The Old Card Trick

It's the same thing, over and over again.

I go into FEGS WHATTHE- FUCK and sit down, eat my breakfast in the classroom as we sign in. Then I read my AM New York and the New York Metro. I'm bored. At 10:30 I'm still churning air, and we take our first break, ending with us returning to room 4F to go to the lab. I sit behind my favorite PC and work on reading my emails, which do not last for long. Then, I'm churning air. Churning baby, churning. I'm fucking pissed. My life has settled down to this stupid time wasting process. I can't believe that they actually pay people to waste your time. What's the purpose of this? I can't understand this. Why do I have to sit in a room and putz away on a computer when I could stay home and do the same thing?

And they are paying people a full time salary just to watch over me. It's a prison and they are our Corrections Officers. I take my long walk at lunchtime and I find that my range in a half hour is a third farther than when I started. I'm getting stronger all the way around with everything that I'm doing, from sit ups to push ups to walking. I am very pleased when I get back to the lab, although on time I am too late to find a seat behind a computer. Someone has already sat his lousy ass in my favorite seat. I stand up like a manikin with five others, waiting for the Facilitator to walk in and give us another lab or two to go to. It's fine by me. I have only an hour and a half to go to with the day anyway.

The Facilitator, Marilyn, walks in and takes her seat at the desk in the front, regards her screen and then sits back, calling into the air: "Hobobob!" Yeah. "You're wanted upstairs on the seventh floor to sign your IPE."

Fuck. I KNEW they would do it today. They just want to fuck everything in my life up for the next week. I just KNEW it. I head upstairs, boiling, because I know that they area going to give me a list of ultimatums in signing the IPE. Ultimatums that I'm not in the mood to deal with today. I sharpen my teeth, I'm going to eat my Case Worker's ass out today. They have me wait an hour in another waiting room on the seventh floor. Oh, that's not good, because it only gives me more to bottle up when I explode. It's nearly time for me to be gone for the rest of the day. I look at the clock. Fuck this. When it hits Three O'clock, I'm walking out of the door. They can FTC me for all the shit I care.

Of course they would show up for me five minutes to Three.

Here is what I was faced with. Two people, a man and a woman, their backs to me at the counter. The man calls my name and turns to me. On his approach he whispers: Your Case Worker is not in today, so we are going to process your IPE today." That's cool. Who's ass do I cut into surgically now, yours? "I'm just a trainee, your case worker for today is...." He motions with his hand to the woman who finally turns around from the counter and I swear to god, she looks like Bib Fortuna from Return of the Jedi. My heart sinks in my chest. She has extra flesh bulging out from her neck, wrapping around her collar...she looked just like Bib Fortuna I tell you. I shit you not. I do a doubletake, she extends her hand and I shake it.

"Hello," she says in a breathless, phlegm filled voice. "I'm your Case Worker for today, Bib Fortuna, and this is my trainee, numbnutz." She motions to the man. "Pleawse phollow me." I follow. We pass through a door and into the rat warren that a cubicle world, out of control, makes. After several twists and turns that only a fellow rat would know, we end up in Bib Fortuna's cubicle. I take a seat and Numbnutz drags a chair into the already cramped space. Bib Fortuna then goes into reading to me my IPE, which is a simple document outlining, in very professional terms, my strengths and weaknesses and if I agreed with them. I did. I signed. Then I was told about the training that they give in computer sciences, and that I can do training in that instead of coming to their classes and my WEP assignment.

Hmmmm, Interesting. Lastly they brought up the WEP assign- ment, in a Community Center on Broadway, just north of my apartment several blocks, about thirty. Hmmmm, walkable. Bib Fortuna coughs up heavy phlegm but it doesn't clear her voice in the least. It still comes out breathless, low and froggy. I work up a smile. I am to report to my WEP assignment where I will work as a clerk for Mondays and Tuesdays, and on Wednesday through Friday, I will report back to the Roach Motel for classes in retail. That retail is not what I signed up for, I point out. Well, it's next to clerical, so it was assigned to you for your short range goal. I shake my head. I want to know about the training. She prints me out a print out of the certification classes. Nice. If I elect these classes, I don't have to do their retail classes or my WEP assignment.

I am intrigued. It's over just like that. The IPE was signed and I sold my soul to the Devil. I shook hands, was given a present, a porcelain piggy bank in the shape of a New York City taxicab. I took my ill-gotten gain with me out of the office, and into the elevator.

Shit. The bastids got me.

