From The Ashes ...

The Ex Can't Make Ice Cubes

Saturday, 2:00 am

By can't, I of course don't mean lack of ability to, but rather lacks the patience for. Successfully making ice cubes involves standing at the sink and making sure that each compartment of the ice cube tray fills fully and completely with water, then returning said tray to an even resting position inside the freezer resulting in 16 or 20 (depends on the tray) plump, full, drink chilling cubes. He will have none of it. From the visual evidence I have observed he gets tired or bored toward the left hand side of the tray as those compartments are frequently left empty or filled with enough water so that upon freezing it becomes not so much a cube as an ice wafer, with no discernible use except as an instrument of torture for me. And it's not that he is unaware of this habit. He will frequently make his caffeine free sugar free diet cranberry ginger ale drinks utilizing acceptable ice from multiple trays, leaving me to face 2am armed only with ice wafers to skip across the top of my warm Stoli/soda w/lemon.

As you can see, while I'm not posting for the holiday weekend, I am in fact writing. The lack of posts is due to the fact that nobody, well hardly anybody, will be reading, as the first big summer holiday finds people compelled to do something. I have no such compulsion as I do not get a holiday. Because you do. If you're off, I'm busy. Which means I'm working. A fact I've gotten used to. The only time I resent it is when you're off and it results in extra work for me. Then I'm vaguely more aggressive in dealing with you and much more likely to get drunk and insult you. Because I can.

I have $28 dollars in my pocket. It's Saturday night and I don't pay me until Monday. I've already advanced myself $200 of that pay. Life is a giant hamster wheel. Can't imagine why I'm interviewing for a new job.

Some new links: People I've been reading for a while now and added.

Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.

I also cleaned up all the dead links in my bookmark section, almost completed purchasing a full set of dinnerware for six, and bought two replacement watch bands at a street fair for $5.00. I now have a dress watch in black, a sport watch in brown and a clip on belt watch for casual wear. This makes me feel complete. Because I'm gay.

Found out via Engadget.com that I do not (as I suspected) need to maintain a basic phone line with Verizon to receive DSL service. They are lying to customers. It's a big fat lie. They are stinky liar-doody-heads. I can in fact have DSL service and use my Vonage phone as my primary phone. They (Verizon) still jam a hand in your pocket by insisting that you open a wireless account, which actually fits more in to what I was trying to accomplish, but I question the legality of that policy as well. Anyway, I will be aggressively and smugly calling my Verizon "customer support" (gag) representative on Tuesday.

Sunday, 12:30 pm

As befits the holiday, one of my neighbors has decided that city life be damned, traditionally you barbecue during Memorial Day weekend. So in the alley below my apartment they are doing just that. The smell of the grill has wafted up and filled the apartment. In Manhattan, this is an unusual odor. It stinks good.

The Ex coughed up his share of the bills (late) and the rent (early) so cash crisis averted. Of course, in service to the elaborate Ponzi Scam that is my life, this money will most definitely not be going towards rent or bills. Leaving me to scramble to cover same all month. But for now, this faggot is flush!

Sunday, 5:20 pm

I'm an hour and twenty minutes late for work. Bad attitude much? The Hellcat is asleep on my couch. He called me around 12:30 to invite me to brunch with some Cali friends I've never met before. A couple of months ago I would have been horrified at the prospect, and would have manufactured an excuse not to go. Not so now. They were Uber-gay and wicked cute and very good company. I laughed, I drank a couple (OK four) bloodys, and now I have to try and roust M--- from his nap and see if he can rally and pull a bar shift out his ass. I'm not hopeful.

I managed to wake The Hellcat but he didn't look good at all. Flushed and logey was my visual diagnosis. He claims this is the result of a mimosa and two bloodys, plus the after effects of two weeks of mega antibiotics. I have no choice but to believe him. In a last ditch effort I try to bring him out of it with some directed healing. It really just involves me trying to open myself up to whatever his system is sending out and moving positive energy towards the area that feels "damaged". I laid his head on me and ran my hands down his arms, over his shoulders and finally across his head. That's where I felt the problem was so I lightly and repeatedly stroked his head while concentrating on healing. It seemed to work. Perhaps it was the hot shower. Don't care. I just wanted him to feel better. Maybe I should take a crack at Neo's injured back.

