Dr. Pants, Mr. Emasculation. Mr. Emasculation, Dr. Pants

Oh, how lovely to meet you, Mr. Emasculation. What's that? You've news from the homefront? Praytell, sir, do not tarry.

You say my wife was working on my auto-carriage? How humorous. I, too, toiled for two evenings on that self-same horseless buggy to no avail. So sad that my wife could not repair the electric candle in the rear which allows drivers to know when I'm slowing down.

I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? She DID fix the auto-carriage? And she did it in 10 minutes, while I struggled like a special-needs child given a candy bar covered in barbed wire?

Oh, Mr. Emasculation -- the stories I heard of you were too true. E'en now my penis retreats inside me and my gonads shrivel at the embarrassment.

Farewell to you sir, though I'm sure we shall meet again, too soon for my tastes, no doubt.

It's all downhill from here.

My wife is one of those weird ones who likes to "take pictures" and "display them around the house." What purpose this serves, I do not know.

The only one I can think of is if we're kidnapped and the police come to the house and the kidnapper is here but he pretends he lives here and then the cop would notice, "Hey, he's not in any of the pictures!" and arrest him and save us. But, after watching lots of movies where people pretend to live places, it seems no one ever gets called on that shit.

The (clearly unintended) effect of the pictures is reminding me of days gone by. And that's when it finally hit me:

I'm never going to look young again.

Here I am, dragging around an extra 50 pounds, wearing reading glasses all the goddamn time, and all I see around me are pictures the wife took of my in college or just after and who the hell is that somewhat thin, kind-of-recognizable, not-too-bad-looking dude?

Well, it doesn't matter who he is, because he'll never be seen around these parts again. As They Might Be Giants pointed out, you're older than you've ever been and now you're even older and now you're even older and now you're even older.

And now, you're older still.

Fuck.

Cloverfield?

Totally worth the wait.

Riddle Me This

Q: Who has two thumbs and is a moron who left his cell phone sitting at home?

A: This guy (thumbs pointing at me)!

Yeah. So if you need me, not that any of you need me, try an e-mail.

Wrapped up like a douche

Blinded by the light.

That is the best way to describe my commute to work. I don't know if it's the angle or the time or something else I'm doing wrong, but it is clear that the sun is gunning for me.

I almost hit another car today -- not because I was being careless or fucking with the radio or anything. I just couldn't see the guy in front of me until it was time to slam on the brakes and pray to the elder god Cthulu to save me.

It's only on Northwest Expressway and I think I know why it's happening. It's because I'm driving southeast. Clearly, my car is literally rubbing the road the wrong way and it's teamed up with it's best friend, the sun, to do me in.

Any of you with artistic talent, feel free to create a picture of Northwest Expressway and The Sun hanging out, possibly at a bar or during Spring Break. I will use this as proof that I'm batshit crazy.

Inside the Salt Mines: Day 6

Week 2 started a lot like Week 1, except this morning I inadvertently slept in and hit the office about 15 minutes late.

There's more stuff to do today, versus last week when I sat here with nothing to do, positive my boss would see that and fire me immediately.

Now I feel like I've got enough to do that when I screw up anything, that will be the last straw and I'll be told to fuck off home. That won't actually happen -- I know that in the part of my brain that is rational -- but it doesn't ease the anxiety much.

Beyond that, it still feels like I'm on vacation in the world's most uncomfortable destination. Almost nobody talks to me, or needs to, and even though I'm figuring out the layout of the buildings, whenever I get where I'm going it feels like I'm an intruder.

It's times like this I have to remember that it's a job and that I'm not here to have a good time, but to make money, which I am doing. It's an easier realization at home, though, when my wife is there to hug and I can sit on the couch and feel the heater and eat the food that I'm paying for.

Still, I haven't gotten away from that familiar feeling I used to get at The Paper. You know, the one where your internal clock says, "I don't know how long we'll be here, but it doesn't seem like it will be much of a wait."

Of course the last time I felt like that, 5 years rushed past in about a month.

New Job Fun Fact #2

I'm wearing jeans right now. Because at my new job, casual Friday is actually pretty casual.

"Just don't come in wearing a Metallica T-shirt," my boss told me yesterday.

Well, duh. I'm not JUST going to wear a Metallica T-shirt. I wore pants, too. And wristbands. What am I, a savage?

New Job Fun Fact #1

When I was employed at The Oklahoman, my bosses forced me to buy a subscription to the paper, even though I could get one for free at the office every day.

At my new job, my boss bought me a subscription to the paper, because I should stay informed.

Things that feel good.

1. A hot towel when you get out of the shower.
2. A hot wife when she gets out of the shower.
3. Blue jeans, T-shirts and a big glass of iced tea.
4. Hearing that after you left your old job, people have called, e-mailed and sent in hand-written letters to your old boss voicing their displeasure at you being gone.

