Championable | Love, parenting, politics.

Hello, sweet things.

I’m temporarily unable to write a personal blog.  It’s my bad.

Championable.com will be on hiatus until May 26th, after which I will be back to, um, normal.  I won’t be on internet hiatus, though, so I’ll still see you on your part of the internet in the meantime.

Love to all. Even you, the waitress who said “Wait, Run DMC had a person named RUN in it?”

Dude.

You know how sometimes you feel the urge to look up because you can feel that someone is looking at you? That just happened. And holy SHIT did this lady have the most beautiful eyes. I don’t even think she was looking specifically at ME, but kind of just looking at people on the train, and it was my turn. So this ain’t no ego trip.

Still, it was neat.

Love to all. Even you, the jackass with the Bose Noise Canceling headphones on, and his cell ringer set to “loud.”

I came home last night with the idea that I’d be breaking down about 3 dozen cardboard boxes, taking out an unearthly amount of trash, and then getting to the main task:  cutting Flor carpet tiles and laying them down in the basement.

Instead, I came home to find that Maggie had done the garbage duties, and I took my 11-year-old to see Iron Man.

Rock ON.

This movie had a tremendously talented cast.  I was SO psyched to see Robert Downey, Jr. on screen in a such big, big way. He was the perfect actor for this role, and he did a fantastic job.  And, holy shit… Gwyneth Paltrow and Jeff Bridges backing up Robert Downey?  That ROCKS.

It was a really good movie, probably the best “superhero” film I’ve seen.

I’ll start the carpet tonight.

Love to all.  Even you, the woman in the full-body doily.

At 5:22am today, I sustained a tactical nuclear strike to my work life, and to my confidence about own world-awareness.

I didn’t see it coming; I had no clue at all.

I’ll write about it when it’s over.

Love to all. Even you.

I am sitting across from my least favorite person that I see on a regular basis.

I am not kidding: I think this person is near- or actually evil. I think he hates the world because he hates himself. I think he’s closeted, sef-loathing, angry and, in the end, slowly turning to crumbled carbon from the inside out.

I have seen him knock over girl scouts in order to get to his car in the train parking lot.

When he sits near me on the train, I sometimes pretend to get up to leave just to make him leap to his feet to get there first. He does it every time.

I’ve seen him yell at an old man who politely said “excuse me” to get to the next seat.

Sometimes he is on the train with his wife, he always yells at her.

His skin is too taught. His voice is grating.

He bothers me because he represents everything I hate about where I live, and the kind of seething, slow-burn anger that I never want to experience.

I know I’m supposed to pray for him, and I guess I will try.

And look! God just intervened. A family of French tourists just got on this very, very crowded train, and I gave my seat up for the Mom and her daughter (forcing a different guy who piled his stuff on the seat next to him to move it - ha!)

I’m now sitting on the floor in the vestibule, about to change the title of this post before I hit “publish.”

Love to all. Even you, shiny cheeks.

If I was gay, I hope to God I’d be out. Like, super out. Like, married-in-Massachusetts-with-three-adopted-kids out.

For me, super out = living like everyone else, as moment-to-moment unaware that some people define my life as abnormal as can be.

The New York Times Magazine had a big article on the life of gay couples in Massachusetts. I didn’t get to read the whole thing - life in the suburban fast lane, you know - but the upshot was that married life for gay couples is pretty much the same as life for other couples.

To which I say: duh.

This is why this issues bugs me so much. As my 11-year-old says: “love is love.”

But this isn’t the point of this post at all.

The point of this post is that I’m no longer certain I care about the whole pseudoanonymity thing.  Anyone who wants to figure out who I am can have a pretty easy time of it, and it’s not like I’m hiding anything here. And it’s getting harder and harder to separate these worlds, with the number of Face

So… what of it?  Do you folks have any opinions on blog anonymity?  Is it worth it?  Possible?  Stupid?

Love to all. Even you, the umbrella-as-rocket salesman.

I’m writing this post, and I’m publishing it when my train is about to pull in. Come hell or high water, this fucker is going online.

First: I just want to say for the record that it’s the married women that are dangerous. But when it comes to HOW dangerous, I’m going to say “not very.” Lust is a big, bad motherfucker, but you really have to engage it in order for it to be threatening in any way. This is different than being a wee bit flirty. Now, if I was to play “force field” with someone, well, THAT would lead to some serious danger.

Second: PostFix kicked the shit out of me tonight. What email server rejects INCOMING email with a “relaying denied” error? What the FUCK?

Third: My business, after getting on its feet, is about to go through some serious changes. For once, it’s not really my fault. My beloved recruiter is going through a variety of personal issues, and she’s decided to move to… move to… Buffalo.

