Monday, March 14, 2005

Pre-Paid Pain

I got my direct deposit notice today. Swell. Not so much they switched something. I made less money while working the same hours. Then with my Columbo capabilities, I noticed it was the benefits. My pre-tax deductions set in. Just when I thought life had some form of compassion.

Damn near $200 off my check. That's almost another eight weeks at second city. Lost, or until I get hit by a bus, or retire to Milwaukee- not everyone can afford the Hamptons. I told my mom of the burden and she tried to calm me down with, "it's only once a month." I then reminded her that I only get two checks a month.

Are we almost at the age where celebrations are more resisted than accepted. There are way too many people being happy and throwing parties. See if you don't throw parties- not all like that deal, then you get caught giving 90% of the time. Nothing wrong with it as long as you get more than two checks a month.

I walked past a Dunkin Donuts in the city that is closed per the request of the Mayor's Dumpster Patrol. Two things worry me. One, for Mayor Daley to acknowledge corruption before it goes page 1, that's amazing. Two, to what degree of flunkie is a dumpster patrol person? I now know who is below the crossing guard.

Today I used whipped wax instead of hair gel. Although my hair remained manageable and shiny, it did have a wax coating that smeared onto my forehead. My mom mentioned that it has a minor scent that I wouldn't notice. True, the scent of women's hair product is minor after the first four hours of predominate feminity scents coming from my scalp.

I went to the gym to ruun and got all the way to the locker room of crazy old naked men only to realize I had forgotten my white socks. If I ran in black argyles and then walked around for fifteen minutes naked in the locker room, I would unofficially qualify for social security.

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