KillingTime

Please Note

2005-11-13T20:23:00.000-06:00

This blog has been a work of fiction. It was not done as an attempt to solicit any kind of writing contract, but as a writing exercise. Hopefully no one was (too) offended in the process.

Click here to read more about the author's other projects.

click here for the author's personal blog.

2005-03-01T21:21:00.000-06:00

From an anonymous comment:

"...sometimes I'd wonder why people read me..."

Well, I came looking about judge leafkow's family in Chicago...

Do YOU know anything about that KT?

Short answer:
Not really.

ABC Chicago news story

CNN’s story

Longer answer:

From everything I can see, this was the work of an amateur. Breaking in through a basement window? Not my style. I also rarely leave bodies to be found by family members, although in this case it was probably done that way on purpose.

Mr. Hale is clearly not the smartest...

I remember back when he was first in trouble for trying to hire someone to kill her. I posted something back then about how I wouldn’t have taken the job if it had come up. To have taken the job since would have been just stupid.

For one, the connection to him is just too easy. Even if he isn’t connected, he’s under suspicion for obvious reasons. Odds are the guy who did it will get caught. Either he will, or Hale will tell it all - or it was him. If it was him, he’s just as screwed. Maybe he did it himself. Maybe he hired someone. If he hired someone, my guess is it was probably someone cheap.

This would be one good example of why I’ve avoided high profile jobs in the past...

I Almost Forgot

2005-02-28T16:57:00.000-06:00

So this morning I went out for bagels. I had some other errands to run anyway. There was snow on all the cars, so I cleared a couple others off while my car was warming up.

Then I'm driving about the city, going nowhere fast in the morning traffic, with nothing better to do than listen to "wacky" "morning show" crap on the radio. A couple stations are talking about the recent discovery of the BTK killer. Callers are calling in talking about living next to him, and then it's people calling in talking about living near other infamous serial killers.

And that got me thinking. I could just picture my neighbors.

"Oh, he was just this guy. He'd go off on some business trip and I'd watch his cat for him..."

I got news for you, folks. It's not that serial killers are all quiet, friendly people. It's not that serial killers seem like regular people. The fact that he went to your church, or volunteered with your son's Boy Scout troop isn't what creeps you out.

It's that deep down, you're not as better as you think. We all have that in us, and it's the recognition of that that disturbs people. It's not that serial killers are just like regular people. It's that the regular people are like just like the serial killers.

The 2 Things

2005-02-28T07:44:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking about 2 little things a lot lately. Ever since I've put up that bloghop rating thing it's mattered to me what people think.

I'm not sure I cared before I put that up. I mean, yah, sometimes I'd wonder why people read me, and what might bring any of them back. But for the most part I've done this for me. My own little therapy. Isn't that what gets most bloggers started? That or politics, I think.

But there's this wide range of reactions. Both ends of the love it to hate it spectrum are well covered, as is the middle ground. And more votes than I expected. So that part's cool.

The other thing started with someone posting about not thinking I'm real. I guess I'm in good company it that regards, but then I realize I'm not.

Who are some other bloggers whose reality have been questioned?

Belle de Jour
"Isabella V." of shes.aflightrisk.org
Alexa of www.nyhotties.com

OK, they're all women (in theory) but that's not what sets me apart from them. Those three can write. And I mean write. I can understand people thinking those are actually writers trying to get attention.

And then there's me. I couldn't write a book if I wanted to. I don't have the kind of vocabulary that jumps out, begging to be put on paper. I don't have that kind of creativity.

So Belle will publish her book, and Isabella (yah, I doubt her too, but still a good read) and Alexa will keep impressing people with their flowing dramatic prose, and I'll just go on being me.

But the coffeemaker's beeping, and there's a cat to feed, and I've got the worst bagel craving, and outside is the cold and wet that only Chicago and some equally crappy parts of New England can really master...

It's a strange career path

2005-02-26T10:23:00.000-06:00

I was recently asked in an email if there were women in this line of work.

I really couldn't answer. It's not like there are conventions. We don't all have some bar we hang out at and swap stories. We don't have our own web sites or chat channels... Or if so, nobody invited me. There isn't a union or a trade association.

On one hand some of the...suppliers I have probably know about some others. Most of them don't ask what I'm using the supplies for. Hey, there's more than one reason somebody might be an unregistered gun, right? Don't ask, don't tell. If any of them have a clue about me I'd expect them not to say anything, so they're not going to just tell me about their other customers, are they?

So I don't know if I'm representative of the trade or not. I suppose I might be. People probably get into it for varied reasons, but there are probably similar character traits all around. There's a specific kind of person that becomes a politician, or a doctor, or an engineer. Why should this be too different?

So that's the thoughts running through my head this morning while I munch on Eggos. God, these are crappy. On that note, I think I'm going out for breakfast. There's a place not far away that does just the best omelettes...

Oh. Yah. Right

2005-02-23T22:28:00.000-06:00

News courtesy of cnn.com:

"WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Don't open those e-mail attachments that appear to be from the FBI. They might contain a computer virus."

"The scam e-mails tell recipients their Internet use has been monitored by the FBI's Internet Fraud Complaint Center, and that they have accessed illegal Web sites."

Hmm. Illegal web sites, huh? And what are the criteria there, I wonder?

Yah, the FBI has nothing better to do than track what sites we all read. And if they were doing that, they wouldn't email us a form to fill out.

I mean, come on. Who'd do that? At best they'd email a link to a site to download a PDF of it.

Catching up

2005-02-23T20:21:00.000-06:00

Still catching up on some blogs I've been missing lately.
It seems that Mr. James Rummel doesn't think I'm real.

OK, that's fine. I've had him blogrolled for quite some time, and have linked to him on more than one occasion. He's smart and a good writer, so I don't doubt I'll link to him again.

Besides, he did link to me and call me interesting, so that's something. I don't seem to get discussed much on other blogs. For now I'll take it as a "no such thing as bad publicity" thing.

Oh, and for those who haven't checked, the votes are:

Love it!! 12
Good 9
Okay :| 9
Sucks 8
Hate it :( 9

Pretty even distribution.

Today is one of those lounge with a purring cat day. I heard someone not long ago talking about how men don't have cats for pets. Men have dogs. I hate those rules nobody tells me about, so tough shit. Walther can handle me being gone three or four days for work. A dog? I don't think so.

I'm Leavin', on a Jet Plane...

2005-02-20T12:18:00.000-06:00

OK, I'm done flying for a bit. I'll have to pamper Walther a bit now.

I've been home 4 times in the last couple of weeks. Only 3 of those times did I even stay the night.

Which of course means I've been busy. Before Valentines was prep work. Client meetings, checking up on clients and targets...the usual before job stalking.

And then there was the actual work time. None of them are things I can talk about yet. Sorry. It works that way some times.

But I saw someone on one of the flights that reminded me of an early client. That's a story I can share some of.

He had been dating a girl for about a year when she got pregnant. He proposed, doing "the right thing" and all that. They set a date, join their bank accounts, just about ready to move in together.

Then one day she vanishes. The bank accounts are empty. He has other bank accounts, he didn't join all of them, but she did get off with about 32K. Then he even gets a bill in the mail from an abortion clinic with her name on it.

About 3 weeks later a friend of his spots her in another city, with another guy.

When I end up meeting with him he says he can make it look like she got away with another 25, which he's willing to pay to have her killed. (This was earlier in my career. It was good money at the time.)

So he gives me a photo and I head off to that town. It takes me 4 days to find her. Upscale area, warm and touristy. She's spending time at the beach and clubs. I see her with some guy, and she's playing him. He's got money. I wonder at the time what he's going to think when he finds out.

The job itself was easy. I felt a little extra nervous at first. Woudl her being a woman make it more complicated? She was #6 or 7 total. I was still feeling pretty amateur back then. But there had been 5 or 6 before her, so the butterflies were well gone. The motions were as automatic as they needed to be. The followup was as usual, with the endorphins and cigarette well after when it was good and over. I slept fine on the plane home.

I can remember the little black dress she was wearing, the little expnsive purse dumped in the alley. Bit I can't remember her face. She had 2 wallets with complete identities. one of those identities stayed alive another year for money laundering purposes before I disposed of it. Heh, I wonder if that means she died twice...

Well, it was a Best Buy, after all...

2005-02-13T21:01:00.000-06:00

Just read a news story where a 24 year old man walked into to New York (state) Best Buy and opened fire with an AK-47. He emptied the clip and only managed to hit an Army Recruiter in the leg. When he ran out of bullets he was subdued by mall employees.

Now, what's the funnier part? The Army man rescued by mall rentacops? That the man only hit one person with a 20 or 30 shot clip?

Makes you wonder why he did it. It was Best Buy, he could have had a hundred reasons...

Who wants to start a betting pool on how long until the "assault weapon ban" makes another round in the news?

Forgive me, Blogger, I have sinned. It has been 9 days since my last...

2005-02-12T11:50:00.000-06:00

...Oh, sorry.

Sorry it's been so quiet. I've been flying around a lot. 5 cities in 8 days.

Valentines day brings out love, and so for a lot of people it also brings out the bitter resentment and jealousy that leads people to spend money for that certain kind of revenge.

I have a few contacts around the country that send me clients. So when one of them calls me up and suggests I come out for dinner, or a show, or to see some new museum exhibit... I hop on a plane. There are just some things you don't say over the phone.

It looks like I might be busy for the next week or so. One contact, I'll call him Serge, which I'll explain in a sec, had 3 potentials for me. Serge is very out of the closet. I think it was one of the Beverly Hills Cop movies. He keeps telling me that I half know how to dress and half know how to dance, and that I should just go the rest of the way.

To which I keep telling him I could handle being gay if it weren't for the sleeping with men part. That just doesn't appeal to me. I have nothing against other people doing it, I just have no interest in trying it myself. Femininity in women is hot. I like that, the softness and all that. In men...it's just not the same.

So I have clients lined up. I've already met with four, who are mulling over whether they can come up with the money. I guess this year's off to a good start. I suspect that of the four, which I already narrowed down to four, probably two or three will end up hiring me. Sometimes it's wierd to think that with one of these jobs I'll make more than the median annual income in my neighborhood.

Probably a few more days of quiet 'round here. Then I'll try to get caught up on blogs, and see what I can post. Maybe I'll talk about how I met Serge...

2005-02-03T22:15:00.000-06:00

For reference, the suit is nice, but not the high point of the day.

I did test drive the 760 (in the wrong color, black) but then I got to thinking. It isn't really the right kind of car for the apartment parking lot. I'm not gonna move just to justify a car.

The pair of Glock 18's are the expensive present for today. They're something I've wanted for a while, but not the easiest to get. It's amazing just what kinds of things still somehow manage to fall off the backs of trucks...

40

2005-02-03T07:55:00.000-06:00

Happy Birthday to me. I even already got my first present. OK, probably the only one. Of course, a dead mouse from your cat hardly a present makes...

40. Heh. So what now? Is now when I'm supposed to do the midlife crisis? I'm supposed to buy a sports car right...probably a red Corvette? I'm half considering a BMW 760i sedan, does that count?

I don't have a secretary to have an affair with, or anyone to cheat on. I am picking up a new suit today. It's about time, too. I haven't gotten a new suit in years. Worth doing now and then, I think.

And I'll hit the gym. Hot tub and sauna are always good. I'll probably stop by one of my favorite illegal gun shops. Another favorite is looking too likely to attract federal attentions. I won't be going there anymore. Fortunately, I have several sources I work with. It just doesn't do to rely entirely on one source.

I know I don't go into enough detail for my readers, and well... maybe I'm turning into a ratings whore, I don't know. Always shooting for those "love it" votes.

So here's a birthday related story for you:

An engaged couple. They're not living together until one of their leases ends. Not a lot of time left and she gets pregnant. She tells him. Don't worry, he says.

A month goes by. It's her birthday. She gets up, turns on the computer, and there's an IM saying: Just wanted to let you know, I'm sleeping with my secretary. I don't think our engagement's gonna work. Ship me the ring back and I'll pay you back for the postage."

I don't fucking think so, she sends back. (Sorry, can't bring myself to type "IM's back"). Half hour later she's in the shower trying to calm down and the phone rings. She answers it, figuring it's her chance to tell him off. Nope. Turns out he's never made a payment on the ring. X grand today or we'll send someone to come get it.

"He called off the engagement, I gave it back to him. Call the bastard yourself," she says, and gives the collection guy the cell phone number.

Some time passes and I meet her. He's been defaulting on other payments and giving her phone and address as the contact info. They had identical cars and her was even repo'ed. She had to convince them to check the VIN to see they had the wrong car. It was the right kind and color at the address they had listed. So by now she wants him dead. "Fucking dead" she says between drags on the cigarette she chain smokes. She really wants him to die on his birthday. Only fair, she says.

Normally I don't work that way. But I ended up agreeing. Hey, it was the best paying job I'd had at the time, and was even decent by my current standards. She had already scheduled a boob job for the day. She joked it should have been hemorrhoid surgery. "You know, removing that pain in my ass."

Then I'm watching him in the week leading up to the day. Every day he orders pizza - 5 days straight. Something like 10 minutes or so later he turns on the porch light, and it's 15 or 20 after that until the guy shows up. It's not the same guy every time, not even the same place. Will he stay home on his birthday and continue his daily routine? I'm ready and watching. I have backup plans. He is home all day, and alone. Good start.

Then he calls. Then the porch light goes on. I wait about 5 minutes and pull in the drive. Walk to the door with the gun concealed under the pizza box. Ring the doorbell. He opens it without asking anything. No checking, just open. No chain to undo.

