Ah the fitness craze(s). For only eighty of your hard-earned dollars, I can play some retarded music and jump up and down on a cheesy set with brightly colored clothes, too! And, if I say I'm from another country, it will legitimize my jumping and frolicking as a "routine," due to which you will shed tens of unwanted, unsightly pounds.
I will shout and use exclamatory sentences and look surprised and elated the whole time, and you will be sucked in by the fervor and not want to miss a beat! This is "all the rage" in my foreign country, where people are known for not being fat (because of their farm-fed lifestyle and impoverished economy).
E gads. You wanna know the reason people lose weight and "swear by" these things? I'll tell you the secret:
They were completely sedentary and did absolutely nothing healthy for themselves before it. So, I guess by comparison, it's a miracle. But they could all save $80 or $100 or even several hundred dollars, just by putting on some cheesy music, brightly colored clothes and jumping around like an idiot. This will save them from having shelf space taken up by yet another fitness dvd that they only did three times, because by time number three, they realized that the idiot in the neon, plum-smuggling spandex had taken them for a ride and a chunk of cash. Add to that, the music sucks and isn't what anyone would ever willingly listen to anyway.
People, people, people. Did you know that 30 minutes of brisk walking, with your heart rate at about 120 -130 will speed your metabolism, burn quite a few calories and, if done in the morning, will give you more energy for the rest of your day? And that's free. No awful dvd's, no gym fees, no matchy-matchy useless girls staring at your clashing workout gear while they glisten on the eliptical and no men strutting around in nipple-baring tank tops, reeking of cologne and making your eyes water.
There, I just saved you a hundred bucks.
29 April, 2008
25 April, 2008
contemptible behavior analysis
I woke up to yet another e mail this morning, from a friend who had been wronged by her boyfriend, subsequently ending the relationship. The story here is not in the fact that he went over to her house, detailed the fact that he has, in the last year and change, "cheated on her too many times to count," and let her know that none of the girls meant anything to him, much as she doesn't now (and never did). It's not in the fact he was so blatant about both the cheating and the retelling that it made me step back and think about something other than what a fucking asshole he is. No, this is not a man-hater post, because I am not a man hater, by any stretch. This is sheer curiosity and analysis of behavior that just baffles me.
There is not a person I know who has not either been cheated on, experienced some significant hurt in a relationship, done something themselves that they deeply regretted, or all of the above. It's how the situation is handled, by both the hurter or the hurtee, that I think ultimately sets people apart. So on the one hand, I commend my friend's now-ex for just up and telling the truth, finally, and giving it to her straight. On the other hand, I abhor him for being such a shifty weasel that he would knowingly take advantage of another person and then expose her to every other slut he was out on the town fucking. And he is promiscuous, o yes.
Questions abound. Why take someone to meet your family? Why go through all of the "I love yous" and the vacations and the lazy Sunday's in bed, if where you're really headed is into a series of one night stands and lies? He actually said that not only did he lie, but he lied about lying and then walked away laughing about it all. Why do that to someone who obviously intends to treat you well and love you? That's just plain fucked up.
There are plenty of people in the world who are open to a situation that has no substance and a short shelf-life. In fact, I'm sure we've all dabbled in a situation or two resembling that in our lives, for various reasons which don't involve the desire to damage another person. But in that situation, there are no illusions, everything is up front and no one gets hurt. If no one wants a commitment, no commitment is made and when the utility of the circumstance expires, everyone moves on. Sexual responsibility is practiced, so no one is in any danger of exposure to things or people to whom they do not want to be tied and it's all (seemingly) neat and tidy. But when the lying and deceit are introduced, well that's just shady, selfish bullshit that I don't understand.
What I see here, is an open and shut case of soiled karma and future comeuppance. My poor friend will rebound, have learned to trust her instincts better and she will move on eventually to a healthy, loving relationship and blah blah blah. All will be right and well with the world and he will be nothing more than a horrifying story to tell while in a pack of girls, one of whom has just been wronged, and so on and so on. (Isn't this how urban legends get started?)
