Wednesday, December 05, 2007
I went to the bookstore to buy my birthday present. I was hoping to buy Bukowski's Women. I've been trying to get the book since Katie recommended it to me.
But at the bookstore they are all sold out of Women. A clerk tells me he thinks all the Bukowski books were stolen a few days ago.
The chain store has quite a few books of Bukowski's. But only one I was willing to pay money for.
Notes from an old Man.
Bukowski writes in the introduction how he loves the freedom of writing for the OPEN CITY and how he likes that it takes just a few days for his writings to go to press. I imagine Bukowski would have loved the internet. I am sure Bukowski would have been a blogger.
The chain book store has only one checkout stand open. I have to wait behind 3 or 4 others. I'm surprised this many people still read.
The checkout girl is from Britain. She has a loud laugh and a huge smile. An all England smile full of gray teeth. She is not under the impression that she should have to keep that smile to herself.
If she had been born in America her smile would have never appeared. She'd be to self-conscious of her teeth and her big personality would have a hard time showing itself.
But she keeps looking over me and smiling her big gray smile. She laughs and jokes with all the customers. When she finally gets a chance to ring my purchase up she asks if I've read a lot of Bukowski.
I tell her I've read everything. That's a lie. But she gets what I mean. She asks If I've read something I hadn't and I tell her I haven't. She thanks me for the "talk" as I leave with my book.
Next, I went that hip clothing store Abercrombie & Fitch. Purveyors of cool clothes and teen porn. They make a great catalog that gets them in trouble. I loved their catalog so much that I wanted to buy a hat from them. But all their hats where one size fit only. I don't like that kind of hat, so I bought a t-shirt. I still dress like I am 15. Layered t over long sleeve shirt.
I'm celebrating my birthday with card shark the way I celebrate every other Monday, getting drunk. But I get to wear my new shirt to TailGate's.
I like to get drunk. I like to get drunk a lot. And when I get drunk even card shark seems funny. We come up with all kinds of great schemes when we are drunk.
We want to make a website and stalk a girl. Send her the web address. Tell her we are not really stalking her, because we are, " like ironic and shit."
Like an advertising campaign for the date rape drug Rohypnol.
We show a guy in a business suit taking care of business. The camera follows the businessman as he makes his rounds in meetings, glad handing customers and getting signatures, making deals.
BECAUSE YOU'RE THE KINDA MAN THAT GETS THINGS DONE. YOU DON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER. NO IS JUST THE FIRST WORD UNTIL YES.
He moves on to another girl and then another girl. Each time he gets slapped. Finally we show him back at his place with original girl. She is seated on the couch, he is at the wet bar making a drink. She appears quite bored.
Flash to a close up of the drink. Two pills that look like alka seltzer splash around in drink.
End with girl passed out in bed and guy smoking a cigarette.
TAGLINE:FROM THE MAKERS OF STAYHARD, FARM X PRESENTS:
BECAUSE YOU DON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
To this day I have an unnatural fear of being trapped in a large warehouse storage rooms full of tomatoes and the toxic gasses that would "kill ya if you breathed them in, so make sure you don't go inside where the tomatoes are if the the dial is switched on." Like Captain Kirk I know how I will die, alone, and surrounded by tomatoes.
I didn't die at the factory, but I got injured on my first and only day on the job. I cut my hand and it bled all over a few tomatoes. I still finished the day because working was the only way I was going to get paid. My mom placed a band-aid around my cut, and she told me I could take the day off if I wanted, but I wouldn't get paid. She said she wouldn't lie to the company for me. My brother and I were promised we could keep some of the money we make at the factory, so we could buy stuff at when we went to Disneyland. So I chose to take my damaged and bandaged hand back to the assembly line.
Like other migrant families wanting employment my family had to leave Florida and travel the country. To stay employed my parents had to follow the cycle of tomato picking. The cycle started with picking tomatoes in my step dad's home state of Floida and we followed the pickers to the second growing season in Georgia. And finally my family drove to Maryland for the processing of tomatoes. My step dad worked as a forklift operator in Maryland and my Mom worked in the warehouse as a shipper.
