Spotted today: Tattoo of two words in the shape of a cross on a guy’s leg: vertically - “WHITE,” horizontally - “PRIDE.” Bumper sticker on the back of a giant Ford SUV: “NOBAMA / Say no to socialism in 2008.” Fun times.
The weirdest, dumbest thing happened to me last Monday. I’ve been reluctant to write about it because it’s so dumb.
I left the gym and drove across the street to a sporting goods store to browse kayaks (why? I can’t fit one in my car, definitely not on it). As I walked down the main aisle, I passed a mid-30’s white man with his two young boys sitting at a patio display. I couldn’t have picked him out of a lineup - the only detail that caught my eye was his jaw packed with tobacco. “Gross.” The man looked at his wife who was standing nearby and commented that I had a tattoo on my leg. He told her, “you should get one that says ‘666′.”
I paused, looked back for a second, and decided to keep moving. “What a random, stupid, pointless, ignorant thing to say.” But if I got upset at every redneck with a mouthful of Copenhagen, I would have died from heart failure a long time ago. I decided to make an effort to avoid the whole family.
I perused for a few minutes checking for some things, passing them in the distance a few times, until I decided to go pee and then leave. As I was leaving the restroom, I walked down a side aisle and serendipitously ended up at the main at the same time as the Redneck on the parallel aisle. “Thank God I’m leaving.” I passed him and went on my way. But I didn’t get more than a few feet away before I heard his wife say to him, “we’re done here, where are we going now?” And he loudly proclaimed at the top of his voice, “we’re gonna follow this guy since he’s been following US!”
That’d be me. And I was not.
He walked towards me and stayed no more than 12 inches behind me. I never looked back but I could hear his footsteps. His kids followed and I heard “c’mon boys, I want you to see this.” Unfortunately this continued all around the store, and the place is big. As we approached the busy registers, he stopped, but repeatedly screamed at me to wait outside for him. “Two minutes, buddy! Gimme two minutes and I’ll come out there and we’ll take care of this!” Again, I didn’t look back.
I felt safer once I got outside, but I’m not much of a fighter. Or if I am, I wouldn’t know since I’ve never been in one. I’ve never fought back. I got in my car and was backing out of my parking spot when I saw him in my rear view mirror walking towards me with his young two boys at his side. He was screaming all kinds of obscene things, but the only word I was sure I heard was “faggot.” Er, “FAGGOT!!1!!1!”
So I drove off. On the way home, a truck stayed behind me for more than a few turns and I was afraid it was him following me. I was afraid, but it was much later that night when I realized how scared I actually was. It was really dark and I was getting something out of my car and a stray puppy had wandered up behind me and barked. It wanted to play. I really think I almost had a heart attack. You know that feeling when something scares you and it’s like you can feel a fracture in every nerve cell of your body? Your aura shatters into a million pieces? That, only worse.
I’m still upset that this happened. Upset that he’s a redneck, that he’s teaching this to his boys, that he’s probably going to take this out on his wife, that she lacks the intelligence and self-esteem to stand up to him. But as dumb as it sounds, I’m more upset that I didn’t turn around. [Sob story] As a child I was beaten up, abused, had rocks thrown at me, things like that on a daily basis. Mostly, I let go of all that. I told myself a few years ago that it’s ridiculous to hold grudges against people for things they did when they were children.
Or in my case, things they didn’t do.
But the more I see adults act like children, the more I start to believe I was wrong.
Last weekend I went to Houston for a (very successful) surprise birthday party for a friend. Much fun was had as we chatted, ate, drank (a lot), and watched a few things on their big projector in the backyard. Strangely, bras ended up hanging from flagpoles, but that’s another story. First, of course, was a bootleg copy of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog, which most of us had seen already and could quote verbatim. Next up was National Treasure 2, which is by far one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Normally I blame Nicolas Cage for his bad movies, but there was no saving this one. After that, the Amazing Screw-On Head, which was surprisingly awesome and finally an encore of Dr. Horrible.
I hate long drives, but I’ll say the scenery between Dallas and Houston is far more picturesque than the crapscape between Dallas and Austin. But Austin wins the Best City in Texas award by a landslide. I had never been to Houston, and don’t care to go back. Sure the downtown area is “pretty,” and the buildings are tall, but the place just never fucking ends. I’ve never seen so much concrete. And then I drove by that god damned Joel Osteen largest-church-in-the-world and that sealed my disgust.