I walked to the Meat Packing District, stunned and dismayed with myself that I would allow a deformity to fuck up my harshness. I was ready to fight until Bib Fortuna turned around and addressed me. My heart went out to her. I was both shaken and stunned. I lost this one hands down. I headed to the High Line.

I still had magazine work to do.

Hobobob

OUR WEDNESDAY POST

To see our Wednesday Post titled: "Wordless Wednesday: Dante Meets Woofie", please go to Dante's blog, by clicking his picture to the immediate left of this post.

There are also some new LOLs posted for Wednesday on the LOLSpot, titled "A Mishmash of Lollygaggery!". Just click on the LOL Icon, second from the top on the left to get there.

Ode to the Indie

I love indie films, but this made me laugh out loud.

(Via Oh)

A little love note.

Yesterday was exactly two months until our wedding (August 29th). I can't believe that in eight short weeks, Alex will be my husband. When I got home from my week-long trip yesterday afternoon, Alex had left me a bunch of yellow flowers, along with cute notes on the bed, coffee table and hung from deer antlers. It made me swoon.

Audrey Hepburn once said, "If I get married, I want to be very married."

Alex, I can't wait to very-marry you.

(Quote via.)

Birth announcement

How cute is this flip book birth announcement? (Also, the name Otto is great.)

(By Sideshow Press, via Simple + Pretty)

TUXY TUESDAY: DOMINO FROM HER NOSE TO HER TOES!

Tuesday -- time to celebrate the tuxedo kitties in our lives! As always, my little Domino is a good example of tuxiness. Witness her white muzzle which comes to a muted point above her eyes to merge gradually with the black atop her head. The diminutive snout is capped with the sweetest little pink nose and both are framed quite symmetrically with more of the obsidian darkness that strikes such a contrast to the pristine white.

To quote the late, great Michael Jackson, it may not "matter if you're black or white", but what about when you are both black and white! To me, this is testament that tuxies have a symbiotic relationship with not only themselves, but the rest of the world, as well. They have merged two polar opposites into a harmonious, appealing and intriguing blend. Now, if only humankind could do as much!

However, I digress (as usual)! Back to Domino and her tuxy toes which so ably support her in her quest to sip from the magic bath of bird. Normally Domino has a problem with reaching this goal because she's kind of short, but on this occasion the water level was high enough so that she could dip her delicate pink tongue into the pool of cool.

I focussed in on the tuxy toes because I think they are worthy of purrticular note, whether they be tippytoes straining for height, or relaxed toes just hanging out all nice and easy. In both cases, again the pinkness of the paw pads is best accentuated by the white stockings and gloves that this little female tuxy wears in purrpetuity.

Domino is always dressed in her tuxy best! No less!

Fellatio Can't Get You Shit

Sunday.

I woke early, around 4:00am and got behind my laptop and saw a number of e-mails, surprisingly written around 2:00 in the morning. Who stays up that long in the morning? Who are these people, me? I get through my emails until 9:00 and then head downstairs to the cafeteria. As soon as I step into the cafeteria space, Snow White is there. I greeted her and got on a short line for the breakfast/lunch. As I wait, I hear a voice to my right, and standing right up under my armpit is Snow White. I jump back and take a swing at her, connecting with air. How in the fuck do you do that???

"Hobobob," she says with a sweet grin. "I haven't given you a room inspection this month have I?" No, you haven't. "Can I come up today, or tomorrow?" I'm at the Vocational Center all day tomorrow. "How about today?" I didn't want her up in my room today. I was comfortable, sitting in front of my Evaporative Air Conditioner naked, and staying online. This was Sunday, my day of rest, given to me by god. I look down at her: Alright. Her face brightens: "What time?? Two O'clock sound good?" Yeah, that's fine.

I get my breakfast /lunch and head back upstairs. The minute I get in I start straightening up again, and noticed that I've done pretty much already. I eat breakfast and get back behind my computer. I step out to take a piss at 1:25 and get back and she rings the door. Time is 1:30. Why so early? "Is that a problem? I can come back." No...it's no problem. None at all. She walks around the room, then goes to the 'kitchen' leaning on the counter top. "It's warm in here, where's your air conditioner." I point to the R2D2 smoothly working in the corner. She nods. "Oh. I see. Don't you want a real air conditioner that goes into the window?" Well it might obstruct my view of the brick wall. She smiles at my humor. Hell, why not. She starts to scribble on the top most sheet of paper in a bunch that she's holding. "Going to your appointments?" Yes. "Medical appointments?" Yes. "Any problems with your room?" She stays bent over her paperwork on the counter, scribbling. No. There are even more questions and then she is done. "Well, you take care, Hobobob. I'll get that work order in for an Air Conditioner." Okay.

