Lord Jebus Give Me Strength

My new boss just shot me with an air bazooka for asking a stupid question about some abbreviations he made up.

Seriously.

This is why I don't own firearms. I would have taken out my pistol and shot his dumb ass.

Repeatedly.

Now I have to Not Think About This because I have more work to do for this asshat.

Maybe Jebus shouldn't give me strength. Maybe he should just give me the upcoming lottery numbers. Or a tank.

If I Fall Any More In Love With Rick Grimes This Is Going To Get Awkward

Vague The Walking Dead spoilers through S5E3 to follow. You know, you could probably consider the title a spoiler. Whatevs.


It's already embarrassing.

I'm not sure when this Rick-Love started, but I realized how bad it was tonight when I was watching S5E3 and I said, out loud, alone in the living room, "Oh lord Rick please don't do anything stupid or get hurt or anything bad because if something bad happens to you i just don't know what i'll do!!!!!"

That is soooooo pathetic. I mean, this is The Walking Dead. The minute you think you can't live without a character is the minute they become zombie food.

Except Daryl.

Believe it.

Anyhoo, The Walking Dead is wearing me out. It's not just about the Rickle Pickle. When Daryl stumbled out of the woods at the end of this ep there was about 3 seconds where he didn't speak. In that three seconds I thought:

OHMYGODDARYLPLEASEDONTBEBITTEN

AIIIIGGAAAWDWHYARENTYOUTALKING

OHJAYSUSHELPMECAROLWHERETHEFUCKISCAROL??????????????

Or something to that effect.

I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to giggle when Rick said "Carol and Daryl." Pretty sure I was supposed to be horrified after he macheted that douchebag Gareth to death--but I wasn't.

Pretty sure I was supposed to empathize with Maggie and Glen's horror at the church carnage. I didn't. Think I was supposed to feel bad when Michonne got her katana back. I cheered.

The Walking Dead: When The Zombie Apocalypse Is More Cheerful Than Your Life.

My Moo Doesn't Understand Some Of My Posts

I had to explain to her, "This is all just random, here. There is no narrative."

"Ah," she replied. "That helps."

"I've transcended the narrative."

"You've transcended the narrative, all right."

heh

Some People Say My Blog Is Funny

I don't really understand what they mean. I mean, I guess it's cool that people can laugh at my pain? I don't know. I'm just telling you the TRUFAX of what happens in my life. Is it my fault that it seems like a French farce had a baby with Woody Allen* and that's my life.

*and they managed to stop him from marrying it this time!~ed. apologize for obligatory Woody Allen joke, included at authorial insistence despite strong advice to the contrary.

If you think my blog is funny, that is like thinking the problem of Worst Cats is some kind of joke.

MEOW MEOW MEOW

It's no joke.

No joke at all.

~ed. the entertaining part of this entry was brought to you by linlin

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Welcome back to Ways I Know My iPhone Is Fucking With Me! It just created a random brand new playlist and it's all impossible male vocals, falsettos, reggae, ben folds five, fuuuuuuuuuuck. I really hope the neighbors can't hear this. Gawd, why do I own so much depressing music? This damn phone doesn't even know how to connect a call or ring properly: HOW THE FUCK IT KNOW HOW TO GIVE ME ANXIETY ATTACK? Apple: Making You Feel Unworthy Of Our Tech. Fook.

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Can you still see that gif of the cat moving? It's unsettling yet strangely hypnotic, yes?


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Tomorrow I start a job for which I am wholly unprepared. I haven't even looked up the two things the boss told me to (one work, one trivia). I've been a little preoccupied. And in a mall. Those places are institutionalized vampirism. 

Here's Why Helping Other People Is The Best Medicine

(I got stuff. Thangs.)

It's nothing noble: that notion to reach beyond yourself in moments of darkness. That urge to help another person isn't some altruistic act that elevates you to a Zen plane.

It's purely selfish.

When help another person, you take the opportunity to write the script for what you wish the universe was saying to you at that very moment. It's like you're writing instructions: see? see? THIS is what I need to hear!

