Go Sooners? Part II: The Drama Strikes Back

I may have mentioned it before, but my family has weird luck. It's hereditary.

It's neither a blessing or a curse. In fact, it ensures that the universe is centered, the floor is level. It makes sure that the sky stays blue, ducks quack, and armpit stains will never come out. It just means that things happen exactly the way things were supposed to happen, neither too good or too bad.

For example, it caused the sheer providence that made D call me the day I got the snarky email from my new boss, and I started looking for a new job. That's the divine side of the family luck.

And at times, it goes to the dark side.

So I'm sitting in the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport & Tire Center, waiting for the flight to take me to the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport & Hair Care en route to Oklahoma City. For the interview of my life the next morning at 8am. And the flight's delayed. At least it gave me an opportunity to finish up my research for the interview.

We finally board and taxi to the runway at 9:55pm. Doing a quick back-of-the-barfbag-calculation that should put us at DFW at 11ish, and my connecting flight leaves at 11:19. Landing after midnight, it'll be too late to pick up the rental but I could catch the shuttle to the hotel, catch a few ZZZ's and I'll figure out in the morning how to get to the interview.

The plane pulled up to the gate in DFW at 11:04. While Captains Bo & Luke were bouncing the plane down the runway trying to make up time, Rosemary the flight attendant gave out the connecting gate assignments.

Rosemary:"Flight 666 to OKC will be at gate D20"
Tenacious B:"Whoa, wait. What concourse are we landing at?" (So what if I ended a sentence with a preposition, I was tired.)
R:"Our gate is at C15"

It was 11:04. I had until 11:19 to get to my next flight, which involved me taking the skylink, an elevated tram that takes the scenic route around the airport, sometimes through a different time zone.
See the yellow line? Now trace between terminals C & D. Not a gay man's chance at a Sean Hannity taping will we make it.

B: "Uh, Rosemary, we won't make it."
R: "They know you're coming."
B: "Even if we put rockets on the tram and make the operator do a line of coke, we won't."
R: "Trust me. There are four of you connecting and they know we're landing now."
B: "Are they going to teleport our bags? And if so, can they teleport me as well?"
R: "Your bags actually have a better chance than you do."
B: "Rose, you're not exactly giving me a lot of confidence here."
R: "Can I please finish my connections list?"

I decided to put my faith in her words. I should've known better.

This was a sight. Tenacious B, two Bobby Hill types and a guy that looks like a retired alcoholic cockfighting referee running out of the tram towards the gate.

We arrived at Gate D20 at 11:24, face to face with a guy that was probably fired from the DMV for being too surly.

I hand my ticket to the guy, he slowly punched a few keys on the keyboard and hands me a ticket.

Mr. Surly: (taptaptap) "Here's your ticket for 9am tomorrow. We can't give you any hotel vouchers."
B: "Nope, that won't work. I have an interview at 8."
S: "There are no other flights tonight. NEXT!"
B: "Wait. Where's my checked bag?"
S: (taptaptapPOUND) "In Oklahoma City. NEXT!"
B: "Back up there cowboy. Say wha?"
S: (taptapPOUNDtapPOUND) "I show your bag arrived in OKC at 9:23. NEXT!"
B: "Chill with the next, chief. Take a Xanax. How did my bags get there before I even took off?"
S: He looks at me like I just told him I gave herpes to his daughter. "The bags on delayed flights sometimes go out on an earlier flight. NEXT!"
B: "So there were flights going out earlier? Why didn't... No. Never mind. It doesn't matter."
S: "Sir, if you don't mind stepping to the side. NE.."
B: "If you say 'next' again I will tell your boss you offered to pay me to dress up like a schoolgirl and poop on your head. Now... Listen carefully. Where. Is. My. Bag?"
S: Sighs. (tapPOUNDtaptapPOUNDPOUNDtapPOUND) "It's in the American Airlines Baggage claim office in OKC. It'll open at 5am."
B: "Thank you. Which way to the rental counter?"

