For Anyone Who Says They Can’t Find a Job

I’m sitting in the lobby of a hotel. Due to an agreement with work, I can’t really specify where I am and who for. I have a tendency to speak my mind about a variety of subjects that I might or might not know much about. From a corporate standpoint, it’s fine, I guess–if your vocabulary includes Political Correctness or Diversity.

You know exactly how I feel about such things.

So I need my laundry cleaned. It’s usually once a hitch where I can’t hold out any longer and I need to have it done. I usually find a laundromat or a local place to do it myself. It’s a nice practice to type while your clothing gathers suds.

Not so much where I am. Let me say that I am a city guy. I don’t really like to club or to have all the citystink that goes with urban areas. But what I have issues with is one-hotel towns in the patch that feel they are entitled to my silver.

I don’t appreciate shitty food at high prices. I don’t like local trollops that want to have my warm spray in their hoo-hoo for the sake of future paternity suits. I don’t like Chamber’s of Commerce which want to jack the prices up on travelers needs.

Let me just state that I do like 24 hour laundromats. I do like police that don’t overstep their bounds and invalidate their oaths. I do like having services being available. I’m not even asking for Romanian hookers.

But when we don’t have the most basic of needs, because the hotel coin laundry has been busted since your second born was walking, it makes you upset. I was here last year, and they didn’t have coin laundry.

What they do have, is an exclusive (excessive) service. For twenty dollars a load, you can have them clean and fold it for you (I always laugh when I hear someone try to impress me with folding services). Thanks to the new uniforms of my work, it’s usually three onesies and you add your soap. So I hand in my sea bag, estimating three loads of laundry.

I am pissed to be out more than forty for laundry. This is bollocks. This one-horse town pisses me off because no cellular service is better than one or two bars of reception. The community laundromat is across town and we aren’t allowed to drive the van ourselves to do store visits or get basic necessities or do laundry runs. Plus it doesn’t open until later, cutting into valuable sleep time.

As I’m contemplating this, furious at how incapable I am at doing simple things on my schedule. I’m also pissed at the level of give-a-shit the clerk has. He has no salesmanship. He has no courtesy. He’s a pimply, skinny, liberal, and his contempt for those that need his assistance is noteworthy here. And on the corporate line.

The clerk is counting change while I’m waiting to be helped. He isn’t acknowledging me. He isn’t asking me to be patient. The counter bell is two inches from my hand, and I’m fighting an aneurysm to not snatch it and beat it until the dinger rings against his medulla oblongata with a fountain of blood only Dexter could love.

Such violent thoughts.

So as I avert my eyes and avoid confrontation. Three more days and I’m down to one outfit. I can’t skimp. I need to get these washed. I give him my name and room number and sulk.

Until I changed out my Samsung for my new Apple product, I had a number of a woman who was not romantically interested in me, but wanted to friendzone me. She lived here in this one-horse town. Our last conversation being one that made me happy to be in the friend-zone.

And I guess I could interchange one for another or another. Anytime I’m south of I-37 my geographic snobbery kicks it up a notch. It doens’t matter if I’m in Laredo or Encinal or Three Rivers or Jourdanton. South of the I-37 border and you see me reaching for ear buds to down out the tejano.

I think about calling FZ-lady and seeing if she’d like to earn forty dollars. Then I think about it again. The possibility of sex is really low, the overhanging cloud of her moodiness is a constant. Sounds like this hotel earns my sixty dollars by default.

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Searching for Americana, at Harmony’s Whimsy

So last month’s big surprise to me was that some people will lie to get what they want. Long story short, I got over it. And just because I can say I forgive her, it doesn’t mean that today’s ‘friend request’ on social networking will be answered by anything but a resounding, “no.”

On with it, and we are.

I’m Bruce Lombardo, and I’d like to tell you a little about me. I grew up in Central Illinois. I attended a Methodist religious environment. My parents are blue collar and we were close to Decatur, Illinois. After I graduated WLHS by the skin of my teeth, I served the nation in the USN.

Fast forward to 2011, and I’m moving back to Texas. I served close to where I lay my head at night. I struggle at first, ignoring the economy based around energy services. My family forgives me as long as I can figure a way out of this spot in life.

Once I go into the energy services, I discover exactly why I moved to Texas. I spent sixteen years out of the military in the state of Illinois, seeing only small increases in wages and sharp increases in cost of living. Here, I triple what I made in my home state easily.

This last month, I’ve tried to do what I can to gather myself economically from a poorly-thought out vacation. Finally I feel like my feet are on the ground properly. I had one last piece of work left from Illinois and when I saw that it wasn’t going to cut it, I felt like, “okay, it’s time to live your life, Bruce.”

And I feel like I am. While I’m working 140 hours or more in a two-week period, when I’m away from work I feel like I actually have an existence, which many friends envy. I have the nomadic lifestyle going on, town-to-town, hotel-to-hotel, then back on days off. I thank YHWH/God every time I get the chance to wake up.

What I am missing from my life is the romantic companionship, and I haven’t had anything serious for almost seven years. Even that was poorly thought-out and implemented. Now mind you, for ten years of my life, I dated two of the nicest women who are with someone else now–that’s how life works. The void of expectancy in their absence has me figuring out finally, that I won’t get that level of relationship, if I keep looking for them. I realized that I wasn’t going to find anyone worth keeping if I tried any degree to find her, myself. Those ‘special ones’ are never around when you’re randy or needy. It takes a special catalyst to generate that element in your life.

By that token, I wasn’t going to live the same life my parents have romantically and emotionally. They met and were married in four months, still married-in-love after four decades. To my knowledge, my father, before his forced retirement, only had a handful of nights not sleeping in his own bed next to his wife.

I’m not slated for that to happen in my youth. My twenties were spent like many people’s teen years and thirties were spent trying to figure out how to get blood from a rose (Illinois, again). As it is, I’m happily looking at another seven months and I turn forty.

Forty. Only in number and name does that actually hit me. I don’t have any kids which have sprouted horribly fast in front of me or in my absence. I don’t have nearly as many pains as others my age, but they are there (and will probably get worse if I gain more weight). That’s really the only thing I want to do is drop my size. My current lifestyle isn’t going to do anything for me but show me the tastiest barbecue joints before my John Candyism. So as much as I like what I do, some modification needs to be made. but forty. How in the hell did I resign sixteen years to mainly living with my parents and finally outside of Peoria, Illinois?

No, no. Let’s not diagram this. I don’t need Madden stepping in my head with Frank Caliendo doing the best impersonation ever on how I was comfortable having that life. In fact, while I really do miss some folks from my previous life, I don’t see myself flying up or driving up to see them on occasion sans family illness.

From my previous life, the only thing I want is another Schnauzer. Two, actually. Furry little bastards is what they really are. Opinionated furry little things that train you as an owner to behave ‘like this’ so they have a place to sleep at night. I shouldn’t put my wish list on here like this, but I don’t see you people writing my blogs.

Where does this put me?

I’m thinking as much as I honor and love my parents, I’m not living their life. I’m not going to have their life. I have to put my own feet in motion and have no expectations. And while I am far from home, I must say, that I’ve never felt more comfortable in my life. Things are in harmony when I glance around to see my progress.

Like those innocent moments where you can hear the music to your favorite song or piece starting. As I edit on book three further, I feel at times the music in my life, the anacrusis is right *there* under the mathematic theory of the clock. You can hear it when you are embraced by what is taking place. You can see the pieces in motion, falling into place.

That’s how this last ten days has felt. From stillness I have momentum.