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Monday, January 31, 2005
gall bladder for
sale...cheap!
I've just been informed that my
unemployment application has been rejected. Apparently, I
didn't earn enough last year to qualify for unemployment. Of course, the
reason I didn't earn anything during this time was because I was
unemployed. So, to sum up. I'm not earning any money because I'm
unemployed, but because I'm unemployed and not earning any money, I'm
not making enough to be considered eligible to collect unemployment.
Now, if I get a job and make money, I'll then be earning enough to
collect...of course, I won't be eligible at this point because I'll no
longer be unemployed.
All said, I'm very close to selling off a few organs in order to make
ends meet. Do I really need both lungs and kidneys? I think not...and
I'm planning to let these go first.
Friday, January 28, 2005
religion...it's a group
thing
My recent unemployment has
provided me with ample amounts of time. And with this newly acquired
time, I called Cindy, an old friend who had a day off this week, and we decided
to meet for lunch.
At the restaurant, pleasantries were exchanged. I told her that it was
good to see her again. She asked how long it had been. I said too long.
She said that I was looking good, and we sat down to eat. Being the good
friend that I am, I didn’t even play the ‘no work, no money’ card in the
hopes of getting a free lunch out of her. I paid my own way, despite the
cries for mercy from my wallet.
So we sat, and Cindy mentioned that she had read the book The DaVinci Code. Cindy has
always been just a little bit behind the pop culture curve…clearly
missing the heavy hype surrounding the book that occurred several months
ago and only having it now make a blip on her ‘hot list’ radar. Granted,
I really didn’t want to get into a whole religious discussion with her,
especially considering that this was the same lady who dabbled with the
whole Wiccan thing and was currently exploring ‘alternative’ churches
with her husband and six year old son...the same boy who almost got bit by a snake
that was passed to him, but stopped crying when the communal ‘Welch’s
grape juice’ was blessed and passed around. But being the incredibly
great friend that I am, I figured
that I’d indulge her in some religious talk.
“You know,” she told me, “the whole point of that book, and the only
thing that really spoke to me and made me think, was that scene where
that group of people were having ritualistic sex in the basement. I
mean, I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and the whole idea of group
sex in the form of a ritual or religious experience is really intriguing
to me…not that I would necessarily do this, but then again I might, I
just don’t want people judging me on this, and that’s why I haven’t told
anybody but you because I can just talk to you about this kind of thing,
you know? So I found on the internet this group of people in West
Virginia that get together a few times a week and have this big orgy,
but they time it according to the phases of the moon, like, when it’s
nearing a full moon they have lots of sex, and as the moon ebbs, they
have less and less. Now, I’m not sure if I’d jump in and have sex with
them or if I’d just watch, or what I’d do, but I want to see what form
this experience will take for me. I’ve talked to my husband, and he’s
willing to go to, so it’ll be interesting to see where this all leads,
don’t you think?”
I set my fork back down on my plate, the food having never actually made
it into my mouth, and started babbling about that kid who sold his
forehead as advertising space on ebay for about $40,000 bucks and how I
needed a stupid idea like that myself. “Just think of all the sex that
kind of money could buy,” I told her.
After the meal, upon exiting the restaurant and heading toward our
separate cars, she told me again how good I looked and that I was ‘quite
the dish’. And while I rarely consider myself to be dish-worthy…at best,
I can perhaps reach the ‘appetizer’ phase, but even this doesn’t happen
often…I was flattered and thanked her. And it didn’t even hit me until I
was on the road and driving home that perhaps all of this flattery was
meant to recruit me for her religious sexual orgy that she seemed so
intent on trying out.
And while I’m a fan of sex, and could even accept the whole married
women sex and orgy sex, I draw the line at mixing sex with religion.
Call it a Catholic thing if you will, but hearing people scream out,
‘Can I hear an Amen!’ while they’re about to reach orgasm would really
put a damper on the mood for me.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
the end
Exactly one week ago today, at
precisely 5:00, I officially became one of the unemployed. My time spent
at Justifacts abruptly came to an end. The dimwit old hag that owns the place
called me into her office and explained to me that business was slow and
that she was eliminating my position.