Sunday, 12:45 am
The holiday rush is over. We got stupid busy from around 10:30 'till now. I actually had to do things! The Hellcat was blessedly far too swamped to even think about feeling like shit, and T---- finally jumped behind the stick to help without me asking him to. I even saw him check a bathroom to make sure it was tidy. *sniff* Makes a Duchess so proud! I cleared glasses and ran cases of beer. Managed to get the payroll finished and sent to corporate as well. Stood around and looked pretty, mostly. If we stay busy, I'll keep the place open until 4 am instead of 3. So that my multimillionaire bosses can take in an extra $200.00 or so. Of...which...I...get...squat.

Monday, 12:30 pm

Turn your speakers up and click on this:

Ended up closing The Bar at 3:30 since it was empty by then. Had a cocktail at home by candlelight and off to bed. Going to protein up with some steak n' eggs and hit the gym before heading back to work. I should be more tired than I feel but I'm going with it.

Monday, 9:10 pm

Between the rain and this being the last night of a holiday weekend, you could fire a gun in this dump and not hit a soul. And where's the fun in that? In spite of that I have much work to do. I need to give my doorman a dinner break, that'll take a half hour. I need to fill out pay slips and pay these little piglets their weekly wages and complimentary bowl of gruel. Another half hour there. Plus it's inventory night and as luck would have it, not only do I have to inventory all of storage but I have to inventory the downstairs bar as it's closed today so there's no mewling hunchbacked underling for me to assign this task to. That will time out at a solid hour and a half. Then I have regular closing work plus inventory for the upstairs. A girl barely has time to surf for porn. Still as arduous as all that sounds, you notice I had time to complain in writing. And how stressed am I? Not very I also went shopping on company time. I bought the last place setting for my new dishes. I am now the proud owner of an entire matching six piece dinner set. I wish that I could accurately describe how excited I am. Yes, I know it's stupid. Simple pleasures, folks. Don't underestimate them. Oh, and I bought the new South Beach Diet cookbook as well. For $20, if I get half a dozen new recipes out of it I'll be happy.

Monday, 10:41 pm

Finished doling out the substandard wages (mine most definitely included). Just wanted to share this with you. I keep two enormous CD briefcases in my office. One has CD's that I consider "playable" and is almost full and divided up into neatly organized sub-headings of "new, dance" "Broadway" "Happy Hour" (read: oldies) and classic (early Cher, Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys etc.) The other briefcase is filed under a general sub-heading of "crap" that by all rights I should just toss but I also keep some comedy CD's and holiday music, Christmas, St Patrick's day etc in there. The opening bartender will frequently load the CD player before I get there, and one of them has what I consider to be the absolute worst taste in music of almost anyone short of The Ex. So how surprised should I be that he decided to pull CD's from the "crap" case and came up with this gem. The CD label says Madonna - ray of light so you can sort of understanding where he was heading but here's the entire song selection clearly written on the label as well:

1. Ray of light- album version (5:19)
2. Ray of light- ultra violet mix (10:43)
3. Ray of light- liquid mix (8:03)
4. Ray of light- calderone club mix (9:29)

35 minutes of re-mixes of the exact same song! Needless to say, that CD is now landfill.

Monday, 1:34 am

Inventory is almost done. The back bar is closed. Now there's just a smattering of alcoholics in the front waiting to be pushed out onto 58th St. and into a cab. Whereupon they will return to an apartment they can't really afford and most likely throw up before bed. Marry me! I'm kidding (mostly). All that's left is to set the alarm at The Restaurant and close down the front. Finish inventory and then a five minute (green lights all the way) cab ride back to my castle high atop Second Avenue.

So, that's what I did this holiday weekend. How was your barbecue, muthafuckah? Now that you bitches are all back at work, I'm finally off.