Warrior needs sex badly. The wizard has shot the prostitute.
Bah, I hate it when I don't blog stuff consistantly - I end up losing coherence in my head and then I forget why I'm bothering to blog something at all. :P
Note that this is longer and more pointlessly rambling than the last few entries have been. Jay, take note! ;)
Three hours after I blogged my last entry, She was back.
I have to admit, when she left I didn't expect her to return. Ever.
But she had a break and a change of scenery, and had a chance to consider many salient points. And I appear to have come up as the least-objectionable-for-now. Ah, my ego swells! ;)
It does seem to have done some good, though. However we manage to frustrate each other, it seems that the edge has been taken off and things are easier now.Of course, I'm still not what she wants or needs. I'm honest enough to admit that to myself. And that's not the most fantastic of all situations, but she's here at least. Maybe I can make her smile now and again. :)
Remember how in the last blog I mentioned that I woke up at 0600 on Sunday, and couldn't get back to sleep before my shift started at 0000?Well, sleep kept eluding me. The heat just made it impossible for me to sleep. But for a nap where I'm told I managed almost an hour, I was awake and actually functional for 58 hours. Count 'em.
Hippie didn't show up at all on Monday night. So one of Buffalo Kisser's managers (the one that I once blogged chewed him out for two hours over phone use) came in his suv to cover. In the future, I'm going to refer to that guy as Eddie the Shit, from a passing reference in a William Gibson book. Eddie the Shit is exactly that.
But, his failed attempt to make those bike patrol guys look bad to the office failed, and he's treated with the contempt he deserves. He had to humbly beg like a supplicant before Buffalo Kisser let him inside to use the washroom. ;)
Not that Buffalo Kisser wouldn't let him in, but the guy is reluctant to call him on the phone now, so he had to drive around the complex looking for him so that he could ask in person. While squirming. How's that Big Gulp working out for you, Mr. the Shit?
When I arrived early for last night, Buffalo Kisser told me that Hippie had been removed from the site and assigned elsewhere. I guess that means I invented a name for him for nothing. Pfft, no consideration.
He also told me that the office told him that they'd get the Romanian to come in for the eight hour shift. Buffalo Kisser and I both laughed at the thought, since the Romanian does not come in for extra work, ever. He doesn't even answer his phone at home on his days off.
But sure enough, who shows up for it?
We were astonished.
We asked him why he was there, and he said that they were so desperate to have him come in (nobody in the company is trained on the site) that they sent a mobile unit to his place, she presumeably slipped inside when someone else was buzzed in, and she knocked on his door.He is friends with someone from an adjacent unit, so he assumed it was that guy. So when he opened his door and saw the yellow jacket, the first thing he said was "Who the fuck are you?"He says she begged and begged for him to come in. And he says he refused. But for an hour (he says) she begged and begged him, and said how they really needed him. So there he was. He'll be there tonight too. Weird.
He loves the eight hour shift, he's discovered. The duties actually are do-nothing, as opposed to the shift he usually does, where there are things to do, but he does nothing. Does that make sense? :P
Also, as I was heading back into my area from the area that Evil Property Manager doesn't want me to be, I ended up holding the door for a manager that had their hands full and were heading that way. Then another, then finally the one that's the client that's hired us.
I followed him in, and he turns to me as we're walking and says "Thanks. I'm actually looking for my (my company) guy, his name is (my name). He's supposed to be around here somewhere."
I was a bit surprised as we've actually met several times, but I said "Look no further - that's me!"
He seemed confused.I even showed him the company patch on the shoulder of my jacket. "See? It's really me."
"Ohhhhhhhhh!" he said. "Your jacket looks just like the ones from (bike patrol guys' company). I don't think we've ever actually met, I'm (his name)."
I don't know how he's completely lost meeting me several times, but I understand the jacket comment even though my jacket doesn't look much like the other guys' one. He's used to Barney, and Barney wears pretty much what he wants. And his jacket doesn't look like anybody's.
Anyway, that was kind of weird. And incredibly amusing, but that might be because at that point I'd been awake for 49 hours and my judgement was kind of skewed. ;)
Sometimes Buffalo Kisser asks questions about things, and I do my best to answer him. I realize that he's not had much exposure to world history or even other methods of thought, so I trace lines as plainly as possible for him.
But when the Romanian is there, he muddies these things horribly.
His bitterness and I-have-just-enough-knowledge-to-be-dangerous-ness is probably confusing the hell out of Buffalo Kisser.It all started innocently enough - Romanian was going off on a minor rant at me while I was heading to let Buffalo Kisser into the cafeteria for some early morning tea, and I'd started chanting "nononononononononononono" in a higher and higher pitched voice.
The Romanian paused and said "What is that? Sounds like some sort of fucking Indian warcry marriage song."
