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And if the answer is yes, then I don't do that thing.

Maybe it's the distinct possibility that I WILL be getting a call about a job tomorrow, but whatever's the case, I've tried twice going to sleep and each time haven't gotten close. Three episodes of South Park, two episodes of Mr. Show and the entire Donnie Darko film later ... here I am.

I also have to plan stuff to do tomorrow outside of my apartment. See, I was twice fucked over today for jobs. First time: from Temp Agency #2 (since, apparently, they don't like it when I refer to them by their company name, no matter how flattering my opinion), which offered me the same Christie's Auction House job they offered last week, only to strip it away like last week. Second time: from Temp Agency #4, the one I just tested with on Wednesday. Apparently they made quick work of my references and gave me a call this afternoon about a job starting Monday. Only ... since I get no cocksucking motherfucking reception in my motherfucking cocksucking apartment, I didn't see I had a message until my phone beeped, indicating that my battery was comatose. I frantically plugged it in, ran outside a few minutes later, and ... after some frustrating phone tag, found out the job was offered to somebody else. Because it took me so long to get back to them because my phone is a piece of motherfucking cocksucking shit.

So, now I have to spend the hours of 10am to whenever OUTSIDE of my apartment. Meaning I have to spend money, meaning that money will most likely be spent on food and drink because surely I can't just sit out on the sidewalk picking my butthole with my thumb like Little Jack Motherfucking Horner. And now I have to do it on little-to-no cocksucking sleep because I'm so wired from ... oh, I dunno, being so fucking HEALTHY I guess. God damn it.

You have no idea how badly I wanted to throw that motherfucking phone against a brick fucking wall. The odds of me receiving a phone call I actually need would be about the motherfucking same.

Anyway, I didn't really get on here to bitch the night away. I was thinking about the movie Year of the Dog. In it, this dog-owner turns Vegan and really gets into it. I've always thought about going vegan or vegetarian as an alternative to what I'm doing now, but then I can't help but think of all the delicious meat I'd be missing out on. Taken at face value, that means I care more about a bunch of crap that's most likely speeding up my dying process than I do about the daily slaughter of millions of animals.

It's not that I enjoy the thought of chickens and pigs and deer and baby cows being tortured; I just don't care ENOUGH to want to save them. Maybe if I was, like, the only person in the world still eating meat, the peer pressure would get to me enough because, really, who wants to be the sole reason for millions of dead animals going rotten each day? So, I guess it's not entirely about my lack of caring; it's also just a fruitless gesture. I can wake up tomorrow (if I ever manage to get to sleep) and declare all animal products are off my dinner table from now on, and it won't make a lick of difference in the grand scheme of things. My lone decision means, what, one cow every ten years gets to live an extra day? I can't even fathom how many animals are raised exclusively to be meat. It's like pissing in the wind, convincing a Priest there is no God, and campaigning as a Democrat in Mississippi all rolled into one.

But, let's just take that out of the equation; there's still the fact that I don't care enough about animals to want to go all-tofu all-the-time. For the most part, I don't have that ONE thing I care about that could be used to define me as a person. That's one of the things the main character says in the movie; she's never been able to have a word define her, like Vegan. Of course, she goes balls-to-the-wall with this thing, going so far as to volunteer for this group who protests ... stuff. I used to have that kind of passion sort of, where I'd go and protest stuff; then George W. Bush got elected president twice and I knew there was no point to life.

The thing is, though, you'd think this would be an idea I COULD get behind. I mean, I'm a pretty passive, laid back guy (now); I've been recycling and caring about the Earth since an early age; I dig all that hippie shit and I'm a liberal's liberal. But, I'm also addicted to food I think tastes good, and unfortunately that includes a wide assortment of fast-food places, pizza establishments, and breakfast meats. If I liked things tasting watered-down, I'd drink fat-free milk, you know? If I wanted the vegan-equivalent to bacon, I'd eat that; but I don't. Compared to real bacon, cooked appropriately, vegan-equivalent bacon tastes like chalk that's been shoved up a celery stick's asshole.

That said, I'll never begrudge or belittle someone who digs that vegan/vegetarian way of life. I used to, when I was a teenager, but I've gotten a lot more accepting of alternative lifestyles in my old age.

And of course, at this point in the Top Ramen Experiment, celery stick asshole chalk sounds pretty fucking delicious.
 
 
Current Mood: Best advice I ever received? "Don't be an idiot."
 
 
28 September 2007 @ 04:38 pm
Were you ever so desperate for pussy that you absolutely couldn't stand it anymore, so you decide to bang this 83 year old woman because you know she's probably going to die in 10 days like the doctors say and she wants one final roll in the hay? Don't you hate it when, after you've already agreed to give your services to the 83 year old woman, you see she's got a 20 year old piece-of-ass leggy-blonde grand-daughter who ALSO wants to jump your bones, but won't do so because she realizes you've already promised your cock to her grandmother?

That's how I feel right now; I'm fucking sick with this.

I woke up today at 9am after going to bed around 6:30am. Rolled around on the matress for 40 minutes until I finally mustered the strength to stand upright and get moving; I had a Day Away From Apartment to tend to. Of course, with it being a quarter to 10am, I discovered I already had a message on my phone ... from about 8:30 this morning. I hurriedly called him back as I walked down the block to get some breakfast. Over the course of my meal, I brokered a deal to work at this place on Park Avenue, from 9am to 6pm, from next Monday through October 10th. For $13.65 an hour.

Feeling pretty good about myself, I returned to my apartment just hoping I never received a call-back from them; because surely that would mean I lost the job and would have to be thrown back into the waiting queue for the next thing to come along.

I did receive a call, but it wasn't a job retraction. It was another job offer, from the same temp agency.

Man, this new job offer was my leggy-blonde! It was a high-pace, full of challenges, wearing lots of hats kind of job, and he even asked if I knew HTML ... I KNOW HTML!!! I would've been the main assistant to the 1-person business, so I wouldn't have had to deal with a bunch of pestering co-workers, just the one woman. It sounded like just the kind of job that - for once - wouldn't leave me choking with boredom trying to run out the clock on another monotonously do-nothing day. A 2-week training period would've started on Monday and this could've lasted me through the end of the year and beyond if I was good and wanted it. And the kicker? It paid out $19-$20 per hour, more money than I've ever seen. I would've been on easy street in no time.

But, I had to tell him I already agreed to an assignment earlier in the day with another person in their agency. With shoulders slumped, I had to tell him I was already screwing the 83 year old grandmother to this dream job, and what's worse, it was only for 10 days (8 really, but who's counting weekends); not even the length of the training period for the dream job.

I'm downtrodden. I was all ready to wait out the day, see 6 o'clock arrive (when I knew I was in the clear and actually HAD the job), and boast about getting some employment while using phrases like "I knew it all the time" and "This is going to be sweet!"

Instead, I have to go lube my cock up so I can stick it in an 83-year old woman's dried out snatch. Excuse me.
 
 
Current Mood: fuck
Current Music: South Park - Mecha Streisand