My phone started ringing a few minutes ago but I didn’t get to it in time. I didn’t recognize the phone number, although it looked oddly familiar. It began beeping to signal that I had a voice mail, so I checked it. A woman left a message asking if I was the plumber who’d called her, and if so, could I call her back by five?

I recognized the phone number. Last night I’d been having trouble finding her address so I called for directions.

Apparently, by this morning, she’d forgotten that I’d called, or her daughter had originally picked up, or what-have-you. In any case, “Are you the plumber?” is a much more welcome message than “Mother fucker, if you’re banging my wife, I’m going to fuck you up.” That one was fun, except I’d actually answered, so I was like, “Uh … I’m the pizza guy … you weren’t answering the door? So I called?”

“Oh, right. Hah. Sorry dude, hope I didn’t scare you.”

Not over the phone, but in person, if he’d greeted me that way, I’d've pissed my pants and when my bladder was empty, would’ve switched to pissing blood.

… is on CNN. They’re showing clips of some of his speeches. He just said that he hopes the voters remember in November which party cut taxes, and makes special point to remind folks that Democrats opposed tax cuts.

Yeah, the Democrats opposed tax cuts, because you’re spending more than you’re taking in, Mr. President. It’d be like me going out every month, spending $1500 on credit cards, when I can only pay $700 in payments, then using as a campaign slogan my desire to cut my credit card payments to $350!

Dumbass.

Instead of “Headline News” (or is that channel 59?) I get a thinkProgressiveDirect banner frozen on my tv from a misplayed commercial that ended five minutes ago. CNN, don’t you realize you’re not airing anything? I could change the channel, but I’d rather blog.

This is how I buy shoes.

I get up early-ish and drive to DSW in Hunt Valley. By my definition, “early-ish” is “before the lunch rush crowd”, so shortly after ten a.m. I parked in front of store, walked in, found the men’s section, found the sneakers, and identified the cheapest pair I could. I looked at the insert in my falling-apart-they-were-white-when-I-bought-them-but-are-now-dark-gray shoes, then picked out the box with the same size: 11.5. Perfect.

Then I walked to the front of the store, waited in line while a sweet trainee spent five minutes going through a lady’s purchases, apparently checking to make sure the sizes on the shoes matched with that on the box. When another person got in line behind me, a seasoned vet of the shoe retail biz came up from stocking and opened her register to check me out.

She didn’t check the shoe sizes. She didn’t say hello. She just pointed at the card reader and I swiped my card and signed.

“You have to resign. You signed too short.”

Okaaaay.

I resigned. When I sign, I put my first initial of my first and last names, then trail out a line all jiggy-jaggy across the digital reader. I wondered, “if my name was Joe Doe, if I signed it in full, would my name always be too short?”

Having my shoes bagged up, I left the store. I was in there less than ten minutes. That’s how I like to buy shoes, and willing, I won’t have to buy another pair for another year or so.

I don’t hate sleeping in on days off, unless I’ve got a lot of stuff I want to get done for the day.

For the record, here’s my “to do” list:

1. Clean my apartment
2. Buy new sneakers (my old left sneaker literally fell apart last night. Thank goodness for duct tape).
3. Go for walk.
4. Booko laundry.

It doesn’t sound like much, but you haven’t seen my apartment. You know how your mom used to say “Your room looks like a tornado hit it”? Well, my apartment looks like after the tornado left, a herd of cattle stampeded through it, followed by the retreating French army, topped off with a hurricane or five.

Maybe I’ll take photos. Not before and after, just after.

Anyway, it’s 9:30ish, and I’m awake. Okay, I’m awake, but lying in bed, butt naked (avert your mental gaze), the bedroom is hot so even though I’ve got a fan going, the blanket has long since been kicked off, and Tippy, who wanted to snuggle, got her hot furry self shoved off the edge with a surprised “Mrrew!”

But if I’d slept until eleven I’d wake up with a “shit, not enough time!” attitude and would’ve lounged around doin’ nothing, all day.

Off to the shower.

(I need to add “haircut” to my list. It’s a fucking mop and a half).

The Hunt Valley Industrial Park was created out of the bumwater of Cockeysville to attract industry from Baltimore City — namely, the McCormick spice company, which by my count, occupies close to half of the buildings in the park. They’ve got offices at 211 Schilling, 226 Schilling, three buildings on McCormick Road, at least two on Gilroy, and another on Beaver Dam. I’ve probably missed one or two. It’s not uncommon, on a busy day, to run out the door with a triple and go from McCormick to McCormick to McCormick.

Often, people from McCormick will call the Indy, and assume that when they say, “We’re at McCormick” we will magically know which McCormick building they’re speaking of. Hah. As if.

One of their office buildings was order free for several months. Or, at least, I didn’t take any deliveries to it. Friday was my first day out there since probably January, and I was a little surprised to walk in the glass doors and see a receptionist’s desk. Used to be you had to take the elevator up to the third floor to find the receptionist. Anyway, I walk in, and the receptionist — M. — is talking with another woman, but directs me to the courtesy telephone. I set down the pizzas on a side of the desk and try to dial the extension. There’s no answer.

I walk back over to the desk and joke with M. that I’m not used to her being on the ground floor. She remarks that, yes, it’s a rather new arrangement, but at least now she has big glass windows. That done with, I tell her that I can’t reach the woman who ordered the food, B.

The woman who’d been talking with M. looks like I slapped her with a codfish.

“I’m B.!” she cracks up. “Oh my, you must think I’m such an idiot, I am! I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour!”

Eh. It was a slow day and we had a lot of drivers working. I don’t tell her that, I just tell her we strive to exceed her expectations.