I'm fucking back baby! Kind of. So, after all the wallowing in self-pity I've been doing, I started last weekend off with an interesting evening at my favorite bar. What started as yours truly having a few beers after work on a Thursday turned into me drinking with some random guy and a buddy of mine until like 9:30 (a half-hour before my bedtime). Like 6 solid hours of drinking. Because I'm a champ. I felt like complete ass at work the next morning, but fuck it. The cutting loose had begun.
So, I noticed a flier at said bar for a show on Friday, featuring two bands from Wisconsin I have not seen in a long time: Wartorn and Pyroklast, both excellent hardcore bands. I had to work saturday, but decided fuck it, let's get a little crazy. So I took a nap after work Friday, and boogied on down with the same friend from the previous night. They tore it up. Fucking awesome, and definitely worth only four hours of sleep before work.
Saturday, work dragged on, and I grabbed a quick nap afterward because the fantastic weekend kept on rolling mo-fuckas. A very good friend of mine was in town with his lady. He moved to Illinois after a particularly bad break-up from a friend of mine. That's how we met and became bros. Short story: first time i met him, I got wrecked on White Russians and Crown Royal and vomited on his carpet. He was impressed. So, we became good friends, and ironically, even better friends than me and his ex-girlfriend, who abandoned me and the rest of her circle for a hipper, new circle of friends, which she then abandoned for a baby. Yes, I'm a little bitter. Not about the baby thing, about her abandoning us. Anyway, he was in town, and wanted to see a show, with Lucy Michelle and the Velvet Lapelles. We went with his girlfriend and a mutual friend, who I've never been able to figure out if she's a lesbian or bisexual, because I feel like she's made a few passes at dudes before. So we went to see this show, and I was blown away. Fantastic. Not my usual scene, but goddamn, were they good. I think I'm in love. So afterward, we blew out of the venue, and raged across downtown Madison until we decided we were done. Successful weekend. De-stressed a bit.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before
Yeah. I've been listening to the Smiths recently. I apologize, I just couldn't help myself. It's almost a perfect title. Say what you will about Morrissey himself, yeah, the man's a complete dickhead, but goddamn, the Smiths were pretty awesome.
Well, another 12 days in a row working. We're on indefinite overtime. So yeah, kind of sucks. My body is achy as shit right now, and the calluses on my feet from my boots just hurt more and more. Actually shaved off a bunch of dead skin. Gross, I know, but I treat my feet like I treat my eyes: I do not have any more, so I try to take care of them.
Well, I was trying to read Juneteenth by Ralph Ellison (good book, if you're unfamiliar with Ellison, start with his Magnum Opus Invisible Man. Not the HG Wells one, but a social metaphor about the African-American experience in the 1930s. I know, you're like "GD, I'm not black!" Trust me, it's a great book. It's not so much an great African-American novel as as a great American novel) during break yesterday? Or Thursday? I can't remember exactly, because my days are starting to flow together pretty badly. Anyways, I read during my breaks, because it helps me to decompress and get my mind off of stuff and gives me something to ponder until my next break. So, several of my co-workers were talking about all the overtime we (as a collective group) work. I was largely ignoring it, before one of them asks me how much I'm working. I tell them it's been 48 hours, but i'm on 12 days in a row. They kind of laugh, say they're working 60 (they normally work three 12 hour days, so they're working five 12 hour days a week) and say I've got it easy. I try to remind them, to no avail, that they still get days off, where I don't if I were to work almost as many hours, but whatever. Then, one of them says "at least the extra money makes it worth it." That causes me to pause.
I hate money. Money can be a pervasive, corrupting force. I know, I know, I started this blog for monetary purposes, but, gentle reader, I kept it going out of enjoyment (still haven't seen any money, not that it matters). I am a simple man of simple pleasures. Give me a library card, a television, a video game machine, and the occasional video game, and I can live a very content life. I know, I need money to pay for things like taxes to cover said library card, electricity to power my vidya and tv, and to put a roof over those electronics so they don't break in the rain. I like having extra money, it is nice, do not get me wrong. But, I do not like money being a motivator. I value my free time, more than the 16.50 it is work to the company I work for (time and a half for overtime). I'd rather spend that time doing things I like, doing things I want to do, accomplishing things. Now, we all know the old phrase that "Money doesn't by happiness" and we know that's pretty much bullshit. I think of it this way: Excessive money doesn't buy happiness. If I could do the 40 hours a week (with occasional overtime, I know it's necessary occasionally) and make enough money to live comfortably (apartment, decent car, able to go out (not excessively), splurge occasionally when I feel it is necessary, I call that happiness. Mo' Money, Mo' problems. Get time to pursue things I want to do, and still contribute. So, that's a content life. Throw some bitches in there for good measure, of course.