He's high as a kite. No shirt, pants half on. One shot in the chest and he stumbles back a bit and falls. I step in, push him clear of the door with my foot and shut it. He's immediately choking and drowning. Nice big bullet in the lung will do that. There's no way he'll be salvageable by the time help would arrive.

There's beer cans everywhere. Bag of pot near a cheap pipe on the table next to a couple lines of coke. There's muted porn on the TV. I grab his wallet and the bag of coke, shut off the porch light and go.

I'm just another car going by leaving the subdivision when I pass a pizza delivery guy on his way in. I threw the coke away.

It barely made the news a few days later. Just a little newspaper blurb about a guy found dead in his home of a gunshot wound. The police were unsure if robbery or drugs were the motive. And it was a neighbor that found him. I guess the pizza guy just assumed he'd been blown off or that the guy ran out and forgot or something.

So there's something to think about if you find yourself planning to stay home getting high and masturbating for your birthday. Me? I'm goin' out.

WTF?

2005-01-30T13:57:00.000-06:00

OK, so a guy in Peoria has killed 8 people. He started cooperating and told authorities where to find 4 of the bodies.

During his first court appearance in the September slaying of Linda Kay Neal, Bright told the judge: "I just would like to plead guilty, sir." The judge rejected it and assigned the public defender's office to represent him. (source ABC news)

Now is that stupid or what? How much tax money do we have to spend on this guy? I mean, come on, people. It's your tax money. What's the point of asking him how he pleads if the judge won't take an honest answer? Yah, trust the justice system.

More Bloghop ratings

2005-01-30T13:52:00.000-06:00

As of today:

Love it!! 9
Good 6
Okay :| 7
Sucks 5
Hate it :( 5

Now I find myself wondering how many are regular readers and who was just passing through. For now I'll go on the assumption that my regulars aren't the 5 that hated it...

Another Pre-Coffee Post

2005-01-26T07:32:00.000-06:00

Visitor stats sometimes make me wonder.

One of the recent visitors to this here blog found me through Yahoo search. Yah, so, you ask?

The search phrase...drumroll please...

lonely housewife

Yah, so, you ask again?

I'm the 693rd search result. Someone actually got that far down and clicked a link.

I mean, shit. If the 1st or 2nd page of results doesn't have what I'm looking for I reword the search and try again.

Or maybe that's just me. Maybe the person was a bored and lonely housewife looking for others?

So if you've come back, and you're reading this, I don't mean to be insulting. I am curious, though... Can you blame me?

OK, that's enough. Shower, breakfast... Work stuff to do today.

Ah, winter in Chicago

2005-01-23T13:34:00.000-06:00

Still alive, although not enjoying the cold. The windows on the apartment are slightly better insulated than just covering the screens with saran wrap.

Walther hides a lot more in the winter, mostly staying out of the cold drafts. Right now he's napping between my two pillows.

When it gets real bad I hang a blanket over the windows, but I really do miss the view when I do that. I haven't felt desperate yet, so I can still see outside.

It isn't really the most spectacular view. It's not breathtaking or anything. The views are really much better on 12 and up. But when the snow is really blowing, spiralling around the city in the eddies between buildings...that's pretty cool to watch.

And the past couple of days have given us snow to watch. I've dug out my car, which was less than fun. We have a private parking lot. The good side is I always have a spot to park in. The bad side is that the lot doesn't get cleared properly. Oh well. It's not like I'm out there putting lawn chairs on the street. I keep wanting to borrow a pickup truck and go collecting... :)

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

2005-01-19T16:49:00.000-06:00

Today's news bit compliments of Woody, Tony and Ravey:

A 13 year old girl gets pregnant, and carries the kid to term without Mom noticing. They live in a 2 bedroom apartment. The girl delivers in her bedroom, with Mom in the next room none the wiser.

But then the kid starts crying, as they're wont to do. She's afraid of getting caught, and doesn't know what to do, so she tosses the newborn out the 2nd story window. Mom still oblivious.

Then she calls her 15 year old boyfriend, who rushes over.

"Where's the baby?"

"It wouldn't stop crying."

"What did you do?"

"I threw it out the window."

He looks out the window, and sure enough, down in the alley is the baby. Broken legs, fractured skull, dead. He runs down the stairs, brings the baby up into the bedroom. Mom still doesn't know.

They end up wrapping the body in a blanket and stuffing it in a Happy Birthday gift bag, which boyfriend sets at a church door. Mom... you guessed it, doesn't know.

Someone at the church finds the Happy Birthday gift bag, looks in, finds dead newborn.

Now the police show up at the apartment. That's how Mom finally finds out. Homicide charges are being filed.

I don't think I need say more...

Price Check in Aisle where?

2005-01-17T18:51:00.000-06:00

Just when I thought I was going to sit at the keyboard and just stare at a blank screen with nothing flowing to the fingers... What do I find?

WriterGirlBlue: The Price of Human Life

Ah, one of those riddle me this posts.

I want to know how it is he can put a price on human life. According to a recent post, he's charging 25 grand for "offing" some rapist. How does he come to that number I wonder? ... So how does one decide what to "charge" for such a "service"? Is it based on the cost of the expenses to do the job plus an upcharge based on cost of living? Or is it some random number plucked out of kt's head? I'd like to know.

So here, kt, measure me. I'm a married, mother of a small child (under age 2) who lives in the suburbs of Chicago. I haven't committed any crimes. Hell, I haven't even had a speeding ticket in more than ten years! I tend to be quiet, but friendly to those people who are outgoing towards me. I do the shopping once or twice a week, but most of the time I'm at home with my son. In the evenings, my husband drives home from work and we have dinner and play with our son. We'll watch some television or do stuff on our computers before he goes to bed. Sometimes we'll even (gasp!) have sex. After he goes to sleep, I'm usually up alone until midnight. I have a reasonably simple, ordinary life. I haven't hurt anyone.

But, should someone want me dead for some odd reason, how much would it be to kill me, kt? How much is my life worth in your eyes?

The target doesn't always factor into it. Difficulty does factor in. Not as much the difficulty of actually doing it as the difficulty in getting away with it. Lawyers, police, anyone in government - those deaths are likely to be investigated much more thoroughly. A judge, for example... there's a definite markup there.

The big variable is the person who wants you dead. Why plays into it. Some of it is how badly they want you dead. Some of it is how much they can afford. Some $1000000+ a year CEO isn't going to spend under 50 grand, even if it's just the pool boy fucking his wife. A blackmailed housewife who isn't making 50 grand a year just can't shell out that much.

So I guess you'd say it partly comes down to what the market will bear. So far there hasn't quite been a 6 figure job, but one didn't miss that by much. I suppose that isn't the answer you wanted.

Pricing and Value

2005-01-13T07:49:00.000-06:00

Topic courtesy of WriterGirlBlue:

I still don't understand how it is possible to put a price tag on human life. $25,000. Maybe *you* think of it as putting a price on how "complex" the taking of that life will be, but in the end you're still valuing the peron's life.

Do you pay for sewer with your water bill? Have you ever gotten a garbage bill? I suppose they're somehow putting a price on that garbage?

The doctor performs a service. He bills you for it. Is he putting a price tag on your health? OK, maybe not the best example.

Valuing a person's life implies that their life has value to me, doesn't it? It's not like buying an object, where you can say, this car is worth X, and maybe add a little markup for the dealer.

When a building is demolished, nobody's making a value statement about the building. Again, not a perfect example, because except with government intervention usually it's the building owner having it demolished.

"Hello, Mr. Target. I've been hired to kill you for $25000. Would you care to offer a counter bid?"

Nah, I don't think so.

Church

2005-01-09T13:19:00.000-06:00

I almost titled this church blues. 'Cause church was...unsatisfying today. It felt like one more place I didn't fit in.

It's not like God has been very comforting over the last 6 months or so. Now I'm not sure if I'm still going because I like listening to the choir (still not sure why it's spelled that way) or for some vague approximation of social contact more that just standing in line at Starbucks.

On the plus side, Ms Client called. She's decided she can come up with the 25 grand. Then I gave her the lecture about keeping her life predictable and to keep with her basic routines.

She has a week to come up with the first half. She said that would not be a problem. I don't think the target is going to be a particularly difficult one...

What Next?

2005-01-07T21:55:00.000-06:00

I guess the next thing would have to be someone nominating me for one of those blog awards. Yah, not likely, I know.

But, one of those Sign's You've Made It As A Blogger:

I have a fan site:
WriterGirlBlue

OK, so she wouldn't call it that, but she started a blog to talk about me. Isn't that you're basic Fan Site definition?

Don't worry, I won't let my new found fame go to my head.

Murder Year in Review?

2005-01-07T07:52:00.000-06:00

According to an ABC7Chicago report there were 449 murders in Chicago in 2004.

That ranks us 3rd in the nation after New York (566) and LA (511). In '03 we led the nation with 603.

Something like 40% of them are gang related. About 80% are shootings.

There something for you to ponder over breakfast.

New Year's Resolution: Revenge?

2005-01-05T21:30:00.000-06:00

The wheels of justice spin slowly. Then they get stuck in the snowdrifts of the court system.

Ah, the joys of client meetings during Chicago winters...

After he raped her it was 3 years in the courts. Then he was let off on a mishandled evidence technicality. Her word and a bloody mess in her panties against his word. Now it's just her word against his. But he can buy better lawyers.

She gave up on that 2 years ago. But a couple of AA relapses later she can't keep living with it.

Maybe she can't buy a better lawyer, but revenge?

She wanted him done creatively. I had to tell her creative costs more than she can afford.

From the Great Cultural Mecca

2005-01-04T21:33:00.000-06:00

Overheard in Starbuck's this afternoon:
"Hairspray? Is that a documentary about 80's rock bands?"

I shit you not.

How Many?

2005-01-02T13:40:00.000-06:00

Just yesterday I put up the code to rate me on bloghop.com. Already 16 votes!

And the broad range of votes makes me wonder.

Pretty much even, huh?

So, I gotta ask (and maybe people will even comment)...

For those that love it, what specifically? For those that hate it, same question.

As for New Years?
Two in a row! I guess maybe I'm not an alcoholic, eh?

On the other hand, it was damn boring and lonely. I'm glad I decided ahead of time not to blog that night. I would have ended up drunk if I'd done that.

The Difference a Year Makes

2004-12-31T14:15:00.000-06:00

Today is another of those days where I wanted to make a comment and chickened out. Some times I just don't feel like I should be intruding on other people's blogs.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm one of the black sheeps of the blogosphere. Some people probably don't want someone like me commenting on their blogs. Maybe I'm respecting that. Maybe I jast have issues I need to work out. I don't know. So far today isn't boding well for 2 sober New Years in a row.

But Yolie (Jus' Writin' Life) posted about the difference a year made, and asked for reader input.

I almost left a long comment. I had it half typed before I deleted it.

Maybe next year I'll stop doing that. Maybe next year I'll decide whether this little experiment is helping me any, or if I'm just spewing negativity on others. I'm still unsure whether the outlet is doing me any good or not.

But this has been a year of changes. And a few people even watched, maybe even coming along for the ride. Most of the work stuff I didn't talk about. I hope to do better at that next year, although at the first it'll just be older jobs and still missing details. But I sometimes think that those are the best stories for me to tell. Who cares what I ate for breakfast? Probably not that different from what you ate. Well, OK, maybe not you...

One of the biggest changes obviously was Mom dying. She was about the last thing holding me back professionally. There were some jobs and risks I didn't take because I didn't want the potential of having to suddenly and anonymously fleeing the country. I didn't want to just vanish on her like that. But that's not an issue anymore, is it?

So next year I can get into my work more seriously. I don't think it'll be a big year for number of jobs, but maybe better than most financially. This year wasn't great on either count.

So that's what I'm thinking as the year comes to an end. I've never made a resolution to kill fewer people. So here's to getting paid more for doing it. Good luck with your own resolutions. Some of you maybe dieting, some of you doing better in school, maybe some quitting smoking. I'm considering that one myself.

I guess I'll let you know.

Pissing Contest?

2004-12-28T07:36:00.000-06:00

I had a dream that Bill Gates and Wil Wheaton were having a "who's the bigger geek" pissing contest.

For some reason, they chose me to be the judge.

Wil pointed at a stack of old comic books and some kind of Dungeons and Dragons magazine.

Bill pointed at himself, "you can't beat my wordrobe."

"I can get you an Xbox," Bill tried.

Wil asked if that was cheating, I said I didn't know what the rules were.

"I'm amazingly rich," Bill added.

"But do you blog?" Wil countered.

"I made PC's what they are today!"

"Oh yah? I was Wesley Crusher!"

Then Bill pulled out the Official Microsoft Tie (with his face on it), and Wil pulled out a box of official Star Trek props.

"Your geek-fu is strong," Bill admitted.

Then Bill offered me $200,000 or two shares of Microsoft if I'd kill Wil Wheaton. Wil countered with a blog post asking for donations to outbid Bill.

I woke up not knowing who won...
I think I'm better off not knowing.

2004-12-27T01:15:00.000-06:00

It's interesting to see the kind of people you run into at Blockbuster on Christmas Eve. I was there early...you know, while the selection doesn't suck yet.

There are two people you find there at that point. One is the parent with kids on tow. This is the person hoping to find either the right movie or enough movies to keep their kids distracted so they can have their holiday with fewer interruptions. It just seems wrong, maybe even pathetic.

And then there's the other person you find there. The one looking for movies to kill the time alone. No less pathetic, when it comes down to it.

And just what are the best movies to pretend you aren't lonely watching?

Romances are out. Chick flicks aren't going to help. The really good dramas are out. The best ones are best when you have someone to discuss them with.

Comedy? Action? Horror?