Despite the work and poverty, Maryland is full of happy memories for me. I discovered masturbation in a one room trailer no bigger than a Subaru while my parents worked and my little brother swan in the trailer park pool. For the first time in my sexual life I felt up on a non relative. It was an important moment for me, and must have been an important moment for the girl as well, because she asked me for my favorite shirt to mark the occasion and to remember me by. My brother, who had been making out with my gal's sister, eagerly complied with his suitors request. But I told my girl no. It was the first and only time I've ever stood up to a g/f. I guess I really liked my shirt. Afterwards I was glad I did not hand that shirt over, because my brother got in big trouble for giving away his t-shirt to a stranger.
That happy summer in Maryland Coca Cola introduced the world to new coke. But the convenience store run by the trailer park we lived in never received any shipments of the new coke. Instead the trailer park's store manager sold us his 4 month old supply of coke bottles for 50 cents a piece.
You may find this hard to believe, but the tiny trailer park convenience store had a library. All you had to do was bring in a copy of a used paperback and you could exchange it for someone else's book. I discovered my interest in incest with my new step sister wasn't shameful by reading V.C. Andrews' book, Flowers in the Attic. My new step sister thought I was "fox," and I got a peek at her chest, some of the finest breasts in the history of God.
I met the "librarian" on the first day we set up camp. She thought I was totally hot. She was right , look how cute I am in the picture at the top of the blog. I was 13 then. Tell me you could keep your hands off that. I don't think it was just my looks that got to this girl though. I think she was just really horny. I figured I had no chance with her, because she was 18, five years older than me. A real women. Turns out I was wrong, she would have slept with me, or anyone else, as she slept with my gross step daddy, who looks just like Charles Bukowski, on more than one occasion.
SO I must say, Maryland- good for getting the sex.
Tomato picking-dangerous and poorly paid work. But if you want to go to a theme park with my parents it's a lot better to go with your own money. We spend all day at the park and my parents refuse to buy drinks or food or silly hats and t-shirts.
I pride myself on knowing just what it's like to be a migrant worker. That's why I support the hard laborers of the tomato road. And that's why I have to Boycott the King. Unlike Taco Bell and McDonald's, his Royal Highness, refuses to pay 1 cent more directly to the hard working migrant farm workers.
"The deal, according to “Minding Your Business” reporter Ali Velshi, has McDonald’s working with a company representing immigrant farm workers. Under the pact, McDonald’s would make sure an extra penny per pound would go directly to the workers – a 75-percent increase in the cost of a bucket of tomatoes. “This is directly tied to McDonald's saying they're going to pay for something that's going to help the end worker.”
The report took a decidedly pro-worker stand. “It is not easy being a tomato picker,” Velshi argued. Even with the deal, he complained it will take the “best tomato pickers up to the poverty line” and they will still have “no benefits, no overtime.”
Don't you fucking dare eat at Burger King or I will bite your face off!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
"I've never bossed around someone older than me before."
I get told that a lot. Along with "So, if you are 20 years older than me how come I make more money than you and you still have to ride a bike or the bus every where you go?" I have to punch people after I hear that. If you think I might be losing control of my impulses, you're right. I was told I had "lost control" after I screamed at my 20 something bartender that she was a "Misanthropic bitch for placing the needs of animals (i.e dogs) ahead of humans." I was kindly asked to leave the premises. I did, but not before describing in some detail the latent pathology inherent in her world view.
I was sent to training this week to become a cashier. Something about how customer service is not my forte I think. I hate customers. They ask for shit all the time. I don't like that. I wished I was born in Russia or France. The people in those cultures hate customer service. I find a certain civility in that.
So now I am to be cashier. I must learn produce codes. Green Bell Peppers are 4065, etc. I am stuck in what is essentially a repeat of my customer service training class. My class has three persons. Myself. A 17 year old who graduated from high school at 15 and who then spent the next two years smoking pot. And a portly wanna be drama fag Gen-Y'er.
Drama FAG found me at lunch break. I had hoped to scarf down a cheeseburger and read my paper unmolested before returning to work. Instead I looked up from my paper when I heard Drama Fag standing next to me. I wanted to avoid him because he has an extremely annoying habit.
He has this constant running dialogue under his breath describing his every reaction to any incoming stimuli. Being seated next to him during training was like being connected via USB directly into the RAM instruction set for his brain.