But him - and if a woman did this, I would wish the same upon her - he will get his one day in the form of a few thousand spirochetes, smelly discharge, broken heart or #7 bus and though we will probably not all be there to see it, inside my soul rejoices because the universe operates on action vs. consequence. If you are a surreptitious, trashy asshole, the world will wise up and treat you as such. Technically then, I guess the "why" doesn't matter so much in the end, because you want to act like a dishonest slut, well then the world will conspire to achieve the consequences you seem to be looking for. Good luck, assholes.
There is not a person I know who has not either been cheated on, experienced some significant hurt in a relationship, done something themselves that they deeply regretted, or all of the above. It's how the situation is handled, by both the hurter or the hurtee, that I think ultimately sets people apart. So on the one hand, I commend my friend's now-ex for just up and telling the truth, finally, and giving it to her straight. On the other hand, I abhor him for being such a shifty weasel that he would knowingly take advantage of another person and then expose her to every other slut he was out on the town fucking. And he is promiscuous, o yes.
Questions abound. Why take someone to meet your family? Why go through all of the "I love yous" and the vacations and the lazy Sunday's in bed, if where you're really headed is into a series of one night stands and lies? He actually said that not only did he lie, but he lied about lying and then walked away laughing about it all. Why do that to someone who obviously intends to treat you well and love you? That's just plain fucked up.
There are plenty of people in the world who are open to a situation that has no substance and a short shelf-life. In fact, I'm sure we've all dabbled in a situation or two resembling that in our lives, for various reasons which don't involve the desire to damage another person. But in that situation, there are no illusions, everything is up front and no one gets hurt. If no one wants a commitment, no commitment is made and when the utility of the circumstance expires, everyone moves on. Sexual responsibility is practiced, so no one is in any danger of exposure to things or people to whom they do not want to be tied and it's all (seemingly) neat and tidy. But when the lying and deceit are introduced, well that's just shady, selfish bullshit that I don't understand.
What I see here, is an open and shut case of soiled karma and future comeuppance. My poor friend will rebound, have learned to trust her instincts better and she will move on eventually to a healthy, loving relationship and blah blah blah. All will be right and well with the world and he will be nothing more than a horrifying story to tell while in a pack of girls, one of whom has just been wronged, and so on and so on. (Isn't this how urban legends get started?)
But him - and if a woman did this, I would wish the same upon her - he will get his one day in the form of a few thousand spirochetes, smelly discharge, broken heart or #7 bus and though we will probably not all be there to see it, inside my soul rejoices because the universe operates on action vs. consequence. If you are a surreptitious, trashy asshole, the world will wise up and treat you as such. Technically then, I guess the "why" doesn't matter so much in the end, because you want to act like a dishonest slut, well then the world will conspire to achieve the consequences you seem to be looking for. Good luck, assholes.
23 April, 2008
good job.
I’m just going to start right in on my tirade today. I am flabbergasted by what people will accept as good work. Plain and simple, just blown away by what people will turn in as finished and what those accepting said work will put up with.
I think it started in high school, when I copped out my senior year and took “college prep” English instead of AP English. I thought for sure that we, in AP classes, weren’t doing so much more than everyone else, so it probably wouldn’t be a big deal to skip out on it, since I was pretty good with the word anyway. O how wrong I was. How insanely wrong. If the output of my fellow students was worthy of college in any aspect, I shudder to think – or maybe, now fully understand – what is wrong with our society.
Our sweet teacher, Mrs. Kennedy would choose a few papers to read aloud in front of the class. These were seemingly meant to be anonymous, but when she was finished, she would go to the front of the author’s row and set the paper lovingly down on the first desk, to be passed back. After a while, we all started noticing the pattern of crappy paper followed by my paper, as if she meant to subtly let the class know that their work was sub-par. However I think they already knew this and just didn’t care. It was good enough to turn in and receive a passing grade. Her expectations were clearly quite low at the time, so I felt more embarrassment than elation at having my work held up as the gold standard. They didn’t care and now they resented me, too.
