Don't Mess with Steve

There I am trying to navigate the stormy waters of a contract negotiation for my vast time and energy I put in here at ACNS. You would think this type of thing would go smoothly, you know, since I currently don't get paid anything for my witty and wise words. I'm not asking for much, maybe just a weekly pay"box" of Little Debbie Brownies.

But as I'm sitting there peacefully talking with the CEO(Lucas) trying to scratch out the finer details of the arrangement, I feel the searing pain of claws digging deep(okay, really it was just a few light scratches) into my forearm. Well, well it looks like we have a third party in the negotiations I didn't know about, that would be Vice President of Operations (aka Steve). Needless to say the downturn in the negotiations left me with few options in getting what I felt I rightly deserved (Little Debbie brownies) ... well that, and one large pain-filled tear.

What was I to do? Let me list out my options for you.

1. I could write a complaint to HR, citing employee abuse. But guess who sits on the review board for those complaints? That's right, Lucas and Steve.

2. I would attempt to write a letter to my congressman, but guess who runs the mail room? You would be right again, Steve. And don't try to tell me he doesn't scan those letters for fishy(ha, get it) content!

3. Or ... I could slink back home to fulfill my quota of ACNS posts, so I can attempt to avoid getting verbally and emotionally scolded again by my manager ... Steve.


So for now it doesn't seem as if those sweet walnut-topped plastic-wrapped 12-squares-in-a-box Little Debbie brownies will be coming my way. But next time I can muster up enough gumption to take on Lucas and Steve, I'll be back. See you in a couple years!

This post just serves as a warning for those who dare challenge the powers at be. They will lure you in with some nice talk about being friends, Little Debbie brownies, and other nice sounding what-nots, then when you least expect it .....

... be afraid.

Settling In

Well, Steve, Bill & I have taken the plunge. We've up and moved into an actual house from our 1 bedroom apartment where we shared an XL Twin bed. Bill & I would sleep head to toe with Steve wedging his way in between us with his butt right in Bill's face. Bill didn't like it at first, but I think he got used to it, and he's having a hard time adjusting in the new house with his own room & bed. He'll survive. I think.

In any case, we're all moved into the new house. It's set in a quaint, post-war era neighborhood, where a stroll in the park across the street reminds one of the days of past innocence where your neighbors actually knew your name and AM radio was the evening entertainment. A flashback to the days when people actually cared about each other.

Last night, after a hard day's labor in finally unpacking the rest of our belongings and debating their rightful places in the house, Bill & I decided that we are in love...with the new house (not THAT!!!). The extra space affords each of us the opportunity to get away from each other and "do our own thing". We also decided to get rid of the devil-incarnate cable box and go with broadcast TV. To be honest, I don't miss it one bit. We'll still be able to watch football on the weekends, and since the TV is in the basement, we'll be able to watch from our sweet dive bar in the basement, complete with wood paneling and 70's "velva-print" posters. Here's a pic:

Steve loves the new house too. There's plenty of sinks for him to lay in and now he doesn't have to wedge in between anybody to put his butt in Bill's face. We went outside yesterday and I don't think he liked it so much. Birds just fly away when you try to lay down next to them butt-to-beak.

The only negative aspect of the house is the park across the street. The park itself isn't a negative, in fact it's a neutral entity - neither good nor bad. I mean the teenage hoodlums that have adopted the spot directly across the street from our house as their own little weed-smoking haven. The pre-owned (slightly used!) hypodermic needles they leave in the play-area next to it give it that sense of unpredictability regarding whether or not you'll contract an STD on any given day. It's an adventure, but at least it keeps me on my toes - primarily because I stepped on one with my heel the other day and it hurts to walk on it now.

I guess I've found a new way to pass the time - I'm calling my city council-people (sarcastic PC-term!!) and calling the cops on these kids every chance I get, because I'm determined to make my neighbors like me. I think it's a good start to hopefully a long stay at a new home.

Yet ANOTHER New Contributor!

After much internal debate between Brian and myself, we have decided to expand our team of bloggers to a whopping 3! Although the economy is still in the dumps, and our profit margins here at ACNS are already low, Brian and I offered to cut our own salaries in order to bring Justin Egan in as a member of the team. This blog isn't about the money, it was never about the money. It's about real people talking about real things, for your reading pleasure.

Justin is a great guy with some fantastic insights. I'm giving both him and Brian free reign on whatever they would like to post about, be it sports, weather, news, community involvement...etc. Anyway, we're pleased as hell to have Justin with us, and I hope you give him a chance!