"I don't like being away from home. I'm not used to people not caring about what I say. At home I'm surrounded by people who care. I lost my bus pass, but you probably don't care."
"I know I don't." I had my own problems. I had lost my wallet the day before. When I tried to get a new I.D. I found out that my drivers license wasn't just suspended it was revoked. If I want to drive again I will need to get a psychologist to document to the state for me that "my drinking problem" does not interfere with my ability to drive. I think we all know how hard that is going to be. Also I just got an email that Charles Scwabb, despite my massive talents and impressive resume, didn't want to schedule an interview for me. "We have decided to pursue other candidates whose skills and experience more closely fit the position’s requirements. "
I guess that's why they chose to hire a friend of mine for the job opening, instead of me. He has exactly 3 weeks of work experience as a Blockbuster employee. So you can see how I can't compete with that. I won't be stock broker now. I won't be getting my Land Rover, or Porsche Cayenne. So I am not in the mood to hear about your lost bus pass.
I left him in the Jack in the Box. I tried ditching him with the excuse that I had to go look for my wallet. I thought I was safe when he went back inside to the training class. I decided to stop for ice cream before continuing my search for my lost wallet.I grabbed my chocolate Cold Stone Creamery ice cream and sat at a patio table outdoors. I was reading the paper, when the sun was suddenly shaded over.
HE stood next to my outdoor table for 20 minutes. I never said a word to him, but I learned from his Gary Shandling voice overs that he thought it was hot outside and his neck itched. I never offered him a seat at my table and he never asked if he could join me. He simply stood a foot away from me merrily texting away to his girlfriend. He seemed content just knowing he was near human contact. I assume his helicopter mom was keeping track of him from the GPS function on his phone. He took several pictures of me as I ate. The chocolate ice cream stains down my shirt amused him. He wants to be my best friend.
I want to vomit on him after I learn he has been working as a video store clerk for 3 months.
"Blockbuster?" I ask. "You should be a stock broker. Get your series 49." I tell him. He smiles back at me. "Thanks. I'll think about it."
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
My online activity consits of adopting Kerry Howley, not watching kiddie porn. Kerry might be famous, but I own her butt on Google.
Speaking of creepy, I know getting the word out about Kerry Howley through my blog is difficult. In no small part to the good folks at Google, who deemed it proper to lower my page rank a while back. I figured a lower page ranking would preclude me from furthering the career of any of the near celebrities I choose. I was wrong. If you Google "Kerry Howley" you will find my post ranks fifth. Dear Kerry, I own you now. At least on Google. I suppose you will now have to start answering my e-mails. And you will probably have to make me head of your fan club or something.
But today's problem with blogging had nothing to do with my lowered page rank and everything to do with the "robbery" of a cell phone I witnessed at the public library computer station I am working at. After the robbery a security guard tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to put my computer on " lock down" and "follow him upstairs."
Two cute girls, their jaws wide open and eyes bugged out, watched me all the way out the door. I am sure they were convinced I must have been viewing kiddie porn. But it just ain't true. I never view kiddie porn in public. That's just stupid, your just asking to get caught by viewing your porn in public! My "crime" was noticing that a rather large chested woman had walked off with a cell phone that wasn't hers. Now the cops are chasing after the largest chested thief in history, and I will have to go upstairs to view a lineup and make an I.D.
I used to work at this library and so my former boss and workmates saw me getting escorted upstairs by a park ranger. They must have assumed I had finally decided to use the Internet to look up how to blow up Hoover dam or something. I don't need the Internets for bomb planning. I have a friend who can teach me things like that. He was in the Army. And he might be half-crazy, but blowing up Hoover Dam would be child's play for him.
After making the I.D. I walked back to the computer to finish this post. A little later the park ranger returns. This time he shouts at me that "a police officer is coming to speak to you." Nice. No way these 18 year old girls are going to sleep with me now. You may want to ask me what does all this trouble creating this post have to do with blogging about the awesome Kerry Howley. Nothing at all. And you have no one to blame for that, but the Fascist Police State we live in.
The cops found the cell phone in her back pack. Once the kid got his phone back he decided not to press charges. All this CSI investigation for nothing. Only now I have to watch out for huge breasted women who type MySpace messages at the public library. I think I've created an enemy.
