2011-12 NHL Predictions: I ♥ WGN

I missed getting this done before what was technically opening night, but forget all that for now. I had been fearing that with the beloved Blackhawks dropping the puck tonight, I might have to deal with no longer having the team's stellar radio broadcasts to listen to. We get WGN's TV station down here in Austin, so that assured me a few mmore televised games in addition to the national broadcasts. And I suppose tonight and tomorrow, with the Stars on the schedule, I can catch some more Chicago hockey on television thanks to the Dallas Fox Sports affiliate.

But I've got the sound off because as it turns out, WGN's Hawks broadcasts are not blacked out. Thankfully. Times a million. Seriously, everything's coming up roses these days. Work's going well. I'm engaged now. And I'll be able to listen to John and Troy this season. What else could I possibly want?

Oh, yeah: Another parade with the Stanley Cup in Chicago.

The Braves' Third Quarter: Can't whine too much

The Braves season actually passed this point on August 15, the day after the last time I posted here. I recognized the date then, but knew I'd probably end up running a little late with this post. Seeing as I haven't altogether quit the restaurant gig I was working before starting the new Monday-Friday gig, I still have not had an entire day off work ever since then.

I'm still waiting tables tonight, so tomorrow's going to be a big day when for the first time in ... what, three weeks? I'm going to have a whole day free from having to report somewhere for work.

I won't lie ... The new job more or less involves many hours of blogging every day. Even just now, typing on my own where I'm free to say whatever I want, I still found myself wondering if I was adhering to style requirements. It's somewhat difficult for me to now spend eight hours a day at the computer and then come home and add a couple more hours to write something like this. Don't get me wrong; I really like the new job. It's the restaurant I want to drop, but I'm sure that I'm letting a fear of "leaving money on the table" prevents me from working a few more hours a week.

I'm saying that now to justify that most of the posts I made regularly scheduled things here at BMC are probably bound to change again. Life can sort of get in the way like that, but it's not as though a little lack in the frequency here necessarily equates to a bad thing. When you consider how often I have used this space to bitch and moan about lack of work, any further near-grumbling about working too much risks making me sound ungrateful. And we certainly wouldn't want that.

After all, we've probably got playoffs to look forward to this year.

The Progress: In which persistence finally pays off

Friday began with a bit of bad news when I received an email informing me that the SEO Trainee position I was to be interviewing for on Monday had been filled. Sure, I could still interview on Monday if I wanted because there was the real possibility that another position could open within the next few weeks if the company landed the couple big bids it had going on.

I was reading the email on my cell phone at my current job while preparing for an afternoon function in which overly fussy Austin-area businesswomen were going to be getting a rather cheap lunch and talking about more efficient ways to use their Twitter and Facebook accounts (or something like that ... maybe I just heard both mentioned several times because, well, they were women and that's seemingly all they ever talk about anymore). As soon as I ran into my general manager, he informed me that he had received a complaint about me from one of the guests at one of the previous evening's events. Apparently I acted "rude" when she asked to have something wrapped up. I asked for something more specific since I didn't know what I could've done wrong and was only told "not to let it happen again."

I've been looking high and low for anything other than a restaurant job for years now, and while this new place that represents my first job since arriving in Texas has certainly become more profitable in recent weeks, at that moment it was beginning to feel as though even this job was now on shaky ground.

Fast-forward a couple hours to the middle of the event on Friday afternoon and another email has come in. This one is a reply from somebody I interviewed with almost two weeks ago for a writing job. Since I hadn't heard from her earlier in the week, by about Wednesday I was assuming they went with somebody else. Still, I opened the email and thought it began with the obligatory thank you for coming in the previous week. Familiar with how these rejections typically go, I was sure the next line would be some variation of either "we've decided to go with another candidate," or "we can not extend you an offer at this time."

The Adjustment: Has it been two months already?

There's the part of me that just wants to refer back to what I said a little over a year ago at this time when I recognized that there's typically a lull in posting during the summer. But even looking back on that post, it's hard to believe that I wasn't writing more often when I didn't have a regular job at that point. And perhaps most surprising would be that I still had no idea that what was going on between ™ and I would lead me to being here right now living with her in Austin. It's all still very incredible.

I've wanted to write about a number of things that have happened over the past couple months, like the short visit from my parents or the weekend her siblings spent here, but alas ... this is the first time I've had enough time to really sit with my laptop and pound out a few thoughts. Don't get me wrong; when I last wrote about life down here in Texas, I was stressing about finding a job. Of course, a few weeks later, I got one. And now it eats up a majority of my week. This is how life works, I'm told.