You get to pour every ounce of love, compassion, honesty, empathy, gentleness, importance, and sympathy into it that you wish the world were showing you.

You get to live out what you need by becoming what you want. Tricky bit of business, that. Takes a particular type of neurotic not to almost make happiness out of that.

Fuck all dis noize!!! Imma jam on The Walking Dead!

spoilers of the broadest kind for Walking Dead to follow

Hush yore pretty little mouf, baybay. No worries. I got 600lbs of Walking Dead here. Aw yeah!

I'm Rick Grimes, biatch! Do I love Rickle Pickle because I aspire to be like him? Or do I love Sheriff Friendly because he aspires to be like me? Mobius strip of mutual admiration.

I don't know if my roomate's noticed, but every time I try to do Rick's voice I end up sounding like Bill Clinton. Damnit, Andy Lincoln! How you gonna make a southern-escapee not be able to do your accent?

Sorry, I laughed way too much at this one not to include it. It's okay if you don't get it. It's sort of the pinnacle of an Internet meme. You also have to be deeply, morbidly disturbed to think it's funny. I don't know how I ended up with so many Rick gifs.

Okay, seriously, is he just always eyefucking the camera? That looks like a godamn cologne ad.

It is also worth noting that many nice things happened to me today, including getting invited to a thanksgiving, congratulated by the gas station guy, and loaned $.25 in line to get sodas.

and that's why helping other people is the best medicine

Here's A Moment

I've been out all day and just got home. There is an offer of employment sitting in my inbox. Haven't read it yet.

I bet the Germans have a word for the apprehension of disappointment coupled with the resignation of acceptance.

I don't even want to look at the damn thing. But it will ease my mind to some degree.

In any event, looks like I have to go shopping. I hate shopping for pants. And shirts.

It's been a while since I had to look presentable.

Edit:

This is the part where I sound ungrateful.

Well, the offer is around ~18% less than I was making when I moved here (my initial salary here was actually a little shy of me being able to completely support myself). After only 120 days of employment, I am eligible for unspecified health benefits and the ability to accrue up to 5 whole days a year in sick leave. The hourly rate is $4.04 more than I was making on my last job (for a friend) in Panama City.

Yesterday I met a former lawyer (they're fucking everywhere) who moved to SoCal six weeks ago. He has already booked two jobs, attends classes, and goes on auditions almost daily.

fuck my stupid life

fuck it fuck it fuck it

Have You Found Yourself Saying "Bananas" Lately?

I've found myself using the word "bananas" as slang for crazy or over the top lately. I'm assuming I picked it up somewhere, maybe online? Since I caught myself saying it, I've noticed it being typed/said quite a bit.

Now, this may be a case of "you always see what you look for." But I can't help but feel that somehow "bananas" is part of some language virus that's spreading. Like douchebag.

Unexpected Phone Interview

There is nothing like being loopy and totally unprepared for a phone interview. Cheese and rice, that was stressful.

And he was a lawyer. Normally, I'd be ready to go. But I am not myself today and having some congestion medication loopiness. Took stuff this morning because, I foolishly thought, "I got nothing going on today. Don't even have to drive anywhere."

Ha ha. Handy J needs a ride to work after all. Lawyer calls to grill me. Yikes.

Also unexpected: landing an interview from this phone call. I have to go buy some kinda suit for my fat ass. Yuck.

While this is good news, in a sense, it's mostly filling me with an unspecified dread. This is a real job, not something I can just screw off and do. I will have to learn stuff.

I obvs need to do this, because financial reasons. Furthermore, I should probably give up the ghost on any of my dreams and start getting real about my future.

I've had all this time to make something happen and I haven't. Doesn't that mean it will never happen? Maybe I'm not hungry enough. Maybe I didn't try hard enough? I am not sure what to do even now, so I think that's probably a given. Maybe I just didn't have what it takes to really go for it.

Today's Morning Grumpus

Get rid of the six foot table, printer, and stack of papers in the hallway: nobody notices.