True, business was slow for the Account Manager which I was working
under…namely because the old hag kept taking her client load and giving
them to Byron, her star employee. I
realize that the real decision to get rid of me was because she disliked
me. I hated the old lady and had actually gone five weeks without
looking her in the eye, a record which I was quite proud of. She,
however, being the micromanaging control freak that she is, demands
worship and fear from the people she hires, so avoidance of eye-contact
does not make for stellar employees in her book. In any event, I am no
longer receiving a paycheck. Or benefits. Which has combined to create
an odd mixture of feelings. You see, on the one hand, I’m quite glad to
be gone. Of course, the whole money thing then becomes a large problem.
And while I’m eligible for unemployment, I’ll only be receiving a
percentage of what I was earning there. So while I was working for
peanuts, now I’ll be earning only a fraction of that peanut.
I heard from a co-worker that, the very next day, the slimeball office
manager, Robin, told one of the girls there that she’d soon be
getting a ‘promotion’, and that the plan was to ‘re-create’ my position
in a few weeks and give the job to her.
So I have a new secret fantasy…and what’s funny about secret fantasies
is how they change depending on your situation. When I had a job, my
secret fantasies usually included gallons of whipped cream, a roomful of
Playboy bunnies, and Sarah Michelle Gellar. Now, however, I’ve had to readjust
this fantasy. I would now like to somehow find out that this ‘position
elimination / re-creation’ violates some type of labor law, I sue the
old bitch, and effectively bankrupt the company. I know, though, that
this will never happen.
So I turn to my fall-back fantasy, which is that one afternoon, while
the old hag and the office manager are sipping their eye-of-newt brew in
the office, a large, smoldering asteroid lands squarely upon them,
instantly killing them both and sending them directly to hell, no
passing Go, no collecting $200.
I then race over to my ex-place of business and dance, gleefully, around
their charred remains. So while others sleep at night dreaming of
lottery winnings that will be spent on flashy sports cars, and setting
world records in the Olympics, I will be spitting upon the graves of two
very despicable people.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
weak minded
I succumbed to the proposition of being set up on a blind
date last week. I tend to be picky, but this time, I thought, I
would make a real effort to like the girl I was being set up with...a
girl, who my friend told me, had a 'great personality'. I was determined
to make a real attempt to like this woman, whoever she might be. It's
all about mind over matter I told myself.
I showered with great precision, even making sure to soap up behind my
ears and in between my toes...two spots that haven't been thoroughly
scrubbed since I was five. I gave myself an extra close shave. I
deodorized, moisturized, gelled, brushed, and gargled.
I waited in the lobby and watched as different women approached the
door, until finally I spotted a single girl making her way from the
parking lot to the restaurant entrance. As she neared, I
found myself silently thinking, 'please, don't be my date...please, don't be my date'...but she
was my date. So we sat.
I stared across the table at her, determined
that I could come to find her charming and attractive...the way her chins bounced and billowed
upon her neck, the peculiar beak-like shape of her nose, the dry and
outdated mass of hair which sat atop her head. Perhaps, if I tried, I
could come to find these traits endearing...it's all about mind over
matter, I told myself yet again.
Our waitress approached the table. And as I ordered my dinner, I found myself
wishing that it was her sitting across from me rather than my date. It was
at this point that I had to admit defeat. Alas, my powers of mind
control just aren't strong enough.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
renew now for additional
savings
While some of us awake at the
crack of dawn and drag ourselves to jobs that we hate, others have the
luxury of sleeping until noon, enjoying their second or third cup of
coffee while still in their pajamas, and catching up on all their
daytime soap operas. A friend of mine is one of those people in the
latter category. Of course, lack of money persuaded her to actually set
her alarm and get up early one morning this week to head off for a job
interview.
She applied to a telemarketing company for a 'Magazine Renewal
Specialist' position, and was offered the job on the spot. And while
she admitted that she had hit rock bottom by actually accepting a
telemarketing job, luxuries like 'food' were becoming hard to purchase.
So she reported to work the next day to complete her mandatory training.
She was ushered into a room with about a dozen other new employees.
Their trainer, a middle aged Japanese man named Yan, began his speech
about the company and what their daily responsibilities would be, when
she pulled out a pen to jot down a few notes. It was at this point that
Yan abruptly stopped.
"Oh no, no, no, no...There are no pens or pencils allowed here.