My actual vacation was cancelled for a handful of reasons, but I’m still spending the entire week off work. I decided to spend it looking for another job, which is turning out to be a major bust. It’s not like my standards aren’t low enough already: must be mostly indoors, pay at least what I made last year and not make me want to brutally slaughter others and then myself. Sadly, the last part is negotiable since I’m arguably well-versed in coping (I’m alive and they’re alive, right?). I don’t think I can stand to create another profile with an agency or a pre-screener. I’m all profiled out…srsly. I have to peel my eyes open to blink again. I’m only typing this because I’m taking a break.
In the meantime, I’ve been bored. I’ve cleaned up three years of financial paperwork, sent off for rebates I’m owed, stayed up late and slept late, organized my illegal downloaded tv serieses and seen a couple of movies. The first was The Dark Knight, of course, since I couldn’t be last. I thought the movie itself was mostly ho-hum, except for Heath, who was concentrated brilliance. The other film I saw this morning was The X Files. I was a bedside fan of the show, but this movie’s plot was just phenominally lackluster. That’s all they had? It would’ve made for a decent two-part episode, but as a movie I expected a lot more. More devoted fans will probably be sated. I just don’t care enough, it’s not like it was Buffy or anything.
Speaking of which, I think I’m a couple of months behind on comics. Walked into Border’s last month and the comic section had mysteriously teleported somewhere… didn’t bother asking because I have social anxiety disorder, but I did search for it to no avail.
BTW - I’m officially over 20 pounds on the weight loss. Go me. Kind of hit a plateau. My energy level for the last three weeks has been nil, and my depression high. I’m thinking it might be another thyroid thing, so possibly another visit with the doc is in order. I can see the mountain top but I have not been there.
The day after tomorrow. Or in current terms, tomorrow. Friday. Maybe Friday is the big day? I called to see what time to show up to pick up the big item, and the dude was all “oh, uh, come tomorrow, it’ll be ready tomorrow.” Then I’ll pay you “later.” And by “later” I mean right after I punch you in the larynx. STFU.
It was probably good anyway since I felt like crap and wanted nothing more than to come home and get in bed and watch the finale of LOST Matthew Fox NOM NOM. I skipped the gym and I feel guilt. I also “skipped” Tuesday, and I mean I didn’t do cardio cuz the place was so busy there were lines for stuff. So I don’t deserve my reward. I should be flagellated.
Do you ever just wish all kinds of ungodly pain on people who endanger your life on the road? Or steal your staples and pens? I was almost murdered today by no less than 12 people, and the only way to calm myself is to imagine the perpetrators starring in Saw V. I used to picture their heads exploding but that does nothing for me now. I guess I’m so high maintenance now that I need a storyline. Not much of one, obvs, but more substance than mere gore provides.
Today’s fortune cookie: “Watch for a stranger near you to soon become a friend.” OH GODS, PLEASE let it be the new hottie at work! He’s tall, pasty and looks like a potential sociopath. He’s dreamy.
I’m generally not the type of person who likes to pay someone else to do something that I can do myself. This was exemplified and instilled in me during my childhood when my parents were extremely poor (cue the violins). Also, I just like to know how to do stuff. Weird, random stuff. So sometimes I try to do things I have no business doing hoping I’ll learn. Sometimes this works magnificently and adds to my confidence level and masculine demeanor. Other times, it makes me stab people.
Today, that thing was tinting the windows on my car, Maximo. I’ve been wanting to get it done, but the quotes I’ve received were kind of outrageous. But if I would pay someone else to do it, it would have to be a professional. I found the tint I wanted and purchased it along with an accessory kit which included an instructional dvd. I found that encouraging.
And then I wanted people to die. Clearly, I’m an idiot.
The first window - the passenger door - went swimmingly until I had to peel the protective film off the tint. It curved around and stuck to itself, which instantly ruins it. I tried to put it on anyway just for the practice. It was dreadful. So I figured I’d try the back window because it didn’t require any special cuts. “Maybe I won’t fuck that up…”
And I didn’t. Things went smoothly. Until I couldn’t get some of the air bubbles out and violently tore it off the window and went screaming down the street like a wolfman and peed on a mailbox. Okay I made that last part up.
It was truly the biggest waste of $44 EVER. Or was my last date the biggest waste of money… who knows. I’m a cash machine.
I’ve been on vacation since last Wednesday. It was fantastic. But, sadly, I was still kind of stressed over the aforementioned dose of quality that The Ex was waving over me. I’ll elaborate, but only a little: he got this great job he was all braggy about, and then the company promoted him within days to another position and he was adamant that they choose me as his replacement. He spent a couple of weeks trying to “sell” me to them, and they were interested. It would be conducive to the acquisition of quality for me because it has my interest, pays well and would afford me the time and money to get hot and go back to school.
