The winner of the competition to name my sister's drawing has been determined through a stringent grading process. A panel of nine professionals in the fields of art, science, aesthetics and, for some reason, one professional pastry chef, have come to a final agreement based on a ten point ranking system, and the name that will be forever applied to the drawing in the world of my blog shall be:
"The Intricacy of the Worker's Hand"
This entry was submitted by "Anonymous", who also submitted a few other suggestions... Unfortunately for Anonymous, the fine print (which resided inside of my head) read that the cash prize of one babillion dollars could only be awarded to someone who made a single entry. Multiple entries immediately disqualify one from receiving the money.
But look on the bright side, Anonymous: you still will be recorded here as the genius who named a masterpiece.
Special thanks to my sister for drawing that thing while she was working one day.
4.30.2010
4.29.2010
Anti Drug Ads = Hilarious (or Evil)
A billboard I see frequently in Northern Colorado:
And here's one from Montana:
Now, I'm aware that my status as a recovering drug addict may skew my viewpoint here a little bit... so please correct me if I am wrong. But this shit is hilarious. Cartoonishly stupid.
I don't mean to cheapen the experience of anyone who has encountered either of the situations mentioned here. I am just saying that, by and large, these are events that happen a lot less than the billboards would suggest. I see that they want to put a doom and gloom spin on the whole meth thing, but the thing is that (as far as common sense tells me) people lose their virginity 90% of the time before they ever roll a bowl. Also: a resourceful tweaker (especially one with the stereotypically young, attractive, innocent looks of the one in the Montana billboard), would have no problem making bank as a craigslist escort. That girl wouldn't get out of bed for $15 if she was resourceful. And believe you me, meth addicts are the most resourceful people in the world. You wouldn't believe the things that can be accomplished by a tweaker, a few grams, a couple hours and a roll of duct tape. (Also, if you refer to my previous blog, you will see that they can be quite artistic as well. Cute.)
I just don't find these ads to be in the realm of reality. If I am wrong, then please correct me. But wouldn't we serve our youth better by telling them the truth about methamphetamine and it's risks? I know this is rehash material for most people, but I believe that when you lie to people about the dangers of a drugs and the lifestyle associated with it, and they end up trying the drug anyway cause they are drunk and have a had a really shitty couple weeks at work, and they go into the bathroom and pull a couple lines of some real good shit, and they realize that the dope is actually kind of FUN (the first time) and that life for the most part goes on as usual afterwards, they subsequently lose all faith in the governing apparatus that sold them the bunk information in the first place.
Nothing they taught me in the DARE program was accurate. I would have rather them been straight up with me. Like, I can't imagine how may times I heard in my childhood that one hit of ecstasy can kill you. The likelihood of this shit happening puts it outside the bounds of what should be publicly disseminated as fact.
Which brings us to the next rehash point: maybe the government shouldn't be cramming this shit down our throats in the first place? Maybe it's a parent's place to tell their kid: "don't do meth, you little bastard, it will make you act like an idiot and you may end up listening to the Insane Clown Posse religiously. Plus the man will arrest you for it."
Which brings us to the NEXT rehash point: maybe the man should shove it up his ass. Maybe people should make their own decision about whether or not to slam dope into their arm in the privacy of their own home because it makes sex feel way way crazy. (second hand info here. I never used intravenously.) Maybe we could use that money that we spend incarcerating these folks, paying the cops, paying the lawyers, paying for damages caused by dope related crime, paying for inefficient government ran treatment facilities and patrolling an uncontrollable Mexican-US border on something useful like... welfare and international war-fronts?
Ha ha. Just kidding. Like homes and clothes and TV's and playstations and food and college tuition and things. You know... the kind of stuff the breeds happiness, prosperity, and intelligence.
I dunno... I just really have a stupid day every time I have to start it by seeing one of these stupid ass billboards on the way to work. Thank god I don't have cable, cause I'm certain they must have some real asinine TV spots to go along with this campaign, right?
Anyone else with me on this?
(P.S. 61 days since my last pill, drink, line. or bowl! WOO!)
And here's one from Montana:
Now, I'm aware that my status as a recovering drug addict may skew my viewpoint here a little bit... so please correct me if I am wrong. But this shit is hilarious. Cartoonishly stupid.
I don't mean to cheapen the experience of anyone who has encountered either of the situations mentioned here. I am just saying that, by and large, these are events that happen a lot less than the billboards would suggest. I see that they want to put a doom and gloom spin on the whole meth thing, but the thing is that (as far as common sense tells me) people lose their virginity 90% of the time before they ever roll a bowl. Also: a resourceful tweaker (especially one with the stereotypically young, attractive, innocent looks of the one in the Montana billboard), would have no problem making bank as a craigslist escort. That girl wouldn't get out of bed for $15 if she was resourceful. And believe you me, meth addicts are the most resourceful people in the world. You wouldn't believe the things that can be accomplished by a tweaker, a few grams, a couple hours and a roll of duct tape. (Also, if you refer to my previous blog, you will see that they can be quite artistic as well. Cute.)
I just don't find these ads to be in the realm of reality. If I am wrong, then please correct me. But wouldn't we serve our youth better by telling them the truth about methamphetamine and it's risks? I know this is rehash material for most people, but I believe that when you lie to people about the dangers of a drugs and the lifestyle associated with it, and they end up trying the drug anyway cause they are drunk and have a had a really shitty couple weeks at work, and they go into the bathroom and pull a couple lines of some real good shit, and they realize that the dope is actually kind of FUN (the first time) and that life for the most part goes on as usual afterwards, they subsequently lose all faith in the governing apparatus that sold them the bunk information in the first place.
Nothing they taught me in the DARE program was accurate. I would have rather them been straight up with me. Like, I can't imagine how may times I heard in my childhood that one hit of ecstasy can kill you. The likelihood of this shit happening puts it outside the bounds of what should be publicly disseminated as fact.
Which brings us to the next rehash point: maybe the government shouldn't be cramming this shit down our throats in the first place? Maybe it's a parent's place to tell their kid: "don't do meth, you little bastard, it will make you act like an idiot and you may end up listening to the Insane Clown Posse religiously. Plus the man will arrest you for it."