He points me to where the shuttle picks up. Bobby Hill² and Bourbon McCockfight follow in tow.

On the shuttle ride, I briefly mention why I'm headed north and B.McC comes up with a great idea. He suggests that we split the cost on a rental and drive together. Much as it would give me a chance to nap a little on the way, having a rental under my name smell like stale cigarettes and Pabst Blue Ribbon wasn't on my itinerary. Lucky for me the Alpha Bobby notices the look on my face and says that it wouldn't be a good idea since I'm on such a tight schedule. Bobby, if you ever read this, I owe you a drink.

I rent a car with GPS (tapping out my bank account due to the stupid deposit) and head north.

I'm a pioneer.

Go Sooners? Part I: A New Hope

Sitting in the Austin-Bergstrom airport at the mo.

So I might as well admit it to the world: I'm heading to a job interview.

You heard me correctly. I'm trying to get a job out of state. Not that I want to leave Texas. For Jeebus' sake, I was raised in a briar patch. And I always vowed that if I were to ever leave Austin it would only be to move overseas.

So I lied. Sue me.

I won't get into the many reasons why I want to leave my current employer, but for many reasons I'm D.U.N. with them. The reason I ended up here all started back in January, and I was (to put it bluntly) pissed off. I mean slamming doors, opening up a text document for the sole purpose of seeing how many different curse words I can type in, going outside to chain smoke kind of pissed. So mad that I called D. D (I'll come up with a pseudonym later) was a guy I had worked with for years. Different company, but a lot of communication. We've worked really well together and last year he even tried to recruit me. I said no at the time since I had just gotten a recent promotion and I didn't feel like leaving Austin, much less Texas. We talked for a while, and that's when I discovered that my company has a less-than-stellar reputation in the industry. I asked him if the offer was still open. Unfortunately there wasn't a spot open, but he know a place (another company I work with rather often), and it was still in Texas. So in Feb I went up and interviewed. That's a story for another time.


Fast forward to a month ago.

The Drama Llama in my office had just just given birth to a whole litter of little dramas. And they were breeding. Fast.

I think they were part tribble.

I got a call from D out of the blue. He wanted to know if I was still interested.

I tried everything in my power to not scream out, "FUCK YES! Can I start tomorrow?"

Now don't misunderstand me. This wasn't just an opportunity to get out of my Reality show current job. I really respect D and the company is in the Forbes 100 best companies to work for third year running. Plus opportunity for growth, they'll pay for me to go back to school, stock grants, bonuses, awesome benefits, etc etc. Plus D would be my boss, and he's so kickass I'm surprised the company doesn't freeze solid from his awesomeness on a daily basis.

In all fairness, my current company has a potluck in the conference room at Christmas.

Hard choice, I know.

Anyway, he told me that he was making a presentation to his Sr Veep to get a position created on his team, and he wanted my resume and salary requirements. Read that again. He was soliciting me for a job that hasn't even been created yet.

After the presentation, the position was approved and we worked out a date for me to come up for an interview, complete with flight/hotel/rental car/gold-plated bacon...

I know, it was very wow.

I took a half-day today and all day tomorrow for the interview (8am tomorrow). Of course as I was leaving, I was handed a metric assload of work that needed to be done before I left. Of course like any respectable, hard-working individual such as myself, I promptly set the pile on my desk for Monday and left.

I left skid marks.

The ride to the airport was uneventful. I managed to drop Murphy off this time and get checked in. The DHS screeners weren't even douches this time.

Fast forward to now. The flight was scheduled for 4:10, and it's currently 5:40. That's right, all the biblical storms that had been razing Oklahoma City had now moved to D/FW, where my connecting flight was. Current update: flight is now delayed to 6:20.

Did I not mention it? The job is in Oklahoma City. Theeeeeeeeeeeere's the only real issue. The perfect place for a tree-hugging, agnostic bleeding heart liberal democrat such as myself. But if this job is as great as I imagine then I can deal. I lived in Denver for Jeebus' sake.