I laugh to myself. Paula has been harassing the Super for an air conditioner for weeks now, and if offers of blowjobs can't get an air conditioner from him, what do you think that a single work order from Snow White would do? My work order is still in for an evaporative air conditioner. If I wasn't lucky enough to find this one from the hall, I wouldn't have one today.

I get tired quickly and soon crawl into bed and drift off to sleep around 6:00. Only to wake up at ten minutes to 9:00am!! Holy Shit!! I blinked my eyes hard, trying to bring my microwave clock into clearer focus. That's right, it read 9:00am. Fuck! I'm way late for the Vocational Center! I'm screwed! As I resign myself I look at the window with its twilight colors of light blue and red yellow. Twilight?? It's 9:00 in the fucking morning. The sun should have been long up in the sky! That's when it dawned upon me that it was 9:00pm, not am. I sighed mightily in relief. Thaaank You!

I haven't had an episode like this since I was working at night at Thomson Financial. I would wake up in the late afternoon, which looked like early morning, and I would think that I over slept. I'm tired still, but I know that this means that it will be a late night tonight for me. I work on the Handbook and the article for my online magazine. I'm writing another multi-part article given to me by my editor. It's on the new High Line recreational park on the West side of Manhattan. A beautiful, elevated park that travels down the west side of the city, 30 feet above the traffic below. I researched the history of the structure which only piques my interest in it. I'm thinking, hmmm, maybe I'll go out there tomorrow to take pictures. I will already be out on the west side tomorrow when I get out of the Roach Motel. It will be only a matter of traveling uptown to its first entry point.

This will work for me. I was thinking of passing on this assignment because it was given to two reporters, me and a female, who I knew would have the time to jump right on the assignment like a tigress pouncing on prey. But I was very bored today and sent an email to the editor asking where the article was and he replied: Nowhere. I could take it. I was on the move the minute he told me and began researching all of the Internet data that I could find on the ancient project and the metamorphosis that the High Line has been through since the 1930s.

Interesting story. I finished the first part of the series, the historical part, next comes the present and lastly, its future. I work on this until late and get done. I'm doing good.

I sit back. Can I put up this post before going to sleep? I have the Center tomorrow morning. Churning Air. I know they are going to flip the script this week. I'll get my IPE and assignment for the week, which will mean that they will fuck up my 4th of July weekend. I have a feeling that this is the week that I'll be called and given my ultimatum. Which will be something stupid. I think it's time that I put in for a Fair Hearing to start my fight against these people. It's going to be pretty ugly between all of us before long. There is blood in the water. There are corpses floating face down in the waterways. The axe has fallen. Finished is this land.

Ooops, waxing poetic there.

And that's another thing. This will be a week of intense poetry submer- sion. I have PattiKake's anthology reading, which I am published in, coming up. I have to read a poem. I have to get around town this week. That should be fun.

Hold onto your hats gang. This is going to be one Helluvah 4th of July for the hobo.

Hobobob

MANCAT MONDAY: YOU CAN LEAD A MANCAT TO WATER ...

... AND MOST LIKELY, HE'LL DRINK! At least that seems to be the way it is with any of my three kitties! They just love water -- especially when it's served up in something that isn't their water dish.

Oh, they love to drink the water out of my glass whenever I have one. And, of course, that kind of spoils it for me, and I have to fetch another. I think they know this, and it's just their way of taking it over.

Dante and Dylan like to drink out of the toilet, which I discourage, of course. Domino is too short to make that kind of dip into the bowl. Domino loves puddles for her refreshment.

And, my mancats love to drink out of the birdbath! It doesn't matter if the water is fresh or not -- the dirtier, the better, they think!

It's interesting to see the difference between Dante's birdbath drinking pose and Dylan's. Dylan perches his paws on the carved kitty faces, and Dante, being a fair bit taller, can just rest his paws on the rim of the bowl (must be all that practice from toilet training!).

Strangely enough, I've never witnessed a bird bathing in this bowl -- I imagine the constant threat of the feline presences keep them away. I've seen the odd bug land in the water, unable to escape, only to become a dead thing for mancat amusement. A bug here or there adds a bit of protein to the brew which must also include plant detritus from the overhanging bushes and trees. All the more for the big boys to suck back!

Hey, I just look at this as some kind of kitty enrichment program -- not only because of the protein and greens, but because the guy-kitties actually have to work for their reward. They have to make a concerted effort to balance on their toes and drink at the same time -- much harder than stealing a lazy slurp from mom's glass!