Rule out the Three Stooges marathon. I was looking to actually stay sober. That also ruled out the horror movie spoofs. Obviously any Christmas movie was right out.

Zombies for Christmas? Nah.

Kung Fu? Hai.

Now, basically there are no martial arts stars that can act. Steven Segal is fun in small doses. He makes the fighting fun to watch. Jackie Chan is great fun but gets old. Van Damme? Maybe if I was gay. Bruce Lee is still cool.

Well, not exactly traditional, huh? Hey, I stayed somewhat sober. Well, OK, I didn't get hammered. That's something, right?

Nope

2004-12-23T07:43:00.000-06:00

Nope, I didn't fall off the face of the earth.

There are times that I'm without a chance to blog for a while and can't say what I'm up to. Most of the jobs I do get little to no news coverage. But often enough one will run in a local paper, because some part of people want to hear about it. It's not like it's all politicians and celebrities. But posting details about a job, and then somebody reading about it in the Tribune... just doesn't seem a good idea.

But then sometimes I'm just not blogging. I get like that in the winters sometimes. Not that I had a blog this time last year, but I get quiet and solitary this time of year. I've already decided I shouldn't post anything on Christmas, for example. Nobody'd want to read what I'd end up posting. Not if Thanksgiving is any example. In case I forget to say it later, Merry Christmas.

I'm not feeling good. I've been coughing for days. I've spent too much time in front of the TV feeling apathetic about things. I'm at the point where I have enough money that I can afford to take some time to just blow off and waste with not being motivated to, well, anything.

And now and then I've read a blog and thought about leaving a comment, but it just seems like too much hassle at the time.

And I don't even know why I'm awake. But I'm out of coffee, and that's a pain, and I'm not going out in this cold during rush hour. I'll head out later. I'm going to feed Walther so he'll stop complaining and then I'm crawling back into bed. I may hit a bookstore while I'm out, too, who knows.

Do I Enjoy It?

2004-12-16T07:39:00.000-06:00

Some comments are easy to respond to. But some of them are worth posting a longer answer to. here's a recent example:

Perhaps this is a silly question, but I was just curious. Do you enjoy what you do? Are you happy with your work and your life? It seems like it would be lonely. Not that most people aren't lonely and unhappy...cuz we all are, really. Just curious.

So some of this I've already touched on. Are we all really lonely and unhappy?

I do have to think there are people who actually do end up happily married, or in loving relationships, and I think there are people who enjoy their lives.

But I also think it isn't a black and white, you do or you don't kind of thing. There are parts of my life I enjoy. There are some parts I don't. I enjoy not having to set an alarm for 5 or 6 every morning to go to an office that sucks the joy out of life.

I don't enjoy the lengths I have to go to to keep money trails broken or clean. I spend probably as much time manipulating money as I do finding and doing the jobs.

I get to work with some real scum. It's not like I get hired by shining examples of what's good in the world. Some stories just wouldn't share with friends well. "Hey, I just met this really cool chick who's willing to pay to have her husband killed so she can run off with the other guy she's sleeping with..."

I don't really have friends. There are people I drink with now and then, and people I see about town, but not people I invite over to watch the big game or anything like that. I haven't invited anyone to my appointment in a pretty damn long time. Basically everyone I meet I have to lie to. "So, whaddayou do for a living?" How many times do people ask you that?

But do I enjoy it? There is a very empowering feeling. There's a lot of little stuff I don't sweat. Somebody tries to piss me off and I just think about how easy it would be to kill him. Soooo damn easy. And then whatever the guy did usually doesn't seem like a big deal. Was it worth killing him for? Nah, he's just stupid. So what...

I mean, it's not the kind of thing that afterwards I'm all like, "Ah, now that was fun." I've never finished and gotten home and said to my cat, "Hey, it's Miller Time." There is an exhilaration, a thrill of the risk and getting away with it. Extreme sports guys probably know that feeling. There's a tension doing it, and you're aware of it, but you're focused enough that you don't really notice it...not after the first few times anyway. And when that tension goes away it's one of those cool feelings. Like narrowly avoiding a car accident. There's that endorfin rush.

Would I recommend it to anyone else? I think it takes a certain kind of person to be able to do it. I think you don't know if you're that person until afterwards. And if you're not, and it's not for you, it's now something to live with. It's not like spending a summer in a restaurant mascot costume... that you can just pretend never happened.

So yeah, there are the lonely times. There are the times I wish I could just go back to a normal life with a nice salaried job and friends and crap like that. And then I remember that for the most part I hated that life. I'm my own boss, I do what I want, and I'm making the kind of money I could only fantasize about when I was working restaurants.

In The Beginning

2004-12-11T11:59:00.000-06:00

A recent email noted that I don't talk much about the jobs I do. Partly there's a reason for that. 6-10 a year is probably what I'm normally at, although this year has been slow. 2002 was a banner year at 11. I haven't hit that one per month average yet, and I don't know that I will. I think I'm ready to start doing fewer but higher paying jobs.

But after the asshole boss, there was a first paid job.

I met her at a bar, which set a precedent I still make good use of. I ended up in conversation with her without having any real motives. It's not like I was looking for the job, really. Yah, I'd killed a man, but I hadn't really considered getting paid for it. The thought had probably crossed my mind, but not as something I had as a career goal.

So she and I started talking. It wasn't a romance, it wasn't even going to be some weekend fling or one night stand. We were both just looking for someone to talk to. She wasn't looking for anyone, partly because she had just gone through an ugly divorce. Still too fresh. She thanked god that there weren't kids involved, but proceeded to tell me how she'd gotten screwed in the whole thing.

She had had money, and basically he married her for it. He had drugs planted in her car and called the police claiming she had threatened him and that she had a history of drug abuse. She was arrested and taken in, but there were no drugs in her system. She was charged with possession which she tried to fight, and he filed for divorce.

The end result was he got half of everything and destroyed her career. Her job depended on her having a good and clean reputation. He started squandering her money and then kept coming back for more. He threatened to blackmail her, and for a while she paid him back. But each time she got more bitter about it. His demands kept increasing. Sooner or later he would have milked her dry.

Eventually she leaned over after finishing whatever it was she was drinking and said, "What I wouldn't give to have him dead. Hell, I'd pay." It was one of those lines that stuck in my head.

"Well, I know someone who could make that happen...but of course you know nothing about that." Or words to that effect. At the time I was unemployed and pretty close to not making rent. The temp market wasn't panning out, and I sure as hell didn't want to get back into restaurant work. So I saw the chance for some decent money. We arranged 4 transfers of $2500 through a couple different channels. (I've since learned a number of inventive methods. I did a job for a guy who cooked books, but that's another story.)

The money was going to come over a couple of weeks. She could make money disappear, but only so much at once. Once I had the first installment I was officially starting. I watched her like a hawk for the first week...making sure I could trust her.

Her life was boring. Every night she would drink one scotch on ice while watching TV. She laughed too much at Letterman. After Letterman she went upstairs, spent about 15 or 20 minutes with a plain off-white vibroat, and went to bed. She was never noisy. She did nothing that seemed out of place.

There was 1 short cellphone call when I reminded her to stick to a normal routne and not miss any payments. Then I started following him.

He had a cocaine habit. He paid for sex. He didn't have a daytime job. H had a couple of girls he met at hotels. He never took them home.

Eventually I found out why. I saw a burly black man bash in his windshield, explaining you have 1 more week before we break something more important to you. Could it have been any better?

I called the client again, explaining that the $10,000 was cash payoff money she was giving her ex. More of his blackmailing. I suggested that he told her about the black loan collector. I suggested that she notice he seemed desperate.

She caught on. "And I would have told that asshole it's not my fucking problem." She had some pent up hostility, I think.

The week isn't out yet when he's taking a new chick to a cheap hotel. It's one of those rent by the night or week or month places out in the burbs. Rundown dive. The girl I think I recognize seeing hanging out with the cocaine dealer the target uses. It's time.

It's late, past midnight, dark. The nearest 2 parking lights went out already. Funny how that happens. There are lights on the building, but the conveniently go dark while she's inside. I wait until she leaves.

The door is slow to close. She leaves it to close on its own. She didn't see me in the next doorway. I reach over and set a ducktaped 9volt batter in the doorjamb to prop it just open.

A few minutes go by and the TV turns on. The door is undisturbed. The shower starts. I check my watch and give it 2 more minutes. I pull the battery and go in. I closed the tape over the battey and pocketed it. After handling the tape I add another layer of gloves. (overly cautious? maybe not) I'd already scrubbed the hell out of my hair to not leave any and I'm wearing a restaurant hair net. Probably not the appearance he expected.

Eventually the shower ended. He flushed and stepped out. Big look of surprise. I'm waiting with gun out, he's wearing a towel. I took another step closer and put a bullet in his chest point blank. Not an instant heart shot. He falls, clutching his chest, too surprised to scream and now coughing blood. He probably figured his week wasn't up and expected something less dramatic anyway.

Before too long he stops choking and I put one in his head for good measure. Check for a pulse - nothing. Another glove layer after that. I'm still nervous about the whole thing. I open his bags and dump them. I was a little surprised he even had them. I think he was preparing to hide out. I walk 6 blocks to where my car is parked and drive off. I head to a southside industrial area and start disposing of stuff here and there in dumpsters.

The police did question her. She was never charged or even taken into custody. I guess housekeeping found the body, or maybe the manager came to get him to pay up for another night.

I got home, had a cigarette, and knew it was the job for me. I could do that for 10 grand. In retrospect, I could have gotten 20 or 25 out of her easy. I could probably have gotten 50. Hey, it was my rookie days, and undercharging has so far been the biggest mistake I've made. I can live with that...

Another Thing I Didn't Fucking Miss in Rio

2004-12-09T06:35:00.000-06:00

Those goddamned Eagleman insurance commercials.

Damn you, Mancow!

GAAAARGHGHG!

Now I'm going to have that fucking tune in my head all goddamn day!

Never mind the "hum job"... THIS is the tune that'll drive me insane.

I have NOT had enough coffee for this.

GAAAHRGH! There, I said it again. OK, the radio is off for today. Serves you right you sonofabitch. (But don't worry, gentle reader, I am planning on having a better day later.)

Ah, fuck it, I'm going back to bed.

Wait, what's the new black?

2004-12-06T06:44:00.000-06:00

According to a comment at Friday's Bond Girl post, "brown is the new black."

Damn, I keep losing track.

There are time when being a white male has it's advantages. Easy hair decisions, for one thing. No worries about bad perms, and no 8 hour weave sessions. Short, clean, combed. OK, that was easy.

Dressed up? Suit and tie.
Casual? Jeans. Sweater in cool weather. Sometimes a favorite pair of black cargo pants.

Shoes? Black wingtips, brown loafers, sneakers, hiking boots, black motorcycle boots, every now and then black combat boots. 6 pairs total. Not 12, not 18, not so many that I lose count. My late fiancee had 6 pairs of heels alone.

Professional? Blacks and grays or just jeans and a sweatshirt, or dress pants and jacket... Yah, there's some situationality there.

Personally, I think I'll stick with the old black rather than try to keep track of which new black is the new black. Next thing you know white will be the new black...

...But this time of morning, cream and sugar beats black.

The new epidemic nobody's talking about

2004-12-03T23:29:00.000-06:00

I'm beginning to wonder if maybe stupid is contagious.

Those Sudden Little Reminders

2004-11-30T06:52:00.000-06:00

I saw a license plate frame last week:

Land of the Free
Because of the Brave.

It reminded me of something, and I've been thinking about it for a couple of days now. Then I saw the calendar this morning, and this flood of memories came back.

James, a close buddy of mine in high school, enlisted the day after graduation. His parents were both first generation immigrants and were so happy their son had been born a US citizen. They loved America like no one you ever saw, and so did James. He enlisted to pay back the country that let them be free. He understood that a patriot is someone who puts their countrymen first. Look at so many countries and you won't see the freedoms we take for granted. People we have because of people like James. He went career, and then he died in Desert Storm 1.

So I'm tired of hearing people whine about soldiers dying there now. I'm sick of hearing stories about kids who enlist for the free college money and didn't think they'd ever have to go to war. Nothing's free. There's always something to be paid, to be sacrificed. Especially with freedom.

Land of the free, because of the brave.

Not because of whiners too lazy to earn their own education, or move away from home to get "some other job."

Because of people like James who knew the risks but also understood the real payoff.

Thank you, James. You would have been 40 today. Not everyone has forgotten.

That sudden stop at the bottom

2004-11-27T08:48:00.000-06:00

31 people so far have committed suicide jumping off the Empire State Building.

That 31st was yesterday.

Which reminds me of something that came to me a week or so ago and I never got around to posting:

Commit suicide and I'm not gonna read your blog anymore.

So there.

Traditions

2004-11-25T16:18:00.000-06:00

I grew up an only child in a small family. We only had grandparents on Dad's side, and there were now aunts or uncles around. Dad had always been close to his parents, so the holidays were always important to him. We'd get up early, get dressed, and go over. Some years there were church services, too. Most years we all sat in the kitchen and helped Grandma cook. She let us, or she made us... I'm still not sure which it really was.

I mostly sat somewhere and played by myself or watched TV or listened to Grandpa's radio. Grandpa had a heart attack when I was 12, and Grandma wasted away and died of pneumonia that winter.

The following years were often awkward. Somwhere along the line Dad started making breakfast as part of the tradition. Eventually the Macy's parade got included.

Then Dad died. I ended up moving to Minneapolis. Mom started doing Thanksgiving stuff with her church. Now she's gone.

I tried watching the parade this morning, but there's no magic left in the baloons. The announcers and their corny scripts don't evoke some happy reminiscence. The high school bands don't excite or impress me. The Rockettes are a bit passe now.

