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… It’s gotta be a little bit more pleasant than this.

I’m angry. Really angry. I get that way any time I have to take off of school or work due to something like pain or fatigue. Maybe not the most productive way to deal with it, but it’s what I do.

Let me start by saying I don’t like when I am not in control. Thus, this whole gastroparesis thing is making me very, very upset. I’m currently stuck taking a half day off from work to try to harangue my specialist into giving me a test in the vain hopes that a definitive diagnosis, rather than just a diagnosis of exclusion, will give me some leverage at work if push comes to shove and they ask me why my attendance sucks. I’m really hoping that this stupid fucking thing doesn’t cripple me to the point I need something like disability, but if it keeps fucking up my job, I may have to look into that.

I’m upset, I’m frustrated, and some other people in a similar situation might start looking for strength on high. This is one of the few times I wish I had some sort of faith, rather than agnosticism leaning toward atheism. I wish I had some comfort, even if it was a lie. I used to have faith in myself, and that’s failing as my body seems to be failing me.

My bad days are farther apart now, but they’re still REALLY bad when they occur, and I’m still losing weight. I can only keep that up for so long, guys. There’s not much on me to lose. I hate the idea of having a scale in the house, but it may be the only option I have to see just how fucked I am– I’ve already lost ten pounds due to this thing. Gotta say– if any of you need a diet program, try gastroparesis. You’ll dread eating so much that killing yourself sounds more pleasant.

I’m trying to upbeat. Believe me, I’m trying. This is upbeat for me. Angry and seething, but upbeat. If I was being emo, I’d post choice lyrics or quotes on Twitter and go stare at a wall in my room and do nothing. I’m trying to convince myself that this is just a bad flare up– but at the same time, I recognize I need to be prepared for this to happen in the future, along with all my other various little sicknesses I always seem to have. I’m staring at my future and wondering if I can even work a full time job like a normal person. What the hell are my options then? I always wanted to be a writer. Maybe that’s a good thing because maybe that’s my only option. Something where I can work from home and at my leisure. Something where I can go and curl up in the bathroom at a moment’s notice if need be, then resume work afterward without any penalty.

As of right now, my status is that of a Black Parade— I’ll carry on. If there’s one thing I share in common with my favorite wizard, Harry Dresden, it’s that I’m too goddamn stubborn to give up without one hell of a fight and taking at least a few people down with me in the process.

Thank you for letting me process. Thank you for dropping by. I know things can get depressing as shit around here some days, and that ain’t how most people want to spend their time.

Fuck this shit right in the damned ear. I’m finding a hack to get around it and have as normal a life as I can, even if I have to strangle a gastroenterologist to do it.

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Something happens when you hit twenty. Suddenly (or perhaps not so suddenly, if you’re female) you have to invite certain people to certain events in an effort to “keep peace.”

This particular post is inspired by the same lovely woman that is allowing me to be maid of honor in her wedding, and the social trials she seems to be facing. Of course, this entire dance is probably nothing new to anyone that plans any type of party surrounding a life event, be it a wedding, a baby shower, or a funeral. There are certain people that have to be invited.
Why? Because otherwise they will make life hell for whoever the person holding the event is. It could be through harassing phone calls, gossip, badmouthing, or plain old shunning.

Now, my personal thought on all of this is: So what if they throw a fit? If they’re far enough away from you socially that you barely see them, let them cry, wail, throw things, and yell at you. What the hell are they going to do? And if they pass into harassment territory, just call the cops. That’s what they’re there for, among other civic duty-ish sorts of things. Not only can they solve murders, they can also get that one crazy bitch to stop calling you via a threat to be tossed in jail.*

The problem with my solution, however practical it may be, is that it pays no heed to politics. None at all. For my friend, though, I’m trying to take a very Tudor-esqe stance and help her out in this game of political chess and why she should play politics.

Reason #1: It’s easier.

Much like my way out of relationships that involves increasingly ignoring contact to avoid drama, this keeps fits from being thrown either outside of or even AT the wedding by someone that turns up uninvited simply to make their perceived insult known.
Downside: If invite Geoffry that squeezes your ass and insists you call him Uncle G to your wedding to keep the peace, you’re in for an evening of ass groping and awkwardness. I’m of the opinion your wedding should be a happy occasion, not something you dread because you have to make small talk with people you barely know and who really don’t give a shit about you, they just wanted an invitation because they want free food and an open bar.

Reason #2: It keeps peace with the people you DO want to invite.

