It's getting near the end of the day on Friday and I'm looking for a back door to sneak out of. All of the office women are going crazy. They are like apes in khakis and flower print shirts who know the promised treats of apple martinis and Julia Roberts movies are very close. They are screeching ("I want guacomole!" "Derek doesn't like crowded bars!") and banging on their cages. I feel the same way, but the tail end of a hangover is keeping me slightly more in check.
I just called Kyle at Microsoft. I love calling him there. I always feel important asking the operator to please connect me with Kyle Kinkade ("Last name spelt K-I-N-K-A-D-E"). They always say "Thank you, Sir. I'm connecting you now" and I feel like I've had an agent of the machine do my bidding.
Sidenote:I like it when people call me sir, especially teenagers. I'm not one of those people who get caught up on the youth not finding me hip enough to call me dude anymore. And I'm deffinitely not going to be one of those lame-ass Jimmy Buffet listening people who tell the youngin's to call me "Brent". Hell no, I'm Mr. Kinkade, Snotface, now go mow a yard or play with fire.
Anyways, I called Kyle and he told me he has a top secret project that might keep him away from the apartment until Wednesday. He's like Batman, he can't reveal what he does outside of the home. He's so precious with his little red sports car and big brain. Speaking of which, last night he brought up the excellent point that I know a lot more about computers than I let on. Ever since I've moved to Seattle I act like I'm a hillbilly whenever he and his friends start talking about computers. I even got a shirt made up that says "Don't talk to me about computers" (with a 66 on the back for esoteric appeal) to wear to one of his little socials.
The thing is, I was considered pretty proficient with computers back when I was in college. Is this some self-defeating sibling rivalry of mine? Why do I always pretend to fall asleep when he says "CPU". Does it work the other way? I've haven't seen Kyle read anything since I've been here, but I see books in his room.
I think I got a promotion today. Not any extra money, but extra responsibility. I'm replacing some guy named Roy who left recently. He did other stuff with folders and paper that I bet many have never dreamed could be done. I'm looking forward to my new role and whole new cubicle! Maybe I'll stay on and become a full-time (non temp.) Roy part 2. This Roy fella always dressed kind of sharp and listened to trendy music. Maybe if I do a good job I can make enough money to dress in Gap clothes and say things like "Should we listen to new Radiohead or old Portishead" and "I say, Teeny, is this cabarnet or cabARET?"
I'm ready to go. I want to try to squeeze in some frolfing before I go see Ramones girl tonight. She and her buddies caught some salmon in the ocean last weekend and I want to cook it up tonight (found a simple receipe for bbq salmon that sounds like it will make panties wet). Then it'll be off to a party with people I don't know and more than likely alcohol (which I'm all too familiar with).
Before I go I want to talk about something. I keep thinking about my pops every time I use the copy machine at work. Although, I'm pretty sure my dad has someone who does his copying for him and I can't ever remember dad doing too much Xeroxing in the garage as a kid. This got me thinking about father figures and how they affect us. I've been stuck with this image of Atticus Finch hunched over a copier blankly staring at the words "1 side/2 side" with a look that says "How did I get here?" on his face. Oh, to be the men we want to be, and yet we are the men we are.
Ok, the ape women are getting restless; I better start making a run for it. Late
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