I don't welcome Christmas week with open arms. No, find myself trying to welcome it with a closed fist, aiming directly towards a softer, easily fatal spot. I'm a bitter man when this season walks through my door, doesn't take off his shoes and decides to drink the last soda. But I can't tell him to leave; his girlfriend just broke up with him so I have to be nice.
Retail is the center of all this. My irrational anger towards a holiday should be focused upon the people who inflict the malice on me. If it wasn't for these cattle like shoppers with fake smiles painted that I wouldn't be so darn unhappy on what is suppose to be the happiest season. I hardly get a real smile out of them, and these people worry about minor things!
I can't find my kid this game because I waited till the last minute. I'm not being helped fast enough even though I wasn't first in line. Me. Me. Me.
And the way their eyes piece you. Oh how those eyes get to you. They have this glazed, pre-pissed off stare that doesn't change in their visit to my store. They snootily demand a game from a list urgently, without taking a look in the most obvious of places. We have those signs that say "360" and "PS3" for a reason, but not for them. No, these people would have me wipe their very ass for them. And only them, as the conception of time is now null when they enter my shop. They toss out question after easily answer questioned, displaying the full lack of forethought and research in buying whatever gift they need to buy. Who needs that anyway?
When we don't contain the gift, we are the dickheads. We are the asshats, the morons. We should have had such a product in far before their arrival, prewrapped and held just for them. But for some reason, our psychic powers failed us that day, and we are the biggest cocksuckers in the world at this point. The greatest is when they ask me if I'm sure I don't have it.
Yes, I am sure. My outlook on if you are getting your product or not will not vary within the 4 seconds of your previous questioning.
If there is any truth retail customers can take when they entire my store, it's this:I thrive off of your misfortune. I love the fact that you can't get that game you have been desperately searching for. I dine heavily when I realize that you won't be getting your item in and that your child will have a horrible, ruined, mess of a Christmas when he finds out he won't get that item till much later.
Santa has failed you, children.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Shelter Skelter.
Yesterday was the first time I reported on something, at least for the class room of ICC. After halfway getting lost, I finally found the building that the public meeting I was to view took place.
I was met with four puzzled looks, and I could see why. There were chairs, but no audience. From what I could tell, nobody attends these meetings besides those who actually head this operation. Later, this idea would be further cemented. After explaining who I was and what I was doing, they gave their introductions and continued in the useless banter that I had apparently interrupted. They were nice people, don't get me wrong, but quite a bit of their time was spent blabbing about the trips they were taking, one woman's credit card woes, and I think I even heard a TV show mentioned. This meeting could have concluded a half an hour than the scheduled time.
The depth of this meeting was lost upon me. Many of the terms flung around weren't ones I was familiar with, even with some preknowledge of HUD and such. The department of Housing apparently doesn't have a lot of issues ongoing. But there's something more to this. There is one group I haven't questioned: those living in houses this department heads. I haven't talked to them and found out what they think of the operation and how they handle the money, but I plan to. Oh do I plan to.
Because as it stands, this information will be regurgitated stuff you can find anywhere.
I was met with four puzzled looks, and I could see why. There were chairs, but no audience. From what I could tell, nobody attends these meetings besides those who actually head this operation. Later, this idea would be further cemented. After explaining who I was and what I was doing, they gave their introductions and continued in the useless banter that I had apparently interrupted. They were nice people, don't get me wrong, but quite a bit of their time was spent blabbing about the trips they were taking, one woman's credit card woes, and I think I even heard a TV show mentioned. This meeting could have concluded a half an hour than the scheduled time.
The depth of this meeting was lost upon me. Many of the terms flung around weren't ones I was familiar with, even with some preknowledge of HUD and such. The department of Housing apparently doesn't have a lot of issues ongoing. But there's something more to this. There is one group I haven't questioned: those living in houses this department heads. I haven't talked to them and found out what they think of the operation and how they handle the money, but I plan to. Oh do I plan to.
Because as it stands, this information will be regurgitated stuff you can find anywhere.
Monday, November 9, 2009
The craziest of drivers
I understand that I haven't updated in a while. I almost forgot of this blogs' existence. Whoops!
Anyway, I've just returned from a too short two day trip in Chicago. I won't lie: I want to go back. Everything about that place is beautiful. Everything do the cityscapes to the hobos, as a whole it all works perfectly and without missing a beat. It's constantly interesting, busy, and fast. It's as if life itself was meant to be this off the wall. Of course, I speak from the sense of an unfortunate country man: my "city", if you'd like to call it that, doesn't contain the sprawling business as Chicago does.
The most interesting aspect I've found was the taxi cab driver. These men are not bound to the rules of the road. They, indeed, are far above it. I'd even venture to say that they didn't touch the ground as they weaved through car and person alike. As terrifyingly close we came to death by high speed collision every other three minutes, it was kinda fun. In a morbid sense, mind you.
Anyway, I've just returned from a too short two day trip in Chicago. I won't lie: I want to go back. Everything about that place is beautiful. Everything do the cityscapes to the hobos, as a whole it all works perfectly and without missing a beat. It's constantly interesting, busy, and fast. It's as if life itself was meant to be this off the wall. Of course, I speak from the sense of an unfortunate country man: my "city", if you'd like to call it that, doesn't contain the sprawling business as Chicago does.
The most interesting aspect I've found was the taxi cab driver. These men are not bound to the rules of the road. They, indeed, are far above it. I'd even venture to say that they didn't touch the ground as they weaved through car and person alike. As terrifyingly close we came to death by high speed collision every other three minutes, it was kinda fun. In a morbid sense, mind you.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Happy Juice.
Maybe it's the composition of my body and how it reacts to the un-sobering elements, but I don't find drinking to be that enthralling. I assume since it brings out the inner most thoughts and feelings - like that of a truth serum, only tastier - that the night will only carry how you are truly feeling. And if you are feeling grumpy because the party is filled with failure, drinking probably won't make it that much better. Maybe for me anyway.
I am not a fan of the generic party set up: drinking, stupid people with nothing but standing around sipping syrup. But I decided that I'd once partake in an event, just out of curiousness and the fact that I would be staying the night. I wish I hadn't.
First of all, bros were invited. Not the cool guy bros. Oh, I wasn't fortunate to have those attend. What I got instead was the party hopping, worthless flesh bags that populate every bad party. Lucky me, I got two of them at this party. Unlucky them, they talked shit about my friend and I. We will get back to that later.
The second piece of this torrid night came from one of my friends' continuous stream of downing alcohol. His tolerance was low for this night, and thus later lead to puking. More on that later.
Third was the lack of vagina. Anyone knows that parties are ten times better when there is a larger girl to guy ratio. This one was a sausage sword fighting festival that I didn't want participate in.
Fourth came from my overall attitude towards that entire day. A week of being sick, unhappy, and generally a grumpy man simply does not make for an all around good mood. Continuous chains of events that transpired didn't help that at all.
A good portion of the motivation to attend this party came from the prospect of my band playing. Our very first show. Canceled. Which was fine at first, but as that night grew regret since the party was mostly dull and that could have given spice. Speaking of music, that was crap. The musical jam derailed from awesome music to tunes that only a drunk girl could sing horribly to and still enjoy herself. The music list created was soon changed to something horrifying and ear raping. I stayed away from this area because of this.
My first drinks were something of rum and apple cider. Apparently from that and a few other things I drank, people believed me drunk. I wasn't. Buzzed is a more appropriate, but not 100% accurate word. I was coherent, but since the others were drunk they thought I was just as well off as they were. And drink they did. At least most of them. Nothing else beyond dancing randomly occurred. This was not fun. Nothing happened. Just people drinking a substance.
Around the middle of my night, my friend barfed. Woofed. You know. Contents resembled something of cat puke lay in odd proportions on the floor and couch. Rose, the owner of the fine household, did nothing to clean up the mess and instead thought it better to complain to the party-goers as they did the same. Fitting in is tough work. At one point, she looked at me and asked if had cleaned it up. I snapped at her and walked away. Eventually, a man so wasted he was not to be disgusted conquered the ejected substance happily. He asked for an inspection, which I gave.
He did good.
The night wandered and slowly ticked by, with more people coming in, and the drinking continuing. And more and more people getting obnoxious. Being already irritated at the lack of things to do and the sense lost of the people around me didn't contribute to the good pile. But the night wasn't without good people. Gretchen and I discussed various things as guys creeped on her all night as usual. My friend Erin was decidedly the funniest drunk there: never even approaching the border of annoyance, but gracefully talking in a hilarious, drunken stupor. And before my friend Mike let loose his lunch, he and I bonded.
The night finally ended with a 2 hour long cry fest and Rose throwing up in the toilet, throwing out random compliments. Please, someone inform me how this is suppose to be fun.
Of course, the next day I had a headache. Not from the contents of what I drank, but more of the fact that I'd only gotten 3-4 hours of sleep. Wow, so much fun. That scene can burn for all it's worth.
I am not a fan of the generic party set up: drinking, stupid people with nothing but standing around sipping syrup. But I decided that I'd once partake in an event, just out of curiousness and the fact that I would be staying the night. I wish I hadn't.
First of all, bros were invited. Not the cool guy bros. Oh, I wasn't fortunate to have those attend. What I got instead was the party hopping, worthless flesh bags that populate every bad party. Lucky me, I got two of them at this party. Unlucky them, they talked shit about my friend and I. We will get back to that later.
The second piece of this torrid night came from one of my friends' continuous stream of downing alcohol. His tolerance was low for this night, and thus later lead to puking. More on that later.
Third was the lack of vagina. Anyone knows that parties are ten times better when there is a larger girl to guy ratio. This one was a sausage sword fighting festival that I didn't want participate in.
Fourth came from my overall attitude towards that entire day. A week of being sick, unhappy, and generally a grumpy man simply does not make for an all around good mood. Continuous chains of events that transpired didn't help that at all.