The Braves' Second Quarter: Excuses from the author

While my quarterly thoughts for all Four Bs typically follow the same format, I'm regrettably going to be keeping this update on the Atlanta Braves' past 40 games to much more of a minimum. While I did go and find an image from this gallery to create the annual graphic, I can not in all honesty pretend to have followed this part of the baseball season as closely as I will/have for any of the other three quarters of the season. Part of this can be blamed on the attention I gave priority to the NHL and NBA playoffs, and part can also be blamed on the weeks devoted to the out-of-state move that occurred during that time—not to mention the majority of time spent after completing said move being primarily devoted to looking for a job, securing a job, and then stressing about keeping said job. 

I suppose that from what I've been able to catch of Braves baseball this past quarter, there's still plenty to be optimistic about with the performances the team has gotten from all over the pitching staff. The offense, however, remains underwhelming and inconsistent, so I certainly won't be surprised if come third quarter of the season, I'm busy reacting to a move made at the trading deadline to try and bolster some run production.

I only wish I had been able to better document even the presumably paid online positions that had failed to update Atlanta's record the day after they'd officially arrived at the halfway mark of this 2011 season. While I'd made a mental note of it, when trying to confirm that I had the number of games correct in both our morning newspaper and online at the Sports Illustrated site I use to screencap the standings at that point, both publications had forgotten to do so. As a result, moments after completing a sweep of the Seattle Mariners, I saw the Braves somehow go from 45-35 that morning to 47-35.

Fortunately, the MLB site does allow you to go back to a specific day, and for posterity's sake, here's where the Bravos were situated when they finished playing the first half of this year's regular season schedule:

I'm hoping to be back to regular, die-hard fan form by the next quarter's end in late August.

The Arrival: In which just getting here was an adventure

After ™ last flew up to Illinois to spend a long weekend with me between her birthday and my own, I reminded her at the airport that the following three weeks until I saw her again would go by pretty fast. I had been saying it primarily to comfort her that unlike, say, the more than two months before that visit when we'd last been able to see one another, this final step was going to arrive much faster. And sure enough, before I knew it—before I'd even remembered to formally change my address, before I'd been able to land a job to start when I arrived, before I'd finished packing ALL of my belongings—I was at O'Hare on May 18 boarding a one-way flight to Texas.

We first moved ™'s stuff from the Houston area to our new apartment in Austin, and then the following day began the roughly 19-hour drive back to St. Charles. While the original plan was to drive as much as we could on the first day and find a hotel when we got tired, we instead ended up stopping for a bite to eat in Memphis that evening and just staying on the road until we arrived at my parents' house early that Saturday morning. After catching some shuteye, we had some rather lackluster Pizza Hut for dinner that evening with my parents and my aunt and uncle. Later that night, we went out with a couple friends of mine in downtown St. Charles.

Over the course of those three weeks between ™'s visits, I kept waiting for the moment that the relocation was really going to hit me. But even as I reminded myself that certain visits I was making could be my last for quite some time, it still didn't seem real.

What stuck with me that last night in St. Charles had to be a moment outside one of the bars just after last call. ™ was hugging me and a girl I'd never met before but was was apparently a friend of one of my friends looked at us and wondered aloud to us why she couldn't have something like ™ and I had. The girl, probably somewhere in her mid-twenties, had just gotten out of a long-distance relationship.

When other friends and co-workers used words like "jealous" or such in response to learning my relocation plans, I had sort of downplayed it as them just being nice. But on that last night, something in that one girl's eyes finally made me feel lucky. After three or so years of convincing myself nobody else in their right mind would ever want to be in my shoes, I finally experienced a real moment of having somebody else saying they wanted what I had.

Ultimately, I was only beginning to realize how lucky I was.

The Countdown: Three becomes two

In this area, we've endured what I was told was a record amount of snow last month, but now nearly every last sign of white has all but disappeared and it's getting closer to being so comfortable outside that I can once again sit on the stoop in front of the house, drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and complete a puzzle or two. It's now becoming more frequent for the morning to begin with me actually asking myself, "Do I need a coat for this?"

But the shift feels a little bit more substantial this particular spring at this particular time, and not just because it appears that the shovel's not going to be looked at again until Thanksgiving. I'd be more giddy about the prospect of sitting outside for a couple hours again to start the day if I were even able to stand still right now.