Never ask a cop how to spell Fascist just because blogger's spell check is down. They get upset.
*The price you pay for following him through reading my blog is ...well...reading my blog.
** Kerry, I don't think you are E-list. You are totally an A-lister in my book!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Newsweek Magazine, the blog ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL, the TV show RedEye -(the best TV show on Earth)- have all talked about the slutty costume phenomenon as well. Apparently pre-teens can now find examples of the same slutty costumes all you older women wear.
Why is this costume available only online?
Monday, October 29, 2007
I had to call customer service 5 times because you can't figure out who you are sending money to. Western Union's take forever to process and your requests back up my line. Then all the people waiting for lotto tickets get pissed off at me. They get pissed off even more when I tell them the lotto is almost as big a waste of money as a money transfer from Western Union.
Seriously, I can't understand why anyone would pay 14 dollars to send 40 bucks to their cousin in Idaho. It's a waste a money. Why won't poor people just get a god damn bank account? There hasn't been a bank scare in 70 years. Who needs 40 dollars in three minutes? Just send money the way your grandma did. 12 dollars in the middle of a birthday card. Happy 12th birthday, Timmy. Inflation adjusted at a dollar a year.
Anyways, Western Union is as sketchy as it comes. All day I just send thousands of dollars to terrorists in Saudi Arabia and watch helplessly as a bunch of dupes and idiots lose thier cash to Nigerian 419 scams.
"Do you have family in Nigeria?"
Oh. Christ. Then can I ask why in hell you are sending 400 dollars to the "Governor of Nigeria?"
NEXT IN LINE PLEASE....
Thursday, October 11, 2007
BEWARE OF THE DRAGON FLY
Have you noticed that Tom Selleck is parked outside your house? It may not be because he's learned you have a fetish for facial hair. It may be that you are under surveillance from the new Dragon Fly robots, tiny remote spy devices developed by Homeland Security, and used to gather information on peacenicks and the evil doers, at least that is according to the Washington Post.
Quest was punished for not spying on you!
The Rocky Mountain News reports that: "The National Security Agency and other government agencies retaliated against Qwest because the Denver telco refused to go along with a phone spying program..."
DEMOCRATS LET SPYING BY NSA CONTINUE
ComputerWorld is almost as disappointed as I am.
"Privacy lovers who thought the Democrats would put an end to the controversial NSA wiretapping and Internet-tapping program should feel let down today. The Democrats are lining up to let the NSA continue to wiretap and read mail without court approval.
The New York Times reports that Democratic proposals "would maintain for several years the type of broad, blanket authority for NSA eavesdropping that the administration secured in August for six months."
Not only that, but one of the Democrat's proposals would give telecom companies retroactive immunity from prosecution for participating in the program. Telecom companies are being sued by privacy groups for turning over private data. If some Democrats have their way, the telecoms would be off the hook. "
Friday, September 21, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
I knew right away I would get a job offer. My female interviewer asked me to shut the door behind me when I walked in. I think that's when she turned on the sex music. Maybe the sex music was already playing.
As with most interviews I've done recently I was bombarded with inappropriate information from a prospective employer.
- Most applicants who want a job paying Wal*mart wages are unable to read
- the job interviewer's mother is a "functional" alcoholic for the last 35 years
- If hired I will replace the girl at the front desk "who can't calm down."
- the interviewer is single
- the interviewer has an ex-husband who left her, but he worked for the company, so when he left, she thought she'd get job there too (can we say stalker?)
- she "really likes me" she doesn't want to lie about that
- I had to submit to some kind of DNA oral drug test- now the FBI knows everything about me
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
"Is your friend preggars?" I ask the friend of the obviously drunk and obviously pregnant woman. The friend is ugly, repugnant really and I would rather hit on her friend, the pregnant girl. But first I want to make sure that she really is pregnant. Neither of these girls is worth wasting my time on if they aren't such alcoholics that they will continue to drink in public at 6 months with child.