This one seems to have a great deal to do with parents in most weddings. “But you HAVE to invite your Aunt’s half-sister’s uncle’s pet gold fish on your father’s side! She’ll never let us hear the end of it if you don’t!”

Downside: First off, the simple fact that people take the approach of “If you make this person miffed, they’ll take it out on me, so I’ll take it out on you and make you regret ever causing me problems by upsetting them!” is just a bloody sinister, evil way to operate. Unfortunately, it is also a very common one in many families. The simple fact that YOU are held responsible for another grown adult’s reaction to something as little as a party invitation is absurd. If you were killing their dog, maybe I could understand. But an invite? My god, don’t you people have better things to do with your lives than want to stick your nose in everyone’s lives? You don’t even know the bridal couple, but you want to be invited because you know the bride’s mother? Go fuck yourself. It’s not the mother of the bride’s wedding. The bride can invite whoever she fucking pleases.

Those of you that have had your morning or afternoon coffee may notice that reason #2 is really just a subset of reason #1. That’s how far I’m having to reach for this. I can think of no better reason other than “it’s easier to go and be awkward at YOUR OWN WEDDING than deal with the fallout of self centered children in adult bodies.

I don’t get what happened to the whole concept of politeness. I’m supposed to invite YOU to be polite, but you have no obligation to me what so ever to not act like a spoiled child if you’re not invited? And if I DO invite you, you also have no obligation to behave yourself, not grope my ass, hit on my bridesmaids, and get drunk off your ass? What the fuck is this shit?! Why do I have to be the grown up and keep a stiff upper lip against the awkward, but you can throw tantrums and act like a classless jackass?!

I don’t get it. I really don’t. I have this old fashioned notion that the idea of politeness should go both ways.

I’m just going to stop here. Not only do I have other things I need to be doing, but if I keep going, I’ll start on one of my favorite wedding pet peeves: the open bar. Let’s leave it at a short post, rather than a ten page rant, shall we?

… and I Feel Good.

Self Challenge: Blog Post in 10 Minutes, including editing.

So, have any of you ever had an object in your house you just associate with negativity? Maybe it’s a gift from the mother in law you hate, or the picture your roommate has of your ex-boyfriend because they’re still friends with them. Maybe it’s a memento of a past you don’t want to remember.

I killed one of those today. Man, does it feel good.

Okay, so, I was finishing up building a shelving unit for DVDs, organizing DVDs, and generally trying to organize shit. I came across an old journal from high school. A journal in which I was dating “the fag” as he has been so named by my friends, due to the fact that, well, he has to be gay. How do I know this, you ask? He refused a blow job. Twice. Apparently, the rule is that you’re gay if you do that.

Hey, I didn’t make the rule, don’t look at me. My friends looked it up in their copies of the man handbook.

In any case, I found this journal. This journal makes me generally pissed every time I see it. I didn’t like who I was then– the fucker really didn’t like that my cock was bigger than his in almost every aspect, save in the fact he actually had one. I maintain I’m more a man than he shall ever be– I can fix my own shit and take responsibilities for my actions without whining to my mom, AND I can keep a job. Fuck him in the face.

So, while I was unwisely head-bobbing to Ke$ha and rotting my brain (goddamn you, Lora) I stared at that journal.

I also stared at the tool kit that held an X-acto knife.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if those two things met?

So, I picked up the journal and hacked and slashed my way through it. I had promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t destroy records of my writing, no matter how shitty, but I don’t fucking care. I hate that fucking journal, I hate who I was when I was with him, I love who I am now, even if I do have more broken circuits than a R.O.B that was found at a garage sale for twenty-five cents. Fuck him, fuck the past, and fuck the promise I made in the past. I didn’t want that trash in my goddamned house, not with my new life and my new girlfriend. Fuck that past self. Fuck her in the face.

I wanted to burn the pages, but I can’t do that in my apartment due to fire code. I also don’t have a fire proof bucket. So, I took it to the sink and soaked that wad of papers to a mess of smeared writing, balled it up and threw it in the bathroom trash. I then took the bathroom trash and hurled it into the dumpster outside of my apartment.

That was about ten minutes ago now. I still want to throw my head back and cackle. It feels great to finally not have that in the apartment, and to not have any more ties to that jackoff what so ever.

I’m not sure what I’m going to use the rest of the journal for. There were an awful lot of blank pages. I might do something with it, I might trash the whole thing. I don’t really know. I may fill it with lesbian erotica, which would be hilariously fitting. Or gay erotica. Either, really.