Which brings us to the NEXT rehash point: maybe the man should shove it up his ass. Maybe people should make their own decision about whether or not to slam dope into their arm in the privacy of their own home because it makes sex feel way way crazy. (second hand info here. I never used intravenously.) Maybe we could use that money that we spend incarcerating these folks, paying the cops, paying the lawyers, paying for damages caused by dope related crime, paying for inefficient government ran treatment facilities and patrolling an uncontrollable Mexican-US border on something useful like... welfare and international war-fronts?
Ha ha. Just kidding. Like homes and clothes and TV's and playstations and food and college tuition and things. You know... the kind of stuff the breeds happiness, prosperity, and intelligence.
I dunno... I just really have a stupid day every time I have to start it by seeing one of these stupid ass billboards on the way to work. Thank god I don't have cable, cause I'm certain they must have some real asinine TV spots to go along with this campaign, right?
Anyone else with me on this?
(P.S. 61 days since my last pill, drink, line. or bowl! WOO!)
Name This Drawing
A drawing my sister did. It needs a name. I was thinking:
"Bored at work"
or
"Transcendental Apocalypse Nightmare 2.1"
Leave your idea for the title in the comments section. I'll choose a winner tomorrow.
4.28.2010
In Review: The 2012 Phenomenon
I'm not even going to dignify this with a review. These people are all idiots. I hope a bunch of them make a poison Kool-Aid pact on Dec 20th, 2012. They deserve it.
Sidebar: Cusack, you already sucked. But Woody... what were you thinking?! Zombie Land isn't going to make up for this shit. I demand another "Natural Born Killers".
Sidebar: Cusack, you already sucked. But Woody... what were you thinking?! Zombie Land isn't going to make up for this shit. I demand another "Natural Born Killers".
4.27.2010
In Review: Our New Toilet
Lady's and gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you our new toilet!
*loud applause is heard from god-knows-where*
I just thought I would take the time to let you all know that the new toilet at the apartment meets almost all of my standards for toilet adequacy. Let me give you the run down on this bad machine. First, some stats:
The toilet appears to be a 2002 model. It's manufactured By “Crane Plumbing”, and comes with the OEM “Crane Plumbing” flush lever. The body of the toilet itself is of a vibrant snow-white hue and seats one comfortably (we have yet to try seating the both of us on there, but as you can see in the picture below, it would probably be a squeeze).
As per usual with the fine people at Crane, we have no blatantly displayed information denoting “Gallons Per Flush” of water, but we can rest assured that these upstanding and socially conscious toilet manufacturers have provided us with a toilet that will not only carry our waste away without worry, but conserve fresh water resources for generations to come. We also do not have any exact statistics on “Excrement Flushing Capacity”, but let me tell you that after thorough testing, Jera and I can only sit in humbled awe at what this tough plumbing apparatus can take down. (A note of thanks to Illegal Pete's Burritos in Boulder for help with this extensive testing.)
Okay, so enough with statistics. Let's get down to the review here. First, the good. As mentioned before, this thing could (apparently) sink the Bismark, which will be very important to me in the coming year. Second, the bowl and seat are of optimal size both for sitting and for aiming into from a standing position. The water housing unit on top doesn't take too long to refill and does it relatively quietly (unlike that generic brand toilet I had at the last apartment, which seemed like it ran for five minutes as loud as was freakin' possible in order to refill). The toilet gets an extra point for being placed inset into the bathroom in it's own little nook, making for a cozy, homey experience there, whatever that experience might entail.
Now the bad. Despite optimal seat size, the seat does seem to wiggle a little bit. I have seen this before with these old '02's, and it was almost to be expected, but a true toilet connoisseur would have taken extra care of this seat in the past, stopping this problem from happening in the first place. We plan on posting a “standards of operation” poster near the toilet paper which will remind guests not to be jostling to a fro too much while using the throne, and to lean over only the slightest amount during wiping maneuvers, so as to reduce any further damage to the seat hinges.
Another place the toilet loses points is it's being to deep. Although the bowl has optimal radius, as mention before, it's depth is such that it can make even the biggest of movements seem tiny, like those of a little girl. I prefer a shallow toilet that keeps a slightly lower than average standing water level, which causes average size movements to appear large, and large movements to appear behemoth. Again, this is not necessarily a functionality problem, and it is something I will just have to learn to live with.
The last thing I would like to mention is that I am in the market for one of those machines that they use at Qdoba to heat up and steam the tortillas at the beginning of the prep line. My plan is to mount it to the wall in front of the toilet, and provide a rack of bleached clean washclothes next to the steam machine. When we are ready to begin wiping procedures, we will have the fine luxury of a hot steamed washcloth, as opposed to that horrid toilet paper that everyone else is still using.
I mean.... paper...?!?! Really?! We are still destroying the environment and chafing our precious anuses in this barbaric way in 2010? Are we animals?
Thank you for reading. Please write in with your own personal experience with the 2002 Crane model's, or with any other toilets of note..... or if you work at a Qdoba and wanna make an easy $100.
*loud applause is heard from god-knows-where*
I just thought I would take the time to let you all know that the new toilet at the apartment meets almost all of my standards for toilet adequacy. Let me give you the run down on this bad machine. First, some stats:
The toilet appears to be a 2002 model. It's manufactured By “Crane Plumbing”, and comes with the OEM “Crane Plumbing” flush lever. The body of the toilet itself is of a vibrant snow-white hue and seats one comfortably (we have yet to try seating the both of us on there, but as you can see in the picture below, it would probably be a squeeze).
As per usual with the fine people at Crane, we have no blatantly displayed information denoting “Gallons Per Flush” of water, but we can rest assured that these upstanding and socially conscious toilet manufacturers have provided us with a toilet that will not only carry our waste away without worry, but conserve fresh water resources for generations to come. We also do not have any exact statistics on “Excrement Flushing Capacity”, but let me tell you that after thorough testing, Jera and I can only sit in humbled awe at what this tough plumbing apparatus can take down. (A note of thanks to Illegal Pete's Burritos in Boulder for help with this extensive testing.)
