Murphy's Law

Anything that can possibly go wrong, does.

See also: fuck my life. Seriously, just fuck my life.

Before I get into my latest cause of concern and stress, let me review all the wonderful contributors from this past week. I'll start with my family. Nurse Egg and I went to see them on Friday evening. The family tradition is to meet on Christmas Eve, eat dinner and cookies and whatever all night until we do the whole Santa spiel with presents passed out by the man himself, and disperse or possibly spend the night over if you've got the intestinal fortitude for it and things have already gone completely bat shit crazy. This year we decided to forego all that mess and come a day early, while things are still simmering in a passive-aggressive stew and preparations are still underway. It's absolutely brilliant, actually. We did make a small error in judgement by going completely sober with no alcoholic bracer. I regretted that about five minutes into the visit. The first thing my grandmother said to me was:

"I hope you've saved up some money to pay those land taxes, because I don't have any." Then she made that strange noise she makes that's a peculiar blend of a chuckle, a choke, and a cough. A choughckle? I don't know. It's aggravating and bizarre. It means she's trying to say something jokingly, but not because she isn't serious or actually trying to funny to anyone else but herself. It's the only tell the woman has.

She was referring to the yellow house, which I refer to as Tatterdemalion - still and always. The newest tenants of the property have been paying their rent - in full and on time, sometimes even early. At least, they had been doing that until this month. I'm really hoping the holiday madness got the better of them and that they will resume paying rent shortly. Hoping, but not very enthusiastically. Since my employment this year has been decidedly sporadic and short-lived, the rent from this property has made it possible to pay my own. This was meant to be a temporary fix, but that has really panned out yet. Moot point if they aren't going to continue paying their rent and I have to evict yet another lousy tenant. So, this surprise of my grandmother's wasn't exactly something I wanted to hear. It's actually the last thing I would ever want to hear. That was also the limit to what my grandmother said to me that evening. Oh, except for asking about work immediately after that comment which didn't put me in a very good position to bring up my sudden unemployment. Again. Again. Again. So, naturally my defenses went into overdrive and I told everyone how wonderful my job was and how much I absolutely loved it. I told my aunt the truth. Later. She was segregated from the rest of the household and completely out of ear shot of my grandmother. I really don't care if she tells her or not. I just don't. Whatever.

Tonight I spent the evening with my sister's extended family. That was made absolutely magical by the ample supply of merlot. Absolutely magical. I had a great time, even while listening to a story about weather conditions in Montana around this time but over sixty years ago. It was a magical evening. That probably makes me sound like an alcoholic. That's all. No rebuttal. Just making an observation.

My asshole friend is moving. I've been kind of helping him pack. By "helping" I do mean "watching". I would help, but it's like being on an episode of hoarders. He wants to sort through and categorize everything. It's nauseating and completely boring. Anyway, the big day is tomorrow so I figured I'd spend the night again and get an early morning start on all the lifting and backwards walking while doing an assisted carry of furniture and blah. That brings me to my newest source of stress and trouble. The check engine light in my Jeep is flashing, the engine is shaking, and the accelerator isn't doing much in the way of accelerating the vehicle. All of the mechanic forums I've consulted indicate this is indeed a serious mechanical problem which might result in an engine fire or possible explosion if not addressed immediately. So much for having a reliable vehicle to take me to my new job which I still hope to obtain sooner rather than later - especially since I'll now have to cover what might be an extensive repair bill. In the meantime, I might be able to persuade my local aunt into allowing me use of one of her two family vehicles while I come up with the funds for that repair bill. Hopefully, but I won't ask until I actually have an interview at least.

Of course this would happen. Of course all of this would happen. 2011 just isn't quite done with me yet.

Keeping your job is the new raise.

...but I wouldn't know. That happened a few hours ago. I've been submitting applications online all week since that delightful meeting on Wednesday when they basically promised to fire everyone in the room at some point between then and next Friday. I fill out several applications each day. Unsurprisingly, they all sound better than the job I had. One in particular seems promising. I spoke to the hiring manager and he's hoping to get someone in place by next week since the job will be vacated by the week after. That's my best hope at the moment, but I'm playing the numbers/odds by applying to... damn near every fucking thing I find.

I am sick of this game. Someone should seriously just pay me for being an awesome fucking person already. Seriously. Whatever.

I really don't feel like venting at the moment. This bullshit has been dragging on for well over a year now and I'm beyond the point of being able to even fake either surprise or bitter disappointment.

Christmas is in six days and I will definitely be unemployed for that - again, again, again - this year. Yay.

Oh, right. I forgot to cause a scene when they escorted me out of the building. I just wasn't into it. If I'm going to do something like that, I need to be able to fully commit to it and unleash every single one of my anger monkeys on it. It's not something that I care to half-ass. Sorry to disappoint, but I didn't make a spectacle of myself as promised. I'm sure I'll get another chance some day at some other completely horrible craphole.

We are vastly unprepared and sad.

"We are seriously considering firing everyone in this room."

That was yesterday - or Wednesday. On Monday, it was:

"We are not considering firing anyone in this room."

So, what changed in those 48 hours in between each meeting? We actually got more comfortable with our new jobs. We had one full day actually doing our new jobs. We probably improved by an absurd degree from just getting some hands on experience. It was incredibly awkward and horrible, but it was slowly getting better. At least, until...

"We are seriously considering firing everyone in this room. Anyone who wants to spare themselves the embarrassment of being escorted from the building next Friday when we make that determination should quietly bow out now and not come back. You're wasting our time and yours. Feel free to run directly to employee relations and tell them everything I'm saying, but - if I was blind, deaf, and dumb I know I could still outperform every single one of you."

Holymotherfuckingassholesonuvabitchdickhead... Shit.

I'm going to be unemployed for Christmas. Again.

Our first day that we were supposed to be on the phones, our entire class was pulled after only an hour. I didn't realize that and kept taking calls. I joined them probably half an hour later. It became painfully obvious to the support staff that none of us had any real idea what the hell we were doing. We didn't know how to navigate the various systems - there are over 30 systems that we can access and utilize for various reasons through the course of our attempts to troubleshoot whatever device the caller is trying to operate. It would seem that the last six weeks of training had not been very effective. Either every one in the class had been in a 42 day coma or ... Well, it didn't take the group more than a second to throw the trainer under the bus. I'm not saying she doesn't deserve it, because after six weeks of listening to her explain very rare (And often entirely theoretical situations. Situations she even referred to as probably not something we'd ever have to deal with and might only see once in the course of our careers, if at all.) and listening to fabulously humorous (but entirely pointless anecdotes that may or may not even had anything to do with the actual job but more often lead to this weird personal flashback universe where we drowned in boredom and nostalgia) and not being allowed to test any of the knowledge we were supposed gaining (for fear that our training environment might somehow impact the real world environment and cause serious havoc to any number of systems or users) and basically just watching slide shows about corporate policies, she did deserve that blame. We were not taught how to do our jobs. We were basically a six week case study on how long 20 people can sit in a room and not fall asleep or kill each other after eight hours of repeat captivity every day. Honestly, I'm not an idiot. I might have some problems with common sense occasionally or with over-analyzing things, but I'm not an idiot. In fact, learning is probably the one thing I'm exceptionally good at. Not to say I'm not exceptionally good at anything else, but I am the best at acquiring, comprehending, retaining, and utilizing new information. I'm like a dorky sponge in that way. So, if I am unable to learn something... I honestly don't know that rest of that sentence. It's never actually happened before. The only reason for me not to have learned something is if I never tried. That's the only explanation. It's like my attempts to learn other languages. I get side tracked. I forget about it. I don't actually try, so I don't learn. I was in a room for six weeks being bombarded with information. It's impossible that I didn't learn anything. I definitely did learn things, just not the right things. I can explain how the technology works. I just don't know how to use my tools to correct technology that is misbehaving.

Imagine this:

I spent six weeks watching someone draw stick figures on the board to explain the different markets of people who might call in and use very old school Nickolodeon references to explain how networks relay information.

Yes, it is entirely the instructors fault. We completely understood what was being explained, but we had no way to realize nothing beneficial to us or our future employment was being addressed. Anyway, they took that first day and gave us a crash 6 hour course on how to use one of our network systems. We didn't go back on to the phones and actual take calls until Tuesday. First thing Wednesday, we had that delightful meeting.

So... I filled out some more employment applications today. I could be fired at any moment, but most likely by next Friday at the latest. I'll keep going back until either my identification badge is deactivated or they escort me out. I'd very much prefer the former of those two options, because if it's the latter - I can't promise I'll go quietly. They may actually have to physically remove me rather than just escort me from the building. I don't owe them an ounce of grace.

Bastards.

"You are the master of every situation."

You have absolutely no idea, fortune cookie. Not a clue. But I sincerely applaud the effort, in any case. Very convincing.

I'd be absolutely exhausted all the time if that were true - and by absolutely exhausted, I mean far more absolutely exhausted than I already am as it is.