I had a phone interview scheduled today with some out-of-staters. So I had all vacation to prepare. And by prepare, I mean stress out because I’m not really qualified on paper, but I’m wholly qualified in reality. I emailed The Ex last night from the hotel to tell him that, while on vacation, my phone took a trip to Fritzville and got stranded on the outskirts, but that I could still receive calls and that I didn’t have his number. (Both screens are non-functional and black.) I figured he should know. He replied this morning.
…Dallas/Fort Worth has been put on the backburner for now . . . possibly until 2009. However, Austin will go live this summer, and they would take a look at you as a candidate for Austin, too. I hate to break truly disappointing news, but it’s not a “no” it’s just a “not right this minute”. Truly a bummer, but again, it’s not “never”, just not right at this moment.
It’s not them, it’s me. It all sounded way too good to be true. I’d rather do Austin and I have expressed to them that I would gladly move there for it. But I know they’re interested in having someone far more familiar with each city to open up the branch. Like, a resident.
Back to my low-quality lifestyle and being, I guess.
And to top it off, I now have to get a new cell phone. Luckily my niece had an old one that I could use until I do that. Unluckily, here is what it looks like.
Oh well. If I’d known I only had bad news to come home to, I would’ve gotten far more fucked up during the vacation. I showed restraint. Although… I did kind of bond with this guy I met there last time. Hawwwwt. But straight and very hispanicky macho. We really got on well, though. He claimed me as his man. He gave me his email address. I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to say, or should say. I’m thinking… “Hey Antonio, thanks for the good time. I have to say the hilight of the whole vacation was Saturday at 3am when I was running around like a horse with you on my back and you were slapping my ass.”
It wouldn’t be a lie. Too bad we were slightly clothed. His girlfriend stole him from me. She was highly bitchy.
Meg, co-worker: “C’mon, just tell me if you’re gay. Are you or aren’t you?!”
Me: “Don’t you think that if I were gay I’d have a better job and be much better looking?”
Meg, co-worker: [long pause] “…That’s true, gay men do have a lot of money…”
This is just one more example of why I don’t like communicating with people in any way that doesn’t involve daggers coming out of my eyes. And I walked right into it, as I usually do. That’s another one of those convos that bounce around in my head long after they’re done (at least a month for that one). Anyway, I don’t mind people I work with knowing about that, but I do make an effort to not have gay sex on my desk during work hours. And it’s easy, considering how often it happens in the first place.
I think I’ve mentioned Work-twink here before, but I’m too lazy to… Work-twink is 20, a complete closet-case, and has a “girlfriend.” I don’t even know what he does there at our workplace. He waves at me a lot. And because I’m a nice guy, I wave back even though I’m trying to look away or do any number of things that involve the swift and necessary extraction of my person. But, really, I am a nice guy. I’m like… a Niceness Cappuccino with Extra Super Foam, but liberally sprinkled with Queen Bitch’s Nutmeg. Seriously.
So anyway, Work-twink has this thing for me which makes me uncomfortable because 1. he’s so fucking awkward, 2. being 20, short, and completely assless and rail-thin to the tune of a Sally Struthers infomercial makes him not my type, 3. he walks with a limp and nobody knows why, which draws all kinds of skeptical intrigue, and finally 4. which was just added to the list will be revealed in the following paragraphs.
Four is a physical kind of thing so -GROSS- that I don’t know if I can write about it, much less think about it. But I will… for you. Last Friday, a day which I do not enjoy to stay late at work, I was driving by the front of the building as he walked out and I offered to drive him to the back of the parking lot because it’s a long walk, and, you know, Niceness Cappuccino.
Long walk, short drive. I could handle it. Because I’m NICE.
We pulled up behind his vehicle and I was thinking “yay, he’s going to get out now.” But he didn’t. He kept futzing around with things and asking questions. Questions like “so, do you have a girlfriend?” “How old are you?” “Don’t you want to get married and have kids?” I should be flattered since it’s rare that males take any positive interest in me whatsoever. But I’m bored.
It drags on, and other co-workers are driving by, seeing the scene and waving goodbye and laughing. Meanwhile, I’m trying to astrally project myself into a sunny meadow. Failing miserably, I finally looked at him to say “HAIL no I don’t want to get married or produce offspring” when I noticed something…strange. Something wasn’t right.
