I’ve avoided writing today, because it’s just pissy negative shit in my head (great use of language — pissy shit). Apart from trying to be a bit more relaxed and flow going, this being California and all, I also don’t want to go down in girlfriend annals as the one nicknamed “Cunty McCunt.”

M.’s old roommate has finished some year-long globetrotting and has dropped by our spare room. That’s fine, on a theoretical plane. But, man, oh, man, when you’ve had a long week of working (and you’re still tuckered out by not being used to new people and new routines) and the president on down says, “why don’t you cut out early,” and facing you is the prospect of making small talk with some dude you ain’t hardly know lying on the living room floor watching all the TV he missed while traveling. Well it just kind of ain’t relaxing, that’s all.

So, I stayed a bit later at work and played with my desk supplies and shit.

He’s an OK guy, but there will always be a bare-knuckled fist curled in my heart for a certain kind of computer nerd. Why do guys who can program or keep computers running think they know piles of shit about everything in the universe. In truth those guys, the ones who comment on ever thing, and seemingly thrive on pointing out the obvious, when it comes to knowing shit, they know jack.

I could go further and describe in excruciating detail examples of why I wrote the paragraph above, but, hey, man, like it’s the weekend, dude and this is California, and I, like, maybe need a blunt or something to smooth out the edges. (‘course that might have happened when I was youthful and a bit of weed didn’t make me cower in the corner, paranoid about everything, everyone and any number of conspiracies.)

Speaking of conspiracies, as a total aside, there’s a dude in Boston who I know from comedy, who believes every conspiracy theory that comes down the pike and is absolutely convinced that there is a power elite pushing us little guys like the pawns and cannon fodder we are. I think he’s completely full of shit and more than a little crazy.

However, one month into working in the major leagues of philanthropy, and I ain’t so sure any more. They be a lot of meetings happened with a lot of folks there solely on the basis of who they know, who they hang with and the amount of dough they bring to the table. Wicked cabal? Maybe not. But, power elite? Oh, they are fucking out there.

Anyway, I’m trying hard not to freak on the extra house-guest, because I like M. and he’s M.’s bud. Nothing like M. coming home to a shrew to make life suck, ya dig?

Maybe I’m also pissing and moaning, because I vowed to myself at this job not to get sucked into any old patterns and annoyances. What the guy at the next desk is doing is none of my fucking business, and I ain’t getting involved. Hard to have shit stick to you, if you don’t engage.

But. Obviously, there had to be a but. I’ve been working with a chick who stepped down to part time. Only she doesn’t even bother to come in very much of the part in that time. And, when she’s there, work isn’t really what she’s all about. I have no intention of narc-ing on her (see “don’t engage” above), but it sure doesn’t help that our mutual boss keeps asking about her helping with my training.

Jesus, I guess I need a long weekend. Bring on the goddamn fireworks.