime; somebody brought it over once. It is there for emergencies only.)

I am a bit drunk.
Just enough to think about Mother's day, but not enough to cease the thoughts about my mother that are making me grit my teeth.

I am going into the storage room to dig through my boxes. I want to look at Lili's photos side-by-side. If I find an old roach, I will smoke it, otherwise, those Longboards have spent their last day in my fridge.


Xioba

Today is Sunday- it is also mother's day

Before I can write about my brother I guess I should probably talk a bit about me, and if I have time, I will speak a bit about my mother.

I am 34 years old. I was born in Los Angeles and I have lived in Italy, New York and Chicago. I studied architecture, but I am now the Chief Marketing Officer for a Pharmaceutical company. I have a 13 year old daughter, Lili Silvia Morrison, who I have not seen nor spoken to for almost 11 years. I never married her mother, nor did I have intentions of marrying her, so they left me.
I was happy (relieved) at the time, but as I age, I have come to realize that I have missed out on what I imagine are glorious times.

I was 21 when Lili was born, and I was ill-equipped to handle parenting. I was also ill-equipped to handle monogamy which I think may have upset Lili's mother. But, as I like to say, at the time, she was not exactly convinced that I was the father.
Several years ago, in the interest of Lili's future health, I submitted my DNA to be tested- so, I essentially saw the birth of my baby girl twice; once, via her mother's vagina and the other time via a small, confidential looking envelope.
Lucky me!

I wonder if I will ever see Lili again, but, I don't press it. I want to respect her bond with her parental father. I wonder if Lili knows that I exist. In the sake of keeping this blog 'clean'; what would happen if we met as strangers but kissed as father and daughter? Would I get arrested? I do get a copy of her annual school photo. It comes, much like the DNA confirmation, in a plane envelope, just a photo.
Nothing else.
From the photos, she looks like my sisters. She has
the auburn, wide waved hair, the almond shaped hazel colored eyes, the wide steep sloped Roman nose, and the dimpled (fossette) cheeks and chin.
I am sure, much like my sisters, her other cheeks are dimpled as well. Haha
I have no desire to 'kiss' my sisters, so I think I am safe.

I want to write about my mother, but I think I might need to think about Lili. Hopefully, one day, I will wish Lili a happy mother's day; and hopefully, one day Lili will wish me happy father's day.

Xioba