Leave a Costco bag half full of clothes in the living room: everybody comments.

That about sums it up. Now, off to screw with the cable box. Again.

That Was Worth It

The tile is brought to you by Sarcasm.

Finally made it to the "mental health" facility that took a month to get into.

This was strictly an "intake" appointment--no doctor consultation, no prescription refills.

After waiting 45 minutes due to server problems (why do server problems delay a face to face meeting? I don't know), I met with two different girls. The first was all paperwork. The second was more paperwork and a few questions.

It's always lovely to be asked to open up about your personal details to someone with a clipboard. It really makes you feel heard, recognized.

After about 5 minutes of questions I was told that I didn't qualify for any of their counseling programs. Apparently, I am too mentally healthy to make the grade. Interesting.

I was then told that since I didn't qualify for counseling, that I couldn't get any medication from that service. Better and better.

So, I don't get to see a counselor, I don't get to see a doctor, and I'm SOL on medication refills.

Guess it's a good thing I went ahead and weaned myself off a few weeks back, sensing that a gap in availability was forthcoming.

In truth, I've been dicked over so many times while I was paying for services that I'm used to it. It's not a crushing blow to have "free" services turn out to be a wash.

I promise to do many huge happy fun time posts as soon as something positive happens. Until then, feel free to keep ignoring these posts.

no1 currr

Well, yesterday was probably the worst I've felt about myself in some time. Dark night of the soul and all that.

I never quite pulled myself out of it, but I did manage to get my room rearranged. Again. Now I just have to make myself go through the pile of paperwork that has been accumulating for...oh, i don't know....a year now?

When I get like this I think it's best for me to be by myself. I'm not very good company and people probably shouldn't be around me. I don't really have that luxury these days--being alone. The results aren't pretty. I'm trying not to be a total downer, but I suspect this is making the whole cycle last longer. Like I can't get it out of my system properly.

One of the problems with being caught in a down cycle is that you begin to suspect that your negative thoughts aren't actually negative, they are just accurate. Like maybe you've been fooling yourself this whole time and the truth is this painful reality you now find yourself in. I am not even going to rewrite that sentence to avoid ending in a preposition.

So, maybe you really do suck. Maybe you have no worth as a human being. Maybe you've just been kidding yourself and all the horrible things you think are true. It's pretty easy to find evidence to support this conclusion. The most outlandish assertions start to seem plausible. Like so many things in life, if you look for shit you will find it. In abundance. There is shit everywhere, all over everything.

I guess what I mean is that there will always be plenty of reasons to feel butthurt about life. It's dangerous to start thinking that way, mainly because it's hard to stop thinking that way.

*sigh*

I wonder if all hypersensitive people feel a profound lack of reciprocity in their lives. This is why somebody need to create a pill that removes your ability to give any fucks, whatsoever. Fuck all this prozac and nerve pills and booze or whatever. Pop open a cold can of Who Gives A Shit and watch your day improve.

I wish.

Maybe tomorrow will be better and I won't feel so sad and hopeless. Now is probably not a good time to list all the ways people have let me know that I suck lately. Nor would it be prudent to talk about how my friends' unhappiness bleeds all over me. It's probably all in my head, anyway.

I really don't want to mess with that paperwork. There are bills in there. Bills I can't pay. Yuck.

Handy J analyzed my dream from yesterday and concluded that the Passport was the key part. It represented my intense desire to run away. From life. Don't you always feel so dumb when you tell your dream to someone and they point out some obvious symbolism that you totally missed?

The Walking Dead is back on. It's recorded and I hope we can watch it today. My cable box has been broken since I got back, so any tv needs are being routed through the roomies big ass tv in the living room. It's got a really nice picture. But there's not room for any of my stuff on there. I did just find some shows online, so I can catch up on The Blacklist on my computer.

Anybody else watching that show? Spader is pretty awesome. I like how he's truly a bad guy who does bad things, they don't flinch away from that. But the FBI in that show? They are like The Worst FBI. Ever. They suck. They don't follow any kind of discernible protocol and they bungle just about every damn thing they do. I'm sort of embarassed for them.