That's largely because more than three years after I was being arrested for another DUI, I had my probation terminated early last Thursday. And now without any more check-ins at the courthouse to essentially document that I've been staying out of trouble, I'm finally free to go do whatever I want.

It's still sinking in as to what that even feels like. After three years of being what I described as a "prisoner of the state," I've now got two months to take advantage of this newfound supposed freedom.

Five Years Later: What's really changed?

What you see in the background of that image there is what I refer to as "my journal." I bought it at a Borders or some other bookstore back in 2004, primarily for class when I was back finally finishing college. When I bought that hardcover item, I imagined that I would fill it out quickly and rush to replace it—repeatedly.

And nearly seven full years later, despite the binding falling apart and giving the appearance that it's been opened with far greater frequency, I'd say I'm a little more than halfway through it. Journaling every single day, as it turns out, is a routine I just never could get into.

Of course, the excuse that I make for not writing my private thoughts down on a more regular basis is because over time, I've developed a number of other places to publicly record them. My Tumblr has occasionally become one such venue for me in the past couple of years, but this particular blog has been another for five years now, today.

While I've made a note of this anniversary on one previous occasion, I don't think the past three years on BMC have really allowed me to post another "greatest hits" sort of series of links. Still, I do think it's appropriate to kind of look back, briefly reflect on what's happened and then get back to moving forward.

Gimme a moment: Holiday Break

I realize I still haven't even updated my picks from Week 11 (I went 11-5, for the record) and this would be about the time the Power Rankings would be getting posted while I rushed to get Week 12 Picks ready for three games on Thanksgiving and ... oh, well, you know what? All of that's going to have to wait, I'm afraid.

See, now that I've been working again for a whole, oh, four months now, I've decided I'm going to use the upcoming holiday for a little mini-vacation of sorts. I really earned it, of course. And by vacation, I mean I'll be taking the rest of the week off starting tomorrow to help someone pretty darn special see Chicago for the very first time.

Needless to say, I have no intention of taking away from that time just to post my picks to this blog before the deadline. Sorry.

But fear not, for I have screencapped all the results from last week and will post the belated picks after the fact next week when I'm back to the normal schedule. Oh, and hopefully I'll elaborate a little more on what I actually do this week.

In the meantime, enjoy your Thanksgiving, dear readers.

Just a thought (or two): Summer Disclaimer

As you may have noticed, we're nearing a month since my last post here at BMC. Oh sure, I've got plenty of stuff I've been meaning to put up here, but as the old saying goes, "The road to the Cell is paved with good intentions."

I feel that before I get back to posting the usual blathering and just adding in a bunch of repetitive apologies, I could just admit right now that summertime has not been a peak time for posting since the inaugural year of this blog for a variety of reasons—first and foremost being that, well, it's the fucking summer and I should be getting out of the house.

That's not to say there's been a real bevy of memorable activity this summer, as—keeping with another fine recurring BMC theme—I've been spending most of my time frantically searching for work since losing my job some time around Valentine's Day. I suppose I could get excited about certain interviews or whine about calls not being returned, but in all honesty, I just don't see the point. There's been some progress and signs of hope in recent weeks, and we'll leave it at that until there's actually an offer.

And as you can probably guess, having no job (as well as no driver's license—not to mention that this is all while living in your parents' basement) effectively translates to no interest* from the ladies either my current disbelief about some very good fortune as well as not wanting to jinx my chances with the one girl I'm interested in and am still awestruck would be interested in me*. So cue my theme song, I guess.

Adventures in Housesitting: Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate

My friend and his father left early Sunday morning for a week-long cruise in or around the Bahamas. I'm not entirely sure of where they'll be visiting, really. All I know is that seeing as I'm unemployed and thus have pretty good availability, I have once again been entrusted with the keys to a real, live suburban home—complete with cable television, internet and a dog that was probably born before either of those were invented.

As you might recall, it was nearly some four years ago that I was asked by aunt & uncle to take care of their cat, Cosmo. But whereas last time I was anxiously waiting for the cat to pinch a loaf, this time around I'm tending to a white lab whose problem isn't with having a bowel movement so much as where he's having them (i.e. in the house).

I originally misheard the dog's name as "Plato" and was impressed by the idea of my friend and his family naming a pet after a student of Socrates and a mentor of Aristotle that laid the philosophical foundations for Western culture/civilization.

Then after clarifying, I found that the name was actually "Play-Doh," which seemed to remind me of about the 3:33 mark of this routine. I'll laugh about it now while I can.