Okay, so enough with statistics. Let's get down to the review here. First, the good. As mentioned before, this thing could (apparently) sink the Bismark, which will be very important to me in the coming year. Second, the bowl and seat are of optimal size both for sitting and for aiming into from a standing position. The water housing unit on top doesn't take too long to refill and does it relatively quietly (unlike that generic brand toilet I had at the last apartment, which seemed like it ran for five minutes as loud as was freakin' possible in order to refill). The toilet gets an extra point for being placed inset into the bathroom in it's own little nook, making for a cozy, homey experience there, whatever that experience might entail.
Now the bad. Despite optimal seat size, the seat does seem to wiggle a little bit. I have seen this before with these old '02's, and it was almost to be expected, but a true toilet connoisseur would have taken extra care of this seat in the past, stopping this problem from happening in the first place. We plan on posting a “standards of operation” poster near the toilet paper which will remind guests not to be jostling to a fro too much while using the throne, and to lean over only the slightest amount during wiping maneuvers, so as to reduce any further damage to the seat hinges.
Another place the toilet loses points is it's being to deep. Although the bowl has optimal radius, as mention before, it's depth is such that it can make even the biggest of movements seem tiny, like those of a little girl. I prefer a shallow toilet that keeps a slightly lower than average standing water level, which causes average size movements to appear large, and large movements to appear behemoth. Again, this is not necessarily a functionality problem, and it is something I will just have to learn to live with.
The last thing I would like to mention is that I am in the market for one of those machines that they use at Qdoba to heat up and steam the tortillas at the beginning of the prep line. My plan is to mount it to the wall in front of the toilet, and provide a rack of bleached clean washclothes next to the steam machine. When we are ready to begin wiping procedures, we will have the fine luxury of a hot steamed washcloth, as opposed to that horrid toilet paper that everyone else is still using.
I mean.... paper...?!?! Really?! We are still destroying the environment and chafing our precious anuses in this barbaric way in 2010? Are we animals?
Thank you for reading. Please write in with your own personal experience with the 2002 Crane model's, or with any other toilets of note..... or if you work at a Qdoba and wanna make an easy $100.
4.26.2010
Apartment Anger
Ok, so I promised a blog post for today, and I promised it would be angry. I don't have enough time right now to tell you why the Girl Scouts are consuming this world in a tidal wave of hate and hedonistic pleasure, but I do have time to quickly recount a phone conversation I had recently with some bitch who works in the office at the new apartment complex.
Let me preface all of this by saying that before moving in, while we were still looking for a new place, we read review after review on the internet about how shitty the staff at this complex is. So I wasn't expecting much. But I have only been dealing with these people for a little while and already they are pissing me right off.
To start off with, I recall the day not so long ago when Jera and I arrived to take a look at a couple of models that they have here at this particular complex. The place is pricey for a poor bastard like myself, but the units look decent. My problem was that the girl showing us the models seemed to be in some big goddamn rush about the whole damn thing. She was not informative, and her manner of speech was completely unprofessional. She acted as if this was the first job she had ever gotten, and that she was sixteen years old, and that mommy would be taking half of her pay check and spending it on booze and baby formula from the dollar store. It was apparent that this lady didn't care about this job or renting this unit at ALL.
And did I mention that this chick's teeth were as crooked as Bernie Madoff? Not that that would have mattered if she would have known a goddamn thing about customer service, or even the product she was selling.
So I could have gotten over this, because this lady wasn't overtly rude to me or anything. We liked the apartment and we decided to turn in our applications. Soon enough, I found myself walking for my second time into the main office, and I was perturbed to find out I would have to sit down and go over the terms of the lease with another person. Another woman, mind you. Now, I have nothing against women in the work place. I find a mixture of the sexes to be quite relieving in almost any environment. But the office here has (apparently) not a single man working in it. Just a bunch of women with blown up heads housing pea sized brains. All of them perpetually thumbing through red books wishing they had souls, and all of them bleeding at the same time.
This new old bag treated me like I had a moderate case of downs syndrome as she showed me the breakdown of the price of this place. I was on my goddamn lunch break from work and I had precious little time to waste, and she's sittin here writing all this shit out item by item on this piece of paper. The more she wrote, the more I felt like I should be paying close attention, because I began to anticipate some kind of drastic surprise at the end when she added up the breakdown of monthly charges. Why else would she be explaining it to me like this when she KNEW I was in a hurry?
Low and behold, we got to the end of fifteen minutes of this hag enjoying the sound of her own voice to arrive at what? That's right: the rental amount that had been printed on the goddamn flyer that we had gotten from the main office on the first fuckin day we viewed the place. Damn. She might as well have been writing on construction paper with a big blue crayon. Explaining this shit to me like I was one of her demented pregnant teenage daughters.
I got news for you lady: sitting behind a desk (which you probably share with the person that takes the other half of the shift so they can fuck you out of over-time) doesn't make you ANYTHING. You still barely graduated high-school (maybe), and were clearly never good enough at anything to warrant you enough money to buy anything close to a reasonable wardrobe. You may as well have been wearing a gunny sack with arm holes cut out of it. For-go your menthol marlboros for two weeks and buy yourself a shirt that doesn't scream “Kid Rock”.
Okay. So to this point, I still could have forgiven all of this. But then, on the day I was to sign the lease, I was going to meet Jera at the office at three or so in the afternoon. I filled up a borrowed pickup truck with boxes and drove toward Longmont. But apparently, my dumb ass was too smart to anticipate the coming rain, and it began to rain profusely on my boxes and such. All of my books were in those boxes. I was freaking out. I was able to stop at the body shop on the way to Longmont, and I tied a welding blanket over the truck bed. But they were already soaked so I had to get them unloaded as quickly as the universe would allow. I drove fast to the new apartment office and went inside and informed the lady of my situation.
“All my stuff is in a truck outside getting soaked. Jera wont be here for a little bit, but I was hoping I could just write you the check and sign whatever you need signed so I could get this stuff out of the rain quick,” I said politely, but urgently.
This lady (the third lady, now) looked at me like I was speaking some forgotten dialect of Swahili. She told me point blank that she couldn't “give you the key until she signs too.”
Fine. Rules are rules. But then she just stands there and stares at me like a dumb cow. Chewing gum between her (rotting AND crooked) teeth. Her hair hair-sprayed up and her ring finger tattooed with “MFB” or some such initials. Probably the initials of the sweaty bastard that knocked her up when she was thirteen. She had that vacant look in her eye like she had done too much meth for too many years. She didn't offer to direct me to a car port where I might at least cover my boxes from the rain while I waited. She didn't offer me a single word of sympathy. Just “no” accompanied by cud (er... gum) chewing.