So what does that leave me? Football alone? I've never been big on watching sports without a group. What's the fun without others yelling and cheering?

I have some DVD's. I have some games. But I don't think I can spend all night in front of the PS2.

Maybe I'll visit the Rumplemintz in the freezer and just wake up tomorrow.

So happy goddamn Thanksgiving everyone!

2004-11-23T21:43:00.000-06:00

Still deciding what to do for my own little Thanksgiving, I stood still in the grocery store just a moment too long...

GroceryBoy - "Questions, sir?"

Me - "Sure...How much turkey is it supposed to be per person?"

GroceryBoy - "2 pounds each is what we're recommending."

Me - "Yah. Got any 2 pound turkeys?"

They did actually have little 6 pounders. But I'm not going through all that just for me...

For The Record

2004-11-22T22:14:00.000-06:00

Do not be fooled by the commercials.

DiGiorno is not as good as delivery.

Color me disappointed. So much for any real blogging tonight. The mood is officially spoilt.

Hell In A Handbasket

2004-11-22T06:45:00.000-06:00

OK, here's an example of why I have this guy blogrolled.

Stop by and read it. It's more than worth a couple minutes. It left me wanting to say something profound, but it speaks for itself better than anything I could say.

So just go read it and I'll shut up.

Debauchery as promised (such as it was)

2004-11-20T13:04:00.000-06:00

Frist of all, there is a wide and growing acceptance of public nudity at the beaches in Rio. There are beaches where it's as good as mandatory, and many where it's "tolerated." This is a good thing. While it wasn't full frontal up and down the beaches, there were topless women aplenty. We really need more of that in Chicago. Of course, the average weigth in Rio is probably 20 pounds better, so I can see a point to restricting nudity here.

I ended up staying 8 nights. I didn't plan on spending all of them alone.

So on Saturday night it wasn't hard to find a party. I think it's safe to say that clubs with a cover tend to be better. Sometimes you do get what you pay for. So I bought a lot of drinks but made a point of not being pushy. The trick is to be noticed, right?

Eventually someone slides up next to you at the bar and order, and comes up short.

Feigned embarrassment. OK, I'll play along. "I got it."

"Oh, thanks." Introductions, we both use fake names. I'm assuming hers was fake.

Now, I tend to think I know predators. I guess it's the Takes One to Know One effect. Tip here: get hotel rooms at 2 different hotels. Leave the main room key in an envelope at the desk of the second.

So eventually I take her back to my room (room B). I have that room key, no credit cards, and just the money set aside for that night. (Yes, I have learned from a previous mistake, but that's another story.) I'm playing it safe. Yes, there are condoms available...

I play it a little more drunk than I am. A little. I encourage her. I don't think she's faking her drunk, but maybe. I also keep a real close watch on my own drinks. Nothing is going in them without me knowing. Eventually we're both drinking midpriced champaigne right out of the same bottle.

And she's nervous, or at least she seems nervous. If she's just trying for the money, I don't think she's rolled anyone before. Or maybe she isn't used to people who know what to watch for. But I don't really trust her.

She tries her best to tire me out. I'm honestly embarrassed at how easily she does. I ain't as young as I used to be. I just couldn't finish the 3rd time and collapsed on the bed.

She's good with her mouth, (probably better than I was back), but she doesn't strike me as a professional. I don't think she was on anything, but I liked the way she moved on top of me. Like she was hungry for it. I have to admit I was like that for our 1st time. Then she was on top the 2nd, and we took our time on the incomplete 3rd. So much for 3rd time's the charm...

She had long black hair and had that almost Latin look to her. Portugese, maybe, She spoke perfect english with the local accent. She probably could have lost 20-25 pounds, but didn't look fat per se. No piercings except her ears, no tatoos. She had that silly narrow strip of buzzed pubic hair that i've heard people call a landing strip. I can't help but see it as a college student's idea of an exclamation point. Enjoy the image...

In the end she either wasn't out to roll me, or she chickened out. No harm no foul. I never saw her again, but out of a city that size I didnt' really expect to.

After that I didn't try as hard. By then I wanted someone I could talk to, and had only marginal success.

Now, back in Chicago, I'm again surrounded by a crowd of people with no one to talk to. Just you all... Thanks for listening, so to speak.

Things I Learned in Rio

2004-11-19T17:36:00.000-06:00

They have quite an aids problem.
Brazil is pretty ethnically diverse. A lot of Germans and Italians. Somebody tried to tell me that they have the biggest Japanese population outside of Japan. I’m not sure about that.
I should learn French.
I no longer have the figure for a Speedo.
The stereotype of the fat American tourist is not untrue.
The most uncomfortable person at a topless beach is almost always an American.
Brits are not necessarily as uptight as people assume.
The fattest woman on the beach is always an American.
The rudest tourists are Americans.
Armpit hair is not a turnon.
Women with hairy backs are less alluring.
Locals can tell how much money a tourist is willing to spend. Especially local women.
If you don’t care how much it costs, you can get anything in Rio.
I really am a sucker for an accent. Any accent.
Extasy really is an international drug.

...And while I'm at it:
Things I didn't miss while in Rio

Chicago weather
Stacey's stupid mouth (Mancow listeners will know what I mean)
People that think ghetto talk is cool
Hearing the same song on 2 radio stations at the same time

Returning

2004-11-18T18:52:00.000-06:00

Rio De Janeiro airport at 5PM. Changeover in Sao Paulo. Didn't see any more of it than I did coming in. Longass flight to O'Hare.

Land at 5 in the goddamn morning. Apartment by 7. Chat with the cat sitter until 9 or so.

So that's why not a long post earlier. Didn't sleep well on the plane. Still catching up. Debauchery later.

He’s baaaaack...

2004-11-18T10:45:00.000-06:00

How was the vacation, you ask?

Ahh...

First of all, ya gotta love a place where the nighttime lows are still about 70. Sleep with the windows open and hear the ocean. Also gotta love a place where it's too warm to bother wearing a lot. Although for a place that's supposed to be in the 100's in just a few more weeks, it was never sweltering. I think 93 was the hottest it got. Loose shorts and no shirt, and it's pretty comfortable.

I think relaxation is good for the soul. Women in bikini's sure as hell are. I ended up staying longer than I expected to. Sometimes conversion rates work in your favor. Or maybe I just overestimated how much I'd need.

So, first of all, I didn't end up in Mexico. Let me say that Rio de Janeiro is a beautiful city, although I'm still trying to get that damn Barry Manilow song out of my head.

At the Copa...
Copacabana...

Um, yah.

Good nightlife, particularly when you don't really care how much money you spend.

But now I'm home. It seems colder than it is, but that's just the contrast. Chicago seems less romantic and more just old and industrial. Then again, I don't live in the most upscale neighborhood.

Walther is glad I'm home, although at least he hasn't been alone. Lonely widows in their 80's make excellent cat sitters. As usually happens when I get back from a trip and she's been cat sitting, I sat with her for nearly two hours over tea and told her about the trip. I think she lives vicariously through the people she pet sits for. I told her the parts she wanted to hear, leaving out the debauchery.

But I'll come back to that later. It has been a long night getting back.

Vacation

2004-11-07T15:29:00.000-06:00

So tomorrow night I head to O'Hare and catch a flight around 9:30.

I travel until mid afternoon Tuesday, at which point I'll be at one of those tropical southern hemisphere cities where it's about to be summer.

Temperatures in the lower 90's sounds good to me right about now. I bought the ticket one way. I know what the return will cost. I've also set myself a budget to bring with. When I'm down to about the cost of the return ticket, it's time to come home. Probably about a week.

I'll probably scribble out a post or two that I'll put up when I get back. I'm not, however, going to be hunting out cybercafes to blog from. Vacation an' all...

When I get back I need to buckle down and find some work. At that point I oughta be refreshed and good to go.

2004-11-06T07:49:00.000-06:00

Not even 8:00 on a Saturday and I'm out of bed. Today's the first day I've gotten up at a reasonable hour all week.

This week has not been a good one. There was the election, but at least that turned out OK in the end. Not as ugly as I thought maybe it might be. Actually made for disappointing blogging.

But I haven't been in the mood much for blogging. I don't want to blog about estate sales, or lawyers and wills, or death certificates and bureaucrats.

Last night I dropped down onto my couch, looked over at Walther, and said "I need a fucking vacation."

So that's the mission for today. The only thing left to deal with is the selling of Mom's house. The realtor can take care of that, and if there's an offer, it can wait a few days.

So I'm taking a week, I think. Somewhere warm and tropical. Sunday or Monday flight. I'm thinking maybe Cancun.

Today I'll pick a spot and a flight, pack a little, relax a little, and then juggle some money around. Of course, the vacation I'll do with my own money. Well, OK, some of Mom's too. Wherever I end up I'll drink a glass of wine for her.

So if we get a cold snap here, and you're in the windy streets of the windy city, huddling in a jacket to keep the cold at bay, think of me on a sunny beach.

I know, I'm a bastard sometimes.

Obligatory Election Post.

2004-11-02T21:39:00.000-06:00

So, it looks like Barack Obama for a while. Another Tax and Spend liberal. That's what Chicago needs. Yup.

"Government can give us the tools to achieve the American Dream." Maybe not the exact wording, but that's pretty much what I heard.

Um, how about achieving it yourself?

I mean, if I were paying property taxes I'd be disappointed. Hell, I hardly pay income taxes, so maybe I shouldn't be too concerned.

Not that I think Alan Keyes strikes me much better. Maybe it was just me, but he reminded me too much of the Reverend Jesse Jackass.

The last Bush/Kerry number I saw was 51% Bush with something like 40% of votes counted. Too early to count for a while yet, probably.

It looks like it's gonna be close. I'm not gonna sit and watch this, though. Either one will concede, or there will be an ugly legal battle and we won't know until Christmas or so.

We'll see what the long term consitutional effects are.

Either way there will be a lot of frustrated people. Especially if lawyers get heavily involved. There will probably be additional work related travel for me coming up. I'll have to be a little more careful about jobs I take for the next couple of months. Anything that might be influencing that process will be watched more closely. Dead election officials would probably draw too much attention.

But I'm not feeling well. Time to turn off the TV and get some sleep. If I leave the TV on it's not going to be restful, I can tell that already.

Comment Whores

2004-10-27T18:59:00.000-05:00

I was reading some random blogs and found myself reading a lot of comments. I didn't leave a single one. It's interesting to see the kinds of comments that people do leave, though.

Maybe it's just what I was seeing, but it seems like theres a lot of one upping. The "yah, that happened to me too," or "Oh, but here's what happened to me..."

Now, I haven't gotten any of those yet. Big surprise? People share their sex exploits. But crime gets handled differently. Nobody saying they prefer rifles to close range pistols, no car bomb advocates, no "I usually use poison" or "real men use knives."

That's also not the kind of commenter I want to be. BDSM isn't something I've done, so what good insights can I offer at Mistress Matisse's blog.

To comment or not to comment. That's usually the question.

Comments? :)

Flying By

2004-10-24T14:34:00.000-05:00

A whole week...

It just flew by. Hectic...Busy...there's gotta be a word. But damned if I can think of it right now.

House selling arrangements. Estate sale. I even remembered to sleep now and then.

And I'm even sober. All things considered, I think I'm handling this well.

Most of my online time has been spent funneling money around. I've read a few blogs, but I've gotten behind on most of them. Apologies to anyone who felt neglected. (unlikely I know)

I'm hoping this coming week will be a bit more normal. As for tonight, I think I'm going to just veg in front of the TV. Blockbuster? Maybe. Cable? Maybe. Something mindless. Strange as it sounds, I could go for a western tonight.

OK, the fresh air on the walk to Blockbuster would do me good...

Referring link strangeness

2004-10-18T21:52:00.000-05:00

Twice now I've had someone find my blog by searching for "shaved privates."

As shown here, I was the 6th link out of 948. (Safe Search was on... that probably ruled out a bazillion or two)

I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to think. I have mentioned the subject all of once. And briefly, at that.

6th? Out of how many? Howzzat?

Oh, and I was the 297th link on a google search for "Mancow."

Someone went that far down and clicked one. Like I said, I'm not entirely sure what to think...

John Kerry v. Mary Cheney. Who's on the ballot again?

2004-10-16T13:21:00.000-05:00

Something occurred to me about the Mary Cheney remarks.

First, allow me to quote something No1ofConsequence posted:

Depending upon the statistics you believe, between 6% and 10% of the population of the United States considers themselves gay. At a population of 290 million that means that between 17,400,000 and 29 million gay people reside in the United States. For the sake of discussion let's say it ranges to the low end and the number of gay Americans comes in at a flat 20 nillion. That makes the homosexual community the third largest minority in this country behind African American and Latin American ethnic minorities.

Now, if Kerry had said the same basic comment with "black" or "Hispanic" or "Asian" replacing "lesbian," what kind of outcry would be expected.

And yet, he's "surprised" by the reaction to his comments??

Again, I think we're just seeing the real him. You know, the hate driven, judgemental elitist self that isn't busy flipflopping. In other words, the him behind the mask.

But it comes down to him having that in him. If he were to win, where would that end up directed? Who's next?

Vote for him at your own risk.

Low dirty political moves and other Line Crossing

2004-10-14T19:40:00.000-05:00

I keep hearing about the (Mary?) Cheney thing.

A couple times today I've thought about blogging about it, but shit.

Like anything I can say can really add to it. I mean, short of putting up pictures with "asshat" written across the top...

He paints his own picture pretty well, I think. I mean, come on, somebody draw the damn comic book already.

AmbitionMan and his Ambulance Chasing, Expert at Screwing People and Fucking up Healthcare sidekick...