Just a thought (or two): On, like, why I've been quiet and shit

Holy shit! Are we really halfway through April all ready? Is it "all ready" or "already" that's grammatically correct? And why have I only now started to wonder about that?

I blame it all on what I just told another friend has been a "severe case of writer's block"—which is, of course, total and utter horse shit. It usually is. I am physically capable of writing something, I'm just not particularly as passionate about any of my ideas at the moment to put the time into any sort of creative project like, say, a screenplay or (if you're one of three married women I know) a book.

No, especially not as of late when baseball season's started back up and between radio broadcasts of that or hockey, I've actually been far more satisfied—artistically speaking—spending time at the sketch pad instead of the keyboard. I sent out a couple of well-received projects for birthday gifts this month and am currently working on a somewhat more ambitious piece that I ... well, I don't know what I'll do with it quite yet.
 
Originally I intended to make it another gift for more of an IRL acquaintance I only met recently that has a personal anniversary date coming up, but I ... am just so confused, I guess. I've been spending too much time in recent weeks waiting for the phone to ring. That's not just with hopes that one of the four places I've got applications in at and are supposedly hiring will finally bring me on and get me out of this unemployment rut, but I also found myself taken aback by meeting one girl who actually asked for my number, asked if she could call me one weekend ... and still hasn't.

And so, like I've been putting it most of the week when I'm trying to downplay how much it actually bothers me, the girl I want to call me isn't and the girl I don't want to call me (READ: The ex—that one, for the record) is.

I suppose that might make for some interesting developments as we head into the summer, but there'll be posts aplenty coming before this month closes out—what with the NBA and NHL post-seasons kicking off. Last year, I deliberately posted nothing but my predictions during those months when the playoffs were going on, such that by the time they were over, the entire front page of my blog was the four rounds of predictions and the final thoughts for both seasons. But this year, I'll make the mistake of announcing my intentions to make sure that there's something between those rounds of predictions.

It'll be something hopefully more, you know, "inspired." I know, I know. I can hardly wait to get on that already/all ready.

Sweet, Sweet Fantasy, Baby: Falling from 15th to ... Hey—I won a playoff game!

I've actually been signing into my Yahoo account with the most frequency I've had since the NFL season. The NBA and NHL fantasy leagues I was in this year got updated with about a once-a-week frequency when football concluded, maybe once every two weeks at times when I was busy being, you know, employed. But now that I've got a little more time on my hands during this lull on the job front, I guess I'm allowed to dwell on how I'm spending my time online when not sending out the resumes.

My Mailman > Your Mailman

So dudes don't typically buy other dudes gifts—or at least that's how I've operated for most of the 31 years I've been alive. There were the occasional exceptions, like when you find certain things on clearance that are just too good to pass up.

Seeing as my now former employer gave me a good old-fashioned ass-raping by failing to include my tips on our final checks two days before Christmas, friends got nothing from me this past holiday season—although that didn't stop dear buddy B. Doggy from giving a fine winter cap just like the one pictured here.

"Are you going to wear it?" he originally asked, seemingly concerned about it. I assured him I was truly thankful for his gesture and now some two months later, I can't think of an occasion he HASN'T seen me wearing the gift. I couldn't find my old one at the time and it's still winter here in Chicago.

The cap serves both of what I believe are its two intended purposes: Keeping my ears warm and getting people to talk to me about the Blackhawks (which is preferable to talking about ... oh, just about everything else in my life). One person that the hat has most certainly had a visible effect on is our mailman.

He's deaf, so he has a bit of a speech impediment, but most days he comes up to the house and hands me the mail while I'm smoking, he'll point to the top of his head and say something along the lines of "Go Hawks!" Today, I was on the phone, so I figured he'd just hand me the mail and go about his way. I was talking with a friend about what was happening with work and how it was sounding like I was going to be fired—for watching a Blackhawks game, actually.

After handing me the mail, however, he began saying something which I didn't catch the first time because my friend on the phone was also talking. Any other person—especially in the middle of this employment situation—interrupting a phone call of mine would likely get an earful.

Of course, what really gets accomplished by yelling at a deaf person?

What's more, the guy was just asking about the hockey games. Yeah, I know, he was asking about Olympic hockey, and if you don't know how I feel about that whole two-week exercise in meaningless television, well here you go. Still, I told my friend on the phone to hold on for a second and I verified the times of the day's hockey games in the newspaper for the mailman, who smiled, thanked me and went along his way.