A good portion of the motivation to attend this party came from the prospect of my band playing. Our very first show. Canceled. Which was fine at first, but as that night grew regret since the party was mostly dull and that could have given spice. Speaking of music, that was crap. The musical jam derailed from awesome music to tunes that only a drunk girl could sing horribly to and still enjoy herself. The music list created was soon changed to something horrifying and ear raping. I stayed away from this area because of this.
My first drinks were something of rum and apple cider. Apparently from that and a few other things I drank, people believed me drunk. I wasn't. Buzzed is a more appropriate, but not 100% accurate word. I was coherent, but since the others were drunk they thought I was just as well off as they were. And drink they did. At least most of them. Nothing else beyond dancing randomly occurred. This was not fun. Nothing happened. Just people drinking a substance.
Around the middle of my night, my friend barfed. Woofed. You know. Contents resembled something of cat puke lay in odd proportions on the floor and couch. Rose, the owner of the fine household, did nothing to clean up the mess and instead thought it better to complain to the party-goers as they did the same. Fitting in is tough work. At one point, she looked at me and asked if had cleaned it up. I snapped at her and walked away. Eventually, a man so wasted he was not to be disgusted conquered the ejected substance happily. He asked for an inspection, which I gave.
He did good.
The night wandered and slowly ticked by, with more people coming in, and the drinking continuing. And more and more people getting obnoxious. Being already irritated at the lack of things to do and the sense lost of the people around me didn't contribute to the good pile. But the night wasn't without good people. Gretchen and I discussed various things as guys creeped on her all night as usual. My friend Erin was decidedly the funniest drunk there: never even approaching the border of annoyance, but gracefully talking in a hilarious, drunken stupor. And before my friend Mike let loose his lunch, he and I bonded.
The night finally ended with a 2 hour long cry fest and Rose throwing up in the toilet, throwing out random compliments. Please, someone inform me how this is suppose to be fun.
Of course, the next day I had a headache. Not from the contents of what I drank, but more of the fact that I'd only gotten 3-4 hours of sleep. Wow, so much fun. That scene can burn for all it's worth.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Money money.
Money is such an easy thing to spend. In the course of a few days, I've deteriorated my paycheck to almost nothing. I am curious to see how I will survive for the upcoming days on limited funds of about nothing. Scratch that, I wish I could be curious about something else. Like how I got all this money. Or how I will spend this large amount of money. Not the same conditions.
I've spotted Where The Wild Things are twice, and the movie was just as good the first time down. I'd venture to state that the movie is not a kids movie, with such obvious, morbid tones being delivered. Such things are wasted on children, and I'm certain more could have been done with the movie had it been PG-13. Maybe I'm looking too far into a simple movie, but coming out of the theater made it seem like I wasn't alone. Both friends I went with felt the same, as did other people in the theater.
Despite those few who said it sucked and contain no good taste in movies. We are allowed to ignore such useless and baseless babbling.
And I think that recently, I find myself not wanting to go to parties that much. The generic, let's-stand-around-and-drink-and-not-dance-and-have-fun-type of parties that people host just to get smashed and say they did kind. The kind that get busted eventually and you have to time your leave just right.
I brought along two cohorts, one that didn't want to go originally, and one that didn't want to go when he found out the mythical beast Bigfoot would be attending as well. I carried a sound reasoning. A plan, if you will, that sadly never blossomed into fruition.
So the night was peppered with one friend standing against the wall, unhappy but extremely tolerate with the amount of drunk men draping themselves over her, my other friend getting advances from what I thought was a sloth (it was a costume party, but the fur was so real...), and me only able to dance for a short period before people gave the look of disapproval. No fun allowed. Finally, we left, and finally, the cops were called.
Days are counting down till halloween, and pumpkin hill doesn't seem to be ready for me.
I've spotted Where The Wild Things are twice, and the movie was just as good the first time down. I'd venture to state that the movie is not a kids movie, with such obvious, morbid tones being delivered. Such things are wasted on children, and I'm certain more could have been done with the movie had it been PG-13. Maybe I'm looking too far into a simple movie, but coming out of the theater made it seem like I wasn't alone. Both friends I went with felt the same, as did other people in the theater.
Despite those few who said it sucked and contain no good taste in movies. We are allowed to ignore such useless and baseless babbling.
And I think that recently, I find myself not wanting to go to parties that much. The generic, let's-stand-around-and-drink-and-not-dance-and-have-fun-type of parties that people host just to get smashed and say they did kind. The kind that get busted eventually and you have to time your leave just right.
I brought along two cohorts, one that didn't want to go originally, and one that didn't want to go when he found out the mythical beast Bigfoot would be attending as well. I carried a sound reasoning. A plan, if you will, that sadly never blossomed into fruition.
So the night was peppered with one friend standing against the wall, unhappy but extremely tolerate with the amount of drunk men draping themselves over her, my other friend getting advances from what I thought was a sloth (it was a costume party, but the fur was so real...), and me only able to dance for a short period before people gave the look of disapproval. No fun allowed. Finally, we left, and finally, the cops were called.
Days are counting down till halloween, and pumpkin hill doesn't seem to be ready for me.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
"Frank", and his short lived return.
Oh, "Frank". Your stalking ways have moved far past the realm of humor and enchantment, and now warped into full on creepy. Apparently, Frank decided to approach Gretchen with the intent of either apologize or rape. Who knows. Regardless, she escaped into the bathroom unharmed while blabbered on and on about how her boyfriend is keen to beating those calling him Johnny Boy. Still, he approached her, and I warned him previously that it wasn't such a good idea. Unless he enjoyed a painful existence.
When I was walking into the lunch room, Frank was, by some twisted fate, beside me but hadn't noticed. Infront of us was Gretchen and Johnny. He stared at them, and I at him. I passed him, and he took this as an excuse to talk to me, since we somehow become great friends in the span of a few days. Lack of any talking does that.
He told me that he wanted to just be there for me, he even asked for a hug. How thoughtful! I decided to be thoughtful to, but this was more for Gretchen's sake. I pulled him aside, and his nervous smile immediately left.
I warned him that if he ever agitated Gretchen in any way shape or form, I'd tear off his skin and drape layers of salt over every orifice of his body. Of course, the obligatory "I'll kill you" came into play, but I think he got the general idea.
With that, I walked away, and he stood there with an emotionless face. The few times he walked back in the lunchroom all I've had to do was look in the general direction, and he'd dodge those stares like he was jumping away from bullets.
Welcome to community college/high school. Fun times.
When I was walking into the lunch room, Frank was, by some twisted fate, beside me but hadn't noticed. Infront of us was Gretchen and Johnny. He stared at them, and I at him. I passed him, and he took this as an excuse to talk to me, since we somehow become great friends in the span of a few days. Lack of any talking does that.
He told me that he wanted to just be there for me, he even asked for a hug. How thoughtful! I decided to be thoughtful to, but this was more for Gretchen's sake. I pulled him aside, and his nervous smile immediately left.
I warned him that if he ever agitated Gretchen in any way shape or form, I'd tear off his skin and drape layers of salt over every orifice of his body. Of course, the obligatory "I'll kill you" came into play, but I think he got the general idea.
With that, I walked away, and he stood there with an emotionless face. The few times he walked back in the lunchroom all I've had to do was look in the general direction, and he'd dodge those stares like he was jumping away from bullets.
Welcome to community college/high school. Fun times.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Oh, where I could have been.
Right now, I'm sitting at borders, waiting for Ryan Hill and maybe some others. This is nice and all, but not of my original plan. Instead, Ryan Hill and I were to attend Ryan Murphy's concert today, with Jessica being the ride giver as punishment for skipping plans the day before.
Ah, no. Reality is that I am not joining my friend and dancing like an idiot, and now am faced with no clue of what I can do today. I usually thrive in this area, but I'm just not in the mood for it. At least not since Jessica called and told me that she had once again forgot about previous happenings interrupting our hanging out. I feel that it's a small annoyance, but it's also an annoyance at the end of the day. I've never really been a fan of having plans canceled near the time of arrival.
Lately, the weather is getting everyone down, probably contributing to theirs and mine mood. Dreary weather that I thought once suspicious is now depressing.
At least snow, that way it will be beautiful.
Ah, no. Reality is that I am not joining my friend and dancing like an idiot, and now am faced with no clue of what I can do today. I usually thrive in this area, but I'm just not in the mood for it. At least not since Jessica called and told me that she had once again forgot about previous happenings interrupting our hanging out. I feel that it's a small annoyance, but it's also an annoyance at the end of the day. I've never really been a fan of having plans canceled near the time of arrival.
Lately, the weather is getting everyone down, probably contributing to theirs and mine mood. Dreary weather that I thought once suspicious is now depressing.
At least snow, that way it will be beautiful.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
How to lose a pregant girl in 30 seconds.
Stalkers have been doing it wrong. So many times you will see a stalker let their obsession be known. Whether it's obvious advances, or just approaching the stalked with that information. Frank (because I don't know how to say his name, he will be dubbed this for the moment) is one of those horribly idiotic stalkers that is bad at what he wants to do best.
I have a friend who is pregnant. Still gorgeous, heads still swivle her way. Of course, this draws a few of the odder crowds. Frank certainly is creepy enough for 4 girls.
To explain Frank is to explain the generic features of a common stalker:unwashed, unibrow, sports the same clothing apparel everyday you see him, and an odd collection of batty habits and mumblings. Frank is also Indian, and enjoys pregnant women. It's nothing new to hear him spout something about how he has a crush on my pregnant friend, and insinuate that it's indeed hot that she is.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think my friend is ugly at all. She's radiate. But when you bring in the fact that she's having a baby and that turns Frank on, we get a whole truckload of awkward. It's the way that he lets his fetish be known that makes all of this even better to deal with. For instance, yesterday Frank told my friend that he should let his dad be the gynecologist for her. What joy, what rapture! Now his dad can check out my friend and run home to tell his son all about it!
