Penalty Box

First. Thanks to all who have responded positively to removing word verification. It makes commenting so much easier, I really appreciate it. There will be more on this later. (Also - D, the commenter, can you tell me the name of your blog? I can't find it on your blogger profile. Thanks!)

Of course, nothing is perfect. In no time flat, one of my blogpals got an spam comment from that hideous football character who's been hitting a bunch of blogs in this corner of the blogosphere. Sorry about that DED.

Second. No, I'm not dead. MathMan hasn't finally smothered me in my sleep, though many of you understand if he did. Sadly, I've been busy moving offices and wiping out computer files to make a switch to another laptop and that's just the paid work stuff.

I'm still not-so-cleverly waging the war against filth and clutter. I considered writing a whole post about what I found wedged between the sofa cushions today, but decided that it would be best to save that for another day when the only answer is empty Gogurt tubes and pretzel sticks. Goodness knows The Spawn can do better than that.

Anyway, I was telling you about my busyness. With the changes at work, there are a lot of details to be dealt with before I can get to the real work. Our tech guy came in to add some software to my laptop, but there were a few snags. It looks like I'm going to have to swap out computers after all. As a result, part of Thursday and much of Friday were spent moving files to the shared server, cleaning up things to put on my flash drive and generally weeding out crap like multiple versions of the same document.

I have some pretty bad computer file maintenance and usage habits.

My boss J was out all of last week and returned yesterday. As is his wont, we played catch up on work and life in general. I mentioned that I'd decided to swap computers and was taking the steps necessary to remove all the files from the laptop I've been using. There followed a question and answer period:

J: Okay. Good. Did you remove all the porn, too?
Me: Yes. I deleted most of it, but I moved the clown and midget porn to the shared drive because I know those are a couple of your fetish faves.
J: Okay. Don't forget the large lady porn or that already gone?
Me: I didn't realize you were into that, too.

So where else was I? Well, last night we discovered that we had no internet service at Golden Manor because Hughes Net put us in the penalty box. Again.

We have a limited amount of bandwidth we're allowed to use each twenty-four hour period. If we exceed that amount, we are essentially cut off from service. Oh sure, the provider's website says that you can still do some things, if you're willing to suffer some serious slowing down of the connection, but last night we were completely booted off.

When this happens, the recriminations and finger pointing start. Nevermind that we pay $69.99 per month for this shitty, limited service. Forget the fact that we had to pay $700 for the satellite to bring in the "high speed" service in the first place. Instead of being angry at the poor excuse for broadband access in this country or Hughes Net who knows they've got us most unpleasantly by the short hairs, we find it far more convenient and gratifying to blame the other members of the household.

Was it MathMan looking at Bugs Bunny cartoons on YouTube? Did The Actor surreptitiously use XBox Live? Who knows? All I do know is that I couldn't get online to save my life last night. You'd have thought someone told me that I was dreaming last November and Republicans had actually won the elections, hoodies had gone out of fashion, and the world's supply of chocolate had been filched by aliens from outer space.

I was despondent. I'd watched all day as my number of unread rss feeds grew more obscene by the hour and I could nothing about it. I ranted. I raved. I threatened to cut MathMan off from foot rubs and back hair waxes if he didn't make it better now. It was for naught.

So I got busy writing a piece of fiction that's been swirling around in my head. I actually finished the first part - the opening. It felt so good that I went to bed happy and satisfied with having accomplished that one little thing. Now I'm going to have to keep pushing through on this writing because I'm determined to finish it. I want this story to be complete.

And now, in addition to this fiction piece, my boss J is urging me to get off my butt and write an outline for a sort of humor/autobiographical piece about what our family is going through with moving, foreclosure, bankruptcy, job changes, sending a kid off to college, trying to keep the other two from flying off into the ether and holding together a marriage that has had its rough patches lately.

And J doesn't even know the half of it.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" I asked him, trying to decide if I should be worried. He'd already had to tell one staff person that it was time to look. Was he now pushing me out the door?

He shook his head. He knew what I was thinking. "No. I just know that this is the time for you to write that book. You've got it in you."

I thought this over for a minute. Maybe he really was urging me to find a new job. Maybe he was mad at me for what I'd said earlier. I'd mentioned to him that I thought he should consider titty twisters and noogies as viable volunteer management tools. Kind of like mooning as a childrearing method. "I wish I were as sure as you," I huffed. I'm not so confident that I have the attention span to write anything longer than a blog post. "You're trying to get rid of me, I think."

"Seriously, I'm not. I think you're very Rosanne-ish, but not so blue collar. You could really go places with this thing and, if you do, please make sure my character on the t.v. pilot is reasonably good looking." He stood up to go.

Rosanne-ish? But I want to be a female Philip Roth!!!

"Will you provide me with a good reference?" I pushed harder.

He stopped and turned around. "Look. Stop it. I don't want you to go. I want you to be successful here and wherever things take you," he paused, thought for a minute and shook his head. He started to walk away and then stopped again. "Besides who else can I employ who would search out clown and midget porn like you do?"

Good point. There just are some things that make you indespensible, I guess.