So, I hope you have found some sort of enjoyment from watching my mancats belly up to the birdbath on this magnificent Mancat Monday! It never ceases to amaze me.

Conditioning Yourself

The old man locked himself out of his room again.

One time he locked himself out butt assed naked. He had to knock on his neighbor's door and ask for a teeshirt so that he could go downstairs and get a passkey to his room. Now he's dressed I suppose. I wasn't outside to witness it this time.

I got up and got online for awhile before I put on my new nightshirt, grabbed a towel, soap and razor for the showers. I stepped outside of my door, and Paula's crows were flying past. They were cordial, saying good morning. I was the same. I was also in my nightshirt, naked underneath. I felt fat and dumbo-ish. I wonder if others see the same? I wonder if the crows saw that? Did I see one of them laugh! I don't know. No.

The trains zapped me down to the SHOUT OUT right on time. The SHOUT OUT was small, not many in the audience, but very adept readers. Awesome jobs done. I like SHOUT OUT's like this that are just comfortable little gatherings. It draws people together better than the bigger, more packed shows. Although, anti-social me does not do well in comfortable little gatherings. I like to put away the cables and mics and break down the stage. We end on time. As the next band starts to filter in the stage is cleaned and ready.

I shamble outside to find my clique gathered together in our after party huddle, bullshitting, toking, laughing. That's what we do. We stroll up to the pizza parlor, our favorite in fact, which has an obscenely long line because the service is so poor. It's not that the pizza is all that great, it's very good actually, but not worth standing on a line for fifteen minutes to get at one. But we do all the time because we're hop headed and dealing with the munchies.

As we get no less than twenty paces from the long line of people waiting does the heavens open up and a torrential downpour strikes, sending us to run for cover in a door alcove, and cower against the falling storm. It was an angry rain that lasted for ten to fifteen minutes, and then it was gone. I dashed out to find the pizza line gone, and the few inside of the cramped establishment already had their pizzas. It was time to eat in a hurry. In moments, still too long a wait for the insanely slow and inept service, we have our pizzas and are standing out on the curb eating.

In time, the group of us peel away leaving my brother and myself heading to Starbucks. As we enter the establishment one of the counter girls shouts: "Poetry men!" when she sees us. OBSIDIAN asked her how she knew and she informs him that it was because I told her the last time we were here. She wanted to know what we were doing behind the laptops for hours when we get here. We sit and drink coffee and work on personal stuff. I for my part try not to write e-mails because I am a little bent from the trees.

Still, I did crank out one. Not good. Not good at all.

I work off the effects of my high and work on the Handbook, and then scratched the surface of this blog post, but my brain could not form words. I was just that cloudy. Shit, that's funny. I don't know why...it just is. Soon, it is time for us to close up shop and head out. Both OBSIDIAN and myself napped some of our time at Starbucks, our high knocking us out. But when it's time to go, it's time to get up and get the fuck out. We stroll down to the end of the block and parted company. I take the number 1 home and up into my room.

It is somewhat cool. I like that. It's not hot. I turn on my EVAPO- RATIVE air conditioner. I learned that today when looking over the R2D2 looking device and found, on its front, a window in the shape of a large blue teardrop. Why a teardrop? I check the window. On it's top read MAX, on the bottom LOW. Hmmm. I look over the device, pull off the intake cover and removed the air filter from inside finding underneath it all, a water reservoir which was empty. On the back it reads: EVAPORATIVE AIR CONDITIONER. The way it works is that it uses evaporation to take the heat from the air passing through the filter. To do that means it needs water like a camel.

I fill her up, close her up and turn her on. The air comes out, I don't know if it's any more cooler than without the water, but one thing is for certain, it claims itself to be an air conditioner. I turn it on tonight to see if there is a difference in the air temperature. It did seem cooler for some reason. I mean it is a viable technology. Some places cool entire buildings through these air conditioning systems.

I crawl into bed, tired and high, ending another day.

Hobobob

OUR SUNDAY POST

You will find our Sunday Post titled "Easy Peasy Sunday with Dante" on Dante's blog. Please click on Dante's picture immediately to the left of this post to take you there. Thanks.

FLEUR-E-SCENT DYLAN!

This was a fortunate happenstance, where Dylan tucked himself behind the flowering plant pot and merged himself with the floral imagery. Dylan was blissfully unaware of me snapping away with the camera. He seems to be focussed on something in the distance (for the most part) which made for an awesome photo op of his pretty green eyes.

So Dylan wishes everyone a Happy Caturday from our cat garden to yours, as the most important element to a cat garden is indeed the cat itself!