Anyway, it's just a silly fortune cookie. Eat it, read it, be slightly amused, and then move along.

I'm very disappointed that I didn't even get an interview for the employee coordinator position I applied for. I attribute this to my lack of the prerequisite education and accompanying degree. The posting said that work experience might be substituted for actual education. Might be is no gaurantee. Obviously. I'm not surprised, but I am very disappointed. Which means I'm still very much in training for tier II tech support. Friday was the last day in the classroom - which we celebrated by having a potluck lunch. The dessert salad was a smashing success, by the way. I used chocolate fudge pudding instead of vanilla, but I did not add the grapes. There's already enough different textures and flavors going on in there. Anyway, Monday will be our first day on the phones actually taking support calls. We will be monitored closely for the final two weeks of our training while we get some actual hands-on experience. The best part of this final stage is no longer having to wake up at 0500 every weekday. Schedules will be strictly afternoons from this point on. Hurray for that. We lost six people from our original training group throughout the six weeks of classroom time. There's something really beautiful about how perfectly those numbers align. Of course, if you consider that five people didn't even show up to the first day and were therefore not included in any of my figures, you find the actual percentage of drop outs is even more pathetic. Oh well. Anyway, I glimpsed an internal email I probably shouldn't have and my new friend with the tattoos is not coming back to work. Ever. Didn't think it was really my place to pass on the information to my new friend with the tattoos. He really wants his job back. Unfortunately for him, it's not going to happen. I'd rather not be the messenger that starts that trainwreck into motion.

Speaking of friends, I just spent the weekend with my lifelong asshole friend. Most of the weekend, anyway. I came home for lunch on Saturday while he was at work and took the dog along with me for a playdate with his giant horse dog. Nurse Egg's little alligator definitely held his own. In fact, I think he greatly surprised the much larger dog. Here are a few candid shots of that.



I assure you - despite how it might appear otherwise from the photos - that the larger dog was not harmed in anyway during the playdate. They didn't wear each other out like I had hoped either. They went non-stop for nearly 2.5 hours before these photos were taken and another ten hours after that. Nurse Egg's dog has been in coma mode since returning home very late last night/early this morning. It finally, finally caught up with him and he has yet to fully recover. He definitely enjoyed himself. So did I, as a matter of fact. The weekend was surprisingly drama-free which is becoming exceptionally rare regarding my lifelong asshole friend. Felt like the times from before. Before what exactly I'd rather not consider. Just before. Another life, feels like, sometimes.

Anyway, it's Sunday night and I'm doing laundry. Very exciting. I don't even have to be at work until tomorrow afternoon so I've got practically an entire day to fill until then. Definitely liking that better than the previous break of dawn scheduling. I'll never be a fan of anything that happens that early in the morning.

After months of trudging through every available piece of real estate within the very small radius we could actual allow ourselves to live inside, Nurse Egg and I might have found the perfect property. If it's true, it'll be just in time to make our end of lease date in the beginning of February. I'll hold off on sharing the details/photos until we're more sure about everything. We've been here before, sort of. This seems a lot more promising and certain, but just to be safe... we'll see how things go in the next few weeks. I definitely like this property more than any of the others, I'll say that much. Also, it doesn't have any of the deal breakers or structural problems any of the others sadly featured. But, again, we'll see and I'll share the details/photos with you just as soon as I can.

Home at the end of the world.

Next week is my final week of tech support training. We'll finally be out of the classroom! Very, very exciting! To celebrate, we're having a potluck. This, of course, means I get to experiment with some new dishes. I decided to use this weekend to test a few recipes I found online to see how well I like them and help me decide which, if any, I'll be remaking for the potluck. I chose two recipes: candy bar apple salad and mini taco meatballs. Candy bar apple salad is a dessert salad with chopped up apples and Snickers bars in it. Mini taco meatballs are basically exactly like regular meatballs but with taco seasoning baked into them. First I chopped some Braeburn apples. This is the longest step involved in any of the recipes I tried today. Took forever. The recipe didn't specify a type of apple, so after reading all the descriptions of the types offered at my local grocer - and basically giving up on understanding the difference between any of them - I just chose Braeburn at random. I think it was all about the two-tone for me, actually. I just like how they look. Normally, I prefer green apples, but these two-toned apples won me over. Then I chopped some Snickers bars - regular and almond varieties. The almond variety of Snickers are slightly more difficult to chop up than the normal variety. Side note: there's something terribly gratifying about chopping things to little bits with a butcher knife. Speaking of which, I couldn't stop the theme song from Dexter from playing in a continuous loop while I was chop-chop-chopping along. Fun times. With all my chopping complete, I mixed up the vanilla pudding and let it set for a couple minutes. Then I threw it all together in a bowl with some whipped topping. Very easy stuff. This is the result. It was much better after being refrigerated for a few hours. When I made it, everything was room temperature except for the whipped topping having just purchased everything at the grocer and whipping it together immediately upon arriving back at home. Everything being the same temperature and being chilled really made the difference in the flavor. I will absolutely be making this for the potluck at work, with a minor change. I think using either chocolate or chocolate fudge pudding will make a serious difference. The vanilla pudding is kind of blah. It was very blah when I first made it, but it got a little better after some time in the refrigerator. Colder is better. This recipe yields a lot more than I anticipated. Luckily, it's quite good, so it's not even a problem. Except maybe calorie wise. These are mini taco meatballs prepared and ready to go into the oven. This recipe actually took a lot less time than the other. For this recipe I just had to mash all the ingredients (beef, salt, pepper, eggs, taco seasoning) together in a bowl and roll out the meatballs. Even with cook time, it still took a lot less time to make the meatballs than the salad. It's all about that chopping. On an unrelated note, look at how tiny and sad that mini taco meatball in the exact middle is. I guess this means the recipe is really only meant to yield about 30 tiny taco meatballs, but I managed about 30.3 of them. While I was at the grocer, there was a woman there offering samples of a new buffalo ranch dressing. I definitely got some of that. Two bottles, actually. I also found some chipotle and spicy ranchero sauces. The mini taco meatballs alone are like a tiny taco flavored party in your mouth, but with these accompanying dipping sauces and some tortilla chips... ¡Muy delicioso! This recipe does require a great deal of meat to produce a decent number of meatballs, so I doubt I'll be making these for the potluck.

Penny in a diamond mine.

Don't have to worry about that anymore. My office bromance is over. For those of you who might be unfamiliar with the term "bromance", here's a basic definition.

Bromance
-noun
1. A non-sexual relationship between two men that are unusually close.

-verb -mans-ing
1. The act of wooing a fellow male friend for the purpose of becoming closer.
2. Going to unusual lengths in an attempt to become closer with another male friend.

My new friend with the tattoos was terminated today. That's not entirely accurate. I should explain. Two weeks ago, half of the training class received disciplinary measures for various infractions: excessive tardiness, sleeping/appearing to sleep in class, verbally assaulting a security officer... Yeah. That bitch is crazy. I stay away from her. Damn, now I have to explain that situation. We're not permitted to have drinks containing red dye 40 anywhere in the building. Seriously. Security personnel will confiscate any food or beverage they believe to contain red dye 40. That's what happened to this chick and she flipped her freaking weave. It was amazing and kinda scary. So, anyway, half the class was disciplined for various infractions they incurred during the first three weeks of training. I didn't, obviously, because I'm either incredibly well-behaved or very skilled at not getting caught. Draw your own conclusions. Anyway, my new friend with all the tattoos was disciplined for excessive tardiness. Since he was late nearly half an hour on one occasion and twenty minutes on another, it was a serious write up. He was one repeat incident from termination. Today, that happened. He was two and half hours late to class. When he was five minutes late, the instructor called security and had the magnetic strip in his identification badge deactivated. He wouldn't make it beyond the lobby if/when he showed up at that point. Very quiet day. I actually paid attention for the entire class. I was also really bored and somewhat sad all day. Definitely not the right start for the week.

On a brighter note, my team dominated at Jeopardy. Our reward is an additional five minutes for each of our breaks tomorrow. That totals an additional twenty free minutes of whatever we want to do other than learn. Brilliant incentive. We're all smokers, by the way. Fancy that. We've got our priorities sorted out.

I'll close with a tribute song for the unexpected demise of my office bromance and the premature eviction of my classmate. This track inspired the title of my Thanksgiving post and I've been listening to it all week on Nurse Egg's old ipod. Enjoy.



Oh, and the answer to that brain teaser... If you're like the rest of my class, you might have said that the bowling ball would hit the bottom of the bucket of water at 45 degrees F first, since you realized that water would have frozen solid at 30 degrees F in the second bucket. However, like them, you'd be wrong. If you're like me, you'd have realized that the wording of the question was purposefully misleading. There wasn't any mention of water being in the second bucket. It's just a really, really cold bucket. So, the correct answer would then be that the bowling ball would hit the bottom of the bucket at 30 degrees F first, having been slowed dramatically by the water in the other bucket. The location is a red herring to distract you from the real trick. You know what they say about assuming... I do love some clever misdirection.

