Me: I know you don’t like to ride [on the back of my motorcycle] with me anymore, but you know I love riding two-up and I hope you don’t mind if I take the odd passenger occasionally.

Butterfly: No. … As long as they’re not naked.

Me: Oh you can rest assured that would never happen. I demand that all my passengers wear a helmet.

*drum fill*

Even the title makes me laugh.

I have, at this point, consumed the remainder of my bottle of Jack Daniels (after having consumed a fried fish Po’ Boy earlier), with a healthy dose of Diet Pepsi. I liken that combination to the consummation of a Pan Galactic Gargle  Blaster: about which, the Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy says:

Consuming a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a piece of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick.

Frankly, I don’t know if I got the quote right, because I’m seriously wasted. Ergo, I don’t much care if I did or didn’t. The point of this exercise is to determine if I can even come up with a coherent journal entry (I hate the word ‘blog’) when I’m very drunk.

I’m hoping I’ll rediscover this little gem during one of those nostalgic romps through my journal that a journaleer often takes when bored or distracted; maybe I’ll be sitting in front of the PC some weekend with nothing to do and read this entry and go ‘Holy %$&*#@!, I wrote that!?’

Anyway, I should get to it.

It’s the day before Thanksgiving, 2009. My Father-in-law, here from the other side of the country, hours earlier has told me something very upsetting (not about my beautiful Butterfly–something else entirely, which I won’t divulge here due to it being inappropriate for a public journal entry), and I’ve spent the vast majority of the day up in our bedroom moping about it. Moping like a little kid. And chastising myself for doing so.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter, to use another Douglas Adams-ism, a pair of dingo’s kidneys what anybody in the universe thinks of me, the marriage that my beautiful Butterfly and I share, or my ability to be a good husband. This is my second attempt at husbandry. It’s Butterfly’s third attempt at wife-ery. With any luck, it will be our last; we’re both pretty good at it by now, I think, having made most all of the mistakes along the way (separately, of course) that married people do. Thanks to our vast experience, we’ve worked through some pretty serious difficulties with love, caring, compassion, and understanding for one another that many copules in our position would be envious to enjoy. I’d very much like to think that, at long last, I have finally found my soul-mate, and she, hers.

I seem to have suffered the onslaught of in-laws that one is always forced to endure come holiday-time. And it is with a mighty slurp of the last of my Double Jack-and-Diet-Pepsi (heh–doubtless my second-line manager, a subscriber to my Facebook page [to which The Corsair Journal is cross-posted] is positively cringing at the mention that I have imbibed such a horrid concoction) that I share with you that I have dived, naiive and ill-prepared, into the waters that are my in-laws (I’m going to think that line is so damn corny when I’m sober).

Honestly, if one dares to put their private thoughts in a public space, then one should be thoroughly prepared to share with anyone who stumbles across those thoughts their state of mind when those thoughts were conveyed to the medium from which they were henceforth absorbed.

So let me ’splain. No, ees too much; let me sum up:

Butterfly’s previous husband, prior to me, will be convicted in the coming weeks in Federal court on charges of operating a Madoff-esque Ponzi schheme. Butterfly’s brother, cajoled by Butterfly’s ex into becoming a salesman for the “company,” is now–at the behest of the FBI and SEC–testifying against him, in exchange for a reduced sentence. Butterfly’s brother has not yet been remanded to Federal custody, but my in-laws fear he likely will be immediately following a sentencing hearing on Tuesday the 1st. Butterfly’s brother’s sentence, while not nearly as hefty as Butterfly’s ex’s (largely owing to both his reduced role in the alleged crimes as well as his cooperation with the Feds), will nonetheless be pretty substantial–in the several-years range.

Worse, Butterfly’s brother will be leaving behind a wife and very young son while he serves his time. And right now, the family has no idea where, or for exactly how long, that time will be served. The latter will be revealed at the hearing. The former, despite a request to serve sentence at FCI Miami, is really anybody’s guess.

Butterfly, naturally, is not feeling particularly wonderful about the fact that her brother’s association with her ex has had the unintended consequence of costing her brother his freedom.

It makes one’s head swim, if one were to think about it hard enough. It’s like a scene pulled from some absurd nightmare that even Danté wouldn’t buy tickets to.

