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Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Be Quiet And Drive (Far Away)
Driving to work is it's usual frustrating experience, because due to overpopulation and the economic boom during the Clinton years, there are just too many cars out there. It's not an issue of having to share the road...Oh, of course it is. When they bring a matter transporter to market, I'm buying one. I hate commuting. It'd be so nice to walk to work, but we don't do that here, because employers never build their offices/workspaces in areas that their workers can afford to live.
I remember several years ago when these praying Calvin stickers started showing up, and a friend of mine asked me what I thought about them, seeing as how I have an opinion on EVERYTHING. Well, my initial response was, "I'll bet he didn't see that coming." I don't know why I said it, but he cracked up. It was my honest reaction though.
I don't have any bumper stickers on my car, and I'm not sure why. To me, using your car's bumper to tell the world how you feel is kind of sad. Did anyone change their vote after seeing a "W" or a "Kerry/Edwards" sticker last fall? Doubtful. And if not to influence others, why would you want anyone to know your political leanings while driving around? You don't need a sticker, your car tells me what I need to know.
You drive an extended cab pickup truck and live in the suburbs? You're a pussy-whipped shell of a man whose wife wouldn't let him get a real truck.
You own a two-wheel drive SUV? You're inconsiderate, and too full of yourself to buy what you need, a station wagon or a minivan.
You bought a Hummer? Sorry about your little dick, buddy. That's a shame. I mean really, maybe you can get chicks into the thing, but you're still bound to be a disappointment.
One day, I'll move to a city with a decent subway, and I'll sell my car. Then, I'll truly be free.
posted at 5:51 AM
What a set of wedding balls!
I've become accustomed to not having a lot of spare money laying around, and even though I'd just assume have a little more to make my life easier, I don't lose any sleep over it. Now after reading the following, I realize how stupid I really am:
Once again, we are simply destroying ourselves by our own optimism. People want to have storybook or celebrity-quality weddings, and dammit, they are neither celebrities, or living a fairytale existence. What a fucking bummer. Well, no point in letting reality get in the way of your big day, just ask your idiot friends and family to foot the bill!
Let me say something nice here about television. I love it. Like any good relationship, you have to put up with a fair amount of crap, but when things are good, like when the Simpsons is on, ooh baby...Ecstasy.
I can even watch silly crap like MTV's Cribs once in awhile. I kind of don't really give a damn about the celebrities, but it's often interesting to see what people with unlimited budgets do with their private space. Sometimes it's impressive, other times all you can think is, "Well, you can't buy class." It's sort of an Extreme Dos and Don'ts, but occasionally you see something, an architectural layout or a piece of furniture, and it gets you thinking about your own space. No harm in it.
But, I keep my TV inside the tube where it belongs, and I don't let it intrude on my life. TV should be an occasional pleasant distraction, and a babysitter for your kids, but nothing more. It's not a guide to life, especially those church channels. Egad.
It's ok to want things, I suppose. I'm not sure if it's healthy to pine about stuff, but it's fine to desire something lovely, if it will actually make you happy in some way. An aside...
Several years ago, I came into a nice chunk of change, just over ten grand. It was highly unusual to just have that kind of loot on me, and I had no real plans for it. But I was out one day, and I wandered into a contemporary furniture store, and there was lots of cool stuff in there. So, I spot this dining room table, and trust me, it would take far too long to describe it to you, even though the design was fairly simple, but suffice it to say, I wanted the thing. It was just a beautiful piece. The cost? Seven thousand bucks. I'm basically standing there with 11 grand in my pocket, and I could have bought it, and still made the rent. But I knew that I did have some other bills to pay, and even though technically I could afford it, it just wasn't the best use of the money at the time. I had to be realistic, because no one was going to hand me another pile of cash the following month. So, I left the store. I did end up buying an Armani suit, which I still have, so it's not as if I didn't have a little bit of fun with the dough. So shut up.
But it never occurred to me to send out a letter to my loved ones reading, "Dear suckers, my birthday is coming up some time in the next twelve months, and I want this table, so please send cash, and thank you." I feel pretty stupid now, in retrospect. The problem is that I was raised right. Dammit.
Once again, people and their unrealistic expectations are fucking up this country. You are not entitled to an expensive wedding, a fantastic exotic honeymoon, or even one gift! You should stop expecting anything. Figure out what you can afford, and then spend only half that much. Weddings are nice, but the industry is a racket almost beyond compare. Besides, it's the marriage, not the wedding that matters, and you can have a great relationship without a 9-tiered cake.
And if you should receive an invitation to a wedding where they ask you to bring your checkbook, reply promptly that you will be unable to attend, and that the bride and groom are classless and should fuck off and die. Oh, and take the stamp off the return envelope so it gets there postage due.
posted at 1:27 AM
I'll be damned
My life is going to get simpler in a way. And probably more complicated in other ways. I don't care.
The deal is, for the past two years, I've had two jobs, one full time, and the other part time. The full time one is a pretty good gig, I like the work, there are still a lot of things to learn, and I have a really good boss. I don't get bothered with a lot of supervision or petty crap, and as long as my work gets done, I'm golden. As a bonus, the other supervisors and even their bosses are a little afraid of me. That came about as a result of them discovering all at once that I'm not a complete fucking moron. It's a fun story, and maybe I'll tell it someday.
