>The wife and I were mentioned as the Wedding of the Week story last week on the St. Louis Post Dispatch’s StlToday.com site. Since their links go bad after a few weeks, I cloned it and put it here on my site.
It’s weird having someone interview you and select quotes from what seemed like a normal conversation to assemble into a condensed version of events.
>Since I am angry, there are things I must address. My analyst says it would be healthy and wise.
To my landlady:
The grass is 3 weeks grown again. Tiny little trees are sprouting that Bob Ross would be proud of–god rest his soul. I refuse to pick up my dog’s dung anymore until it is cut, especially considering the insects that now inhabit the wilderness that is the backyard I put rent money towards. They got a healthy lunch in the form of my shins and calves.
In other news, a month and a day after my nuptials, the Don informs me that a week from yesterday will be my last with the company. The official word is that someone had to be downsized. The unofficial word is that, well, I guess my thoughts on that will wait until I separate from the company.
I did think though, as an observation, that downsizing usually skimmed from the bottom of the totem pole. Considering where I am on the ladder of seniority, that theory certainly wouldn’t work here. It makes one wonder who to believe and trust.
Since, being put it this lonely and awkward position by a company I put a good 9 months in for, I have no choice but to dissolve the Italian Retail Service, including the honorary Pinoy wing. This will take effect immediately.
Now what do I do during my lame duck week with the company? It feels strange putting forth effort for an organization that deemed me unfit, or too pooped to pop for them. Speaking of that, why is it that it is respectable for employees to give employers two weeks notice, but the employees are not given such respect? Rodney Dangerfield hit the nail on the head with a big ol’ Ludell sledgehammer.
Why must business be such a dirty thing? Why must drama and politics infiltrate every aspect of life? I know money has a lot to do with this, because profits are the bottom line. One guy goes, more money is saved. Riddle me this though…what happens to his money while the fat cats add more greenbacks to their bubbly money baths? I’m sure there are plenty more sob stories of those that were spared, but thinking of myself for a moment, I’m trying to start a new life here as a married man, and this is a hell of a fungus ridden foot to start it off on. To continue the analogy, whose gonna be my BOOM!–Tough Actin’ TINACTIN?
Save me John Madden.
This also makes me wonder, what do rich people dream about? Apparently our President has plenty of time to dream. It must be alot easier in positions of power, in which your decisions have no effect on your place in life, except maybe bringing you closer to all of those virgins in heaven. I only hope that if the virgins exist, that they are packs of angry nuns. And they’ll give them physicals too. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
Like it was for Corky on Life Goes On,
Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da, Life Goes On, whoa, la-la-la-la, Life Goes On.
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The happy Diabeto’s, now in married flavor!
, and now we are happily married.
An amazingly flush Diabeto and the Brothers Pinoy
I’d like to thank everyone that shared the occasion with us and those that wished us well. Even the Filipinos and that dirty old man I work with graced us with their presence. Special thanks to the Don for his gift of a set of stainless steel Knorks. We are forever indebted to him.
My babushka and I went on our honeymoon to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It’s great to forget about what time of the day it is, what day of the week it is, and who you are, all without having horribly much to drink. The only drawback is that I get patchy burns in the sun. You’d think my Italian blood would put me more on par with my Pinoy brethren, but my midsection ended up looking more like Gorbachev’s head.
And then it was back to the rat race of the IRS and our new married life. We’ll always have those asses though.
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I was married on Sunday to my gal of 5 years, Shannon. Can’t you tell from the look on her face that she wanted me? We’ll be away for awhile, so stay tuned for my return after the first week on June.
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When it comes to this point in someone’s life, one common question is “how did you kids meet?” I am starting a series of blogs, beginning with this one, to answer just that. You may be thinking that you don’t want to hear some long, sappy story of love at first sight and puppy dog eyes. You shant get that here. I give different stories for how we met. They are all true, but I can’t pick just one as the time we first met. It’s not fair.
I was down on my luck with the ladies back in early 2001. My buddy Josh had made some attempts to introduce me to ladies. We even tried spraying brandy on each other with a syringe before going to parties, so girls thought we were already drunk, but sadly it did not work.
One day he told me that the Sexy Mex and her friend Shannon were to come over my place. It was awkward because he was doing this for me and I had never met these gals before. To help myself relax, I decided to wear my official Diabetoboy helmet. I used it when I rolled down hills and performed comedic routines in it when my blood sugar went too low.
The girls arrived and I was quite taken by Shannon, the blonde. I’m not sure if Josh noticed this or not, but to lighten the mood, he decided it would be a good idea to have a lap dance contest amongst myself, him, and Chuck, a big boy that Josh worked with and that I knew from grade school. I don’t remember the songs played, but I know we were playing a lot of Tom Jones and Prince back then, so you can get an idea.
Josh and I showing off our mad skills
The other two schmucks were nothing compared to me. I stood on the couch over Shannon and shook what my Mother gave me (Happy Mom’s Day by the way). I even involved a prop. A device I acquired from my late Uncle John that looked like a corded phone base with a triangle shaped plastic piece corded to it came in handy. It was actually to be used for patients with pacemakers to phone their doctors and let the doc hear the unit. I enjoyed the “bleep” and “bloop” sounds it made though, so I rubbed it on my chest seductively as it made its music.
Needless to say, I won the contest, but after the scores were announced, Shannon withdrew my win and gave it to Josh, simply because she knew him better and felt weird about letting a stranger win.
I still won’t let her live that down, but I still got her in the end. And every once in a while, we will break out that noisemaking device for fun.
Jim Varagona 