I've had a shitty shitty day. A shitty shitty shitty day. Sitting at my desk crying at work, it was all I could do to finish out the day without walking out. It's been years since I've worked in a call center. Last time I did, I was a kid. Now, I'm old and I still have a kid's job. (at least I have a job)
By no means do I earn a kid's income though.
The worst part about my job is the customers. All of em, a bunch of whiners. Having said that, I suppose I have to make this entry open to friends only. My employer is a stalker. Anyway, getting called up and complained to isn't something I'm used to at this point, but I had to do it all day. I got used to people calling in asking for advice on how to run their business and get their online presence going.
I was promoted for my ability to consult with customers - now they have me doing tech support again. I did that for 13 years - I don't wanna anymore. There's no money in it at this company. Just let me do my job.
And the customers - 9 times out of 10, it's their error. That would be fine if they weren't so angry at me about it. It would be fine if you would buy something from me too. BUY SOMETHING! "I'm starting a business, but I don't want you to upsell me anything. I just want a domain. I have a coupon." ARGH! How about you just give me 10 dollars and tell people you bought it, you useless.
I talked to someone today who literally had spent 7 dollars and change with us for a domain name and was using free hosting. He was angry because his database wasn't working - well, no shit - you don't even have a website up. Then he starts telling me how every second he wastes trying to get the database working, he is losing money.
That's so common... "I'm losing money with my website being down!!" Oh really? Your website is like 2 ugly pages of nothing that nobody ever visits anyway. Shut the fuck up.
I'm tired of support calls. Let me do my job.
In other news... my Nikon is still not here. I had to send it back due to a "hot pixel" - getting Abes of Maine to talk to me is damn near impossible.
In other other news... my cell phone company sucks a big fat hairy dick.
So this has been just a vent/rant. If anyone from work reads this - I'm totally just kidding. I didn't even write this - someone must've gotten on my computer.
I'm all better now. Tomorrow will be better.
I need new music.
Woke up about 30 minutes to noon today. Spent the following 12 hours on the couch watching Netflix instant downloads and clearing shit off my DVR. I've not showered. I'm still in my boxers. I ordered a pizza and ate half of it - the other half is still boxed and within kicking distance on the ottoman.
Make no mistake... this has been the most epic nothing weekend of my life.
Yesterday, the cat got a clean littlerbox, a new bag of food, and a patch of grass to chew on. In the past two days, I've done enough research on cell phones to qualify me to write a book about them - or at least a pamphlet. I was more active on facebook in the last two days than I've been in the last year.
I'd like to see you be so productive just laying about in your underwear and filth in front of a television and social networking informational diarrhea feed.
Once again, I have not much to say. I suppose I'm trying to kick-start my writing muscles again. It's like going to the gym for the first time in a long time - I'm a little out of shape and tire too easily at the machines. Perhaps I'll keep it up with a little encouragement. I wonder if I became less interesting because people stopped paying attention, or if people stopped paying attention because I became less interesting.
When you hitch yourself to someone's wagon, you find yourself with an instant best-friend. You pretty much always have someone to do stuff with. Movie buddy, dinner companion, travel sidekick, designated driver. Even if you never do anything, they are always there should something come up. Even doing nothing feels like something.
Enough time goes by with this and you forget what it's like to have nothing to do and nobody to do it with.
Tonight I sit alone - most of my friends are either busy or out of town or out of the country. My girl is in Vegas with her parents. Having nothing to do hasn't felt this nothing in a long time. I suppose I'll have a chance to get a little used to it since she'll be going out of town again shortly after coming back to visit family and friends in Alaska.
I remember being used to having nothing but time to myself, but I can't recall what it felt like to be used to it. Oh, I'm sure I could've "made" something to do, but I must not have wanted it bad enough since I didn't put much effort into it. I have a ton of shit to do around the house too, but I am just leaving it as shit to do as opposed to shit I've done. I have a Tivo and a new receiver to hook up. I have some crap I have to get ready to sell. I have a lot of cleaning to do. When I think about it - there's really an endless stream of things to do - just nothing I want to do right now.
I don't feel like people ask me to hang out all that often. Maybe they do and I simply decline. I'm not sure.
