Somehow, I thought today would be a good day to quit smoking.

That may have been a tad premature. I arrived to work this morning to find that I was the only person in my unit to show up to work. This was unexpected, and therefore I hadnt planned accordingly. So as I sat, quietly toiling at the desk, the Chief in her subtle manner demanded that I write tickets in the neighborhood. I just didnt feel like fighting her. I opened parking in the commuter lot, abandoned the desk to the only other person available, and trudged reluctantly into the cold rain sans hat or rain jacket. That was the unprepared part.

Lets do a little cost/benefit analysis on that chiefly decision:

I wrote 22 tickets in the neighborhoods at $75 a piece. Of these, I would say 7 will be paid. = $525
The neighbors, should they be monitoring my every move today, will be pleased that tickets were issued = less angry phone calls from neighbors
Those unfortunate and unknowing scofflaws who by all posted regulations were parked legally will be pissed = more angry calls from everyone else
Opening parking in a 900 space lot at $12/day on a rainy monday = -$300
I had no hat or coat, so I will probably get sick = everyone who even thinks about doing something illegal will immediately get the axe

Somewhere in there is the seed of my discontent.

So be it. I think I have one I might share.

My last girlfriend in high school and I had a secret code that would indicate to the other when one of us was feeling a slight randy. We would be meshed together on the couch watching MST3K, or, I dont know, randomly running into eachother between classes, and one of us (usually me, but thats too be expected) would ask "Wanna go get some ice cream?" I'm sure that anyone who witnessed this little exchange would be able to immediately spot the ruse by the unbridled sexual fervor relecting in my eyes, but no one ever made mention. It was on one of these "ice cream" outings that I was the closest to being arrested as I think I have ever been.

We had driven out along a dirt access road behind her neighborhood to what we both agreed was a safe distance, and nearly leaping into the backseat of my parent's Honda we commenced to indulging our carnal lust. Things were, uh... progressing nicely for lack of a more delicate term, when the car was suddenly illuminated by headlights from behind. Quickly scrambling to retrieve articles of clothing, I ventured to peer out the rear window and determine who was there. The headlights were solo and unmoving, but there was no evidence of red and blue party lights. At this, I rapidly became enraged. Who the hell was this hologen wielding momo that thought it his right to interrupt my intriquately rehearsed symphony so near the triumphant fanfare? Brief heartbeats before I strode from the car in full confrontation mode, the observer peeled out passed us, followed shortly thereafter by another car. We guessed they were off roading, and stumbling upon our location, paused in hopes of catching a private glimpse of the ravishing young thing I was with. Laughs were exchanged as we finished dressing and commented on the dire need to find a new hobby. Returning to the front seat, we buckled up and I turned on the car to drive home. As the engine sputtered to life, so did the search light of the prowler moving slowly to our position. Thinking perhaps I could just drive away citing "no harm, no foul", I placed the car into gear. This action was met with red and blue flashers, and a voice from the loudspeaker. "Place the vehicle in park and turn off the engine."

Fuck.

By the time the female officer reached the car, I was certain that beads of sweat had sought fit to replicate the post-coital bliss that had nearly faded.

"Evenin'. What's going on here?", she asked, her oversized flashlight searching the car for evidence of something illegal.

"We're just talking. Having some problems, and needed to talk." I replied, keeping my answers both simple and quite obviously false.

"Can I see both your drivers liscenses, please?" This is where things really became worrisome. You see, whereas I was a strapping 18 and gearing up to begin my collegiate endeavour, she was a blossomed 15 and yet two months shy of leaving the protected scope of statutory law.

"I dont have a driver's liscense, but I have an ID." Thanks love... lets save the officer the trouble of highlighting the problem. The cop studied the ID's in her cruiser as we sat motionless in the car, more terrified of what her father would do to me than any legal ramifications. After the requisite eternity we law enforcement types spend doing menial checks and letting the detained stew, the officer returned and gave us both our cards back.

"We've had reports of cars tear-assing around back here." This was my opportunity to divert attention. Without hesitation, yet much more calm now, I detailed that two vehicles passed us, and described them with such terrified precision that the officer knew I had suffered enough in my own thoughts. Recommending that we find a less secluded spot to engage in coversation, she bid us both a good evening, and I motivated away poste haste. After that, our "ice cream" trips were made to a remote water tower access road north of town about 20 minutes. The rolling foot hills were purple with wild heather, and provided plently of cover. That spot, that my buddies and I later dubbed "Observatory", holds a very special place in my heart. Since that summer six years ago, an entire new subdivision has been built there, and at the spot that once we felt the most at ease, two streets now intersect.

Stanley Canyon Drive and Long Hollow Road. That strange coincidence still makes me laugh.

Current Temp: 51 degrees
Humidity: 86%
Pressure: 29.93 inches and rising

Reading: "Stone of Tears" ~ Terry Goodkind
Listening: "Don't Know Why" ~ Nora Jones
Writing Progress: 12 pages and rolling steady with the addition of "Chicago Bears Sweatshirt"

Cold: Still here, but breaking up. Should be 100% by weeks end.
Car: Still in the shop, but insurance companies have been rattled and checks are being cut.
Party Animals: the reports of theft were largely false, and so my worries are no more. But I will be more vigilant from now on.

So Brian had a good idea that might help to break down these walls of writer's block that hold me hostage.

"I parked the car about a block down from the building and turned off the engine. In the absence of my jacket, my shirt had turned into a wet napkin that wasn’t drying very rapidly. Until that moment I hadn’t noticed the blood splattered across the front either, and decided perhaps it was time to find something else to wear. Slipping quickly into the back seat, I rooted through the trunk of the SUV and found an old sweatshirt with ____________ on the front."