Who Cares About Being Alone

"He's not in today, Hobobob,"

Dr. A. Secretary, Eve, says to me with a grin. What? I was supposed to meet him today. "You didn't send him an email." He never reads my emails. She laughs. Now what am I to do? Eve, could you write me a doctor's note stating that I was here on his letterhead? "Sure, you are here aren't you?" Gee, thanks a million, Eve.

In seconds I'm holding a fresh doctor's note in my hand and heading out the door. It's another overcast day, but it is also hazy, hot and humid. The Three H's are on their way. Our cooler days are soon to be gone forever, being replaced by the New York heat. That spelled some rough times when I was homeless. I would have to walk through the stifling heat with a backpack on my back for miles just to get grub. That was a bummer. No wonder I was thin.

I walk briskly through this heat once again, reminiscent of the old days, to twenty third street and second avenue where my psychiatrist is. I get upstairs and what happens? I walk into a party. I head to the front desk and sign in. What's going on, I ask Pearlene, the receptionist. "A condom party." Oh. I turn around and there is a basket of NYC condoms being passed around and handed out. I kid you not. The people in the waiting room, even the very old and infirmed, are given a fist full of condoms. I laugh as my turn comes and I'm given a handful. I look at them. They're pretty funny. Multicolored condoms with NYC on the package. I wonder if it has NYC on the condom too, raised...for her pleasure.

I pocket the tools and take a seat, closing my eyes and try to get sleep until I hear a loud mouth in the waiting room, speaking in a strange pseudo-Italian/Slavic language, interspersed with English. I peek through an eye and notice Slavo walking into the room. He's one of the clients with me in Dr. D's group. Slavo walks around and talks to everyone, and when he recognizes me, I close my eye and feign sleep. Slick bastid. But my cover is blown after I actually go to sleep and a nightmare wakes me up. I sit up in the seat and look around and Slavo is still in the waiting room with me. His entire face brightens when he sees me awake and he comes running over to sit by my side. Immediately he starts to imitate Dr. D. It was funny the first time, but this was the thirtieth. Yeah , Slavo, how are you? He continues to imitate the doctor. I close my eyes right in his face, slide down in my seat and drift off to sleep.

When I wake up twenty minutes later, I notice that I had five more minutes before my session, oh...I had got there an hour early so I slept to kill time, which is easy when you don't get much sleep to begin with. When I awake, Slavo is gone. Why am I so antisocial? I tend to like to be on my own, especially around other outgoing people. I let them catch all of the attention. I like to be in the background, to be left alone, to be silent in the corner. I'm happy where I am in my head.

Dr. W. comes out and calls my name.

"So how did you do on the LUVOX?" Is the first thing that she asks as we make ourselves comfortable in her office. Well, I had an episode while I was on it, doc. "Describe it for me." Well, I felt like I was not in my body. Depersonalization, huh?" She produces her Palm Pilot and with the stylus, begins to flip through the files on the tiny device. "Well, I don't see anything about psychotic episodes here, Hobobob. GI tract irritation, nausea, headaches...other things, but no...no psychotic episodes. Look, how many did you take?" About a weeks' worth. "Well, wait two weeks and start taking it again and we'll see what happens then." Sounds like a plan, doc. "So... what else has been going on in your life?"

Nothing.

I walk again, through the building heat of the afternoon, ducking and weaving through the New York foot traffic on my way crosstown to my favorite barbershop near Port Authority. Two men are standing at the doorway to the shop. "You want a haircut?" One asks. Yeah. "This way," He leads me up an obscenely high flight of stairs, maybe it was because I had walked all over the City as it was, and into a crowded barber shop filled with men. I am led over to his chair and he motions me to take a seat and remove my glasses. As the barber's smock is laid across me, I wonder what kind of cut I want. I had grown a pretty surprising amount of facial hair, even for my standards. I would not do it again. Maybe a little beard though. I'm thinking Denzel Washington/John Travolta beards that they sported in the Taking of Pelham 123.

My barber is on the cell phone, yamering away about his handbag designer company. That's alright. I drift away mentally as this guy cuts my hair with one hand, the cell phone against his head with the other. After awhile he flips the device away and is a two handed barber, using my ears to position my head and to turn me about as if they were handles. It doesn't matter, I am done and pleased with my clean, shaven head in minutes. The instant that I walk out into the daylight I feel the sun on my skull.

I came home, no problem. Got to my room. No problem. Got home and crawled into bed. No problem.

I go to sleep like a baby.
No problem

Hobobob