Two weeks into playing “Unemployment: Round 2” and I haven’t even blogged once?

Shame on me.

How the hell can I be so selfish as to not (attempt to) entertain you? What have I been doing instead, lame-ass things like completely rewriting and redesigning my resume or possibly cleaning and taking care of the pets and house so when Sugar Mama comes home from making the bread she doesn’t have to do much?

Well, actually, yeah, that’s pretty much it. But I have been keeping some ideas in line to write about. I’ll try to do it once a week now until, well, until the Mayans tell us otherwise or until I have a job. Honestly, no matter what calendar you look at, I don’t know which will come first. Then again, I don’t know who that’s worse for, me, the one without an income, or you, the one who will have more of this junk to read. Let’s just toast to both of us with our beer (you really can’t tell me you don’t drink when reading this, can you?) and move forward.

—

So, there was a knock at the door this morning. A hard rap that came in place of the usual doorbell ring that now, after just a few weeks with us, sends Saydee into a frothy frenzy. She had exactly that reaction this morning when she heard the Jehovah’s Witnesses beating down the doors to our soul, er, house.

Now, the layout of the new Casa de Trickie is especially useful when you don’t want to answer the door. People on the front porch look straight back through the house, but if I sit on the couch, I don’t have to move and they won’t see me. So I can pretty much be a troll and not talk to anyone if I choose.

For whatever reason — potentially the safety of my door as the dogger went bolting down the hall without care for life or limb — I got up today. Sugar Mama was working at home and didn’t flinch a muscle as she’s already tuned into our normal way of neighborhood watching (from our asses), so it was on me. I came around the corner and pushed past the canine to get door and as I look out, who do I see?

Florence Johnston.

Okay, it probably wasn’t the Jefferson’s maid (full disclosure: I originally thought her name was Florence Henderson, but alas, they don’t have the same length hair), or the real-life Marla Gibbs, the actress. But damn if one of the ladies on the porch didn’t look exactly like her. She was about the same height, and definitely looked like her in the face and was about the same overall size. Could have been her, you know if she weren’t dead. Okay, another disclosure: she’s not dead. I just thought she was, but according to the Internet encyclopedia (ie my favorite word, Wiki), she actually is 81 years old and still pumping blood through her veins.

Florence’s friend was doing the talking though. I expected her to be singing the show’s theme song (which also would fit if Florence was dead):

Well we’re movin on up, To the east side.
To a deluxe apartment in the sky

This was going through my head in a horrible key of F-minus flat (I can’t sing for shit, so whatever the worst key is, that’s what’s going on in here) and I really didn’t hear what she had to say at first. Then it finally clicked that I better start listening before they get me to say something like “Yes, I’d love to go live with the struggling people of East Indonesia and help them overcome their inability to process red meats while building thousands of green bathrooms that decompose in 15 years into a new food substance” or some other Commie welfare state shit.

From that point, I had a hard time not laughing at the ensuing conversation:

Jehovah’s Witness with Florence Johnston: “… the world has so much stress. It’s really about trying to get rid of that stress that people need to focus. Why do you think there’s so much stress in the world?”

Me: [laughs sorta like a serial killer]

JWwFJ: “Do you have stress in your life? Have you thought about …”

Me: [Cuts Flo’s friend off mid-sentence] “I’m not really sure I’m the one you should be talking to about stress right now.”

JWwFJ: “Well, we all have it, and it was forseen. God …”

Me: [Again, cuts Flo’s friend off at the knees, but with more intent this time and while pointing at the bible in her hand that she started flipping to] “Yes, I’m sure we do. I know I do. Actually, I had so much stress that I just quit my job two weeks ago. Now I have this beautiful house and no income, and have a whole new kind of stress. Which is why I’m here at home at 10:40 a.m. to answer the door standing, unshaven, in my socks and the same t-shirt I’ve been wearing for three days. So I have that going for me, and again, I don’t think this is the best time for me to talk about stress, or you know, the other stuff you want to talk about in your book.”

It was at this point that I got “those eyes”. You know what I’m talking about, right? No? Okay, here’s a task. Go to Petco or your nearest animal shelter. Look into the cat or dog area, find the cutest animal you can and then snap a picture of yourself. That look, the one with “those eyes” where you’re saying “Awww, isn’t he cute, I should save him because he isn’t capable of taking care of himself, he might even just poop all over himself if I’m not there to show him where the litter box is.”

That’s the exact look I got from her, like I might shit all over myself if she didn’t save me right then.

Once I noticed the point we were at, I just politely took charge and let her off the hook.

Me: “If you don’t mind, since I really don’t want to talk about these issues, if you just have something you want to leave, feel free and then I’ll let you be on to maybe help someone else.”

JWwFJ: “Oh, yes, yes. That’s probably be good.”

She then fumbled pulling out two small magazines, the likes of which I’ll never look at, not because I’m not interested, but because I just found a new website called HappyPlace.com that I feel I must consume first. It definitely helps cut the stress.