I was pissed, but I was too excited once Jera arrived to stay pissed. After all, we have been talking about moving in together practically since we met. This was a big exciting day for us.
I was willing to wipe the slate clean with this gaggle of prostitutes. After all, though meth was not my drug of choice, and I never myself lived in a trailer park with my dealer who gave me dope for sex, I understand the plight and the mental anguish of the white trash.
But then this: we had 72 hours to fill out the check in sheet on which we would cite any previous damage to the apartment so that they can't charge us for it when we move out. (Note: the second most frequent complaint online about these assholes is that they charge you up the wazoo when you move out for damage that was already existing.)
Jera and I are busy, so technically we were going to be about 24 hours late turning this thing in, which is legitimately my fault. So I call this lady the day it's late (I dont know which lady this was, but I think they are interchangeable) to ask her if she can fax me a copy of the form at work so I could fill it out and fax it back. Again, she treats me like I have some kind of goddamn palsy.
“We can't accept anything over the FAX. And besides, we only gave you seventy-two hours to fill it out.” she whined at me.
“I understand. That's fine. I'll just fill it out tonight and drop it by after work.” I said, impatiently trying to get off of the phone. But she wouldn't let me off.
“We have you fill those out so we know what was already damaged and what you damaged,” she moaned.
Well no goddamn shit. We have Nobel material here with this freaking talking organism.
I responded gruffly, “yeah. I KNOW what it's for.”
Then she proceeds to insinuate that I am breaking things in the unit already.
“You are probably in there breaking things right now and there would be know way for us to know” she said.
This put me over the line and prompted this long writing. The NERVE of this whore! This lady ought to be fired. She ought to have her degenerate kids taken from her. Then she ought to be tarred and feathered. And not the fun, cartoony tar and feathering. The medieval-super-hot-almost-kills-you tar and feathering.
Do people know what customer service is anymore?! I mean.... this is in-SANE. The customer doesn't even have to “always be right”, but god DAMN, can we at least treat the customer like a human being? I guarantee you, my readers, that all three (or four) of the women running the show here will die alone and empty. I am so pissed. In the future, I will be writing an anonymous email to the office asking them what their malfunction is up there, and suggesting that they all go back to cookin' dope with their “baby' daddies”, and leave the office management to someone who has at least the interpersonal skills of a small soap dish. I will post said e-mail and the response here for you all to behold.
Am I over-reacting?
Cripes. I'm glad I got that out. I'm done. Thanks for listening.
Let me preface all of this by saying that before moving in, while we were still looking for a new place, we read review after review on the internet about how shitty the staff at this complex is. So I wasn't expecting much. But I have only been dealing with these people for a little while and already they are pissing me right off.
To start off with, I recall the day not so long ago when Jera and I arrived to take a look at a couple of models that they have here at this particular complex. The place is pricey for a poor bastard like myself, but the units look decent. My problem was that the girl showing us the models seemed to be in some big goddamn rush about the whole damn thing. She was not informative, and her manner of speech was completely unprofessional. She acted as if this was the first job she had ever gotten, and that she was sixteen years old, and that mommy would be taking half of her pay check and spending it on booze and baby formula from the dollar store. It was apparent that this lady didn't care about this job or renting this unit at ALL.
And did I mention that this chick's teeth were as crooked as Bernie Madoff? Not that that would have mattered if she would have known a goddamn thing about customer service, or even the product she was selling.
So I could have gotten over this, because this lady wasn't overtly rude to me or anything. We liked the apartment and we decided to turn in our applications. Soon enough, I found myself walking for my second time into the main office, and I was perturbed to find out I would have to sit down and go over the terms of the lease with another person. Another woman, mind you. Now, I have nothing against women in the work place. I find a mixture of the sexes to be quite relieving in almost any environment. But the office here has (apparently) not a single man working in it. Just a bunch of women with blown up heads housing pea sized brains. All of them perpetually thumbing through red books wishing they had souls, and all of them bleeding at the same time.
This new old bag treated me like I had a moderate case of downs syndrome as she showed me the breakdown of the price of this place. I was on my goddamn lunch break from work and I had precious little time to waste, and she's sittin here writing all this shit out item by item on this piece of paper. The more she wrote, the more I felt like I should be paying close attention, because I began to anticipate some kind of drastic surprise at the end when she added up the breakdown of monthly charges. Why else would she be explaining it to me like this when she KNEW I was in a hurry?
Low and behold, we got to the end of fifteen minutes of this hag enjoying the sound of her own voice to arrive at what? That's right: the rental amount that had been printed on the goddamn flyer that we had gotten from the main office on the first fuckin day we viewed the place. Damn. She might as well have been writing on construction paper with a big blue crayon. Explaining this shit to me like I was one of her demented pregnant teenage daughters.
I got news for you lady: sitting behind a desk (which you probably share with the person that takes the other half of the shift so they can fuck you out of over-time) doesn't make you ANYTHING. You still barely graduated high-school (maybe), and were clearly never good enough at anything to warrant you enough money to buy anything close to a reasonable wardrobe. You may as well have been wearing a gunny sack with arm holes cut out of it. For-go your menthol marlboros for two weeks and buy yourself a shirt that doesn't scream “Kid Rock”.
Okay. So to this point, I still could have forgiven all of this. But then, on the day I was to sign the lease, I was going to meet Jera at the office at three or so in the afternoon. I filled up a borrowed pickup truck with boxes and drove toward Longmont. But apparently, my dumb ass was too smart to anticipate the coming rain, and it began to rain profusely on my boxes and such. All of my books were in those boxes. I was freaking out. I was able to stop at the body shop on the way to Longmont, and I tied a welding blanket over the truck bed. But they were already soaked so I had to get them unloaded as quickly as the universe would allow. I drove fast to the new apartment office and went inside and informed the lady of my situation.
“All my stuff is in a truck outside getting soaked. Jera wont be here for a little bit, but I was hoping I could just write you the check and sign whatever you need signed so I could get this stuff out of the rain quick,” I said politely, but urgently.
This lady (the third lady, now) looked at me like I was speaking some forgotten dialect of Swahili. She told me point blank that she couldn't “give you the key until she signs too.”
