Beer Cans & Ass Cans (Don't Go Breakin' My Heart)

It's so easy to be lulled into a false sense of security. There are people you think you can rely on, spill your guts to and in the end, they pour them into the hot, black tar sun soaked street for all to see. It burns.

Take for example The Italian. We're the same age and he just happens to be married to my cousin and works for my family. There are times when I'm deep in thought, meditating and concentrating on the sentence that's forming in my brain as I type. He sees my intensity and has to try and interrupt me any way possible.

He reminds me of this character called Colleen Fernman that Gilda Radner played on SNL. She was this crazy little girl with no attention span. Sometimes when I look at him in conversation I can hear the song "She's Not There". It's like looking at a deer in the healights. It's a robot saying "This does not compute".

Bald yet hairy, tall and beer bellied, he slides open the door next to my computer and lights up his Marlboro Light. I quit smoking in August and his stench now bothers me as the haze blows back into the office.

"So, what else ya know?" he says, trying to get my attention. Sometimes I am so disturbed that I have to point blank tell him that I am TRYING to write and could he please just give me a minute. I know it's rude, but half the time when he's talking I just nod like I'm listening in agreement with his meandering babble. Today he's ignoring me completely. Holdover.

Wednesday the bambino was with me at work and there was a point where he made a comment about the time to come when Snowflake has his first beer. Yes, I pointed out, that would be akin to the first blow job his daughter gives. He said it wasn't the same thing. It really steamed his clams, baby.

He actually told my father that "I" wasn't talking to him. WTF? He still hasn't talked to me this morning. He is so old school when it comes to grudges and I think it must be so stressful to be so angry and begrudging and rotten like that on the inside. Fuck that. Maybe this is why I am still single. I cannot handle the fragile egos of these poor babies called men. I refuse to kiss the ass of an asshole.

The thing is, Snowflake's Y is an alcoholic. My own father is a daily drinker but it's acceptable because he's made alot of money. One of my bothers had a drinking problem and died from an overdose of valium. I don't take this kind of funnin' towards my bambino lightly. I am a parent alone and it pisses me off to have to constantly fight the jackass comments people make because it is normal for them.

This little corner of the world is home to The Culture of the Drink. It permeates everything, weddings, baptisms, funerals, every single fucking holiday and everyday life. It is not uncommon to read court records involving people charged with their seventh and eighth drunk drivings.

Now he's answering ALL the phone calls, every s-i-n-g-l-e one. At one point he had BOTH cordless phones on his desk next to his desk phone. As an extra bonus, he's carrying a can of air freshener around to cover up his blowout ass stench. Sweet. He just sprayed some lilacy bullshit in his office. And he's all about the bullshit. Gee, I wonder why he's being so nice to me.


assholes, annoying coworkers, grudges, drinking, blowjobs, kids