Rock and Roll Hoochie Koo?

What is this Rock and Roll Hoochie Koo that Rick Derringer speaks of? I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps I should ask Sloopy....

It's not surprising that I haven't update this thing in a while. Life has been kind of slow lately so it's not like I haven't had time to write anything. I'm just lazy and would rather read what other people have written instead of writing anything myself. Also, it's been a while since I've been at work with nothing to do and that's generally the time that I feel like writing something.

Since dating The Q, I've realized that I really like to know things. I find myself asking her all kinds of questions and getting in discussions/arguments about various subjects. The discussions/arguments I'm sure she likes, but when I ask her about things there's absolutely no way she could possibly know anything about, I think it might get on her nerves a little. But hey, who else am I going to ask?

I do the same thing with Kade and Melinda at work. Kade more so because he knows things or at least knows OF things. He's a great person to bounce ideas off of too.

I've also found that I like to tinker with things; Mostly at work, when I have the time. Like today for instance, I disassembled a spinner(a simple device that spins coils into books that have been coil punched). It was making an awful racket so I took it upon myself to relieve it of its symptoms. Naturally, not being educated in its anatomy, the "simple" spinner was actually much more complicated inside. But I managed to bumble my way through it and lubricated the squeaky bits. Voila: silent spinner! I did the same thing to a jogger(another "simple" contraption that shakes paper around until it's evenly jogged together).

It is things like what I described above and my rapidly increasing knowledge of the printers(software and hardware) that make me feel like I deserve a little recognition. I get things done more efficiently and the machines have a lot less down time because instead of waiting hours for a technician, printers and auxiliary machines can be jury rigged to finish off their respective jobs. However, it seems that to be a valuable employee and earn recognition here at Kinko's, one must work as many hours as possible: stay late or come in when there's help needed . I guess it doesn't matter how well I do my job, only how many hours I work. Not to sound egotistical or big-headed, but I do my job well and, more often than not, go above and beyond what's expected of me. I just don't stay late. Is that a crime? Does it make me a bad employee? Looks like it.

Did I mention that I hate moisture spots?

Well I do. But that's not the point. The point of this whole entry is to describe my fantastic idea for a novel. It came to me while working but I really have no idea why I thought about it. Anyway, the story would involve a Vampire who works a third-shift job. The reason I thought it'd be funny is because whenever you see a vampire in a movie they're usually pretty well off. So I thought, what if there was this regular joe-schmoe who recently became a vampire, but was too nice to live such a life, and instead finds a third-shift job at a blood bank as a security guard or something. I haven't quite figured out what kind of job he would have. Maybe it's funny only to me, but I think a story about a blue collar vampire just trying to get by would be hilarious. Or not.

Lordy momma, light my fuse

I feel summer creeping in....

Damn. I haven't worked that long in forever. Well, scratch that. I haven't stayed at work past seven o'clock in forever. Regardless, I feel good about it. I've felt like I'm seen as a slacker at work because I never stay late and I never come in to work for other people. But when I'm there, I bust my butt; no one ever sees it though. It must stem from my inability to give myself praise or credit, but I don't think I'll ever be good enough for anybody or at anything. Which leads me to my next paragraph....

The Q is, and this doesn't do her justice, the most fantastic, wonderful, classy, beautiful girl I have ever had the honor of dating. She does so much for me; things I would never expect a significant other, especially so early in a relationship, to do. And yet, I never feel like I return the sentiment. Sure, I go out to the horse farm and help clean stalls, feed, clean, etc. But I love doing it, and it just seems like what anyone else in my position would do so it never feels like I'm going above and beyond like I believe she deserves. Perhaps I feel this way because we spend a lot of time together sleeping. When I'm at work with all the time in the world to thing, my mind plays scenarios of ending the relationship because she's frustrated with me. It's funny that I'm writing this blog like she's not reading it; quite the contrary.

Forgive me. I don't mean to write about you like you don't exist, darlin'. I'm very tired and that makes it tough to put my thoughts together the way I'd like them to be.

Down to my last cigarette with no where to go...

This is Dick Stockton, signing off....

My friend Bruh left for Mississippi today. He's going back home for a couple months, but he'll be back. I'm going to miss the man. He's brought me to tears from laughing so hard many a time.

Interestingly enough, I was listening to Blue Monday on NPR and found out that today is Robert Johnson's birthday. Coincidence? Maybe.

This past Saturday we had a going-away party for him. It had rained the previous night so everyone spent part of the day vacuuming out all the water. Later, it rained again only this time instead of a shop-vac, everyone gathered together a shit ton of buckets and formed a line; kind of like an old-fashioned fire brigade. We made a dent in the lake that was once our courtyard and decided it was time to tap the keg and fire up the music.

Our band played first, sans bass player as is usual. However, Chris, our new bass player, did show up halfway through the set and joined us on Texas Flood. I felt it was appropriate. We didn't do half bad for only having practiced twice together. I messed up a few times and missed a pause we'd just written the previous day into one of our songs.

It was tons of fun, but I crashed early. I had spent most of the day coding my final project slash our band's webpage. Speaking of which, come this Thursday, The Devil's Hotrod will finally have a freaking website. I know I've mentioned getting it done in the past but this time it's really going to be finished. I promise. So on Thursday, mosey on over to www.thedevilmusic.com sometime in the afternoon and ye shall see the fruits of mine labor.

I miss The Q

Hats off to you, Mr. Ron Baird

The trip to Michigan was successful. Fun times were had by all. And though I was sad to leave, it felt really good to come home.

The Q got to meet my parents on the day of our arrival and then we had breakfast the next morning. Everything went well on that front. Looks like everybody thinks she's swell just as I do. -=grin=-

I must say, that vacation was needed. I felt fully rested upon returning to work on Sunday.

However,

What I'd really like to type about is the fact that I never know what the hell to write. I read all these other blogs that are so witty and entertaining and I think, "Man, I wish I could write something like this; something that everyone wants to read." But I don't think my life is interesting enough to appeal to a wider audience. -=sigh=-

And all those blogs are always so swish looking and the author is so cool and hip and has funny stories. Sometimes I wonder if they make the stories up or if maybe they live on an alternate plane of existence; the contents of which are funny and witty to us.

And they're always called something weird, but cool. Like: The alabaster Quagmire, Alcoholic Dogfisherman or my personal favorite Musings of an Estranged Cheeto. I'm not sure anyone knows what they mean and if you ask why they're cool, you'll never get it.

Alas, I may never be a wicked awesome blogger, but at least I can stare longingly at pastel colored, geometrically, asymmetrically designed blogs; sigh; drink my coffee; smoke my cigarette, and sleep peacefully. Knowing that there are 20-something hipsters out there clickety-clacking on they're pure white, Mac keyboards doing what they do best: blogging.