New update: It's now 6:45 and the flight time has been pushed to 7:40.
New new update: 7:55, flight time is moved to 9:05

I figure I'll get in about 12:30 now, which will give me a chance to get about 5ish hours sleep. Plenty of time for an insomniac such as myself.

New new new update: 9:35, and we're finally boarding.

To be continued...

Here There Be Pirates

Tons of stuff going on here, huge changes, life reboot. Plus I'm getting a little tired of hearing "So, when you gonna start blogging again?"

So I'll start today with a quick post.

The Pirate Bay recently got a new host after being booted from their old one, in the form of The Pirate Party. I browsed over and saw this:

I lul'd.

Please Stand By...

Hurry Up and Wait Part II

We just got word. The surgery went well, and he's in recovery. They ended up not needing to replace the valve after all.

We're allowed to see him. Even though he's still out, it's good to see him.

======

Recovery goes well, and he's on his way to outliving me again.

Hurry Up and Wait

(NOTE: Going to get serious here a bit. Been working on this post for six months now, so forgive me if it's too serious and if some of the timeframes are incorrect. Bear with me and then after this I'll go back to being a smartass.)

Been sitting in a hospital waiting room with my Mom & sisters for three days now. Turns out my Dad has had at least three prior mini-heart attacks since Thanksgiving. The shortness-of-breath type. And didn't tell anyone.

The angiogram shows 90-95% blockage in five arteries and a leaking ventricular valve. It really shocked us. Yes, my Dad is 74. But he's probably the lowest-risk person in my entire family. He's almost underweight, has low blood pressure, low cholesterol, doesn't smoke, is very active, no real family history... In other words, he's healthier than I am. Things like this always make you realize that there is no real way to completely avoid issues. Just postpone (Keith Richards being the exception, as always).

After I got that call on the 8th, I made the post 8:17 at work, grabbed some stuff I was working on and some clothes from home, and drove down to San Antonio, of course dropping Murphy off at Lil's first (Love you sweetie). Visiting hours in CCU allow for 10 minutes every 2 hours, and luckily I got there right in time to go in. Passing by several beds of very scared and lonely-looking patients, I heard laughter coming from the back, towards my Dad's bed.

He's a funny guy, and had apparently said something to crack up the nurse. I walk around the curtain and see him squinting through his glasses at the tiny TV about two feet in front of his face. The Discovery Channel, of course. He looks up at me, and I I hug him he gives me that smirk that I inherited and shakes his head. He doesn't have to say any more. I know he's annoyed with the fact that he's laid up in bed and can't go anywhere or do anything. But he's in good spirits, even though he has a catheter in, which he was more than happy to show me. I know he's at that age where he has little shame, but the last thing I ever want to see is my pop's junk.

He tells me they're planning a quintuple bypass, and what they might do with the valve. They're either going to put a sleeve around it or replace it with a pig valve. I tell him that if he has a choice, go with the pig valve so his farts will smell like bacon (I also got my sense of humor from him).

The surgery isn't going to be until Monday, so the next few days it goes like that: Every two hours we go in for five minutes at a time (only two at a time and there are four of us), and in between we pretty much stare at one another and talk. It's wonderful that I have such a great family, and makes me realize how little chance we have to just be together. I mean, we do see one another every few months, but since my sisters have families, usually the conversation revolves around my nephews and nieces. Then at night we go back to the 'rent's house, sleep and in the morning go back to start it all over again.

Around Sunday Dad does start to get a little nervous, but tries his best to hide it. That's just how he is.

On Monday morning we get there early, because we wanted to see him before he goes into surgery. We get to see him around 6am, and they've already given him the first dose of anesthesia, so he's a little groggy. He doesn't say much, and as he looks at me I'm trying my best to hold back the tears, even though he probably won't remember. For the first time this whole week, I'm scared. The nurse comes and says that we'll have to go. They let Mom stay with him for now, and as I hug him goodbye and kiss him on the cheek, he squeezes my arm hard and mouths the words, "Love you."