On another note, we'd love to hear some more feedback on what you read. We want to know what you're thinking about what we think. Comment away & tell your friends!

~Lucas

Moving! (This time for realsies)

My close friends and family can attest to the fact that I am a flip-flopper. I get these wonderful ideas in my head and then tell everybody I know about my plans, only to come back a few weeks later confusing those who don't know the way I operate. For example, I was all set to go to Arizona for recording school earlier this year. I had such perfect plans, but they were quickly annihilated by my more-high-maintenance-than-a-teenage-girl car and the various physical ailments & injuries that kicked in to thankfully save me from making what would most likely be a terrible investment in my financial & emotional health and future.

Bill and I are moving, except this time it's different. We have agreed to move to a vacant house owned by my dad's side of the family, most recently occupied by my uncle, who has moved into an assisted-living home. While the actual living space in this new home is not much more than my current apartment, it will be nice to have a house with that extra space & some outside room for Steve to run & explore without the fear of him getting shot by the drug dealers down the street or hit with a broom by the Greek lady a couple doors down.

While we haven't finalized the date when we'll be out of our current apartment, I can safely say it will be in the next month or so that Bill, Steve & I will be shackin' up in our new digs. If you would like to volunteer to move all of my stuff while I "supervise & delegate", I will pay you with compliments for a solid 5 minutes. Additionally, for all you out of town readers, I'll up that to 7 minutes. Where else can you go to feel so good about yourself?

It's Vet Time!

There's not many things that compare to this time of year. Steve had his first birthday in June, which I feel bad for mentioning now, because I completely missed the coverage of the birthday bash/shindig/box social that I threw for him in celebration of our lives merging in an accidental collision course of blissful companionship.

Although everyone I know absolutely loves Steve, they failed to show it by not sending a card, or calling, or dropping by to say hi - except one person...or company rather. He did recieve a birthday card from the vet letting me know that it was time for them to give him a checkup and update his shots and check out stool samples and all of those other completely relaxing activities that cats do for their birthdays.

If you can't tell, I'm pretty excited to be getting Steve out of the house/yard area and out into the world for once. I know he loves car rides (LIE) and he especially loves it when the vet puts him on the scale to weigh him and then holds him down to stick him in the side with a needle. To top it all off, he'll get a nice violent nail trimming.

We'll see what happens, but I bet that Steve won't be cuddling with me tonight!

A Roommate Named Bill

A Roommate Named Bill is finally off the ground! I was able to finalize the contract for the domain name last night after nearly a month of price-haggling with it's original owner Dwayne Noisewater, who moved out of his house and now owns the domain name I Live By Myself Now. We were finally able to find some common ground other than the fact that we both have lived with roommates named Bill. He also has a cat named Stefan, but his cat is ugly, so I couldn't relate to that.

Either way, the site is up and running, and ready for you to read. I'm having my web designer mess with the layout a bit, but cash has been a little tight lately since I purchased the domain, so once I am able to build the funds back up to pay my guy, he should have a sweet layout set up for me. If you would like to donate his $20 flat fee to help me finish the design, I won't complain - just paypal me the money and wait for that site to be updated.

Anyway, I should get back to work. Let me know what you think of the new blog - I'll still be updating regularly here, so bookmark both of my sites!

You keep it real Mexico!

Bloggin' About Bill, Steve...Hair Plugs

I'm thinking about starting a sister-blog to this one entitled "A Roommate Named Bill". The entire subject matter would be to chronicle daily the efforts of a roommate, his high points and not-so-high ones. Just think, you could have the opportunity to read about biking, washing dishes, Jon & Kate Plus 8, Regina Spektor and the occasional amazingly weird food choices that share my living space and share a large chunk of my friendships.

I was also thinking about creating a blog where I would only write about Bill and Steve and their interactions between each other. It would be epic to hear the stories of the belly rubs that Steve gives Bill when Bill lays down on the living room floor and stretches...Wait, I think that's backwards.

Either way, since this blog is mainly reserved for Steve-related stories and my own personal reflections, I was considering starting one or both of these other blogs to further appease the appreciative niche in my readership, and really pursue all of them with a sort of direct marketing strategy to satisfy their individual tastes and preferences in recreational blog reading.

Let me know what you think about this idea. Maybe I'm overlooking an even greater idea that could make me wealthy beyond all recognition for my ingenuity and mind-blowing insightfulness.

On a completely separate note, my sister suggested this weekend that I look into hair plugs because my hair is getting a little thin on top. I think she's got a really good point and I'm going to have to look into that for realsies. NOT! I'll let you be the judge of my hair situation.