So it seems that this is the last Thanksgiving (or major holiday of any kind, for that matter) that Butterfly, her brother, his wife and child, his Dad, Mom, nieces and nephews (and me, the lone in-law in this equation) will all get to spend together for who-knows how long. Butterfly’s Dad, hailing from the other side of the country, is staying here at our place until the hearing on Tuesday, and I couldn’t have been more happy to host him–that is, until today.

Naturally, there’s a little pressure associated with this situation (I do have a gift for understatement); and, due to it, Butterfly’s Dad–by his own admission, a crotchety old fart (his words, not mine)–said something to me earlier today that really, really caught me completely off guard and upset me very greatly.

Exactly what he said is not important. My job, given the circumstances, is to keep the peace. I’m fully cognizant of the gravity of this situation and I refuse to let some childish hurt feelings spoil what, as I have said earlier, could be the last family Thanksgiving dinner this family will enjoy together for G-d-only knows how long. I can’t control what he said, or how bad it stung, or how unfair I think it is that I feel I’m being punished for the transgressions of the man that Butterfly was married to before me. This is not about me.

This is about a family who is hurting because they are about to lose someone they love, for a long time. All I can do is support my Butterfly while that happens.

—

My beautiful Butterfly is lying next to me right now, deep in blissful slumber, as I write this rambling treatise. She loves me just as much as I love her–and for that love I am more grateful than one can imagine; I think she knows how proud I am of her, and she has made abundantly clear how proud she is of me. We cling to one another though the great goings-on that take place around us.

My place is clear. My duty is clear.

And maybe this entry, despite the pretenses under which it started, has turned out more lucid than I thought it would.

I know it’s been a while, and I made a couple of entries previous to this, but Butterfly and I went to the Food and Wine Festival at EPCOT Center at Walt Disney World Orlando over the weekend.

Wow. What an amazing variety of food! We ate our way all the way around the world of nations, both garnering personal favorites: Laura’s was the empanada she had at Brazil, with a close second being the Etouffé she had at New Orleans. This was a personal favorite of mine as well; however, my favorite was France–with Escargot baked into tiny pastries and braised boneless beef ribs, topped off with chocolate crème brûlée–absolutely scrumptious.

I’ve been going to EPCOT for years–however, it was on this trip, late into the evening on Saturday, that I discovered that the Mexico pavilion had a ride! Butterfly had asked me if I wanted to go on the Mexican boat ride–”They have a ride?” I exclaimed. It’s kind of cute, too–sort of a Mexican version of “It’s a Small World,” but showcasing only Mexico, and starring the Three Caballeros–Donald Duck and two other birds. Wikipedia says the ride used to be El Rio de Tiempo (The River of Time)–which I think I would’ve liked better than what they turned it into, apparently, in 2007. But hey, anything to keep the kiddies entertained, right? I mean, hell, who actually needs to learn stuff anymore? *sigh* Oh Walt, man, I miss you… You would’ve killed the executive who even proposed defacing the ride like that… I’d better stop, before I have to add the “Rants and Raves” tag to this entry…

In any case, not only does Mexico have a ride, but they also have a beautiful restaurant inside the pavilion, too–made up to look like a Mexican marketplace at night. Simply stunning. I’m sorry I never went in there before, and will have to return with Butterfly to go to the restaurant.

We also got the opportunity to go on Spaceship Earth–without question my favorite ride at EPCOT (call me nutty). Siemens AG took over sponsorship of the ride, and with that came some fetching new ride redesigns, but more evolutionary than revolutionary. And while Judy Densch does a respectable job as current narrator, nobody will ever fill the shoes, in my opinion, of the first narrator of Spaceship Earth–the venerable Walter Cronkite.

I finally got to get a vacation alone with Butterfly for the first time in over two years. That was neat–we sure needed it. Butterfly’s mom was gracious enough to stay at our place and watch T-Rex for us. That’s the last time we will ever let that happen. She brought her two incredibly obnoxious malteses with her, who pissed and shit all over my fucking house. God I hate dogs–especially her dogs. Next time we ask her to watch T-Rex overnight, we’re going to take him to her place.

After a little less than two years on the job at the government agency which shall remain nameless, Butterfly was promoted to manager! Yay! She will be responsible for managing the team from which she was promoted.

She’s got a fantastic work ethic and a really good head on her shoulders. I just know she’ll be wonderful!