On an unrelated note, I'm wondering how the new script is working for you. I love it, but I'm not the one reading it. So, what do you think? Yay for the new script font or nay? Is it too much of a bother? Let me know. I've actually been writing exclusively in cursive since the second day of tech training. I was amazed by how quickly I reverted back into it after abandoning it completely for print halfway through high school.

A pair of hop-along boots and a pistol that shoots.

Nurse Egg won't let me decorate our Christmas tree which she insisted we put up two weeks before Thanksgiving. I can't imagine why she disapproves of my decorations. They're even Politically Correct, so no one should feel left out or offended. Or so I thought.



Decorations or not, we're ready for the season and all the lovely family events that are approaching. Yikes. Anyway...

Merry Fucking Christmahanakwanzukah!

Cheap and Cheerful.

You may have noticed that I've changed some things. The old layout was exactly that - an old, tired layout recycled from a long dead blog from five years ago. The tone was wrong. I still love the caption "Everything fun is wrong", but... again, the graphic is dated and the tone is wrong for me. The new layout is rather brash. I absolutely love this graphic. Wish I could remember where I found it so I could credit it. Oh well, I'm sure everyone involved is famous enough already as it is without me having to pay lip service. Speaking of which, I hope to one day be such a big deal that I am provided with my own cigarette bitch to hold my smokes for me and ash when necessary. This would be a great thing to have on a cold, windy day. I could keep my hands in my pocket to stay warm and I wouldn't be bothered with trying to shield my face long enough to light up. I dream big, I know.

I've been aggravated lately by the people I know and their romantic lives. I shouldn't talk about the specifics or the whos and whats of it, so nevermind all that. Just know I'm aggravated and that's why. I'm further annoyed by the fact that I'm not just hashing it out here. I don't think it would actually help, though. I would if I thought it would be somehow beneficial to me. It's not so whatever. It's none of my business anyway. I should delete this paragraph. Nevermind. Anyway...

Seeing my grandfather during Thanksgiving was depressing. He's in a rapid state of decline. Actually, I don't want to talk about this either. He looked hollow and demented. It was sobering which is saying a lot since I don't really drink anymore and I was quite buzzed off what little vodka I consumed before arriving that night in anticipation of an awkward, hostile holiday event with the family. Fuck. Nevermind. Anyway...

Since I'm still recovering from nearly a year of unemployment with incredibly brief and sparatic periods of orientation/training periods featuring minimal pay, no one should expect anything for Christmas this year from me. Seriously. That's just not happening. Hopefully by the end of this year I'll at least be financially stable again and ahead of the curve on bills again. It's been fun picking and choosing which bills get paid which month, but I'm over that. It can stop and it will. Very excited for that to happen. I might even have my credit cards paid back off shortly. That's the easy bit. Then I just have some loans to clear up - that'll take considerably longer, naturally. Back to the point, I'm not in a position to worry about anyone else but me right now - and that's an overwhelming task as it is sometimes. Seriously. You can laugh. It's funny because it's true. Although, I've become so damn thrift it's ridiculous. The smoking thing is helping tremendously. I believe my last carton lasted just over three weeks. That's shocking. I'm used to smoking at least a pack every day, if not 1.5 packs. So, for a pack of cigarettes to last 2-3 days... It's insanity. It blows my mind, because it's not even a conscious decision. It's not like I woke up one day hacking my lungs out and decided I better chill out for awhile. It's not like I sit around all day jonesing for it, either. It's just weird. I have no idea what happened that altered my habits, but they've definitely changed. I think someone planted hypnotic suggestions in my brain while I was sleeping or something. Either that or Nurse Egg has been crushing up Chantix and mixing it into the food. I don't know. That seems more likely than me just suddenly having this drastic reduction in nicotine usage. I should really just not look a gift horse in the mouth and stop obsessing about it. Yeah, maybe I'll do that. Who cares, anyway? I do, obviously, but I'm going to pretend like I don't from now on.

Speaking of pretending, there's something I've been meaning to address for some time now and haven't yet got around to. I have a feeling that's going to get very in depth and involved so it might warrant its own post. I know it will, in fact, so that's what I'll do. Forget I brought it up here. Nevermind. Anyway...

My asshole friend is engaged after dating for two whole weeks. I said I wasn't going to talk about this, but apparently I lied about that. This will make marriage number three for him. We were out of touch for his first marriage, so I couldn't be expected to attend the ceremony. I was in Alaska at the time, dealing with my own universe of bullshit - probably during the two months when I was basically homeless and living in my car. That's a story for another time, maybe. Probably not. I was around for the second wedding, but didn't attend. I spent the night before getting incredibly drunk and spent the day of the ceremony sleeping it off. That's a real dick move, by the way. It's worse than that, actually, because I didn't regret it or apologize. I won't get into it in very much detail, but it was a shotgun wedding to the woman directly responsible for his first divorce. Can't believe that didn't work out considering how it started. Anyway, whatever. I didn't go to the wedding. So, here we are. He's engaged to a woman he's been dating for two whole weeks now. I really shouldn't be surprised by this, but I am. I think it's incredibly sad. I also think it's a terrible idea - it's a terrible idea for anyone to rush things like this, but even more for someone with an established and unfortunate history of rushing things along like this - that will certainly end in disaster. Again. I don't even try not to say those things to him anymore. It doesn't matter. He's still going to do whatever and make the same ridiculous decisions/mistakes hoping for a different outcome. That's the definition of insanity, reader. I don't think desperation is a valid reason to do anything. I don't know. It's aggravating. I wasn't always aware of how dependent he was/is on other people. I didn't notice how emotionally fragile he was/is. I didn't think he was/is so weak, desperate, lonely, and sad. He seriously can not be alone for any amount of time - an hour, a day, a week. He's never been alone longer than that and you'd have thought that was the end of the world from how he was acting during it. His neediness is entirely overwhelming and I don't handle that well. It's repelling to me. It makes me want to escape it as quickly as possible and then simply avoid it forever. Which is where I'm at right now with him - avoiding him forever. I don't know if he's always been this way and I simply didn't pick up on it or it wasn't as abundantly obvious or if he became this way at some point possibly while we were out of contact. I don't know. It's just not something I can tolerate well or be empathetic about. It's funny because he says that I'm the one who's broken. That my coldness and distance and detachment and independence and self-reliance and wanderlust are all characteristic of my total emptiness. I disagree. These attributes of mine were born out of necessity and survival. They are learned behaviors. I adapted to overcome and now that's part of who I am. I think it's a far worse thing to be so dependent on other people that you simply can not ever be alone. I mean, it seems to me that you'd have to hate yourself to a fairly significant degree to not be comfortable just being alone with yourself. I'm fairly comfortable with myself. There's a lot of things about myself that I hate, but I've come to terms with them and have reconciled these parts of my person. I don't know - maybe we're both right and wrong in our own way. In any case, I'd much rather be me than him. This has become increasingly clear throughout the last few years. I wouldn't have said that when we first met or through the years that directly followed. Of course I've changed a great deal since then as well, so that's as much a reflection of who I've become as it is of who he's become. I can't believe I'm talking about this. It doesn't matter. It's not going to end well for either of us. In a way, it's been over for a long time. I guess I just don't have the heart to make it official - our origins are so magnificent and powerful that it's difficult to not be so blinded by that amazing past that I can't clearly and objectively see the future that our present is leading us to and intervene on my own behalf. See that? I'm human afterall. I'm flawed and biased. He'd be so proud. Although, I'd get over the dissolution of our relationship quickly if not immediately. I don't think he ever would. That's the difference. It shouldn't be the case and it's tragic that it is, but a one way relationship still feels a lot like hosting parasites.

Ok, enough of that. It's depressing. It's bullshit and I'll deal with it eventually. Discussing it may have helped somewhat, so hurray for that.

My natural sarcastic demeanor finally proved useful for something other than a defense or coping mechanism. We play a lot of games in my tech support training class and on Friday we were given a worksheet of riddles to solve. It was meant to keep us busy and quiet while everyone finished up the weekly skills test. We have a lot of smart cookies in the room and most of us got most of the answers figured out. There was only one that no one got correct... except for me, naturally. Being naturally sarcastic, I'm very adept at logic puzzles. I can take things entirely too literally, which is usually a bad or humorous thing, but proves very useful in this instance. Anyway, I thought I'd allow the folks at home a crack at it. I'll reveal the answer in a future post.

"If I were in Hawaii and dropped a bowling ball in a bucket of water which is at 45 degrees F, and dropped another ball of the same weight, mass, and size in a bucket at 30 degrees F, both of them at the same time, which ball would hit the bottom of the bucket first? Same question but the location is now in Canada?"

Good luck.

You're stupid, baby, when you're sane.