Fathers Day

So, I know this is a scam - not Fathers Day, that's a good thing. I'm talking about what I received in the mail today. I got a Fathers Day card this year for the first time. It said "Happy Fathers Day from the GREATEST (and best) CAT IN THE WORLD! (I added the text in the parentheses...tribute). It had a paw print in the card as the signature, and to be honest, it really didn't look like Steve's.

The way I REALLY know it's fake is the way it was delivered. I think if it was actually Steve, he would have handed it to me while he headbutted me tomorrow morning in search of fresh food and the bathroom faucet turned on so he could drink some water.*

*For those of you who don't know, Steve only drinks running water out of the bathroom sink. He's weird, I know, but that's the only way Bill will drink it too, I think Steve learned to crawl in the sink from Bill.

Regardless, I think that Steve probably has something pretty nice planned for me tomorrow. I'm thinking an affectionate claw to the eyeballs or a hairball planted on the floor where I can't see it, but I'll probably step on it would be just wonderful.

So, whoever sent me that card, nice try...it was a noble effort, but I know you're not really my cat.

Steve's New World

I know this would appear contradictory to the evidence on my armes and legs of the viciousness of Steve, but I have come to the conclusion that he is a giant wuss. I have realized that much of his aggression is fear-driven, although I have no clue why - I only kick him hard once a week or so. (KIDDING) (but not really)

On Friday after work, I was spending my first hour at home winding down by hanging outside on my front porch with a Hudy Delight and the cheapest frozen burgers that Kroger offers. My housemates decided to enjoy the beautiful evening with me and we took turns grilling the burgers and cutting our forest of a front yard with the prototype of the first reel mower ever concieved (you know, the ones that don't have a motor and the blades turn when you push it). The neighbors gathered around to comment on our artistic grass cutting styles and the fact that I had green feet from pushing the mower without any shoes on.

Amidst all of this, one of us had left the front door ajar, and Steve, being the curious fellow that he is, decided that he would like to join the porch party. Normally, I wouldn't be game for letting the little fellow wander around un-controlled outside for fear of him running away or being hit by a car, but for some reason, I was ready to oblige his interest and curiosity.

Initially, he cautiously sniffed and tip-toed (as cats are wont to do) around the porch and fron-yard shrubs in search of the meaning and purpose of his new surroundings. Nice dirt spots could be used for burying certain things, like things very personal (bad choice of word - he's not a person...cat-ional?) to cats and their digestive functions, plants could be used for making invisible olfactory walls with dual purpose - to attract female felines and deter the competition. His world slowly expanded as he ventured past the property line and saw the bird feeder in the neighbors' yard...fast food, as he would call it.

Every day since then, because he has stayed close to home and has always been back in time for dinner, I have let him out to explore, make new friends, and feed his primordial instincts to kill. he killed a bird on Friday, and he made me proud. Somehow, even though I have no experience in looking like prey, I have prepared this young squire to successfully hunt and fend for himself. My confidence in him began to skyrocket, and I believed I had a true guard cat in my midst.

Last night, I returned home from work to spend some time on my porch in the untamed wilderness of The Price Hill. I eagerly awaited the opportunity to see my Steve stalk his prey and lay claim to his territory, but this time, we had company. Now, I had gotten Steve from a friend of mine who had gotten him from a little girl who had found him in the woods and decided that he needed a proper home. I assumed that he still had a smidgen of the feral spirit that dominated the first few weeks of his life; after all, he seemed to demonstrate that desire on a regular basis.

It wasn't long between the venture outside again for Steve and the moment he spotted his prey. A little finch-looking bird in the neighbor's yard eating the seeds on the ground from the overstuffed bird feeder hanging from the lower branches of a tree designed to create shade and privacy for the occupants of the house next door. Steve carefully plotted the best route to pounce on dinner and satisfy the carnal urge to taste raw game. In the midst of lowering his profile in the grassy knoll of the neighbors' front yard, the village stray, in that very moment, let out a hiss that would make Kaa from Jungle Book blush, which then caused Steve to run helplessly, tail between his legs, back to the safety of the porch. This happened 2 or 3 more times before Steve decided he wanted to head back inside where it was safe and air conditioned.

I struggle to fathom how an animal who decides to dominate his space around me can be so timid around a smaller, uglier animal than himself. I would think it's because he's unfamiliar with the new territory, but it doesn't seem like he has any problem killing birds. I just want the little guy to kick some ass, take some names and dominate the neighborhood. That would make me proud.