With the increase in responsibility comes an increase in salary (naturally); nothing gigantic, just a little bump–and as a manager, her employer picks up 100% of the cost of our health insurance. Schweet! The biggest perk, though: she ditches the cubicle for her own office! She moves in on Monday.

So now we have a house full of managers! Wheeee! That’s okay–we’ll manage. *Drum fill*

Welp, I’ve officially retired from doing the Thursday night Karaoke show. I gave KJ German all of his equipment back a week or so ago.

I’ll miss it, but I missed Butterfly and my family more, and I missed not being exhausted on Friday morning.

No, really.

Butterfly and I have worked all day long moving appliances around. I rented an open trailer from U-Haul; we got a new washer, dryer, refrigerator, and big-screen TV–all from Butterfly’s ex’s house.

What the heck; he won’t be needing them for about 10 to 15 years…

…and oh boy is it yummy!

I thank God every day that I have access to Butterfly’s culinary genius.

I had to skip my show last week–Butterfly had just gotten released from the hospital last Thuraday after having her gallbladder removed, and I thought it prudent to stay home with my baby and take care of her.

So far, I’ve had no less then six people come up to my stand and tell me “Gee, [Corsair], we sure did miss you last week! We hope your wife is feeling better!”

That’s neat. It’s good to be missed. And my beautiful Butterfly is doing just fine, thanks sending along your wishes.

My poor Butterfly went under the knife on Wednesday afternoon to remove her gallbladder; She had a really bad gallbladder attack on Monday, sending her to the hospital, after which she wasted absolutely no time booking surgery to get it outta there. She’s pretty sore, naturally, but thank goodness they perform this type of surgery laparoscopically these days–back when I was a little kid, my mom had hers out and they had to fillet her open to do so. Butterfly will be out of commission for a day or so, while my mom was laid up for six weeks.

I’m at the hospital with her, coping with my massive hospital phobia focusing on the fact that I’m with my Butterfly. Fortunately, they have WiFi access here, so I’m making this post from her bedside.

I have taken home the ultimate BlueBehemoth souvenir: an actual cubicle!

When BlueBehemoth first closed its site here in South Florida and moved its personnel to several leased buildings in the area, they had to buy all new furniture for the refugees newly-moved employees. This Knoll cubicle is part of that original shipment.

Used by BlueBehemoth from 1996 to 2001, it changed hands when my current company was spun off from BlueBehemoth, and has served the spin-off for years. However, over those years, my company steadily shrank and headcount dwindled;  consequently, this particular cube had been sitting unoccupied at my office for several years–ultimately becoming a home for wayward marketing materials.

Now, with my current office consolidation, this cubicle became surplus–and given the glut of office closings due to the economy, brokers who deal in used office furniture and fixtures have found themselves with a huge surplus on their hands. Consequently, we have several cubes that we can scarcely give away.

So I decided to snag this one.

Here it is in my loft on the second floor of my house.

Aah, these were the days.

Even when I worked at BlueBehemoth, I only sat in a cube for less than a year–I moved into the lab shortly after my hiring, and now I have my own office.  However, I sat in one remarkably similar (and across the way) when I contracted for my current company with Thyme back in 2006.

Now that my oldest stepson has moved out and gone up to college, we moved T-Rex into his very own room (something he’s absolutely thrilled about), making way for me to move this cubicle into the loft. Believe it or not, dis-assembly and re-assembly of the cubicle was actually not at all difficult. The only two tools I needed were a Phillips-head screwdriver (for the desk), and a 5/16th Allen wrench for the walls. Everything else was snap-on, including the power, which I was able to wire into a neat 110v knife-plug and plug into the receptacle in the floor of the loft. And it was a one-man job, to boot: I dismantled it, loaded it into the truck, got it home, brought it up the stairs, and reassembled it–almost completely solo. About the only help I got was from Butterfly, who helped me wrestle the long-side desktop out of my truck and into the garage. I took it from there.

Before I acquired this primo piece of office real-estate, my “office” was relegated to a 6×6-foot walk-in closet in my bedroom–which I had to share with my wardrobe. Hardly the place to build and maintain computers, which I do at home on a semi-regular basis.  Now I have room to spread out and build machines to my heart’s content.

It should be noted that as much as Butterfly loves me, she hates this gray-and-green monstrosity in the house. But she is happy that I finally have an actual office that isn’t the size of a phone booth.