So, I am supposed to do this blog thing for TheLostOgle.com.  Nothing major, just every once in awhile I inject some perspective related to the metro area.  That was the agreement I made with Pat.  Of course, I learned today that I’ve been shirking my duties because apparently the site has been up for weeks (which in internet aging equates to approximately eons), and some guy named Tony has been churning out articles at the same rate that Starbucks puts up new stores.  I’d have some choice words, but obviously if I didn’t know the site was running, I’m not in the know enough to understand the profanity policy for TheLostOgle.

Truthfully, I would have shirked my duties anyway.  You see, I’m in Hell.  About a year ago, I learned the company I worked for, which had been an Oklahoma City institution for 75 years (they took out a full page ad in The Oklahoman to celebrate this accomplishment in which my name could be read if you had a really strong magnifying glass–my parents were so proud) had sold to a Houston based energy company in order to make the wealthy CEO an uber wealthy unemployed guy.  So, to keep my job, I would have been forced to move to the city I have affectionately referred to as “the armpit of North America” since college.  I passed.

Instead, I took a job with another company explicitly stating that my objective was to keep earning a living good enough to keep feeding my family while staying in Oklahoma.  After a month on the job, I got assigned to the one out of state client the company possesses, and they are located in…wait for it…the place I accepted the position in order to avoid.

The first week out here wasn’t bad.  We caught an Astros game.  The weather was beautiful.  And most importantly, I wasn’t the one who had to drive.  That all changed in week two.  The Astros were out of town, the weather has cycled between “unbearably muggy”and “heinously humid”, and my attempts to navigate the highway system in the boat provided by Budget Rent-a-Car were anything but Magellanesque.  By the way, Houston drivers can charitably be referred to as (once again, I’m not sure of the profanity policy), and they are hardly forgiving of an out-of-towner who doesn’t know when a highway is going to suddenly usher him in an entirely different direction.  On the bright side, I have trained my ear to recognize the horn tones of cars that cost more than the GNP of most African nations.

Tomorrow I will return to the beautiful place I call home, at which point I will hopefully be inspired to write more OKC-centric blog entries.