This is the first tattoo concept I created for my new friend. After watching me aimlessly doodle and sketch throughout the nine hours of class one day, he asked if I could come up with a concept for this tattoo he wanted to honor his late grandfather. It started out as just a star, then it evolved into a cross with a star somehow incorporated. My first few attempts at that seemed a little too gothic/demonic/dark for a commemorative piece. I worked it out, though, obviously. The trick was not having the star be an actual part of the crucifix. The star has a lot of stigma about it and when you add it to a cross you get something very witchy/satanic looking. Definitely inappropriate for our purposes. I did not expect my new friend to actually take my concept and have it tattooed on his body. I did not expect that all.



My friend's friend, the aspiring amateur tattoo artist who inked the piece, is still learning the art of tattooing. I think at the time it was only his fourth tattoo and only his third on another person. The lines are somewhat crooked and shaky in places. I was still excited, but not entirely satisfied with the result. Fortunately, by the time the outline healed enough to be shaded in, he had gained more experience.



Definitely more satisfied with the final result. I can live with the imperfections that are noticeable. I actually like it. I like it even more because it's something I created and is now forever a part of someone. That's an incredible concept. Since then, I've created three additional concepts which have yet to be inked into flesh. But, I know with absolute certainty that it's only a matter of time. The only concept I was unsuccessful at was a tribal piece he wanted. I can't do it. It's too abstract. My brain can't process it. It seems like an incredibly simple piece to create - and it probably is for most people, but not me. I can't do tribals, which is just as well since I think they're ridiculous anyway.



I'm also amused whenever I meet someone even crazier than me who doesn't make any attempt whatsoever to conceal it. It's absolutely wonderful and I get to help decorate.

The only sour cherry on the fruit stand.

Thanksgiving night Nurse Egg and I had shots of vodka to prepare for the family event. We toasted "To surviving!" and went to dinner with the family. It was around 5pm, which is the perfect time to show up for dinner.

Except, we missed it. They had Thanksgiving lunch and the local aunt and uncle went to his parents's house for second Thanksgiving. So, we completely missed them altogether. The visiting relatives were still there and the grandparents were relaxing and recovering from the whole event in the basement. I saw pictures of the actual event - far better than actually being present for it. Anyway, we ate while everyone watched and chatted it up.

I explained about the trucking fiasco. Sort of. I also explained about the terrible political telemarketing job since then and my new tech support position. My visiting uncle talked about his own work in tech support, which was only surprising since I had no idea what exactly he did for a living. It was interesting to hear about. I even talked about the employee coordinator position I applied for and seriously hope to obtain. I should hear something back on that this week. I wasn't expecting anything sooner because of the holiday. The human resources department has been incredibly busy organizing a food and clothing drive. They were also very busy donating more to each than any other department.

One genuine surprise about dinner was when grandma asked Nurse Egg for her advice and recommendations for some nursing support and living assistance for grandpa. I had a feeling this would eventually happen, but I didn't imagine it would be voluntary. I think Nurse Egg was just as surprised. Of course, she's been suggesting this very thing for years, but that's not how our family works. We don't listen until we want to, especially to each other. Anyway, I'm happy that she's finally getting some professional help.

Thanksgiving this year was entirely uneventful and boring. Amazing.

Artistic expression.

Week two of tech training is over. This week was incredibly boring and I spent the majority of my time doodling rather than actually taking notes. This unexpectedly led to me designing tattoos for my newest friend. He's already gotten one of them inked, too. He's delaying the second one since it's a rib piece and will end up being insanely painful. This is the coolest thing I've done in forever. It might actually be the coolest thing I've ever done. That how it feels anyway. I have two more concepts I'm working on this weekend and another that I'm not even ready to begin. I've also generated a lot of interest in our classroom. I might pick up a few commission pieces. Also, I might have a second job as a freelance design artist in a tattoo shop when they (my newest friend and his tattoo artist friend) get that going. Supposedly, it's good money. We'll see about that. In the meantime, I'm having an insanely great time drawing - it's been quite a few years since I've even bothered - and making some money doing it. Just how much has yet to be seen, but I don't mind waiting until payday. Besides, the fact that my art is now permanently scarred into someone's flesh is more than adequate payment for my trouble.

I'm really excited about this, by the way. I am seriously freaking out over it.

The job posting I applied for closed on Thursday. I hope I hear something next week. I also received another cold call from some recruiter who found my resume online and wants to offer me a job. It's a sales position for an insurance company. I'm going to pass. Even if I don't get the employee coordinator position, I'm still completely satisfied with my new career in tech support. Besides, who knows... six months from now I could be working full-time drawing out art concepts for all the cool kids at a shithole tattoo parlor on the wrong side of town. And I'm sure I'll love that even more.

I'm really, really, really excited about this.

PICNIC error

Nurse Egg is making pork chops right now. I took advantage of an amazing deal at the grocer and scored us about $70 worth of free meat. The power of thrifty shopping at work. Our freezer is full again and, thanks to my somewhat more steady employment, I was able to buy groceries for once. That was a fairly awesome feeling of actually being able to contribute to our household.

On my first day of orientation for the new job, I applied for an internal job listing. The vacancy is for an employee coordinator. Basically, I would interview applicants to determine if they should be considered for a second interview with the proper department manager. I would also send them out for a drug test upon successful completion of that second interview and even determine their training schedules/classes. I like that stuff. I would really like to get this job. This would be a staff position which means not only will I have a salary but I will also be able to utilize direct deposit - something not available to hourly production employees in either technical support or customer care. I do not understand that policy at all, by the way. Anyway, I didn't realize I was eligible to apply for internal listings so quickly. Usually, there is a standard probationary period of at least 30 days and potentially even a year before new hires are permitted to apply for or be considered for these internal job postings. I was surprised on the first day of orientation when the classroom instructor encouraged us all to review these postings and apply for any we were qualified for. I didn't need any more encouragement, especially when I saw this particular posting for employee coordinator. The posting closes on the 10th of this month, so I should hear something sometime after that. In the meantime, I'm enjoying my classroom time and learning all about my new job function as a Tier II Technical Support Technician. To give you a general idea of what that means, I consulted wikipedia on your behalf. Observe:

Tier/Level 2(T2/L2)
This is a more in-depth technical support level than Tier I containing experienced and more knowledgeable personnel on a particular product or service. It is synonymous with level 2 support, support line 2, administrative level support, and various other headings denoting advanced technical troubleshooting and analysis methods. Technicians in this realm of knowledge are responsible for assisting Tier I personnel solve basic technical problems and for investigating elevated issues by confirming the validity of the problem and seeking for known solutions related to these more complex issues.[8] However, prior to the troubleshooting process, it is important that the technician review the work order to see what has already been accomplished by the Tier I technician and how long the technician has been working with the particular customer. This is a key element in meeting both the customer and business needs as it allows the technician to prioritize the troubleshooting process and properly manage his or her time.[6] If a problem is new and/or personnel from this group cannot determine a solution, they are responsible for raising this issue to the Tier III technical support group. In addition, many companies may specify that certain troubleshooting solutions be performed by this group to help ensure the intricacies of a challenging issue are solved by providing experienced and knowledgeable technicians. This may include, but is not limited to onsite installations or replacements of various hardware components, software repair, diagnostic testing, and the utilization of remote control tools used to take over the user’s machine for the sole purpose of troubleshooting and finding a solution to the problem.[6][9]

I can not talk about what company or products I will be personally troubleshooting in this role, but I can say that it is a major global client. There are no Tier I technicians on site. They do, however, call in to us from various locations and vendors in order to better assist a customer who has a problem beyond their limited technical ability to resolve. There are a handful of Tier III technicians on site to assist us when we've exhausted our technical ability as well. God help you if you need technical assistance beyond that. You have to speak to the manufacturer/designer at that point. You should probably just give it up. You simply aren't meant to use this technology.

It's been fun learning about the technology. We've reviewed the first of the many systems I'll be using (possibly simultaneously for each call) and a line of products and features we will be responsible for implementing and servicing. I'm a little excited. Also, my inner geek is coming out. Halfway through Wednesday, I decided to start using cursive again on my class notes. I'm a little surprised how much neater my script is than my print. I haven't used it in a decade and it's still naturally preserved inside my brain and just as beautiful as it ever was. I had a lot of fun with that. I believe I did mention my inner geek is resurfacing. This is obvious. I have already learned some delightful tech slang for dealing with the most common technical error we will have to deal with: humanity. Again, I have consulted wikipedia on your behalf. Observe:

A user error is an error made by the human user of a complex system, usually a computer system, in interacting with it. Although the term is sometimes used by Human Computer Interaction practitioners, the more formal human error term is used in the context of human reliability.
User Error and related phrases such as PEBKAC ("Problem Exists Between Keyboard And Chair"), PICNIC ("Problem In Chair Not In Computer"), PIBCAK ("Problem Is Between Chair And Keyboard") or ID-10T error ("Idiot error") are also used as slang in technical circles with a derogatory meaning.[1][2] This usage implies a lack of computer savvy, asserting that problems arisen when using a device are the fault of the user. Critics of the term argue that the problems are caused instead by a device designed in such a way that it induces errors.
The term can also be used for non-computer-related mistakes.[1]

As I said, this has been a delightful experience so far. My inner geek has been doing the robot dance for four days now and I love it.

