Sunday, October 18, 2015

Two Brief Stories

I cannot yet comment on the Dom Caper Follies, kickoff's at 3:25 Central, or the Doctor, as Sweetie spent the night with her Girl Scout Troop, so we'll see the Doc tonight.
Actually, a touch of explanation is called for. We are childless, and at the stage of life where we is going to remain free of carpet squirrels. One set of our best friends has four children, all badly in need of restraints and lithium. Teh oldest female child, already 6' at 15, is a Girl Scout - we've bought cookies, QEmotherfuckingD. Her mother, one of Sweetie's closest friends, is the, I believe the term is 'troop leader'. Sweetie done got drafted.
Last night was the fall 'camp-in', where they shared s'mores and stories of cannibalism. I think. 

Herr Doktor Right Reverend Zombie has already commented on him falling out the back of a wardrobe and ending up in a Bourbon Haze in a state with 8,000 lakes (goddammit) and a massive

Jawa Sand Crawler taking shape on the east side of Minneapolis for some semipro sportsball team. (And briefly seriously, that was a great damn weekend! I fear he has acquired an expensive new habit, distilled finery...) I have one short story, outside of the Zombie/Snag whirlwind reaping, to add.

I'd been invited to see Blues Traveller at Mill City Nights, a local music club, and went. Sweetie played designated driver for three of us, my BIL and one of my twatting-introduced buddies.

We get to the club, and three good-sized, somewhat shaggy buggers pile out of an Equinox. Now, I frequently wear a dark brown felt fedora. Adventure hat I calls it. On a very good mental health day, I would refer to myself as stout, p'raps chunky. We start into the club, and a gentleman, seemingly homeless, or possibly severely polluted, mumbles up to us. Unable to sort out what he was saying to us, he started pushing a folder or photo at us. Confused, we say no thanks, boss, and head into the club.

Later in the club, I saw a guy looking somewhat like the dude out in the lot in the club, and the light hit me. Stout, fedora, at Mills City - little dude thought I was John Popper! Not sure how to feel about that, but I'm pretty sure I'm right...

This week I was offered a job/promotion. I had two days of meetings with the hiring manager for the position, as he was at our site, and our preventive maintenance program is to become the standard across the company's data center management portfolio. I run our PM program, and although I tend to be loathe to blow my own horn, I am really good at my job.

While bullshitting at lunch, he  said something about DC ops managers, and I said, somewhat joking, do you have any openings? He said yes, and after working with me for two days, he was prepared to offer me the position. And "I'm serious. Talk to your wife!" Middle of nowhere, New Brunswick, Canada. N-i-i-i-i-c-c-c-e.

Well, of course, we talked about it, and although she was not as enthused as I, she was open to it, but after discussing some things, she brought up family issues I hadn't thought of, that truly prevent us from getting that far away from the midwest for the forseeable future. I spoke to the gentleman the next morning and told him I would be unable to look at it. Now, I hadn't even asked him anything, really, about the job, so it may have not been a fit anyhow, but I cannot deny the location and the title were not an awful lot of what I like... Eh, it is what it is, I have a good life and good friends here, and other opportunities will happen.

Coming up shortly, Live-Blogging the Packers Chargers!

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