I mean, Spader's character can still be cool and influential without making the task force look like Keystone Cops. Lazy writing. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaazy. The entire premise is out there, so it probably seems like I am nitpicking about the Feds. But seriously, they are so inept. So very. The mind boggles.

But the cinematography is very nice and the music is fookin erhsome. James Spader manages to be eating in almost every scene he's in, saucy little imp that he is.

Things That Would Be Nice

Having more than $12 in the bank and not having to worry about all the bills that are due due due.

Not having to borrow money from my financially strapped relatives.

Not having my financially strapped relatives run out of money to lend me.

Not needing money.

Having some entity think I was worth some kind of decent wage.

Being able to support myself.

Not breaking into a full body sweat every time I move more than the bare minimum. For example, today I broke into a flop sweat by walking to the washing machine and putting in my clothes. That was 10 minutes ago. I'm still sweating. At least my elbows have stopped perspiring at this point.

Not being such a fat fuck. Or even having my eating and activity habits have any effect on my body other than for me to get fatter.

Did I mention the early onset menopausal sweating?

Getting to have a period without nauseating and crippling pain.

Not spending a significant portion of my time trying to plan around the pain, mitigate the pain, etc ad naueseum.

Not having dreams that are so obviously unattainable. Not wanting things I will never, ever have.

Not being aware of all the things someone like me will never have.

Not being a complete and total failure.

Not being exhausted, defeated, sad,  and miserable.

**********

You know, it's been a couple of pretty difficult years now. I've tried to stay positive, I've tried to find beauty and joy in the world. But the world doesn't seem very interested in showing me anything but shit. Maybe I just haven't tried hard enough. Maybe I'm just too lazy or spoiled or stupid or ungrateful.

Things can't be bad all the time. It's got to get better eventually. But when is eventually? When does something break in your favor? What if it never happens? What if this is the best chance you get? What if you can never climb out of the hole?

I'm pretty sure this all my fault, somehow. But I don't know how to make any of it better. How could I have fucked things up so irretrievably? It doesn't seem possible to have that much impact negatively but no balancing ability to effect positive change.

Life can be stupid, pointless, and painfully unhappy. But does it have to be all three at once?

i wish i could turn into a bird and fly far, far away from here

My Dream Life Is A Senseless As My Real Life, But At Least It's More Interesting

What a strange dream.

At some sort of interactive experience at an entertainment/theatre/something group in a building in the boonies. My old boss turns shows up. Turns out they need someone to hand carry a package to New York. (For the purposes of this dream, New York is in another country).

We converse and he decides to hire me for the job. Me and Lin (but not Lin, really) jump in car and drive to get supplies. But there's a twist! I don't have a passport. My old boss falls into this really weird frame of mind where he's trying to decide if he wants to push for my passport, if it's the right thing to do, blah blah talking to lady at airport stuff.

I'm all "Whatevs, you decide. Meanwhile I'll drop your wife off at her car and pick up those supplies." For some reason, the supplies were located at the old 23rd St. shopping plaza with the Wal-Mart. Apparently this was a nightmare.

As boss struggles with the issue of sending me, and makes phone calls to important senators to push my passport through, me and Not!Lin spend AGES driving into town.

I return, with car, to airport/theatre/whatever and my boss has decided I should go. We are waiting for paperwork to go through and he decides we should go grab something to eat. We end  up in a shitty chain restaurant, sitting in the shitty seats in the back. He is acting kinda weird. As usual, I'm just along for the ride. There is the vague feeling that I'm not quite grasping all the intricacies and import of the situation.

Then I wake up.

When I have dreams like this, I'm pretty sure they are either total nonsense or else so painfully obvious in their symbolism that it's embarrassing. Either way, I'll be damned if I know what the whole thing is about.

And I slept CRAZY late this morning. What a weird way to start the day. What a strange feeling.

Conclusion: Obviously I need to get a passport.