Less awkward, and more on the jerkass side of things, is his ability to not care what comes out of his mouth. For instance, Frank loves to tell my friend that she shouldn't have gotten "knocked up" by her baby's daddy. That's not offensive and totally okay to state, right? These sort of impressions never sit well. And at the base of this? He was never a friend to her at any point. He just kinda started calling her "sunshine" and then rolled into the whole insults of getting knocked up uselessly. You know what they say about assuming!
But not to fret; my friend has friends, including me. When I had first heard that Frank was coming around constantly, I was elated to meet and piss him off to the fullest. Opening meeting, my friend told me to give her a massage, and thus he would not approach. Oh, but he did. He even went so far to tell me "wooaahh buddy, back off". Guess what? I did it even more! He left and returned, with a pie. Thinking it was some sort of trade for my friend, I took the pie from him and ignored the fact that it was offered for my friend. Flustered, he soon walked away. I drank his rage that day, and it was good.
Other exchanges were to follow soon after, and eventually I became more comfortable about being a dick to him. Sometime during this, one of the earlier enragements (yes, you read that right) of Frank, he begin to complain that the US gov't put his father in the hospital because they forced him to drink. I quickly shut him down and then drank the atmosphere of awkward. It was filling. I'd feel partly bad for him if he didn't leave open his weak spots like a bad contra boss. He informed me that he gives his father back rubs, and vice versa. With that, I didn't have to say anything, even with his constant questioning of why that was bad.
Just recently though, my friend finally snapped. Good reason, many agree, since the guy tried to kiss and hug her after she told him how annoying he was in his continuous advances. He tried to say sorry, bowing like something from Naruto and trying to explain that he didn't grasp the concept of no touching. I don't know folks, I usually get it when a person yells at me the day before for a good 10 minutes straight.
He tries to talk to me and I ignore him. My friend, tired of his shit, explodes in a way only a pregnant lady could and basically tells him to fuck off. He gets up, smacks his head on a sign nearby, and leaves for the rest of the day. Nobody misses this man.
I have a friend who is pregnant. Still gorgeous, heads still swivle her way. Of course, this draws a few of the odder crowds. Frank certainly is creepy enough for 4 girls.
To explain Frank is to explain the generic features of a common stalker:unwashed, unibrow, sports the same clothing apparel everyday you see him, and an odd collection of batty habits and mumblings. Frank is also Indian, and enjoys pregnant women. It's nothing new to hear him spout something about how he has a crush on my pregnant friend, and insinuate that it's indeed hot that she is.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think my friend is ugly at all. She's radiate. But when you bring in the fact that she's having a baby and that turns Frank on, we get a whole truckload of awkward. It's the way that he lets his fetish be known that makes all of this even better to deal with. For instance, yesterday Frank told my friend that he should let his dad be the gynecologist for her. What joy, what rapture! Now his dad can check out my friend and run home to tell his son all about it!
Less awkward, and more on the jerkass side of things, is his ability to not care what comes out of his mouth. For instance, Frank loves to tell my friend that she shouldn't have gotten "knocked up" by her baby's daddy. That's not offensive and totally okay to state, right? These sort of impressions never sit well. And at the base of this? He was never a friend to her at any point. He just kinda started calling her "sunshine" and then rolled into the whole insults of getting knocked up uselessly. You know what they say about assuming!
But not to fret; my friend has friends, including me. When I had first heard that Frank was coming around constantly, I was elated to meet and piss him off to the fullest. Opening meeting, my friend told me to give her a massage, and thus he would not approach. Oh, but he did. He even went so far to tell me "wooaahh buddy, back off". Guess what? I did it even more! He left and returned, with a pie. Thinking it was some sort of trade for my friend, I took the pie from him and ignored the fact that it was offered for my friend. Flustered, he soon walked away. I drank his rage that day, and it was good.
Other exchanges were to follow soon after, and eventually I became more comfortable about being a dick to him. Sometime during this, one of the earlier enragements (yes, you read that right) of Frank, he begin to complain that the US gov't put his father in the hospital because they forced him to drink. I quickly shut him down and then drank the atmosphere of awkward. It was filling. I'd feel partly bad for him if he didn't leave open his weak spots like a bad contra boss. He informed me that he gives his father back rubs, and vice versa. With that, I didn't have to say anything, even with his constant questioning of why that was bad.
Just recently though, my friend finally snapped. Good reason, many agree, since the guy tried to kiss and hug her after she told him how annoying he was in his continuous advances. He tried to say sorry, bowing like something from Naruto and trying to explain that he didn't grasp the concept of no touching. I don't know folks, I usually get it when a person yells at me the day before for a good 10 minutes straight.
He tries to talk to me and I ignore him. My friend, tired of his shit, explodes in a way only a pregnant lady could and basically tells him to fuck off. He gets up, smacks his head on a sign nearby, and leaves for the rest of the day. Nobody misses this man.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Twitter, and the hell that follows.
Funny, I just got rid of my myspace because I felt my life cluttered with all these social networking items and now I obtain a Twitter.
I hated that thing for the longest. I guess the idea of a simpler Facebook that notifies people what I'm doing at all moments of the day about all things I preform during that duration rubs me something unhappy.
But, like any good drug and MMO game, it's partly addictive. It's lined with a sense of gloating that comes with it. In a skewed way, it's comparing e-penis for casual internet users.
Go ahead. Add me. Make me feel worse about this whole prospect of hopping on bandwagons and following in the same suit.
http://twitter.com/MSpoilerAhead
I hated that thing for the longest. I guess the idea of a simpler Facebook that notifies people what I'm doing at all moments of the day about all things I preform during that duration rubs me something unhappy.
But, like any good drug and MMO game, it's partly addictive. It's lined with a sense of gloating that comes with it. In a skewed way, it's comparing e-penis for casual internet users.
Go ahead. Add me. Make me feel worse about this whole prospect of hopping on bandwagons and following in the same suit.
http://twitter.com/MSpoilerAhead
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Throw a stone as high as you can.
Guess what? It's not last Monday, or the Saturday before that. It's not January, or a year ago. Time is faster than you even realize, because if it wasn't, then those thoughts would be in your head at the moment.
I'm not going to fight over silly things anymore and waste those days I hardly even know are there.
I'm not going to fight over silly things anymore and waste those days I hardly even know are there.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Damn you Facebook!
I don't hate Facebook, I just hate what social networking online has made me into. On the internet, I'm refined. In person, I've become somewhat of a babbling fool when I try to form coherent sentences close to what I write online. That's a bit of a exaggeration, but honestly, Facebook has made it so offline interaction feels like a secondary minor.
To other news, I attended the Pumpkinfest in Morton. I've made it a goal in life to be a ticket seller. It must be a gratifying job. Just think of all the people who groan looking at the prices, but yet have to lay down the cash since they won't have anything better to do besides walk around in odd smelling tents. Or even a food vendor, charging 3 bucks for a small Lemonade shakeup that is halfway filled with a rotted lemon and ice. I guarantee these people sleep happier at night than I.
Today I go again, with tickets I hadn't used up yet since my friends don't contain the iron stomach I have. I don't blame them in the least, because the feast I've done with my stomach are damn near mystical. Like eating seafood that's been left outside in the garage in 70 degree weather for a few days. In my defense, it was some great seafood.
To other news, I attended the Pumpkinfest in Morton. I've made it a goal in life to be a ticket seller. It must be a gratifying job. Just think of all the people who groan looking at the prices, but yet have to lay down the cash since they won't have anything better to do besides walk around in odd smelling tents. Or even a food vendor, charging 3 bucks for a small Lemonade shakeup that is halfway filled with a rotted lemon and ice. I guarantee these people sleep happier at night than I.
Today I go again, with tickets I hadn't used up yet since my friends don't contain the iron stomach I have. I don't blame them in the least, because the feast I've done with my stomach are damn near mystical. Like eating seafood that's been left outside in the garage in 70 degree weather for a few days. In my defense, it was some great seafood.
Friday, September 18, 2009
It's like he's really from Final Fantasy.
Coolest hairstyle, or coolest hairstyle? I'd say "You be the judge", but you could potentially be wrong. Excuse my cheek, I had bread in it. English bread.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
I'm tired of your shit.
On my last day, if you could consider it that much, I drove to work dreading going in. But this isn't the sort of dread normally surfaced due to general work. This isn't because of something new happening at that hell hole, or just a general day. No, this is a dread that if I went in that day, I'd be stuck there. I'd never exit the walls of clothes, never quit servicing people undeserving with products I know nothing about. Really, when it comes right down to it, I hardly know what the fuck a polo is, much less the different types. And you know what? I don't really care what that difference is.
Thoughts like that bounced around relentlessly. It wouldn't end. Every different form of music I blasted couldn't overtake this aching feeling not to go in through those automatic jaws. When I reached Borders and sat down to kill the time before I was scheduled, I felt that any drive stored in me since my birth would be nullified if I continued to work at that place.
And then it decked me in the face. What the fuck am I doing? I can get more hours at Gamestop! A place more dealing with my profession than anything. A place where I don't have to worry about wiping an elderly person's ass every line of hello I give. And no more magnetic name tags that get caught on things and get lost easily.
As I wrote about the scam (I will divulge that information all too soon, just give me time), time flew by and, when I looked at the broken clock, it signified my lateness by 2 hours. No regrets to this choice at all. I feel liberated, and it's something I will never fall into again. I will try my hardest to find jobs I like and not settle for a place I never wanted to step foot in.
I think myself old enough to finally start my career. To do things related to my job and not piddle around in clothing retail shops that aren't enjoyable.
