and yet again, it’s been an eon since i last wondered to my corner of the interwebbe to vent frustration upon most i consider to be friend. at a time, when i feel like there arent many ups in my downward spiral, i’ve chosen not to saddle anyone with the problems raining on my proverbial parade. guess someones not too big on proverbs, and i can’t blame them, i’m strictly antiverbs. antiverbs are my antidrug.
the work and home issues continue to deteriorate, with only the Loopy side of things tryng to counteract the avalanche of suck. things are muddy and murky, and for some reason, my self-confidence concerning anything has been shot… like execution style (not ranch style, those are my beans). both Loopy and My own work situations went pear shaped, and we both dread even thinking about the most unholy of the four letter words. my roomie has become increasingly irritable, hating still that i do not have a ride. i continue to save for one, when im not loaning him more money than one should loan another person. maybe soon i will have four wheels, and a place to sit whilst moving greater distances than my puter to my fridge. pray for that to go well. not to Vishnu though, that one didn’t even answer the lottery prayers.
so Loopy’s passed out, and im all sore and shit for doing nothing more than working eight hours. i’ve decided that i’m either getting sick again (increasing frequency of these occurances), or its the cancer, finally starting to eat me away for good. my left ball has been hurting again, it does so every now and again. i mentioned to Loops that it’s probably the cancer, and that i probably have one white testicle, and one black one. a yin and yang, if you will. she seemed thoroughly unimpressed with my suggestion i name them ‘ebony and ivory’. she didn’t even like ‘ashford and simpson’. lame. like i’m not supposed to name my testes? i’m a guy, and i havent so far, but there must be some sort of dedication ceremony eventually. maybe a nice bottle of dom and some random onlookers wearing life jackets and ascots, i really can’t say at the moment.
i have tons of shitty work things to write about, having skipped doing so for the last few months. lets see. blew up on a customer that didn’t feel like listening to me. almost bitch-slapped some teenagers for being teenagers. almost quit ever hour on the hour. and mae quite a few more observations about Oklahoma in general. some might be a bit random, so strap in.
first, there are far too many people with missing fingers visiting my place of unemployment. like when i lived in Washington, people missing a finger were thought to be unique, or at least hiding some sort of interesting story. intrigue, sadness, horror. not here. it’s like if i don’t have at least one person an hour thats not missing a digit, i start to wonder if something has gone amiss. the white trash redneck faction of my home state here seems to do nothing but grow larger and less intelligent by the day. which in a sad sense rivals my personal growth. har har. i don’t think i’m getting fatter, but hey, you never know, right? and since i danced into this segue, as long as i live, and may be large, but at least i’ll never have what a customer of mine had. back cleavage. i don’t know how this happens, but dear lord, if you have back cleavage, maybe you should cover that shit up. i’m no Don Johnson, but even i know better than to go around flaunting my flab. not that i have enough to do so. im still marvelling as to how this person did it.
fat vegetarians. since fucking when? you tell me. i’m not buying it. and i had a customer joke with me, saying “you wouldn’t lie to a fat man, would you?”. my on point response was “only every time i look in the mirror”. he got a kick out of it. self-deprecation always seem to reel in the customers. as if i had to actually work at it. yay!
another thing my state seems to hold reign over, is meth labs and rebel flags (and maybe meth labds with rebel flags!). what the fuck? it seems like everywhere you look, some crazy asshole is blowing himself up, or going to prison for making some meth outside his trailer. i work with two women who’s husbands are both in prison for meth labbing it up. coincidence? absolutely not. of course, working at meth-labs-r-us isnt the best place for me making this sort of argument. as for the rebel flags, i guess people havent been reading the paper of watching the news lately. the south lost the civil war. i think. you really can’t tell around here. the news doesnt come one but for 5 minutes a day, and the rest of the programming schedule is filled by reruns of mama’s family and the dukes of hazzard.
i have a customer that drives an ice cream truck. i dont know why, i just do. and is it me, or does all ice cream truck driving people look like paedophiles? have i written about this before? im not sure, my sincerest apologies if i am repeating myself. but really. they all look like they’ve done time, and they all seem to have those molester mustaches. you know the ones. think steve perry ’stache a la 1982, only in 2007, and driving an ice cream wagon. and molesting children.
though not as robocop, even as wicked bad-ass as steven perry as robocop (without the child molesting ’stache) is. i’m absolutely dissapoined that i’d never seent his painting before tonight. kinda pissed about it. to know there’s things so fucking cool as this painting out there, and i’m not looking at it right now. travesty. travesty i tell you!
