"You know, if I'd have seen her coming?
I've have probably tried to hide.
But I came around the corner,
And she caught me by surprise.
There was no ice cold shoulder;
There was no ugly scene.
She just smiled and didn't say the things,
I thought she'd say to me.
Well it was nothing like that rainy night
She left and slammed the door!
Not only she don't love me?
She don't hate me anymore ..."
-- "She Don't Love Me" by Blake Shelton.
Happy "Barack Obama's Wettest of His Wet Dreams" Day, America!
Yes folks, per Mr. Obama's (even Nixon never went this far) corrupted, politically motivated wing of the re-election campaign most of us refer to as the Internal Revenue Service, the top 1% of wage earners in this country, now pay a staggering 30% of all taxes at the federal level.
Not just income taxes -- ALL taxes!!! -- at the federal level. But hey, I'm sure Jeff Immelt at GE / NBC Universal found a way to file a return owing zero dollars and zero cents once again for fiscal year 2013, so all is well in the President's utopia.
At least until, you know, the top 1% raise two middle fingers, tell Mr. Obama to do something to himself that is anatomically impossible, and move every cent they have to offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. And I hope and pray, the top 1%, do exactly that. It's outrageous, what these arrogant incompetent idiots that elected this arrogant, incompetent idiot, believe is "fair" and "just" and "morally correct".
Today's scattershooting comes to you, while drooling over the season about to begin, come 11am-ish Central Time, on Saturday ...
* Every once in awhile, a true motivational underdog, a true, inspired force, arises in the sports world, overcomes insurmountable odds, and somehow, achieves the impossible. That occurred last night at the decrepit dump of an arena known as The Fortress On Fourth, as the Milwaukee Bucks somehow overcame a Raptors team playing for nothing, a less-than-sold-out audience ready to bolt once Bango was done for the night, and amazingly enough, they somehow overcame a 76ers team that make a serious, credible run a 0-35, L35 finish to the season, to clinch the NBA's worst record, and "win" the best odds in the lottery next month. Somehow, I think it's fitting that a team with OJ Mayo on it, sucked ass so much, it "wins" the right to gasp in horror, when Adam Silver opens the envelope for the team picking fourth, and Bango's likeness is inside it.
(Because peoples? Peepettes? If you think for even 2/1000ths of 1/100th of 1 second that a draft lottery with the Lakers AND Celtics in it, isn't going to see both of them land 1/2, 1/3, or 2/3? Then you truly don't follow this fun (and fixed) league known as The Association.)
* Seriously -- the Bucks somehow overcame a 76ers twenty six game losing streak, plus a Boston twenty something game losing skid (I believe it was 21), AND overcame the Pistons and Lakers flat out quitting on their coaches in mid November, to lay claim to the Bizarro World President's Cup. (You know, if this was the NHL.) It takes a special, special talent to preside over a train wreck this legen ... wait for it ... dary.
To think I actually PRAISED the Larry Drew hire ten months ago. Dios Con Mio.
* When I think back to how I became a BuKCs fan, to what this fun franchise has become? All I can think of is that classic Virginia Slims pitch line. "You've come a long way, baby!"
* Sign Numero 1,345,837,406 you're overworked and understaffed for the last year in your job: my co-worker Heather and I finally got some help a couple weeks ago, when Dusti was hired. (Thank God.) So today, she and Heather ran the monthly commissions cycle for our group agents about 9am. I waited, I waited, I waited, to get this thing dropped in my inbox (because it's a b*tch to process).
I go to my 10am meeting. Get back an hour later? Nothing.
I head out at lunch, take a walk to vent about the morning, and for once, I wasn't so infuriated at the first half of the day, that everyone else leisurely strolling the lovely paved sidewalks of 112th Street, wasn't convinced a certifiable crazy dude had just passed them.
I get back in, and, well, this happened:
(me, dreading it, but ready to deal with it, to heather) So, am I getting the commission wire anytime today? Any issues I should know about?
(heather) Dusti already paid it.
(me) (in utter stunned disbelief) What?!?!?!?! (Note: this thing is a B*TCH to process. I'd blocked off an hour of time to simply get the accounting right. It's a 22 page entry. No, not 22 line entry -- 22 PAGE entry. And God help you if you miss one of those $.02 chargebacks, figuring out which group it belonged to, if the debits don't balance to the total credit at the end.)
(heather) Well, she's our backup. She wanted something to do.
(me) And she's still here, right?
(heather) If she doesn't quit after this? We're in like Sven!
I'm not sure what made me happier: that this pain in my ass will (God willing) never again reach my desk ... or that I've convinced a 51 year old woman who still says "groovy" when something good happens, that "in like Sven", is what the cool kids say. Especially since, you know, I'm 37 years old, and nobody's ever accused me, of sitting at the cool kids table.