Then I apologized to my friend for placing him on hold and tried to remember where I left off. I'd probably been bitching about something with how the whole situation with work went down or maybe voicing concern about where the next paycheck would be coming from. In short, they were a lot like the concerns I've heard countless others have in this Great Recession.

I went to the end of the driveway and watched the mailman sorting through envelopes in the back of his truck, wondering how difficult it must be to drive if you're deaf and if it's like I remember Jake "The Snake" Roberts teaching me during his episode of blindness that the weakening of one sense makes the other four stronger. Or something like that.

But perhaps what registered with me the most was that our mailman obviously worked through his disability and hardly lets it get in his way. And then the next natural question I had to ask myself was, "So what's my excuse? What's holding me back?"

And the answer, of course, was nothing other than myself.

Your Web experience can only avoid the "IRL" aspect for so long

As you might recall, I wasn't rushing to sign up for Facebook for the longest time, and then when the excuse seemed best ("USERNAME?!"), even that backfired. But that got corrected, there I was, and I guess the idea is that I'm supposed to go back and reconnect to all these people I really couldn't be any less interested in talking to. Not right now, at least. That's what I tell myself.

And while I can honestly say that Facebook has yet to inspire any sort of enthusiasm or curiosity about it for me, I can say it will honestly bug me when I do go back and see this picture. I really haven't taken it upon myself to try and accumulate as many of my friends as I could find as quickly as possible, but when all the rest of my old colleagues from The Chronicle added me shortly after I joined, I figured maybe Mr. Sulski didn't check in that often. And so, because it's Facebook, I assumed that maybe like me, Sulski just didn't bother that much with it.

It was only last week I found out that he had been fighting cancer for three years—right about how long it's been since I graduated, and hence, last saw him.

Only days after I found out via e-mail that his condition was most certainly not good, he died Thursday morning with his wake and funeral this past weekend. I immediately went through photos from an old holiday end-of-semester party with The Chronicle staff from a few years back and put up a post on my Tumblr (the site where virtually everyone I maintain contact with are people I've never even been in the same room as, but also still where I prefer to spend a majority of my online free time).

None of the "likes" that followed for that were all that unusual or unexpected, but one note on my dashboard did seem particularly noteworthy:


You know, a song I posted ... in July. Just a coincidence, of course.

Jim Sulski was 52. I was only able to attend the wake, but it marked the first time I'd ever been to an open casket service. It's hard to recall the many things that were going through my mind at that moment, but mostly I'm sure I just wanted to make sure I wasn't doing anything wrong. Considering how I was most of the times Sulski had seen me, I'm sure he would have been happy just to know I was sober. (Then again, when I graduated and he hugged me after coming off the stage, he told me, "I don't want to see you when you're not drunk.")

I saw a number of people at Sulski's wake that also wrote their reactions to the news, including John Kass, Richard Roeper, my other advisor at The Chronicle, and my one-time assistant for the section. I also saw the man that trained me for that same job, again realizing how long it had been since we had last spoken. I came to that realization a lot. Much like the reminder that I wasn't the only one that didn't land a job "in the field."

There were equally moving obituaries from the Tribune, the Sun-Times, the Chicago Journal and—of course—the Chronicle. There was also this guy that I don't know but he seems to be talking about the same person, and that's kind of how I was this past week: I kept looking for more stuff about Sulski, like maybe the news would change.

Now the one thing I fear is the day that the pending friend request on Facebook goes away, as I'll almost certainly be tempted to believe there's still a possibility of seeing him one more time. But even when that particular reminder disappears, Sulski's memory will live on. I hope his passing teaches me to better express how sincerely I appreciate those I still have around.

UPDATE: More Sulski tributes from James Ewert, the friend holding the sign in the legendary photo I use to promote this here blog, and a moving piece from heartofanewsie.

Yet another example of my exquisite timing

I'd been letting an awful lot of those special vitaminwater caps collect dust this summer and decided tonight that I should probably hurry up and cash them in before they—


Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me, right?

Nope. Promotion ended Monday. Nice.

So, here I now sit with, I don't know, 30-40 of these caps that are totally useless. I may look more into what can still be done with them, but I won't be getting my hopes up too high. Besides, I've got bigger fish to fry these days. (And who needs your dumbass MySpace site when I've still got free music via Tumblr anyway?)

Seriously though, if I can be forgiven for overlooking this stupid expiration date, it's because of the mild shitstorm I've just found myself in—albeit a shitstorm of sudden employment possibilities, so hopefully the connotation of the term is just as much positive as anything.