Fine. Rules are rules. But then she just stands there and stares at me like a dumb cow. Chewing gum between her (rotting AND crooked) teeth. Her hair hair-sprayed up and her ring finger tattooed with “MFB” or some such initials. Probably the initials of the sweaty bastard that knocked her up when she was thirteen. She had that vacant look in her eye like she had done too much meth for too many years. She didn't offer to direct me to a car port where I might at least cover my boxes from the rain while I waited. She didn't offer me a single word of sympathy. Just “no” accompanied by cud (er... gum) chewing.
I was pissed, but I was too excited once Jera arrived to stay pissed. After all, we have been talking about moving in together practically since we met. This was a big exciting day for us.
I was willing to wipe the slate clean with this gaggle of prostitutes. After all, though meth was not my drug of choice, and I never myself lived in a trailer park with my dealer who gave me dope for sex, I understand the plight and the mental anguish of the white trash.
But then this: we had 72 hours to fill out the check in sheet on which we would cite any previous damage to the apartment so that they can't charge us for it when we move out. (Note: the second most frequent complaint online about these assholes is that they charge you up the wazoo when you move out for damage that was already existing.)
Jera and I are busy, so technically we were going to be about 24 hours late turning this thing in, which is legitimately my fault. So I call this lady the day it's late (I dont know which lady this was, but I think they are interchangeable) to ask her if she can fax me a copy of the form at work so I could fill it out and fax it back. Again, she treats me like I have some kind of goddamn palsy.
“We can't accept anything over the FAX. And besides, we only gave you seventy-two hours to fill it out.” she whined at me.
“I understand. That's fine. I'll just fill it out tonight and drop it by after work.” I said, impatiently trying to get off of the phone. But she wouldn't let me off.
“We have you fill those out so we know what was already damaged and what you damaged,” she moaned.
Well no goddamn shit. We have Nobel material here with this freaking talking organism.
I responded gruffly, “yeah. I KNOW what it's for.”
Then she proceeds to insinuate that I am breaking things in the unit already.
“You are probably in there breaking things right now and there would be know way for us to know” she said.
This put me over the line and prompted this long writing. The NERVE of this whore! This lady ought to be fired. She ought to have her degenerate kids taken from her. Then she ought to be tarred and feathered. And not the fun, cartoony tar and feathering. The medieval-super-hot-almost-kills-you tar and feathering.
Do people know what customer service is anymore?! I mean.... this is in-SANE. The customer doesn't even have to “always be right”, but god DAMN, can we at least treat the customer like a human being? I guarantee you, my readers, that all three (or four) of the women running the show here will die alone and empty. I am so pissed. In the future, I will be writing an anonymous email to the office asking them what their malfunction is up there, and suggesting that they all go back to cookin' dope with their “baby' daddies”, and leave the office management to someone who has at least the interpersonal skills of a small soap dish. I will post said e-mail and the response here for you all to behold.
Am I over-reacting?
Cripes. I'm glad I got that out. I'm done. Thanks for listening.
4.25.2010
A Weekend: Over
So we are almost all the way moved into the new place in Longmont. I haven't had time to shoot my warm gooey blog-ness all over the sphere for a couple of days what with all the moving and stuff. But here I am now.
Does anyone else hate moving? I can't think of a more tremendous pain in the asshole. Oh well. I suppose it's a fact of life for most people.
Here are a couple of pictures of the new place in it's early stages of being put together.
You will notice one cat and one girlfriend. Being that the cat is also female, there is a lot of estrogen in this house. I will be counter balancing the effects of this chemical imbalance by listening to the audio of the first two Die Hard movies on my headphones at varying times during the day. I was able to rip the DVD's to an mpeg and then I subsequently dumped the audio into a couple of mp3 files which I was able to split into specific tracks.
The tracks which help me counter-act the femininity most efficiently are the part from the first movie where the terrorist shoots that wussy prick who is trying to negotiate with him in the privacy of that little office away from the rest of the hostages, and that part from the second one where he blows up the airplane with his Zippo.
Oh and also the part where he runs barefoot across broken glass. That's awesome. You can really hear the glass a lot better when all you have to focus on is just the sound.
I digress.
Another day of work tomorrow. Will be taking part or all of Tuesday off for the funeral (re: my previous post). I haven't been to a funeral in a good long time, and am confronted by the severity of death and the importance of life when I think about it.
I suppose I am just in a severe mood of late though. I always feel that way when other engagements preclude me from writing. Hopefully everything will be settled down soon so that I will have more time to relax and write.
Some of the people who are proofing/reviewing the first half of my book have said good things. I have one reviewer who is all thumbs up on it. One reviewer who has very little negative to say about it, and one reviewer who is just reading it for his own sick purposes. I suspect he is reading it while looking intermittently at pictures of me and touching himself. I won't call him out here.... but John Turner.... you know who you are...
The fourth person reviewing the first half of the book has been absent from my daily contact list of late. I am not sure if he has had an adequate chance to go over it yet or not. I always feel guilty when I lose contact with someone for a period of time, and it always makes that next phone call harder to make... I will call him tomorrow.
Jera and I cooked our first real dinner here tonight and it was awesome. I love cooking with her, because we are both not great at it but we both have similar taste and we both like to eat. The food itself was not the best in the world but the experience is another one of the thousands that I wouldn't trade for anything.
I look for one every day.
I promise a tangential, angry blog post tomorrow about something, be it a rant against the morality vacuum that is the Girl Scouts of America or a stinging indictment of my new apartment complex's staff (all of whom appear to have fallen out of the trailer park days ago like still borns from a loose womb).
That was gross. I apologize. Love to everyone reading. To anyone not reading: what the fuck? I'd read your blog if you had one. Leave a comment and tell me where it is and I'll follow you.
Does anyone else hate moving? I can't think of a more tremendous pain in the asshole. Oh well. I suppose it's a fact of life for most people.
Here are a couple of pictures of the new place in it's early stages of being put together.
You will notice one cat and one girlfriend. Being that the cat is also female, there is a lot of estrogen in this house. I will be counter balancing the effects of this chemical imbalance by listening to the audio of the first two Die Hard movies on my headphones at varying times during the day. I was able to rip the DVD's to an mpeg and then I subsequently dumped the audio into a couple of mp3 files which I was able to split into specific tracks.