I'm rambling. It's just been a long time since I've been alone and completely unproductive. Clearing "The Pacific" off my DVR doesn't qualify as productive. Fuck - no wonder nobody asks me to hang out - I'm fucking boring.
I haven't written anything in long time. I have pretty much just shut down completely and turned myself into a machine. A machine that prints money. I pretty much pwn at my job. I'm still sorting out the whole "saving the house" thing - had a few close calls. I'm settling my debts. I've knocked down a lot of it... though there's still a mountain to go. At least I'm not just going bankrupt and washing my hands of it all... (yet).
Part of the reason I don't write anymore is that nobody reads it. I started a "blog" out there with my own domain and whatnot and posted nothing pretty much. Just a plan to do something eventually. I'll get around to it.
I still spend plenty of time spinning my wheels. I still spend plenty of time in a vegetative state. I still watch television. It's all I can do to try to keep my mood from fluctuating. Steady as she goes.
My year of celibacy was followed by a year of constant and persistent sex. My year of downward spiral into the lowest abyss of my life was followed by the most productive year of my life - if you count money as producing something. It's a unit of measure anyway.
I miss having people pay attention to me. I miss having something interesting to say. I miss it. I actually miss myspace. I would delete my Facebook if it didn't keep guilting me into keeping my account.
I recently posted photos from my parents' wedding in 1961. Nobody noticed. I thought they were lovely.
Anyway, since nobody can see this, I'm going to just post this without any pants on.
It's my birthday tomorrow. Historically, I have the worst birthdays ever. I'm sure every year I write this same sort of thing... I'll have to go back and check. Either someone's dumping me, someone dies, or something else horrible happens. I'm starting to think my birthday is cursed.
I fully intended to have a good time tonight - it was going to be a nice dinner out and conversation with a close friend. Instead, I get to drive home 17 miles with an empty stomach, a mouthful of dry bitter bile, and my body shaking with rage as I grind my teeth and clutch the steering wheel.
I'll cool down and I'll get over it. I just can't believe I allowed someone who broke my heart to then break my trust. Fool me once and shame and all of that. The icing on my birthday shit-cake is that I'm a liar apparently. I've just fucking had it up to here (*holds hand up in the air to indicate where).
This is simply for reference. I'm not terribly concerned at this point. I'm just sad and upset and feel like crap right now. Plus, I don't really have jack shit to do tonight now... not that I really feel like doing much of anything tonight at this point. Maybe I'll just go to bed or something. 9pm isn't too early for a Friday night is it?
Push, pull, shove, grab. All I want is to breathe. I feel like I'm going to puke.
Tomorrow will hopefully be better. If it isn't, I'm just going to fucking give up and stop having birthdays. In fact, I'm not to keen on the idea of getting older anyway.
My birthday is what I make it. I must just suck at making it good. Perhaps I have racked up some bad birthday karma at some point.
I went into a huge financial downward spiral over the last few years as I attempted to hold on to my old ways and reject change. The aftermath is an insane amount of credit card debt and a credit score that went from over 800 to "would probably need my mom to co-sign if I wanted a new cell phone."
I've been rebuilding my life. Nose to the grindstone and all of that. I've become a corporate lackey and I'm working for "the man" now. It's the first real job I've had since I was in college. Looking back, it seems less like I've been running my own business and more like I was some sort of hustler.
It feels good to have a job. There are a lot of firsts associated with this. First time with any sort of health insurance of my own, first time with any sort of retirement plan, and first time having to get drug tested.
I also discovered that I'm really good at what I do. I knew I would be, but I feel bad for all the suckers who failed to have faith and hire me when I applied to a job I was clearly unqualified for on paper.
I'm riding high right now... I'm getting to the point that I almost forget that my little world is still crumbling around me and my finances are still in the red zone. Almost.
The IRS wants to have a chat with me, and I'm still getting bombarded with letters from companies wanting to consolidate my debt. I've also been feeling the effects of having shit credit for the first time. My credit card companies are all handling it differently.
BofA has been surprisingly patient. They were cunts when I was still keeping up with my payments in spite of not being able to afford to. Now, they are kissing my feet.