All I know is I feel a lot lighter, and now it doesn’t piss me off to see that journal. Not as much. Almost not at all. The only thing that’s upsetting me now is wondering why the hell I didn’t do that sooner.

It’s… it’s… ALLLIIIVVVE!

Yes, I’m not dead. No, you can’t have my vast collection of art books and geekery.

What the fuck have I been doing? What kind of a question is that?! Things, obviously.

A little update on what’s been going on: I have my first real, adult, 9 hour a day including lunch, job. It’s been taking its toll, lemme tell ya. If I didn’t like working with technology, I’d be fucked. Add on that a flare up of my stomach being a bitch, a sinus/ear infection and a course of antibiotics, and my endometriosis trying to kill me. And Viktor damaging/destroying things and generally being a pain in the balls. Not good. Thus, the writing juices, they have not been a flowin’.

The good news: Now I’m out of training for my job and trying to cram my brain full of information visually and aurally, so there’s probably going to be a little more free space in my brain. I’ll be learning by doing from here on out, which has always been a lot easier for me. So, I’d like to ask you all a question:

What do you want to see here?

Yes, it’s a cheap plea for things to write about, but I’m pretty sure you all don’t want to hear about what’s been fascinating me lately. Not a lot of people are interested in The Divine Comedy and listening to me go “Dante, what the shit did… How did you come up with some of this nonsense?” or being amused to find out that one can make “figs” with a fist and it is an obscenity rather similar to flipping someone off. Or my musing upon a point of a friend from college that The Divine Comedy is just one big gay love note to Virgil from Dante.

But, hell, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe ranting on classical literature is something that would amuse you lot. I’m going to go through my draft posts and see if there’s anything worth salvaging, and see what I can do to maybe write on two of my favorite topics at the same time: Playboy Bunnies and Geisha.

Keep out a watchful eye, leave me a note below if you want to see my fucked up take on something, and I promise things should be in order here again soon. Look out for a new post in the coming week of SOME sort.

So, I found this in the news: The Iranian Women’s Soccer team has been banned from competing in the Olympics for failing to adhere to the dress code set down by FIFA, the Fédération Internationale de Football Association. Or, for us Yanks, the International Federation of Association Football.

Since nobody clicks links on blogs, here’s a quick sum-up: The Iranian Women’s team is required by Iranian law to be covered from hair/neck down to the feet “according to the state’s interpretation of Shiite Islamic tenets,” according to the Washington Post. FIFA has banned anything that goes around the player’s neck (including neck warmers) from being worn during games for safety reasons that I REALLY hope I don’t have to explain to you. (However, in case I do, here you are: Getting yanked backwards by the neck is BAD. If done hard enough, your neck could break. What does that result in? Paralysis or death. these are the exact same reasons you weren’t allowed to wear necklaces in PE as a kid.)

The Iranian women’s team re-designed headscarves for themselves that fit tightly around the head and neck, reducing the chance of them getting caught during a game. However, they still go AROUND the neck. Thus, FIFA said “Sorry, but it’s against regulations. It’s a safety hazard. You can’t play.” Seems simple enough, eh?

Well, apparently not. People are ALL up in arms that it’s religious discrimination, or discrimination against Iranians, that it’s a stupid rule to impose Western ways upon players, etc. No, people, it’s not. It’s safety. NO ONE can wear anything around their neck. Period. It doesn’t matter what religion you are, what country you’re from, or what sex you are, it’s a safety issue, and FIFA wants all the players to not be injured unnecessarily during games. What we have here is a clear case of “BUT I’M SPECIAL,” which crops up all too often in this world of ours.

Religion is not a trump card to any rule, or something to receive special treatment over, people. And while I’m at it, neither is being gay, a minority, having tits, having a disability, or having blonde hair. This is especially true in this case– this is a safety issue. This is not a “this isn’t allowed because I say so” issue.

“But it isn’t fair!”

No, in this case it is. Being fair is applying the same rule to everyone, no matter what, without bias or favoritism. And while we’re on the subject of what’s fair and what isn’t, I’m going to make myself grievously unpopular. Ready?

Affirmative action is not fair. It is bullshit. It is bullshit, hypocrisy, and idiocy all rolled into one.

“But without it, people who might otherwise not be hired because of prejudice wouldn’t be hired!”