Mirth in red.

I'll post tomorrow. :) Probably.

Everything fun is wrong? Yes, it is.

I'm in shock. I purchased a pack of cigarettes on Wednesday. It's now Saturday afternoon and I still have one to smoke. It is my last, but after 72 hours... Well, I should have -40 cigarettes left in this pack. Instead, I have this final cigarette in the pack. Don't misunderstand: I'm not quitting. At least, I'm not consciously quitting. But, I have slowed down drastically and not even on purpose. It's weird. I don't know why this is happening, but I'm pleasantly surprised. If I can make a pack last three days instead of only one, then a full carton of cigarettes could possibly last for an entire month. That's madness and extreme savings. Instead of paying in excess of $150, I'll only be shelling out about $50. This is madness. I keep saying that, but it's true. This is madness. Now that I'm actually thinking about it, the pack before this one lasted about as long. So, it's not a fluke. It's more of a phase, I suppose. Although, I'm not sure what prompted it and what is maintaining it. I haven't been suffering through cravings either. Sometimes, lately, I simply forget to remember to want - or need - to smoke. Bizarre.

I did some cardio yesterday. It was a moderate program. I have a goal, too. I would like to try to lose 70 pounds in 7 months. It's intense and ambitious and probably insane and impossible, too. But, I'm going to give it a shot. Anyway, regardless of how achievable/impossible my goal proves to be, I'm definitely going to get an exercise program going and make it part of the routine. We'll see if I'm still at by the time my birthday rolls around again. Like everything else, I get obsessed about something only until I lose interest or get distracted by the next thing. Worth a try, anyway.

You may have noticed that I recycled a former pup background and updated it a bit. I really enjoy that stuff. Alot of my creativity is abstract, so being able to work with something slightly more concrete and immediately observable is lovely.

Since nothing ever came out of the whole third roommate thing, I've moved my bed into what used to be the upstairs office and has now become my sleeping room. Everything else remains in my actual room, which I will no longer refer to as my bedroom since there is no longer a bed in it. Actually, I might refer to the room I moved my bed into as my bedroom or sleeping room - whichever. The other room will just be my other room. The room my bed used to be in is directly over the garage and becomes about as cold as it is outside during the winter months - despite the efforts Nurse Egg and I have made to heat it. So, it's almost November and that room has become a walk-in freezer. So, now I have a sleeping room that's actually warm enough to sleep in.

Just a moment. Marco Polo is growling at me. He very rarely ever barks. If there's a sudden knock at the door or other very loud disturbance, he might bark. Otherwise, he just growls or whines. If he is trying to get my attention, he will growl to alert me to his needs. Usually his only need is going outside, so that's what we'll be doing for a few moments. I'm also going to smoke my final cigarette from this pack. Very, very exciting. Be right back.

I've consumed nearly 500 ml. of coffee from this enormous mason jar. The conversion rate equates this to about 2.5 cups or 20 oz. I'm freakishly energized now. Goodness me. I'm giggling for absolutely no reason at all. Wow. Yes, I'm doing more cardio this afternoon. I'm an atomic riot.

I've been working through my Netflix queue at the behest of Nurse Egg. She thinks we have to consider this with quite a deal of urgency. We've been rapidly watching everything from Gordon Ramsay to Hoarders to Walking Dead. We watch far less movies than television episodes. It's what we do.

I start work on Monday. This will be my fourth new hire orientation of the year. Fortunately, that's as ridiculous as that number is going to get since the technical level of this job will require a training schedule lasting into the beginning of next year. Still, that's four times the number of orientations that I would have liked to sit through. It's also four times the amount of human resources paperwork I would have liked to fill out. Anyway, I'm semi-excited to be starting a job yet again and absolutely excited that I will be employed at least until next year. I do not enjoy job hunting. Interviews I don't mind so much. I'm brilliant at job interviews. That's the easy part to me. Getting these bastards to call and ask for an interview in the first place, that's the worst for me. It's absolutely aggravating. I'd almost prefer them to call and say I'm ridiculously unqualified for the position or they just don't see a point in interviewing someone with my tragic employment history for the past year. I'd prefer either of those to no response at all. I don't want to nag them. I wouldn't want to be nagged constantly. It's one thing to be enthusiastic and driven about pursuing employment. It's quite another thing to be obsessed or seemingly entitled about it. Maybe that's just my experience in management and dealing with staffing needs and the entire applicant process, but I can't possibly imagine someone in management would actually want a potential applicant to practically stalk them in order to seriously consider hiring them. Ridiculous, but that may be just my limited perspective. I don't know. I don't get it. Anyway, I'm starting work on Monday. Semi-excited.

I haven't had too much to do with the family lately. Honestly, I haven't had anything at all to do with them. I've been entirely focused on the employment situation. They're a distraction. They are a huge distraction. I'm sure I'll see them for one of the upcoming holidays, if not both. Oh shit. I just realized that I'll be here for two major holidays. I will be expected to attend these family functions. Oh shit. What a disaster. That just ruined my day. That should be a fantastically horrifying and hilarious series of posts to expect. Lucky us. You don't have to live through it, though. Yeah, I do. Awesome. Probably going to be drunk for that, if possible.

Well, that was quite an update. Decent post here. Outstanding.

My dog is cuter than yours.

Fantastic news! Marco Polo is officially one of the cutest pets of Trumbull County (out of the 76 that entered the contest). He placed sixth, overtaking his arch nemesis "Spa Day" in the final week of the contest - which greatly pleased his owner. Nurse Egg had a serious vendetta against "Spa Day". I honestly didn't think it was going to be even remotely possible to close the gap of 300 or 400 votes that "Spa Day" consistently lead by. But, I think they had a similar mentality and just gave up on the final week of voting. That was a mistake, because we won't stop no matter how impossible the odds are. The more certain our defeat, the stronger our resolve to fight against it. We are stubborn and thick headed, which makes us formidable opponents indeed especially when we combine forces. Anyway, Nurse Egg is thrilled to death.

Unfortunately, the newspaper did not contact her until today to let her know she had to appear in person at the newspaper office to claim her prize (two tickets to Disney's Phineas and Ferb: The Best LIVE Tour Ever!) by 6pm. Also, the show is tomorrow. Well, Nurse Egg was nursing until at least 6pm and no one else could claim the tickets in her place. Also, Nurse Egg's (second step/adoptive) mother is in the hospital in Cleveland being treated for a brain tumor. So, she had already asked for and received the weekend off, but she had very specific plans to spend the entire weekend at the hospital. So, basically, she won a prize she can't use. Fortunately, it wasn't really about the prize for her. She just wanted some external validation that her pet was not only cute, but one of the cutest in the county. I don't know why this matters so much, but it apparently does. Hurray, I guess.

Thinking of reverting back to an older design for this page. It's been a few years since I've changed the layout for this blog. I'll probably already have that done by the time you read this, but I've just been browsing my photobucket albums while posting and found an old background from the pup days. Those were good times. I was a raving, posting lunatic back then.

Nurse Egg wants a house. The condo is a little expensive and we could definitely rent a house or pay a mortgage for far less than what we're splitting now. So, we've been looking. We've walked through several properties. Nothing has wowed either of us yet. We've liked things about a few of them, but we also hated things about those same properties. Anyway, Nurse Egg already spoke to her bank and has been pre-approved for a loan/mortgage. Whatever, I don't know anything about this stuff. It's all very exciting, though. Well, except for the part about committing to living in Ohio permanent like. Horrifying thought, that. Yikes. But, it might be happening.

"That bitch! She has like a thousand votes already!"

Nurse Egg has entered Marco Polo into a photo contest held by our local newspaper for the cutest pet. Here's a delightful widget that will take you directly to the voting page where you can register in order to vote for him. You can then vote for him 20 times EVERY day until the contest ends. When registering to vote, use the link directly above Marco Polo's photo to ensure you are registering with the animal hospital sponsoring the event to gain permission to participate. Registering with the newspaper website will not permit you to vote. I did not know this and ended up registering for both. Learn from my mistakes, readers. While I was casting my 20 daily votes for our little hooligan, I scouted out the competition. Nurse Egg was not impressed. "Awww. Spa day is actually really cute." "That bitch! Princess has like a thousand votes already! No! You vote for Marco!" "Fine."

Nurse Egg is not only determined to catch up with Spa Day, but she wants to completely destroy and embarass both pet and owner by winning this cute little pet photo contest. I don't know if it'll happen or not, but I'm showing my support by voting as often as I can tolerate and by pimping out the voting widget to the three or four people who read this. Maybe if we combine our forces... Well, I still don't know. I guess we'll all be surprised.

Nurse Egg got a little side-tracked while completing her own daily 20 votes and has spent the last twenty minutes laughing hysterically at this gif image which she stumbled across while checking out the webpage for a local dog waste removal company named Wholly Crap. There I go again, pimping out links. I'm such a giver.

Feeling almost semi-human again.