American Express are sweethearts. I love them. They raised my APR when the shit hit the fan for everyone and the banks needed a bailout. They raised everyone's APR. At the time, my credit was still awesome. I recently asked them if they could just lower it and they did.
Chase and Citibank though can suck my dirty goat nuts. Chase just sent me a letter saying they were raising my interest rate to prime + 26.99%. Seriously? The reason was that I went over my limit. I went over by a dollar and 30 cents when I bought a soda from a vending machine at work.
I recently went over my limit on a Citi card that had a 500 dollar limit (they dropped it from over 6000 because I hadn't used it in over a year) - I was just using it for convenience. They let me go over by 5 dollars. They charged me a 49 dollar fee and raised my interest rate to something ridiculous as well. I closed both accounts and told them as politely as I could to go fuck themselves.
I've been living off of cash only for the most part, but the world is certainly set up to make it easier to use credit. This is all going to take some getting used to. Perhaps it's good that my credit is and will be shit for awhile. I will probably close all of my credit cards eventually and only have one. At one point, I had an available credit card line of over 90,000 dollars. I don't even want to say what my debt is up to at this point.
I don't have a plan yet.
However, instead of waiting for a bailout - I've been bailing myself out. It feels good. Next up, I am going to work on myself inside and out. It's painful to admit, but I suppose my failures in relationships have been directly related to my deliberate avoidance of success in life. I didn't want a woman to like me for my wallet, so I never really tried to fill it with anything.
I think now I'm sort of out to capture financial win. Setting goals is new. Striving for success is new. Promotion and recognition are new. Being part of society... new and interesting.
It's entirely possible that I exaggerate my tales of near death experiences, but I'm pretty sure I come pretty close more often than not. I've had two very recent brushes with death in two very stupid ways.
I've been sick this past week - ever since coming back from my weekend San Diego road trip. I hadn't been on a vacation in ages. I really needed this trip for my sanity. It was brief, but squishing the sand in my toes and feeling the ocean water lick my feet was pure bliss. I don't know what caused it, but I came back from vacation with a cold. I probably got it at the fucking mall on the way out of San Diego. Nordstrom Rack was full of Asian tourists with Sars and Swine Flu I'm sure.
So I had to go to work on my new shift sick as a dog. A new shift and a new location. I can't miss work or they will write me up or fire me or keep me on probation or something, so I toughed it out. On Wednesday, I was still sick and headed to work - this was probably the peak of my illness... I was turning on to a busy street near my house - just waiting for my chance to go.
This prick douchefuck in a lifted pick-up truck behind me starts pumping on his horn. I look back and then look down the street again at the cars coming at me at 50mph - if I try to go, I'll surely get nailed or at least force someone to slam on their brakes. He blasts the horn a few more times and I see his face in my rear view mouthing the words "fucking come on, you fucking so and so" followed by more angry honking.
My migraine wasn't really digging it and my patience was short, so I threw my e-brake on and got out of my car to yell "Stop fucking honking at me you motherfucking dick," or something of that nature. Without missing a beat, this dude throws his door open and hangs over the top of it yelling at me "You wanna go, pussy?!?" I could see this kid was a 'roid popper idiot in his early 20s who probably woke up wanting to fight someone.
I considered getting into a fight, but quickly realized I'm a 35 year old guy in average (at best) shape suffering from a migraine and the flu and a bad back. I wasn't scared or anything, in fact I was irritated enough that I had to talk myself out of a fight using logic - the thing that got me back in the car was the thought that I'd be late for work... Still, he yelled at me to get the fuck back in my car and something about me being a pussy.
I turned on to the street and he followed after me and passed me with his huge truck. I didn't bother checking to see if he was making angry face and flipping me off. I assume he was. I wasn't feeling the adrenaline rush I should've felt from almost being in a fight. Although part of me had flashes of running up to his stupid truck door and karate kicking it which would've pinned him between his door and truck like a stupid idiot. Also thought about getting my "club" - that thing to secure the steering wheel - and smashing his head in with it. It would be the only thing I've ever used it for.
Those thoughts were satisfaction enough really... the realization is that he probably would've beat my ass. I'm not a fighter.