So, screw it. No politics today. (Yah, I know, too late. Bite me)

Instead, I'll respond to a part of a comment Yolie left:

and that life you may subconsciously be yearning for--the one where you have someone to show those pics to--you might want to consider building it somehow.

Y'see...it's complicated.

With some jobs, you can look back and say apologetically, "Yah, I flipped burgers that summer..."

But killing is crossing a line. You don't get to go back. You take that door that leads to a normal life and lock it permanently behind you.

Because I think you can probably never really be happy in a relationship built around a lie.

Some things you can exaggerate or underscore in a relationship.

"How many people have you slept with?" There's one. You can probably get away with fudging that one up or down a little.

But only in Schwarzenegger movies can a relationship survive the wrong answer to "Have you ever killed anyone?" And his answer wouldn't work in my situation.

2004-10-13T10:47:00.000-05:00

First of all, thanks to everyone for the comments and support. Just because I haven't responded to any of them doesn't mean I haven't noticed.

But I haven't had a lot of time at the computer lately. It's mostly been spent at Mom's house. Every box needs going through, every drawer.

And then you realize, Oh crap. There's an attic, too.

And 12 cans of Campbell's Tomato Soup? 12? Does that seem excessive to anyone else?

Tax paperwork is neatly labeled in big envelopes, with each decade getting it's own box. She had them all the way back to their wedding in '64, for Christ's sake.

But then there's the box labeled "other unsorted legal paperwork." And a box of mortgage paperwork, all just dropped into a box. At least the box was labeled.

It becomes clear to me that Dad was the organizer. His handwriting was worse, but he labeled in more detail.

Don't get me started on the kitchen junk drawer. You know the kind. Everybody's got one. She had four.

OK, that's enough for tonight.
Aspirin. Bed.

Church and goodbye

2004-10-10T15:43:00.000-05:00

I’ve never been as fond of Mom’s church. After I moved back to Chicago, and a year or so later when I was interested in church again, I found a new church of my own. But obviously I went this week. She was mentioned in the service, and the announcement about the memorial for her later. There hadn’t been much time to announce it to anyone previously. I suppose it could have waited a week, but I didn’t exactly get to plan every detail.

Scripture readings about how cool a place heaven is supposed to be somehow didn’t make me feel much better. The service was, I suppose, pleasant enough…but not comforting, not reassuring, not…I don’t know. Just not, I guess.

Afterwards was the memorial outside. The weather was nice, at least. Shining sun, cool if almost chilly breeze. It was done under a tree that she had planted on the church property during her confirmation classes. She had always referred to it as her tree. The wind rustling the leaves leant an uplifting air to it.

They wanted me to say something, which I wasn’t prepared for. I think there’s no career in public speaking for me. I don’t even remember what I said, but she deserved better.

There’s a bed of wood chips around the base of the tree, and we raked some of those aside to bury her ashes under. It’ll always be her tree now.

After that we gathered in the basement. There were some pictures of her, from her childhood on. Some of them I hadn’t seen before. It was horribly awkward and about the last place on earth I wanted to be.

It was mostly women with their tagalong husbands. There didn’t seem to be any men with stories to tell about her. It really struck me that nobody had any stories about her that were recent. I don’t think there was a single anecdote that didn’t date back to before Dad died. I think she’d been isolating herself more than I realized.

Of course I had to lie a lot. Plenty of people asked me if I was still doing “whatever accounting work it is you do.” I glossed over a lot. I felt so much better when it was over and I could leave.

Walther was extra schmoozy when I got home. He knows something’s been bothering me. He’s purring away on my lap as I type, which is just not fair. So he gets some play time, and then I think I’m gonna go find something to eat. I’ll probably hit Chinatown, try and find some place where nobody speaks English and I can just sit somewhere and watch the city walk by.

Cremains

2004-10-09T18:18:00.000-05:00

First of all, I want to state for the record that I think the word "cremains" a bit absurd.

OK, fine, they don't want to just call them ashes. But cremains? Please.

So they arrived today.

Cardboard box. Plastic bag. Twist tie. Yah, that's dignified, thanks.

Oh, but I could have supplied an urn. Or, for prices starting around $89, they could have supplied one. They're ashes. They're not Mom, not anymore. I'll sprinkle them at the base of the tree at her church. That's where she wants to be remembered. They're not something I'm going to display on a damn mantlepiece.

But a plastic bag? Shit they could have used even a cheap plastic jar or something.

Oh, and they're...chunkier...than I expected. Apparently its mostly bone, since most of her ends up basically evaporating away. Not a lot of ashes, per se.

How do you think people get jobs in the funeral business?

Do high school guidance counselors ever ask, "So have you considered working with dead bodies?"

Or is that where you end up if you have absolutely no people skills at all? "Well, Dave, you pretty much piss off every living person you meet. But I think I've got just the job for you..."

Hey, it's a morbid kind of day, what do you want? At least it's not raining, and it's not supposed to tomorrow.

I haven't posted in a few days.

2004-10-08T13:53:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted in a few days. I haven't read anything in a few days. Hell, I haven't even checked my email since Sunday or Monday.

I'm not at the point yet where when something happens the first thought is, "Hey, I should blog this."

There are some things that even more don't bring that thought to mind. and my mind isn't at it's clearest right now.

My mom died earlier in the week. So, no, I didn't rush home to blog about it. She didn't die in her sleep. She didn't die peacefully. She died scared and in pain and praying and half delirious. Her last words were the Lord's Prayer. I was only barely able to figure out what she was saying.

I was there, and the Polish hospice lady was there. If God was there he didn't make anything easier. It all happened pretty quick, I suppose.

Since then everything has been a blur. Calls from church members. Most of everything had been preplanned and prearranged. Maybe too much. It all feels like it's going too fast. She's at the crematorium today, and I'm supposed to get the ashes back tomorrow. The real estate agent is already trying to plan the estate sale.

I feel like I've thrown meat in a lion cage, but I'm still in the cage. It's too much all at once. I just want to lock myself in my apartment, unplug and turn off all the phones, and just hide for a day.

But I can't do that, can I? her pastor wants me to stop by for the service there on Sunday. There's going to be a sort of service there, since pretty much everyone who knew her goes to that same church. That's how Mom wanted it. So I'll go. I'm sure I'll hate it, but I'll go. And then there won't be any point to any expensive funeral, which she didn't want anyway. Frugal to the last. Not that I would have wanted that either.

I don't know if an obit will run in this week's paper or next weeks. Nobody's going to read it anyway. Sometimes I think the only people who read those are the ones looking to buy stuff at the estate sales. I bet a lot of that stuff ends up on Ebay.

Last night I walked through her house, and it was like nothing seemed like I remembered it. I mean, it already wasn't the house I grew up in, so it wasn't like that. But all the furniture had changed over the years. About the only old piece she still had was a narrow chest of drawers full of all her pictures in shoe boxes. I looked through a couple boxes, and wondered what to do with it.

Looking at my life, I'm probably never going to have anyone to show them to. 18 little boxes of pictures nobody will ever see. is there even any point to even keeping them?

Like I said. Too much all at once. I think I gotta just make one or two decisions a day.

"Remember I'm here for anything you need to talk about," her pastor said. Unfortunately, it's not that easy.

Scientists vague and noncommittal

2004-09-30T13:35:00.000-05:00

Cnn brings us this quote about a possible Mt. St. Helens eruption:

"We are expecting that either nothing could happen or perhaps we could have an explosive event."

OK, I feel completely informed now.

Fairly long news story. Here's the really abbreviated version:

It might blow. If so, it won't be as big as 1980. Or it night not. We don't know.

Yah, that helps. My faith in scientists is sometimes underwhelming. I wonder why...

Professional alter egos?

2004-09-27T13:13:00.000-05:00

Now that I'm back from my long weekend, here's an open question to you in the sex trade:

Do you ever feel like a different person when you're "on the job"? More confident, more attractive or charming, more outgoing?

Standing in line at the airport waiting for my plane I'm just another traveler. I'm alone in the crowd because no one bothers to notice me. I'm dreading going to LA again (A.K.A. Silicone Valley) because when I'm there for personal reasons (infrequently, thank god) I don't feel like I belong there. I'm not beautiful enough, not perfect enough, not shallow enough or famous enough. I look like a real person...whoever said I could be allowed there?

But during the flight there I am transformed. When I get off the plane at LAX I'm SuperSpy Me. SuperSpy Me gets lost in the crowd because he walks like he belongs there. I act like I belong there, so no one notices me. I am confident, smooth. I never stumble for words or hesitate in conversation out of some pointless insecurity. Those are Other Me things. SuperSpy Me moves through the city casually.

As SuperSpy Me I have no other world, no other life. There are no distractions. There's me, and there's the job.

Following the target it doesn't matter how long it's been since I've dated. Standing in line a little behind him as he checks in at his hotel my mother isn't dying 2000 miles away. When I hear his room number I start feeling around in my pockets. Realizing I've forgotten something I duck out of line and walk away.

The next night following him to his rental from a bar I'm not introspective or self doubting. I'm seeing the surroundings, noticing the way he limps a little now that he's been drinking. SuperSpy Me isn't concerned with real estate agents and wills and lawyers and death certificates. I'm focused.

Nobody is around enough to see. There are people across the street, but they won't hear anything. They call out to a taxi, they and driver are now distracted. The little noise the gun makes is lost. The man falls flat alongside a Lexus sedan. I crouch down, and the people across the street see nothing. The taxi walks away while I'm removing his wallet.

The man, now rolled under the Lexus, is just another dead statistic who came to the city of angels on business and got mugged. It's a dangerous city. I'm a few cars down before a foursome steps out of a restaurant across and down the street. They're laughing. They walk one way, SuperSpy Me casually walks past them. We pass each other, separated by two lanes and two rows of parked cars and an infinite void of social isolation.

On the flight home there is another transformation. When I wake up on final approach I'm just me again. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I remember I need to do laundry. When I finally get home there are no messages on the machine.

Welcome to the seedy underbelly of the blogosphere

2004-09-22T14:23:00.000-05:00

I've found one of those sites that makes me think my own little blog here isn't very fringe:

David Berkowitz's Online Journal

AKA Son of Sam. Mind you, he types it all up on a typewriter in prison, and a church is posting his journal for him. It looks like it gets updated monthly. Maybe it doesn't qualify as a blog.

I haven't checked it for superscripted ^th's. I mean, I suppose it could just be a hoax perpetrated by someone at Viacom.

He certainly has gone the Jesus-freak route!

Mind you, his kill count doesn't seem very high. The number I've seen is 6, which I think is the legal definition of serial killer. 6 or more separate killings. 6 is still amateur in my line of work. Does put things in perspective, though.

Even Ted Bundy's count is estimated around 40.

Ummm, how to say this...

I did stop counting years ago. It's not like I carve notches or anything. I've been doing this since '97.

Looking back and thinking it over...40 isn't a very big number.

Someone please remind me of that on my next birthday, OK?

Like I said, perspective, huh?

Coping with the downhill

2004-09-21T10:35:00.000-05:00

Today the full time hospice care starts.

I'm doing all I can to be there and be supportive. But she doesn't want me there. Doesn't want me seeing her like this. She looks bad.

She's lost 80 pounds in 3 weeks. She's down to 160. 80 out of 240. That's 1/3 of her body weight in 3 weeks. It's not going to be long now, and everyone knows it. The doctor never smiles. That doesn't make it any easier.

So I'm keeping busy. I'm trying to, anyway. Work is slow, which is probably good news to you pacifists out there. I'm a bit behind on blogs.

I've spent some extra time at the gym, but it's been hard to focus.

One thing is always easier, though. Gun ranges are very cathartic places for me. Everyone should learn to shoot. Not everyone should own a gun, but just learning to use one gives one some perspective. And paper targets are healthy enough places to take out frustrations.

There is something very Zen about it. Focus. Be aware of your breathing. The more precision you go for the more you push the rest of the world out for a little bit. Just you and the gun and the (paper) target. Line up, steady, aim, breathe, squeeze. You get instant results. For a while there's nothing else in life.

Not according to plan...

2004-09-18T21:47:00.000-05:00

So I guess it's about time to tell what happened, huh?

First was Bennigans for dinner. Cute waitress. I think it's universal that if you look like you have some money, and are eating alone, you can get waitresses to be extra friendly because they think they can get a bigger tip out of it. In my case, that's usually true. I'm never a bad tipper, and a cute waitress that flirts at all gets extra. If nothing else, I can appreciate any woman who has the energy to flirt after a long shift.

But there was no chance with her, and I figured that out early. She had a boyfriend. I overheard her mention him at another table. I treated her no differently, though. No sudden loss of interest. Just polite friendly interest. Nothing offensive there.

Suburban nightclubs are good for lonely heavier women with too much baggage to hold down a relationship. Not that I was looking for a relationship by any stretch, but still. Baggage is not what I need. City clubs are good when that's what you're in the mood for. I wasn't sure what I wanted.

I ended up at a dive biker bar, looking a little out of place. For one, I think I was the only one not wearing boots. But it's not like I walked in wearing a tie, so I didn't get stared at.

Some nights I like a challenge. I found myself ordering an Alabama Slammer from a female bartender. Before she's said anything she's already given me that look that clearly says, Mister, I've heard it all. So I played the nice guy card. It doesn't take much to encourage drunk bikers to hit on a woman. I just had to be a notch more polite than the rest. Married. Plan C?

So I decide to abort the mission. Or, as I put it at the time, Ah, fuck it. People are joking and laughing. They're mostly insiders in their little circle, but not entirely so. But I can get into the mood of the place, so I move to a table with a beer and fries, plop down and put my feet up on another chair. I got a couple of looks for that, which I found vaguely amusing. Burly men in leather vests thinking they're tough and dangerous. I'm sure a few of them were. But I wasn't there for a fight, so nothing happened.