Everything needed is on computer screen. No need to write." And he
swept up the aisle and confiscated her pen. Thinking that 'pens'
somehow breached a confidentiality restriction, she sat and listened
attentively...trying to commit everything to memory since she wouldn't
have any notes that she could refer to later.
After about half an hour, Yan decided that a break was in order, and he
took this chance to discuss 'break time' procedures with the group of
trainees.
"Breaks all at 10:30 and last 10 minutes. Whole office goes together at
same time. You allowed in main hallway, but not outside office. Must
stay in hallway. If need to use bathroom, you must get key card from
manager."
She later found out that these guidelines were in place because the
company employed several work-release people from the county jail.
After carefully weighing this new information, she decided that this
would be her first and last day at work.
"You know," she later told me, "it wasn't even so much the fact that I'd
be working with convicts, but more that my health insurance wouldn't
kick in for 60 days. If someone decided to file down their mouse
or something and then stab me with it, I wouldn't be covered for the
hospital visit that I'd need!"
So it appears that she'll continue to be sleeping in late and strapped
for cash. But at least she won't have any gaping flesh wounds to
contend with.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
the quest for beauty is
ageless
- Years ago, while
completing my student teaching in a first grade classroom, I was
privileged enough to get the classroom that had a bathroom connected
to it. With a built in bathroom, I was excused from the task of having
to round up twenty-some first graders and venture out into the hallway
in order for them to relieve their tiny bladders.
Of course, bathrooms in the classroom also created problems, which I
discovered one day when water began seeping out from underneath the
bathroom door because one of the students decided to see what would
occur when a pencil was flushed down the toilet.
One afternoon I noticed an odd trend developing. It appeared that the
bathroom had become the 'hip' spot to be, and every little girl in the
class, one right after the other, needed to use that bathroom. No
sooner would one walk out than another little hand would fly into the
air and the next little girl would head inside. Even when considering
the miniscule size of these tiny, first grader sized bladders...which
rarely holds more than dixie cup full of liquid...my suspicions were
aroused.
The fifth consecutive girl had been inside the bathroom for close to
five minutes...which was an eternity by six year old standards...so I
walked over, gave a knock, and opened the door to find a little first
grader named Rachel sitting in the sink.
She was staring into the mirror, and holding a tiny little pink Mike &
Ike candy which she was ever so carefully applying onto her lips,
leaving a sugary pink hue behind. Upon looking out over the classroom,
I realized that every single little girl had the same shade of sugary
pink color upon their lips...all in partial disrepair at this point,
because the temptation to sit and lick off sugary pink lipstick is,
apparently, very great indeed...which meant that every few minutes a
trip to the bathroom was needed to reapply.
Needless to say, bathroom trips were restricted the rest of the day to
bladder bursting emergencies only. And candy make-up was hereby banned
during classroom time. Non-educational reasons aside, candy make-up is
simply too impractical.
Besides, isn't this why cherry flavored Chapstick was invented?
-
- Saturday, January 8,
2005
- the absent dinner
guest
-
- I went to dinner with a
couple of friends last night, one of whom, Bob, is an ex-roommate of
mine. Bob is also one of several reasons why I will never again
live with roommates. Among some of his less than endearing
qualities were his uncanny ability to locate food or drink, no matter
how well hidden, and devour them, his skill at blocking virtually any
toilet on Earth regardless of its suction capabilities, and his
frequent 'forgetfulness' when it came to carrying a wallet...though
this has less to do with 'forgetfulness' than it does with 'cheapskatedness'.
-
- And, true to form, as the
three of us headed into the new Chinese restaurant that had opened up
down the block, Bob announced "Gee guys, it seems that I forgot to
bring my wallet along."
-
- We approached the counter,
studying the pictorial menu choices which adorned the wall behind the
cash register, and I told Bob that we'd spot him the money and he
could pay us back later that evening.
-
- "No I won't," Bob said,
looking me straight in the eye.
-
- "Well then Bob, I hope you
enjoy your glass of water for dinner," I told him.
-
- Soon after, we headed to
our table, food in hand. I had ordered the General Tso's Chicken with
rice, my friend Randy had opted for the Sweet and Sour pork, and Bob sat
down with his glass of water.