The tracks which help me counter-act the femininity most efficiently are the part from the first movie where the terrorist shoots that wussy prick who is trying to negotiate with him in the privacy of that little office away from the rest of the hostages, and that part from the second one where he blows up the airplane with his Zippo.
Oh and also the part where he runs barefoot across broken glass. That's awesome. You can really hear the glass a lot better when all you have to focus on is just the sound.
I digress.
Another day of work tomorrow. Will be taking part or all of Tuesday off for the funeral (re: my previous post). I haven't been to a funeral in a good long time, and am confronted by the severity of death and the importance of life when I think about it.
I suppose I am just in a severe mood of late though. I always feel that way when other engagements preclude me from writing. Hopefully everything will be settled down soon so that I will have more time to relax and write.
Some of the people who are proofing/reviewing the first half of my book have said good things. I have one reviewer who is all thumbs up on it. One reviewer who has very little negative to say about it, and one reviewer who is just reading it for his own sick purposes. I suspect he is reading it while looking intermittently at pictures of me and touching himself. I won't call him out here.... but John Turner.... you know who you are...
The fourth person reviewing the first half of the book has been absent from my daily contact list of late. I am not sure if he has had an adequate chance to go over it yet or not. I always feel guilty when I lose contact with someone for a period of time, and it always makes that next phone call harder to make... I will call him tomorrow.
Jera and I cooked our first real dinner here tonight and it was awesome. I love cooking with her, because we are both not great at it but we both have similar taste and we both like to eat. The food itself was not the best in the world but the experience is another one of the thousands that I wouldn't trade for anything.
I look for one every day.
I promise a tangential, angry blog post tomorrow about something, be it a rant against the morality vacuum that is the Girl Scouts of America or a stinging indictment of my new apartment complex's staff (all of whom appear to have fallen out of the trailer park days ago like still borns from a loose womb).
That was gross. I apologize. Love to everyone reading. To anyone not reading: what the fuck? I'd read your blog if you had one. Leave a comment and tell me where it is and I'll follow you.
4.22.2010
A Good Day
I submit that there is no better feeling than to feel as though one is “back on track”.
“On track” is okay, but “back on track” begs one to see the stark contrast between “off track” and “on track”.
Today was a good day. I got a lot of writing (editing, to be precise) done on my book. Work was low key and un-stressful. My favorite podcast (Stuff You Should Know, of howstuffworks.com fame) had a new episode today. I get to see the love of my life tonight, instead of going to sleep tired and lonely. I drew strength from family and from my girlfriend and from other recovering addicts. I'm getting ready to head out to a meeting right now and I am really starting to feel settled in the new apartment.
“Back on track” is good.
I really don't know where I am going with this “blog” thing. I don't really have a focused topic. But I do know that writing feels like breathing to me and that doing it in such an informal, nonchalant way is like... breathing at low elevation. Each breath is full and rich and easy.
I'd like to take a second to mention a friend of mine who had someone very dear to him pass away just recently. This man is a brother to me, and has saved my ass on a number of occasions. I owe him a great amount, and I love him like blood.
The first real good rain here in Colorado this season happened last night and this morning. The rain reflected the tears we have all shed for my friend. I am reminded that as my life gets intermittently better, that it is still just life, and that it doesn't stop for anything.
My sponsor told me, when I talked to him about this last night, that we all “get a turn around here”. We all go through it. And the only way we go through it is by having the experience of others who have already cleared the way.
My brother Ernie has cleared the way for me in a lot of ways, and he is going directly through the storm right now, I would imagine. And i'll be goddamned if he won't be the person I call when the storm hits here.
I doubt you will probably ever read this, brother, but know that all of my prayers now are for you and yours. I don't presume to know how you feel right now, and I won't tell you “I'm sorry for your loss”.
Instead, I will tell you what you already know: You are a man in the eyes of men and in the eyes of the Almighty. You are an inspiration and a gift and there are people like me looking to you to find out what the “next right thing” is, all the time. I love you with all my heart. Be blessed and strong and call on me, whatever your need might be, should the occasion arise. I will be here for you as you have been there for me.
Thanks for reading, anyone out there. If you are the prayin' type, send one out for my friend. If you aren't the prayin' type, then just hold someone you love extra close tonight. I know I will.
“On track” is okay, but “back on track” begs one to see the stark contrast between “off track” and “on track”.
Today was a good day. I got a lot of writing (editing, to be precise) done on my book. Work was low key and un-stressful. My favorite podcast (Stuff You Should Know, of howstuffworks.com fame) had a new episode today. I get to see the love of my life tonight, instead of going to sleep tired and lonely. I drew strength from family and from my girlfriend and from other recovering addicts. I'm getting ready to head out to a meeting right now and I am really starting to feel settled in the new apartment.
“Back on track” is good.
I really don't know where I am going with this “blog” thing. I don't really have a focused topic. But I do know that writing feels like breathing to me and that doing it in such an informal, nonchalant way is like... breathing at low elevation. Each breath is full and rich and easy.
I'd like to take a second to mention a friend of mine who had someone very dear to him pass away just recently. This man is a brother to me, and has saved my ass on a number of occasions. I owe him a great amount, and I love him like blood.
The first real good rain here in Colorado this season happened last night and this morning. The rain reflected the tears we have all shed for my friend. I am reminded that as my life gets intermittently better, that it is still just life, and that it doesn't stop for anything.
My sponsor told me, when I talked to him about this last night, that we all “get a turn around here”. We all go through it. And the only way we go through it is by having the experience of others who have already cleared the way.
My brother Ernie has cleared the way for me in a lot of ways, and he is going directly through the storm right now, I would imagine. And i'll be goddamned if he won't be the person I call when the storm hits here.
I doubt you will probably ever read this, brother, but know that all of my prayers now are for you and yours. I don't presume to know how you feel right now, and I won't tell you “I'm sorry for your loss”.
Instead, I will tell you what you already know: You are a man in the eyes of men and in the eyes of the Almighty. You are an inspiration and a gift and there are people like me looking to you to find out what the “next right thing” is, all the time. I love you with all my heart. Be blessed and strong and call on me, whatever your need might be, should the occasion arise. I will be here for you as you have been there for me.
