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June 6th, 2011

~Monday~  I finally opened a check today that I received in the mail last Thursday or Friday. I was surprised to find that it was my NC State tax refund. I had assumed it was another check that I get once a month, as its envelope resembled that one.

So, it took the state of North Carolina two months to pay me $64.05, and for the honor of using my money for two months, they paid me a grand total of a nickel in interest.



I caught the Wolfline #9 Greek Village bus at the intersection of Kaplan and Gorman streets, where I noticed this sign, which I'm pretty sure is new:

Sign indicating that the Wolfline #9 and the CAT #12 buses stop here

Okay, this sign is erected where the blue x is in the following diagram, which is also where the Wolfline #9 Greek Village bus stops. So, the fact that the sign indicates it's a Wolfline #9 stop is correct.

However, as you can also see in the following diagram, the CAT bus does not stop, or even pass by, this stop. That sign is wrong, wrong, wrong when it indicates that this stop is served by the CAT #12 bus. After stopping where the red x is on Kaplan, the CAT bus gets in a left turn lane that's at that Gorman intersection and turns left. You cannot get on the CAT bus from the stop at which that sign is erected. It simply doesn't stop there.

CAT and Wolfline bus routes diagram

Who you gonna call? Busbusters?

The ride into work was uneventful, and as we entered the gated service road that leads to the library stop, we passed Ann walking her bike along Hillsborough Street. I wanted to create a commotion by waving and yelling, but I resisted. No need embarrassing either one of us.



I submitted my weekly status update to my boss in a new format, one in which I've replicated the areas of my work plan, from which my interim and annual appraisals are done, and placed my accomplishments for the week in the respective areas. This will let me visually see how my weekly accomplishments are contributing to the various areas, and it will help streamline the interim and annual appraisal write-up for her.

I had a peaceful day of no work meetings.



When I walked out of the door of my building, I saw the bus way down Hillsborough Street, which meant I could get to the bus stop only if I ran. I wasn't yet there when it stopped, but the driver had evidently seen me running and she waited—which I appreciated—while I huffed and puffed up to the door. Between gasps, I thanked her profusely for waiting.

A man sat behind me with a woman he evidently works with, which I surmised from their conversation, which pretty much amounted to office gossip. As we approached the stop on Method Road, close to Western Boulevard, the conversation went like this as they indicated a man out on the sidewalk:

She: I don't like that man.

He: I know. He's a faggot.

She: He's just creepy.

He: He's usually with another guy, too. I hate that fag.

Seconds later at the stop, carrying his 12-pack of Milwaukee's Best Ice, and on his way up the aisle to get off at that stop, he said to the bus-at-large, "Y'all have a blessed evening now."

Presumably, this y'all meant everyone except for the fags. Lord, save me from your followers.



For dinner, I had the leftovers from my Kanki meal on Saturday. Most delicious.

I arrived at the Caribou Coffee at Olde Raleigh Village at about 7:30, and Joe arrived closer to 8:00. We had a lot to catch up on, going as far back as his trip to Pennsylvania for his sister's 40th birthday party in the middle of May.

In a rare occurrence, my mom called while I was there. She wanted to know if I'd found a sneaky way to get my aunt and uncle's anniversary date out of them, and I had to admit that I'd never called, but promised to follow-up on it for her.

She caught me up on hers and dad's latest aches, pains, and pills, but overall everything was copacetic.

She mentioned that in their hometown newspaper—to which I bought them a subscription at Christmastime—she saw a picture of a girl she went to high school with. "She was getting married," she said. "My god, she must be my age. And getting married."

I reminded her, "Well, old—straight—people are allowed to get married, you know."



Joe and I exited the place when they closed at 10:00, but stood out front talking for a few minutes more.

Back at home, I emailed the Manbites Dog Theater Board of Directors reminding them of our board meeting this weekend, called for agenda items, and asked them to confirm that they intend to attend.

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