In fact, something was very, very wrong. So wrong that I died and was immediately reincarnated as whoever won the gold medal for Extreme Vomiting (I didn’t just get the medal, I had to die first… you see?) . He was sending a text message. Oh God, I can’t even find the words here. Fungus. Nail fungus. On all his fingers. Worst I’ve ever seen. In fact I’ve only seen people ever have it on their feet, not that I’m looking for it or ever will. He doesn’t have fingernails, he has tree bark - probably from a California Redwood or maybe one of those 1,000 year old Oaks. Some very large, very old tree’s bark… that’s what he had there. And this is hilarious to my co-workers because, naturally, I was the last to know.
And by that point, he had been in my car for twenty minutes. Aside from being severely grossed out and wanting to go home, I was now convinced that both me and my car, Maximo, were contaminated. I can’t bear to do a Google search to find out how it spreads, though my inner voice tells me “hard, fast and repeatedly.” I do feel badly for him, though, and (sparingly) wonder what kinds of conditions led to that for him.
At least when it’s on your feet, I guess you can wear socks and nobody will know, and by default, no one will care. As for now, I have found my germophobia, and it starts with fungi and ends at the door of my vehicle.
I know there are worse things, but this is so typical. Finally a guy likes me, but he’s practically a teenager and obviously a demon.
I love my iPod, affectionately named Marco, but I hate that there is a new version of either iTunes software or the iPod firmware every time I go to plug the thing in. And right now I’m hating that the second letter of their stuff is capitalized, it’s making me angry. ANGST.
I’m considering getting a new computer, and for the longest time I wanted an Apple. But now I’m not so sure. Why set myself up for disappointment when with Ol’ Reliable, I already know to expect it?
I finished the third season of Buffy last night without having the fourth season ready. ANGST. I’ve been downloading them off the internets in .avi format and putting them on dvds because my dvd player recognizes it. Eleven episodes per disc, two discs per season. It’s genius, really. And then last night I had apparently filled up my hard drive - a feat I was sure I could never accomplish. DEL. I’m still not sure how this happened. It’s not porn, I promise.
I know I really should keep my hands off co-workers, but I spend so much time with them. There’s always one I’m pretending to be married to in my head. Most of them turn out to be real assholes. The latest one just happened to be cute and nice and sweet and spoke English as merely a broken, second language.
I’m not seeing a downside here.
My friends know him as The Peruvian. I caught him reading The Secret, and that’s when I knew he was gay. His birthday was yesterday (29), and he was looking for a date for Valentine’s Day. I came this close <-> to asking him out. But the fact that he hasn’t shown up to work this week at all kind of ruined my tentative, hypothetical plans. I’m assuming he’s been terminated. It’s just what happens.
On happier notes, the weekend after next is going to be all fun times. I have a hockey game, a concert, and the North Texas Irish Festival to attend… all of which are merely excuses to be drunk in public (spleen permitting, natch). It says “hi” and waves adoringly to you. My spleen.
Today’s fortune cookie SAYS: “Take that chance you’ve been considering.” Oh, the irony. I’ve been so busy trying to merely maintain the status quo that considering a “chance” hasn’t even been in the stars. Or has it..?
The thing is that I’m sick of my job. My tasks themselves are tedious from the mere repetition. That’s to be expected with almost anything, I guess. Since I started working at this place almost three years ago, I’ve dreamed of leaving with a bang. Nailing my 95 theses to someone’s forehead and promptly exiting stage left.
But beyond the monotony, the situation I’m in is just really unfair. Half the time I’m not even needed, and so I spend my days looking for ways to keep myself busy. The result is depression and sloth. I think to myself, “look how you’re wasting your life.”
The machismo in this place is also wretched, although I’ve become kinda used to it. I can hang with it. Teeth-grinding, I can hang. I’m not exactly out at work, but I’m definitely not in. And I can take the gay jokes that go around. I’d be a hypocrite not to. Usually I just change the subject or tell “dead baby” jokes, which always get mixed reviews followed by deafening silence - also known as “my happy place.”
But when somebody drops an F-bomb, it’s all I can do not to go postal.
This happened twice yesterday.
Lately my dream of leaving with a bang has morphed. Instead, I’d rather collect my belongings after hours and merely disappear without a trace, a sound or a goodbye. No fanfare or ovation. Just…gone.
In an ideal world, I’d quit working altogether to go back to school full time. Or just travel. Anywhere, really. Anything would be new. But in this world, I’m stuck at what is seeming more and more like a dead end job because I need my health insurance.
Damn, this world sucks.