-
- Bob, having ordered the
only thing that his dinner finances could afford, sat and stared as
those of us with food began to eat. Upon realizing that no food
was going to be offered to him, he expanded his food gazing to another
diner...a young lady who was reading the paper and trying to enjoy her
lo mein noodles.
-
- After a few minutes of
having her noodles ogled, she quickly grabbed a take out box and left.
Which was unfortunate, because it meant that Bob's attention returned
to the table at which he sat. Though, by this time, I had
finished my meal, leaving behind some uneaten rice. I tossed my
napkin onto my plate and pushed back from the table when Bob asked,
"hey, are you done with that rice?"
-
- "Sure Bob, it's all
yours," I told him. He picked up the discarded napkin, cleaned
my plate for me, and then helped himself to the one remaining piece of
pork on Randy's plate.
-
- As we left the restaurant
and made our way through the parking lot, Bob said, "well guys, this
has been fun. We'll have to do it again next week."
-
- "There's a good Italian
place up the road," Randy mentioned.
-
- "Well Italian it is!" Bob
said, "and I'll be sure to remember my wallet next time!"
-
- Though we all knew that
this was a lie and that Bob's wallet will be unable to attend once
again.
-
- I'm just hoping that the
Italian restaurant has a good selection of water on tap.
-
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- Wednesday, January 5,
2005
- falling off the
charts
-
- I'm not sure if it's
because I tend to get bored easily, having grown up in the MTV
generation where I'm used to a lot of glitz and constant stimulation,
provided in easily digestible three minute segments, but people tend
to bore and annoy me after a while. And by people, I mean everyone.
I enter into friendships well aware that the person I've become close
to comes with an expiration date that, when reached, will mean that
they will be downgraded to 'casual acquaintance' and then dropped
completely...all of which probably explains why I'm single.
One co-worker that I'm friends with has been grating on my nerves
lately and is rapidly approaching this expiration date. Today, during
our lunch break, she was talking about her cell phone. She's owned her current
phone
for a year and feels that a newer model, with photo capabilities and a
wider variety of musical ring choices, is just what she needs.
"You know, there were 80 people that I put in my saved numbers list
when I got this phone last year," she told me, "and looking through it the other day
I realized that I don't even like any of these people anymore! I
haven't called any of them in months and really have no desire to even
see any of them again. Isn't that sad?"
I just looked at her and nodded, knowing exactly how she felt.
-
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- Saturday, January 1,
2005
- my kind of crowd
-
- As a single guy, I
consider myself to be fairly well versed on the popular 'single
person' conversation topics. I can comment, with eloquence, on the sad
state of the modern dating scene, television, music, sports, and can
even throw in a quip or two about religion or politics if the
situation requires it. This being said, as I set off for my friend's
New Year's Eve party last night, I felt that I was pretty well armed
in my arsenal of speaking points.
Upon arriving, I realized that most of the other people at the party
were married and had children. I also realized that conversation
topics mutate into something else altogether with this demographic.
I sat with my hors d'oeuvres in hand and was about to pop a tasty
looking crab puff into my mouth when two young mothers sitting nearby began
discussing breast milk. One had just had a baby, and was relating the
tale of her child's eating habits and how happy she was that her son had not started teething, so
as not to have her nipple nipped on. Other stories followed about
the benefits of freezing breast milk, public displays of breast
popping suckage, and how old each of their children were when they
stopped partaking of teat treats. My response to all of this was to
down my glass of wine, head into the kitchen, and refill.
I situated myself in a different room near a few older couples whose
children were well past those breast feeding days. I found a seat,
placed my second glass of wine down, and felt confident that images of
breast milk would not detract from the stuffed mushroom that I was
about to eat. No sooner had I sat when Lynn began telling a
story concerning her husband Frank's recent rectal examination. I
grabbed my glass and plate of food and sped back out of the room.
Plate in hand, I followed the sounds of video game play into the
basement game room. I found a place on the floor to sit down and found that
I was surrounded by the kids of all the party goers. I basked in the
sounds of Playstation 2 and conversations that centered around
the toys they got for Christmas and their favorite Pokemon character
and realized that I had finally found the crowd that I best fit in
with.
Did this imply that I wasn't yet ready to shoulder the demands of
becoming a responsible adult, I wondered? I wasn't certain, but at least I was able to eat in peace.
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