And me?
Fashion?
I wore mismatched ties almost every day. Though, as one person put it: "It's okay, because you are edgy like that." Uh huh. Edgy.
Thoughts like that bounced around relentlessly. It wouldn't end. Every different form of music I blasted couldn't overtake this aching feeling not to go in through those automatic jaws. When I reached Borders and sat down to kill the time before I was scheduled, I felt that any drive stored in me since my birth would be nullified if I continued to work at that place.
And then it decked me in the face. What the fuck am I doing? I can get more hours at Gamestop! A place more dealing with my profession than anything. A place where I don't have to worry about wiping an elderly person's ass every line of hello I give. And no more magnetic name tags that get caught on things and get lost easily.
As I wrote about the scam (I will divulge that information all too soon, just give me time), time flew by and, when I looked at the broken clock, it signified my lateness by 2 hours. No regrets to this choice at all. I feel liberated, and it's something I will never fall into again. I will try my hardest to find jobs I like and not settle for a place I never wanted to step foot in.
I think myself old enough to finally start my career. To do things related to my job and not piddle around in clothing retail shops that aren't enjoyable.
And me?
Fashion?
I wore mismatched ties almost every day. Though, as one person put it: "It's okay, because you are edgy like that." Uh huh. Edgy.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
What was once the main course is now taken off the menu.
The biggest obligation for a journalist is to provide the truth to the readers. To deliver an unbiased opinion to the public. These people can literally control the world through information; people rely on the news a window to the world around them. Why is it then that journalist would switch the location of the room for their own gain?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The wrong kind of battle.
Certainly, it's a horrible idea to demean and threaten your workers. At least, in such a noticeable, ill-meaning way that makes things uncomfortable. It was today that I found out just how far the separation was between the foot soldiers of Bergners and the generals. Oh, also the intelligence of my bosses as well.
Tim walked up to me with displeasure painted all over his face. For anyone else, it would be normal to have that happen, but he was a man of permanent happiness. He usually bounces around the store, spouting encouragement and such with helpful tips that every manager is suppose to state. But he does so with a kind of excitement that he is genuinely happy working here.
So for him to drop by my area with a face unlike the usual means something was up. And the way he stared at me meant he wasn't going to give me a positive term.
“Ryan,” he told me, “have you gotten any credits lately?”.
Credits/credit card sign up's are most important thing at this store. In most retail shops, they have something that keeps their customer coming back to them. Bergners has a credit card of sorts. But there are issues with that system, which I will detail in a second.
I replied that I haven't. I'm not sure why I even was asked that since he already knew.
“Well, you see....we are going to start cutting the hours of those with lower credits than the others...”
Oh! A threat! This is bad management right here, since what he did at that moment was basically take a swing. Someone needs a lesson in management!
Good management is when you sit down with your workers and tell them what has been going on, and see why there is an issue. Together, with team work, you figure it out and if later, more drastic measures are to be taken, then such can be performed.
They skipped that part, and decided to do bad management.
That is when you make your workers the enemy and treat them like cattle. If you are going to do that, do it like good management does and veil it with “assistance”. I didn't respond to this. I just kinda titled my head during his awkward explanation. When he left to tell the other departments about this new “policy”, I discussed with my coworker how much bullshit this is.
You see, getting a customer to sign a credit card is flawed by two things in our system:
1.Most customers already contain a Bergners card. In one week, I've maybe seen 3 people pay with something not the store credit card. And since these suckers don't expire (at least, not for a while), no one already containing one has no reason to sign up again.
2.There just isn't enough incentive to get one. Sure, you get a 10% off on the day you sign up (on select items, mind you), but what else? It doesn't help those that don't want to deal with the high interest rate this card radiates. It doesn't really help those in hard times because they have to pay it off eventually, and fashionable clothing just isn't a necessity in comparison to things like food.
The bigwigs at the corporate offices could easily correct those problems, but that would cost money. So, they attack the middlemen. The higher middlemen, the managers, threaten the smaller ones in return. And things like this could be avoided by simply having a sit down with everyone and figuring things out. But who wants convince?
So, I thank you Bergners'. Now I shall find a job twice as fast. No point in working where the employees aren't even liked.
{Note: Wrote this yesterday, posted today. Forgot to put that in here.}
Tim walked up to me with displeasure painted all over his face. For anyone else, it would be normal to have that happen, but he was a man of permanent happiness. He usually bounces around the store, spouting encouragement and such with helpful tips that every manager is suppose to state. But he does so with a kind of excitement that he is genuinely happy working here.
So for him to drop by my area with a face unlike the usual means something was up. And the way he stared at me meant he wasn't going to give me a positive term.
“Ryan,” he told me, “have you gotten any credits lately?”.
Credits/credit card sign up's are most important thing at this store. In most retail shops, they have something that keeps their customer coming back to them. Bergners has a credit card of sorts. But there are issues with that system, which I will detail in a second.
I replied that I haven't. I'm not sure why I even was asked that since he already knew.
“Well, you see....we are going to start cutting the hours of those with lower credits than the others...”
Oh! A threat! This is bad management right here, since what he did at that moment was basically take a swing. Someone needs a lesson in management!
Good management is when you sit down with your workers and tell them what has been going on, and see why there is an issue. Together, with team work, you figure it out and if later, more drastic measures are to be taken, then such can be performed.
They skipped that part, and decided to do bad management.
That is when you make your workers the enemy and treat them like cattle. If you are going to do that, do it like good management does and veil it with “assistance”. I didn't respond to this. I just kinda titled my head during his awkward explanation. When he left to tell the other departments about this new “policy”, I discussed with my coworker how much bullshit this is.
You see, getting a customer to sign a credit card is flawed by two things in our system:
1.Most customers already contain a Bergners card. In one week, I've maybe seen 3 people pay with something not the store credit card. And since these suckers don't expire (at least, not for a while), no one already containing one has no reason to sign up again.
2.There just isn't enough incentive to get one. Sure, you get a 10% off on the day you sign up (on select items, mind you), but what else? It doesn't help those that don't want to deal with the high interest rate this card radiates. It doesn't really help those in hard times because they have to pay it off eventually, and fashionable clothing just isn't a necessity in comparison to things like food.
The bigwigs at the corporate offices could easily correct those problems, but that would cost money. So, they attack the middlemen. The higher middlemen, the managers, threaten the smaller ones in return. And things like this could be avoided by simply having a sit down with everyone and figuring things out. But who wants convince?
So, I thank you Bergners'. Now I shall find a job twice as fast. No point in working where the employees aren't even liked.
{Note: Wrote this yesterday, posted today. Forgot to put that in here.}
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Murder, Inc
I find human reaction to murders and death hilarious. A murder happened nearby my friends house, and the reception to the event was standard status quota: gossip, worry, and in some cases, move out.
They taped off the area, and placed 4 cop cars blocking off the street, with maybe double the cops. It took them 6 hours to properly scan the area for clues as to what happened. When I drove by twice, the cops were sitting in there cars, not really doing much of anything. They didn't tell anyone besides the immediate left and right houses of the murder happening anything, so the rest of the neighbors not but 2-4 hours away (read:my friends house) had a clue of what's going on.
Let's paint it like this: a murder just happened, and they can't find the guy who did it. The police decided to not share the information that an armed murderer could still be in the area with the people around.
The neighborhood reaction was much more idiotic than the cops. Humans are curious creatures, and that's not inherently a bad thing. It's what is done with that curiosity that makes it terrible.
People watched from the sidelines, which you can't fault since it's murder. You probably should be aware of your surroundings. But they stood out there for got knows how long. And then the gossip began.
I don't know what was said, but it's obvious it wasn't something to make anyone stay. One of the neighbors talked about now moving out because she didn't feel safe even going outside anymore.
Listen, lady. Unless you are holding pounds and pounds of crack, you aren't going to have your door busted down by some maniac looking for it. The reason the guy got killed was because had drugs. Just last week he'd been drug busted.
More to the point of everything: murders and deaths happen all the time without people knowing. Murders happen in every neighborhood, and everyone has a bad seed. Just be thankful you got one that they kill for illegal means like drugs. If they really gave a shit, they would have killed you by now. It's over drugs, not a break in and robbery. Just. Drugs.
{Doesn't matter too much, the boys house is only going on for 2 more weeks.}
They taped off the area, and placed 4 cop cars blocking off the street, with maybe double the cops. It took them 6 hours to properly scan the area for clues as to what happened. When I drove by twice, the cops were sitting in there cars, not really doing much of anything. They didn't tell anyone besides the immediate left and right houses of the murder happening anything, so the rest of the neighbors not but 2-4 hours away (read:my friends house) had a clue of what's going on.
Let's paint it like this: a murder just happened, and they can't find the guy who did it. The police decided to not share the information that an armed murderer could still be in the area with the people around.
The neighborhood reaction was much more idiotic than the cops. Humans are curious creatures, and that's not inherently a bad thing. It's what is done with that curiosity that makes it terrible.
People watched from the sidelines, which you can't fault since it's murder. You probably should be aware of your surroundings. But they stood out there for got knows how long. And then the gossip began.
I don't know what was said, but it's obvious it wasn't something to make anyone stay. One of the neighbors talked about now moving out because she didn't feel safe even going outside anymore.
Listen, lady. Unless you are holding pounds and pounds of crack, you aren't going to have your door busted down by some maniac looking for it. The reason the guy got killed was because had drugs. Just last week he'd been drug busted.
More to the point of everything: murders and deaths happen all the time without people knowing. Murders happen in every neighborhood, and everyone has a bad seed. Just be thankful you got one that they kill for illegal means like drugs. If they really gave a shit, they would have killed you by now. It's over drugs, not a break in and robbery. Just. Drugs.
{Doesn't matter too much, the boys house is only going on for 2 more weeks.}
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Pepper in eggs.