"What about the part of you that secretly yearns for something else, the part of you both of us knows is there?"
"My house has many rooms. I occupy but a few. The rest go unvisited."
"Who said that?"
"I did."

Ocassionally I am completely amazed by dialogue. Not only amazed by it, but haunted by it. It is simply perfect. It speaks directly to me of me. It also pisses me off in a truly narcissistic way - damaging my inflated self-importance, ego, and basest vanity. Those words should have been mine. I wish they were. I desperately wish they were. My only consolation is that I can quote these quotes and share the unspeakable magic within them.

I could easily use this opportunity to identify - or at least ellude to - my own secret rooms, either unvisited or fully occupied. But, I'm still not entirely over this illness and pulling thoughts together is still not a terribly successful process for me yet. I have, thankfully, progressed beyond the raging asshole phase of it. I was very fortunate to only claim two victims during that time, which I've already discussed in the previous post, and only one of those received the full extremes of my rage. He seems to be alright now and since I have no intention of apologizing for it, that's just as well. Besides, illness induced madness not withstanding, I did mean every terrible word of it and stand by every horrifying syllable even now. I doubt it'll change anything, but at least he knows exactly where I stand now. So do I, actually. I understand it far more clearly now than I had. It was a learning experience for everyone. Hurray.

Why the haggles?

As part of our efforts to clear out the upstairs office in anticipation of a third roommate for our condo, Nurse Egg and I have been selling off redundant furniture and items on Craig's List. We have successfully offloaded my futon and her grandparents' love seat. We are still hopeful about selling off both our stereos and some miscellaneous crap I've been holding onto for far too long. Like my mail safe.



I purchased the mail safe as part of my better management initiative a few years ago. The plan was to offer employees a discrete and even anonymous method of bringing things to the attention of management. It... failed. Unless you consider the offerings of ketchup packets, napkins, and other miscellaneous lunch materials that were stuffed inside a success, it seriously failed. It has been retired to my closet for nearly three years now and has made the journey with me as I moved from state to state. Unfortunately, I don't actually need a mail safe. In fact, I never should have purchased it in the first place, but I was trying to incorporate all the amazing ideals they installed in me during a management seminar and I was incredibly naive.

The original purchase price was $75. Yeah, I know. Yikes. I used to have that sort of disposable income. No longer, however. The success of our selling campaign on Craig's List has been in large part due to the way I've marketed it. "Amazing $25 house moving sale!" where "Everything we list will cost you only $25!" It's been incredibly effective. The original plan was to simply drag it all out to the curb and let waste management take care of it or allow dumpster divers to take their pick of the lot. But, if we can make a little extra cash by simply making a few posts online, why not? Again, it's been incredibly effective. You can't argue with that price point for the things we're offering. At least, not until I posted the mail safe. I received the following email shortly after doing so:

you must be outta your mind. Lowes sells those and similar ones brand new for $30 with hardware and 2 keys.

please

its worth $10

I only have one of the two keys that came with the thing, since my previous employer demanded she be included in my better management initiative and then never returned the key when it failed. Also, I threw away the mounting hardware during one of my purging cleaning phases. I had never intended to use or sell the thing. I'm not entirely sure what I intended to do with it, but I had paid some money for it so I kept it around while I tried to figure something out.

Anyway, I read this response and wondered if it could possibly be true. Had the price dropped that low on this item? It was worth investigating. After browsing the store's site, I responded to the email with this"

Then go to Lowes where you'll spend $65 on this exact (not similar) item according to the current lising on Lowes.com.

http://www.lowes.com/pd_30825-1622-LMSK00000_4294856644_4294937087_?productId=3032303&Ns=p_product_prd_lis_ord_nbr|0||p_product_qty_sales_dollar|1&pl=1¤tURL=%2Fpl_Mailboxes%2B_4294856644_4294937087_%3FNs%3Dp_product_prd_lis_ord_nbr%7C0%7C%7Cp_product_qty_sales_dollar%7C1&facetInfo=

I'm offering the item with a more than 50% price reduction for a few missing mounting screws. Yeah, I must be out of my mind.

I haven't received a response as of yet. If I do, I'm going to raise my asking price to $45. That's an asshole tax. If you're going to be deceitful and just make up numbers in order to try to negotiate or haggle a lower buying price, the number one rule is not to get caught in your own lie. It took me all of ten seconds to search the site for the listing and type out my rebuttal. I shouldn't be surprised to get this sort of half-assed attempt at bartering from an Italian. But he shouldn't be surprised to be outmatched and called out on his bullshit by an efficient, resourceful German.

In other news, I'm sick so my tolerance of bullshit is almost non-existent. I told someone off that same day for throwing himself a pity party. I can understand the ocassional emotional crisis or neediness or whatever, but when it's every month? That's excessive. I don't respond well to that. Normally, I can at least refrain from acting on my impulses to do exactly what I did the other day. It was incredibly brutal, but it was completely honest. I laid out some very tough truths and force fed them to him. His response was rather predictable for someone who has never been on the receiving end of my insanity and rage. He withdrew and hid for 24 hours. I gave him quite a lot to think about and sulk over. Half of that was meant to inspire him or light a fire under his ass, the other half was meant to make him shut the hell up and stop using pity as a way to get attention. I really hoped that my better intentions would trump my lesser ones, but I'm not sure that'll happen. I guess I'm just not interested in playing along anymore. It's become nearly impossible for me to simply maintain the status quo and allow things to simply roll off my back.

No one has to listen to me, but you'll damn sure hear me.

Sort it out.

In preparation for the possability of accepting an additional roommate into the condo, Nurse Egg and I have started emptying out the office to allow for a third bedroom. This inevitably lead to rearranging furniture in the living room to incorporate the desk from the office. We are getting rid of a few pieces of furniture and both of our stereos as well through Craig's List. I also have to start listing a few stacks of text books on Amazon. We are definitely cleaning out the place. As Nurse Egg keeps reminding me:

"We're going to have so much more room for activities!"

I won't buy you flowers.

"I hate my fucking life."
"I know."
"Maybe I'll have an accident on my way home from work. If I'm on my deathbed, people might have some more compassion for me."
"I seriously doubt it."
"Well, it's worth a try right?"
"Not really."
"Tree or ditch?"
"Fuck off."
"Which one... would be less likely to kill me?"
Every time the coversation goes this way, I withdraw. I just stop engaging. I'm tired of coming up with the reasons. I'm tired of trying to fix broken, desperate people. I'm fed up with giving a damn about people who care less about themselves than I do. I'm tired of being a lifeline.
"You coming to my funeral? I mean my house?"
I haven't been returning the texts. My phone rings. I silence it and throw it across the room. After a few minutes, I pick it up and listen to the short, sad voicemail. Then, I delete it. I set it down and a moment later there's another text.
"Guess you don't even give a shit."
"I'm not coming to your fucking funeral after you kill yourself. You're the one who doesn't give a shit."

I have very serious issues with suicide. I have extremely serious issues with people who like to joke about it as a way to get attention and pity from me. I understand that you're hurting and lost and crazy and sad and desperate and broken and miserable. I understand that this is one of many ways people cope with bullshit. It's not how healthy, rational people deal with it. It's not how I deal with it. But, it's how people like you choose to deal with it. I also understand that one day it won't be just something you say to get attention and pity. I understand that a thought can become reality. I understand that one day I'm going to ignore you and that it'll be the last thing we ever do together. The last thing I ever say to you might be "fuck off" and I won't take it back afterward. It scares the fuck out of me understanding and knowing and believing these things. It scares me to be completely hopeless and powerless. It saddens me to realize you're not nearly as strong as I thought. It makes me physically ill to know that I've always been the stronger one and that'll never change. It kills me to know I'll probably outlive you and that you'll die a stupid, pointless death at your own desperate hands. I also have come to accept that it's not my responsibility to constantly defuse the situation. I can't be the one person holding back the tidal wave of your self-destructive impulses. I can't be the catcher in your rye. I can't allow myself to fall into that role no matter how bad I secretly want to and - even on some desperate level - need to save you from yourself. I can't fight your battles for you. I can't kill your demons. I can't.

All I can really do anymore is draw a very solid line and refuse to cross it. I won't come to your damn funeral. I won't bring balloons and cake to your pity party. I won't cry... at least, not out of sadness. Any tears from me will be filled with salty hate. It's better that you know that in advance. I will hate you forever. I will spit on your grave. I won't romanticize who you were when you were alive. I won't relive all the amazing moments and completely disregard the bad. I won't adjust the final score in your favor. I will eventually forget your face. I won't talk about you. I won't write about you. I will delete and erase anything I already have. I will match my value of your life with your own final appraisal. I will stop caring. I will force myself to drown everything that once cared or loved for you. I will euthanize your presence in my mind and heart. I will purge your memory. I will probably vomit involuntarily and punch whatever might be within my reach. I will do terrible things, but none that compare to your own last, ridiculous act.

No, I'm not coming to your fucking funeral.

Hoarding, for the Disinterested Minimalist.

