Normally I have a problem where I can’t tell anyone what I did. I think partly this is because it’s not anything that I would consider out of the ordinary.
For instance, this past week I went to pick up an a Vortec 4300 (a POS engine..GM took a smallblock 350 and lopped off 2 cylinders) from an inner city junkyard (30th and Center), where we heard a couple building alarms going off. Though, they DID use their blinkers there.
Life insurance policies/pension/bank account changes. All I can say is that there’s going to be a shit storm between my aunt, uncle, and mom. One of them has bank accounts “payable on death”/”transfer on death”, one of them was written off the life insurance policies, and one he’s getting royally pissed at because they can’t manage money.
Suit fitting. Calvin Klein..where my 44 jacket suddenly shrinks down to a 41. And I’m apparently long armed? And kind of broad-shouldered? Meh. I’ll let them deal with that. It’s still weird being called sir.
The mafia guy died. So I was told that I’m showing up. That happens to be this Friday, when it’s supposed to be really fucking cold.
And, obviously, watching the football games in complete astonishment at all the calls the officials don’t make that anyone can plainly see.