From Atlantic to Pacific, gee the traffic is terrific

"I'd hate for my last text to be 'LOdead.'" - Jeff Dinsmore, on matters of texting and driving.

I remember when you were here and all the fun we had last year

If you can determine what happened to 2011, let me know. Just an initial guess, but I think it sprung a time leak somewhere.

I was just in D.C. a couple of months ago, right? Or maybe 12. Hard to tell with the faulty timekeeping of 2011 counting the days.

What about all of the other places I parked on that mad-dash road trip of the subsequent days? Are they also the full arm's length of a year away? Lies.

Assuming there is some truth to that, however, a much more important question arises. Why the hell am I still in this car a year later?

And hurry down the chimney tonight

Yeah. I wore a Santa hat the whole time my district manager rode with me today. And when I dropped off Hot Tamales off under the guise of bringing something hot on a cold day, staffers at three offices asked if it was six feet tall with blue eyes and wearing a Santa hat. Who knew this was my look?

It would be weird to rock the red velvet stocking cap all year, yes?

But I have to

Sometimes when it's my last day of work before a five-day holiday break, I wish I woke up with a highly contagious stomach bug and called in sick. That way I would not have to interrupt my very vivid dreaming in a soft, warm bed for the harsh, cold realities of whining clients.

He who is the cause of another becoming powerful is ruined

If you are going head to head with a rival without ever meeting face to face, never leave an obvious weakness exposed for another to come along and exploit. Follow-through and thoroughness are necessary for winning the favor of a client, but leaving loose ends strewn about carelessly makes it easy for someone like me to spin their hard work laying the foundation into an easy sell for me.

I became the calm center of the universe. I was the Zen master.

They are finally letting me do what comes naturally: goofing off with my clients instead of talking straight business to win them over more easily.

When am I gonna see that pretty face again?

Driving around alone most of the day has its perks.

No annoying human contact to interrupt your daydreams.

If there's a smell, there is no need to explain that it's the baby carrot that somehow fell into the center console from under the parking brake somehow and then disappeared when you removed the console to investigate.

All the music you want to which you want to listen without apology or qualification. Oh, guilty pleasures.

Yet, all of that means far less when you have no one to tell it to when you get home. I need a parrot this week. Even if he just repeats, at least I know he was listening.

Mr. Jones strikes up a conversation with a black-haired flamenco dancer

It's sometimes odd how many people feel like sharing so much about themselves in the waiting areas in this business. Even if they aren't crazy about being flamenco dancers, they still tell you about it. On Monday I ran across some marathon runners (pun intended), and today a woman who just loves Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. These are all things I learned about them without having to ask. Random.

The thing I'm talking about is an essence, a foreign fragrance with a presence

I have gone five for five on new album acquistions not worth their space on my iPod this week. It's as if some artists set out to let you down time after time after a fantastic release six years ago.

You want to believe, but faith is only so strong.

And do back the things it did to you in return

When you always take the high road, sometimes you're too far away to see what's going on around you.

That's why nabbing clients out from under another company while practicing the eavesdropping techniques you learn as a reporter comes with its own sense of satisfaction.

Just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost

No matter how well I know the streets of a city or drive the same route once a week or so, there is that one intersection that will always confound me. It is farther up the road than I anticipate. It sneaks up on me. They just changed it from a stop sign to a traffic light. I forgot about the pothole near the curb in the turn that causes me to be late for a meeting because I have to recover and reattach my axle.

Do I have a metaphor for work, maybe even life, here? No matter how much you know, there will always be one more bump in the road you never see coming? Keep your eyes straight ahead? Don't post to your blog when you are trying to drive to a lunch meeting?

Yes you won't be shaking, won't be breaking, won't be forsaken now

Spin your wheels as fast as the inertia will allow. Flap your arms and get their attention. Most of the time, it does nothing.

Then 15 minutes after you leave, suddenly they understand what you were spouting and buy into three of the ideas you gave them. No worries, though, because they will completely forget about them next time you're in there.

Faking my own suicide

Morbid sounding, sure, but maybe I'll stop getting phone calls about nonsense from the office. And then right after lunch, I'll come right back to life.

Don't be afraid. Keep it all inside, all inside.

This company's approach to regulation borders on cowardice. And it pisses the clients off. And those who depend on clients for their living.

Turn your lights down low and never try to resist

Sometimes no matter how hard you try, you can't find an office open during lunch time. So you just have to park under a tree and eat a bag of baby carrots. Law of nature or something.

Some boys don't listen at all. They lack inhibitions, no walls.

Not sure I mind starting every day in the city. And not having to hear about hurricanes all the time.

Actually, I prefer to go through the full day without having to pay attention to those around me. If my job didn't consist of talking all the time, I could just listen to my iPod all day. More than I already do.

I just need to find a way to convert my conversations into song. Then life would be a musical. Oh. But I'd have to learn to dance. Not sure it's worth that. Weak ankles.

OK. Fine. I dance in my head all day. Are you happy now?

I was born to tell you I love you. And I am torn to do what I have to.

Yes. You are correct. I would rather be at home with all of those who eagerly await my return. But my computer and TV will have to wait with pursed lips to see my smile until I finish my errand in Horsefly Village. But in months like this, you take hold of every opportunity that comes over the fax at 5 p.m.

We should get jerseys, because we make a good team

No one told me the right way to go about this. In fact, we seem to wing it most of the time. And it worked.

Until this month.

The manager broke down into maniacal laughter today because she realized it all of our best strategies simply unraveled this weekend. We'll just have to do better next month. Or maybe we'll just get fired and get to do what we want for awhile.

The way your smile just beams. The way you sing off key. They can't take that away from me.

And they slide in safe just under the glove. No mas work on Saturdays. Today was the last day we had to end the madness with offerings to the overlords. And the fragrance of our pittance wafted to the heights, opening a shower of grace that will allow me to stay up until 4 a.m. tonight drinking and playing violent video games. You know, like a good dad.

Didn't I blow your mind this time?

My accounts drop their jaws when I show up with a pre-filled order begging for their signature before they even have had a chance to ask me. I tell most that I'm psychic. The others know I am REALLY in tight with their office staff. The magic of sugary treats.