Thursday, May 29, 2008

When everything sucks

Oops apparently I’m not in the best of moods and it's seeping into my job. I’m supposed to be writing up little blurbs about bands and I was told the one I wrote just will not do.

“Before you check out Flock what you really should do is eat a shit load of peyote because that is the only way this bunch of acoustically challenged morons could be entertaining. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should. Mix in jazz saxophones, the av tech and a guy who just wants to be in a band, any band, and you get Flock, a visual and audio cluster fuck of epic proportions.”

So it’s back to the drawing board for me.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


I’ve been looking for a room in San Jose and there are some disturbing ads on craigslist. In my short search I’ve seen two that wanted to fill a room with a “cute girl” for little or no rent with either some kind of compensation or massages. And one of the posts asked for a picture in all caps — twice.

And I’m so tempted to reply.

Not because I would ever live there but I want to see what these guys are like. What kind of person puts an ad out for that? Are they normal looking, are they the geekiest guys ever and thought that this was a genius idea, do they have weird growths that would actually impede them from getting sex in some normal way? I want to know!

Would they interview me and actually ask for sex? Do you need to bring references and possibly a clean bill of health? Are you the house bitch, and if so does that mean you can’t bring other people home? Would there be a schedule? Is there a list of dos and don’ts? Would there be a uniform of any type?

Not sure yet if I want to go to this place by myself. But if I’ll leave a note where I'm going it should be fine.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Stupid driving

I drove home last night, well I guess morning, at 3:30 a.m. it takes me an hour to get there. And while I was sober I was not awake. About twenty minutes into the drive I started dreaming. It was weird because I was still awake but for some reason I just couldn’t process the images coming into my head.

The reflectors ahead in the distance coupled with taillights became a two-headed serpent that writhed about in the road just ahead of me. A couple of blinks later and it was gone. A bush became a fat lumberjack that had no knees, and a shadow in the car became a weird pig-faced werewolf thing in my backseat (that one freaked me out a bit).

I turned the music up and the AC on but it didn’t really help. I know the road so well as I drive it everyday, but last night there were whole stretches that I can’t remember.

Thankfully there were no other cars on the road or I would have been screwed. I remember swerving a couple of times because I thought there was something in the road that wasn’t there. On the last stretch about a mile before home I screeched to a halt so I wouldn’t hit the tollgate. There’s no tollgate, but it took me a couple of seconds to realize it.

My head bobbed again and I knew I probably should have pulled over but a nice warm bed was only minutes up the road and I didn’t want to stop. I made it home and kind of sat dazed in the car for about five minutes before stumbling up to my room.

Next time I need to stop and get some coffee or something, that was just dumb.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008


I used to get excited when school was over. Yeah the summer! But now when school is out it means I have to get a second job, give up my weekends and try to smile nicely at the world’s most retarded people.

I’ve had a crap load of jobs in my short life, some really mundane while some were pretty interesting. I kind of miss those stupid little jobs I had during high school and college, the ones that didn’t matter and that even while I hated the jobs I had fun while I was there. so here's an incomplete list of some of my working past.

I got my first job at 14 doing data inputting in a warehouse in Oakland, I crashed their system — twice.

I then worked at a lovely coffee house where I would come home smelling like double lattes and would use the nickels and dimes I got for tips to pay for gas, the attendant hated me.

I then moved on to a Pumpkin Farm (which my friend still owns), that was the best. All of my friends and I had really buff arms from throwing and catching pumpkins for two months.

This was followed by a few summers of waitressing where I learned humility, and that my old teachers were good tippers.

After that I was off to college and I graduated to bartending, where I gave alcoholics more alcohol. But they tipped really well and I had creepy guys always hitting on me so that was fun.

I then moved on to filing at a defense contractor, Sept. 11 hit and that job became no fun. Actually filing in general blows, and I love how managers feel the need to explain filing in great depth. I know the freakin alphabet lady back off.

After college I got a real job in marketing, which sucked, and was there for almost three years (I got hired by another company 3 months before my old job would have matched my 401k, how stupid am I?).

That last job was the only one I got fired from. I should have known better than to yell at my boss, but what a bitch. I can only hold my tongue for so long. So after three months I was jobless again.

I came up to the bay area and got a job working part time at a cemetery. This had to be the world’s most boring job. I spent most of my time forming escape scenarios in case the dead suddenly popped up and started trying to eat my brains. Because you need a few escape routes just in case, I mean you don’t know if they are going to be the slow shuffling zombies or that fast as all hell ones.

Now I’m at the Metro. Which I really like, but one of these days I’m going to have to get myself a real job again, and I don’t think I’m looking forward to that.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Kind of

It was later in the night and I just walked through the door to the bar. I was putting my I.D. away when this guy comes up to me grabs my arm and drags me in closer. His warm, alcohol-infused breath fans over my face, as he looks deeply into my eyes and says, “You’re kind of pretty.”

He then abruptly lets go and walks away.

What the hell? You’re drunk and you couldn’t commit to pretty? Was that supposed to be a compliment? Wow, well I don’t retch when I see you so that’s a good thing, right?

Were your beer goggles askew? I’m not some freaking gargoyle. Next time just commit to pretty, it’s not that strong a word. Or at least if you are going to insult me buy me a drink first.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Time, what's that?

The majority of my days I try to wake up at 8:30 a.m., shower get ready and out the door by 9:30 (this often doesn't happen). At work by 10 then leave at 1 p.m. and off to the daily at 1:30. These last few weeks I've been at the daily til about 2 a.m. I then drive a half hour home to tiptoe through the house and try not to wake up A.

I'm a little tired but lately have found it difficult to go to bed any earlier than two. It sucks because in general I still wake up around 9 a.m. So I really want to go to sleep but I can't, and if I try to go to sleep now I'll murder A because of the snoring (my temper gets really short when I can't sleep).

But usually I have a few friends that I can talk to online until the wee hours of the morning but tonight they have all left me. So instead I sit here, not enjoying, the Chronicles of Riddick, hoping a little more alcohol might quiet a restless spirit. It's not working but hopefully it will at least quell any dreams I might have, because lately they have gone places I truly wish they hadn't.