Luke put quite a bit of pepper in those eggs this morning, but I didn't taste it. As in, it wasn't overpowering. I took a fact from this:
I over season stuff.
This could be the reason the salt content in anything I cook is equivalent to the ocean. I focus too much on seasoning, and not the original flavor itself. Humorously, it applies to my writing and, life in general. I think I'm getting too wrapped up in what I think I should do, and not why I enjoy those things. As in, it's work instead of the enjoyment. Thereby, I lose the passion of what I'm doing, and everything melts into deary sameness and average bunk that I'm ashamed of living in.
Right now, I'm going to write. I don't care what I do it for, or what I do it about. But words shall spill out constantly. Improving however I can, and leave the things like collecting contacts and things as such a secondary stress factor.
At any rate, my friend Jedd is getting too hung up on women. This is a road I hope he doesn't continue, and that I hope I don't fall into as well. Companionship is great, more so of what I thought I had before, but it's not something to rule your life. Of course things would better with that type of symmetrical love, lining up to form something great. But I should not holster life in the pocket for it, nor should anyone. Plus, things come to you when you don't look for them, right? I can wait. I'm patience. I shouldn't forget that.
My father gave me the "you are basically worthless" talk, despite my recent achievements and stepping up of the game. I've all but ignored the fallacy in his speech against my life, because I'm proud of myself lately.
And at the end of the day, that's the only person that should matter in that case.
{Fish Wrap Magazine isn't a good model for any ideas.}
I over season stuff.
This could be the reason the salt content in anything I cook is equivalent to the ocean. I focus too much on seasoning, and not the original flavor itself. Humorously, it applies to my writing and, life in general. I think I'm getting too wrapped up in what I think I should do, and not why I enjoy those things. As in, it's work instead of the enjoyment. Thereby, I lose the passion of what I'm doing, and everything melts into deary sameness and average bunk that I'm ashamed of living in.
Right now, I'm going to write. I don't care what I do it for, or what I do it about. But words shall spill out constantly. Improving however I can, and leave the things like collecting contacts and things as such a secondary stress factor.
At any rate, my friend Jedd is getting too hung up on women. This is a road I hope he doesn't continue, and that I hope I don't fall into as well. Companionship is great, more so of what I thought I had before, but it's not something to rule your life. Of course things would better with that type of symmetrical love, lining up to form something great. But I should not holster life in the pocket for it, nor should anyone. Plus, things come to you when you don't look for them, right? I can wait. I'm patience. I shouldn't forget that.
My father gave me the "you are basically worthless" talk, despite my recent achievements and stepping up of the game. I've all but ignored the fallacy in his speech against my life, because I'm proud of myself lately.
And at the end of the day, that's the only person that should matter in that case.
{Fish Wrap Magazine isn't a good model for any ideas.}
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Smell is a pretty strong sense.
There is a man at my work named George. At least I hope that is his name. He is a man who comes to his job possibly wasted every time. You couldn't tell it by the way he talks, since he doesn't really slur his words. But it comes from what he talks about. For example, just irrelevent things and stories pop out of nowhere. George once related about how he gave away most of the items in his house to his kids when we were discussing how customers mess up clothes.
And then the smell. That strong odor of alcohol and colonge to hide it (which may or may not be there depending on his mood) mixing is hardly ignorable. I swear I've seen people walk away wasted just from his fumes.
I just noticed this recently because of my complete ignorance to everything at this work place, since nobody ever said anything about his alcoholism. I had just figured his off handed comments were normal, everyday jabs. I guess it is normal when you are toasted everyday. I helped was helping him with his collar, and the odor arose. He said he couldn't right this morning because he was drunk, and the second those words hit my ears, the smell hit my nose. The man is a bit of a slush.
He puked in the garbage can. If I wasn't such an anti-puking fan, that'd be a great way to skip work.
{Being drunk allows you to read French. No joke.}
And then the smell. That strong odor of alcohol and colonge to hide it (which may or may not be there depending on his mood) mixing is hardly ignorable. I swear I've seen people walk away wasted just from his fumes.
I just noticed this recently because of my complete ignorance to everything at this work place, since nobody ever said anything about his alcoholism. I had just figured his off handed comments were normal, everyday jabs. I guess it is normal when you are toasted everyday. I helped was helping him with his collar, and the odor arose. He said he couldn't right this morning because he was drunk, and the second those words hit my ears, the smell hit my nose. The man is a bit of a slush.
He puked in the garbage can. If I wasn't such an anti-puking fan, that'd be a great way to skip work.
{Being drunk allows you to read French. No joke.}
Thursday, July 23, 2009
One step at a time.
I met with Greg B of the WMBD today. As expected, he's a very down to earth guy. I told him what I'm going to school for, and my eventual/hopeful path of the future. To help stir me along, he listed off some great contacts in the area of Columbia (which is where I hope to arrive at next semester, if all goes as planned). And, best of all, my passion was encouraged. He told me that nobody should stop you from doing what you want to do in life. He had people try and stop him from getting into journalism and he's doing just fine as it.
That really hit home with me, and it also made me question why my ex-girlfriend and parents were so vehemently against it. Step on those who tell you that you can't, use them to push yourself forward.
At any rate, getting the tour of the WMBD was great, and meeting all the people there only serve to inspire. I can't wait.
Brittney and I had movie night, with nostalgia overflow due to The Pagemaster. That movie was amazing. Throughout the day, she showed that she'd support my endeavors no matter what. Rarity.
Oh, yes. The boy's house is slowly becoming emptier and emptier. It's kind of a heavy feeling without finding Jake playing WoW or messing with his rubic's cube, or Ryan popping out of his room randomly. Jedd gets a short burst of caring, trying to find people to replace those leaving but then soon gives up. Chris is at work and then, to be honest, not giving a damn either way. I don't blame him. Even Bostic has found residence somewhere else, so it's not like caring at this point would matter since nobody can find someone we know to fill the spots. Without the rest caring, it's hard to do so yourself.
The last, final drop of hope would be if some good people were to waltz in and board up, but that isn't going to happen. This sucks. It was a place where anyone in the group could just go and do whatever. It was the ultimate hangout spot (aside from sleeping. But who achieves that in this day and age anyway?), meeting point, and a place of a many great memory.
{Thanks for all the fish.}
That really hit home with me, and it also made me question why my ex-girlfriend and parents were so vehemently against it. Step on those who tell you that you can't, use them to push yourself forward.
At any rate, getting the tour of the WMBD was great, and meeting all the people there only serve to inspire. I can't wait.
Brittney and I had movie night, with nostalgia overflow due to The Pagemaster. That movie was amazing. Throughout the day, she showed that she'd support my endeavors no matter what. Rarity.
Oh, yes. The boy's house is slowly becoming emptier and emptier. It's kind of a heavy feeling without finding Jake playing WoW or messing with his rubic's cube, or Ryan popping out of his room randomly. Jedd gets a short burst of caring, trying to find people to replace those leaving but then soon gives up. Chris is at work and then, to be honest, not giving a damn either way. I don't blame him. Even Bostic has found residence somewhere else, so it's not like caring at this point would matter since nobody can find someone we know to fill the spots. Without the rest caring, it's hard to do so yourself.
The last, final drop of hope would be if some good people were to waltz in and board up, but that isn't going to happen. This sucks. It was a place where anyone in the group could just go and do whatever. It was the ultimate hangout spot (aside from sleeping. But who achieves that in this day and age anyway?), meeting point, and a place of a many great memory.
{Thanks for all the fish.}
Monday, July 20, 2009
1 A.M. actually isn't THAT late.
Brittney and I stayed up last night in the wee hours of the morning, laughing at this:
And watching someone mangle the English language without mercy. Today she attempted to cook, and it was edible. But considering the ingredients, I dare say it wasn't her fault. LBP is the only game we will play, and I think I've finally hit some decisions on what I want to do in life after a talk in a pool with water below zero.
Even in light of recent events, I feel better I think. Realizations bomb the city of my heart, but I'm glad I placed food in the bunker beforehand.
Forgive my scattered thoughts. Lack of sleep lets even the most unrelated things hilarious.
[D.I.C.K I know you acting gay and shit.]
And watching someone mangle the English language without mercy. Today she attempted to cook, and it was edible. But considering the ingredients, I dare say it wasn't her fault. LBP is the only game we will play, and I think I've finally hit some decisions on what I want to do in life after a talk in a pool with water below zero.
Even in light of recent events, I feel better I think. Realizations bomb the city of my heart, but I'm glad I placed food in the bunker beforehand.
Forgive my scattered thoughts. Lack of sleep lets even the most unrelated things hilarious.
[D.I.C.K I know you acting gay and shit.]
Saturday, July 18, 2009
It's raining men.
I've come to the realization that if I stay at Berngers any longer, I will become gay. Not that there is anything wrong with gays, or being gay, but it kinda is a bad thing for me since I have a girlfriend. And I host no love for penises.
As soon as I walk into work, I'm assaulted with either women workers or gay workers. And guess what is 70% of the subjects discussed? Boys! It's not as if it'd be any different with straight boys, really, but it's hard to talk about how you'd love to lick an actor's six pack when the actor is not an actress. It's not comfortable, and certainly not intolerable. I just feel a bit left out. I try to mention women, but they simply look at me in confusion. And I thought gays knew how to deal with women since they are queens anyway!
I'm pretty sure the first few days of work people thought I was gay. It was very easy to tell when the people give you a look questioning your sexuality and thinking "ONE OF US! ONE OF US". Probably. I mean, not many straight people guy wise work at Bergners. The few ones that are certainly don't care to be there in the men's section. So it was to question why I was walking around.
Thanks to my girlfriend landing a kiss on my cheek and repeat visits, it's confirmed that I am indeed not gay.
