Thursday:

Hectic work days suck ass. Suddenly everything needs to be done right this moment
and every person’s request is more important than everyone else’s and nothing is ever
done all the way, or so it seems because there are always 3 new things waiting to be done
in place of any one that you do check off the list.

And what makes that happen anyway? Sometimes a good couple of weeks go by where
everything goes pretty smoothly, and things are actually being accomplished and it
feels like maybe, finally, just once it might be true that all the planets are aligned
and all the tarot cards have fallen the right way and the fortune cookie has opened
with just the right crackle and life at work might actually be good. And then WHAM
one of those crappy days or two comes along and destroys all my faith in just about
everything I ever considered for a moment as significant.

and all I can say is… crummy.

Wednesday:

A friend remarked today that I seem to find it easier talking about the negative stuff
than the positive stuff. I remarked back that I thought everyone found that easier.
Is that true? Do people in general just find it easier to find fault in something than
to just accept it for what it is?

Maybe it’s not people in general, but maybe Americans, or maybe just young people.
I dunno.

I don’t think it’s really that the world is just full of bad stuff. I think people just
get trained to always want more than they have. It’s looked down upon to just settle for
what you are in school. You’re always told to strive to be your best so you can go
to college and meet the pretty girls (or rich boys) and do “it” and make babies
and grow old, happy with your bad self. You’re not supposed to be happy with your current
situation unless you are getting 100% on everything.

Then they throw in those frickin’ near super-human athletes and those
almost-too-beautiful (but only almost) celebrities to make you strive to be something
that you will almost certainly never be. Then you spend a good portion of your life
trying to figure out why it is that you are a failure, and what you can do to make up
for it. Many people turn to the old american pastime of making fun of other people to
make themselves feel better. That works sometimes.

Overall, though, I think I just want to be a baby, playing with blocks and putting them
together to form nonsensical words, causing the people around me to clap with glee when I
randomly almost strike something near english. In that world, all I would know is
pleasure, and I wouldn’t even have to worry about my own shit, let alone anyone else’s.

How’s that sound?

in Uncategorized | 313 Words

Wednesday:

I went to a major office superstore today to talk to a man there about business cards.
The man was very knowledgeable and gave me exactly the information I needed
in a very direct way. It was only my own infamiliarity with the subject matter
that caused me to ask him a couple more times. I like it when people have
exactly the information I need in exactly the format I need it. That makes me feel
good.

And then I decided to browse a little bit to see if anything caught my eye. My money
was burning a hole in my pocket the size of Montana. Strange as it may seem, I didn’t
really see anything I wanted to waste my money on. Oh well. I was starting to head
for the door when a largeish black woman in a bright red t-shirt emblazoned with the
insignia of said major office superstore asked me if I needed any help. I did indeed
look like I did. I sort of smiled wanly, and said, “Nah. I’m ok.”

She caught a glimpse
of my shiny self and said, “Well, look at you. What have you done to yourself?”

I gave her a friendly, I’m-innocent-and-dumb-leave-me-be look, hoping to disarm her, and
she just sort of smiled and looked me up and down.

I started to walk away and she noticed my nose was pierced
also (you can’t see it from the front), and she said, “You got it in your nose, too?”

“I got it all over.”

“All over, huh?”

I smiled, “I just don’t learn.”

She sort of grinned, and said, “If it feels good, do it.”

I smiled for real for the first time all day. “Yep.”

That woman really knows what she’s talking about. She had exactly the information
I needed in exactly the way I needed it, and I didn’t even have to ask.

Major office superstores are the bomb. Plain and simple.

Give me a shout!

Tuesday:

So… the police came to our house again tonight. It doesn’t happen all that often, but
it’s starting to increase in frequency a bit. We’ll have to watch ourselves. It was
for a noise complaint, as usual, this time it was from some old lady or something
(I’ve only heard the store second-hand) and we scored 5 cop cars! Yee!

Anyway, the woman is apparently talking about a law suit and says she’s complained to
the city, and called the cops, and whined about it to her friends, and … well,
talked to everybody about it but us. Hmmm… that doesn’t seem like the most
(how should I put this? … ) effective way to handle the situation, does it?

Doesn’t it seem logical to you that the first place you should go to solve your problems
would be the source? That seems like the most direct way to me.
I could be wrong, of course.
But I don’t think I am.