Every time I watch Hoarders, I am overwhelmed by the compulsion to throw things away. Anything really, but usually in bulk. If it's not a substantial purge, the compulsion lingers. I have to say I've already done a fair amount of downsizing as far as personal property is concerned. I moved from a three bedroom house with garage into a two bedroom apartment with no garage into a single room of this condo. My piles of crap used to fill the entire space of each of those larger residences. I have no idea how I managed to reduce so drastically while transitioning between each. Well, I have some idea. I donated a ridiculous amount to Goodwill. I also donated a ridiculous amount to the landfill.

There's a point to this, I assure you. I'm in the midst of another purge cycle. I recently watched my new all time favorite episode of Hoarders. It involved two sets of animal hoarders. They were also very unstable, aggressive people.

It should be noted that every time I watch an episode of the show I also think of a certain group of relatives of mine. I think of how they have amassed all the discarded furniture and trinkets of our combined family past and how the growing bulk of that bullshit is no longer able to be contained in only one home. It has migrated to two now. I used to be really upset whenever I'd see something of mine - my dresser from childhood with the car stickers I attached, the missle casing my uncle saved for me from his time in the Navy, my office chair which mysterious dissapeared from my room while I was still living in my grandmother's house - but I've realized that I simply don't care about things. I don't have any attachment to the things I've lost in this way. For the most part, I wouldn't even remember half of them having ever existed or played any substantial part in my life if not for this museum of ancient family artifacts that has been created for that precise purpose. The office chair was rather more recent and what I would classify as a real bitch move since I was still using the damn thing, but I'm not sure they can help themselves when it comes to helping themselves. Anyway, I don't need it anymore. I've done perfectly well without. Maybe better than that because I learned not to allow them into my home if there's anything I don't want to mysteriously vanish and just as magically reappear in their monument to other people's second-hand bullshit. They might not know any better, but I do. It's difficult for me to be in that environment. I don't like feeling as if all the things piled up around me are trying to hug me as I try to walk by without disturbing the precarious way it's all been stacked. It's like a deranged version of Jenga. If you lose, you're going to be crushed to death by half-empty photo albums, dirty clothing, broken clocks, old telephones, entire dish sets, and all the miscellaneous things As-Seen-On-Tv. I feel somewhat claustrophobic in those houses. I am able to fully cope with the situation only when I'm fully inebriated. Which might explain... nevermind. I'm not even going to attempt to psychoanalyze anyone in my immediate family. It's not worth it. We're all fucking crazy in our own special little ways.

Back to my original point, I'm in a purge cycle once again. This time I'm discarding another round of clothing that I'm fairly certain I've never worn. It's nice clothing. It's not exactly what I would define as my own personal style, but I could see myself wearing it someday. Of course, someday is just code for never going to happen. So, there's another Goodwill donation. Perfect timing, too. It's all winter clothing. I'm also discarding all my management propaganda. All my binders and files and charts and manuals - relics of another career and another life. I also found a birthday card to me from my former babysitter and failed tenant of the yellow house - ripped that shit up into tiny pieces. It's absurd the things you keep for years without realizing just how much dead weight you're dragging along with you. I don't think that's something worth saving for seventeen years - especially since the bitch always put ketchup on my sandwiches. A Ziggy birthday card is not going to make that all better.

I don't know. Sometimes I don't understand why I have so many things. Things I don't need or want or use or even know I have. No matter how many times I try to purge myself of the useless and irrelevent, I always manage to keep an entire stash of things to surprise myself with later. "What the hell... Why do I still have this? ...and what is it? ...or what is it a piece of?" I don't know.

I also have a problem with discarding computer components. That's the real issue I'm going to address tonight. I believe that I had kept these components for spares in case I needed to replace one in my desktop computer. This never happened, but it could have. Still, it didn't. Of course, I've upgraded and rendered that ideology obsolete and slightly absurd now. I just found three 3.5" floppy disk drives and a whole gang of diskettes to go in them. I think I missed my window of opportunity for transferring whatever the hell is on them onto a better media format. As far as that goes, I think it's about time to let go of the VHS and audio cassettes, too. I don't even own the devices necessary for utilizing either and couldn't see myself purchasing them even if I did manage to locate any that still function. So, those are all going to be added to the discard pile tonight.

I like throwing stuff away. It's been my favorite thing to do ever since I moved out of my grandmother's house and I no longer had to worry about her digging through my garbage and trying to salvage everything I had tried to throw out. If you've never seen a hat made out of crushed soda cans or a purse made out of plastic shopping bags all twisted up and woven together, you can't possibly begin to comprehend my anxiety about throwing things away in my grandmother's house only to get them back reincarnated in some craft-time insanity for Christmas. I wish I was joking about that. Don't even get me started on The Great Food Expiration Date Debate. I don't eat anything that has an expiration date on it that has expired. I don't care if that date was yesterday. I'll shave my head and eat my own hair before that will ever be an option. Of course, if I were to try to throw out a food item with an expiration date that has expired, I'd have to not eat dinner at my grandmother's house for the next week. Because if it's not magically back in the refrigerator, it's in the crockpot. It's not much of a surprise after the first time. Fool me once, shame on you - but it'll never happen again. Believe that. As far as that goes, I don't typically eat at my grandmother's house anymore. I only brave it on special ocassions and when someone else is cooking - not that it's any safer, it's actually more dangerous for completely different reasons. But, I actually didn't eat there for the majority of the time I lived there after that first revelation. You're not going to win me over to your side of the argument by quietly revealing to me that the dinner I just consumed was created solely from all the food ingredients I had thrown away for being expired and half-rotten after they had laid at the bottom of the garbage bag for a few days at room temperature while cultivating an entire colony of food borne bacteria which are now rioting in my digestive system and will soon be expelled from my every cavity. I don't respond well to that shit. If you're not related to me and you try a stunt like this, you won't survive to tell the tale. If you are related to me and you try a stunt like this, you should be prepared for some old school, Shakespearean tragedy to befall you. I'm a fairly dangerous person when I'm properly motivated. Just something to remember, but you'd be better off not testing me on that point. So, yes. I thoroughly love throwing shit away now and never having to see it again. It's simply delightful.

I have resisted my family's attempts to plant the seeds of hoarding in me - other than the outdated media components, of course, which will be rectified shortly. I guess that makes me a survivor of sorts or a rebel. I may make it look easy, but it was a long, cluttered road.

Life in limbo. Still.

It's incredibly difficult knowing what I want and how exactly to get it, but being trapped indefinitely in this bullshit universe of incompetence and bureaucracy. It is purgatory and I'm floating hopelessly in limbo thinking I have a chance of simply riding it out. It's incredibly difficult being equally cynical and optimistic.

[To be continued. I just got ambushed by some interesting people with interesting theories. Check the other site for that later.]

Labels.

I've reconfigured refined the post labeling system. At this point, there are only four five active labels for posts.

Posts labeled Kingsgrave House will feature my interactions with various other members of my family. Chuckle It Up presents some of my more humorous personal mishaps and anecdotes. 1000 words will still feature some sort of media element and may or may not offer an actual, related post as well. Link Me All Over will feature external links in an effort to direct web traffic to my other projects or - possibly in rare circumstances - pimp someone or something out. Prose will direct you to posts that are more creative/serious in nature, which will eliminate the necessity for me to maintain yet another seperate site for those works.

Shortcuts are located on the menu bar to the right and labels will be enlarged based on frequency of use, so you should be able to easily find whatever you're looking for while waiting ever so patiently for me to update and provide you with more content.

Enjoy!

I will add additional labels as necessary.

Live this day. (2004)

It's a brand new day. I'm sure you've said that before. Can you count the times? I won't even try. Maybe you can't remember having actually muttered the words. Doesn't matter. You have heard it said. How many, many times, so have I. Welcome to today; it's brand new. Uncharted territory. The only frontier left to us undiscovered, pure, original. A brand new day.

Dog shit.

I know the theory of today far too well. I know the logic of that flawed argument. Yesterday ended, tomorrow has yet to come, welcome to today by default and a play on verb tenses. The real truth is - it's all an illusion. Time intervals are tricky fallacies we trap ourselves in to separate moments, events, lives. In reality, yesterday hasn't ended and refuses to do so. It continues forever. Day after figurative day it grows more monstrous and unrelenting. It's a collection, a limitless dumping ground for all our spent moments of life. Tomorrow never comes. There is no such thing as tomorrow. It is a lie. Even in our deaths, as our consciousness fades into the infinite void and we slowly rot away, we can not touch the tragic and failed legend of tomorrow. There simply is no morning after, no next day, no future. Today is the never-ending story of our whole lives and beyond. There is no escaping this day. Today is forever and ever and ever.

