Walked into work today to a Murphy's Law situation.
If it wasn't already fucked or messed up, it soon would be - it made me feel like I'd committed so heinous crime in a former life, and God just decided to fuck with me all at once.
There's not really much point in moaning about it - but hey, I've got this space - why not use it?
Later.
I've got to admit, Buckley's doesn't pull any punches.
That stuff winds up and puts it's burning, vile tasting, mentholated fist right through your head. It forcibly removes what's ailing you like the Lybian government removes protesters. (Ok, bad example, I'll admit.)
But I wouldn't have it any other way.
Unlike other people that I know, I actually medicate myself when I'm sick - I take shit that gets it over with as quick as possible, so I can get back to doing the things people do when they are not sick. (You know, like life?)
Just laying around and hoping you will eventually feel better is like rolling over during a fight and hoping the guy will stop hitting you when his arms get tired.
So I take the short term pain (Buckley's) for the long term gain (Not feeling like shit).
It's working so far.
Now excuse me while I take my dose of nasty, nasty, tasting stuff.
Later.
I'm not the most organized guy in the world, but I'm better than most.
Which is why certain things at work drive me completely fucking nuts.
In my job, it pays to be organized - product in, product out, rotation - and the fact that you have multiple people working in the same area means that everyone has to do their part to keep it neat.
And one or two people being sloppy can make my day go from great to shitty in a half second.
It's not that hard - there is a place for everything - just put it where it fucking goes. (Not as elegant as "..and everything in its place.", but you get my meaning..)
I don't want to be "that" guy - the one who rages when one item is out of place - but its getting close. I think the next person I see just putting stuff away sloppily will experience wrath that will make Kahn's look like a Care Bear reunion.
Later.
My first day off is usually a write-off.
It's not that I don't want to accomplish anything - believe me, my ambition in the hours leading up to my days off is astounding. I have plans to clean the house, do enough laundry to get through the year, balance the budget, cure cancer, and possibly run a 20-miler - and all that before the kids are out of school.
But somehow, it just never seems to work out that way.
I'm probably going to blame it on tasty coffee and the Internet. I'd have to say that those two distractions are what eat up most of my time. And podcasts - sweet,sweet, podcasts.
Hence the fact that my second day off is usually just a catch up day - the house is cleaned, the laundry done, and I'll usually get 7-10 miles in. I guess the balancing and disease curing will have to wait until I'm on holidays.
Sure, that'll work.
Later.
I'm lucky enough to have a job where I get to meet and talk to a wide variety of people. I enjoy most of the customers who come in, and get along with the majority of my co-workers.
There are the ones that you can talk more freely with, or have some sort of personal connection or shared interests, and talking with them always makes the night fly by.
Tonight is not one of those nights.
There's just no one interesting working - I can choose between talking quilting with one, how fascinating and dreamy another's boyfriend is, listen to the spazy guy talk about his "girlfriend" (pretty sure its his right hand) and the one other person working says maybe 3 non-work related words a month.
I personally believe this will be the longest night ever.
Wake me when it's over.
Later.
Dear Mr. Homeless Man:
I do not know how you came to be in your current situation - drugs, misfortune, the CIA, whatever - and I don't really care.
What I do know is that continually asking me for change while I'm waiting for the bus in Vancouver does not endear me towards your plight.
Frankly, your strategy of asking for a quarter, being denied, and then asking for a dime and a quarter is baffling. I'm not sure of your profession before you decided to take up the homeless "gig" - but I suspect it was as a unsuccessful hostage negotiator.
I do admire your perseverance, though, and if you put as much effort into 8 hours at a actual job vs 18 hours of begging, you just might get ahead in the world.
I understand you're "off the grid" , and "living free", so the chances of you stumbling across this piece of digital advice are very slim, but if you do, please take it to heart.
Clean up, get a job, and stop being such an annoying dick to random strangers on the street.
Later.
P.s. - I stuck a quarter in my piece of gum and put it under the bench - pretend it's buried treasure!
I don't regret much when it comes to the world of pop-culture.I hate dealing with sick people.
Not mentally, sick - Hell, where I work, they're all a little twisted.
I'm talking about those people who treat a sore throat and sniffles like it's H1N1 - like the world is ending because their sinus headache won't go away.
Those people I want to stab with a pencil and put them out of their misery.
'Cause really, that's all you can do - they are useless to be around, don't accomplish anything, and the bitching and moaning are almost too much to handle.
The thing is, if they would just suck it up a bit, then they would probably end up feeling better - but no - bitching is waaaay more fun.
It's gunna be a loooong night.
Later.
