What fresh hell is this?

This is my friend DeeDee on Good Randy's amazing deckboat. Last summer sometime I think it was.

Tomorrow, I think I'm going to be exactly where she is in this photo. Probably no booze. It's a depressant and I don't need any of that right now.

You see, Friday I was called into the President's office (not Obama, I'm talking the King of my little salaried world) and I was told their having a "writer" was a luxury they could no longer afford.

To be honest, I don't know how they can afford to bop me back to contract. I don't think they have any idea how much work gets blasted at me every day. I have a sign next to my to-do-board. "Do you want fries with that?!"

In any given day I will do a few eBlasts, a few radio scripts, a few TV scripts, a coupla print ads and assorted other weirdness. You throw in a proposal and a phone interview with subsequent article and my brain goes through so many gears it comes out the consistency of grits. This will fry his.

Well, we'll see how it goes. Maybe I will be just as well off as a contract employee, with the bonus of working from home. Or maybe they will bust butt to do it all themselves and I'll have to see if Publix needs baggers.

The girls were besides themselves. They know I hate boob hugs and I was seated and damned if two of them didn't corner me behind my desk and I had a head/boob hug from Carrie & Kamla. Assholes.

I cried. Ice Queen Summer cried.

Carrie seems to think I have nothing to worry about and Kamla just wants me to hurry and finish her business cards. She texted me five times today ... how are you? You need to (insert something disgustingly cutesy like pray or count kittens).

How long will it take to get my business cards?

She needs them for Fashion Week in Miami.

Thank God my family does not read this blog, they would (will) shit. So I have to have my life straightened out before I let them know what happened. Need to have more work lined up so I can say "don't worry, nothing changes. I'm fine. In fact, I have more freedom!"

They will worry themselves sick, especially my son. Who has enough to worry about with a wife and two little girls up in Michigan. One friend has already offered me a job marketing a new product - and a place to stay up in Michigan. I would rather poke my eyes out with cocktail forks before I'd consider moving back. Yes, anything freelance. Anything that requires going back to hell? I think not.

My apologies to you who still live there and love those three precious months of decent weather every year. God bless ya, you are DELUDED. If you had experienced the incredible night we had under the stars tonight, you would rethink.

So anyway, can't stay home at night right now, too lonely, too bummed out. Good Randy reminded me tonight that it hasn't even been two days, I need to let it sink in and settle. He says I need a boat day tomorrow.

The radiation is affecting his throat, he's getting weak and he can't talk. He said "If I died today, I will have lived a good life." Hate to even think about that.

Went out with Donna last night, hit the usual spots ... always wind up back at the Lighthouse Tiki Bar, which is getting more and more difficult as my stalker appears to be there every time we are. WTF. It was a good time until then. We thought he left at one point, when I saw his Eye-gor creepy hunched buddy make the rounds. Sure enough, Stalker came around 5 minutes later.

One of management's friends said "that shit don't fly in here. We have ways of taking care of that." People have started circling me as he approaches. Word's out.

Went to yoga today. Sondra asked how I was and I told her I lost my job. I was somber in yoga for the first time ever. At the end she read the traditional closing meditation and dedicated it to me and I cried and nobody could look at me. I got a lot of hugs.

Then I went back out tonight ... nice night, rose above, was on the verge of having a decent time. Landed back at the usual place with the usual suspects. I was introduced around Good Randy's table and we had to explain the "Good Randy" thing.

His friend Peggy said "if he's GOOD Randy I'd hate to meet EVIL Randy." I had to correct her. "No - BAD Randy. E-VIL Randy has too many syllables."

Peg is cool, she and her husband live on their boat half the year. It's a big comfort being with people from The Homeland who ALSO would rather die than go back. Everywhere I turned, someone from Michigan saying I WILL NEVER GO BACK.

Was talking to a hunky friend when ... ok, I'll call her Shirley for this ... walked up behind us both and planted her left boob in the back of my right shoulder. It's not much of a boob, but it was firmly pressed. When she walked away, I asked him if she had pressed her right boob into him. And he said yeah.

I said "I think that means she likes you."

Like when DoDo the cockatoo at Skunk Ape gacked up food to feed me. Only DoDo is a little more discreet.

Later I was sitting at a table with Good Randy and other new friends when we all spotted my stalker again. And his Eye-gor person who acts as sonar scouring the area for me. This is getting too creepy for words. At least he stopped calling. And with his balance issues, I know I could outrun him. I never park in the same place twice any more.

Well, maybe tomorrow I'll be where DeeDee is in this photo. And maybe I won't feel like a piece of shit for not being in a position to give Good Randy money for all the gas he spends taking friends around the bays and the gulf.

He and the gang are happy my job will no longer interfere with their social lives; they can invite me to hang day and night.

Look at this ... 1:17 a.m. I am already shifting into freelance mode, living a bat life of up all night, asleep til 10.

If I can sleep.