Mermaids greets you at the door in style with a real life Las Vegas Show Girl. At least the hostesses are supposed to be showgirls. Maybe these girls could have been showgirls at one time. But most are crack addicts now. Pitted faces from scratching at the "bugs." Pot bellies from bastard children scar their stomachs. They hand me Mardi Gra beads and then a raffle ticket. Every thirty minutes they call out a number. If your number is called you get to spin a wheel. If the wheel spins just right you could get 50 bucks in hard cold cash. I have to hand the ticket over to a waitress as soon as I make it inside. She tears it in two and hands me back my half.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I ate at Jack in the Box on the way to the library today. That was a big mistake. Jack's air conditioning is out and it was a 112 today. So I am sweaty. Jack forgot to add bacon to my burger. I ate the burger anyway. Now I stink like red onions.
A friend suggested to me that I apply over at Charles Schwabb as a stockbroker. I've already picked out my Land Rover. A 1997 edition. I am going to get new leather seats and a "kicking" Bose sound system. I don't care about the 13 miles a gallon. We have plenty of oil.
If I get the job I will give up being a communist. Because I would have finally learned that capitalism does indeed reward the best and the brightest. If I don't get that job I will never get my Land Rover. I will never get my iPhone. And I will end up working at Mesa Airlines. I will get drunk and guide one of their airplanes into the airport, or maybe it will just run me over.
Though I doubt I have earned such a quick death. I talked to a new car salesman about death in a local bar. He joked about the cute girl next to us having "a charmed life." I agreed. I told him she had probably never had a bad day in her life. The only kind of women I want to abduct are ones that lived charmed lives. The ones who never have bad days. I ant to beat them and chop off their feet and store them in the freezer. The whole time I chopped away at her foot I would scream at her, "Having a bad day?"
Nobody in the bar thought that was weird. The recently divorced new car salesman choked on his beer from laughter. He told me he knew a guy who could get me a great deal on a Land Rover as soon as I got my stock broker license. I can't wait to drive it.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
I hope nobody near my terminal read that. So until my roommates computer is working, or I get a job and a computer I am on hiatus. Think of my blog like it is TV. Summer is repeat season. So go read something from before you started visiting here on a regular basis.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
I am not sure where it went. I have heard that quantum physics provides for the possibility that it simply “popped” out of existence. Doubtful I am sure. But it is the only possibility that I can seriously consider at this point. I can't remember the brand name, but it was spicy hot dog relish. If you find it, can you please return it to me straight away?
Food has been troubling me lately. A box of wheat thins sat on the edge of my coffee table. Its presence was disturbing to me. Not just because it was blocking the telly either.
I can anticipate your response to my concerns. You will tell me that Darfur is still awful. That getting so upset over a missing bottle of hot dog condiment is immoral or stupid.
But things just don't disappear. My materialist point of view has been called into question. The soundtrack of my brain has been playing creepy music from the Scorpions all day. Coincidence? I think not. The universe is trying to tell me something. How else do you explain my sudden use of English terms like telly? Certainly not just from reading Philip Davison. He's Irish after all.
Update # 2
After throwing a temper tantrum and scrounging my rubbish can I decided to eat hot dogs for dinner. I topped them with sweet relish packets I took from a local Circle K.
A few hours later I looked in the fridge. I found the bottle of relish exactly where I had left it. It is impossible. I tore apart that fridge. I saw nothing. But now here it is. Sitting peacefully in the door shelf. Mocking me. I wonder, did you find it and return it to me? What do you know of secrets found in Quantum Physics? And what do you want of me?
**Blogger lost the original wording to this post. I have tried to reconstruct it, but alas this is all I can do.
The Awesome Kerry Howley E-mailed me. I sent two e-mails to her and she responded to them with a witty retort.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Kerry may not yet be famous. But that's because I have not talked about her. She is an associate editor for Reason Magazine. Which means she is a Libertarian.
I don't like to think about her politics, because they make me puke. But I do like to watch her on TV. She frequently shows up on my favorite new TV series Red Eye. Red Eye airs on the Fox News Channel.
Red Eye is almost as funny as the Daily Show. Which makes it 400 times funnier than Fox's other effort at humor the Half Hour News Hour.
I want the world and more importantly my readers to know about Kerry because I plan on having this blog adopt her. Doctor Von Monkeystein started an adoption program on his blog. It's called Adopt an Actor. I have taken a few liberties with his proposal by not adopting an actual actor, but by adopting a TV personality and celebrity journalist. I figure I can squeeze Kerry under the auspices of actor because she shows up on a TV show as a regular guest.