In case you have not heard this one before, I have a new blog. And it's already a story deep. Check it out. I'm going to be plugging it forever. Get on in here. There's more stuff to come in there.
Well, another 12 days in a row working. We're on indefinite overtime. So yeah, kind of sucks. My body is achy as shit right now, and the calluses on my feet from my boots just hurt more and more. Actually shaved off a bunch of dead skin. Gross, I know, but I treat my feet like I treat my eyes: I do not have any more, so I try to take care of them.
Well, I was trying to read Juneteenth by Ralph Ellison (good book, if you're unfamiliar with Ellison, start with his Magnum Opus Invisible Man. Not the HG Wells one, but a social metaphor about the African-American experience in the 1930s. I know, you're like "GD, I'm not black!" Trust me, it's a great book. It's not so much an great African-American novel as as a great American novel) during break yesterday? Or Thursday? I can't remember exactly, because my days are starting to flow together pretty badly. Anyways, I read during my breaks, because it helps me to decompress and get my mind off of stuff and gives me something to ponder until my next break. So, several of my co-workers were talking about all the overtime we (as a collective group) work. I was largely ignoring it, before one of them asks me how much I'm working. I tell them it's been 48 hours, but i'm on 12 days in a row. They kind of laugh, say they're working 60 (they normally work three 12 hour days, so they're working five 12 hour days a week) and say I've got it easy. I try to remind them, to no avail, that they still get days off, where I don't if I were to work almost as many hours, but whatever. Then, one of them says "at least the extra money makes it worth it." That causes me to pause.
I hate money. Money can be a pervasive, corrupting force. I know, I know, I started this blog for monetary purposes, but, gentle reader, I kept it going out of enjoyment (still haven't seen any money, not that it matters). I am a simple man of simple pleasures. Give me a library card, a television, a video game machine, and the occasional video game, and I can live a very content life. I know, I need money to pay for things like taxes to cover said library card, electricity to power my vidya and tv, and to put a roof over those electronics so they don't break in the rain. I like having extra money, it is nice, do not get me wrong. But, I do not like money being a motivator. I value my free time, more than the 16.50 it is work to the company I work for (time and a half for overtime). I'd rather spend that time doing things I like, doing things I want to do, accomplishing things. Now, we all know the old phrase that "Money doesn't by happiness" and we know that's pretty much bullshit. I think of it this way: Excessive money doesn't buy happiness. If I could do the 40 hours a week (with occasional overtime, I know it's necessary occasionally) and make enough money to live comfortably (apartment, decent car, able to go out (not excessively), splurge occasionally when I feel it is necessary, I call that happiness. Mo' Money, Mo' problems. Get time to pursue things I want to do, and still contribute. So, that's a content life. Throw some bitches in there for good measure, of course.
In case you have not heard this one before, I have a new blog. And it's already a story deep. Check it out. I'm going to be plugging it forever. Get on in here. There's more stuff to come in there.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
It's about damn time
So, last night, I finally got around to creating the blog project I've been meaning to start. Take a look. And stick around for things to come.
Don't expect too much
Don't expect too much
Friday, January 13, 2012
Have Trigger, Will Travel
Made it through twelve days. Have the whole weekend to unwind and blow off some steam. Hooray!
So, it's not unknown that I'm looking for a new job. I mean, I bitch about it constantly, so hey, you guys know. The search isn't proving as fruitful, but I'm going to start a passive one soon. My Alma mater offers a website for students and alumni to post resumes on that employers look over. Gonna get that set up, so hopefully, they'll be coming to me.
The thing is, that I've found a couple of jobs that look promising. But, the kicker is that they're halfway across the country. They seem like good jobs, things I'd be happy doing, but in places I know little about, and other than a fear of failure and rejection, my greatest fear is fear of the unknown. I'm debating taking the dive, because the way I figure it, if I have no leads here, I might as well look elsewhere. But I think about all I would leave behind. Alone, into the unknown. Fucking terrifying. But I won't know if I don't try.