We confuse the complexity of this truth in so many ways. We watch our shadows move around us in small arcs until they finally stretch and explode and envelope our worlds in the darkness of a dead day. We make our observations and measurements and calculations. We mark the hours. Add. Multiply. Divide. We fancy ourselves brilliant masters of time management and believe our basic mathematical competency makes any moment more special than the last. We develop systems, routines, behavior, science. We divide our days into hours, minutes, and seconds. Everything is timed and carefully calculated. We mark off the progress of the Earth's rotation versus its revolution around the sun and call it 1 of 365. We dress this imagined progress up with titles, numbers, subgroups, and more numbers. We give each rotation it's own signifier to further the charade that every day is in fact different. Monday, Wednesday, Saturday... Fill-in-the-blank day. We reference the Good Book and group them by 7. If it was good enough for Him, we will shape our days in His image. New days. Brand new days. One entire week of them. But it's not enough. We need more ways to compartmentalize and divide and exploit our new fiction of time progression. We invent months to group our weeks and days. 365 is such a harsh number to swallow. 30 is much easier number to play with. If we can just chop it up into small enough pieces we may not ever have to chew the bullshit that we're swallowing now. January, February, November. They are so deliciously imprecise and awkward. We weigh them out like an apprentice butcher. This one has 31 days, this one only 28. We have a 25% success rate and that's good enough for us. We can't even divide evenly and we think we've actually accomplished something. Delighted with our own ingenuity we count each revolution to chart our success. 1, 500, 1999, 2005. We've come a long way now. Something ended, something began, something changed. We made something happen. What? What changed? Nothing. We imagined it all and reveled oblivious to our own arrogance and ignorance. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The divine trinity of time. A perception we taught ourselves to marvel. How magical it all seemed once to think there were these convenient compartments to stuff the imaginary and random segments of our lives into and desperate try to hide them behind a simple expression and a travesty of language.

To what purpose, to what real effect do we make these distinctions? Order to chaos. Things must be made more manageable. We can not allow the infinite nature of time to continue unchallenged. We can not possibly be expected to confront the magnitude of forever without some expert practiced method to simplify and degrade it. We can not possibly be expected to handle thoughts and ideas larger than our fragile lives and worlds. So we cut it all down, reduce, package, label. We take it all in small doses. We build up our tolerance until we become immune. We think less and micromanage reality. We embrace the casual expressions that mock our limited grasp of our own inadequacy. Rome wasn't built in a day, afterall. There's always tomorrow. Remember the good ole days? It's a brand new day.

Lies. Propaganda. Yellow journalism.

Tomorrow never comes. Yesterday is spent. There is only today.

[revised on September 20, 2009]

Coma recovery.

I slept nearly an entire day in this enormous hotel bed. It's weird sleeping in a bed designed for humans. If I toss and turn, I won't suddenly find myself plummeting from my bunk and falling the five feet to the floor of the sleeper berth. It's stranger still not to feel the world rapidly turning beneath me as I dream about a world I'm moving through and beyond. Until only recently, it felt as though I'd been swimming for a prolonged period of time and hadn't managed to convert back to being a land-based mammal. Perhaps that's why I've been sleeping all this time, it's awkward getting around. Speaking of aquatics, I've also managed to take three showers in less than 36 hours. It's simply too much for me to pass up another opportunity to shower without having to make a fuel purchase or leave an absurd towel deposit.

You might be surprised that I'm posting here. I've decided that I still need this blog to discuss things that aren't particularly relevent to my pursuit of a new trade/career. To that effect, I've moved the Father's Day posts to this blog along with the associated media. I've actually been meaning to do that for some time now, but the process of trying to cut and paste on my palm is far more aggravating than I can tolerate. I've also been toying with the idea of an improved indexing system. As it stands, my current system is a little... redundant. Alot of the tags mean exactly the same thing and that's if I even remember to utilize them. I definitely want to get back to my idealistic roots and post original work as well as continue to keep everyone up-to-date with my life and whatever shenanigans I happen to get into. It's ambitious, but so am I. Balancing my work schedule with wifi availability will be the real challenge. The indexing system shouldn't take long to redesign. I should probably be able to get that done tomorrow sometime. Of course, leave all the important things to my last day off. Procrastination! Love it. Speaking of which:

I have several posts that I need to get typed up and posted to the other blog. The last two weeks of my "training" were somewhat stressful and simply making it through each day of that time period was almost more than I could handle. I'm really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really glad that I'm no longer in that truck. Really. There are many things I need to rehash and work out of my system before moving on with the next phase of my adventure.

For the moment, I'm in Dallas and not doing a damn thing other than relaxing. Also, I need to do laundry. Tomorrow.

Cake, anyone? Part 1

I left Indiana some time after 4pm last Friday - after packing up my hotel room, taking a shower, and having a quick bite to eat to finish up the little food I had left in my tiny refrigerator - and I arrived back home some time after 8pm. My original plan was to just go home and relax, but that's not what happened. I knew some of my family was visiting from Georgia and I figured my sister would probably be sleeping before work (if she had to work, I wasn't sure), so I decided to keep on driving a few more miles and pay the family a quick visit. It would be a very quick visit. I didn't want to stay more than hour. I think I did, anyway, but it was a good try on my part.

The visitors weren't around. Actually, no one was around at first except for the grandparents. I talked to my grandmother for awhile and then she tried to get me to watch Burn Notice. Fuck Burn Notice. As I was about to leave, my local aunt and uncle showed up. So, I talked to them for awhile and met my new cousin.

"Do you remember your braces?" My aunt asked me as I looked at the little gnome in his car seat.
"Braces? They come with teeth?" Is what I almost said until I noticed the little boots and straps covering his tiny legs. I had completely overlooked those. No one had said anything was wrong with the child. I just knew there had been some tension because some of the visitors had made some remarks that had pissed my local aunt off and it had gotten to the point where if one more person made fun of her child... Fill in the blank. I honestly hadn't even noticed. I guess I don't really care about babies enough to distinguish much between them or even look to try. But all of this was overshadowed by a new thought in my head. "I had braces?"
"Oh god, yes. Full body cast and braces all over you. You don't remember that?"
"No, I don't. I don't remember most of surgeries either. I remember the last two only." I remember the second to the last most of all since I actually woke up during the surgery. The anesthetic wore off or something. I came out of unconsciousness and freaked right out because I awoke to find myself strapped to a table with masked people surrounding me with horrifying looking surgical tools and this strange futuristic brightness that didn't quite form a room around us. It was shocking and horrifying. I seriously thought I had been abducted by aliens or something. I remember one of the men telling me that I needed to calm down. He told me to take deep breaths and relax. I remember someone else saying that they were going to lose me. That really scared me, because I believed it. Instead of continuing to panic, I took long deep breaths and surrendered to whatever was about to happen. I could have very easily gone into shock and died. Luckily, I didn't. "No. I don't remember most of them. Definitely don't remember the brace. He won't either until you remind him."
"Oh, well that's a relief."
"I suppose."

I left quickly after that moment. I had gathered enough information about the visitors to know not to come back the next day like everyone kept asking me to. The visitors were loading up a rental truck with all sorts of antique (meaning heavy as all hell) furniture and boxes of random fragile bullshit. Not something I really want to be a part of, so I waited until Sunday to return to visit them. I was mostly successful in my attempt to avoid being recruited as free labor. When I arrived, I had a brief conversation with my visiting aunt and uncle. My visiting aunt took her daughter somewhere shortly after that to visit whoever and my visiting uncle recruited my local uncle to assist him in continuing to load the rental truck. My grandmother decided she needed to go grocery shopping since there were plenty of people around to look after my grandfather while she did so. She asked me to go and I did. I didn't even think about it. There's something genuinely unsettling about that house these days. It's mutating into something strange. I can see the very core of it is still the same as I remember, but everything else is different now. Anyway, I definitely wanted to get away from that house.

Shopping with grandmother was sort of fun. She did her shtick where she was to have funny little awkward conversations with everyone that only she understands or finds humorous. These people look to me for guidance or assistance and I just smirk and shrug. I can't help you. Deal with it. Finding the things on the list was entertaining enough because there is a reason for every brand that she chooses and a story behind it. Fascinating stuff. The last item was a cake for grandpa - actually it was more for everyone else, but it was in his honor being Father's Day and all - and she wanted an ice cream cake. Unfortunately, the grocer only had these tiny cheesecakes left. I would have suggested going over to the other town grocer practically across the street, but we don't speak of that place in any close proximity to my grandmother. Not after the great turkey incident of 2005, anyway. So, the cheesecakes were our only option, unless...

I googled Dairy Queen on my phone. The DQ in town had lost its franchise rights due to inability to upgrade equipment and then had been converted into a burger place after no one would return to the newly christened "Dairy Oasis" which still carried all of the same products but with the DQ logos removed. Anyway, the next closest DQ was near the airport and it was only a walk-up concession booth type deal. I didn't think they would even sell cakes, but I decided to try. We were in luck. Not only did they sell cakes, but they had someone cancel an order that had already been completed just a few moments ago and we could have it at a discounted price. Freaking brilliant, I am. The cake was three times the size of the mini-cheesecakes we were looking at and about the same price with the discount. It was perfect.

That was the last perfect moment of that day, of course.