And therein lies the problem.
I have seen this theme repeated a zillion times over the last 15 years. Apparently the rest of the world did not grow up in a house even remotely resembling mine. A house where, if any of the clothes were not folded properly, the whole basket was dumped out to be redone. Where the tiles on the kitchen counter were regularly scrubbed (by the 4 junior members) with bleach and a toothbrush, or where hospital corners were required when making the bed, every time. I do not exaggerate. The phrase "do it right the first time and you don't have to do it again," was a popular favorite among the parents in my family.
The blessing (I have obviously come to terms with this) in all of that was that we 4 small victims grew to develop a scrutinizing and perfectionist’s eye to each task we took on and subsequently do very well in any situation requiring detailed and comprehensive completion. Knowing that the rest of the world operates like my aforementioned classmates, this is surely annoying and unnerving to our fellow project members and coworkers. But such is life.
So what we are leading up to is this: I moved into a new apartment a couple of weeks ago; one that was being “completely refurbished”. I saw the halfway point - when the drywall was up and taped but not painted and the floor was dusty and bare - loved the space and signed the lease. Because who doesn’t want a completely refurbished apartment in the greater New York area? It’s like striking gold, if it’s also affordable, which my place is. Finally, after an alarming series of move-in mishaps, which I’ll have to detail at a later time, due to their volume, I was finally able to inhabit my apartment on the 5th of the month. And that’s when I started to notice.
The contractor seemingly wants to be paid for his work, yet very little of what he has done is deserving of remittance. As I write this on the 23rd day of the month, the apartment – which he promised the landlord would be finished on the first – is still not complete. There are holes in the floor, through which critters will inevitably crawl, and the floor received no sanding and only one coat of varnish. It's like walking on tiny rocks and someone in the basement potentially has several nifty periscope locations. There are leaking showers, racks that are not hung, doors unpainted and left with their original, drab, vinyl coloring, dribbles of paint on the floor, the windows, the remaining doors and the faux brick fireplace (which is missing a few faux bricks as well).
The funny thing to me is that the apartment is still worth what I’m paying for it and I have no complaints whatsoever where my landlord is concerned. I just hope she doesn’t plan to pay this gentleman for such shoddy work. He looked at me with scorn and disapproval when I asked him about several of the remaining items to be completed. Clearly, he did not want to be called out on his lackluster delivery. But would he stand for this in his own house? Would a 3/4 finished mantle be all right in his bedroom? I think not. So why is he getting away with it? Why is it all right for him to trot off to his next sucker’s project, leaving me so miffed that I will most likely spend my own money to correct his inferior workmanship.
Because he must have sensed that in addition to my disgust with his lack of finishing and detailing ability, I’m also anal enough that I can’t just let it be. No, no. Even though most parts of the house are perfectly functional for a renter like myself, I will be the one with the spackle and the sander and the tin of paint remover, making my borrowed castle pristine, for no apparent reason.
But seriously….what the fuck? Is it so hard to just do a good job?
I think it started in high school, when I copped out my senior year and took “college prep” English instead of AP English. I thought for sure that we, in AP classes, weren’t doing so much more than everyone else, so it probably wouldn’t be a big deal to skip out on it, since I was pretty good with the word anyway. O how wrong I was. How insanely wrong. If the output of my fellow students was worthy of college in any aspect, I shudder to think – or maybe, now fully understand – what is wrong with our society.
Our sweet teacher, Mrs. Kennedy would choose a few papers to read aloud in front of the class. These were seemingly meant to be anonymous, but when she was finished, she would go to the front of the author’s row and set the paper lovingly down on the first desk, to be passed back. After a while, we all started noticing the pattern of crappy paper followed by my paper, as if she meant to subtly let the class know that their work was sub-par. However I think they already knew this and just didn’t care. It was good enough to turn in and receive a passing grade. Her expectations were clearly quite low at the time, so I felt more embarrassment than elation at having my work held up as the gold standard. They didn’t care and now they resented me, too.
