Thursday, January 15, 2009

Tom thought

it was damn lucky he was awake and dressed when she called him. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't have checked his messages for hours. It's just not polite to make really important, personal calls to someone's mobile phone, was Tom's considered opinion. Especially if it was outside of work hours. If someone had something important to say, they should call your house. Where you lived. Who the hell knew who you were with or where you were when they called you on a mobile phone? You could be on the toilet or in a bar or, God forbid, driving somewhere. Even without having to deal with bad news over the phone, he was in a bit of an embarrassing situation.

For one thing he was sick. To be more precise, the incredibly strong smell of some kind of dried flower potpourri used, no doubt, to try and cover the equally strong smell of urine from an as-yet invisible cat was doing nothing at all to help with his massive hangover. For another thing, he wasn't at home or anywhere near it, as he had moved out of the adjoining townhouse the previous morning. Everything he owned was neatly arranged into nine cardboard boxes; an expensive garment bag and three well worn pieces of wheeled carry-on luggage. These, in turn, were stuffed into every inch of free space in his large but tastefully foreign car. Topping off the list was the embarrassing fact that the townhouse he was standing in belonged to the woman who, over the past seven months, had signed off on his time and expenses. It was to her that he had announced his defection from the project and the firm they both worked for and it was from her that he had received his eviction notice from corporate housing. And that was part of the reason that during his farewell dinner at the local semi-upscale, American casual chain restaurant, he had bought all of the drinks. The second reason was that he needed a place to stay, she lived alone, liked him, and she wasn't a bad looking lady. Simply put, he knew he could seal the deal and get out with what he thought would be a small amount of smug self-satisfaction.

All of that changed when his sister-in-law made that call.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Have to post something...

OK, this is the blog where the embarrassing stuff will go. All my artistic pretension, lame stories and scratch pad stuff will go here.

Here's the deal, sometimes I'll spend some time typing up something that I think is fun and when I get ready to post it on my regular site I think...oh crap this is humiliating...and if you've ever been on my regular blog you'll know that that's really saying something. So this is where I'm going to put all of that stuff instead of deleting it or saving it as a draft forever. I might post the same thing over and over as I edit it, but don't worry, I probably won't. Edit that is...hell, I probably won't spell check.

Also, comments will be open and anyone who wants to put me down or call me a jerk is free to do so, although constructive criticism would be nice.

So that's that. No "have to post something today" bullshit over here. Buh-by