Now, everyone I know who has BEEN to Buffalo keeps saying, “What the FUCK?” I don’t get it either. Somehow, the fact that it’s 2.5 hours from her family in Toronto is one of the deciding factors.

My recruiter rocks. She’s a great person, fabulous at her job, smart, driven, etc. So, well, we’re going to try acting like we live in 2008, and let her telecommute. Broadband + VOIP = full-time job placement from home. She’s something of a writer/recluse (in a good way), so this appeals to her a lot. It worries me, but she says it’s ideal.

We’re giving it 60 days.

Personally, I think she’s doing things way too quickly and without enough forethought, but it’s not my place to say at this point… I know this because I asked if she wanted my personal or professional opinion… and she said “professional only.” Things were too intense, she said, for her to get any more opinions.

I’m afraid her family isn’t doing right by her, but I respect her request.

Fourth: Nobody really stands up to Maggie’s Dad. God bless the man, but he just doesn’t listen to ANYONE. Don’t get me wrong… he’s a decent guy and I love him, but he just doesn’t take other people into account on an emotional level. In fact, Maggie was reduced to tears at one point simply because he ignores her. I lost it with him once, when he refused not to cut up my youngest’s dinner WHILE I WAS TELLING HIM NOT TO, causing my youngest to cry, causing my Father-in-Law to say “I can’t keep up with your rules,” which, in turn, cause me to say: “NO. There were no rules. You just didn’t LISTEN.”

I said this three times, until I was sure he heard me.

Fifth: I feel like every time I call home, people are too busy to talk to me.

Sixth: I feel like I’m being ignored, when it comes to certain parental decisions about supervising the kids. I vaguely understand this, but I strongly, strongly disagree.

Seventh: My to-do list didn’t get shorter from beginning of the day to the end.

Eighth: My train is about to arrive.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who is clearly redirecting her embarrassment about a financial situation into self-righteousness about a company policy violation.

After sending my final responses to the Fakey-Fakey-Fakey guy at a potential new client, the assistant to the CEO wrote to ask if I could call at my earliest convenience after my return on the 28th.

Fascinating.  Maybe they realized that their new hire was something of a Fakey-Fakey-Fakey guy.

Love to all. Even you, tonight’s pitcher for the Port St. Lucie Mets.

Sometimes the consecutive, random snippets of disparate NYC cell phone conversations can seem really profound.

Do you mind a little bloggus-catch-u-uppus?  Ready?  Go.

To those of you speedy enough to see my post-unpost of my Lyme Disease freakout, it’s no longer certain that I have Lyme disease, and I feel like a complete idiot for completely misinterpreting the situation.

Um.  Okay.  So, like, I had a huge band-aid on the first day (and only the first day) that I got that tick bite, and three days later the very very edges of where the band-aid were  were red, and I forgot that I had even HAD the band-aid on, so between the infected tick bit and .  For those of you who didn’t see it… um… LOOK!  A UNICORN!

Anyway.

I spent from 5 to 10pm last night laying down “Flor” carpet, which is pretty easy except for the 45 tiles I had to measure and trim.  That part sucked.  But I took my time and did it right. I thought I’d get the whole office done tonight, but I only got halfway there.  Properly, it’s the public-facing half of the office.   Today, I finished the rest.  Measured twice, cut once, all the way to the finish line. It looks really good.

I’ve cut the Vyvanse down from 70mg to 50mg.  Seems like a better fit.  Less dickhead, with all of the positives.  Maggie approves so far, after nixing the 70mg.  Also, this is the first time my EMPLOYEES nixed a medicine based on dickheadishness.  I’m happy that they trust me enough to tell me.  I’m also happy that one of my employees (the one who told me), also told someone I was the best boss she ever had.  THAT makes me happy, for sure.  Then again, acting on immediate feedback from employees about things is apparently not super-common, based on limited sampling.

On a personal note, I’ve been struggling a bit with the limitations of my ability to effect change in my personal life.  This is a post in itself, and definitely for another time. The summary would be “Nobody gives you a biscuit for doing a little bit better.  Get used to it or get out.”

I’m leaving tomorrow for Florida.  Six business days “off.”  I can’t tell you how lucky I am that I have a team in place that I can trust.  I’m still in insane Pre-Vacation mode… it can’t be avoided.

I’m hoping to relax a little bit, regain my center, test some database features I’ve been dying to try out, and catch up on my blog reading.  Sometimes I fall behind, and it’s difficult to do anything but start anew.

Talk to you from West Palm Beach.

Love to all.  Even you, the fucktard who’s been giving my son shit at baseball.

If this fucking lady hits me with her flowers one more time, OR if her ridiculous phone rings again, I’m going to feed her that fucking boquet.  I am not kidding.

Love to all, even you.