And therein lies the problem.
I have seen this theme repeated a zillion times over the last 15 years. Apparently the rest of the world did not grow up in a house even remotely resembling mine. A house where, if any of the clothes were not folded properly, the whole basket was dumped out to be redone. Where the tiles on the kitchen counter were regularly scrubbed (by the 4 junior members) with bleach and a toothbrush, or where hospital corners were required when making the bed, every time. I do not exaggerate. The phrase "do it right the first time and you don't have to do it again," was a popular favorite among the parents in my family.
The blessing (I have obviously come to terms with this) in all of that was that we 4 small victims grew to develop a scrutinizing and perfectionist’s eye to each task we took on and subsequently do very well in any situation requiring detailed and comprehensive completion. Knowing that the rest of the world operates like my aforementioned classmates, this is surely annoying and unnerving to our fellow project members and coworkers. But such is life.
So what we are leading up to is this: I moved into a new apartment a couple of weeks ago; one that was being “completely refurbished”. I saw the halfway point - when the drywall was up and taped but not painted and the floor was dusty and bare - loved the space and signed the lease. Because who doesn’t want a completely refurbished apartment in the greater New York area? It’s like striking gold, if it’s also affordable, which my place is. Finally, after an alarming series of move-in mishaps, which I’ll have to detail at a later time, due to their volume, I was finally able to inhabit my apartment on the 5th of the month. And that’s when I started to notice.
The contractor seemingly wants to be paid for his work, yet very little of what he has done is deserving of remittance. As I write this on the 23rd day of the month, the apartment – which he promised the landlord would be finished on the first – is still not complete. There are holes in the floor, through which critters will inevitably crawl, and the floor received no sanding and only one coat of varnish. It's like walking on tiny rocks and someone in the basement potentially has several nifty periscope locations. There are leaking showers, racks that are not hung, doors unpainted and left with their original, drab, vinyl coloring, dribbles of paint on the floor, the windows, the remaining doors and the faux brick fireplace (which is missing a few faux bricks as well).
The funny thing to me is that the apartment is still worth what I’m paying for it and I have no complaints whatsoever where my landlord is concerned. I just hope she doesn’t plan to pay this gentleman for such shoddy work. He looked at me with scorn and disapproval when I asked him about several of the remaining items to be completed. Clearly, he did not want to be called out on his lackluster delivery. But would he stand for this in his own house? Would a 3/4 finished mantle be all right in his bedroom? I think not. So why is he getting away with it? Why is it all right for him to trot off to his next sucker’s project, leaving me so miffed that I will most likely spend my own money to correct his inferior workmanship.
Because he must have sensed that in addition to my disgust with his lack of finishing and detailing ability, I’m also anal enough that I can’t just let it be. No, no. Even though most parts of the house are perfectly functional for a renter like myself, I will be the one with the spackle and the sander and the tin of paint remover, making my borrowed castle pristine, for no apparent reason.
But seriously….what the fuck? Is it so hard to just do a good job?
21 April, 2008
how to read green
In light of the fact that I'm angry with the world for making my life and the life of someone I love, who I think loves me, so bloody effing difficult, I'm taking a break from bitching about things and passing along something worthwhile that I read.
I support anything that legitimately helps the environment and helps us to be better citizens of the earth. However I also know that with the whole "green" craze kicking up, there will be plenty of assholes trying to make a buck without doing anything but putting out some clever verbiage in partially recycled packaging. Here is a an article on How to Read Green.
Enjoy.
I support anything that legitimately helps the environment and helps us to be better citizens of the earth. However I also know that with the whole "green" craze kicking up, there will be plenty of assholes trying to make a buck without doing anything but putting out some clever verbiage in partially recycled packaging. Here is a an article on How to Read Green.
Enjoy.
13 April, 2008
assshoooooliooo
There are people in this world that I would just love to punch; lots of them, in fact. The people I reference right now however are the outright fuckers. The ones who call on the phone for say, your boss, and then treat you as if you never learned how to say your a-b-c’s. The people who treat you like some uneducated, incompetent secretary, because the person to whom they intended to speak is off doing more interesting things like meeting with investors or going over strategies and is too busy to talk to their whiny ass.