So, it's not unknown that I'm looking for a new job. I mean, I bitch about it constantly, so hey, you guys know. The search isn't proving as fruitful, but I'm going to start a passive one soon. My Alma mater offers a website for students and alumni to post resumes on that employers look over. Gonna get that set up, so hopefully, they'll be coming to me.
The thing is, that I've found a couple of jobs that look promising. But, the kicker is that they're halfway across the country. They seem like good jobs, things I'd be happy doing, but in places I know little about, and other than a fear of failure and rejection, my greatest fear is fear of the unknown. I'm debating taking the dive, because the way I figure it, if I have no leads here, I might as well look elsewhere. But I think about all I would leave behind. Alone, into the unknown. Fucking terrifying. But I won't know if I don't try.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
It isn't a triumph, I'm writing a note here, huge failure. I'm barely alive.
So, this pretty much concludes day six of twelve straight working. My supervisor informed me that I was working saturday and sunday. It's saturday. I work for at least the next six days. Probably more, because they'll just try to dick me. Not unexpected. I'm tired and my feet hurt from standing on concrete.
I'm going to do an obligatory New Years post. I know, I know, boo urns, It's the fucking 7th. Listen mi amigos, I love you guys, but shut the fuck up. It's been a busy period of mourning. Not sure who died, but goddamn it, I feel like I'm mourning something here. Maybe it's 2011, but fuck that, 2011 sucked. Let's see why, shall we?
1) Lady problems. Another banner fucking year for yours truly. What's that? Were you expecting to fall in love? Of course not, friends. That's irrational. But, you know, actually meeting some new women would have been nice. Or at least meeting new women that I can perpetuate a friendship or more with. Nope. Shut down or ignored. I mean, I ain't no looker: I'm fat and hairy, except on my head, where it counts. And yes, I didn't look incredibly hard, but there were opportunities that many female-folk could have capitalized upon. I'm pretty sure at this point in my life I'd make a pretty baller boyfriend; I've learned from my shitty relationshit mistakes from the past.
2) Creative anemia. So, in september or august (not sure which) I deleted roughly, oh, a hundred and fifty pages (give or take a few) worth of creative writing. I regret that, but seriously, most of that shit was garbage. I felt confident about very little material this past year. Shit, I couldn't even finish something for national novel writing month. Hooray
3) Stagnation. I am exactly where I was in 2010, which was supposed to be different in 2011. 'Nuff said.
So, here's to 2012. It's off to a slightly better start already. I'm writing, shit I actually feel confident about. I feel like I'm close to a new, better job. My dating life sucks, but 2 outta 3 ain't bad, right?
I'm going to do an obligatory New Years post. I know, I know, boo urns, It's the fucking 7th. Listen mi amigos, I love you guys, but shut the fuck up. It's been a busy period of mourning. Not sure who died, but goddamn it, I feel like I'm mourning something here. Maybe it's 2011, but fuck that, 2011 sucked. Let's see why, shall we?
1) Lady problems. Another banner fucking year for yours truly. What's that? Were you expecting to fall in love? Of course not, friends. That's irrational. But, you know, actually meeting some new women would have been nice. Or at least meeting new women that I can perpetuate a friendship or more with. Nope. Shut down or ignored. I mean, I ain't no looker: I'm fat and hairy, except on my head, where it counts. And yes, I didn't look incredibly hard, but there were opportunities that many female-folk could have capitalized upon. I'm pretty sure at this point in my life I'd make a pretty baller boyfriend; I've learned from my shitty relationshit mistakes from the past.
2) Creative anemia. So, in september or august (not sure which) I deleted roughly, oh, a hundred and fifty pages (give or take a few) worth of creative writing. I regret that, but seriously, most of that shit was garbage. I felt confident about very little material this past year. Shit, I couldn't even finish something for national novel writing month. Hooray
3) Stagnation. I am exactly where I was in 2010, which was supposed to be different in 2011. 'Nuff said.
So, here's to 2012. It's off to a slightly better start already. I'm writing, shit I actually feel confident about. I feel like I'm close to a new, better job. My dating life sucks, but 2 outta 3 ain't bad, right?
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