Either way I don't care about rules. I want Kerry Howley to be my adopted actor. I want Kerry to find my blog and ask me to marry her. The answer is yes, Kerry. I will marry you. I'll even drop out of the Communist Party for you if want.
In case you have never seen an episode of Red Eye, here is a fake transcript example of every Red Eye ever made. Funny if you know the show and it even features Kerry.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Everyone's girlfriend is cute today. At the Circle K a teenager was dressed in cut off shorts over a pink bikini. A Mexican stood on his truck while getting gas and yelled at the traffic. I watched him as I pedaled away to Wendy's.
The hippy girl at Wendy's in her green top and boot cut jeans looked nice. She had a plain face and short hair. I didn't mind. Even though I don't like women with short hair. I have a rule. I won't date a women with shorter hair than me. I keep my hair very short because I am going bald. Going bald has opened up an entire new world of women for me.
I daydream a lot. I dreamed that I could get paid to blog about eating so much at Wendy's. They would send me a card for free meals and maybe an extra few hundred dollars a month. I would get write ups in the New York Times. I would write lurid fan letters to Wendy. I imagined fucking her in that rag doll outfit of hers.
A sweaty young black man asked me for a dollar. He had brought his younger brother in to the restaurant with him. Maybe he was going to show him the ropes, let him learn from his older brother how to beg for for a living.
I dug into my pockets and found 4 quarters for him. He left after I gave him the money. He told me he needed the money to buy food. He said it was hot and he was thirsty. He said he was going to buy his food next door. I don't think I believe him. On second thought I guess I do believeh him, I am just a little pissed that a vagabond would have better taste than eat in a place like Wendy's.
I bought the $2.99 meal because I am low on funds. I wasn't going to buy any more fast food. I was not going to buy the newspaper either. But I compromised. I decided to buy the cheapest meal on the menu after I stole a paper.
I pedaled home. I eat too much at Wendy's. I was planning a fourth of july party, because no one will burn flags with me. I had spent the previous 7 hours cleaning for the party. I did dishes. I swept the floor. I threw out trash. I listened to UFO loud on a Karoke stereo. I needed a break.
So I pedaled to Wendy's.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Self Help Center Advice on Domestic Abuse:
Monday, June 18, 2007
I figured since the movie is on my blog we could gather up some popcorn and watch it together. Because we really don't hang out together as much as we used to. I know you miss me. And I hope it's OK if I get a bunch of snot on you. I cry a lot at the movies. I'd like to think it has something to do with my sensitive side, but I think it's just because I am mentally unbalanced.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. (You’re not the boss of me!)
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog
- I like sunflower seeds, but no longer eat them.
- Every road trip starts off with a bag of Funyuns.
- I did this list because I like monkee man not because I like being tagged.
- I can't think of any talents
Monday, June 11, 2007
I've dropped off applications, made phone calls and stopped by to set up an interview. I took the bus today to the interview even though Denny's is a bike a ride away. I didn't want to get sweaty for the first of two interviews that I must complete over the next two days. It was 103 outside.
You can take one of two bus routes to get to Denny's. The one I took drops you off short of the restaurant by three blocks, couple that with my 15 minute walk to the bus stop the dollar and twenty five cents I just paid the transit system is fools money.
The bus drops me off near a gas station and I get out and attempt to cut across the parking lot. I stumble and fall into a ditch covered in gravel. I slip no less than 3 times trying to get up. Suddenly my life is like some lame I love Lucy slapstick comedy. The bus driver stops the bus and opens the slide door. She yells out at me, "Are you ok?" A man stares at me strangely after he hears me mutter "my life is full of indignity like this."
The bus driver keeps asking me if I am OK. She doesn't get that she is only making things worse for me, by drawing attention to what loser I am. My shoes are now scuffed and dirty. And now I know I have the bus for an audience. The bus riders stand up to get a good look out of their windows. They saw me hop on the bus for a good 30 seconds, then jump off at the first stop, and now I can't seem to stand up without tumbling into a ditch.
Go the fuck away.