I have a simple request. Unless you suspect your neighbors are homicidal,
please attempt to handle your own frickin’ domestic problems before
you go and bug the police, who have much better things to do in my neighborhood
with 5 cop cars. I bet the cops will appreciate the extra free-time, and it just plain
feels good!

Thank me later.

in Uncategorized | 217 Words

Tuesday:

I was thinking today (or perhaps last night) how glad I am that there are men and women.
I’m glad that humans were not created as a single-sex species that just sort of replicates
every once in awhile. On top of that, I’m glad that men and women seem to be different.
I like to feel like there’s always more to the world no matter how much I think I can
learn from it on my own. There’s always at least one other possible perspective.

As it turns out, too, when you really start paying attention, there’s a lot more than
just one other perspective. There are as many other perspectives as you can open your
mind up to. There are so many people around you every day with so many different ways
of thinking and feeling. And all you have to do is notice.

I wish it were as easy to do things as it were to say them.

Give me a shout!

Sunday/Monday:

“Something good”, I think to myself. “Once per day… no problem.”
But I don’t want to have to make something up.
And it doesn’t seem like I should have to, right?
So why can’t I think of anything?

Let’s see… I do like the way popsicles taste and feel. That’s a good thing about the
world. I imagine I wouldn’t like all the things popsicle manufacturing companies have to
do to keep the popsicles cheap enough for us to buy them, though.

Well, I guess I’m just lucky that the world around me has enough distractions to not
let my own ethics get in the way of me still enjoying myself once in awhile.

That’s a blessing.

Sunday/Monday:

It sickens me to know that we live in a world where people have been forced into feeding
on each other, both financially and emotionally. Each person must look out for their own
interests and only their own interests. That’s fine, but you must always keep in mind
that your own interests are tightly wound with those of other people. If you hurt
someone else, you are very possibly hurting yourself in some way. It may not be evident
until a long time in the future, and in fact you may never realize it at all.

I guess
some people would call a notion like this karma, but I think it’s more wordly than that.
It’s an extension of the you scratch my back, I’ll scratch your back thing. When you help
people, they are more likely to help you in the future (or perhaps just refrain from
hurting you) and the more people who are willing to help you, then less likely it is
that you will find yourself in an impossible situation. Sounds simple, don’t it?

Anyway, in case this has never happened to you… it sucks to come back to your car in the
parking area after an event of some kind and find the window shattered and covering the
front seat, the dash ripped apart, and the stereo missing. It really does.

(it wasn’t even my car, but it sucked nonetheless)

Sometimes, just sometimes, I think that people should have to get some sort of license

just to leave the house. People should have to pass some sort of test or at
least some sort of examination before they are allowed out into the world. I’m not
talking about the wackos walking around Westwood (hip part of LA near UCLA), or the
homeless people that dig through my trash. It’s the numbskulls that think its
a good idea to do things like race ahead to turn left or right in front of the
crossing pedestrians at a busy intersection, or the lunatic old man that shot like
a bat right out of the pits of hell right in front of my walking self as he turned into
his parking garage. His frickin’ parking garage!

That’s one thing I’ll never understand about LA… everyone here seems to be
in the biggest damn hurry you’ll ever see, and all to get somewhere they don’t want
to be. Then they leave after a long day doing things they don’t want to do,
and hurry their asses home to watch the news and find out about
everything they missed during the day.

What’s up with that?

Saturday:

I was in a good mood this week. I don’t really notice my mood much, but every once
in awhile, it just hits me, and I look around and I see the same old irritating stuff,
but for some reason it makes me happy. Sometimes, I’m just delighted to have the chance
to sit in traffic a little bit longer with the same jerk that cut me off the day before.
Sometimes.

But not all the time. So I take it when I can get it.
This week was one of the good ones.

People who work in restaurants should not have to pay for their food at all. Those

people are giving their lives so the blood-sucking corporates can drive a frickin’
Lexus (a very lame car). People just need to live, you
know? And the fuckers want to charge them money for the lousy food that they have to make
for themselves. Maybe next somebody’ll figure out a way to make me pay for the food
I eat in my own house, even though I bought it and prepared it. I’m sure some fucker
somewhere is already working on that. Then I bet they’ll make me pay them for the privilege
of cleaning my own house with my own cleaning supplies. Where’s the love?

That’s what I want to know.