I am preparing to train tomorrow for a transcribing position that will allow me to work from home and make a few extra bucks. This would be in addition to the copywriting position that's also offering work from home on flexible hours with more extra bucks. And then there's the old restaurant wanting me to stay on at least one shift a week while most of my time is taken up at the new country club job.

So suddenly, I'm looking at possibly holding down four part-time jobs. And considering the money I'm going to need heading into these possibly brutal final four months of the year, then yes, the timing is indeed exquisite.

But all of this said, while I've certainly had posts in mind for BMC here (two of which I began, but have yet to complete), hopefully you can understand that things have been a tad bit hectic these past few weeks. And while I fully intended to squeeze in a few items before this blog becomes inundated with posts relating to the NFL season, it appears that I may actually have to be content with creating those other types of posts during football season.

As I said, this final third of 2009 is gearing up to be a pretty wild ride, so I'm trusting that if nothing else, I will have plenty of things in addition to the usual to write about. I'm not sure how I'll hold up physically or mentally as we enter 2010, but damned if I'm not anxious to find out.

To Each Their Own

I hate closing on Thursday nights, mostly because of the difficulty in arranging a ride home at midnight when the doors close. I hadn't spoken to the ex in probably a little over a month, which I really had no problem with. The relatively quiet beginning to summer suddenly saw a spike in memorable evenings in July and, well, new job and all, things were looking a bit nicer these days.

But when the ex first chirped up last week with one of the usual, familiar rehearsed texts about missing me and then another came in Tuesday or Wednesday, I took the opportunity to respond by asking if she would like to give me a ride home on Thursday night.

Would she?! ... Could she?!

The ride back to my house involved much of me catching her up to speed: my quitting the chain restaurant, my starting at a country club closer to home and my recent trip to Atlanta—a subject that I quickly grew uncomfortable with, seeing how:

• a) she expressed disappointment that I "went without her"
• b) I never really intended to bring her in the first place when we were dating (I talked of a "summer road trip" with the boys)
• c) and certainly looking back now on how things did turn out, the idea that I would even remotely reconsider changing them or regret anything (READ: NO)
  

Luckily, that topic died down before any real sordid details could be withdrawn from me and when we did arrive at my house, it only seemed natural that she would come inside.

When first looking at my room—a place she obviously hadn't seen in more than a month—she marveled at how clean it was. And indeed, my bedroom is admittedly pretty pristine compared to when we were dating. Actually, I'd be willing to say that right now after countless hours of organizing and general cleaning, the place looks the cleanest it's been since I moved in.

I thought maybe that alone would be an indication that things were truly different now, but I mistakenly assumed this would go much smoother.

Fast-forward to the morning when the ex catches a glimpse of something else that's changed. I remember at one time here on BMC where I was going to start a glossary for my nicknames I had for exes of mine. But I ultimately scrapped the idea, mentioning somewhere in there how I wanted to begin referring to any future girlfriend as the "groundskeeper," seeing as one of the more fascinating and telling things about ladies is their requests concerning body hair maintenance. (The only thing that comes to mind is this.)

And I guess the ex didn't like what the most recent possible replacement groundskeeper had asked for. Or she was pissed that there was another groundskeeper at all. And then she proceeded to spend the entire morning trying to make me feel bad about it.

I reminded her that we broke up some three months ago now. The phrase I uttered more often than any other this morning had to be, "I think you're just telling me what I want to hear."

I got to saying that a lot since most of what she believes is an appeal to my emotions comes across rather as rehearsed and repetitious.

If you were to take her at her word, then my ex has had some incredibly bad luck—and we're talking about a lot of phone calls she never got, text messages she never received and just about every other sort of totally random explanation for one letdown after another in our relationship.

Or if you have a slightly more cynical nature and have some pretty good reason to believe that you're not getting the whole story in a lot of these cases, then my ex is pretty clearly a pathological liar.

To this day, I've been told that the first text message I "shouldn't have seen" was just a joke and that the other one, I guess, didn't really exist. Or something like that. (She never bothered with an explanation, insisting instead that she never sent anything like that ... since meeting me.)

It might sound kind of silly, I guess, to still be holding the rather damning contents of a couple text messages against your former lover, but when it appears you're not the only one who's being talked dirty to, what feelings of exclusiveness in a relationship are you supposed to still pretend you feel? I could only conclude I couldn't.

And so that's why I bailed on the second-longest relationship of my life—which just goes to show you how meaningless the lengths of relationships are too. (I'm almost always the dumpee rather than the dumper, so it's kind of odd that both of my longest relationships were the only two [real relationships] I can recall that ended when I pulled the plug.)