I finally make it to the Denny's. I get seated by the lone server who walks back to get the manager. Before she leaves me she asks if I want a soda or tea. I ask for a water. She returns with the water and a straw and a concerned look on her face. "Here is your water." She says. Then she pulls out a straw and asks if I want or need a straw. "We aren't really supposed to give you a straw, but if you want one you can have it."
I tell her "it is ok and I don't need the straw." She seems relieved. I don't know what kind of pressure the staff is under here about straws but it has me concerned. The manager sits down in the booth across from me. She is in her late 40's or early 50's. She looks just like every waitress in every Denny's or every truck stop you've ever been to. Only she doesn't seem as tired. Actually she looks refreshed. Like she just woke up from a nap.
She asks me If I have any experience and I tell her a little. Which is not a lie. She asks why I would want to be a server. I tell her I am a people person. Which I guess is a lie. That's when she basically ends the interview. "I hate interview questions, don't you?" I agree with her. And then she proceeds to give me every reason in the world to not take this job. She mentions the low pay and difficult work hours.
What really gets me is that I will have to provide my own uniform in the sum of 40 dollars for a black shirt my own tan pants. I get the money back after I quit I am told. I guess this is supposed to give me relief. They aren't stealing my money. Just hijacking it for the entire duration of my employment with Denny's.
The manager asks me one more question. "Can you take productive criticism?" I tell her "if it's productive." I have no idea why I emphasize the last word. The manger was testing me. She tells me a story about another Denny's. This Denny's has a staff with tattoos and lazy people. A staff of Mexicans who won't serve Hispanics. Even when spoken to in Spanish.
As the General Manager of 11 Denny's around the tri-state area she will not tolerate laziness or heavy tattooed people working for her. I inform her that I think tattoos are a fad. That I secretly detest the hipster wanna be's that get them. And I tell her that I am not the least bit lazy. Which I guess is a big lie.
But I did put on my size 11 workplace casual shoes for her. They are a size to large for me. I did not notice it until a week after I bought them. I really could not afford them, but I bought them anyway. I thought I would get a lot of use out of the shoes. I figured they would get me to stop wearing flip flops and sandals with my jeans.
My exGF hated me when I wore the flip flops instead of real shoes. Most of the time I wore flips anyway. And when she asked me why I did it I told her I forgot to wear shoes. Anytime I wore real shoes I told her I wore them just for her.
I don't usually wear my Doc Martens because I don't like them, but I did for the interview. I feel uncomfortable in my new shoes. But these shoes are Doc's so they will last me for years. I can't buy new shoes 'till these are ripped and torn. So instead I just keep wearing my flip flops with jeans. I'm 36. A good 15 years to old for that look. Also I am sure only women are supposed to wear flips and jeans. And I think that look went out at least 3 years ago. I'm so far behind in the times. It's not my fault girls get all the "cute" looks in fashion.
So fuck you all. I will wear my flips and jeans. And you can go screw yourselves. I have a really "intense" egg menu to go memorize.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
We forgot to pay the bill at another bar in town in Tempe. I was pretty sure I saw a friend of mine slip the bartender some cash. I guess she didn't need the money because she refused it. She used to work as a stripper, so maybe she is loaded. A fellow bartender and co-worker of the ex-stripper is here tonight. Very hipster cute. For a while I was worried that the co-worker was going to mobbed by the desperate men that frequent this dive bar. They crowd in on her and press their bellies into her back. But she gets a free drink out of it.
Hipster bartender's bill came to 33 dollars which surprised her. She looked up at the ex-stripper barkeeper like "you're going to rape me too?" But she piled out the cash and left it on the table without a fuss. She didn't want to make a big deal out of it. She was just hoping that she could drink for free in the bar that she works in. Not a crazy request.
The Palo Verde was dead tonight, but not as dead as the Re-Work lounge. A total of two other people sat at the bar at 9 P.M. on a Saturday. Bad. Arizona's smoking ban has basically killed this bar. It has no patio or smoking section. Just a jive jukebox and oddly smoke free clean shine to the furniture which I remarked upon. Dive bars should not be this clean.
The barkeep was 21. She was cute and personable. She cheered for us to come in and order a pitcher of beer. So we did. Whenever I meet a person for the first time I always do my best to creep them out. That way they know just where I am coming from.