So on Thursday night, I was still sick... I worked every day this week sick and by Thursday I was too exhausted to go get any food.
A few nights ago, a friend brought over my favorite salsa in the world from a restaurant on the outskirts of town. We shared some straight out of the jar and then I put it in the fridge for later when I wasn't sick so I could enjoy it more.
Thursday night, I decided to just eat some chips and salsa/cheese dip for dinner... sounds healthy, no? So I grab the jar of salsa from the fridge and dump some of it into a large cup. Then I open a can of frito lay jalapeno cheese dip and dump some on top and then mix it into a cheesy spicy dip sauce. Mmmmm.
I sit down in front of the television and start dippin chips. It tastes sorta funky. Like lemon/lime or something. It doesn't taste right. I keep eating because this salsa is tough to obtain and I didn't want to waste it. I figured it just didn't "go" with the cheese sauce. I ate until I was out of chips. There was still some dip left. I considered putting it in the fridge to save it, but decided it wasn't good enough to save so I washed the rest down the drain.
The next day, I woke up feeling fine. No longer sick really. It was a miraculous recovery. I go to the fridge to grab a soda before work and notice the special salsa behind the milk on the top shelf... I wondered how I got 2 jars of special salsa because I know my friend only brought me one. I looked at the jar in the door (same size jar) and my heart sank...
It was a jar of salsa from Fresh and Easy that was nearly 2 years old. My ex and I bought it and opened it and hated it so we closed it and put it in the fridge... I guess I need to clear out my fridge because this shit was moldy and old and gross. I ate moldy old salsa from Fresh and Easy. It was probably the penicillin in it that cured me of my illness... my body rejected the rest of it though over the next day or two. Ugh... I feel violated. It was like I raped my own esophagus with horrific foodstuffs.
Anyway - I'm sure somewhere in there I nearly killed myself once or twice. I'm a resilient dude apparently. I'm a survivor. Come get some, zombie apocalypse.
This story takes place during one crazy summer...
I had been seeing someone for awhile. Someone who already had a someone. In fact, her situation couldn't have been more fucked up (from my perspective of her as a prospective new girlfriend). A child with shared custody, living with her boyfriend, multiple cats, poor taste in music, and an odd tendency to correct everything you say. It was like a tick. Neural damage perhaps. Dropped as a baby. Insecurity.
When we met, she assured me she was on the outs with her current fella. I had no intention of getting involved anyway because I'm not interested in being part of some sordid love triangle. I especially didn't want to be the other man. Actually, there's really no good position to be in in this scenario. I've worn all three pairs of shoes - they all are very uncomfortable to walk in.
I have a propensity to do the right thing, so this sort of thing doesn't sit well with me. In fact, the only one of these positions I've been in more than once is the one where I'm the idiot getting cheated on. Cheating on someone else is something I did when I was very young - I was never able to keep it a secret either. I had to tell the other person. I think it was a way for me to end things. Being the other man makes me feel like a horrible person too, but there's a level of detachment that comes with it to help with the guilt. It's still a shitty feeling.
The only thing that made this acceptable to me was that she was approaching me. She found me. She instigated every meeting. She rationalized it for me whenever I questioned it... perhaps she was just rationalizing it for herself.
It started out as mutual attraction and quickly moved to flirtation and stolen taboo kisses which turned to hot passionate sex. An affair. It was actually a dirty kind of lustful sinning fun on a different level from standard acceptable unencumbered sex.
The feeling is probably similar to the one that Charlie Sheen gets when he fucks hookers. I mean, the man is motherfucking Charlie Sheen - he doesn't need to fuck hookers - he can have anyone he wants. It's the dirty secret part he likes.
Our affair went on and off and on for awhile. She promised to leave him. She started looking for another place to live. She would talk about fights they would have and how she can't take it anymore... then she would talk about how she can't really afford to leave. Along with our dirty sex came a bit of soap opera drama that kept it interesting when we weren't engaged in intercourse.
After awhile, it was clear she wasn't ready to leave this other man... neither financially nor emotionally. I mean, they had trips planned. Trips. Plus, she liked the house they lived in. It had a pool and a yard and was close to where she worked. I had a pool and a yard as well, but we couldn't just have her move in with me straight out of leaving another man. First of all, he would murder us both. Second, how could I ever trust her? She's a proven adulteress.