Eventually I got bored, and got up to leave. On the way out I saw a woman slam down the payphone cursing.

"Problem?" asks I. This is the point that I notice her in more detail. 5'6ish, maybe 20 pounds overweight, skirt and jacket, poofy hair. Holding a broken shoe in one hand. She was still wearing the other one. Heels, 3 inchers or so.

"Mah car broke down, an' the damn phone don't work." She also slurred some, but I'm not sure how to get that across typing. Deal.

I pulled my cell phone out, offering it over to her without a word. Deer. Headlights. Then the lightbulb went, and "Oh, thanks."

I don't remember the conversation I overheard. She had to step outside to escape the noise from inside. Me following her out was a natural thing. She had my phone. There was some sista this and sista that. Some arguing. Some bitch this and more. It ended with "And fuck you too, bitch."

She looked embarrassed handing the phone back to me, realizing I'd heard, probably.

"Is there anyone else you can call?"

"No."

"Towtruck?"

She said she didn't even know where she was. She had been wandering for half an hour or more trying to find a phone.

So I offered to drive her around in my car while we found hers. We'd note the address and call it in. OK, she says. Her brother knows a guy who can come get it in the morning. But she can't call him late at night like this. Don't wake the new baby.

We find the car after quite a bit of wandering, during which she goes on and on about her life. If it was a blog I wouldn't read it. It was a soap opera. Or maybe a sitcom. I'm still not sure.

I keep a notepad in the glovebox, and I write down the address for her. I offer to drop her home. She tells me where, and says I shouldn't have to drive an hour just to get her home. No big, says I. She shrugs.

We talk more on the way there. Wildly different tastes in music. She names things I couldn't identify. Similar tastes in movies. She's not into books.

Home is a three story apartment building. Not exactly plush. No scarier than my part of town, though.

Come on up, she says. OK, says I with a shrug.

Cliche or not, one thing led to another. I'll leave out the details. Not because they aren't worth reading, and not out of some purely gentlemanly thing.

The problem is, I wanted it to get my mind off things, and it didn't do that. I felt like I was going through the motions. Maybe she could tell. I don't know. I know she was tired. Physically and mentally, if not emotionally.

Morning was awkward. She looked at me with that look that could only mean "Shit, I fucked a white guy."

I got dressed and started to leave without saying anything. "Thanks," she said. I didn't ask for what, just shrugged. "No big." I did smile for her, and she looked a little put at ease.

I stopped home just long enough for a shower, then hit the gym on my way to a gun range. The gym was more going through the motions, so I cut it short. The gun range did get my mind off things.

I saw Resident Evil 2, which was good for mindless entertainment. Who doesn't like zombies, right? But somebody get Milla a burger, huh?

Also ran a bunch of errands, but who wants to read the GroceryBlog?

So anyway, a couple of long days in a row. I'm tired, so I'm going to cut this here before I start rambling.

Maybe I shouldn't read blogs

2004-09-17T15:17:00.000-05:00

I think I've decided that my life is boring. Other blogs are full of events worth writing about. Parties. Fulfilling sex lives. Romantic dates. (or dates at all, for that matter) People taking kids places. People getting exciting new jobs. Hurricanes.

Who wants to read about some guy's mom dying of cancer, right? I haven't worked in months. I almost did not long ago, but I already mentioned that didn't work out.

All the good juicy bits would land me in jail in no time. You'll forgive me for not going that route, huh?

There are parties that go on. Every now and then I even go to one, but not often. And even then I don't let go or let anyone close. That's the worst part about mostly living a lie.

I don't invite people to my apartment. I don't have that many guns here, but a few. But I had a dream once where I came out of the bathroom thinking the chick I brought home was asleep. She was looking at a cased rifle, looking at it with open mouthed horror. I thought long and hard about that the next morning.

Actually, most of the good stuff I have stored here and there. Rental storage spaces are decent places to hide a wide variety of things. I do sometimes worry about the landlord coming in. In reality, the management here really doesn't give a rat's ass about the tenants. It's actually work to get them to come here. When the window started leaking a couple years ago I damn near needed a court order to get them to come take a look. So I keep things cased up and out of sight, but I'm not too worried about some surprise apartment inspection.

So I won't be reading anyone's blogs tonight. I'm going out. It's Friday, dammit. I'm going out with a mission:

Wake up somewhere else.

Godblogging

2004-09-16T11:28:00.000-05:00

Godbloggit...

Lately it seems like the latest trend in blogging is to get religious. Or, if you're into politics, there's Ra^therGate.

Now, I don't consider myself a political blogger. I have some political beliefs, and sometimes I vent them. But other than voting I don't consider myself politically active. If I were to get involved, it probably wouldn't be through the electoral process, and any campaign that would solicit my help has problems.

But God? I could blog that now and then. Not that I'm an expert, mind you. Sure, I've read the book, and I saw the movie. I'm not what you'd call a Bible geek. I don't go to the conventions dressed up as my favorite character. Now how's that for an image for you. From the geeks that brought us Spock ears for Shatnercon (was there one?) comes the new big event. Sign up now for GodCon. Next year it can be GodConII, and you can say you were at the first one!

Hey, my sense of humor is a bit fucked up like that.

See, I suppose I have a different perspective on God and sin and forgiveness and all that than most people. I sin for a living. I live with it. I don't stay up late at night worried about brimstone.

Does anyone care about the Biblical musings of a man who kills for cash? Is that the ultimate blogging niche market or what?

Hey, right now anything to take my mind off Mom. She's picked out the realtor to handle the estate sale. Who does that? She's supposed to be in denial. She's way too calm about it. That's just fucked up. It's almost like she's looking forward to it, like she's been waiting for it for years. I've heard of suicide by police intervention (getting a cop to shoot you), but suicide by cancer?

Hell, suicide does seem to be the other vogue blogging topic...

No, not today. This Viacom/CBS crap is really pissing me off. They own way too many companies. Some of those companies have people in them at one end or the other of my market. But how would it look if just now some middle executive at CBS is suddenly killed? Whether he's involved in something he shouldn't be or not, it'd be investigated for sure now. And that job was going to pay pretty nice, too. Now, if I had just done the job 2 weeks ago without doing any planning or research, it would have gone through before this whole mess and I'd be money ahead. But I'd be fucked now. And that ladies and gents, is why I never jump in without doing my homework first.

OK, enough rambling. There's leftover pizza calling me.

Got your AK?

2004-09-13T09:05:00.000-05:00

Some would say the wait is over.

CNN.com - Assault weapons ban to expire Monday - Sep 12, 2004

Some will undoubtedly cry out in panic over assault rifle wielding madmen.

Some will worry about more sniper killings.

Oh, shut up already. Jesus.

Let me clarify for those with HUTAS. (Head Up The Ass Syndrome)

Assault weapons bans have no affect on sniper shootings, if that's your concern. When have sniper style terrorist types opened up with 20 and 30 shot bursts? Nope. it's one shot here, one shot there. Works just as well with a bolt action rifle as with anything clip fed. Better, sometimes.

Assault weapons bans don't affect gang violence. Are you really worried about gangbangers with AK's or M16's? Yah, right. There's an image for you.

You know who buys automatic rifles? NRA geek collector types and hunters who want to feel like soldiers sneaking through the woods. Both groups are relatively harmless.

If you want something to worry about, worry about submachine guns. Like Uzi's the little ingrams, concealable stuff. Nobody's going to walk into a mall with an M16. But an uzi you can hide if you want. You can rack up a body count in your local school with one of those. So there's something to ban, if you want. Or maybe strict registering, although there are plenty of ways around that.

But more to the point, and here's something to help you sleep better, bans really don't work. I've never killed anyone with something I couldn't have gotten legally. Any weapon you ban I can get. Banning it adds a week or two of lead time, and probably doubles the price. You wouldn't sleep better knowing the kinds of things I can get for a grand or 2.

Bush has said he'd sign a renewal of the ban if Congress passes it. Personally, I'd rather they spent their time on something that might make a difference, rather than dicking around with a ban that won't.

Client Behavior

2004-09-10T15:16:00.000-05:00

Belle's recent post ended with something that really struck me:

"[he] then dressed and poured me another drink. We turned on the television and watched a gardening show."

I just love the image of someone paying for sex (or even just a sex act, but still...) and then just casually rolling over and watching TV with her.

Admittedly, what she does is legal there. But there's still a wide range of moral hangups that people have about it. I suspect the Brits don't view it thatdifferently, just 'cause they don't directly outlaw it.

My clients, on the other hand, behave very differently. I tend to watch them, keep tabs on them...OK, stalk them.

To me, they all show signs of nervousness. Very few of them are actually casual about it, and sometimes those are the ones I worry about the most. But I do have to watch them. If they start behaving too out of the ordinary, then it'll look suspicious.

Every now and then I have to call one out of the blue. One (last summer) hired me to help her arrange an insurance claim. It wasn't going to be amazingly difficult, the man didn't live the safest lifestyle. Accidents do happen, after all.

I tell her it'll happen within two or three weeks, but I won't tell her when. "Go about your normal routine. Just live your life as if nothing is going on. Naturally, when you eventually get the news you'll be devastated." I made it very clear to her not to do anything that would be awkward explaining to police afterwards.

And then I followed her to a Jaguar dealership. It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, nice summer breeze. She's dressed to make any lonely salesman's day. She and said poor lonely dupe get into a convertible. Nice, throaty V8.

I wait and watch her own car until she comes back. I dial her cell phone as she pulls out her keychain. I happen to time it so her phone rings the same instant she hits the button to unlock it. I was hoping that'd work out. Lucky.

She answers with her first name as always. No hello, nothing.

I ask her what the fuck she's doing. No hello, nothing.

"What? I'm shopping for a car..."

And is that part of her normal routine?

"Well, no, but..."

"Fail to follow one more instruction and your husband will be the one collecting on life insurance." Click.

She behaved perfectly for the next two weeks.

Reasons why

2004-09-09T10:41:00.000-05:00

A friend of Shasta's committed suicide.

She talks about (among other things) wondering why.

But what are the reasons? What are they ever? I think that's one of those things none of us can really understand. Or at least, not and live to tell about it. I think it's something you can only understand at that last decisive instant.

I wonder if the suicidal gestures count? I don't think so. There are final efforts and there are partial efforts. I see that in my own profession. The difference between wishing someone dead and making them dead.

Proabably anyone who has ever pointed a gun at someone has at some point (probably at that point, even) gone through the intellectual exercise of envisioning killing. But it's the pulling the trigger part that changes you, not just thinking about it. I think the actual suicide is like pulling that trigger. (OK, so sometimes literally) I think that's the moment of change, the moment of truth.

But that doesn't change the effect it has. What do you say? Hell if I know.

I've even arranged suicides, although not recently. Is it easier for friends and family to think it's a suicide than a murder? Again, I don't know. When I do it that way, it isn't because of what relatives might feel, or because of how I feel about anything. Sometimes the client wants it to look that way. Sometimes that's just the best way to do it. Not always, mind you, but sometimes.

I'm rambling again. Fuck it. I'm tired of deleting posts. I told myself when I started that I wouldn't do that. I haven't ever deleted something I posted, but I've frequently closed a window without hitting publish.

A month, maybe two months ago this would probably have been one of those posts. Today I'm trying to decide if I care.

To those who knew Aaron, please don't think I don't feel for you. I do. I'm sorry. Personally, I didn't know him. I didn't even read his blog. Does the compassion of one person you've never met help?

Actually, it probably does. It mattered to me when I got email about Mom a few days back. Maybe people care what I think. I tend to assume people judge me poorly. I might be hard to relate to, I don't know. Maybe professionally I'm just not like other people.

Friends of Aaron:
Maybe what it comes down to is wishing you knew why. As I commented on Shasta's, please don't try to blame yourselves. There's that long line of could I have this, should I have that, and whatif. Probably we'll never know. Maybe it's more like if we're lucky we'll never know. Let yourself have time to react, to feel it all. Support each other. Connect with people. Matter to each other. Maybe in the end that's all we can do.

Coroner Discussing Gun Safety Shoots Self

2004-09-08T12:34:00.000-05:00

Yahoo News gets some gems, like Coroner Discussing Gun Safety Shoots Self

In the middle of a gun safety demonstration. Checks to make sure the gun is unloaded.

Bam!

Shoots himself in the leg.

Is any lengthy discussion of this really necessary?

Dufus...

Compassion

2004-09-07T20:27:00.001-05:00

Ooh, a paid killer talking about compassion. This oughta be good...

OK, you've said it, right?

I got an email yesterday from someone praying for my mom and I. It was a nice email and I thanked her for being a compassionate person.

You see, most of the people I interact with aren't like that. Sometimes I get a somewhat slanted view of society. A bottom-up view, if you will.

Nobody hands over a briefcase of cash and says "hey, so how's your mom doing?"

There are some things you don't discuss with an illegal arms merchant. There are a lot of things you don't discuss with a client.

Before having a blog, the only ones I could safely talk to were the ones I was showing up to kill. And boy does that seem cliche. No, that's just not me. When guns are out it's all business.

When I started the blog I thought of it as a one sided, one way thing. So when you get an email out of the blue from someone you've never met, and you get a hint of personal interaction, it's different somehow.

So the world isn't all bad. Mostly bad, maybe. We'll leave it at negotiable for today. Unless Kerry wins. Then all bets are off.

The purring alarm clock

2004-09-04T07:45:00.000-05:00

Another reason I don't tend to sleep in is Walther. Walther is rather accustomed to being fed when I wake up.

