I did not write last night, it completely slipped my mind. So much going on in the world and though I was sitting in front of the computer keyboard, I opted for distraction. Bill was home but in a funk. I think it was because he saw what I looked at online. Hot men.

No one nearby, no threat but still I think it bothered him. I’d like to think if I saw what he looked at and liked I wouldn’t be bothered or threatened and would probably make a joke about it. But I don’t know. I love him too much to throw it all away.

My friend Daisy. She’s a sweetheart, a genuinely nice person. I’ve known her for years and we look out for each other. She has a son that she raises by herself. She has a good job and works with neurotic Filipinos. She has my sympathy.

Daisy and I have been in contact this past week. She knows what happened to me at work and worries so much about me that she prays. She tells me her god will take care of the situation. I was quiet about that. She maintains a childlike belief in a higher power.

One of those ‘god only gives us what we can handle’ types. Try telling that to parents who have lost a child. Or a baby born with its organs in the wrong place. Daisy trusts her god in everything. I keep my mouth shut as she sends me emojis of hands clasped in prayer.

Bill and I have discussed this a few times. He was once of that belief. I can’t say that I was. Maybe it’s because I was raised catholic and went to catholic schools and catholics just don’t think like that, that’s why they have a pope. Perhaps it’s a protestant thing.

I do think that Daisy was influenced in voting this season by her pastor who more than likely directed the congregation to vote for L’Orange Merde. I tried to dissuade her of that. Daisy is an immigrant and L’Orange Merde’s scumbag staff have expressed a desire to deport aliens both legal and undocumented.

Her childlike belief will see her through. She is sweet and means no harm to anyone, and she probably prays that I will be delivered from my homosexuality though she would never come out and say that.

She does work for that notorious liar S. Khan who is more than likely a con. Yes, that rough beast has been written about on this here blog numerous times but now I don’t care. He’s an impotent balding thing.

Shahabudeen Khan probably voted for L’Orange Merde being an immigrant from Guyana who happens to be muslim. He is actually stupid enough to do something like that. I don’t care, he’s a fat fuck and if I ever saw it again it would be too soon.

I’m not bitter, I just don’t give a flying fuck if that turd once known as Schlomo the DKB knows about it.
Khan expected a medal for each time he told me he loved reggae and never ever got high. I didn’t know how to tell it that there were no medals for being pathetic.

What a week this is revealing itself to be. First up was the firing of yours truly. I’d like to know how that ended with Benjamin Taylor and Jean Horonich but that ain’t gonna happen. It will forever be a mystery to me.

Then came the return of L’Orange Merde and the revelation that a good many of my fellow Americans are quite stupid. Their mistake will be revealed soon enough. It could be a reveal of my memory of a restaurant owner for 20 years somewhere, maybe Oregon, who turned out to be undocumented and deported forthwith.

The restaurant owner’s friends and customers were quite upset at this turn of events since L’Orange Merde ordered that deportation as well as others. Who cares that he created jobs and greatly contributed to his community?

These friends and customers were on camera saying that yes they voted for L’Orange Merde and yes they knew of the planned deportations, but this was one of the ‘good ones’, not that they knew of his undocumented status. This could be occurring more and more as the tale of L’Orange Merde unfolds.

Wednesday turned out to be quite a mental day. Mental meaning depression, inertia, and sadness. I couldn’t come up with a more encompassing phrase. I did have an interview today. It was supposed to be an hour but it was twenty minutes. The interviewer was a former NYPD officer, I noticed when I saw his ring.

I think the interview went well. Then again I usually do.

Gone were the days of the 90’s, specifically an interview I had in Hoboken.

It was some business in the basement apartment of a brownstone on Hudson Street. I showed up on time and was directed by the woman who was going to interview me to sit next to her desk as she finished up a phone call to a family member. She was surprised that she had forgotten her father’s birthday.

We did the interview dance and she finished with, ‘So why should I hire you?’. I replied that I was prompt, organized, and lived locally. Plus I would make sure she would never forget her father’s birthday again. It was then that she showed me the door. It’s a favorite story of mine.

I have to admit I enjoyed the location of today’s interview and the view from the 39th floor was spectacular. Plenty of restaurants in the area too. I hadn’t been to this part of town in a long time and preferred it to Tribeca which I may have posted earlier, was getting boring.

I’ve been down this road before though. I remember Bill Carson, former VP at a former investment bank called BIO-IB, advising me not to take the first job I got offered. Of course, I did just that, working for a week at one of those spaces that rent out offices on a floor in a building.

It was dreadful, though I did reconnect with Vin Rock from Naughty by Nature. I worked with him back in those Arista days. I didn’t last long at that gig, leaving on my own volition. I came home from the good feeling of the interview, out and about on the streets of Hoboken.

When I checked my texts I got a message from Susan who told me about a mutual friend, Marge Hildemann Lear, who passed away. I contacted Julio who worked as Marge’s bar back on Thursday nights all those years ago. He was driving his son to soccer practice so he has a life to live.

No time for mourning even with a hands-free phone in his car.