We said a few tearful final goodbyes in between caving in to our desires and fucking ourselves raw and practically cannibalizing each other. It was hot. Finally, we got the chance to spend an entire day together - to play house. Her boyfriend was visiting relatives in another State, and she had the house to herself. It's not cheating if they are in a different zip code, right?
It started out okay, but soon turned into bickering and aggravation. Couldn't agree on where to eat. Couldn't agree on what movie to watch. Couldn't agree on much of anything except that we were fighting a lot.
We nitpicked at each others flaws which glared at us through our sunglasses in the light of day. We had previously only seen each other in the middle of the night in the safety and shroud of darkness. What's there to argue about when you're laying in bed naked with the lights out?
At the end of our long day and night, we parted ways sweetly but impatiently. We had minimal contact over the next few days. We both kept ourselves busy with our lives. Then we decided to see each other again, but neither of us put in enough effort to make it actually happen.
She called me up and told me she didn't think she would ever be able to live with me. Not that this was totally our plan, but it was something that had never left the table as a possibility if we were able to free her from her current shackles and if we could somehow erase fear and doubt about each other given what we had been doing with each other behind everyone's backs.
She said she didn't think we would work as a couple. She said she saw too many red flags with me. She knew she couldn't deal with it in the long run. Red flags? Was she serious? She's an adulteress cheater who found me and sought me out... that's a huge fucking red flag that I had been ignoring this entire time. The irony of it all, and the nerve of her to call me out on my red flags. One of which was that I was acting annoyed at her constantly correcting everything I said. Another was that I corrected her on something in front of one of my friends which embarrassed her. And yet another was that I leave my socks on the floor.
I'm sorry, but men leave their socks on the floor. It's a fact of life. Fucking deal with it.
Our love was not meant to be in the end. We both moved on and said our bittersweet goodbyes. We resented each other just a little bit. I don't know what ever became of her relationship with that guy. I don't know if she ever told him or what. I never got beat up or stabbed, so perhaps not. Maybe she's forgotten about it by now.
This is what I think about when someone says they see red flags with me. Well, holy shit... red flags, eh? Better not try to get involved with me then. It could end up with us breaking up at some point. We wouldn't want that.
As a serial monogamist and as the child of parents who divorced after 30 years of marriage, I don't know that I believe in relationships that last forever. In fact, I'm sure none of them do. All relationships end at some point - either they break it off or someone dies or circumstances beyond their control part them... they make movies about it all the time.
Even though nothing lasts forever, that doesn't mean you shouldn't try it out. I mean, roller coaster rides are intense fun for a few minutes and then the cars come to a stop and you're back to where you started out and you have to go back to the end of the line again. People take drugs for a temporary high knowing full well that the feeling will soon end and leave them worse off. In this way, people can be like drugs.
People who say they see red flags are just making excuses. The reality is that they just don't want to bother. You've killed whatever buzz was there before to the point that they can easily just walk away from you. It's a meaningless statement. I see red flags in everything - big huge warning labels on everything fun. The best food is the worst for you. The funnest rides are the most dangerous. The best sex is the wrong kind. Red flags to me just indicate something is going to be more interesting. I'm gonna start seeking out red flags. Fuck it.
All of my favorite and most memorable relationships were with people who I knew were completely wrong for me from the beginning. One of the last girls I dated was perfect. Gorgeous, tall, smart, sweet, funny and with zero baggage. She was also fucking BOOOOOORRRRIINNNNGGGG. When she dumped me, I was relieved. In fact, if the relationship had gone on any longer, I would've cheated on her and told her about it just to get out of it with no chance of getting back into it (I'm exaggerating - I'm not a cheater).
We're all flawed human beings. We all do horrible shit. If you are perfect, then you're boring. If you don't have a few red flags waving over your head, then you're doing it wrong. And fuck everyone who dumped me over some red flags. You're not perfect enough to judge me in that way... glass houses and stone throwing and all of that. When you point out flaws in other people, you're really pointing them out in yourself... pointing a finger means there are 3 pointing back at you and all of that.