To Hell With the Clock (OR: Actually...why am I awake?)

Driving on Nike Rd. at 1:30 in the A.M., covered in wing sauce and latex dust, I'd say I'm well into the swing of work.

Tonight was definitely my most hectic yet, but somehow also my most enjoyable. I even managed to properly fold a wrap. That it took two days no longer matters...I wasn't even manning that station and I got it. Small victories are often the ones we savor most.

Meanwhile, I just realized it's 3 in the morning now. I should definitely be sleeping.

On the bright side, I have discovered how great Iron & Wine is at such a late hour.

I Should Be Working on the Fence

Finally.

Tonight is my first night of training at BW3's, my brand new job. I'm cookin' in the kitchen, makin' wings n stuff.

I don't care that I'll spending my summer in a hot, steamy kitchen at a sports bar. There is far worse in this world, and from all I've heard, it's going to be a terrific time. Besides, sports while I work.? What kind of hellhole is that?

More importantly, I finally have a job. At long last, I won't be sitting on my ass all day, making no money. I've got a job that will not only give me hours, but that gives me flexibility in the fall. I'll have my carcass at Columbus State then, but I'll still be spending money.

Originally, I was going to be working at Marzetti's on Frank Road. I'd be sitting in a factory from three in the afternoon until one in the morning. Not exactly ideal, now is it? I wasn't necessarily dreading it, as it was a steady paycheck, which is more than I can say now, but that's a lot of tedious, monotonous work for it. 10 hours is almost too much to ask from me - "almost" because I really had little choice until I got a call from the BW3's manager Sunday morning. By that evening, I had a job.

After the last month or so that I've had, it's nice to see that things really end up working out well. It's not going to be the same as working in the zoo, but I'll find a way, I'm sure.

Not like I have a choice.

Victory! (OR: Ray 1, Technology...a lot)

I finally did it. I got music onto the memory card for my cell phone. Finally, Butch is a music machine. (Yes, my phone's name is Butch. And yes, I name my devices. And yes, I am straight.)

You see, this is, sadly, more an accomplishment for me than I'd care to admit. I like to consider myself at least technically savvy. I'm no expert, but usually I can work my way through a pile of cables with relative ease.

Then this little chip entered my life. It was Elise's birthday present to me, as temporary replacement for my iPod (which I lost. Because I am awesome.). It seemed simple enough: plug in my phone with the USB cable, or put the music on the chip, then put it in my phone, hit the play button, and jam. I was gonna enjoy the flight to Nashville with tuneskis of my choosing, all thanks to my little phone.

Ray's face, meet wall.

I finally got the phone connected to the computer after trying about four thousand times or so. I get all the best music I had into a neat-o little playlist, and load it on...

One song? What the fuck, phone? Most things with a play button play...more than one thing. Fuck that.

So I load the little chip into the computer...and I still can't get it synchronized with my phone. I put it straight onto the damned chip! I'm swearing every sentence now, Butch. Is that what you wanted?

I manage to load one song on: "Technologic" by Daft Punk. Ever since the end of April, I've managed to inadvertently press the play button on the front of the phone and start that little voice...stares ensued.

So I finally decide...what the hell, let's see what we can do. I've not even been able to connect it previously, and things went the same tonight. Then...I hold in place.

CONNECT

You mean...the only way I can ensure that my $150 phone will connect the way it's supposed to is to hold the cord in place? What the fuck, technology?

Now I have some dandy songs on the playlist. And what's the first line one hears when the music comes on?

"If you havin' girl problems, I feel bad for ya son/I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one."

Smoov, Ray. Smoov.

Number Four (OR: My aunt's new nickname is Jaws)

"Diane's getting married Wednesday."
"Oh, that's nice. Tell her I said congrats."

Most little girls spend there lives dreaming of their wedding, the big elaborate day that they get to spend oodles and oodles of daddy's money on. The dress, the cake, the caterer, the reception, and the groom - all pieces of the day (gentlemen, do not be mistaken. Your role in a wedding is to show up on time, smile, and not sleep with the stripper from the bachelor party. No more, no less.). It's the biggest day they may ever know, and the bigger the wedding, chances are she's off to begin a fledgling career as a professional trophy wife.

At least, that's the dream.

The above was the approximate involvement of most of my family when my Aunt Diane got married last week.

Diane New-Ray-Ballard-whathisname-Jaworski. Yeah, her fourth marriage, and she's not hit 45 yet. Dear god. I don't think any of us remember number three's last name, as they were married for about forty-five minutes or so. All I remember about Dwight (that was his first name, anyway) was that he ran over the dog. Not necessarily the fondest memory, but Diane's dogs have a tendency to be annoying as hell, so maybe it's not a tragedy either. (Don't jump my shit, here people...I'm a dog person. But annoying dogs are not fun.)

This one is theoretically going to work. Diane's actually got her act together, which is far more than can be said of any of the others. Hell, actually falling in love with Mickey was not quite inevitable. The only problem is, there are four kids involved, three of whom still are present in her life, one of whom isn't even in high school yet. And the oldest is still attached to her dad. Never mind he happens to be an asshole. This is a guy who'd pawn anything that wasn't his the minute the owner stepped out of sight. Thank god he was never my babysitter...

Oddly enough, ask anyone who's from Kentucky or has relatives within, and you'll hear at least one similar story.

Good luck Diane. Or should I say...Jaws?

Don't ask me how, but I pull myself back up like that. No prolonged agony, at least none perceived. No epic moping or sel-pity. There's something I tend to be good at...self-pity. Of course, being as secretly self-absorbed as I tend to be, that really should come as no surprise.

But I'm in a pretty good mood. Maybe it's the fact the fact that I actually accomplished some things yesterday. I'm [hold finger and thumb about an inch apart]this close to a job...either a temp job or something a little more definite.

This morning, I'm practically bouncing. I suppose it's the Henry Tumbleweed filming, or maybe that I'm still hopped up on Sunkist (I've been drinking that stuff like it's water lately). I'm not entirely sure if I know what the reason is, but it's definite. I'll throw on some old clothes, head out back, and work on the fence some more. I said I'd have the inside done by the end of the weekend, and tomorrow's not looking that great, what with grad parties and whatnot.

It'll get done. I'll get my lines right today. And things, I hope, will work themselves out. God knows something gotta change.