Which got me laughing enough that I repeated it to Buffalo Kisser. I told him that he needs to educate the Romanian, since I was sure that "nononononononono" was no Indian warcry marriage song." Buffalo Kisser grinned.
Romanian interjected that he meant Indian, not east Indian.This is a familiar conversation - myself, Buffalo Kisser, and Indian Guy had been over this before as I tried to explain why guys who are from Indian aren't called Indians by many. I call them such, though.So I mentioned again that nowadays they're referred to as "aboriginal people", since they were here first.And that's where the weirdness started.
I won't recount the whole thing, but Buffalo Kisser had a specific question he wanted answered: "Is it true that black people (he always says `negroes') are treated poorly in America?"So a brief history of European expansion around the world, slavery, attitudes towards others, rivalries, evolution, and other sundry topics ensues.
And how does it end up?
Romanian saying that all people aren't the same species, after I said that it looks as though human beings originated in Africa.I pointed out that if you can mate and produce viable offspring, you're the same species.
He started talking about some other species that used to fight the Vikings. Can anybody guess the reference?
Yup, he'd seen "13th Warrior" and was referring to Neanderthals. :P
So I had to sketch out evolution of primates for Buffalo Kisser on a napkin - all this for a guy who didn't know that people weren't always people. I'm sure I explained it poorly, but he's very susceptable to bad information and the Romanian is the font of all bad information. :P
After it was all over (and many choice lines from the Romanian), the Romanian and I were outside looking at the dawn and getting a breath of air. And this pops out of him:
"You know what the worst kind of censorship is?"
"What's that?"
"Self-censorship. That's an invention of the Jews, you know."
"Man, I'm getting the fuck out of here!"
He laughed and then went off on his "Jews are responsible for all bad in the world" thing. Sheesh, I'll never understand that. And like I keep noticing, an awful lot of the Europeans I meet seem to have various levels of belief in this.
I had other stuff to blog, but this entry has already reached Jay-worthy irritation length, and I'm hot and forgetful, so I'm going to stick a fork in it and just try to keep up in the future.Or not, whichever is easier. ;)
Oh, and before I forget, Romanian tried to teach Buffalo Kisser that I'm a Nazi, and mentioned that he really liked those long leather coats that the German officers used to wear. So maybe that's colouring my perceptions, but I found a picture that might put a face to the Romanian for you.
Remove the glasses and the uniform, and this is almost bang on. Eerie but true.
Note that this is longer and more pointlessly rambling than the last few entries have been. Jay, take note! ;)
Three hours after I blogged my last entry, She was back.
I have to admit, when she left I didn't expect her to return. Ever.
But she had a break and a change of scenery, and had a chance to consider many salient points. And I appear to have come up as the least-objectionable-for-now. Ah, my ego swells! ;)
It does seem to have done some good, though. However we manage to frustrate each other, it seems that the edge has been taken off and things are easier now.Of course, I'm still not what she wants or needs. I'm honest enough to admit that to myself. And that's not the most fantastic of all situations, but she's here at least. Maybe I can make her smile now and again. :)
Remember how in the last blog I mentioned that I woke up at 0600 on Sunday, and couldn't get back to sleep before my shift started at 0000?Well, sleep kept eluding me. The heat just made it impossible for me to sleep. But for a nap where I'm told I managed almost an hour, I was awake and actually functional for 58 hours. Count 'em.
Hippie didn't show up at all on Monday night. So one of Buffalo Kisser's managers (the one that I once blogged chewed him out for two hours over phone use) came in his suv to cover. In the future, I'm going to refer to that guy as Eddie the Shit, from a passing reference in a William Gibson book. Eddie the Shit is exactly that.
But, his failed attempt to make those bike patrol guys look bad to the office failed, and he's treated with the contempt he deserves. He had to humbly beg like a supplicant before Buffalo Kisser let him inside to use the washroom. ;)
Not that Buffalo Kisser wouldn't let him in, but the guy is reluctant to call him on the phone now, so he had to drive around the complex looking for him so that he could ask in person. While squirming. How's that Big Gulp working out for you, Mr. the Shit?
When I arrived early for last night, Buffalo Kisser told me that Hippie had been removed from the site and assigned elsewhere. I guess that means I invented a name for him for nothing. Pfft, no consideration.
He also told me that the office told him that they'd get the Romanian to come in for the eight hour shift. Buffalo Kisser and I both laughed at the thought, since the Romanian does not come in for extra work, ever. He doesn't even answer his phone at home on his days off.
But sure enough, who shows up for it?
We were astonished.