If I sleep past 8, he'll hop up on my bed and crawl back and forth over me until I get my ass up.

Cats don't come with snooze buttons. So now he's fed and happy.

~~The zombie says "Brains..."~~
Coffee...

Killing Time

2004-09-03T02:14:00.000-05:00

Solitaire is an easy game to play while you’re trying to pass time without thinking.

But it’s just killing time. It doesn’t keep you from thinking. It doesn’t keep you from feeling. Maybe I’ve just never learned how to deal with things like this. Maybe there isn’t some special way to deal with it. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

I know that TV is no help. I know I can’t afford to dull it with alcohol. I’ve gone that route before.

But there isn’t anyone to call. Nobody to talk to. Just a Blogger window. Four cell phones all lined up on a table, but no one to call. No one I can call. Church isn’t going to help this time, I think. “God will make it all better.”

Yah, he’s doing a bang up job so far.

Or maybe it’s his way of punishing me? My life centers around death. Maybe he was just making sure nothing got missed. Thorough bastard, huh?

So for tonight I’m just gonna talk. Maybe you’ll listen, maybe not. I’m gonna have to sell her house. I’m sure as hell not gonna live there, although I’ll probably feel like I live there towards the end.

I’ve got brochures for hospice, and they’re not making me feel better. And you know what I can’t help but think? I don’t want her to be found dead one morning by a hospice worker.

Shit. Here I am, wanting to talk, to let some of it out. But the words aren’t coming. Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe ...
Hell, I don’t know.
Maybe tomorrow.

Attention Democrats!

2004-09-02T23:12:00.000-05:00

(or anyone else stupid enough to vote for Kerry...)

Ari makes a beautiful rant about being a democrat, and having to convert for moral reasons. Please read it. It's worth the time, and well written. (Yah, I know, nobody asked me)

I'm not taking the time to catch up on all the blogs I follow, but tonight she's the one that caught my eye.

Thursday night. I'm taking tonight off. Not working. I don't have it in me to go to a club surrounded by people either having a good time or bitching.

Stage 4 Bullshit

2004-09-01T20:39:00.000-05:00

Advanced Primary Liver Cancer. Inoperable. Stage 4 is the term for how advanced it is. Aparently there are more complicated classifications, but stage 4 is the layman level label.

According to her doctors, people at this point on average make it 2 to 4 months. Only 15% make it a whole year, and her health isn't good to start with.

They can't even do chemo. She isn't healthy enough for it. Doesn't that just fucking figure?

So I might get quiet now and then around here. My mom is going to die of liver cancer, probably before her 59th birthday. Possibly even before Christmas. She's already fallen apart emotionally.

Those stages people are supposed to go through at times like these? You know, denial, anger, all that bullshit? Yah, she's doing it all together. She's been drinking too much as it is. For too long. The doctor stressed just how important it was to stop that. I have a bad feeling that'll backfire and just egg her on.

As for me?

Hell if I know. I haven't had time to react yet. Don't think I won't though. It took about a week when dad died, but that was utterly unexpected.

In her case, it's gonna take time. As always, I'll have to be the fucking level headed one. She was a basket case for Dad, and I had to arrange all that shit.

Fuck, I don't want to think about it yet.

Let's see:
- Funeral home
- Cremation
- Death certificates
- notice in the papers
- Standing in the rain for the funeral (it was sunny for Dad's, but it'll rain for her I know it)

Hey, he didn't even use a bulleted list...how sloppy

Yah, B.F.D. Don't get me fucking started.

Aw, crap. I'm turning into a goddamm Quentin Tarantino movie.

OK, calm. I can do this. Hell, I'm sober, that's gotta count for something, right?

She'll tell her church, they're the closest to friends she's got. There aint a whole lot of family to worry about. Just a brother in San Fransico or somewhere she hasn't been on speaking terms with since...shit, before I was born, I think. They had some bigass fight when she married my dad. He showed up drunk at the wedding, and tried to break it up. Apparently he came into the church with a bottle of something. Well, I guess half a bottle. He threw it at my mom. It missed, and I guess the best man lived up to his duties. According to the stories, he stayed locked up for nearly a week before someone came and bailed him out. Needless to say I've never met the guy, let alone know how to contact him.

Oh, and by the way, hospital coffee fucking sucks. Now if you'll excuse me I've been up since early yesterday. I'm going to go collapse.

Yep, when they won't tell you over the phone it ain't good news

2004-08-30T15:22:00.000-05:00

Early signs of cirrhosis was not the problem. They were there, but they weren't the main concern.

No, it's the two tumors in her liver that are the main concern.

Oh.

Two large tumors. One growing around one of the big veins in the liver, The other spreading from her liver to the tissue that lines the abdominal cavity. He gave us technical terms, but who remembers that crap?

Now she has an appointment for a needle biospy tomorrow morning. She has to stay overnight for observation, since apparently there is a risk of bleeding problems with liver biopsies.

It might be liver cancer, but we won't know for sure until after the biopsy. He says we'll probably know all the specifics by tomorrow night.

One of those phone calls...

2004-08-29T22:32:00.000-05:00

Mom's doctor appointment is tomorrow at 10:00. She wants me to come with her. She's scared. She admitted to me that she's been feeling worse each week. For several months now.

Now she wishes she'd listened to me earlier. I was good, I didn't say I told her so. I was the good supportive son. I don't think either of us are going to sleep well tonight.

Mom.

2004-08-27T23:00:00.000-05:00

What a day...

I ended up visiting Mom, in part to take her car to the shop. She lost her muffler coming back from the hospital, and didn't feel like driving more than necessary. So I spent five hours at this Meineke place she insists on letting do all her car work.

She got test results while I was gone. She knew I had my cell phone with me, but she didn't call. "Oh, I didn't want to bother you with it while you were there waiting, and they couldn't tell me anything useful..."

Thanks, Mom.

Of course...they didn't tell her anything. They told her she needs to come in to discuss the results. She has an appointment Monday.

When it's good news they tell you over the phone, right?

So then I stayed there and we watched Laws of Attraction. Would someone please tell Pierce Brosnan he can't act?

Forgive me if I'm grumpy this weekend. It's going to be a long one, I think.

Slow Mornings

2004-08-27T08:54:00.000-05:00

Today is one of those slow mornings. I tend to get up between 7 and 8 whenever I can. But I'm not as young as I used to be, and some mornings that's not as easy. Particularly when I was out to 3AM the night before. Like last night. I had meant to get out earlier, but I was home waiting for the phone to ring...

Thursday nights are prime bar nights for me. Sure, Friday might sometimes be busier. But frustrated people don't like to wait, and so they tend to start their weekend a little earlier. Now, if you want someone dead enough to pay me to do it, you probably fall into one of the following:

Frustrated (because you probably don't know what to do about it
Angry (because you're pissed off at the bastard) or
Fearful (maybe they're blackmailing you. It happens)

Either way, each of those three is likely to end up at a bar or club somewhere. Not just on Friday or Saturday nights.

As it happens, last night didn't end up productive. It's a bit like fishing. Not every cast lands a fish.

Update

2004-08-26T21:08:00.000-05:00

Mom finally called. She's been home for hours.

They ran a whole bunch of tests. Now we're waiting for results tomorrow.

I'm not entirely sure which is more frustrating. Having to wait, or the fact that she didn't think to call me when she got home before taking a nap. I even tried calling her. Several times.

She had her phone off the hook.

"I was tired and I wanted a nap. I didn't want some damn telemarketer calling me."

If she wasn't my mother...

2004-08-26T08:56:00.000-05:00

So about now my mom is at the hospital for hours of tests. Probably several hours. Like any good son, I offered to be there for support. She hates hospitals. Always has. But no, she wants to be alone. Really more like doesn't want me to see her looking like a basket case there, but she doesn't say that.

And what do I find myself thinking about?

The fetishist blog I blogrolled last night. Mistress Matisse's Journal. She's a professional dominatrix in Seattle.

Not really my realm, but she's an interesting read. Plus, I can appreciate someone who can talk candidly, and not anonymously, about a non-mainstream profession.

Hell, I even commented there. I am starting to get more comfortable commenting on other people's blogs. I think they call it letting my hair down. I keep my hair short, but whatever...

About time, huh?

2004-08-25T09:57:00.000-05:00

Sunday night good ol' mom complains about not feeling good. Again I gently remind her she should see a doctor. She hasn't been eating much, and while I'm pleased to see her losing weight, I don't care for the implications.

It turns out she finally went yesterday. About damn time.

She's had a pain in her lower back and abdomen. She's been getting nauseous to the point that she's mostly lost her appetite. And she's lost 10 pounds, according to the doctor. She's going in for tests tomorrow. He's concerned about her liver.

If she were the type to blog, I'm sure she'd have a lot to say right now...

How much?

2004-08-22T22:18:00.000-05:00

Found this through The Princess's Diary. She's 43% bitch.

I AM 49% ASSHOLE/BITCH!

I may think I am an asshole or a bitch, but the truth is I am a good person at heart. Yeah sure, I can have a mean streak in me, but most of the people I meet like me.

Take the ASSHOLE/BITCH test at Fuali.com

Make of it what you will.

Yah, but he's not autistic anymore...

2004-08-18T09:31:00.000-05:00

Seen this?
CNN.com - Churchman jailed for exorcism death

A priest wants to use an exorcism to cure a boy of autism. Lays on the 8 year old boy's chest for an hour or more, and suffocates him. Kid dies. Oops?

Now, of the 10 year maximum sentence available, he gets 2.5, with basically court supervision for the rest.

Is it just me, or does that seem pretty low for someone who suffocates a boy to death trying to drive out "demons"?

The kid was mentally handicapped, not possessed. Then again, the kid wasn't the only one mentally handicapped here...

Kerry: Bush tax cuts help wealthy

2004-08-14T10:09:00.000-05:00

John Kerry is complaining that Bush's tax cuts benefit the wealthy more than they benefit everyone else.

Um, yah. No shit, asshole.

Who do you think is paying the most taxes to begin with? Ever look at the graduated tax rate tables?

Mind you, he can complain because he and his wife hide in so many tax shelters they basically aren't paying taxes. Oddly enough he doesn't complain about tax shelters for the wealthy. Oh, and John, you don't know a whole lot more about the non-wealthy than Bush does.

The vast majority of tax dollars are paid by the top money makers. It's the 80-20 rule. The top 20% pay about 80% of the total tax burden. Rush has links to the specifics on his site.

It's like complaining that reducing property taxes isn't fair because it doesn't help the homeless.

Most of my money I'm not paying taxes on anyway, so don't think I'm trying to defend tax cuts for the wealthy just because I have some cash flow.

Just think a little. If Rich Man pays a 60% or higher tax rate, and Mr. Middle Class pays 30% or less, who is paying more taxes? Maybe Rich Man makes, say 250000 a year, paying something like 150000 in taxes (hypothetical nubmers here, folks). Maybe Mr. Middle Class makes say 40000, and pays 12000. A mere 1% tax cut saves Rich Man 2500 and Mr. Middle Class 400. Yeah, Rich Man gets more back. But look how much more Rich Man is still paying, either by percentage or by total. And 1/4 million is not really rich, and 60% might actually be on the low side.

Personally, I'm not voting for a guy who can't do basic math or simple reasoning (no fair bringing language skills into it? :) OK, Bush ain't perfect either.)

Then again, I'm sure sooner or later he'll put his flipflops on and defend tax cuts for the wealthy to spur the economy.

480-Pound Woman Dies After Six Years On Couch

2004-08-13T09:09:00.000-05:00

I heard about this on the radio yesterday, but didn't get the chance to post about it. Now, armed with coffee and google, I can only find two references to it. But here's one story:

IC-Florida: 480-Pound Woman Dies After Six Years On Couch.

She sat on the couch for six years without getting up. Her skin grew in to the fabric on the couch, grafted with it.

Yes, folks, there's a new poster child for obesity. That's a fat ass, or one broad broad.

Hurm, after-school movie of the week anyone?

Or maybe the next reality TV show?

Watch as 10 morbidly obese people live in the same house...

No thanks. Reality TV is bad enough as it is.

Professional Bias

2004-08-09T08:27:00.000-05:00

As I commented on Ursula's Not So Secret History, I don't know if I want to see Collateral or not.

I remember Mancow at one point talking about the movie Talk Radio about a talk radio host in Colorado. One of the things he commented on is that, being in radio himself, he has a hard time watching movies about the radio industry. Hollywood just doesn't portray things as they are to the insiders.

I tend to feel the same about hitman/assassin movies. Sure, some of them are fun from an action movie perspective. But the innaccuracies get distracting and annoying. Hitman comedies, on the other hand, are a different matter.

So maybe I'll end up renting it. Maybe not. I watch a lot of movies, but there are a lot of movies I don't watch.

Does that make sense? It's still early. Time for more coffee.

WTF

2004-08-07T06:24:00.000-05:00

Like all the reality TV that won't go the fuck away, there's another beheading video on the web.

First, how many more are going to die this way? Second, how many more of these videos are going to be posted?

How long does this have to continue before we get smart about it?

We need to stop the rebuilding. We need to pull our companies and our money out of there. We need to burn the place to the damned sand.

Here, I'll get to the point. Fuck them. Why are we trying so hard to fix them? They aren't going to stop because they don't want to. They enjoy the killing and torturing and terror. These are not people we're dealing with. They're animals. At best. And they're sick animals to boot. We know what to do with sick animals. It's time we just did it already.

And get this. Someone will undoubtedly complain about me saying it. TFB. If I was famous, and one of them read this, they'd probably start another terror campaign just to get back at me for insulting them. But they'd only be proving me right.