I couldn't ever see myself realistically trusting this woman again, and I mean really believing her like I know I ought to be and like I know I have in much happier relationships in the past. I know something like that is probably out there, so it's stupid to convincing myself that I should settle for less.

But just as I get overly self-righteous about how wronged I was, there's the ugly truth about a wee little bit of responsibility that I have to accept: I was wrong for going into her phone to find those text messages.

When explaining to that most recent possible groundskeeper about why the ex became an ex, she was more than a little put off by my admitting I acted so paranoid.

And while I want to vehemently argue that I've never done this before and her lying caused me to do this and I only did it twice—but look what I found!—I know full well that this in some way speaks volumes about my insecurity. I used to say "I'd never do that!" when girls spoke of the boyfriends they had breaking into their journals, and now here I was, basically showing the same disdain for one's privacy.

And while I cannot undo what has already been done or unsee what has already been seen, all I can do is move on and promise to never do it again.

That, and shave accordingly.

Cross Your Fingers

I've gotten so used to applying for jobs and forgetting about them that you couldn't imagine my delight this morning when I found out I was one of 15 applicants who made the "short list" for a copywriting position I applied for many months ago (or at least that's what it feels like). The position was something I stumbled across on craigslist and unlike the other copywriting jobs that required somewhere in the neighborhood of three-five years of previous experience, this one was looking for newcomers. I'd been dying for that opportunity to present itself.

The company started a Twitter account to keep us updated on how they were coming along with the many exams they received, and I immediately began fearing for the worst as weeks passed and I maintained my stance that Twitter sucks. Still, I did receive an e-mail informing me that the fellow in charge of the hiring enjoyed many of my responses on the exam and that I was on the "short list." Part of me immediately wondered how many of the 80 or so applicants also recieved a similar e-mail. That was probably more than a month ago. Since then, I've interviewed for other entry-level copywriting positions, ultimately being extended a job offer for absolutely none.

So now some three or so months after applying for this job that I wanted worse than any other position I've applied for in the past three years, I received another e-mail. And now I've come to find out that there's a phone interview in the next two weeks—not to mention that I need to call the steakhouse back on Monday, since that still remains a very good back-up plan at the moment.

But just as I have been anticipating making more money at a nicer restaurant closer to home without all the corporate B.S. I have been dealing with for the past year and a half, it turns out I have another opportunity to get excited about. Or should I not even get my hopes up? I was tempted to write something about the interview in my Facebook status, but thought better of it since I hate getting others excited for me about getting an interview and then informing them I did not actually get the position. (That's happened a lot since graduation.)

Ultimately, I'm thrilled that the "short list" e-mail from a while back was indeed not just something everybody was getting. And when I've made the final 15, it gives me tremendous hope that I must be doing something right.

Pretend there's a bloody steak here ...

I mean, I looked for a better photo of one, but then I told myself, "Ah, you know what? Fuck it, let's get out of this place."

And so I'm off to go make a phone call about another job while trying not to think about being rejected for a different one today. Oh, am I disappointed? Well sure I am, because after all, what else could this dude have wanted—I mean, aside from say the experience that I really had being a stretch in comparison to what the job entailed. But I mean, shove all that to the side and I was a perfect fit.

Really.

OK, I'm not really all that torn up because the office was pretty small and the four or so employees there were there weren't very chirpy, you could say. The ex seemed to think that somehow translated to it being a "perfect fit" for me, but the fuck if we're putting much faith in what she thinks is good for me these days. Her suggestion, however, of nice paper for the resume was actually a good idea.

Truth be told, I haven't written much about my "job hunt" here in some months years because I really wasn't putting as much time into it as I once did—like, say, right after graduation. I suppose that I've got my own personal, legal drama having been in the way of doing, well, just about anything for the past couple months, but now I've really got no excuses.

And while these past few weeks since the community restitution wrapped up could be seen as relatively fruitless, I'm still retaining a bit of optimism when my day begins with the e-mail about an offer not being extended and yet I'm already following through on Plan B, setting up Plan C, not ruling out Plan D and then answering the phone and readjusting everything once more.

I've read or heard enough troubles with the current job climate to know that there's many people worse off than me, most of whom would kill for what passes as "my problems." So I shrug off this latest dead end, think of it as having been another opportunity to master my response to the typical "Tell me a little bit about yourself," and go on with a holiday weekend where the real fireworks probably won't even happen on the Fourth.