We asked him why he was there, and he said that they were so desperate to have him come in (nobody in the company is trained on the site) that they sent a mobile unit to his place, she presumeably slipped inside when someone else was buzzed in, and she knocked on his door.He is friends with someone from an adjacent unit, so he assumed it was that guy. So when he opened his door and saw the yellow jacket, the first thing he said was "Who the fuck are you?"He says she begged and begged for him to come in. And he says he refused. But for an hour (he says) she begged and begged him, and said how they really needed him. So there he was. He'll be there tonight too. Weird.
He loves the eight hour shift, he's discovered. The duties actually are do-nothing, as opposed to the shift he usually does, where there are things to do, but he does nothing. Does that make sense? :P
Also, as I was heading back into my area from the area that Evil Property Manager doesn't want me to be, I ended up holding the door for a manager that had their hands full and were heading that way. Then another, then finally the one that's the client that's hired us.
I followed him in, and he turns to me as we're walking and says "Thanks. I'm actually looking for my (my company) guy, his name is (my name). He's supposed to be around here somewhere."
I was a bit surprised as we've actually met several times, but I said "Look no further - that's me!"
He seemed confused.I even showed him the company patch on the shoulder of my jacket. "See? It's really me."
"Ohhhhhhhhh!" he said. "Your jacket looks just like the ones from (bike patrol guys' company). I don't think we've ever actually met, I'm (his name)."
I don't know how he's completely lost meeting me several times, but I understand the jacket comment even though my jacket doesn't look much like the other guys' one. He's used to Barney, and Barney wears pretty much what he wants. And his jacket doesn't look like anybody's.
Anyway, that was kind of weird. And incredibly amusing, but that might be because at that point I'd been awake for 49 hours and my judgement was kind of skewed. ;)
Sometimes Buffalo Kisser asks questions about things, and I do my best to answer him. I realize that he's not had much exposure to world history or even other methods of thought, so I trace lines as plainly as possible for him.
But when the Romanian is there, he muddies these things horribly.
His bitterness and I-have-just-enough-knowledge-to-be-dangerous-ness is probably confusing the hell out of Buffalo Kisser.It all started innocently enough - Romanian was going off on a minor rant at me while I was heading to let Buffalo Kisser into the cafeteria for some early morning tea, and I'd started chanting "nononononononononononono" in a higher and higher pitched voice.
The Romanian paused and said "What is that? Sounds like some sort of fucking Indian warcry marriage song."
Which got me laughing enough that I repeated it to Buffalo Kisser. I told him that he needs to educate the Romanian, since I was sure that "nononononononono" was no Indian warcry marriage song." Buffalo Kisser grinned.
Romanian interjected that he meant Indian, not east Indian.This is a familiar conversation - myself, Buffalo Kisser, and Indian Guy had been over this before as I tried to explain why guys who are from Indian aren't called Indians by many. I call them such, though.So I mentioned again that nowadays they're referred to as "aboriginal people", since they were here first.And that's where the weirdness started.
I won't recount the whole thing, but Buffalo Kisser had a specific question he wanted answered: "Is it true that black people (he always says `negroes') are treated poorly in America?"So a brief history of European expansion around the world, slavery, attitudes towards others, rivalries, evolution, and other sundry topics ensues.
And how does it end up?
Romanian saying that all people aren't the same species, after I said that it looks as though human beings originated in Africa.I pointed out that if you can mate and produce viable offspring, you're the same species.
He started talking about some other species that used to fight the Vikings. Can anybody guess the reference?
Yup, he'd seen "13th Warrior" and was referring to Neanderthals. :P
So I had to sketch out evolution of primates for Buffalo Kisser on a napkin - all this for a guy who didn't know that people weren't always people. I'm sure I explained it poorly, but he's very susceptable to bad information and the Romanian is the font of all bad information. :P
After it was all over (and many choice lines from the Romanian), the Romanian and I were outside looking at the dawn and getting a breath of air. And this pops out of him:
"You know what the worst kind of censorship is?"
"What's that?"
"Self-censorship. That's an invention of the Jews, you know."
"Man, I'm getting the fuck out of here!"
He laughed and then went off on his "Jews are responsible for all bad in the world" thing. Sheesh, I'll never understand that. And like I keep noticing, an awful lot of the Europeans I meet seem to have various levels of belief in this.
I had other stuff to blog, but this entry has already reached Jay-worthy irritation length, and I'm hot and forgetful, so I'm going to stick a fork in it and just try to keep up in the future.Or not, whichever is easier. ;)
Oh, and before I forget, Romanian tried to teach Buffalo Kisser that I'm a Nazi, and mentioned that he really liked those long leather coats that the German officers used to wear. So maybe that's colouring my perceptions, but I found a picture that might put a face to the Romanian for you.
Remove the glasses and the uniform, and this is almost bang on. Eerie but true.
posted by Rimmy at 11:28
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