See, the word secretary is like a dirty, insulting word to me. When I decided that I wanted to make a career tack and change things up for myself, I knew there would be an element of humility involved on my part, because in order to get in the door of an industry that is a total departure from my degree or professional background, I had to take a step back, position-wise, and answer someone else’s phone, in addition to my many other, far more interesting and challenging duties. But let’s make no mistake; I am by no means a secretary. In fact, I have received accolades for the work I have done so far in my current position and I have become involved in several parts of my new field that I find both fascinating and rewarding. I will not be answering someone else’s phone for the rest of my days. Suffice it to say, when I’m treated as if I will be, I bristle. A lot.
So what that is leading up to, is this. A man calls up on the Partner’s line and it rings thrice. When said partner could not pick up, I chose to answer the call, as I’ve done several times a day for the last 4 months. I politely informed the caller, that the Partner in question was in a meeting and that I would be happy to take a message. We take messages rather than pass everyone through to voicemail around here, because no one checks his voicemail and we don't want people feeling neglected. Upon offering however, this man asked in the most incredulous and irritated tone possible,
“Well then he has a voicemail?”
“Yes,” I replied and as my fingers floated over the extension to transfer, he bit out,
“WELL then (honey) do you think I can just leave him a message on his voicemail?”
The last sentence was dripping with condescension and disdain, neither of which I could return, due to my damn commitment to professionalism.
“You surely can,” Was my reply.
I transferred this man into the voicemail, which still probably hasn’t been listened to a week later. He probably has chalked the unanswered message up to my incompetence and has gone on with the rest of his miserable life, treating people like shit.
See, I take great pains not to judge people. I try to keep an open mind, to think about what is motivating a person in unfortunate circumstances; a misunderstanding, a bad day, stubbed toe, or something along those lines. I am also aware however, that there are just some people in the world who are assholes. Maybe it’s due to poor upbringing, maybe due to a purposeful quest on the part of the asshole to make everyone else’s life as encumbered and difficult as his seems to be. This man falls into the category of just plain asshole - no mitigating factors, positive or negative, will change this for him.
He is the person at whom you want to yell and kick in the shins. He is the man into whose coffee I would love to pour ammonia. Okay, maybe not ammonia, but orange juice or something that would just piss him off and wreck his day, since he's going to be a dick to everyone anyway. Were I in the service industry on any level, I would maybe even risk my job to bitch back at him for how unbelievably obnoxious he is. But then I would probably remember that real assholes can keep it up forever. The person having a bad day has asshole moments. After these moments pass and when called out, the bad-day-asshole will apologize, hang his head and take a lesson.
The real asshole is that way for life and there is no changing him. So then there comes the quandary; do I let it roll off my back, because letting such a puny-souled person upset me is a waste of time, or do I let him know of my displeasure with his shitty attitude, knowing full well that he will never change and will then probably go and muddy my name to everyone within earshot for such egregious comments?
My philosophy on this comes pretty much directly from my father.
“Water off a duck’s back, bud. An asshole is an asshole and will always be an asshole. Better not to get any on you, by getting involved.”
Good one el Jeffe.
See, the word secretary is like a dirty, insulting word to me. When I decided that I wanted to make a career tack and change things up for myself, I knew there would be an element of humility involved on my part, because in order to get in the door of an industry that is a total departure from my degree or professional background, I had to take a step back, position-wise, and answer someone else’s phone, in addition to my many other, far more interesting and challenging duties. But let’s make no mistake; I am by no means a secretary. In fact, I have received accolades for the work I have done so far in my current position and I have become involved in several parts of my new field that I find both fascinating and rewarding. I will not be answering someone else’s phone for the rest of my days. Suffice it to say, when I’m treated as if I will be, I bristle. A lot.