Hours after hours I am still getting screwed over, so now I have another, less important excuse to leave beyond just being outside of the conversations of cute boys.
[I'm gonna go out. I'm gonna get. Absolutely. Soaking. WET!]
As soon as I walk into work, I'm assaulted with either women workers or gay workers. And guess what is 70% of the subjects discussed? Boys! It's not as if it'd be any different with straight boys, really, but it's hard to talk about how you'd love to lick an actor's six pack when the actor is not an actress. It's not comfortable, and certainly not intolerable. I just feel a bit left out. I try to mention women, but they simply look at me in confusion. And I thought gays knew how to deal with women since they are queens anyway!
I'm pretty sure the first few days of work people thought I was gay. It was very easy to tell when the people give you a look questioning your sexuality and thinking "ONE OF US! ONE OF US". Probably. I mean, not many straight people guy wise work at Bergners. The few ones that are certainly don't care to be there in the men's section. So it was to question why I was walking around.
Thanks to my girlfriend landing a kiss on my cheek and repeat visits, it's confirmed that I am indeed not gay.
Hours after hours I am still getting screwed over, so now I have another, less important excuse to leave beyond just being outside of the conversations of cute boys.
[I'm gonna go out. I'm gonna get. Absolutely. Soaking. WET!]
Thursday, July 16, 2009
You gonna eat that?
I feel like I am immune to awkward situations in life.
My girlfriend and I went to dinner with her family, and it was certainly "GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER.". It's a far shame, really, when the step-mother didn't even glance my way. Actually, her step-mother is about the only racist one there. But she's more of a situational racist: racist only when the time calls for it.
At any rate, I had a blast. I played with the young kids, talked with the girlfriend, ate food paid for me at a chinese buffet and and a general good time. The step mother didn't.
She didn't glance at me once when I said "hi" to her. And from that point, she ignored my existence.
Most people would be offended by such an asshole move but, I see it as this: she had to make a conscious effort the entire dinner party to ignore me, while I was free to roam around and have fun. I was restricted as to what direction my head could swivel, but oh, she was. You could feel the silent rage building up inside her as I talked around her. Great times, I tell you.
At the end, she did one of those goodbyes you give to everyone. It seem to stop a little short when she realize she had inadvertently included me within the hello bubble.
In worser news, I suppose, Bergners is giving me 3 hour long shifts for 5 days in a row. I'm not made of gas, and I live a good 30 minutes away. With the drive back, that's an hour about worth of gas. I get 20 hours a week, but with the gas I waste, it doesn't make sense.
Why could I not have those shifts crammed together? I was told that the computer does it like that because it puts people in where they are needed.
...but others seem to have full shifts. Oh! It's because you don't care! That's why!
I hate to leave a job so soon, but I can't afford coming to work for a whopping 3 hours to dick around and fuss people out of the store at closing time. Back to job searching I go.
My girlfriend and I went to dinner with her family, and it was certainly "GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER.". It's a far shame, really, when the step-mother didn't even glance my way. Actually, her step-mother is about the only racist one there. But she's more of a situational racist: racist only when the time calls for it.
At any rate, I had a blast. I played with the young kids, talked with the girlfriend, ate food paid for me at a chinese buffet and and a general good time. The step mother didn't.
She didn't glance at me once when I said "hi" to her. And from that point, she ignored my existence.
Most people would be offended by such an asshole move but, I see it as this: she had to make a conscious effort the entire dinner party to ignore me, while I was free to roam around and have fun. I was restricted as to what direction my head could swivel, but oh, she was. You could feel the silent rage building up inside her as I talked around her. Great times, I tell you.
At the end, she did one of those goodbyes you give to everyone. It seem to stop a little short when she realize she had inadvertently included me within the hello bubble.
In worser news, I suppose, Bergners is giving me 3 hour long shifts for 5 days in a row. I'm not made of gas, and I live a good 30 minutes away. With the drive back, that's an hour about worth of gas. I get 20 hours a week, but with the gas I waste, it doesn't make sense.
Why could I not have those shifts crammed together? I was told that the computer does it like that because it puts people in where they are needed.
...but others seem to have full shifts. Oh! It's because you don't care! That's why!
I hate to leave a job so soon, but I can't afford coming to work for a whopping 3 hours to dick around and fuss people out of the store at closing time. Back to job searching I go.
Monday, July 13, 2009
The window is open and the bugs are flying in.
Lately, there has been quite a bit of ass kicking.
Reality kicking people in the ass. Kicking me in the ass. Me kicking my girlfriend in the ass, and then her kicking me in the ass. My friends kicking me in the ass, then I kick them in the ass, then we kick each other subsequently square in the ass at the same time.
But, it's something we need. What are we without realizing our mistakes? What are we without someone showing us we are being retarded? Certainly not people who could evolve.
I hope my friends find suitors worthy enough for the House. So many great memories have been born there, and I'm worried the House won't birth anymore. People are moving out, and those that are staying are rushing to find replacements like an animal without a head. But who could blame them? The easiest solutions aren't always the best, but they might have to be the route they take.
In other, lighter news, I've come to appreciate my friends much more. Probably my best friend the most. I don't think I'd get by in life without her putting up with the constant drama and drivel I feed. Even when she doesn't agree, she's behind me no matter what, far more than a person who could only back me if I took their advice only.
In two weeks, I get to take my first/only trip to King's Island. Either I'm too lazy to find out what it is I'm going to or I like to be surprised, but my girlfriend and our two friends are going to go away for a week. I can't wait, as I'm in dire need of escaping and I'm highly jealous of others being able to exit the norm to things like Cornerstone, and in Jef's case, a different country.
Within this week, I hope, I'm going to meet one of the head guys of the WMBD. I'm fortunate to have that opportunity, and you can bet I will drain the hell out of that meeting.
For today, I feel artistic. I'm going to start taking more and more pictures to take advantage of my "Situational Talent" (that is, as one person put it, being able to take good pictures randomly when I don't try).
Reality kicking people in the ass. Kicking me in the ass. Me kicking my girlfriend in the ass, and then her kicking me in the ass. My friends kicking me in the ass, then I kick them in the ass, then we kick each other subsequently square in the ass at the same time.
But, it's something we need. What are we without realizing our mistakes? What are we without someone showing us we are being retarded? Certainly not people who could evolve.
I hope my friends find suitors worthy enough for the House. So many great memories have been born there, and I'm worried the House won't birth anymore. People are moving out, and those that are staying are rushing to find replacements like an animal without a head. But who could blame them? The easiest solutions aren't always the best, but they might have to be the route they take.
In other, lighter news, I've come to appreciate my friends much more. Probably my best friend the most. I don't think I'd get by in life without her putting up with the constant drama and drivel I feed. Even when she doesn't agree, she's behind me no matter what, far more than a person who could only back me if I took their advice only.
In two weeks, I get to take my first/only trip to King's Island. Either I'm too lazy to find out what it is I'm going to or I like to be surprised, but my girlfriend and our two friends are going to go away for a week. I can't wait, as I'm in dire need of escaping and I'm highly jealous of others being able to exit the norm to things like Cornerstone, and in Jef's case, a different country.
Within this week, I hope, I'm going to meet one of the head guys of the WMBD. I'm fortunate to have that opportunity, and you can bet I will drain the hell out of that meeting.
For today, I feel artistic. I'm going to start taking more and more pictures to take advantage of my "Situational Talent" (that is, as one person put it, being able to take good pictures randomly when I don't try).
Sunday, July 5, 2009
lol, updates
Who needs updates of my life? I can just tell you that in person, right?
Well, my friends discussed briefly whether or not leaving your computer on will hurt, or conversely, you.
Well, the answer is...
In the past (1993 and earlier) it may have been beneficial to leave the computer on because of potential power switch related issues with some computer manufacturers. However, this issue was not always applicable and today is no longer an issue with any computer. Although it is still possible for components to become bad in a computer, it is almost always not attributed to turning the computer on and off each day.
The answer to this question really depends upon how you use your computer. Our recommendation for most users is when the computer is first turned on that it remains on until it is late and you don't plan on using it until the next day. However, if you are actively running anything on the computer or you wish for tasks to run during the night such as a backup, scandisk, defrag, or a virus scan, it is recommend that the computer remain on all night.
In short, it is neither good nor bad to turn off the computer each day or for you to leave the computer on all day every day.
Note: If you decide to leave your computer on all day we still recommend that the computer monitor be turned off.
From computerhope. So there you have it. Personally, I leave mine on because acquire video games in a manner that may or may not be considered illegal and immoral. Depending on your views and what state you are in, of course.
Well, my friends discussed briefly whether or not leaving your computer on will hurt, or conversely, you.
Well, the answer is...
In the past (1993 and earlier) it may have been beneficial to leave the computer on because of potential power switch related issues with some computer manufacturers. However, this issue was not always applicable and today is no longer an issue with any computer. Although it is still possible for components to become bad in a computer, it is almost always not attributed to turning the computer on and off each day.
The answer to this question really depends upon how you use your computer. Our recommendation for most users is when the computer is first turned on that it remains on until it is late and you don't plan on using it until the next day. However, if you are actively running anything on the computer or you wish for tasks to run during the night such as a backup, scandisk, defrag, or a virus scan, it is recommend that the computer remain on all night.
In short, it is neither good nor bad to turn off the computer each day or for you to leave the computer on all day every day.
Note: If you decide to leave your computer on all day we still recommend that the computer monitor be turned off.
From computerhope. So there you have it. Personally, I leave mine on because acquire video games in a manner that may or may not be considered illegal and immoral. Depending on your views and what state you are in, of course.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Morning, sunshine.
My father woke me up at a bit before 6, telling me that if I don't have a job, then I need to work.