You know what? If it’s a private business, that’s their priority. If they only want to hired big breasted Caucasian women with green eyes and red hair, they can do that. If they want to have a penis size requirement, fine. I really don’t give a fuck. If you don’t want to hire me because I’m a woman, that’s fine. I don’t want to work for you anyway. If someone does not want you there, they will find a way to make your life hell, no matter how many laws the government tries to put in place to prevent it. They can force you to quit by cutting your hours, by making your job unnecessarily difficult, you name it. If you can’t somehow prove they did it, they’ll get away with it. That may not be fair, but that’s the way things are. The world is not fair. You know what else isn’t fair?

Expecting to be hired because of your chromosomes instead of your qualifications.

It’s not fair when a straight man is hired simply because he’s straight, and it’s not fair when a gay man is hired simply because he’s gay. In my tiny ideal world, we would all be resumes with no names, just numbers, when we go into the job pool. Then the employers would only see what we’d done, what we could do, and how well we were qualified. We wouldn’t be kicked out of the interviewing process because we have a nose ring, and we wouldn’t be kept in the process because we fit some “requirement” for a percentage of staff that has to have brown hair, regardless if they are qualified or not. Of course, this doesn’t take care of the problem of discrimination once you’re hired, but at least it takes the bullshit out of the hiring process that is supposedly to make things “fair” when it actually just rigs it against certain people, which is supposedly what it was going to fix. Demanding equal treatment and then turning around and demanding special treatment because of some slight against you, real or imagined, is hypocrisy.

It seems what fairness actually is has been skewed in the present society, very possibly due to the attitude I discovered in my “Don’t Yell at Me, I’m Organizationally Disabled” post. Everyone else should be expected to be able to meet the expectations or shut up, but they should be given special pardon from such rigorous standards because they’re ADD when their Playstation is too close by. That sort of thing. It comes from knowing your weaknesses and assuming that no one else has any, or, conversely, knowing your strengths and assuming everyone else is just lazy and/or weak. It also comes from assuming the most evil motivation possible for every single slight against you and/or something you support. That’s how suddenly this ruling by FIFA has nothing to do with safety, it’s all about hating on Islam. It doesn’t matter why the ruling was actually made, the worst way it could be construed is that it was put into place to discriminate against anyone wearing a headscarf. Or a scarf. Or a necklace. Or anything that goes around the neck. It’s all because the people in charge are mean, hateful people that make arbitrary rules. That whole safety thing? Psh. Injuries never happen in sports! They made that up!

Bah.

Perhaps I’m just a horrible, terrible person that is rationalizing hate. Those that trip across this blog that vehemently oppose the Iranian women’s team being disqualified and support affirmative action may very well think so. Or on the other side, perhaps I’m being far too idealistic, and evil, evil shadows are lurking everywhere waiting to fuck me over for arbitrary reasons, so I should always assume the worst and protect myself accordingly. On one side I have people who think they’re entitled to something because they’re different, and on the other people who think they’re being fucked over because they’re different.

They can have fun fighting over which philosophy is correct. When so much of the world is honestly random chance, there’s not much point, but whatever gets you to sleep at night. However, whatever you do, don’t take your entitlement or paranoia and call catering to either being “fair.”

Here’s a few things that other people (and me, as far as that goes) seem not to realize/ignore/be ignorant of, all in the name of education. You’re welcome.

*Children are money holes. Bottomless money holes. No, really. They are. You get nothing back (at least in the monetary sense) for all that money you put in. Stop looking at me like a jackass when I tell you that if you want to throw your money away, go on a vacation or something.

*Most people believe they are the exception to every rule there is. Accept that you will have to fight against this all your damned life and be done with it.

*As much as the customers will try to play to your sympathies and be “nice” to you, they are out for every goddamn dollar they can fuck you and your business out of. Don’t give shit away for free unless there’s a good reason for it. A contrived sob story is not a good reason.

*There are scammers, phishers, and general assholes everywhere, in every job, in every position, etc. The whole world isn’t evil, but any time someone tries to give you something for nothing, be very, very suspicious.

*Innocence is not a virtue. Experience is. Innocence is just a nice word for ignorance.

*Midwesterners like to tout themselves as the nicest ol’ people there ever dadgummet was placed on the earth, because they ain’t like them big city folk. Bullshit. They’re not anywhere near as nice as they want you to believe. I’ve met kinder people in San Diego and New York. Midwesterners are only nice to you if you’re EXACTLY like them, or from the Midwest by birth. As soon as they run into something they don’t understand, they get very skittish and angry very quickly.

