The lunch break conundrum

I have been put into a sour mood.  Twenty minutes into the official start of business, my manager calls me into his office.  I got chewed out, because I had left at 4:55 p.m.; a spineless, high-maintenance teammate needed* wanted to get in contact with me, and when he couldn’t get ahold of me on my office line, instead of calling my work cell phone, which he has done so in the past, he instead called my manager to inform him that I had apparently left unreasonably early.

*“need” would imply it was something important and essential, but rest assured this particular matter was not

I used the phrase “official start of business” in the preceding paragraph to emphasize the fact that despite more or less starting my workday getting chewed out, I had actually been in the office closer to forty minutes.  This is often times the case, that I arrive to the office earlier than 8:00 a.m., because I’m generally of the work ethic that “early is on time and on time is late,” and for whatever reasons, the county schools down here aren’t on any sort of schedule, so I like to leave early to compensate for the various times in which I might get stuck behind a school bus, so that I am not actually late.

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I don’t know what to do anymore

Picture unrelated.  I just wanted to post it, because it’s pretty incredible to see Ed O’Neill reprise Al Bundy for a photograph, and Sofia Vergara absolutely kills it, dressing up as Peg.

For the better part of the last two weeks, my time after work hours has been spent, either doing more work for work, entertaining guests, communicating with family, or editing the massive number of pictures I took from Dragon*Con.

Just the other day, I finally finished the last of the pictures to edit, and have queued them up for eventual posting to the brog.  My current assignment at work has begun winding down, and I’m no longer getting calls or emails at 10 pm, asking me to “make some quick edits,” and the matters concerning my family are a whole lot of waiting games, so there’s little sense in needing to fret for every other minute of the days.

That being said, I don’t know what do with myself anymore.  It’s felt like it’s been so long since I had complete freedom to sit around and do nothing again.  I stood around for a moment after I got home from work and went on my usual after-work jog and ate some dinner, wondering just what the heck I was going to do for the rest of the night.  I mean, the possibilities felt a little endless, since I’m behind on wrestling, House of Cards, and there are things collecting on my DVR that I’ll eventually want to watch.  I’ve got video games that I haven’t even touched that I’m debating on giving some attention to as well.

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Amateur thoughts on MayPac and the future of boxing

I’m one of likely millions who were more or less disappointed with the result of the much-anticipated Mayweather-Pacquiao fight.  To no surprise, Mayweather won via decision after 12-rounds, like he’s won the five fights prior to Pacquiao, which I pretty much predicted, if he didn’t outright knock him out in an early round.

I don’t know much about the technical aspect of boxing, but it’s still a sport that I enjoy watching, so I’m sure I’m very subject to criticism about my thoughts that I’m writing now.  But the fight was boring, because of the uber-defense tactic employed by Mayweather, and the fact that he fired basically fewer than 50 strikes, as opposed to only throwing punches in counter to the numerous blows fired by Pacquiao.

The fight was pretty much decided by the fifth round, when the constant updates of the score gradually updated Pacquiao’s inability to connect with blows in spite of throwing so many, and the monumentally higher accuracy in which Mayweather was connecting, because he only threw punches in defense basically.  It was agreed upon with the people I was watching with that if Pacquiao didn’t outright knock out Mayweather, it was just a ticking countdown until Mayweather was going to be declared the winner.  And naturally, Mayweather turtled himself to victory by basically dancing around Pacquiao for the remaining 21 minutes.

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Why I hope the Spurs win it all

Not that I pay a tremendous amount of attention to the NBA, but it’s almost impossible to ignore when some awful four-lettered “sports channel” is on just about everywhere from the gym to various restaurants.  That being said, I was astutely aware that as of right now, half of the NBA Finals is set, with the San Antonio Spurs securing their spot in the finals.  Meanwhile the Heat and Pacers are duking it out in the east, to see who will oppose them for the championship.

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One of those feelings

With as much travel as I’ve done over the prior two weekends, with hundreds of pictures to process, and thousands of words to brog, I finally feel like I’ve caught up to everything finally.  I’d been sitting down at my computer at home, or computer at work, or my laptop anywhere else trying to plug through a list in a text file that I’ve gradually whittled down throughout the last two weeks, and just this weekend, I’ve officially completed the list.

Now, it’s one of those feelings where it’s almost kind of hard to believe that I’m done with it all.  For once, I don’t have a jotted down note, written many days ago, reminding me of what I need to write.  It’s like I’ve forgotten what this feels like again, and I have no direction.  But I’m sure such will dissipate quickly the moment the inspiration to write strikes when I see the right stimulus.

A feeling of validation

For my office’s holiday potluck party, I contributed a giant-sized side of chips and my homemade guacamole.  I’ve been making it for a few years now, and all my friends and acquaintances seem to like it fine, and I happen to think it’s pretty decent too.  But it was to the test, being served up to 30 or so of the people in the company I’m currently working for.  It was during this test that I kind of learned that maybe it’s pretty good on a slightly larger scale sample.

One of the IT guys is Spanish.  I have no idea to what his specific ethnicity is, but it’s clearly Spanish.  At one point, as he was going through the line, he remarked about how there was guacamole available, and asked who made it.  I said that I did, and watched as he took a heaping serving of it, with a fistful of chips.  I told myself “man, I hope he likes it,” which was a relative feeling, but applied more to this guy because he was Spanish and much like people would assume of my judgment of Korean food, I was hoping my guacamole would warrant his seal of approval.

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A stroll through Springfield Mall, circa 2011

There’s really not a whole lot to do anymore, these days. If I don’t already have something to do, some chore, some engagement, or some task that already needs to be done, I’m typically crippled by boredom and not knowing what to do with my day.

This epidemic seems to be three times as bad up in Northern Virginia, in my old stomping grounds. There really isn’t anything to do up here, like at all. Maybe I’m at the age where there doesn’t feel like there’s anything to do outside of the house or work these days in general, but it seems compounded while I’m up here. So Huzzard and I decided to go talk a walk through Springfield Mall, which was the place to go throughout our teenage years.

I mean we all saw it happen, and we know how it happened and that it was happening, but damn, words can’t really express just how much the place has died. Thankfully, there are pictures. The fact that it’s still open at all is pretty amazing in its own right, but at this point, it would probably best if the place were humanely euthanized than go through existence like this.

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