Worthless And Weak

I've been 'between assignments' for a while now, five months, and while I am getting some good work done - fourth draft of one novel, outline for another - I am developing some bad habits.
   I make time for 'The Price Is Right.' Daytime TV is indeed a vast wasteland, vaster than prime time for sure, yet if I'm in my apartment at 10 AM on a weekday I'm watching Drew Carey give away cars and vacations. Call it a habit decades in the making, I used to watch Bob Barker during summer vacation. It's my grandmother's fault.
   I drink waaaay more soda than I should. It's a habit I won't break for some reason. It really is just as simple as not buying it any more, but just as some people smoke when they drink, when I buy Lotto tickets in the convenience store I also get a soda. I'm a prisoner of my addiction, I need a government grant to get the aspartame monkey off my back.
   I go to the same online job boards day after day. This far into unemployment, if these job boards haven't landed me a paying gig by now they're probably not going to. And yet I go back again and again, thinking things will be different this time.
   YouTube. Farting dinosaurs. 'Nuff said.
   I don't shave every day, or even regularly. I'm one of those guys with perpetual five o'clock shadow. You know the kind, you see them in a store and you wonder what kind of job they have that they don't need to shave. Inside tip: they probably don't have a job.
   Mid-day grocery store visits. This far into my vagrancy, I know that most grocery stores are finished stocking by about 9:30 AM, and most old people don't get there until about 11 AM. So I swoop in during the sweet spot between stockers and seniors, when the aisles are blissfully free of obstructions.
   I play Mafia Wars on Facebook far, far, far too much. It's not even a particularly good game, but it's just good enough to keep me coming back.
   Glee. I can't help it, I like the show, and I have this odd fascination with Sue Sylvester. It's nothing I want to explore further, not in a public forum.

I really need a job.

Open Letters To My Neighbors

Dear Guy Who Sings In The Shower Next Door:
   While I appreciate your exuberance, I believe I speak for everyone in both our buildings when I say 'singing is not your career path.' I believe I also speak for everyone when I say 'shut the hell up, asswipe.' And shut the stupid window, too. For God's sake, if you really need attention that badly, go streaking.

Dear Seemingly-Angry Russian Couple Who Argue Constantly:
   You may think that nobody can understand what's going on because you're not speaking English, but trust me on this one, arguments between men and women are universal, and even if I don't know the words, I understand perfectly. Get a job, Sergei, and Olga, stop nagging him so much, he's embarrassed enough already.

Dear Guy Who Leaves His Front Door Open:
   Shut the Goddamned door. You live right next to the elevator, and I really don't want to see into your apartment every time I need to leave mine. And it wouldn't kill you to clean up once in a while either, I know your mother taught you better than that.

Dear Laundry Room Douchebag, You Know Who You Are:
   It's half an hour for the washing machine, a little over half an hour for the dryer. Come get your clothes on time, you're not the only person in the building who needs to do laundry. And if you think I don't know you're helping yourself to my detergent, you're mistaken.

Dear Indian Couple Who Cook Delicious-Smelling Food:
   I'm not always busy. You could invite me over for dinner once in a while. Just sayin'...

What I Miss About Work

There are many things I do not miss about work: commuting, self-important do-nothings, pointless rules that people feel the need to follow without question, evil executives who spout platitudes while lining their pockets with investors' money. The toilet paper in the office bathrooms. But there is one thing I do miss about work:
   Birthday cake.
   It's been two and a half months and I haven't had any birthday cake, I'm going through withdrawal. Store bought or homemade, it doesn't matter to me, all I want is to celebrate someone's birthday with a sugar rush in the afternoon, right around 2:30 PM, after lunch and close to going-home time but not so close that you have to rush to finish or clean up.
   Yeah, sure, I could make my own cake, but it's just not the same. There's nothing quite like getting a visit in your office from someone with a birthday card, it brightens your morning because you know that in a few hours you'll be getting cake. For free. Maybe some ice cream too, if people in the office like the birthday boy or girl enough.
   Maybe I can crash one of the office buildings nearby, somebody there has to have a birthday today...

Straight Guys Who Like Musicals

We have a newcomer to our meeting tonight. Go on, stand up. Don't worry, it's okay, you're among friends.
   Hi, everyone.
    Hi.
   What do I... I mean... I never... God this is so hard...
   It's okay, really. You know what to do, you've seen it in enough movies, right?
   I guess so. Just... oh, God, what would my father think...
    We're ready when you're ready. You just have to make the first step.
   Okay. Whew.... okay. Hi, everyone.
    Hi.
   My name is Don, and I'm a straight guy who likes musicals.
   Hi, Don...
   It all started with Singing in the Rain. You know, with Gene Kelly? I saw it when I was a kid, couldn't have been more than eight.
    Statistics show that the younger straight guys are exposed to musicals, the easier it is for them to be hooked.
    What about gay guys?
    They're born with it. Like being able to color-coordinate things and having a fabulous design aesthetic.
   Makes sense. Anyway, it was on Saturday afternoon, you know? Back when there were only three channels and after cartoons there were either monster movies, Abott and Costello, or musicals.
    Those were the days.
   Yeah. Little Rascals sometimes, too. So I was eating a baloney sandwich, with the crusts because men liked the crust, but with Miracle Whip and cut diagonally because that's the way my mother did things, when I see this guy splashing around in puddles. My mother didn't like me splashing, but here was a guy on TV not only doing it, but singing while he was doing it.
    Gene Kelly. One of the best. Singer, dancer, and actor.
    No shit. Like the Brett Favre of straight Hollywood triple-threats. Brett Favre? Green Bay Packers? Two SuperBowls, one win? Nine-time Pro Bowler?
    Hmm... doesn't ring a bell.
    Played his first year for the Falcons?
    Oh! That Brett Favre!
   Yeah. So after that first taste, the first forbidden look at a grown, heterosexual man singing and dancing in a movie, I was hooked. I saw them all, An American In Paris, On the Town, Top Hat, Shall We Dance. All of them. But I couldn't let anybody know.
    Your secret shame.
   Exactly. Every Saturday I had to tell my friends I was grounded, or that I had to help my grandparents or something. It was hard, living a double life. I managed to suppress it for most of high school. But then in college a girlfriend dragged me to see the theater department's production of Guys and Dolls, and I was off the wagon. After that, it was anything goes. All That Jazz, A Chorus Line, The Lion King. Even... God help me... High School Musical. I'm so ashamed...
    It's okay. Really. We've all been there.
   Thanks. It's good to finally be able to talk about this. I mean... I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one.
    You're among friends.
   A few weeks ago I went to see Wicked. Great show.
    You didn't go alone, right? Did you at least go with a girl?
   Absolutely.
    Was she hot?
    Like you wouldn't believe. Beautiful eyes.
    Nice rack? Hot ass?
   Well, you know, kind of the whole package... I'm not sure I should be telling you...
    Got a picture?
   No, but she has a myspace page... wait a minute. I'm not showing you guys!
    Well, we might like musicals, but we are straight.
   Yeah. Yeah. Thanks for understanding, guys. It's good to talk.
    Seriously, about this chick you took to Wicked, one a scale from one to ten...
   Aren't you supposed to have sugar cookies?