Thanks for reading, anyone out there. If you are the prayin' type, send one out for my friend. If you aren't the prayin' type, then just hold someone you love extra close tonight. I know I will.
Isohunt Sucks
Anyone out there use Isohunt to download their gigabytes upon gigabytes of absolutely legal information?
Have you noticed that Isohunt.com blows goats now?
I mean... all I'm trying to do here is fill up hard drives as fast as possible. It's my hobby. I go buy a hard drive. I use Isohunt and a torrent downloading client to download as much shit as possible, I put it on the the hard drive until I couldn't possibly cram one more bit onto the damn thing, and then I go buy a new hard drive, storing the other one safely away where I will never use it again. I know it sounds stupid, but it's a sickness. A compulsion, if you will.
And now, my favorite torrent searching site is FUBAR.
The first page on the site is now a long and boring read which starts out like this:
So I am extending my official endorsement of the Pirate Bay. I never liked Pirate Bay before. The search results come to you on a page that appears jumbled and so packed with advertisements that it hurts ones eyes. But, fuck it, at least it's useable. The new search results page on “Isohunt” look like those link farming sites that have nothing functional on them and are only designed to game the Google algorithm so that they can make good ad revenue for a period of time before they drop off the top search results on the search engine. I hate that so goddamn much it makes my blood boil. This can't be tolerated.
So, if you enjoy taking it in the ass from Hollywood (the apparent puppet master of the US government) and you enjoy torrent search results that make your eyes bleed and make puppies cry, then by all means, use www.isohunt.com for your searching needs.
If you don't want to be a bitch, use thepiratebay.org.
If anyone is using a torrent search engine better than this, let me know. I'm in the market for one.
I'm adding it to my favorite links column on the side of my blog here... as soon as I learn how to make a favorite links column.
One more thing: check out the “legal” page of the Pirate Bay to read some hysterical correspondence between the Bay and a whole mass of idiots who have been upset with them over the years. Highlights frequently include them telling the complaining party to “sodomize themselves with retractable batons”. Really funny. It's located at thepiratebay.org/legal
Have you noticed that Isohunt.com blows goats now?
I mean... all I'm trying to do here is fill up hard drives as fast as possible. It's my hobby. I go buy a hard drive. I use Isohunt and a torrent downloading client to download as much shit as possible, I put it on the the hard drive until I couldn't possibly cram one more bit onto the damn thing, and then I go buy a new hard drive, storing the other one safely away where I will never use it again. I know it sounds stupid, but it's a sickness. A compulsion, if you will.
And now, my favorite torrent searching site is FUBAR.
The first page on the site is now a long and boring read which starts out like this:
“US users, welcome to the lighter and lightning-fast isoHunt! Although we bring this new search engine to you with a burden from the lawsuit brought by the MPAA, we hope you understand the reason why we are making this change. We are addressing concerns Judge Wilson has expressed over inducing copyright infringement in the United States.”
So I am extending my official endorsement of the Pirate Bay. I never liked Pirate Bay before. The search results come to you on a page that appears jumbled and so packed with advertisements that it hurts ones eyes. But, fuck it, at least it's useable. The new search results page on “Isohunt” look like those link farming sites that have nothing functional on them and are only designed to game the Google algorithm so that they can make good ad revenue for a period of time before they drop off the top search results on the search engine. I hate that so goddamn much it makes my blood boil. This can't be tolerated.
So, if you enjoy taking it in the ass from Hollywood (the apparent puppet master of the US government) and you enjoy torrent search results that make your eyes bleed and make puppies cry, then by all means, use www.isohunt.com for your searching needs.
If you don't want to be a bitch, use thepiratebay.org.
If anyone is using a torrent search engine better than this, let me know. I'm in the market for one.
I'm adding it to my favorite links column on the side of my blog here... as soon as I learn how to make a favorite links column.
One more thing: check out the “legal” page of the Pirate Bay to read some hysterical correspondence between the Bay and a whole mass of idiots who have been upset with them over the years. Highlights frequently include them telling the complaining party to “sodomize themselves with retractable batons”. Really funny. It's located at thepiratebay.org/legal
4.21.2010
Gays Raising Kids
Ok, so I got a request to tell everyone out there how I feel about the ability of a same sex couple to raise children properly.
I'll preface this by saying that, for a long time, I thought my dad was gay, and that his marriage to my mother was just his way of keeping up appearances. I know this doesn't really qualify me as an authority on the topic, but it's something right? Additionally, I shop at “Express for Men”, which is also “something”.
Let me just say that my personal preference would be to not have been raised by two women or two men. But I staunchly support the right of human beings to do pretty much whatever they want, as long as it's not affecting me in any terrible way. I think that people should be allowed to smoke crack, as long as they aren't stealing from me to support their habit. Gays ought to be allowed to “marry” mainly because I just don't care what other people do, and I would want the right to do the same if I was in their shoes. If gays should be allowed to marry then they should be allowed to raise kids.
That said, I would recommend to any gay couple out there who is planning on rearing a child together that they consider the consequences that their alternative lifestyle might possibly have on the child. I'm not saying it would have any adverse affect, nor am I saying that it would have any positive affect. I'm just thinking that we all ought to think about these kinds of things before we raise children. After all, there are about a kazillion clearly inept mongoloid parents out there today screwing their kids up on the regular and they are all perfectly heterosexual.
I believe in a person's right to do whatever they want.... but here are some guide questions for parents to be.
We ought to ask ourselves:
1.Am I in a loving relationship that is healthy enough to support the psychological needs of a child?
2.Does my sexual orientation stand to eat away at my child's psyche over a period of years, leaving the child a broken shell of a man who regrets ever having seen his parents copulate with a goat?
3.Does my constant use of crack cocaine preclude me from being able to play a reasonable, low key game of hide and seek with the child?
4.Can I afford at least two boxes per child per week of Lucky Charms for the next eighteen years?
5.Am I willing and able to keep my child away from network television, Lady GaGa, Hannah Montana, emo clothing and all the other leading causes of early onset mental retardation?
If we can answer these questions thoroughly, honestly, and live with our answers, then we are indeed ready for parenthood. Gay or not.
As a side note: my father isn't gay. He just really likes the B-52's for some reason.
