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I got an email today and my response basically sums up my whole day.
oh god, i quit my job today! i don't believe i did that. shiiiiiit, i think i AM gonna end up playing streetfighter all day. something's been seriously wrong with me ever since i came back from vegas. i think i've been infected by some sort of strange, experimental area 51, death valley desert spore that cause one to suddenly make spontaneous irrational decisions. i think i need a drink.
I have no clue what the living fuck I'm gonna do now. But I mean, I really thought about it and as much as I love my job, I can't see taking six credits just to keep it. I mean, I'm still gonna try and register and get into One Shirt's class but that's strictly for my own interests. I mean, the chances of me getting into grad school are pretty farking bad so I'm not putting any faith into that idea.
The immediate now has me eating mah po tofu. Which is as good a start as any.
6:07 am
Okay. Umm. Shit. I guess I should getting cracking on a resume. For now though, I guess I should start turning in some applications for McJobs for the time being. I thought about it and I guess the one good thing about a McJob is that it will give me time to write. Or that's what they all say.
Sad. I basically really screwed em at work. First Kitsune leaves, now me. I'm really gonna miss that job. Where else could you have showed up any fucking time you wanted, wearing whatever you wanted... Spunker was born there. When the news got out, Dell Pickle and Bubba freaked and I introduced them to the wonderful world of email.
The Hairy Editor asked what I'm gonna do now. I gave a throwaway line: "I'm gonna apply at 7-11."
Straightface, he goes, "They never called me back."
Why am I not surprised.
Although actually I guess Overqualification isn't a myth.
Today they... Picture a dove and Ozzy Osbourne in concert. Yes, it's that fucking bad. Then Darth talked about using Pam as lubricant.
Where the fuck else am I gonna find a job like that?
OH SHIT! For the record, that's Pam The Cooking Spray, as in "It's time for cooking with Pam," not Pam. Oh God, that came out totally wrong. Never-fucking-mind.
But anyway, I don't know. So many people I talk to, well... They aren't too happy with their jobs. They're always on the lookout for another one so they can quit and move on and blah blah blah. So I figure, if I get a job that I'm not too happy with, at least I'm not in the minority.
Eww. You know what really irks me. I hate the people that are all cheerful and they go, "I love my job, I love my job." You always get the feeling that they're not "all there," you know? I mean, think about it. Most of the people that love their jobs, they got some sort of social-relations problem; a serious glitch in the inter-human personality or something. Or they're just plain jerks. Gosh, I love the blissfully ignorant.
Thursday, August 19, 1999, 4:37 am
I'm more depressed than a Party Of Five episode. Tomorrow's my last day/night at work.
I think it's officially time to grow up. Get a normal sleep schedule, get a real job.
I was THIS close to turning in an application for a really humiliating retail job and I woke up the next morning and went "what the living fuck was I thinking?!"
I guess the thing that's throwing everything off is that I always planned to go to grad school. I thought I had a little more time to be a goof-off. Oh well...
All things considered, I had more fun than I should've last night. I swear, I gotta gotta go drinking with BruddahJ and Michael waaay more often. I love unemployed people. It got to the point where instead of going home and working on the article and the Movie Review, I dragged Michael all over fucking Honolulu. I seriously hoped BrudahJ had to do something else after cause if he just went straight home, I'd feel like a thousand pounds of banana shit. I somehow managed to forget that I was running on no-sleep for 24 hours with a 3 and a half hour nap. Around two a.m., right about the time we hit Manoa, my body just fucking shut down. Cats are running around me and I'm thinking I'm Jim Morrison going, "These are the oddest looking horses I've ever seen."
I'm not 100% because I haven't experienced one for a real long time, but I think I was hungover today. At work, I refused to take my sunglasses off. I think I ingested every carcinogen except weed and crack last night. (I thought of a new explanation why I CAN'T smhoke anymore: My girlfriend does drug-testing once a month. Pathetically, it ain't that far off from the truth.) My body was seriously pissed off at me. I wake up and my lungs are sitting there looking at me going, "You fucking asshole." And I haven't seen the inside of a gym since Sunday.
Strangest, strangest, strangest fucking thing happened tonight. I fell asleep and I guess Ball And Chain was kissing my arm and I was dreaming and I thought it was one of her friends doing it. And I was liking it. Strange strange strange. That would get me into a Nissan extra cab of trouble there.
Bah. I don't wanna deal. Instead, let's work on my resume together.
Education: Went to a shitty ass high school whose only smoking section was in the D building bathroom.
Went to a shitty ass college and got an utterly useless degree and a kick-ass parking space.
Work Objective: To leach off a corporation simply as a means to an end for finishing a novel which is way more important to me.
Work Experience:
Co-created an utterly childish electronic magazine named Spunker whose specialty seems to be anything that has to do with sexual genitalia.
Wrote about two hundred fifty thousand movie reviews. And I never once mentioned the movie itself.
Skills:
The ability to annoy anyone in five seconds flat.
Adamantium nose hairs.
Can smoke more tobacco products than the entire country of Japan.
Awards:
A star from Toad while playing Mario Golf.
References:
Kitsune Mifune, Herbalist
Michael Chow, Bad Influence
Princess Iguana, Butt Of Cheap Jokes
Run Lola Run was cute.