* Maybe I should have picked Luke Bryan's song that just popped on my iPod, as the theme:
"Rain makes corn!
Corn makes whiskey!
Whiskey makes my baby feel ...
(Clap!) A lil' frisky!"
(stevo looking around the room).
(stevo seeing it's him, and him alone).
Yeah, I'll stick with the "today was so not sh*ttacularly sucky, I picked "I don't feel hate right now", as the day's theme.
* Got a lovely "free room Sunday through Thursday, this week only!" promo email from my "good friends" at Ameristar in North KC, a place I haven't visited since January. (And given it's me, and if I'm being honest, I've got a spare couple hundred in the bank right now, and I do love games of chance ... I swear, how was I NOT a marketing major? I could RAKE in the drunken degenerate deadbeats in life, to at least the Isle, a couple times a year.)
If you had "Stevo has already put in the PTO request for Friday, to take advantage of this spectacular offer" in the gambling pool, congratulations, you're a winner!
* Percent chance of me getting to blow off not one, but two "mandatory meetings" on Friday morning, to spend it screaming "pai gow! Pai gow!" with some crazy old 72 year old Asian coot? 22.56%. But there is a chance. If only because, I assume this Ameristar place has WiFi, and both meetings should be done before the generous noon checkout time. (You're damned right I did some research on this.) Plus ... and dear God admitting I know this really does not reflect positively on me, but screw it -- this site's die hards know how much I love pai gow -- the good folks at Ameristar, don't tend to open up Pai Gow, even on Saturday, until around lunchtime.
Plus, how epically sweet would it be, to dial in to a couple conference calls, while sitting in some fancy schmancy jacuzzi tub, enjoying a couple glasses of champagne, and living the good life? (Pause). Fine, I'm probably getting the janitor's closet, a bottle of Boone's Farm, and a bucket with soapy water in it to bathe in, but still, a kid can dream, right?
* My final scattershot tonight (and it's a full on "why bother to aim" missive) ...
Tomorrow night is the last real bowling night of the season for me. I'm both really geeked ... and really dreading ... showing up tomorrow.
The geeked up part, is because we close the season against the Gutter Girls, who have rapidly become one of, if not my favorite, team in this league to face. (This distinction used to belong to the Pandas, but sorry, that ship has sailed, and sunk just like ... well, just like the Titanic did, 102 years ago yesterday.) It's actually a legit battle for fourth place, with a sweep winner still having an outside chance to grab third, or second if Kyle's team completely collapses this week and next (which technically doesn't count ... but some of us are still mad as hell about that, Al Gore style, from the 2008-2009 season in this league. (Pause). You're damned right that someone is me.)
The second night of the season this year, I had my doubts I'd be there. It was the day Dad was being brought out of the coma. I wasn't committing to anything, until I knew one way or the other.
The Gutter Girls were a new team this year, and we bowled them that night. I knew each of them from work, especially Gabby. What I didn't expect ... was the reaction that night, not just from the Hoxsies and Mark (which blew me away) ... but the reaction from the Gutter Girls.
My reaction that day, to Dad waking up, alert, coherent, and aware of his surroundings, was to leave the room, walk out to the elevator bay, press "1", walk out the front door, walk out the main entrance, turn right past the (hang on, gotta do this right), the Ol' Child Care Center that "The Voice of Reason" used to work in, get to the parking lot nobody parks in, and simply scream "HELL F*CKING YES!!!!" as loud as I could ... and then start crying uncontrollably for the second time in a week.
(And then, finally, return the (approximate guess: actual number likely higher) 24th of Penny's "please, please, please tell me I need to pick you up at the hospital to bowl!" text messages that day, with a "4:30, and we're getting lit!" response.)
There have been people in this league who had my back this year, in ways I'd never have expected. My teammates, the Hoxsies and Mark (our "group therapy" sessions have literally kept me ... well, whatever "passes as sane, but raises multiple red flags" status is), the Pink Ladies, Kyle and Carolyn and Jeff. Sue and Sally and Dale have never failed to ask, even a week, how Dad is doing.
I never expected a social gathering, once a week, amongst friends and co-workers, could come to mean what it did to me, this year.
Hell, I have two co-workers, who keep showing up every week, that aren't even in this league. They just want to be there to support me, and Penny, and anyone else, struggling at this point, with the blows life deals us, and has dealt them. I mean, if you had told me six months ago, that I'd be doing purple hooter shots with Deneece every Wednesday night?
OK, fine, I'd have bought that.
But doing them with Mary? Never in a million years, would I have wagered on that.
But then again, maybe I should have.
Because the dread part?
I think I'll keep to myself.
At least for now.