*Men are not stupid and women are not crazy, no matter how much I commonly throw around both those terms in jest. They just think differently. The frigging wiring is totally different. One’s a super computer that can keep whirring for hours and hours encrypting and decrypting. The other is a high tech tank that may not be able to process mass amounts of data at a time, but it is fuck effective at making practical use of the data it IS processing at any given time.

*A vagina does not make a woman and a penis does not make a man.

*Cats and dogs are about equal, it just depends on what you like. So stop making jokes about eating my cat unless you want me to make jokes about taking your dog out behind the shed. Doesn’t feel so great, does it?

*My sense of humor is self-deprecating. That doesn’t make it okay for you to mock me.

*If you’re in training, sit down and shut the fuck up. You’re not the smartest one there. Stop pretending to know better than the instructor unless you can get up and teach the entire class yourself and answer every question perfectly. No one knows everything. Stop taking an instructor looking up an answer as a sign of weakness.

*Own up to your fuck ups and people will generally respect you more. The ones that don’t are the ones that refuse to take ownership of their screw ups and will blame them on you later.

*Just because someone is eating small meals/salads/healthful foods does not mean they’re trying to lose weight, and it definitely doesn’t mean you should comment on what they’re eating. Maybe they just like the salad, or maybe it’s what agrees with their system more than your burger and fries.

*Genetics influence a fuck lot of things, even if it is to a minute degree. Nothing is entirely learned. However, nothing is entirely genetics either.

*Certain people are not meant to do certain things. I’ll never be a beautiful singer. That’s okay. You really don’t have to be awesome at everything at once.

*Nothing is ever “just because” in the human mind, be it a way of thinking, a preference, or a mental illness. There’s always a reason for it. We just may not know it yet.

*In the words of the smartest person I know: “Something to remember always when dealing with other people: they are not you.”

Everyone feeling good? Educated, or at least reminded of a few things? Good.

Post a Week 2011

I haven’t been having much of a problem making my post a week goal, which has surprised me. Usually I have some angry tirade I can go on, but today, I don’t have a lot. My problem from work today is resolved, the asshole I encountered on the way home is in the past and I’m trying to just let it go. Even if I was dwelling on it, there’s not much that can be said other than “people are assholes.”

This Post a Week thing has actually be really beneficial for me in a lot of ways– I never quite realized how relaxing it was to have to pick something each week and go on a ramble about it. It clears up a ridiculous amount of space in my head that would otherwise be taken up with going over a problem or irritation repeatedly.

So, I’d just like to thank you folk that read this blog for wandering by and reading my rambles, and assure you that the ranting and raving will resume next week.

So, I started a new job and I’m in training. I love the job. I play with tech, my supervisors are funny, it is GREAT. I’m not here to complain about the job. No, people have gone and annoyed the shit out of me, and here’s why:

So, you all have had a part time job before, right? They hold your pay the first two to three weeks, depending on when in the billing cycle you were hired. So, when you’re paid, you’re paid for the work you did two weeks ago, not the work you’re currently doing. Yes, I realize that’s not exactly how it goes, but bear with me here. Okay, now take into account that even most FULL TIME jobs have a delayed pay schedule like this. I think we can all agree that if you’ve ever had a job, you know about this. Good? Good.

There are three girls that were ranting and raving and bitching and moaning about not getting paid for three weeks. This was brand new news to them. This tells me they have never had a fucking job.

I’m in a room full of, for the most part, 20+ adults, if not 30+ adults. These girls fall into this category. They’re in college. Judging by the shit they wear, the purses they were carrying, and the shit they buy, they’re not hurting for money. Okay, fine, so they haven’t had a job before. Fucking fine. I still don’t think your ass should be sitting in these seats without any customer service experience (since you’ve never had a job, you know, and this is a fucking call center), but whatever.

Then one of them says she has a scholarship. Such a scholarship that MY FUCKING SCHOOL PAYS FOR HER FUCKING PHONE WITH THESE FUCKING SCHOLARSHIPS because she has her phone bill billed to her university account. Convenient. Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll pretend that these scholarships are merit based, even though this chick is dumb and it shows, and also a person that has to open her mouth every five minutes just because she can’t shut up. Okay. Assuming these are merit based, they still have a need based component. Okay, so maybe I was wrong in thinking this chick had money. But then, I wonder, how the fuck has she never had a job… maybe it was a work study type job, if she had one, so she wasn’t paid per se, but instead worked to get money off her school bill.