Well, I have one already. Gamestop is now giving hours like candy. Bergners seems to be very interested in having me, or at least the guy at the interview wanted to gobble my penis. It seems like people are leaving this World Gym, and I could possibly get hired. It's hardly as if I sit on my ass and do nothing with my time, unlike my sibling.
This is all fine, though. Within a few months, I'm off to a college and then I don't plan to arrive back at the house when I'm done. Even if I have to struggle, or eat dollar store packets of food, I am not returning.
At any rate, I feel as if I need to put my writing to a magazine or something. I plan to make a fake one of sorts, so that I can get some experience. Of course it will turn all out terrible, but the experience gained is worthwhile.
I'm eating what looks to be a steak, but it isn't. Thicker, with a more wild taste I think. I hope it's not deer. I mean, this meat could be anything. Mutton? Veil? Goat?
I really hope this isn't dear.
Well, I have one already. Gamestop is now giving hours like candy. Bergners seems to be very interested in having me, or at least the guy at the interview wanted to gobble my penis. It seems like people are leaving this World Gym, and I could possibly get hired. It's hardly as if I sit on my ass and do nothing with my time, unlike my sibling.
This is all fine, though. Within a few months, I'm off to a college and then I don't plan to arrive back at the house when I'm done. Even if I have to struggle, or eat dollar store packets of food, I am not returning.
At any rate, I feel as if I need to put my writing to a magazine or something. I plan to make a fake one of sorts, so that I can get some experience. Of course it will turn all out terrible, but the experience gained is worthwhile.
I'm eating what looks to be a steak, but it isn't. Thicker, with a more wild taste I think. I hope it's not deer. I mean, this meat could be anything. Mutton? Veil? Goat?
I really hope this isn't dear.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Brittney Stroud
If ever a friend I didn't enjoy the company of, it would be Brittney Stroud. Not to be confused with the lesser evil, Brittney Spears, this one of a kind ginger is a pain in the ass.
At this moment, she eats the chips beside me. Never caring to ask me whether or not I would allow this. I hardly have food, but yet she keeps chomping down my crackers.
As she got up to grab some liquid, she tripped, and I found immeasurable amount of joy from this.
I wondered if she knows how bad she smells. A rancid smell, not unlike a rotten body one might find randomly by the creek. The kind of stench you are familiar with but you hope not to ever see in your own life time.
She picks her nose without dignity, and I once again question why a person like her is a distance friend of mine.
See, you can write with others around, Brittney!
At this moment, she eats the chips beside me. Never caring to ask me whether or not I would allow this. I hardly have food, but yet she keeps chomping down my crackers.
As she got up to grab some liquid, she tripped, and I found immeasurable amount of joy from this.
I wondered if she knows how bad she smells. A rancid smell, not unlike a rotten body one might find randomly by the creek. The kind of stench you are familiar with but you hope not to ever see in your own life time.
She picks her nose without dignity, and I once again question why a person like her is a distance friend of mine.
See, you can write with others around, Brittney!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Car battery, why won't you charge?
After being hooked up for at least 6 hours, this battery of my car will not charge. Or maybe it's the charger. I've never been good with cars so I don't have a clue.
Yesterday, I go to start it and nothing comes on. Not even the lights, radio, anything. She's dead. After running to neighbor's house to neighbor's house with no answer, one randomly drives up the driveway. Thank god for latent neighbor sense power, right?
After jumping it, I realize that I have to get gas. Which means I need to stop my car. I take the chance and turn it off and fill up, and then realize that it isn't going to turn on. I walk into the gas station and ask if anyone can give me a jump. The only three people in the shop, works I believe, suddenly contract down syndrome. They stare blankly at me, and an awkward couple of minutes fly by without a word. Finally, another lady finishes up what she was doing and states that she will help me.
After she does, the others finally snap out of their retarded trance. One of them, who suddenly remembered he knows quite a bit about cars, told me that the battery was a cheap piece. This is contrast to what my father told me: it said it was top of the line.
On the way to my destination, I questioned him about the battery. Apparently, it was on sale/clearance. All 3 times I had to be jumped, each person related that the battery was junk.
So today, I sit awaiting a call so that I can jump this sucker back to life and take it to find out what the exact problem is (hint: It's the battery).
I'm buying a ship. Screw this land travel.
Yesterday, I go to start it and nothing comes on. Not even the lights, radio, anything. She's dead. After running to neighbor's house to neighbor's house with no answer, one randomly drives up the driveway. Thank god for latent neighbor sense power, right?
After jumping it, I realize that I have to get gas. Which means I need to stop my car. I take the chance and turn it off and fill up, and then realize that it isn't going to turn on. I walk into the gas station and ask if anyone can give me a jump. The only three people in the shop, works I believe, suddenly contract down syndrome. They stare blankly at me, and an awkward couple of minutes fly by without a word. Finally, another lady finishes up what she was doing and states that she will help me.
After she does, the others finally snap out of their retarded trance. One of them, who suddenly remembered he knows quite a bit about cars, told me that the battery was a cheap piece. This is contrast to what my father told me: it said it was top of the line.
On the way to my destination, I questioned him about the battery. Apparently, it was on sale/clearance. All 3 times I had to be jumped, each person related that the battery was junk.
So today, I sit awaiting a call so that I can jump this sucker back to life and take it to find out what the exact problem is (hint: It's the battery).
I'm buying a ship. Screw this land travel.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
FINALS FINAL FINALS FINALS
Yay, double post. Probably because the previous post to this one happened yesterday, so it doesn't count.
anyway, finals have arrived like a poor man's christmas. Crap. Tackling them seemed simple, but that probably means i misread every question. I bet the teachers are high from all the red marker they will use.
I really wish they'd tell you the times of when your finals are. My Weather final had the audacity to not give me a time, so I assumed it'd be an hour after my other classes (since they all followed that order). No, common sense and practical logic do not win in this world. The room was dark and empty. I searched the corresponding rooms, and ended dry as before.
And lastly, emailing the teacher should preform some good, right? AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAAH! Professors don't even care that you couldn't find it. I haven't got a freaking response back yet. Can't I just be done with ICC?
anyway, finals have arrived like a poor man's christmas. Crap. Tackling them seemed simple, but that probably means i misread every question. I bet the teachers are high from all the red marker they will use.
I really wish they'd tell you the times of when your finals are. My Weather final had the audacity to not give me a time, so I assumed it'd be an hour after my other classes (since they all followed that order). No, common sense and practical logic do not win in this world. The room was dark and empty. I searched the corresponding rooms, and ended dry as before.
And lastly, emailing the teacher should preform some good, right? AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAAH! Professors don't even care that you couldn't find it. I haven't got a freaking response back yet. Can't I just be done with ICC?
Public bathrooms: the gateway of relief or thunderous door to Hell?
Jef told Cat and I to hit Kay's Coffee Shop. Good, Borders makes you pay for their internet. T-Mobile pay-as-you-browse can suck it. Kay's is a quaint, little coffee shop for everyone to show off their Mac computers and play obnoxious music that supposedly carries deep meanings.
The coffee was just as overpriced as the place we just left, and I certainly didn't taste the white chocolate in my drink as I was promised. My bladder reminded me of its existence, so I located the bathroom at breakneck speeds. The man at the counter smiled as I wizzed (heh) by. His job was done.
After closing AND locking the door, I tore off my pants and underwear like a sex starved school girl. After unleashing a waterfall of yellow, I hit the flush. That's when this whole event turned sour.
The toliet let loose the most horrifying sound my ears have had the displeasure of encountering. It's hard to describe something so foul, but I shall try: three school girls are being murdered slowly, a cat is howling in pain after being severed, and every ghost still screaming in pain from their previous death.
It's all that, condense and turned up to Alvin and the Chipmunk levels of squeeling.
The sound was pure, uncontainable evil. I felt like I needed to cry, because my life is coming to a premature end. I ran out, and scrambled to my seat. I didn't speak for a bit. Who would when their manhood was almost devoured by hell itself?
The coffee was just as overpriced as the place we just left, and I certainly didn't taste the white chocolate in my drink as I was promised. My bladder reminded me of its existence, so I located the bathroom at breakneck speeds. The man at the counter smiled as I wizzed (heh) by. His job was done.
After closing AND locking the door, I tore off my pants and underwear like a sex starved school girl. After unleashing a waterfall of yellow, I hit the flush. That's when this whole event turned sour.
The toliet let loose the most horrifying sound my ears have had the displeasure of encountering. It's hard to describe something so foul, but I shall try: three school girls are being murdered slowly, a cat is howling in pain after being severed, and every ghost still screaming in pain from their previous death.
It's all that, condense and turned up to Alvin and the Chipmunk levels of squeeling.
The sound was pure, uncontainable evil. I felt like I needed to cry, because my life is coming to a premature end. I ran out, and scrambled to my seat. I didn't speak for a bit. Who would when their manhood was almost devoured by hell itself?
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Because feet can talk.
I know one of my friends might be offended if I name them, so I will leave names out until able to change:
I went to a concert Saturday. Great concert, great people, and, thankfully, a relatively small crowd. To be honest, I don't remember everyone that was in the room with us, but I had a general sense of who was. When it was over with, we ran out since nobody decided to put in windows where we were. Leaving to sit around the merch table and converse with the band, I saw a short, round black guy. Since I myself am of the darker race, I recoiled since the rules state that only one of us is to be at an event at one point in time. 2 or more is a catastrophic.
Excusing the self racist joke, I realized I hadn't seen him in the room where the band had played. Really, a small room like that lets you get acquainted with people easily. Sweaty jumping and pushing antics makes you get to know people well. For example, I found out what a wasted man's armpit taste like after not wearing any deodorant.
I ignored his existence until he appeared suddenly by the two friends involved in this incident. Shyly, he eventually asked the girls there if he could show them a trick. Neat!, I thought. He's going to flash us! I've never encountered a flasher before!