Go ahead and leave a comment, should you feel the need, and give me some suggestions. I can already see how potentially horrible this idea is, so lets try and stay clear of bodily fluids, huh kids? You know who I'm talking to...

Over the past few days, I've found myself ripe with thoughts to complain about, so I thought I might share a couple with you at random.

1. I find it rude and highly suspect when bilingual people come in to my office to conduct business with me, and converse with eachother in the other language in front of me. If I was in Russia, waiting in line for Nike's and bottled water at GUM (which is their old skool commie version of Super WalMart), and started speaking with my American colleagues in English when it was clear I knew Russian, someone would throw a rock at me as soon as I left the building. I applaud them for knowing both languages, but you have to abide by the golden rule of diplomacy: you never oink at a parakeet.

2. Customer Service training should only be mandatory for people who cannot tie their own shoes. I sat in this hellish nightmare all day on Wednesday, and by hour 6 I was ready to pull an Oedipus and gouge my own eyes out if it meant I could leave. In an almost surreal out of body experience, I slowly became aware that the facilitators were using on us the very verbal judo skills they were attempting to impart. Suddenly, the entire exercise seemed condescending and wasteful. In my comments I stated as much, and further called the "training" akin to obedience school for pets. I doubt I'll be asked to facilitate next year's program.

3. Diplomatic Immunity is perhaps the biggest spoonful of shit we as a nation have ever had to swallow in the name of precedent. The foreign nations we worry about violating the civil rights of our Staties abroad have no concern for the regulations, anyhow. Yet, to preserve the rule, we have to extend such "courtesy" to every asshole and his or her asshole kids that get their names drawn out of a hat to represent their country here in Dark City. Am I over reacting? You could argue that I suppose. But the first time you have someone sobbing to you about being raped, and you cant arrest the waste of carbon that did it because his Grandpa is one of 46 Kings in a particular country, you might think differently.

4. Yes princess, I know its fucking raining outside and you dont want to ruin your Gucci suede strappy sandals, but you cant park anywhere you want. Perhaps you should have thought about that before you left the house. I dont give a rats ass who your Dad is. Pretend this is trendy London, get an umbrella, and shut the fuck up.

5. The word "Library" has a damn "r" in it.... its not "libary" you ass. Stop saying it wrong. And "suppose", not "stuppose".... grrr.

Ok, thats enough for now. I feel much better. The rain is falling lightly, Gladys is on the mp3, and the phone is quiet. It's nearly a good day!

I have no idea why that particular phrase has been running through my head all morning, but it has. And I find it pretty damn funny. Phallic? Possibly. Band name? Maybe. One of thousands of completely odd things that has leaked out of my head? Most definitely.

Anyhow, the original reason for this post was to present a sort of "wish list" that has been rolling through my head. Every now and again, I bust out of my plebian utility and just get that bourgeois urge to possess things. Extravagant things. This is that list:

1. Aston Martin V12 Vanquish... every man needs an Bond car at some point. I want that point to be now.
2. A new suit, brownish gray I think, single breasted, three buttons. Something seasonal. My suits are getting kind of "yesterday"...
3. A new computer and stable internet connection at home. Nothing insane, just ridiculously fast and kind of sleek looking. Sexyware.
4. A well bred and educated English personal secretary. Brunette, about 5' 8", Oxford educated. Someone who's primary responsibility is to keep me organized and piss off my girlfriend/wife.
5. Girlfriend/wife. One or the other, not both. I only have so much money and patience. And that whole honor thing always keeps me from having both at the same time. Man, what an anchor around my wild-child persona...

Thats enough for now- time to go to the meeting. I'll post again later.

Has anyone else noticed that the old gang seems to be materializing out of thin air? I'm reminded of one of those reunion style westerns. You know the schtick- the aging law man passes through a town in need and the local sheriff pleads for his assistance. Generally John Wilson's cattle have been wrangled, or Mary Sue, the local hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold, has been roughed up. So the silver-haired marshal rustles up his old posse to enact one last measure of frontier justice. You get the deaf guy who could "shoot the wings offer skeeter at 200 paces", the knife guy, the old codger that can ride like the wind, and "the Kid", who though was a wet-eared 18 when they first rode five abreast down the streets of Dodge City, now is hovering somewhere between Harrison Ford and Robert Redford on the craggy scale. I wanna be "Timmy", the kid who idolized the marshal when he was 10, but now goes by "Tim" and runs the local general store with his matronly wife, Sally Jane.

Glad to hear that MG is doing well and that I'm not the only one that "red nose" thing happens to. Do you get the glazed over eyes bit, as well? That sucks.

My car is still in limbo over at the Ford dealership. I'm waiting on a call from the risk manager at Budget Rent-a-Car so that I can find out if they are covering the damages or not, and cant really progress to the next, more legally binding level of "getting my money." Eventually, when I'm a little more calm, I'll explain the situation in greater detail. Until then, pray for the sake of Geico that the Budget dude accepts full responsibility for my claim and starts writing company checks to yours truly. More later.

I've noticed a very odd trend with the women in my life as of late. It seems that in the last week, problems have befallen them and they have sought me out for a solution. My sister is squabbling with my grandmother, my mom is worried about my aunt, my friend is sorry she insulted me and I stopped speaking with her, ex-girlfriends going through quarter life crises, my poor car trapped at the body shop in Rockville until the damn insurance companies decide who's paying for the repairs.... and for some reason they all think I can help. I'm honored, I am. I want to help in any way that I can.

But I'm only further convinced that women will be the death of me. ;)