Friday afternoon. Another evening, I plan to go to the cigar social. Once again, something prevents Mike from attending, which I am getting used to since I have a good time anyway. Whatever plans I make with Mike, there is always the chance that he will not be able to come with me.

Last week this happened; the time before, that happened. I take comfort in the fact that he will not read this, since if he did, he would more than likely be upset. I am not upset, like I said, I am getting used to it.

On one hand, part of me feels like I should not invite him to anything since he usually can’t make it, and on the other hand, a good friend will always invite someone even when they know the outcome will be a no-show. The whole Eeyore and his friends will always invite Eeyore despite Eeyore being so depressed.

I went through that scenario when working with the primates under Shahabudeena Khan’s impotent watch at Bratty McGrotty. I was depressed and even had a printout of a meme showing Eeyore and his dilemma, which went unnoticed by the primates. Honestly, I would have had better communication with Koko and her sign language skills than the homunculi by the postage machines.

Right now it is 69° and the forecast says it will likely be that way all night. Bill is on the road, and I was hoping for Mike’s company, but things being what they are, I will be flying solo, or at least walking solo. Right now, I am floating above being upset. The guys at the cigar lounge are good enough company, and this being the third visit, I do have my routine in order, travelling from point A to point B.

Laundry has been completed, and I have yet to take a shower, which means the laundry has not been hung out to dry. I suppose I will shower within the hour. Last week’s bus fiasco will probably recur again but this week I am ready for it. I have to figure out what to wear to the cigar lounge; something low cut will be out since I wore something low cut last week. I did wear flats, which did nothing for my bosom .

Mike just phoned with more of his tales of woe. It’s a tale I have heard before and will likely hear again. Waiting for the cable company to show up leaves him under house arrest. I would be content to stay at home but Bill suggested that I do go to the cigar lounge and that is what I will do.

There are places and things I hoped to show Mike and those things aren’t going anywhere as far as I know. They will be there if and when Mike is able to get it together and join me. And sometimes getting it together is not in Mike’s hands, external forces at work I reckon. I’d hate to think it was me, but who knows, really?

White skies all day, no patch of blue on this first Thursday in April 2025. Things are happening all over. Too many things perhaps. Most of them are stressful, and instead of stressing myself out, I’ll try to post about something else. But what?

When gathering steps, I sometimes think of things to write about, and by things, I occasionally mean people in the past. Today, Isaac Roberto popped into my head. I have an uneasy relationship with Isaac Roberto. We first met 23 years ago when I worked for Wanker Banker, formerly known as Putnam Lovell NBF.

I received a job alert from a small staffing firm and followed through. I met Isaac Roberto one rainy Wednesday afternoon. I was a bit damp. Isaac Roberto asked where I saw myself in five years, and I am fairly sure that was the first time that question crossed my path. I mentioned that I hoped to be writing for the New Yorker, which was something Isaac Roberto didn’t expect.

The interview went well and before going fully on board, Issac Roberto sent me a test. I’m pretty sure it was a power move on his part, so small in stature he was. For some godforsaken reason the test had arithmetic on it, which I did OK on, but also included some problems involving fractions. My friend Jane called when I was panicking, and since she knew fractions quite well, I read the questions to her on the phone, and she answered correctly, and I got the job.

Isaac Roberto and I got along OK then. I worked with a young woman, Janelle, who was an actress, singer and was constantly at odds with Isaac Roberto, who called her ‘Miss’ all the time, which she hated. Janelle and I sat down the hall from Isaac Roberto’s orifice, and from a hundred feet away we could see him pick his nose throughout the day.

Isaac Roberto truly wanted to be the doyenne of Human Resources but was constantly thwarted by Maggie Alexandre, who held the title from her perch in San Francisco. Maggie was an attendee from the human be-in in San Francisco way back in the Jurassic era summer of love of 1967, now fully embracing the joy of capitalism.

Isaac Roberto eventually saw the mucous writing on the wall, and left the Wanker Bankers. I have posted about Bobby Rissotto, aka Isaac Roberto in an interesting story in 2008. Isaac Roberto and his fiancée, Greg Wear, attended a party we had at Maxwell’s in 2010, and 3 years later got me a temp position for the Algerian Management Junket, where he was working.

It was a two-month gig that laid the groundwork for a full-time position in 2014. I did interview for the Algerian Management Junket with Lew Ollittu once before when working at the cigar shack that went nowhere. This was a different Isaac Roberto in 2014. Whatever niceness Isaac Roberto might have had in 2004, ten years later was completely gone.

Isaac Roberto was abused daily by his supervisor Al Helibes and since shit rolls downhill, Isaac Roberto would take his frustration out on me. I would set up the storage area in a certain way and then go to lunch, only to find everything I had done was thrown off the shelves and in a pile in the middle of the floor.

Isaac Roberto had had enough after a few years of that, and soon announced he was leaving the Junket. There was a going-away dinner for him, and I steadfastly refused to go. Isaac Roberto pleaded with me to attend his dinner, and I explained that he had been so monstrous to me, why would I go celebrate him?

Isaac Roberto had no answer, and I did not attend though my image was photoshopped in the group photo of the admin staff of the Algerian Management Junket.

Isaac Roberto had an assistant who lived in Hoboken, Samantha Winter, who was a nice, yet deeply closeted woman. That was how I kept tabs on what Isaac Roberto was up to. Isaac Roberto wound up working for Trinity Church but it didn’t last long since the Holy Water vessels kept boiling over whenever Isaac Roberto was in the area.

I heard from Samantha that Isaac Roberto was released from Trinity Church, and I couldn’t hide a smirk on my face, which caught Samantha unawares. I’m sure she told Isaac Roberto my reaction. Isaac Roberto last spoke when discussing Samantha’s passing in 2020.

Isaac Roberto still has an online presence, sort of like digital cholera. I am sure Isaac Roberto has a copy of The Art of the Deal on his bookshelf; he was in such adoration for L’Orange Merde.

Blackout