Face down in a puddle of pudding wearing a pointy hat and singing a song about goblins

First thing, the comment to the last all song lyric post, I must state that the maybe was a genuine maybe and I was not being coy. One can only assume in such an instance that the inference is a correct one, but unfortunately the old bean has failed to log that particular piece of information.
So, that taken care of, moving on.
Friday, went to the Wash for beverage and musical pleasurement. As is the usual course of events an old, unattractive, boring male made attempts to enamour himself into my good graces. As is also the case, he failed. I nearly knocked him off his chair when he sat and unabashedly stared at me throughout the course of an entire song. I was watching the goddamn performance. I did not wish to engage in conversation. But, in typical idiot male fashion (as if there is another kind-appealing tho I find some of them I give men no greater mental capacity than I give most women--I find all sexes equally dull) he watched me like I was the bloody seventh game of the bleeding World Series and the Mets were tied 5-5 in the bottom of the 9th with 2 men down and bases loaded. Made me want to beat him upside the head with a blunt object. Y'know, like a bat or something.
Right, so that was fun. The show was quite good really. Not too many people there, but what do they expect playing under that name?
First chance I saw I dislodged myself from the conversational grip of the suitor of the moment. Thank goodness for T coming over to say hello. I hadn't seen her in a lifetime, and yet she lives in the hood. Well, everyone that is cool does.
The rest of the evening I sat at the edge of the bar. Nursing beer after beer, picking at my veggie shepherd's pie.
"Do you mind if I have a bite?" he asked, digging his fork into the potato topping.
"No, don't suppose I do," I said. "I always liked the veg best." I added the comment for no logical reason.
He ate a couple of bites. "Mmmm," he said through a mouthful of pie. "What is that, sage?"
"No, rosemary," I said. "I grow rosemary. It makes everything better."
"It does."

"It's all very Last Days of Disco this. Don't you think?"
The restaurant was nearly empty, everyone that was there knew everyone else. We were stragglers waiting for a revival of a long disbanded production. Drinks were tossed back, laughter floated softly and landed with a 'thud.' All pretense of propriety crumbledt in the face of the reality of it all. Everyone had a real good time.
"Yeah, it is," he said without question.
"I'm totally claiming Chloe Sevigny as my parallel."
"Really?"
"Sure, she got screwed over by people she trusted, but she got the promotion and to sleep with Robert Sean Leonard. Even if he was an unrepetent bastard." Rain on your wedding day irony fully intended.
"That's important I take it?" he asked.
"Well, you know I've always been a sucker for foxy...Even in the face of reason."
Oh, look, a black fly in my chardonnay.

The chairs were stacked on tables. Tabs were settled, parties had moved on. I was having a conversation made entirely of Black Adder quotes. Your typical Friday night. Make it Monty Python. SNL when it was funny. Beatles movies. It's all been done. It's all the same. Over and over, the same discussion. Simultaneously comforting and unnerving. Like deja vu without the gut sensation. Such.Is.Life.

He said I shouldn't walk home.
"It's a block. This is my 'hood. I think I can handle it."
"It's no big deal."
He drove the truck to the end of the street and turned towards my house. We were two doors away from my destination, "Do you still live in the same place?"
No, I recently moved to Brentwood. I was on foot! What do you think? Le sigh.
"Yeah," I said, "See, there's my truck." We sat for a moment in the driveway. "Well, guess I'll see you sometime around June of '07...if that soon."
"It seems that way." Why does he pretend like we will ever see each other any time other than when it's convenient? How nostaligic of him. Or something quite like that.
"I'm glad you're still alive," he said. There's a vote if ever I heard one.

Saturday, my poor, precious brain throbbed. I gained some joy from Lump's non-presence. And more joy when the pieces of his disappearance (the idiot had nearly certainly gone to a footfuckingball game of all things not worth losing a job for) came together. Hell, I was bleeding ecstatic when the word came from on high that he was not going to be welcomed back on Monday. (My glee will be compounded exponentially if he shows up and is sent home, but that's just because I'm evil.)
Dad asked if maybe the reason Lump was so-well, Lumpy-was racism. I never thought of that. See, I'm color blind. I don't see race. I just see American. But it would make a certain amount of sense that the dumbass thought himself superior to the rest of his co-workers (other than little ole me) due to the amount of melanin in his skin. He seemed like the sort of person who was just that special kind of stupid.
Call me a cockeyed optimist but I hate people based on the content of their character, not the color of their skin.
Anyway, he's gone and there was much rejoicing. I believe we heard an hallelujah. And someone gave me an amen.
I have fought too many battles (cue Oprah Winfrey's speech from the Color Purple) to idly watch someone like that get paid the same amount of money as I do and do no work whatsoever. Yes, I overstepped my boundaries when I Cuddysmacked him. But some boundaries are just meant to be crossed. Maybe it was that moment that pushed him to make that call to the temp agency and say he wouldn't be available to work on Saturday that led to his demise.
I doubt that. But the idea makes me smile.