Just Married

I was married on Sunday to my gal of 5 years, Shannon. Can't you tell from the look on her face that she wanted me? We'll be away for awhile, so stay tuned for my return after the first week on June.

Weird Scenes Inside the Depot

Work has been odd lately. I really can't tell if I like it or despise it. The IRS is a demanding group. The Don has begun referring to me as Lieutenant, which is flattering, but at the same time, puts a lot of pressure on me.

"Keep the Filipinos in line," he tells me. "They're creating payroll issues with hours. You're gonna have to gaffle 'em."

Did I sign up for this?

No, but my Italian heritage gave me this life, and I must accept it. Even if I have a BA, my calling is in retail servicing. If only the benefits were better, and the damn pirates stayed away from my products.

I have said this before, but I worked for the major fertilizer and grass seed company last year. This year, I work for their competition. My job is to make displays and make the products look pretty. These dirty grass seed pirates from the competition feel the need to destroy my displays by trashing them or slashing holes through it until it is unrecognizable like a baby calf at the veal factory. I come into my stores only to find emptied bags of seed, with holes riddled all over it. This is not the work of mice, no, this is most definitely the work of the pirates.

Why do they do it? Is there a sick satisfaction in it? I suppose so, because there is no monetary bonus for these workers at the bottom of the totem pole. They move our products where no one can see them and take over prime spaces. They throw my displayers away. BASTARDS!

They have a stranglehold on the stores that they are merchandised in because of their fancy national advertising campaigns with B-grade baseball stars. They sell more than the rest only because they defeat their competition through these dirty tactics. Management can't do anything about it. They are bullied as well or bribed with promises of enough free fertilizer to cover 20,000 square feet and kill all of the pests that inhabit their lawn.

Our only way to fight back is to fight fire with fire. They have more manpower though. The trick is to squash them when their not looking, to use trick plays. And only then will they swim with the fishes.

Aside from the pirates, one of the my cohorts in the IRS has been exiled. When things like this occur, it is only human for rumors and innuendo to follow. I can only hope that this isn't the beginning of the downfall of the IRS. If one guy slips up, does he take others with him? I doubt it.

Change happens at the most inopportune times. You can only roll with the punches. That goes for the war with your opponents and the drama of everyday relationships.

And you must always watch your back. I was once a pirate. I have learned much.

How I Met My Future Wife--Pt. I

I will be wed in about a week now. It's not too much of a frightening thought, because I am practically married now. The only real nerve wracking part is dealing with all of this formality. Granted I have not done much to actually get ready for this wedding, not by my choice, but still just watching Shannon try to organize all of this with the musicians, the DJ, the photographer, the flowers, the officiant, the wedding site, the reception hall, the cake, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...I go nuts too.

When it comes to this point in someone's life, one common question is "how did you kids meet?" I am starting a series of blogs, beginning with this one, to answer just that. You may be thinking that you don't want to hear some long, sappy story of love at first sight and puppy dog eyes. You shant get that here. I give different stories for how we met. They are all true, but I can't pick just one as the time we first met. It's not fair.

I was down on my luck with the ladies back in early 2001. My buddy Josh had made some attempts to introduce me to ladies. We even tried spraying brandy on each other with a syringe before going to parties, so girls thought we were already drunk, but sadly it did not work.

One day he told me that the Sexy Mex and her friend Shannon were to come over my place. It was awkward because he was doing this for me and I had never met these gals before. To help myself relax, I decided to wear my official Diabetoboy helmet. I used it when I rolled down hills and performed comedic routines in it when my blood sugar went too low.

The girls arrived and I was quite taken by Shannon, the blonde. I'm not sure if Josh noticed this or not, but to lighten the mood, he decided it would be a good idea to have a lap dance contest amongst myself, him, and Chuck, a big boy that Josh worked with and that I knew from grade school. I don't remember the songs played, but I know we were playing a lot of Tom Jones and Prince back then, so you can get an idea.

Josh and I showing off our mad skills

The other two schmucks were nothing compared to me. I stood on the couch over Shannon and shook what my Mother gave me (Happy Mom's Day by the way). I even involved a prop. A device I acquired from my late Uncle John that looked like a corded phone base with a triangle shaped plastic piece corded to it came in handy. It was actually to be used for patients with pacemakers to phone their doctors and let the doc hear the unit. I enjoyed the "bleep" and "bloop" sounds it made though, so I rubbed it on my chest seductively as it made its music.