However, that pissy part of my brain is just pointing out inconsistencies with these theories left and right. How can she afford to buy shit at work every day if she’s so fuck broke? How does she have an apartment (that was later explained– it was a school-run apartment complex)? And most importantly…

HOW THE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCK CAN SHE AFFORD A GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING TABLET WITHOUT A FUCKING CONTRACT AND WITHOUT ANY TYPE OF A DISCOUNT?

She keeps going “I NEVER WANT A CONTRACT” when people ask about who her cellphone is through, so that’s how I know she bought this thing out of contract, and this motherfucking tablet is $800 dollars out of contract.

Now, take into account this chick is stupid, and while I have been in training with her (a classroom environment that you get PAID for being in) she can’t pay attention, she doesn’t follow along, she talks incessantly, and at the first thing that gives her trouble, she throws up her hands and goes “I can’t do it” and waits for the answers to be given to her or just doesn’t do it at all. Now throw on top of that that right now, on top of that tablet, she has a goddamn Blackberry. Those aren’t cheap either, even with a contract, and we know how she feels about those.

Think about all of that. You’ll probably reach the conclusion I did, which is that her scholarships are not merit OR need based, and she had money given to her on the grounds of another criteria. While I have my guesses about what that goddamn criteria is that overrides financial need and merit, it would lead to an entire other rant, so I’m not going there. What I’m focusing on today is that all the words out of this bitch’s mouth are “When do I get this?” “Can I have that?” “Do I get that?” all of which translate to “GIMMEGIMMEGIMME!” This girl, if she finds out that there is anything that someone does not nail down and say “this is mine,” she will take, or demand that she can have. Our trainers have prizes for getting shit right? She wants all of them. As soon as she sees something without a name on it, she goes “Give me it.” Not “What can I do to earn that?” or “What do we do to get that?” it’s always: “CAN I HAVE IT?” It’s also never once. She says things over and over and OVER A-FUCKING-GAIN. “Can I have the prize? Can I have it? Can I? Can I have the prize? Can I have it? Why Can’t I have it?” On loop until it’s put away.

This girl is twenty years old. She’s been in college a while– twenty is at the low end of the spectrum for how old she is. The way she talks about liking margaritas, I’m guessing 21 or older, but I know that’s very possibly not the case, so I’m going with twenty. The point is, she’s twenty years old and she wants every shiny thing she sees, talks to hear herself talk, and has never had a job, and yet HER school is paid for to the point she can afford a $800 tablet while I’m struggling to pay my bills and cannot get a fucking scholarship to save me despite a 3.5 GPA and a ACT of 30 when I can’t afford school, and FURTHERMORE, far more deserving people in far more dire financial straits than I with comparable grades and a thousand times more drive can’t get scholarships and due to credit fuck ups that are not their fault (their guardians managed to fuck their credit in the past year, screwing them out of loans from the government), can’t get student loans to finish school that won’t leave them without, you know, food because they’re such pathetic, meager fucking offerings.

Maybe that bitch just got lucky, and maybe the people I know were really unlucky, but I think that if you have a scholarship and you’re buying $800 pieces of equipment you don’t need, your scholarship should be immediately reduced a WHOLE FUCKING LOT. However, this girl in my class that has all these things? She just wants more. And more and more. And then, when she’s done, she’ll take some more, because I guess she’ll just never have enough.

I realize there are many things that may be at play here that I don’t see– she could (hell, probably did) buy the tablet on credit (such a wise choice, you know, for something you don’t even need) which certainly doesn’t say she has money, just a lack of sense with money. They’ll give anyone a credit card, after all. She could…

No, that’s all I’ve got. Credit and sucking with money. You come up with some other scenarios. I, frankly, don’t give a shit. I’m still back on the fact that this bitch gets her school paid for, and when friends with actual merit and financial need go to the financial aid office, they get laughed at.

Call me a jackass, but that other criteria should not exist. It shouldn’t impact your education or your being judged as worthy for help getting said education. No one should be able to bar you from education based on anything but merit, and no one should be able to get into school based on anything but merit. If you’re a good student, nothing should keep you out of school.

And yet, these brilliant people are kept out of school and this dumb bitch is not only in school, but seems to be being paid excessive amounts to go to school. And she still wants more.

So, thank you America, for teaching your children that they are special little snowflakes that deserve everything their heart desires and that they shouldn’t have to work for it.

I hope you reap what you sow in the form of your entitled fucking kids spending all the money that would have gone to your retirement home and medical care. After all, they needed the money for what THEY wanted, and you always taught them that what they want is what they should get, no matter what the cost to anyone else!

So, I’m really, REALLY glad I’m quitting my current job. And now, after a hefty shot of good whiskey, I’m gonna tell you why.