But alas, he merely stated he could talk to feet.
What? Ew, no. That's wrong. Feet are terrible. Possibly the worst part of the body, the malformed hands at the end of your legs. I once had a dream we only had stubs, and I was happy. Whatever. I knew this was trouble, for a man of feet is no friend of mine.
His pick up line was probably the worst I've heard. You never explain your fetish until they are drunk. Vile mistake in pimping 101. Wanting this to end quickly, I jabbed my foot forward and asked him to talk to it. I was shut down when he told me he can't talk to boy's feet.
He stared downward throughout his explanation of why and how he could talk to feet, but it wasn't out of shyness, or to look at the chest pillows of the girls around. It was for the feet. As if longing to be noticed by them, to tickle and caress. Maybe, if he was lucky, one of the ladies would release her bare kickers to him so that he may shower it with affection. He then, finally, dropped the megaton punchline of the night:
"Your feet say you are very cute." - (wait, what? What does that even mean?)
No foot job for you, buddy! His only gift ended up awkward glances and half hearted go-away-responses thinly veiled with kindness. He retreats, and we giggled about it. Some of the girls ask who that was, and nobody knew.
This wasn't the last of the foot fan. Oh no, people. He returned for another shot of glory. He was going to get him some tantalizing toes tonight. Somehow, he convinced two of my nicer friends for a picture without their shoes on. I was away during this glorious moment. Afterward, the girls told me what happened. I thought a bit, and then explained to them something horrific.
I explained to them why he wanted that picture. The disgusting truth:
The man has a problem. He probably does this to many girls. He has a foot fetish, and will probably hold many masturbating sessions to those pictures he took of them and those feet. He wasn't at the concert for the music, if you get my meaning. And no man looks at feet like that just wanting to take a friendly picture of them. He means to get to know them well.
Now, do note that as sick as that sounds, some people probably do this to your pictures already without you knowing it. This case just had an open field, is all.
One friend took it with stride. Meh, she responded. The other, not so much. She didn't want to think about it. I guess it wasn't too flattering. By that one, I was sent to find the friendly fetishist. But he vanished. I didn't see him at all after he took the pictures and split. Gone like Santa. If Santa had a feverish love for feet I gather.
Oh, and there was bread there too! Like, a box of it!
I went to a concert Saturday. Great concert, great people, and, thankfully, a relatively small crowd. To be honest, I don't remember everyone that was in the room with us, but I had a general sense of who was. When it was over with, we ran out since nobody decided to put in windows where we were. Leaving to sit around the merch table and converse with the band, I saw a short, round black guy. Since I myself am of the darker race, I recoiled since the rules state that only one of us is to be at an event at one point in time. 2 or more is a catastrophic.
Excusing the self racist joke, I realized I hadn't seen him in the room where the band had played. Really, a small room like that lets you get acquainted with people easily. Sweaty jumping and pushing antics makes you get to know people well. For example, I found out what a wasted man's armpit taste like after not wearing any deodorant.
I ignored his existence until he appeared suddenly by the two friends involved in this incident. Shyly, he eventually asked the girls there if he could show them a trick. Neat!, I thought. He's going to flash us! I've never encountered a flasher before!
But alas, he merely stated he could talk to feet.
What? Ew, no. That's wrong. Feet are terrible. Possibly the worst part of the body, the malformed hands at the end of your legs. I once had a dream we only had stubs, and I was happy. Whatever. I knew this was trouble, for a man of feet is no friend of mine.
His pick up line was probably the worst I've heard. You never explain your fetish until they are drunk. Vile mistake in pimping 101. Wanting this to end quickly, I jabbed my foot forward and asked him to talk to it. I was shut down when he told me he can't talk to boy's feet.
He stared downward throughout his explanation of why and how he could talk to feet, but it wasn't out of shyness, or to look at the chest pillows of the girls around. It was for the feet. As if longing to be noticed by them, to tickle and caress. Maybe, if he was lucky, one of the ladies would release her bare kickers to him so that he may shower it with affection. He then, finally, dropped the megaton punchline of the night:
"Your feet say you are very cute." - (wait, what? What does that even mean?)
No foot job for you, buddy! His only gift ended up awkward glances and half hearted go-away-responses thinly veiled with kindness. He retreats, and we giggled about it. Some of the girls ask who that was, and nobody knew.
This wasn't the last of the foot fan. Oh no, people. He returned for another shot of glory. He was going to get him some tantalizing toes tonight. Somehow, he convinced two of my nicer friends for a picture without their shoes on. I was away during this glorious moment. Afterward, the girls told me what happened. I thought a bit, and then explained to them something horrific.
I explained to them why he wanted that picture. The disgusting truth:
The man has a problem. He probably does this to many girls. He has a foot fetish, and will probably hold many masturbating sessions to those pictures he took of them and those feet. He wasn't at the concert for the music, if you get my meaning. And no man looks at feet like that just wanting to take a friendly picture of them. He means to get to know them well.
Now, do note that as sick as that sounds, some people probably do this to your pictures already without you knowing it. This case just had an open field, is all.
One friend took it with stride. Meh, she responded. The other, not so much. She didn't want to think about it. I guess it wasn't too flattering. By that one, I was sent to find the friendly fetishist. But he vanished. I didn't see him at all after he took the pictures and split. Gone like Santa. If Santa had a feverish love for feet I gather.
Oh, and there was bread there too! Like, a box of it!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Nifty link of the week: Down for everyone or just me?
Ever wonder if it's just your computer not loading the site, or if it's going on for everyone else? Wonder no longer, as I've located a site that will alert the standing of whatever site you throw into it.
Link: http://downforeveryoneorjustme.com/
Simple, right?
Link: http://downforeveryoneorjustme.com/
Simple, right?
Save me, Avast!
Alright, let's try avast.
No, didn't fix anything. This computer virsus is a mean one.
No, didn't fix anything. This computer virsus is a mean one.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Quiet for a reason.
One of my biggest annoyances I have with people at college is the inability to lower the volume of their music down while in a place of obvious quiet. We here have a room call the Tranquility Room, and I guess that would be a signal for someone to come in with music blazing through their earphones. I feel like a grandpa typing this, but when I want quiet time and people are loud, I get a bit peeved.
The worst of it isn't the people blaring music or annoying youtube videos, it's the people just being loud in general. You'd think the students would be the offenders in this case, but it's more like the teachers. The same ones who shush you when they don't have their friends around are more than willing to laugh as annoying as possible without regard.
I'll stop complaining, because I have been one of those loud people on numerous occasions.
The worst of it isn't the people blaring music or annoying youtube videos, it's the people just being loud in general. You'd think the students would be the offenders in this case, but it's more like the teachers. The same ones who shush you when they don't have their friends around are more than willing to laugh as annoying as possible without regard.
I'll stop complaining, because I have been one of those loud people on numerous occasions.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Facebook, you are terrible.
Facebook is a worthless pile of a web page. These buttons are stupid.
Poke?
Why the fuck are you poking me?
With what? A stick? A dick? Is it sexual? Is it suppose to insult me?
It makes you think who thought that would be a good idea, and even more so, what people think it's a good idea to implement such a tactic towards others without knowing exactly what it means. And lets not get started on Superpoking.
I love to wear old hats, if you get my drift.
Poke?
Why the fuck are you poking me?
With what? A stick? A dick? Is it sexual? Is it suppose to insult me?
It makes you think who thought that would be a good idea, and even more so, what people think it's a good idea to implement such a tactic towards others without knowing exactly what it means. And lets not get started on Superpoking.
I love to wear old hats, if you get my drift.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
It's like I'm really looking at the night!
I hate dark clouds. They mess up everything.Enjoying that beautiful day? Not with these asshats rolling into town.
In a good mood? Ruined.
Want to play golf? Can't.
Like the sun? You won't even know what that is after they block it out.
And, most importantly, did you want to play video games uninterrupted? Haha, better hope that you don't get your system fried from a lightning strike, or a sudden power outage when it says "Don't turn off power". Just that sheer fear keeps me from popping in a RPG because I know this dance:
Walking about, all amble and such, then BAM, power out. Doesn't matter that you just fought a huge boss and now are sitting through cutscene or text flooding.
Too bad!
I wish the government took more steps with cloud genocide.
In a good mood? Ruined.
Want to play golf? Can't.
Like the sun? You won't even know what that is after they block it out.
And, most importantly, did you want to play video games uninterrupted? Haha, better hope that you don't get your system fried from a lightning strike, or a sudden power outage when it says "Don't turn off power". Just that sheer fear keeps me from popping in a RPG because I know this dance:
Walking about, all amble and such, then BAM, power out. Doesn't matter that you just fought a huge boss and now are sitting through cutscene or text flooding.
Too bad!
I wish the government took more steps with cloud genocide.
Crunch-atize me, captain.
Provided you won't go to jail for it!
Nearing the end of my final semester at a community college, the work is piled in astromical amounts. Unforeseen because of unarned status (and part of it due to the fact that my teachers forgot to teach up until now), I am now in the grasp of stress. The only thing keeping my sanity is my girlfriend's constant reminder to me to play more video games and relax (love you, dear!), griefing, and the occational serious round of something.
I can't wait to follow the same suit into a different, progressively harder college next semester. I can thankfully draw enjoyment: it marks the leave of my homestead.
Thank. Fucking. God.
Nearing the end of my final semester at a community college, the work is piled in astromical amounts. Unforeseen because of unarned status (and part of it due to the fact that my teachers forgot to teach up until now), I am now in the grasp of stress. The only thing keeping my sanity is my girlfriend's constant reminder to me to play more video games and relax (love you, dear!), griefing, and the occational serious round of something.
I can't wait to follow the same suit into a different, progressively harder college next semester. I can thankfully draw enjoyment: it marks the leave of my homestead.
Thank. Fucking. God.
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