So what that is leading up to, is this. A man calls up on the Partner’s line and it rings thrice. When said partner could not pick up, I chose to answer the call, as I’ve done several times a day for the last 4 months. I politely informed the caller, that the Partner in question was in a meeting and that I would be happy to take a message. We take messages rather than pass everyone through to voicemail around here, because no one checks his voicemail and we don't want people feeling neglected. Upon offering however, this man asked in the most incredulous and irritated tone possible,
“Well then he has a voicemail?”
“Yes,” I replied and as my fingers floated over the extension to transfer, he bit out,
“WELL then (honey) do you think I can just leave him a message on his voicemail?”
The last sentence was dripping with condescension and disdain, neither of which I could return, due to my damn commitment to professionalism.
“You surely can,” Was my reply.
I transferred this man into the voicemail, which still probably hasn’t been listened to a week later. He probably has chalked the unanswered message up to my incompetence and has gone on with the rest of his miserable life, treating people like shit.
See, I take great pains not to judge people. I try to keep an open mind, to think about what is motivating a person in unfortunate circumstances; a misunderstanding, a bad day, stubbed toe, or something along those lines. I am also aware however, that there are just some people in the world who are assholes. Maybe it’s due to poor upbringing, maybe due to a purposeful quest on the part of the asshole to make everyone else’s life as encumbered and difficult as his seems to be. This man falls into the category of just plain asshole - no mitigating factors, positive or negative, will change this for him.
He is the person at whom you want to yell and kick in the shins. He is the man into whose coffee I would love to pour ammonia. Okay, maybe not ammonia, but orange juice or something that would just piss him off and wreck his day, since he's going to be a dick to everyone anyway. Were I in the service industry on any level, I would maybe even risk my job to bitch back at him for how unbelievably obnoxious he is. But then I would probably remember that real assholes can keep it up forever. The person having a bad day has asshole moments. After these moments pass and when called out, the bad-day-asshole will apologize, hang his head and take a lesson.
The real asshole is that way for life and there is no changing him. So then there comes the quandary; do I let it roll off my back, because letting such a puny-souled person upset me is a waste of time, or do I let him know of my displeasure with his shitty attitude, knowing full well that he will never change and will then probably go and muddy my name to everyone within earshot for such egregious comments?
My philosophy on this comes pretty much directly from my father.
“Water off a duck’s back, bud. An asshole is an asshole and will always be an asshole. Better not to get any on you, by getting involved.”
Good one el Jeffe.
11 April, 2008
the best
Ah its just my favorite thing to have shit come up in the middle of the night and be bailed on for a cornucopia of totally valid reasons, all of which could have been articulated at a normal hour.
I also love being "unreasonable" for thinking that nighttime is generally a time for peaceful sleep and comfort, even when life is not co-operating. Silly me. Its actually the time for stress and thermostats and running off to tend to things that were both already known and not possible to amend.
What a crazy set of notions I have. I'm sure that hours later, while I sit staring at the faux brick, things continue to feel fully justifiable and worthwhile, what's more. What might be good for me is unimportant because of the mounds of stress. Lucky I don't have any of that! But you can rub my face in it anyway.
That's the fucking best.
I also love being "unreasonable" for thinking that nighttime is generally a time for peaceful sleep and comfort, even when life is not co-operating. Silly me. Its actually the time for stress and thermostats and running off to tend to things that were both already known and not possible to amend.
What a crazy set of notions I have. I'm sure that hours later, while I sit staring at the faux brick, things continue to feel fully justifiable and worthwhile, what's more. What might be good for me is unimportant because of the mounds of stress. Lucky I don't have any of that! But you can rub my face in it anyway.
That's the fucking best.
07 April, 2008
tough times
I’ve been wallowing actively for quite some time now. Emphasis on actively. Forward motion is the only way out. No secret that I’ve been broke as fuck and therefore unable to properly enjoy my New York experience right now. I have managed to have a pretty good time despite, but overall, I’ve sort of been stuck in my hole, diligently climbing out, one hard-earned penny at a time.