I work for a retirement home as a server. Management is a bunch of useless assholes. That’s to be expected in my experience, no offense to any management in the audience, but good managers are rare.

Tonight, we didn’t have a normal meal service. Tonight, I was used as tits and ass as a part of a grand scheme of lies to lure new residents into the home. The way they presented things was that you got a restaurant quality meal every night (sort of true) with wine (not true) and a fancy dessert (not true), and that “lovely ladies” would serve it to you.

How do I know I was being pimped out, you ask? Well, a few reasons.

1. All the servers tonight were slender and could be considered traditionally pretty/attractive.
2. All the servers were white (if any of you know me from Retail Hell Underground, you know of the racist assholery that goes on at this job. Our only server of Asian descent, for example, was expected to like and eat “Chinese” food daily, and our only African American server was referred to as a “negro” by a resident. In both these instances I applauded these ladies offended for not fucking hauling off and slugging the fucking people that said these things. There’s also a lot of fun blatant homophobia at this good “Christian” (seriously. They stressed that about ten times in orientation) business.)
3. All four of the servers of tonight were scheduled for tomorrow as well. This never happens. And the people that are off did not request for the time off.
4. Another server came down to help us and was quickly shooed away when we *did* need help. She is not ugly, certainly, but she has a kid and is not a teen to twenty something that looks cute sashaying around with plates of food while being forced to smile and make small talk.
5. Current residents were not only told to find their own food tonight if they were “independent living” residents, but they were shooed out of the hallways so they would not be seen with their walkers and canes. More proof they wanted everything to look “pretty” rather than like a retirement home.
6. The general atmosphere of “shut up and smile and look pretty.”
7. I was the oldest server. I’m twenty-two.

This revelation occurred to me as we were walking back from being applauded for being such lovely young servers, right after they failed to say that there were more things unusual about the meal service that night than just the specially made dessert which was a “special occasion thing” (bullshit). All of them, except me, were the ones that wore make-up to work every day, that styled their hair. Only one could be considered even a little heavy, when in reality, she’s average sized. But not one of us could be called ugly, not even in hairnets and ugly uniforms. We were the ones that the male residents flirted with, that the little old ladies tried to set up with their grandsons.

I’m fucking pissed off. I’m not pissed off just because I was used as T&A. No, if that’s part of my job description, then fine. If it’s in my job description to look pretty, fine, then I see that as a requirement of the job just like being able to stand for 8+ hours or whatever. I’m pissed off because my attractiveness was used to lie to people, making me a co-conspirator with these fucking assholes I work for. I’m pissed off that I was used to lie. I realize all of this falls under the realm of advertising (a business of lies) because they were trying to recruit new customers and the buyer must beware, but I’m still fucking pissed. I feel like a whore. I don’t appreciate being trotted out as some little show puppy for you to lure people into your business under false pretenses and tricking people using the beauty equals good hypothesis.

This is all on top of the fact I have caught my managers blatantly lying to me about scheduling, on top of the fact they make us come into work sick when we’re working with the elderly (whom are immunocompromised) thus endangering their customers, on top of all the racist, homophobic bullshit, and on top of the fact that the bulk of management are uselessly catty bitches who play favorites and are either just cranky on a good day or outright two-faced cunts on bad days. This is all while being paid 7.70/hr to be bitched at, complained at, glared at, and treated like shit by residents and knowing that even if a resident jumped up and started to strangle me, if I raised a hand to defend myself, I would be shitcanned. No joke. Ask anyone who works in a retirement home, it seems to be a common rule.

Fuck this fucking job. I’m so glad I’m fucking leaving and being paid a living wage. Even if I am in call center hell, at least I’m out of this goddamn place.

I’m a twenty something. I’ve been in college a few years now and I’m close to getting out. Over the course of those years, I’ve realized just how many of my high school friends were not due to similarities, their better qualities, or actual ability to be a friend– it was due to proximity.

We all have, and/or had, friends like this. Co-workers, high school friends, people in our classes or studies programs. When removed from the situation we originally befriended them in, too often their shortcomings become clear and just why you befriended them does as well: You needed companionship and a mutually beneficial relationship to get through a situation, nothing more. They don’t fit into your life, and the more you see them outside their original friend-habitat, the more you wonder why you ever liked them in the first place.

Now, this is not to say that all friends met in these places are this way. You can meet your best friend and/or soul mate in school or on the job, no one denies that. However, it is not the norm. Not from what I’ve observed.