Needless to say, I won the contest, but after the scores were announced, Shannon withdrew my win and gave it to Josh, simply because she knew him better and felt weird about letting a stranger win.

I still won't let her live that down, but I still got her in the end. And every once in a while, we will break out that noisemaking device for fun.

Bachelor/ette Party Hijinks

I am a married man in less than two weeks. So far it hasn't sunk in much, except during our premarital counseling sessions. It's so much fun to review why this is and is not a good idea. Luckily, it mostly is.

On Friday, we had our joint Bachelor/ette Party. We envisioned it at as an extravaganza with stripping midgets and plenty of penis and boobie macaroni and cheese for everyone. Neither happened due to lack of funds...you'd be surprised how much a stripping midget costs. Throw in your obligatory half off joke there.

Anyway, the place we planned to have it at turned out to be closed when we got there. Having connections with the management is not necessarily a good thing. So please never give business to The All American Bar and Grill in St. Louis County.

Thank you.

About 15 of our party showed up there on time to find us gathered at picnic tables in front.

What almost was a Bachelor/ette Party Picnic

We left that joint for greener pastures in South City at Crusoe's, where we had a grand ole time.

The entire Filipino Mafia came to send me off into the marital abyss by purchasing multiple alcoholic beverages for me and my lady. Most of our wedding party was there as well, including best man Daniel Rothstein, who floated around in an inebriated state.

Hollywood Daniel Rothstein, the best man

It is difficult at such events to spend equal time with folks. I tried as best I could with a fake ball and chain attached to my ankle given to me by one Babyface Pinoy. Penis lollipops were distributed to the female guests, and were surprisingly worth my money, since they lasted through the 3 hour plus affair. I even sampled one myself.

I did my best to rope off our area of the bar with "Orgy Zone" caution tape, but it kept getting wrapped around people like myself and Babyface Pinoy's little brother, whose given name is Marquestro, especially by some dirty old man that works with us in the Italian Retail Service. He told me it was okay because he bought me a shot of the finest Irish whiskey in the place. I told him I had the finest Irish lady in the place and if he so much laid a hand on her, I would have Big Boy Pinoy annihilate him.

A dirty old man introduces Marquestro the Pinoy to the Orgy Zone.

Things went well though, considering the love in the air and the location mishap to begin the night. Most left saying they had never been so drunk. Since I paid for nothing, except for some penis-shaped pops, I would say the night was a rousing success.

Cheaper Gas In St. Louis Than In Kuwait?!

Babyface Pinoy called me yesterday to tell me he discovered a pump at his local BP on the south side that was dispensing gas from the Silver slot at 27 cents a gallon. He had already filled up three of the cars at his place for under fifteen bucks. I explained to him that we couldn't drop everything and go there, but we would head that way once we were done with our business at the cemetery.

The few in on the secret


An hour later we arrived at the station. Babyface was there getting ready to fill up car number four. People were at the pumps looking pretty angry. Apparently the cheap gas had run out. At least that's what the first excuse we got was. An Arab looking fellow who was working there ran out and began pulling the pumps out of people's tanks. A few got yelled at him for touching their vehicles. It looked as if punches would be thrown, but it didn't happen. More cars pulled up to cash in on this deal that was spreading by word of mouth. The worker intercepted each new customer saying that the pumps were out of order. This obviously was not true considering some had just put as much as 34 gallons in their tank and for under ten bucks!

34 Gallons for Under $10!

The folks at the pumps refused to leave until they received gas at the price which was still indicated on the pump at 27 cents a gallon. They said someone spoke with the cops and the officer told them that those at the pumps should receive it at the current price. The Arab worker ran out with register tape in hand (which he was keeping very close to hide it from some) telling people to leave because they were closed, which was contrary to the neon sign in the window.

We stuck around a little longer until the worker and some of his cohorts got the price corrected, which should have just involved moving a decimal point on the computer. The crowd slowly disappeared as their dreams of dirt cheap gas were flushed down the drain. For several hours though in south St. Louis, the gas was cheaper than it was in Kuwait.