About Me (part 3, or 25 things)

2004-08-01T12:48:00.000-05:00

100 things about me? Nah. Fine, maybe other blogs are doing it. Oh well. 25 will have to do for now:

I need to remain anonymous online
I kill people for a living.
I think I’m pretty good at it.
I’m professional about it.
I don’t kill children.
I don’t use explosives.
I don’t kill people with families in their own homes.
Brand new parents tend to be off limits.
I don’t have a problem with my conscience.
I do have one.
I have a bad dating history.
I don’t have friends I can talk to openly.
I hate when conversations begin with “so what do you do for a living?”
I hate always having to lie about it.
I’ve done a lot of work through temp agencies.
I really hope I never have to do that again.
I have a cat.
His name is Walther.
I tend to pronounce it Walter when I have company.
I have company fairly rarely.
My father is dead.
He was hit by a drunk driver.
My mother is alive.
I see her most Sundays for dinner.
I live in a tiny apartment on the South Side of Chicago.

So there's some basics about me, all at once. This will have to do for a FAQ. Besides, there aren't really any frequently asked questions anyway.

dating a cop? let me think...

2004-08-01T08:29:00.000-05:00

An anonymous commenter asks:

"Um... why is it so BAD that she turned out to be a cop? You ARE an idiot."

OK, here's somebody who hasn't read the archives.

I guess it's time to make a formal About Me link, huh?

Personally, I always thought the blog description (Diary of a what?) should give people a clue what to expect.

So, rather than insult the new reader, I'll let him browse archives a bit. When I get back from church maybe I'll put together and link up an About Me.

Job humor?

2004-07-31T07:18:00.000-05:00

Okay, so Ayaba cut out caffeine.

I started to comment that if I did that I'd end up killing someone.

Well, you know...aside from the obvious.

Yah, I know, dumb joke.

Hey, I'm still working on my first coffee for today. I only just got up.

I ended up just saying I'm not my best before caffeine.

Of course, it doesn't look like it took the comments anyway. Oh well. As I said, I'm not all here yet.

Off to the gym. That'll wake me up.

And now for something completely different?

2004-07-27T07:53:00.000-05:00

In the desire to post something more cheerful and positive I found myself looking at random blogs.

Now, I gotta ask, what's with all the blogging from work? Seems like a lot of people are doing it. Where'd the work ethic go, anyway? OK, sure, I'd blog from work if it weren't for the potential jail risk. I can picture the IT geek now:

Hey, Ahmed, check this out. The guy can't write for shit, but I think we're supposed to report this to someone...

OK, maybe not quite. But still.

On the other hand, I could bring a little tape recorder with me, and narrate things to post when I get home?

Target in sight, early 30's male. He's on his morning jog. Same route four days in a row now. Two miles, average 18 minutes. Tomorrow I'll be waiting just inside when he gets home.

No, probably not a good idea.

Christ I’m An Idiot!

2004-07-26T22:25:00.000-05:00

Fool. Fool. Fool! Shoot me now. I can’t remember when I felt so stooopid.

So the date starts, 7:00. I’m dressed nice, fresh black jeans, polished shoes, nice shirt. I’m stylish, I’m freshly shaved, I’m even mostly confident and optimistic. I’m nervous, but that just goes with it. She’s dressed in snug jeans and black Harley Davidson boots and a gray t-shirt. She’s obviously spent some time on her hair. She looks good.

We talk over coffee, but we’re both hungry, 'cause neither of us thought to eat dinner first. No problem, she knows this perfect Mexican joint. OK, I could go for a burrito. So we’re there, it’s a cool place, there’s the gottahaveit mariachi music playing.

We’re talking, and I’m thinking that maybe this could work. When she asked anything hard to answer I was able to brush through it and get her talking about herself. We don’t talk work, just personal self stuff.

And then it happens. A pair of Chicago’s Uniformed Finest walk in. She waves, calls out hello. They greet her by name. She goes on about how this is the unofficial department hangout. If you’re ever in trouble, she says, forget the donut shops, this is the place to be and know you’re safe. Then she starts talking about stuff “down at the precinct.” The next half hour is professional stuff. At least she doesn’t work homicide. That would have been too much.

Eventually it started coming up on 10. She has a shift tomorrow early. Very early, she apologizes, suggesting we pick up from there later in the week. We exchange numbers. I give her one that I used about a year ago. It has the virtues of being memorable, and being disconnected and not connectable to me in any way.

I won’t be calling her. I hope she doesn’t get too mad about it.

Definitely the second worst date of my life.

Hey, comments

2004-07-25T12:53:00.000-05:00

OK, I went and did it. Blogger made it easy and built comments into Blogger.

So now you can leave comments.

I wonder if I'll end up regretting this.

Not what I expected...

2004-07-24T16:53:00.000-05:00

Today was laundry day. I put on my last clean pair of underwear, some jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, and gathered up all the dirty stuff that needed washing. That and a 15 minute car trip brought me to my favorite laundromat.

There’s laundry machines in the basement of my building, but I don’t use them. I get sick of replacing things that the machines destroy.

So there I am, plopped down on a couch catching up on a couple back issues of Guns & Ammo.
Clothes spin. Clothes tumble. There’s news on a crappy TV, but I’m not in the mood. I’m mostly ignoring everyone else. Who are you going to meet at a laundry, right?

And then I notice someone looking at me. A woman. About my age, late 30's. There doing laundry. In sweats and a baggy sweatshirt. And sneakers. For a moment we share one of those awkward, caught looking at each other in a laundromat moments. She breaks the silence by asking about the magazine, which leads to whether I’d read a particular article yet.

So we end up chatting, ending up talking about handguns and bench testing. She’s into guns, practices weekly at a range that sounds vaguely familiar. She’s got a motorcycle. I mention I used to have one back in the early 90’s.

And we talk while we’re folding. I finish before her, and end up helping her fold her sheets. They’re boring green plaids, nice cotton, but not exactly Hot Chick At The Laundromat fantasy stuff. And the whole time neither of us say anything about what we do, neither asks the other what they do. It’s casual, it’s good.

And then we’re done folding, and we’re loading stuff into cars. She lets me help load her Grand Am.

And then we’re agreeing to do coffee Monday night. A date. Casual, but a date. I have a date in two days. Damn.

2004-07-22T17:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Bond Girl lost her family dog. It was sick (cancer) and had to be put down. She talks about cradling the dog during the injection.

I wanted to say something, leave some comforting comment, but words just didn't come. Instead I kept thinking back to another cancer victim, another injection. I can picture the dog's breathing slowing down as it loses consciousness, and then maybe some twitching at the end. And she was there, along with her mother. Nobody was there for the woman.

So, I'm sitting here now, Walther curled up on my lap. He can tell something's bothering me. Woody, Tony and Ravey are joking about 9-1-1 being down, and the vague manhunt for "an Hispanic man in his 20's wearing black shorts."

And I want to say something, to Bond Girl, to Woody, I don't know who else. But the words aren't there. It's just not what I'm good at.

A light, quick search suggests that the woman still hasn't made the news.

So don't think people who didn't leave comments weren't thinking of you, BG. I guess I just thought another "oh, I'm so sorry" comment was going to make a difference. I'm better at saying things on my own blog than on others.

3. That's not bad.

2004-07-21T07:12:00.000-05:00

Thousands of entries, and I came in 3rd place in the Fat Eye for the Skinny Guy Friday Rant Contest.

3rd out of 25,000 is not bad, I think.

Not that I want to feed into that whole "angst filled hitman" stereotype...

'Cause most days I'm not.

Shit, I was even told in an email late last night that there are people who do worse things for a living than I do (and legally, even). Maybe I should have asked for examples.

Just the building I live in has a wide and strange variety of people and their problems. Drug addicts, people with drinking problems, one guy running from creditors and more than $30,000 in credit card debt alone, at least one street prostitute, and older gay man quietly dying of aids, and whole floors of people who must have escaped from institutions. And not the higher learning type.

So, read my rant, if you like. I thought it wasn't bad. If you're one of the people ranted about, be glad that a little ire over the internet is all you're the target of. If nothing else, give the guy credit for sorting through 25,000 rants and picking just 4.

Am I scaring them off?

2004-07-20T08:02:00.000-05:00

I may have to pull some entries off my blogroll. I dont' want to, mind you, but...

For one, Coworker Hell is, well, gone. Not just out of date, just not there.

And then there's Miller (Red Line) who at one time apologized for going two weeks without posting. Well, three more days and she's a month since her last post. Are you still out there, Miller?

Of course, not every blog I read I comment on, but those two I did. I suppose there is a chance that people get creeped out when someone like me starts commenting on their blogs. I hadn't thought about that at first, but I suppose I could see it.

I mean, hey, I do things that society says you just don't do. Hey, don't hate the player, hate the game? People pay me for it. There's a market for killing people who piss somebody off. Trust me, I wouldn't be doing it if there wasn't good money it in. Supply and demand, people. You want to disapprove of me for what I do? I'm OK with that. Just remember, I'm just the visible symptom, not the problem itself.

I'm not evil, not a monster, not even a bad person, maybe. I'm just...morally challenged? :)

What was it Shakespeare said? "Prick me do I not bleed? Cut me off in traffic do I not curse?"

No, that wasn't it.

Aftermath

2004-07-18T14:48:00.000-05:00

I got a supportive email earlier, which at least is reassuring. I guess it says something positive about society if people can feel sympathetic for me, considering what I do for a living.

He also suggested I set up commenting. I've thought about that several times. I'd like to, but. I don't get hate mail yet, but I can't help but thinking that if people could just leave comments, that I'd probably have to delete more than a few of them.

So, instead of setting up comments, I guess I might as well continue where I left off.

January and February of ’90 were hell. Business was bad at the restaurant. [Fiancee]’s father wasn’t making good business decisions. Dealing with him at all was hard. I drank a lot. In early March I landed in the hospital having my stomach pumped. I got the hint. I stopped drinking and moved back home. Mom was better, but I was still a 25 year old man moving back in with Mom. I took any job I could get, trying as much to keep busy as to make ends meet and move out. That was also when I was first exposed to temping.

It took awhile before I was ready to live anywhere alone. That next Christmas was rough. I did send a card to her folks, but they didn’t write or call. They never have since, either.

I couldn’t bring myself to spend New Years with Mom, although I certainly didn’t blame her for anything. At this point I was still blaming [fiancee] for not telling me what was going on. I was only sometimes blaming myself. I was also spending a lot of time at church asking God questions. He never wrote or called, either.

But I also knew I shouldn’t spend New Years alone, so I gathered all the friends I could find. I had them, back then. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We ended up at a party. “It’s New Years. You can’t do New Years without a New Years Party,” they were quick to inform me. I tried not to drink. I did. But I failed spectacularly. I’ve ended up spending every New Years reenacting that spectacular failure of sobriety every year until this year.

I’m not entirely sure what got me started Friday. At least now maybe it makes sense. If not, well I guess you can email me. In the mean time I'm going to heat up some soup and raid my DVD collection.

Explanations

2004-07-17T21:02:00.000-05:00

The hangover is gone. Just the aftermath remains. Note to self: no more Jack and Coke. Bad self.

So, as promised - explanations. Here we go.

In ’89 I was engaged. The date was set for Valentines Day. We lived in Minneapolis. Her family owned a restaurant chain there, and got me a job.

And then Mom got bronchial pneumonia for Christmas. Thanks, Santa, you bastard. It hit her pretty hard, so I drove home to help her around the house for a week or so. I spent New Years playing board games with Mom. Dick Clark did his thing on the TV in the background. There was no champagne. Once the ball dropped she went to bed. I call the fiancee, but get my own machine. We were living together in a rented townhouse. I leave a message, call me tomorrow, OK?

Mid afternoon January 1st 1990, phone call. Not the voice I was lonely to hear. Her father. He asked for me like he wasn’t really there. He wasn’t, but I didn’t know it yet.
“Can you come back to Minny?”
“Maybe in a couple more days. Is something wrong?”
“It’s [fiancee]. Something’s happened.”
“Is she OK?”
He just says no, and hangs up. I was there in 6 hours. I really don’t remember the drive.

They were supposed to pick her up for lunch out, but she wouldn’t answer the door. There were lights on inside, the TV was on, but she wouldn’t answer. They had a spare key, so they let themselves in.

They called 911 when they found her on the bathroom floor next to an empty bottle of percocet. The coroner said she had died shortly before midnight. She would still have been warm when I left the message on my own machine.

Damn. I hate this story. I can't do this right now. I'll finish it tomorrow, I promise.

BWI - Blogging While Intoxicated

2004-07-17T14:42:00.000-05:00

Hungover and it isn’t January. Don’t drink and blog. Blog responsibly. Bring a designated blogger.

And I had been really starting to think I was over her.

Damn.

Of course, after the commenting I've been doing on other blogs about openness, honesty, and self censoring, I suppose I'm gonna have to explain.

But not today. Today I just want asprin and sleep.

Siucide

2004-07-17T02:37:00.000-05:00

Man is the only animal that intentionaly commmits suicide.

I see my share of death, and I still dont' understand how healthy people can do that. some terminally ill cases are different. I get that. I do. like the woman teh other night.

But I don’t get it when a happy young woman, full of life, downs a bottle of percocet. Ya, I wasn’t there. That’s not my fault, goddammmit!

BWhat the fuck?!?

Done

2004-07-16T03:09:00.000-05:00

A lonely woman died in her sleep tonight. The only one who will even notice is some poor hospice woman who comes in tomorrow. It'll probably only get barely mentioned in papers, if at all other than an eventual obit.

It was my first assisted suicide. It was also the most peaceful death I've ever seen.

Rest in peace, ma'am.