The reason I’m rambling on this is recently, more and more people from high school that fall into this category keep contacting me. I’m not sure what it is– they felt no need, or little need, to talk to me, nor I to them, before this. Often what I discover on their end is that they have run through all the friends they had after high school due to one circumstance or the other; Either they have made a stupid ass decision and their friends left them to screw up their life after trying too hard to save them too many times, or they are in the same position I and others I know are: we realize our high school friends are still mentally in high school, even if they haven’t had an epic childish screw up to prove it. What matters is who is dating who, what’s on TV, what the hippest phone is. Some people never leave that stage and that’s fine, if that’s all you really want out of life. I think you should want more, but that’s just me. You want to stay there, fine, but don’t expect me to humor you.

Let me be frank: If I am friends with you, it is because you do not bore me and you’re not a pain in my ass. One can sugar coat the reasons they are friends with people all they want, but it comes down to two things most of the time: you are either useful or a pleasure to be around. That is why you have different “classes” of friends, they each have different things they are best for. The same person you cry to when your boyfriend/girlfriend dumps you is probably not the same person you go and discuss high philosophy with or go on spur of the moment trips to Canada with. If it is, you are damned lucky and I hope you realize just how rare such a thing is. Very often, there are certain things that are utterly off limits with some people for whatever reason (sexuality, gender, politics, religion, the list goes on), and if you want them to accept all of you, that’s often a problem. They may tolerate the fact that you’re Islamic and they’re Christian, but they’re probably less accepting it and more ignoring it exists so they can still use you for whatever end you suit. If you’re looking for “true friendship” that’s not it, even if that person bends over backwards for you on a daily basis.

In any case, I don’t like making people upset if they were once friends with me by telling them precisely why I have no desire to be friends with them anymore. I’m not going to tell them “Leave me alone, you’re bloody obnoxious, YOU are the reason your life is in the shitter because you refuse to keep a job because it’s ‘hard,’ and keep making the same pattern of mistakes because you refuse to believe the world isn’t your oyster.” Instead, I’ll just not answer some of the time, then most of the time, then almost all of the time, then never. It avoids all the melodrama. It’s a coward’s way out and I fully admit that, but again, if you were once a friend to me, I’d much rather avoid a melodramatic blow up and crying and carrying on. I’d rather keep up the pretense that we just naturally drifted apart because we’re both busy. Everyone’s happy, and it leaves the door open for contact to resume in the future, and maybe by then things will work out. I’m uncomfortable cutting people totally out of my life unless they do something to deserve it.

Unfortunately this approach’s upside is also a downside: it leaves the door open to resume contact, and often the dance begins all over again. Thus, I keep getting contacted by people whom I simply have nothing to say to. I feel awkward talking to them and the conversation frequently stalls. When we do speak, it usually becomes apparent quickly that there is little to talk about, yet they keep initiating conversation. I’d like to think that when I realize conversations with an individual are going nowhere, I give up and politely excuse myself. Sometimes, people just don’t have much in common and that’s really okay. Really. It is. Trying to force conversation repeatedly is not going to change our differences.

For some of these people, it may be that they are trying to get their high school days back and by forcing contact with people from those days. They felt safer and more in control then than they ever do now, and they mistakenly associate it with the people they spoke with during that time when really, it has nothing to do with that. It has everything to do with the fact that the way high school and childhood are set up now, with layer upon layer of protection from accountability and responsibility, the real world is a very nasty shock. The real world has a very different set of rules than in high school in the fact that even if it does have any, they’re certainly not static. No one is going to write out a rule book and hand it to you upon the end of high school, college, or whenever mom and dad cut you off. Even if they did, by the end of the day the rule book would be obsolete, so there would be no point. Who wouldn’t want the days of when you knew exactly what was expected of you and how to accomplish it back? I can’t exactly blame them. I don’t think it’s my place to tell them to wake the hell up and realize high school is not only not all it’s cracked up to be but also not coming back– the universe will do that for me, there’s no need for me to rub it in.

I’m not sure if all of this is really progress– perhaps it is just my becoming more selfish with my time and energy. I don’t necessarily believe this is a bad thing, but I could also be wrapped up in happy clouds of denial. Maybe I should be more grateful that someone wants to talk to me at all. But as it stands right now, I’m taking the position of Ditchwater Sal: “I don’t deal with time wasters.” Talking to someone that makes you uncomfortable, whatever the reason, is a waste of both your time, neither of you are getting what you want out of your company. Life is just too damn short for that kind of thing.

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