Remember That Time I House Sat In Long Beach?

Since you hang on my every word. As promised, updated with pix.

See how the other 1% lives.

When the ice tray is full it's harder to tell, but this is Dr. Who ice. Hee hee. I DRANK THE DALEKS, I DRANK THEM UPS.

Yeah, me and Anka ate all your lox. Sorry.

Anka!

Best room in the house. Stunning windows and view. The blue line on the horizon is the ocean.

View from the guest room. Ocean.

The bathrooms reminded me of the 1950s style so prevalent in northwest Florida. These are from the 20s.

These are imminently sensible stairs.

View from the side porch.

I don't if, having lived with wooden/tile/noncarpet flooring, that one can ever be satisfied living with anything else.

Rando: Going Through The Photos On Your Phone

It's sort of a combination of CSI and Christmas. There are all these photos I don't remember taking and I get to reconstruct what the fandango I was thinking at the time, or why the photo even exists. It's mostly a surprise, with a few "Oh yeaaaaahs" thrown in there.

I write you this with an S-Video cable tied around my neck, my electronics box open and spread across the floor, "borrowed" batteries in one of my remotes, and cable boxes, vcrs, and wiring spread across my floor.

Yes, I have been trying to get my tv to work. Old cable box gave up the ghost. New one not faring much better. I've applied my limited (read: none) electronics acumen to the problem. We have reached the Technician Required phase.

My theory: supply coax cable has gone squicky. Or Time Warner has suddenly stopped supporting my old ass TV.

Gee, I wonder which one?

Anyhoodle, I'm supposed to be filling out a job application right now. So I'm posting instead. (Don't yell, I am going to apply. I just need to express myself a bit before I descend into resume hell so I can just be rejected. Again. Bleh.)

So, here are some pix from my cross country trip:

Houston.

Tejas.

El Paso at sunset.

Makes me desperately long for my old camera.

I don't know how I ended up taking a picture of a beam of light or wtf I was trying to capture. But it's pretty cool.

The treacherous path to The Thing!

That light pole really vexed me.

Before I left to drive back West, I mentioned to my bro that my washer fluid line has been broken for a while and I haven't been able to fix it myself. He went out back and liberated a rake tine to "jam it in there" and fix it. At the time I saw no way to do it, but far be it from me to turn away a piece of machine metal. You just never know.

Well, guess what? That tine came in handy when I needed to brace my antenna to stop it from whomping the bejesus out of my rear windshield. You can't tell much from the pic, but that is a rake tine, some electrical tape, and some of my sweat from repairing that in 100 degree weather at an Arizona gas station. I had to stand on the back seat and streeeeeeeetch. It's still in place.

I'm a little scared to test this in a car wash.

When I got back West, turns out Handy J's tv had gone kaput. The replacement part is no longer made. Figures. So we donated the monster to a crafty minded friend of his.

This tv is bigger than me. So was the replacement.

And now for the WTF pic. I have no idea how I ended up researching this. I'm guessing random button hitting. At any rate, it looks like the closest I can get to a soulmate is Peter O' Toole.

I don't think that really requires further comment.

Does this mean Richard Harris would like me?

Ending With A Hint Of Relief

And so this long day draws to a close, with the pain tamped down to a manageable level sometime after midnight.

It's funny because chronic pain can really wear you out, but sometimes you are so relieved to feel better that you can't pass out. It's like your body is all "Oh boy, we don't feel like total shite right now! Paaaaarty!"

Or something. Not sure what a spleen says to a large intestine. Shout out to Handy J and Bef, who both helped me out today. Special shout out to HJ, who continues to grow as a person, much to the benefit of himself and those around him.

KIDS: DON'T TAKE DRUG TRANSUBSTANTION INTO YOUR OWN HANDS.

Warning: this shit is graphic. This is a Russian junkie who decided to shoot up some pills. That's right, he liquified some pills and injected. This is bad for many reasons, not the least of which is the caustic effect acetaminophen and NSAIDs have on blood vessels.

