Let’s Panic Later

I have a problem with caffeine. Specifically Diet Pepsi drunken after 7PM. It will affect my sleep patterns later in the evening. Last night I fell into a deep sleep almost immediately and then a few minutes later I woke up and had difficulty going back to sleep. Narcolepsy? Hope not. Strange things happen in a deep sleep that comes quickly.

I heard a metallic gong-sounding thing, but looked like a frying pan lid. That is what woke me up. So I tossed and turned for what seemed to be a long time. Of course with day 5 of non-stop rain, waking up isn’t that easy.
Couldn’t really get started and missed a few buses, and once in the city, I decided to take the subway to 5th ave and central park south. I looked great in my Sean John suit. I know I know, but it’s looks so damn sexy. But without a raincoat, I was getting wet despite the umbrella. Wind blowing rain in many directions all at once, no matter what happens, you’re going to get wet.

That sounds like a MenAtPlay.net video.

Took the shortcut thru Trump Tower and the IBM atrium, and still soaked. I guess this is how the weather is most of the time in Ireland and England. They can have it. Got to my desk and as usual really started working. I remember thinking about the bonus I may be giving up if I take a new job before November. But with the pseudo Zen rationalization that I uncannily possess from time to time, I figured that the money didn’t exist, and wouldn’t exist until I had it in my bank account, so what’s the big deal? And for once I was right.

People tell me I’m right more often than I think, but I guess I never stick around enough to find out.

Had some strange words with Julio, who believes in me, more than I believe in myself. And on the other hand was Frank, my brother, who can always find the wrong thing to say. Right now I’m scavenging for self-confidence, and with but a few words, only another O’Toole can cut me down to size. I forgot exactly what he said, but I was cut.

Maybe it’s an Irish thing. I’ve felt that a lot of the time, the Irish will not support each other, though if you say anything bad about the Irish….

So I left work at 2:30 for an interview that lasted about 5 minutes. BY that time I was soaked, tired and a bit angry with the Harpies at work. So I took the PATH home and walked to the apartment.
Even more soaked, I was going to dry out this once fine suit, but it looked a shambles. So I went to Center Cleaners, dropped it off, picked up another suit and shirts.

I was expecting to hear from a certain Christopher Hammer, who I’ve been chatting online with for a few years. Lives down the shore, wears suits and smokes cigars. He was supposed to be coming to Hoboken, or at least in the area, But I haven’t heard a stitch.
C’est la vie, it’s pouring out anyway.

10.11.05 Trampled Underfoot

Hope is a pain in the ass. Hope is a liar. Hope looks like Sandra Bullock. Hope is occasionally nice. She does seem compassionate. But there are the trails behind her. I used to lie a lot. I know how much energy it takes to maintain a lie and it is simply not worth it. But a bleedin brain? Oh c’mon! That’s one of her latest schemes. Hope approached me one day, “My leg is numb, and my arm is starting to feel numb.” So I told her to see a doctor. I walked her to a doctor’s office a few blocks away. She then supposedly had an MRI where they discovered her bleedin brain was bleedin’. She came back the office a day later after an emergency visit to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital with X Rays/. But how many office personnel would know how to read an X Ray? And why would she bring it to work?

Then there was the meeting. I get to work. There’s an email from Hope.
‘If anyone is looking for me I’ll be in a meeting until 9:30 am on the 31st floor’. Ok fine.
There was a power outage on the 31st floor prior to 9:30. At 10AM I was outside having a smoke with the fellas. I see Hope strolling down the street, shopping bag in hand. “Hey Hope, how was the meeting?” “Oh it went well.” “How did you all handle the blackout?”
“Blackout?…I better get upstairs.” One of the fellas who was working on 31 at that time said the people she was meeting with, Serge Lacroix and Helen Devilakos, were out that day. Silly little lying beeyatch.

She also felt the need to reprimand me a few weeks ago, telling me almost verbatim, that the big National Bank of Wishful Thinking, which is slowly devouring Wanker Banker, is looking to clean house. ‘And they have 3 people they want to get rid of and you’re one of them. Your head is on the block.’ So charming. I said, “Fine, they want to get rid of me, let them.” I think she was trying to scare me.

Then came the shit hitting the fan featuring the glorious wobbly nature of Helen “Natalie from Facts of Life” Devilakos. I was given a verbal warning from these feral beasts because of Zelzah Schaffer. That’s Persian for That Bitch. After working there for 3 weeks, she got all up in my face about me being unprofessional. Then Fat Helen and Bleedin Hope sat me down and told me to be more professional. I took it to heart.

I sent an innocuous email reminding the admin assistants to tip the delivery guys because That Bitch forgot to. Sent it to all 6 of them. It really was innocuous. Fat Helen and Bleedin Hope came down on me again. I sat across from Helen at the table and tried to make her head explode. Of course it never happened. Could you imagine the dry cleaning bill if it did?

So I started signing my emails with my full name. Bad move in Bleedin Hope’s brown eyes. The next day, “Why are you being so formal? I want to be your friend. Etc etc” I say, “Hope, you told me to be more professional. So I am. I sign my full name” “Stop it. I just want to be your friend” “Hope, you told me the other day my head was on the block. My job was in danger…” “I never said that! If anything my job is in more danger! I just got a major settlement so I’ll never have to work again…” Huh? “Hope, you said it in Jim Minnick’s office.” “ I never said that!”

I had to hug her and claim to be her friend in order to get out of there. She really thinks she’s getting over. Sandra Bullock can probably pull that off in a cute manner, but Bleedin Hope is sub par at best.

Anyway, I get a phone call from Christina Miro, a woman with whom I work. She calls on Sunday, “I fell down yesterday and I dislocated my knee. I’m on crutches and my leg is in a splint, but I’ll be in, probably a little late.” Ok fine. Feel better. True to her word, she’s comes in hobbled and splinted, only 10 minutes late. She basically sits next to me and doesn’t do much. It’s Columbus Day and it’s quiet. I say to her, “when Hope sees you, she will say something about something that happened to her, and it will be worse than what happened to you.”

I give a story in Hope’s voice, ‘I was swimming thru the Sahara desert when I was attacked by a great white shark. Bit off half my leg. They had to sew it back on with dental floss and a rusty can opener….’ Christina laughed.
Sure enough, a half hour later Hope appears, saying “Oh my god, what happened?” Christina proceeds to tell her, when Bleedin Hope, true colors flying says, “You know that happened to me…..blah blah blah, had to have orthroscopic surgery.”

Bleedin Hope.

If I’m right, and her brain isn’t bleeding that would be a good thing, no? If I’m wrong….I’m wrong.

10.10.05 or maybe 10.11.05…somewhere around there. Didn’t start dating these till after about 5 or six of them. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know.