I Love you too Dad.

8:17

I missed a call from my Mom this morning. I was trying desperately to get all the shampoo out of my hair with the trickle coming out of the nozzle. I heard the phone ring, but typically anyone calling my phone that early is nobody I care to speak with.

Getting out and drying my hair, I reached over and pulled up the log.

"Missed call from Mom Cell."

She's had a cell phone for a while now. Thing was, she never turned it on. "Just for emergencies," she told us. Well, yeah,but what if we were the ones with an emergency?

I called her immediately back. No answer.

Panic set in.

I was in the hopes that she would be leaving a voice mail. She's notorious for leaving much longer than necessary messages.

No alert popped up.

Reaching for the phone again to call, it started ringing.

Mom Cell, it glared.

"Hello?"
"Good Morning. I wanted to let you know that Dad had a mild heart attack this morning."

He's apparently fine, in fact I heard him in the background telling her what to tell me. He's in ICU, they're scheduling an angiogram this afternoon.

Though I didn't hear much after "this morning."



Mortality is something you try to not think about. It's the elephant in the room. He's in his 70s now, and the ugly truth sometimes sneaks up on you and punches you in the gut.

But still you put it in the back of your mind. "I'll deal with it when it happens," you tell yourself constantly. Thing is, my family's always had an almost whimsical view of death. Growing up in Small Town, Texas, it seemed that there was always a funeral or wedding to go to. Someone who lived near us, an odd great-uncle/aunt/grandparent/third-cousin-twice-removed... I had probably attended more funerals before age 7 than most people attend in their entire lives. It was something I became accustomed to, namely the fact that people die.

But not in my backyard, so to speak.

the worst part is, I'm freaking the fuck out, and he's fine. He's recovering. I should be comforted by that.

No clue as to why I'm not.

Maybe I'll have some answers for myself when I go see him.

I Love you, Dad.

Luxo

Sweetest. Dog. Ever.

I cried.

Clicky

(And yes, I'm coming back)

The Hitchhiker

Story time.

Driving back from yet another business trip yesterday, I stopped in a little town to fuel up and grab some lunch. Like most small towns in Texas, pickings were slim for grub; but sure enough, there was a DQ.

There's always a DQ.

While waiting for the receipt, a fly decided that the air-conditioned interior of the truck was more suited to his lifestyle than the 105° weather, and he flew in and made himself at home. I opened both windows and tried the obligatory shoo, and the fly disappeared. I assumed he was gone and headed back on the road, munching on french fries and settled in for the three-hour drive back home.

About twenty minutes later Jack (what I decided to call the fly) rested himself on the volume knob on the stereo. I opened both windows again, did quite a bit of flailing and shooing, but Jack was more adamant than I and stayed inside, determined to ride with me as far as the road will take him.

At this point I started to feel bad for him. How much does a fly know? When he finally exits he will have no concept of where he is. What if he has a little fly wife and fly kids, with a little fly minivan and a fly house in the fly suburbs. I don't know much about flies, but I don't think they were designed for two-hundred mile trips.

Even the times I had my window rolled down to have a cigarette (yes, I'm smoking again. Sue me) were not enticing enough to Jack. He was content.

So we spent the next few hours having a surreal, silent, love-hate relationship.

Pulling into a convenience store just a mile or so from my house, I left the windows open to let him go start his life anew; A "Fly in the City" type thing.

I grabbed a drink and came out again, only to find Jack sitting on the edge of the open window. He moved only briefly to let me open the door, and after circling twice, came to rest on the passenger seat.

I drove home, sad. After unloading my luggage, I went to go get the pooch and still he wouldn't leave.

So resting in at home after the trip, I left the window cracked overnight.

Jack wasn't there in the morning.

Godspeed to you, little guy. Hope you find your place in this new world.