I'll preface this by saying that, for a long time, I thought my dad was gay, and that his marriage to my mother was just his way of keeping up appearances. I know this doesn't really qualify me as an authority on the topic, but it's something right? Additionally, I shop at “Express for Men”, which is also “something”.
Let me just say that my personal preference would be to not have been raised by two women or two men. But I staunchly support the right of human beings to do pretty much whatever they want, as long as it's not affecting me in any terrible way. I think that people should be allowed to smoke crack, as long as they aren't stealing from me to support their habit. Gays ought to be allowed to “marry” mainly because I just don't care what other people do, and I would want the right to do the same if I was in their shoes. If gays should be allowed to marry then they should be allowed to raise kids.
That said, I would recommend to any gay couple out there who is planning on rearing a child together that they consider the consequences that their alternative lifestyle might possibly have on the child. I'm not saying it would have any adverse affect, nor am I saying that it would have any positive affect. I'm just thinking that we all ought to think about these kinds of things before we raise children. After all, there are about a kazillion clearly inept mongoloid parents out there today screwing their kids up on the regular and they are all perfectly heterosexual.
I believe in a person's right to do whatever they want.... but here are some guide questions for parents to be.
We ought to ask ourselves:
1.Am I in a loving relationship that is healthy enough to support the psychological needs of a child?
2.Does my sexual orientation stand to eat away at my child's psyche over a period of years, leaving the child a broken shell of a man who regrets ever having seen his parents copulate with a goat?
3.Does my constant use of crack cocaine preclude me from being able to play a reasonable, low key game of hide and seek with the child?
4.Can I afford at least two boxes per child per week of Lucky Charms for the next eighteen years?
5.Am I willing and able to keep my child away from network television, Lady GaGa, Hannah Montana, emo clothing and all the other leading causes of early onset mental retardation?
If we can answer these questions thoroughly, honestly, and live with our answers, then we are indeed ready for parenthood. Gay or not.
As a side note: my father isn't gay. He just really likes the B-52's for some reason.
Blog the First
Being as this is my first blog, I suppose I'll just introduce myself.
Hi. I'm Charles *extends virtual hand for virtual handshake*.
There. Now everyone's comfortable, yeah?
Let's get to it then: I'm twenty five years of age. I'm a recovering drug addict who works in the office of an automotive body repair shop in Loveland, Colorado. I am generally cynical about the culture I exist in, but am optimistic about the possibilities implied by life, love and the promise of a new version of the Apple iPhone. I have a girlfriend who is, indeed, the hottest girl I've ever met. I am in the process of writing a memoir that has taken on a life of it's own and is ballooning out at an incredible rate, overtaking various areas of my life. The book is about love (with the aforementioned girlfriend, Jera), and my exploits throughout life.
Frankly, I don't know how to blog. I don't read too many blogs. If anyone wants to give me any pointers, please don't hesitate to leave comments here, or email me. But if the email is sarcastic or generally dickish, I am going to write back and tell you to fuck yourself. I don't need your shit. (If I tell you to fuck yourself, that doesn't necessarily mean I won't be heeding your advice). Also, the email address provided in the "About Me" section is my personal email address, and it gets pushed directly to my phone. So don't be sending me a bunch of incoherent garbage that you trolled off the depths of the darkest nooks and crannies of the interweb. I don't have time for that.
My plan is to blog away here on all kinds of topics. If I get poor service at a restaurant, I will get the name of the person who gave me the poor service and I will write a blog saying all kinds of slanderous things about the restaurant and the staff member responsible for my pain. If I get a new gadget that I like (as I am frequently wont to do), I will offer you an intensely un-technical review about said gadget. If I hear some horrendous music, I'll put a review here about why I think the artist should be dumped from a fast moving, low riding vehicle onto a packed urban highway. I'll try to post up some pictures now and then, chronicling my sometimes exciting life (or whatever).
My pledge to you is to be entertaining. If I am not entertaining you, send me an email or comment here on how I might better serve you, my future loyal reader. Want to hear me rant about a specific topic? Hit me up. I'll write about anything. Want to know what I think about education reform? Ask away. My experience with anal beads? Inquire within. Whatever you want.
Much love.
Charles
Hi. I'm Charles *extends virtual hand for virtual handshake*.
There. Now everyone's comfortable, yeah?
Let's get to it then: I'm twenty five years of age. I'm a recovering drug addict who works in the office of an automotive body repair shop in Loveland, Colorado. I am generally cynical about the culture I exist in, but am optimistic about the possibilities implied by life, love and the promise of a new version of the Apple iPhone. I have a girlfriend who is, indeed, the hottest girl I've ever met. I am in the process of writing a memoir that has taken on a life of it's own and is ballooning out at an incredible rate, overtaking various areas of my life. The book is about love (with the aforementioned girlfriend, Jera), and my exploits throughout life.
Frankly, I don't know how to blog. I don't read too many blogs. If anyone wants to give me any pointers, please don't hesitate to leave comments here, or email me. But if the email is sarcastic or generally dickish, I am going to write back and tell you to fuck yourself. I don't need your shit. (If I tell you to fuck yourself, that doesn't necessarily mean I won't be heeding your advice). Also, the email address provided in the "About Me" section is my personal email address, and it gets pushed directly to my phone. So don't be sending me a bunch of incoherent garbage that you trolled off the depths of the darkest nooks and crannies of the interweb. I don't have time for that.
My plan is to blog away here on all kinds of topics. If I get poor service at a restaurant, I will get the name of the person who gave me the poor service and I will write a blog saying all kinds of slanderous things about the restaurant and the staff member responsible for my pain. If I get a new gadget that I like (as I am frequently wont to do), I will offer you an intensely un-technical review about said gadget. If I hear some horrendous music, I'll put a review here about why I think the artist should be dumped from a fast moving, low riding vehicle onto a packed urban highway. I'll try to post up some pictures now and then, chronicling my sometimes exciting life (or whatever).
My pledge to you is to be entertaining. If I am not entertaining you, send me an email or comment here on how I might better serve you, my future loyal reader. Want to hear me rant about a specific topic? Hit me up. I'll write about anything. Want to know what I think about education reform? Ask away. My experience with anal beads? Inquire within. Whatever you want.
Much love.
Charles