So he ended up at the hosptial with some gangrene. This video is not safe for life, liberty, or the pursuit of a sound sleep. There is some removal here. It's not particularly bloody, it's just, well. . .

You can see bone. Shin bone. It's like a halloween costume.

For some freaky shit click here. I don't advise clicking there. This is what happens when you decide that since you take drugs, you know chemistry/biology/anything.

Here's to tomorrow and better days.

That Really Hurt My Feelings

Chitauri energy blast wound corresponds to my pain, somewhat.

But I'll get over it.

I guess, despite my best attempts, I ask for too much.

Maybe that's at the core of whatever is wrong with me: I want too much and therefore will always be disappointed?

Or maybe not.

And the days went by
Like paper in the wind
Everything changed
Then changed again

I wonder if anybody could hear the Wildflowers album and not like it. Is that possible? I know some people say they don't care for Tom Petty, but isn't Wildflowers just a trump record? I can't really be objective, I guess, since I love Tom Petty to itty bitty pieces.

I'm in an immense amount of pain right now and we are hitting one of those transcendent moments--this kinda pain can make you just as goofy as any med. It probably says something profoundly disturbing about my psyche that these are times I feel compelled to record and communicate. When I am probably so least able. But I'm willing to cut myself the slack of acknowledging desperatizing circusmstances. I just made that word up. I don't care.

Wow, I've totally lost my train of thought with this. Because Blogger just quit working for about 20 minutes.

WTF? Even the Interwebz is against me!! Shock!! Horror!! AaaaIiiiiEeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

It's a couple of degrees below Melting today, so there's that. We are grateful. Praise jebus.

Here's something awesome I saw today:

I can't even win at Angry Birds. How dafuc does this happen? I must be the leftover DNA. It's probably good I'm not reproducing.

Epiphany: Shark Week?

So I'm watching this interview. Okay, it's Kevin Pollak interviewing Craig Ferguson. Kevin's got what seems like a pretty cool podcast going on: Kevin's Pollak's Chat Show.

Craig Ferguson?, I hear you query. Oh, that Craig Ferguson. Seems to me that somebody has been spending more'n wee bit of time with Mister Ferguson. 

Don't judge me.

Anyhoo, Craigyferg did Shark Week at one point. Pollak asks him what led to doing something like Shark Week.

Craig replies with this long, but strangely reserved, description of shark shenanigans.

Kevin re-asks, specificing: what was your impetus for swimming with sharks in the first place? Because most of us wouldn't do that, swim with sharks.


And I was all:

Who wouldn't leverage their new position/status/access to get access to an opportunity to go on Shark Week? Seriously? Or do you mean someone wouldn't use their new millionaire status to go swim with sharks in general?

Either way, the answer is the same: this question is invalid because SHARKS!!!! Is there seriously somebody out there who, all other things being equal, would not totally go for some awesome Jacques Cousteau/Eugenia Clark(?) sharky encounters? I mean, really, is this even a question?

But then I stop. I mean I stop the interview, pause in thought, all things cease to move.

Because, what if there really are people who wouldn't want to swim with sharks? I mean, given the chance to do so in a controlled and (relatively) safe environment? I mean, I would also really like to pet a tiger. I don't foresee many actual opportunities in life were this might be possible without threat of grievous bodily harm. I mean, statistically, it seems a lot more likely that petting a tiger would get me killed (especially a caged one) than swimming with some sharks would. Those would be statistics I made up entirely in my head, but whatever. The point is, doesn't everyone want to pet a tiger? Maybe dog lovers a little less so?

Which is all to say: are there really people who wouldn't want to swim with sharks? Like, a large amount of people? Like a majority?

Mind blown. Must confer with Handy J and watch the rest of the interview.

I Laughed So Hard I Gave Myself A Coughing Fit: Worst Cats

http://worstcats.tumblr.com/

It's pretty new, so I ended up reading the whole thing.

Seriously, my chest hurts right now.

Sometimes Lin likes to email me things that shut down my day. I'm in recovery over here.