There are a couple of negatives, like with anything. First of all, it's an industry that goes through cycles of boom and bust, and I'm always under the impression that layoffs are imminent. The other, and ultimately larger factor is that, no matter how long I work there, I'll never make decent money. And that sucks, because I would work there until I was 70 if I was making some money. The work is satisfying, although I have no idea why.
My part time job is another pretty good job, although because I value my free time, I don't know if I'd have kept it if it wasn't vital to making the rent. But my boss was pretty flexible about my hours, and there were many days where I worked both jobs to help out. It added up most times to only having one day off every two weeks, and I'm sure most of you know what kind of a grind that gets to be, even if you like your work. The body gets worn down.
About 6 weeks ago, everyone at my second job, including my boss, got fired. It isn't an uncommon thing in this business, and is part of the reason for my ambivalence toward it. I'm friends with the people there, and it's frustrating when it happens. The honchos pulled me aside and let me know that they wanted me to stick around, and that they would explain later.
For the past six weeks, I've still been going in on my days off, and doing various odd jobs around the office, in order to get some hours. I told them that not working was kind of a problem money-wise, so they found some stuff for me to do. I'm grateful for that. You know how it is when you live near the precipice.
The upshot is, this week, they finally revealed their plans, and what they have in mind for me, and it's going to be pretty good. The offer they made me will allow me to quit my other job, and still come out better financially. It'll be a lot of work, but it'll still allow a lot more free time, and a more regular schedule. But, hopefully, maybe, I'll finally be able to buy a house.
I'm a simple person. I don't want things really. As I've said before, I can look at a nice car, or other things, and appreciate the quality or beauty. I just don't need stuff. A house is different. I want to buy one, and it's mine. If I want to knock out walls, or paint it, or sell the damn thing, I can do it. With any luck, I should be able to buy one soon. And that makes me uncharacteristically upbeat. I'm sure it will pass, and I'll get back to the shittiness that you've come to expect out of this fine blog.
In the meantime, I have to give my two weeks notice, and I'm a bit sad about that. Like I said, I like everything about the job except that it won't allow me to attain the one goal I've set for myself. It really is unfortunate. I'm going to miss some of the people I work with, and frankly, I do a horrible job staying in touch with people. I'm just bad at it. I will try to do better this time, but I know how I am. Well, maybe I can have some of them over when I buy my home. It's a truly great way to squeeze gifts out of your friends.
I may write more about some of the more interesting people I've met there, perhaps soon.
posted at 10:15 PM
I won't go so far as to call it a rule, but I will ask this of people who wish to post in the blog. I don't need you to put your names or anything, but if I know you, or of you, please at least give me a hint. Just curiosity on my part. As always, feel free to do whatever the hell you want.
Also, you may send shoe boxes full of cash if you wish.
posted at 2:03 PM
Terrible, worst title ever.
So, some nice Southern gal gets cold feet and runs out before her wedding. She's gone for days, and it's big news. Law enforcement and the media run amok because hey, a semi-attractive white woman is missing. I half expected Tom DeLay to put a bill in front of the President to save her life from "liberal kidnappers who hate marriage."
But there wasn't time. Before the United States Congress could rouse itself from it's incredible stupor, the runaway bride turns up in Albuquerque. "All praise is due Allah! She is safe!" and that's good, because I'm sick of stories about these people being found dead. Now I fear it may be too late to kill this stupid woman.
Lots of people get nervous before a wedding. I'd call it a natural impulse. Anything you venture into of this magnitude should cause you to have second thoughts, even if you know it's the right thing. So, you call your fiancee, and you talk, or you go get counseling. You don't hitchhike cross country, sucking off truck drivers to pay your way. At least that's what Emily Post always says.
She calls the authorities upon arriving in New Mexico (yes, one of the United States), tearful and claiming to have been kidnapped at gunpoint, because there's such a high resale value on skanky looking Southern hags. The FBI steps in. Next thing I know, she's on TV, fully outfitted in FBI clothes, including the hard-to-find FBI stuffed teddy bear. You think I'm kidding? The one they gave Elian Gonzales sold for 19 thousand dollars on E-Bay. But I digress.
So, now I have to look at this inconsiderate, thoughtless, flaky cracker-ass, wearing clothes that my tax dollars paid for, getting a private flight back to the land that time forgot. There has been some discussion of charging her with filing a false report, and suing her for the cost of the search, rumored to be in the neighborhood of $60,000. I hope they make her pay for it, too. She cut her hair. Why else would she do that except to prevent being identified? I'll pay a hundred bucks if someone will go down to Georgia and irradiate her so she may not reproduce. Let the defective genes stop here.
The icing on the cracka, of course, is that her fiancee, Billy Bob something, wants her back. If I have to take her back, I'd make her gargle with Clorox and pass at least three blood tests. She's disgusting, and in 15 years, we're going to read about the runaway daughter of the runaway bride.
I have seen the future, and it's not getting any better looking.
Labels: runaway bride
posted at 10:52 PM
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