Could Have Been a Tribute to Daft Punk

     I am working on a few other posts, mostly things that take a little longer to write out clearly.  Also, well, like I said when I began this, I have trouble keeping my writing going.  Especially since I am doing this at work, I find it a little hard to maintain.  DaVinci and I were planning on getting internet at the house.  Now that we aren't paying for health insurance, we can afford a few smaller luxuries (like buying fish instead of icky beef).  Unfortunately, the recession that's supposed to be over is hitting my industry, and I may not have a job much longer.  So, no extra bills (internet) until I find out if I'll even have a job by January. 

     In honor of my favorite blogger, Aunt Becky, I'm going to do this one in a few short and sweet bursts:

     DaVinci had his birthday this week.  He's a whopping 35 now.  We had sushi and it was delicious.  We are going out for drinks tomorrow night with friends.  I look forward to that.  It's going to be at the Rendezvous, which is DaVinci's favorite bar (and becoming my favorite).  I've already set up a deal with a cop friend of mine to give us a ride home after we are too drunk.  Lights and everything!  We rock!
     I have a fun relationship with my mom.  We are pretty open about everything (except the part about me cutting and things like that).  She and I have always been close.  I guess it's because, well, we are always around each other.  She bought the house DaVinci and I live in.  We were moving back home, and asked her to look around for rental properties.  She and my step-dad bought a house for us, and we pay the note/rent.  We have the option to keep it and stay, or she can rent it out if we decide to move away.  I also work for her.  That's right.  My mother is my landlord and my boss.  So, secrets about who's buying our company are flying around, and she's not keeping any from me.  It makes me nervous.  You see, where I work, it's technically three companies.  The big one, the moneymaker and favorite, is being sold.  Another might actually be for sale as well.  And we here have a lot of questions about who goes with which company.  Or who will be let go if the buyer fills positions with his own people.  I am paid by one, my mother is paid by another, and yet the girl I work alongside is paid by the third.  My mother is the golden child, go-to person, the alpha-omega of getting shit done at this place, and she does it for our three, as well as helps out three of the four others that are not in our building.  But she's an employee of the one definitely being sold.  I hope she stays.  I won't have a job if they let her go.
     I was late to work today because a cop stopped me for threatening to hit a pedestrian with my car.  The pedestrian was walking, and stopped- STOPPED!- in front of me just to be a jackass and interrupt my day.  I know this, because where I live, people do that all the time.  And I know I'm being racist, but it's what the black community does here.  [When your community totals more than 30% of a population, which the black community is here, you are no longer a minority.]  I struggle with racism here, because, A) I find whites in our area to be victims of it, but in our society only blacks are victims of racism anymore- and maybe Hispanics;  B) this area as a whole has given me no reason to appreciate the prison culture it has established;  C) I find myself becoming a bigot, and I am appalled by it myself.  DaVinci tries to make me remember that it's not black people whom I dislike.  It's the "prison culture" and attitude of our surroundings.  That's true.  I hate assholes regardless of color.  I hate ignorance and cruelty regardless of skin tone.  I hate people who buy brand names or decorate their cars like NASCAR racers just to be associated with a brand (I also hate NASCAR, politicians, and beauty queens).  Ignorance is rampant here, and it's not because people are a certain ethnicity.  But I still feel bad because I find myself judging people on that basis.  In all honesty though, I only feel bad when I'm wrong about a person, but feel justified when I am oh-so-often correct.  If you don't want to be treated like a stereotype, stop enforcing it.
     That's about all I really have for now.  Like I said, I lack the proper discipline to really be a blogger.