I'm A Ramblin' Man

Last night Dr. C and I walked to Giant because both of us were too lazy to run and my leg has been all about insubordination lately with it�s throbbing pain and pinched nerves. So we walk to Giant, which is far enough as it is. We get there and buy ground turkey, instant coffee, and a frozen bag of vegetables. I�m glad we made that trek, cause when we got home, we didn�t use anything we purchased.

In protest, I put a peanut M&M in his tea. He didn�t realize it for the longest time until I figured I should say something for fear that he would inhale it and I�d have to Heimlich maneuver these mothers. So as he�s taking a sip I tell him to watch out for the peanut M&M. He looks at the glass and realized that his iced tea is cloudy and probably shouldn�t be. He threatened to hock a loogie in my coffee. For this reason, I had to take my coffee mug into the bathroom with me. Unfortunately, I left it unattended on the sink. I heard the hocking noise, but thankfully nothing wound up in my chartreuse coffee mug.

This morning on the ride into work I saw a mother riding one of those bikes that�s really low to the ground. You know which ones I�m talking about? The ones where the front wheel is way out in front and the person looks more like they�re sitting in a recliner? Anyway, when we used to live in Yuma, AZ many years ago we saw someone riding one and my mom looked and said it was the weatherman. Not being one to put two and two together very easily, I didn�t realize that it was because she recognized his face that she knew it was the weatherman. I thought that everyone who rode one of those bikes was a weatherman. Like it was some special privilege. So when I see one I automatically think they�re a meteorologist.

Yesterday I went to a certain temp agency that shall remain nameless (Friends and Company). I went there to retest so that they could find me a better job than the one I have now. I walk in the office where all these mothers are sitting at their desks trying to find people temp work. I must have triggered some gay trip-wire because as soon as I walk in, every faggot working in that office looked up. Now, I�m sure usually people look up when someone walks into the room to see if it�s one of their appointments, whatever. Well, usually you look up, realize that person is not there to see you, and continue working. Oh no�not there. They continue to stare. Someone finally comes to talk to me (not one of the Nelly�s) and they set me up to take the tests and I gave her my updated resume. She said she would pass it along to see if anyone had anything that matched my credentials. The first thing listed after education is my language skillz and that I speak French fluently (not really, but whatever). I�m taking the tests and realize that the queens are now looking at it and heard quite audibly �I need to learn how to speak French!� Ok, stupid I am not. I may be taking this typing test here, but I�m not behind closed doors, ok? So, I finish the tests, failing miserably as trying to right-click and use shortcuts on the PowerPoint tests are considered wrong answers. They want you to use the menu bar. Whatever. So they look at my results and say, �a little rusty on PowerPoint, are we?� Fuck you. The eyes of all the gays seem to follow me out the door like they have never seen a gay male walk into that building. Bitches, please.

The one good thing about the trip was that I saw a Cadillac Escalade on the street with dubs on it. I�m not talking 18�, I�m takin� at least 22� cause I know that they ain�t dubs if they�re less than 22�.

I found out this morning that my meeting scheduled for late this afternoon is cancelled so I don�t have any meeting minutes to take like I did yesterday. I should be typing those up now, but I don�t give a flying fuck about those meeting minutes, honestly. Hopefully no one calls for assistance with anything and I am free to go about my business (read: go home).

So yesterday I get home, check the mail and realize that the credit card I had applied for came in the mail. The creditors are finally starting to like me after I started to pay the bills. Crazy how this credit stuff works. So, I call to activate my card and am on hold for a little bit. It then says it�s going to transfer me. I takes for every to transfer my call and I�m thinking to my self �where are they transferring me to?� The receiver picks up and I realize I have just been transferred to India. Have you seen all the crap about big companies having call centers in India? Man, so I have to give my phone number and he can�t find it. I try my cell phone number and he can�t find it. Each time I give him something to look up I�m told to �please hold and thank you for your patense� (that�s how he pronounced patience). I then give him some of other personal information�not dice. He asks for my name. I say Eric Peterson. I then have to spell it. I realize the roller coaster ride I�m about to hop on, even though there is nothing complex about my name. It went like this:

Me: E-R-I-C

India: E-P-R-C-E? Is this correct sir?

Me: E-R-I-C

India: So it goes E-R-I-C-E? (Erice? Are they joking�I�ll save you from answering. No, they�re not joking.)

Me: OK, no, it goes E-R-I-C

India: Ok sir, E-R-I-C

Me: yes,

India: Last name please, sir?

Me: *mouthing JESUS TAP DANCING CHRIST* Peterson

India: Spell please sir.

Me: P-E-T-E-R-S-O-N

India: Ok sir, it goes P-R-T-E-R-S-O-M. (Who the fuck has a name like that?)

I�ll save you the rest of it because after my last name got straightened out I thought to myself �if they even ask me what my street address is, I�m in trouble.� They did. It was not unlike the name game I had to play earlier. When I said that my address was 17 East he thought I said 17 �G�.

Man. Call then again, I think not. Why do they need to verify this shit when they already sent me the card�to the right address? I suppose it could be a security thing, but if someone stole my identity, you would think they would have the proper mind to know my address. Jesus people, come on. I�m tired again�and I need coffee.

e.