But, yeah, mostly that last one. Also:

5. Naps.

Inside the Salt Mines: Day 2

Today was hard because I made it hard. There's no relaxing at the new job, at least not yet, because I'm a little too jacked up on anxiety and fear.

Talking to my office-mate today, I let slip that my old job was notorious as a place from which it is hard to get fired. She informed me that the same was true of my new job, which is a relief, as I feel like a fraud that will be found out and then driven from the premises with sharpened sticks.

The thing of it is, I know how irrational I'm acting. Nobody has been anything but kind to me. Nobody has asked me to do something I can't or put any pressure on me. All of this is my doing, which only makes it worse.

You can't just feel at ease because you want to. Maybe if I meditated that would be possible, but they frown on pulling a yoga mat out in the middle of the office. So I know I'm bringing all the tension on myself and I know I can't stop it until it stops itself.

At the end of Day 1, I was not looking forward to going back to work. At the end of Day 2, well, I'm not looking forward to going back to work, but at least I'm not actively dreading it.

Hell, I've found 18 different ways to drive to work already and they all take about 45 minutes -- who knows what I'll learn tomorrow.

Worst case scenario - I suck at my job. Ehn, I've sucked at my job before. And if they're not eager to fire people, well, I can do well enough to stick around. But I'm trying to be a good employee and I'm pretty sure I can pull it off.

And if not, well, I'll find something else to do.

Inside the Salt Mines: Day 1

I've spent most of today trying to remember the last time I felt this awkward and useless. Then I remembered my first day at my last job and felt better.

Of course it all seems weird on your first day -- it's your first day. If it didn't feel weird, it would be your 483rd day.

Unlike college, I was pretty immediately pushed in the deep end here. Releases to write, reporters to contact, assignments, assignments, assignments.

Luckily, none of it has been so hard that I can't handle it. Or at least I don't think it is -- I don't know, because it's my first day.

Bob chatted me up and wanted to know what it's like, so here it is: It's work. There are places I'd rather be, certainly, but that's almost always true, unless I'm at home with my wife. The people are polite, but they're not afraid to put me to work, which is almost like respect. There's a lot to do, or at least a lot of advance planning, but I don't feel terribly overwhelmed just yet.

Oh, and they took me out to lunch. Like a fancy lunch. I had a cloth napkin. Also food, but the napkin seemed important for some reason. Two forks, as well.

The funniest thing about it is that I came from a section full of women to another section full of women. My boss is a guy, but everybody else is ladies and when we went to lunch, the boss didn't come, so it was just me and four very agreeable women who clearly don't know that I should be shunned immediately.

So, it's work. I'm sure I'll have more for you tomorrow, but for now, I'm just going to try to do something halfway productive until 5 o'clock comes.

New job FAQ

In the interest of my sanity and your curiosity, here are the burning answers to your burning questions you ask when it burns when you pee.

1. A new job! Are you excited?

Well, sure, but I'm also freaked the fuck out. This is the first time I ever changed jobs and I never expected to move away from my degree field (journalism) and into something I don't know much about (public relations), so I'm more scared than anything.

2. But you're getting a raise, right?

Of course I am. Not that there weren't other reasons for leaving, but I wouldn't have left without a promise of more money. That said, it's not life-changing money. The wife isn't staying home to raise the dogs (though she keep dropping hints) and I'm not buying everybody I know new cars. Hell, I'm not even getting me a new car and I'd really like one of those cars that doesn't smoke when you start it.

3. Are you sad to leave your old job?

Kind of. I mean, there are parts of the job I'll miss and parts I'm very much looking forward to never seeing again. The stress level, for one thing, is supposed to be much lower. Still, I'll miss the news, even if my job wasn't the newsiest out there. Also, I'll miss the adoration of my fans, which was entirely in my head.

4. Will we ever see you again?

No.

5. What are you doing again?

I'm in charge of pickle slices at Wendy's. Someday, with a little work, I might be in charge of mayo distribution or even cheese laying, but you have to start somewhere.

6. We'll miss you!

That is not a question. And you will not miss me, it's just something nice to say. Remember when we told the guy with the moustache who constantly was adjusting his belt and invading our personal spaces that we'd miss him? That was a lie.

7. Are you burning any bridges?

As much as I'd like to tell the people I work with exactly what I think of them, most of them are actually decent people and I have nothing bad to say. And besides, the wife still works for them and I'm not closing the door to a return somewhere down the line.

8. Did they even try to keep you?

Not at all. In fact, I think my boss wanted me to leave and basically told her bosses that I was going so as not to have to negotiate with me. I was, am and will continue to be a pain in the ass, so it's understandable.

9. Does this mean you'll be blogging more?

Probably not, but I think it's because I don't have anything much to say. Granted, with no outlet for personal expression at Wendy's, I might find my irrepressible opinion forces me to blog or skywrite or explore creative dance as a way to unburden myself.

10. I guess that's it.

Again, that is not a question. You are not good at this.