I am soooooooo not alone in this though. I wish I had some funny little quip to offer here, but it really seems like this is the time for abject struggle for so many people with whom I am in contact. It’s almost like the world is stuck in tribulation mode and even though we are all beating furiously at the wall, it barely budges under our pounding.
The hardest part, I think, is to be utterly powerless to lift the burden of the people I love and care about. On the one hand, it forces me to deal with my own shit and get squared away so that I can be a better friend, listener, girlfriend, sister or whatever. On the other hand however, it frustrates me to no end to not be able to swoop in and fix. Being a “fixer” when unable to fix causes a short in my brain.
It also makes me nuts because most of the people I know are a lot like me in the sense that they don’t want to call up and bitch about their hardships and their circumstances. Most people I know don’t like the sound of their own voices when there’s not much good news to report. Funny, because we all seem to sort of specialize in being good listeners and good sounding boards, yet we fail to exploit this set of skills from one another the way we should. We just want it to get better already so that we can move on with our lives.
The true whiners of the world seem to kill it for the rest of us, because when they bitch about stupid shit like the slow worker at the coffee shop or the maid not performing to standard, they suck the life out of us and hammer home the desire to never sound like that, ever, for any reason, ever.
No point here really, other than to say that shit is rough. We will keep our collective heads up and push ahead. No option to stop, so we’ll keep drilling this cave until there’s light on the other side. My bit’s not worn yet.
I am soooooooo not alone in this though. I wish I had some funny little quip to offer here, but it really seems like this is the time for abject struggle for so many people with whom I am in contact. It’s almost like the world is stuck in tribulation mode and even though we are all beating furiously at the wall, it barely budges under our pounding.
The hardest part, I think, is to be utterly powerless to lift the burden of the people I love and care about. On the one hand, it forces me to deal with my own shit and get squared away so that I can be a better friend, listener, girlfriend, sister or whatever. On the other hand however, it frustrates me to no end to not be able to swoop in and fix. Being a “fixer” when unable to fix causes a short in my brain.
It also makes me nuts because most of the people I know are a lot like me in the sense that they don’t want to call up and bitch about their hardships and their circumstances. Most people I know don’t like the sound of their own voices when there’s not much good news to report. Funny, because we all seem to sort of specialize in being good listeners and good sounding boards, yet we fail to exploit this set of skills from one another the way we should. We just want it to get better already so that we can move on with our lives.
The true whiners of the world seem to kill it for the rest of us, because when they bitch about stupid shit like the slow worker at the coffee shop or the maid not performing to standard, they suck the life out of us and hammer home the desire to never sound like that, ever, for any reason, ever.
No point here really, other than to say that shit is rough. We will keep our collective heads up and push ahead. No option to stop, so we’ll keep drilling this cave until there’s light on the other side. My bit’s not worn yet.
03 April, 2008
ugh
So I'm relegated to writing from my blackberry, because my already shaky computer is cramped up in a mass of my earthly belongings somewhere in Brooklyn while I languish, homeless.
Granted, I'm waiting out my homeless phase in a million dollar apartment in mid-town, but its not like my bills are getting paid due to my overdrawn account, defaulted au cause de said homelessness. It's so fucking obnoxious that I'm not even mad, because it's just too damn funny.
I intend to continue faking my wealth and success though, in fact I'm quite committed to it. It is pretty much the only way I can think of to not start practicing the art of pickpocketing and thievery to sustain myself; wealthy people only do that the white collar way.
"....and if I make me, I'll fuck me in my own way."
Granted, I'm waiting out my homeless phase in a million dollar apartment in mid-town, but its not like my bills are getting paid due to my overdrawn account, defaulted au cause de said homelessness. It's so fucking obnoxious that I'm not even mad, because it's just too damn funny.
I intend to continue faking my wealth and success though, in fact I'm quite committed to it. It is pretty much the only way I can think of to not start practicing the art of pickpocketing and thievery to sustain myself; wealthy people only do that the white collar way.
"....and if I make me, I'll fuck me in my own way."
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