The bartender asked us how what were up to. I told her we were hunting for fat chicks. Because we want to get laid. I asked if she knew any fat chicks, but she said she didn't. So I asked if she was a fatist, and she said she wasn't. Then I called her parents hippies. And she told me I was right. That her parents were typical Boomers that used to be hippies but now work for the "man."
"They even live in a gated community." She volunteered. Her Dad worked for Honeywell which in my mind made him a bomb maker. She claimed that he worked in fiber optics. I replied that I thought there was quite a lot of fiber optics these days in bombs. Bombs these days being all smart and such. She asked if we would like another beer. There was no chance in hell of that.
Next bar is a Karaoke bar that Foxxxlove does her singing at. I gave the most interesting interpretation of Gloria ever "sung" at that bar. Which to my dissatisfaction contained no hipsters to "get it." Though I must say that the aging Karaoke DJ who sung like Alice in Chains "got it."
We fled that bar to get Tacos from Jack in-the Box. 2 for 99 cents. The drive thru nearly let us leave without our waters. And then it was back to the Palo Verde. This time the bar had filled up with 2 cute hipster girls playing pool. We watched as the two beat the pants off a couple of guys. I think they went about getting those guys pants off the hard way. I am sure they just could have asked. Anyone in the bar would oblige.
The girls got served after 2 am. So did we but we had to "buy" our drink before 2 am. The male bartender nearly refused to give us the second pitcher of beer, but we reminded him that we already paid for it. He kindly poured us another pitcher. I poured out my old beer in a glass and poured myself a fresh cold glass of beer. I did not finish drinking the beer. And I didn't beat myself up about not drinking it either.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
8-Year-Old Charged For Sexual Conduct With Sitter.
But what makes this "crime" crazy is the 14 year old female babysitter is the molester.
"A mother is upset after a 14-year-old babysitter engaged in sexual conduct with her eight-year-old boy, and the eight-year-old was charged with lewd conduct. "
You heard that right, because the victim was a boy HE gets charged with a crime.
"The sexual conduct occurred during a game of “truth or dare” while the boy was being watched by the babysitter.Prosecutors say that, while the babysitter initiated the contact, the young boy was a willing participant."
I'm not certain who to induct into the Hall of Fame so I guess I will induct both of these kids. Here is more good news for both I guess:
"The district attorney’s office confirmed the charges had been made, and that they had been dropped. Other than that, they wouldn’t comment. The Division of Child and Family Services also declined to comment."
I will comment on the picture I included for this post. It turns out there is a running epidemic of people placing their children in microwave and conventional ovens.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Your welcome? Really? You're going to take credit for remembering the load of laundry put in 8 hours ago? 8 hours ago? That load of laundry is now quite possibly stank full of mildew. If it's not mildew then we are on the cusp of mildew. The verge of mildew. You don't remember 8 hours ago and now all of a sudden you flash this little thought out of the blue while I am sitting here typing away in my black "wear the shirt and get a free bag of popcorn" Harkins t-shirt and you are going to take the thank you?
Why does this shirt need boobies?
Do I remember how she watched as my popcorn fell all over the place? And how she continued to stare as I balanced my dollar Souvenir cups, popcorn and candy, as I sank to my knees awaiting the opening call all by myself? Like I was screaming at her "I love me some movies. I love free popcorn and dollar sodas!!!"
She's going to feel sorry for me? She was having her fat friend night out on the town. Thursday is a good day to hang out with your fat friends. Not Friday. Friday is for getting laid.
Now she is asking herself why I didn't have any fat friends like her to hang out with on Thursday. Or why some cool guy hasn't made me his fat friend to hang with when he needs to get away from the girlfriend. Stop the pity stare, bitch. I will cut you, as soon as I put down my ziplock bag of M&M's. I can't pay theater candy prices.
Now that the movie is over, I can't stop staring at the hot girl with the goofy boyfriend on the way out of the theater. I run a bit to catch up with her badonga bong ass when it slips out of view. I don't know how much that guy pays for you, but whatever it is it's worth it. Badonga-Badonga Ass has chemistry with this guy. She looks likes she wants to be with him. Not at all like the Heigl chick when she made out with my man Seth.
"You are 11 years older than him."