Friday, June 24, 2005

Little Black Book

Scratch that. Make it Little Stripey Purple and Brown Book.

In my purse, I always have a small notebook handy. Currently, it is this brown/purple/cream striped one with a little pocket in the front (holds my list for karaoke songs and a picture of Taco and Chip that I found tucked in one of my old manuals at work). The pages in the book have many beginnings of posts written or maybe just ideas for posts. Over time, I've become accustomed to having it nearby, ready to capture a moment that may or may not cause me to burst out laughing at a later date.

When I open the cover, the first page I see happens to be almost blank, but holds important information for a post for Out of the Mouths of Morons that I meant to write BEFORE DM and I went to Portugal to see Johnny. This is how far behind I truly am. The unwritten lines are there for me to tell the story about maybe the worst interview story I've heard, but the top only reminds me of what I meant to tell. All it says is, "Phill's interview. Growth. Cysts." This is my reminder. Sounds delightful, does it not? Could I remember to write it? No. Heaven forbid I write it while I sit on my breaks, wondering what to think about or do or I sit at Perkin's, awaiting my friends to appear and engage ourselves in lovely conversation.

The next pages are full of notes of random thoughts and sayings from times where I found myself out and about with DM, Char, Tom, et al. Who would not want to know the full story that prompted me to write:

"We are looking for the mall that should be easy to find."
"Which mall?"
"The mall that is not a mall."

This is followed by the words, "Camelot Square." I sort of remember this day. It was when DM and I were shopping 'til we dropped right before our departure to Lisboa.

All of this crazy rambling is followed by 23 double sided pages with notes and directions and half written posts from Portugal. There are more pages full of half lines and images that should bring back more and more to me, but the amount of what I wanted to write has disappeared. Does anyone from the night remember Bryan's full out conversation about "hamburger squishing foot fetishes"? I sort of do. Do I remember enough of it to still be funny? Probably not, even though the phrase itself could send many on a tirade of typing.

Then I find two more ideas for Moron Mouth posts. Would a post about how the bank is responsible for the infertility of a customer's wife actually be funny? Hardly, but it is written down, an idea for a future date when I can do more than ramble about what I'm not doing.

The notebook does not always house blog ideas, although that is the primary purpose of the paper. I do have notes about the interviews I performed while trying to hire a team lead (who, by the way is doing fine, recovering from his surgery and our team misses him terribly and cannot wait for him to return). I have pages full of ideas for team building exercises, meeting agendas, training materials, and compensation rewards that struck me one day while I was trying to enjoy the HOT summer days. (Minnesota is not normally quite this insane in the summer. Yes, we get our warm and humid days, but 90-degree PLUS days normally surface around the end of July/early August. Not in June. And leave it up to me, the "business woman" to wear a t-shirt, a long sleeved button down shirt, and a black jacket on possibly the hottest day Minnesota has seen in three years. I'm a smart one.)

I suppose all of this brings me to the last two pages of writing in the notebook. They are both full of observations from nights out this week, not even close to the posts I keep wanting to write but never find the time for, and I probably do not have time to finish writing them up tonight. Why do I not have the time? Because I'm leaving the house in 30 minutes to meet up with Andy, my former boss, and Char & Tom at the pool hall. We invited Charlie (another manager) and his wife out with us and we're all having our own anti-going away party for a different team lead. It's not so much that I don't want to wish her goodbye, it's not that at all in fact. It's more of the fact that as supervisors (Andy, Charlie, and I), we are all a bit weary of participating in an activity that will ensure underage intoxication and we each value our careers with N.A.B.A.B.N.A. It is also Andy's birthday tomorrow and I am supposed to make him blush a bit at midnight. It should be a good time. Seriously folks, watching Andy play pool is one of the best sources of entertainment out there. It's not that he is a bad player, it's that he just is a funny, funny guy. There may be an "Ode to Andy" coming soon. Hey, there's a good excuse to tell the stories of "My Boss, milking cows, and lots of manure", "How my boss 'almost died'", and "Did you ever know that you're my hero?" Three, maybe four, birds with one stone! Classic rock and/or roll time.

See how easily I digress? Writing anything of value has completely escaped me. It may have a bit to do with a stressful situation going on at work, but it could also be that I'm completely exhausted (mentally and physically) with this weird sleep schedule I've been keeping. Watching the entire third season of Quantum Leap and LOVING the first season of Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman (Dean Cain, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...) probably has not helped my time devoted to blogging either. Hey, I get distracted by hot men on the TV. This is why I am NOT pushing play on the DVD player for the first season of The X-Files right now. See how much I adore the blogging world?

But I wanted to write up a couple of the observations from this week. They are nothing overly special, but some were quaint moments, moments which surprised me (shout out to Johnny! (Where the hell did I pick up the whole "shout out" thing from?))

Pool Hall Blues

On Tuesday (and Wednesday in fact), I went to the pool hall with Char. Tuesday nights is ladies night and table time is free, a gift to both of our wallets. Karaoke is also going on in the place on Tuesdays, although I have yet had any desire to put in a song. There's something about karaoke where Bryan is the host that makes it special. Usually, the singers at the pool hall are much more intoxicated than at The Chalet (is that possible?) and every single week a couple decides that Summer Nights (from Grease) should get the "treatment". I have twinged more than once at the final note of the song, praying the person decides to go low rather than high for that last little bit.

This last week did not hurt my ears. The singers were talented and I rather enjoyed having the background music (so much better than Tony's usual Hip Hop station and that "Drop it like it's hot" song). There was a woman who got up to sing a song by Susan Tedeski. I believe the song is called, "It Hurts So Bad", but I may be mistaken. She wailed out the notes, hitting each perfectly and putting so much raw power into the lyrics that I appreciated her efforts and wanted to hear more. As Char and I were leaving, we had a special treat. A man was sitting in the parking lot, on the hood of his car, strumming at a guitar and singing, "Wonderwall" by Oasis. An Oasis fan I have never been, yet it was a special moment, catching someone who wasn't playing for anyone and his voice carried over the night air. It was soft and clear and meaningful. The moment would have been perfect, if not for the man relieving himself on the other side of the parking lot.

The other story I want to share is about last night. Donovan, of Harleys and Guinness: The Making of a DMan (not updated recently), has now said his farewells to our call center. No longer will we see our Republican friend strolling around, answering questions for bankers, and telling fun stories at work. It is a bit sad, although I think contact will be kept. Donovan was one of those long term fixtures in the call center, a good guy, and he will be missed. He was great at his job and to say goodbye, we did all get together and say farewell at the classic bar, Patrick McGovern's, aka "Patty McGovern's", an Irish pub in downtown St. Paul, near to the old dungeon call center location.

Donovan was quite prepared to have himself a good time last night. By the time I arrived (around 8:45), he had already drank himself 6 tall Guinnesses and was feeling the effects. By the end of the evening, the count was somewhere around 11 & 1/2 + and Donovan was having a grand olde time. And the time I had to tell the story has disappeared. Well, now that I've wetted my appetite for blogging again, I may be able to complete a few stories by the end of the weekend.

Hope all is well in the blogging world. I know I've been slacking on commenting lately, I do apologize. I hope to get caught up over the weekend.