Kaboom, bitches.

Here, there, everywhere

See, there's going to be a day when I actually get to sit down and organize all these silly little things I feel I'm somewhat obligated to update every single time I sit down at the computer. But these days, I'm once again in my "job first" mentality. I know, I know ... "But D. Rock, looking for a bigger job seems like something you've always been doing and always will be doing for the rest of your life. Thanks for finally coming to that realization and welcome to the club."

So anywho, I'm taking about five minutes out here before I go back to craigslist and where ever else it is that my whimsy fances tonight. Wish me luck, but in the meantime, here's a few short thoughts ... let me know what to elaborate on:

• The Oscars are next Sunday. I still have not seen any of the five films nominated for Best Picture, and what's more, I have no real rooting interest in the show. The best film I saw last year was Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and I'm pretty sure that's not up for anything. That said, I didn't even request the evening off work and I typically close on Sunday nights, so I'm guessing that I'm just going to be hoping that people put the best clips from the actual show online. I don't hear about anybody doing any pools this year either, so it's not sounding like too many friends are planning on a party this year (which actually has seemingly been the story ever since the show got moved up a month). All in all, I'll throw up my predictions, for whatever they're worth, just to say I did, but in all honesty, really haven't had less interest in the broadcast in as long as I can remember. Perhaps if they raise Heth Ledger from the dead to accept his Best Supporting Actor award ...
• I believe my final score for playoff predictions with my technically correct pick of the Steelers ("I'm sorry, you said something about somebody getting 'killed,' did you?"), I went 6-5, which is acceptable and somewhat amazingly only one game worse than last year's record. I didn't have time to go back yet and see what I wrote about Pittsburgh all year, but I'm planning on looking over what I'd been writing every week this season when football previews start coming out in anticipation of next season. I haven't adjusted yet to not having football, but I usually tend to get swept up in March Madness before fully engulfing my fascination with the NBA and NHL Playoffs going into the summer. This year should prove no different, although I promised myself I'd be writing more about my boys in the U.C., and, well ...
• As far as the Blackhawks go, I've been feeling pretty good about the team most of the year and I've caught far, far more of their games this year than I did at this point last season. I feel fairly confident that they will indeed make the playoffs and beyond that, have the talent to defeat their first-round opponent. And while it feels good to be boasting about having such a legitimitely good young core that lives up to what's been hyped, there's just no denying that the veteran squads, the more playoff-experienced teams, will probably capitalize on Blackhawks mistakes—errors, I'm guessing, that will get attributed to their youth.
• The Bulls, on the other hand, have been something of a chore to watch. With the trade deadline approaching, I don't see how you don't say every guy's on the table—except Derrick Rose. And I really don't know how long Vinny truly gets to stick around if something doesn't get accomplished before then. But the newest Bulls trade rumor (these are the types of things we Bulls fans get to constantly participate in and fantasize over ever since the Jordan era ended) involves acquiring Amare Stoudemire from the Phoenix Suns. Needless to say, this move gets an enthusiastic "Hell, Yes!" vote from me (the Bulls would have to part with Drew Gooden, Tyrus Thomas, Thabo Sefolosha, maybe a draft pick or two, possibly Joakim Noah, some guy named Cedric Simmons that I don't even recall ever seeing printed on a Bulls roster this year and probably some money too). Look, the Bulls can probably get in the playoffs this year, but even with a fun, little quick fix like Stoudemire playing with Rose, this team's a million miles from contending for anything. It's still stunning that we were talking about winning the Eastern Conference here a few seasons back, because it hasn't felt like a winning team any time I've turned the Bulls on this season. It's actually kind of heartbreaking.
• And speaking of heartbreak, let me end on this final thought about the only thing that will always, most surely be the one thing more fucked up than my job satisfaction: The lady didn't take too kindly to me having lunch with XgF—or whatever the hell I called her. It was nothing too dramatic, of course, unless you count the fact that that girl even talked to me again. It certainly was fucked up, I tried to explain to the current lady—the one I still only see once a week and seemingly talk about breaking up with every other week or so—that the ex and I hadn't really spoken in a couple of years. And considering all that happened in just the past year alone, well, that's the kind of stuff that, yeah, I guess I could e-mail her about. Or maybe point to a few blog post or something, had I actually typed up some of the trouble I had gotten in, but for the most part I was too scared shitless to even type up how scared I was at the time. But that time's gone now and everything's better ... or getting better, I guess. Still getting organized, cleaning things up.
• OK, lots to do tomorrow.