| Crying over spilled milk. |
[Jan. 30th, 2006|11:55 pm] |
...When will this hateful self-reflection cease?
A month into the new year, or almost, and all in all, I'm wondering what exactly I've accomplished in a year of living out on my own. There's light at the end of the tunnel, but that's not the question.. the question is personal accomplishment. In part, I guess, I got fucked over by the circumstances, starting off 2005. Starting 2005, I had a lot of goals in mind, goals I often never met, in part because of the cards dealt to me, in part because of my own personal failings and weaknesses.
The thought of the europe trip has kept me going, and it still will, but the thought that I could've done it my way, on my money, and done what I wanted, the way someone my age would want to experience world travel, back in 2004, is pressing on me, more and more... In staying with my family(and not just my brother and his wife), something will be lost on me.. something I would have experienced if my choices had been even slightly different, just 18 months ago.. And if I hadn't been completely and thoroughly fucked over, reamed, what-have-you, in the way I started out my adult life. There were no warnings, no negotiations, no fair terms. Just a demand, to get things done, that I failed. Some would say from a lack of effort, but there was no lack of trying. I didn't know how to get a fucking job! And so in the thrashing about in the sink-or-swim situation of gaining independence, what little money I had to my name was lost in the currents. Sheer luck landed me work at Tower, which in turn, became too stressful and time consuming a job in it's first beginnings to balance my classes, which I dropped. I haven't been back to college since then.
I don't think anyone ever made a conscious decision to fuck me over, let me say that right now, but I was on the recieving end of a fucking-over of epic proportions, whether it was because I didn't get called back because it was the wrong season for someone with absolutely no experience to find work, or because others had their own emotional crises to sort out. If 2005 was anything, it was a year of picking up pieces of myself and slowly gluing them back on. Whether I did right or wrong in that, knowing I didn't put myself back together the way I was originally, could be up for debate. I have skills I never had before, I have kind, devoted friends, who have gotten into fights for me. Friends who I wouldn't hesitate to call my brothers. But then I also have barely enough income to pay the bills, a shitty room in a shitty part of town, with shitty roommates, no girlfriend, and a rapidly dissolving safety net.
Sometimes the only choice you have is to cry over spilt milk, because you don't own a fucking mop. |
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| Elevens are elusive |
[Jan. 22nd, 2006|02:33 am] |
Today I stumbled on the proper way to remove a cat's brain.
Kind of fucked up really. If there is such a proper way to hack apart an animal after killing it just to look at it's guts.
...then that means there's a proper way to rape a 3 year old.
Can you say, "wearing a clown suit"?
Bunny approves.
Meanwhile, Moccasin Pussy hides from the inevitable, not knowing his braincase is still exposed for cutting.
Somewhere, an iguana made of ground beef is making love to a bed of lettuce that he has no feelings for, whatsoever.
The act is as unfulfilling as animal cracker sex.
Meanwhile a window in time opens, the curtains pulled back, so we may glimpse into my childhood.
A thousand angels play their trumpets in mourning, for one of their own has lost his wings and grown a mullet.
Meanwhile, the only two women in the entire universe who can't get sex whenever they want it are singing a sad anthem of their own failures.
Lassie sees this fucked up world, and loses her sanity down a well. She records an album that Rolling Stone would have called the "best album of the year", before the magazine hired writers that think Candy Shop is the pinnacle of all songwriting, ever.
Everything compresses into a singularity, moments before Gary Coleman loses his virginity.
The cosmos laughs, and reboots.
Eternity 1.
Us, 0.
Round two. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 28th, 2005|06:09 pm] |
Ok, so on Christmas, I had to work. No big deal, I was making double time, and I was closing so I got to see my family in the morning. I got some cool shit, but that's not what I'm writing about today.
I show up at work at 2:00 and there is literally fucking nothing to do. No customers, and nothing to put away. The store, at that point, having been open since 9, had made $1500 out of five registers. People were leaving early left and right, and yet I, and my crew, were in for the long haul: Until closing. 7 and a half hours of getting paid double time to do absolutely fucking nothing but ensure the store doesn't burn down on our watch. Some people were playing their brand new PSPs, others hitting the store's listening stations and scan-and-listen touchpads. No work to do.
We go into the back.
The head honcho, our boss, whose name I have mentioned before but will not mention now, was not at work. Neither were any of the other managers. We realized: This is the perfect opportunity to wang somebody.
Basically, we have a huge magazine selection in our store. As most magazines are monthly, that means a whole fucking lot of them never completely sell out. When the new issue comes in, we return the old. Though, only the covers end up getting returned. The resultant magazines with their covers ripped off are called "tears". These tears, in most stores, are simply dumpstered(Or shredded, or compacted, to discourage dumpster diving). Here, however, we don't waste those precious magazines. I take home at least 10 digital art magazines a month.
Now, as you're aware, we sell pornography. All kinds. The magazine porn, like the rest of the magazines, gets torn, and the covers sent back to distributors. Gay porn doesn't sell particularly well in our neck of the woods, because Porn Sandwich technology hasn't yet been discovered by Henderson queers. Likewise, gay porn tears are largely untouched, while the issues of Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, swank, etc, disappear in a blur. Big reason being, you have to get your magazines signed out by the managers, or LP(probably not because there aren't any gay or bicurious people in our store.. I doubt that heavily, when there were 4 at the Vegas store).
This leaves a veritable carnival of man-flesh, piling in the boxes where magazine tears get placed. It also leads to hoarding of the gay porn in various hidden areas of the store, because it is useful for a game we like to play at Tower, which is known as wanging someone. You find a great big, juicy boner, say, from the pages of Black Inches monthly, you cut it out with some scissors, and you tape it to the bottom of someone's coffee mug, to their car bumper, even their car visor if you can get in, or in this case, EVERYWHERE IN THE VICTIM'S OFFICE.
Nothing was spared. NOTHING. Coffee cup, food he had laying around, his computer, his giant Chewbacca pez dispensor, the walls, the CEILING, the lightswitch... Even the pictures on the wall, with either a big, angry cock held temptingly before Big Kahuna's mouth, or one where a dick was pasted over his face. Pictures depicting male-male action had cutouts of a photocopy of his face.
When he came back to work to find his office like this, monday morning, he didn't scream at anybody, he didn't freak out, he didn't do anything but quietly remove each and every black, white, and latin boner from his walls. He was calm about the whole thing.
I recall an incident a month back where he recieved a cookie jar as a gift from a pricer at the other store, however, where he freaked out when he noticed that there was a dick pasted to the bottom of the lid of the cookie jar.
Which just goes to show: A single, well-placed cock will get way more attention than an entire room full of boners. |
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| Did you see what GOD just did to us, man? |
[Dec. 20th, 2005|07:00 pm] |
Fire staff just broke.
The screws holding one of the wicks to the actual staff are broken or something. Wick slid right off, still rolled up.
Best part: I don't have the fucking money to buy a new staff. I could build another one, but then the same thing will probably happen.
Part of me wants to cry. Part of me wants to pull a christmas miracle out of my ass.
Maybe I'll set up a PayPal donation fund. That is, if I get enough replies.
Iunno. How many of you out there give enough of a shit to help me get another fire staff? |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 4th, 2005|11:29 pm] |
Fuckhead #1:
So I'm in the back doing supervisor stuff, and suddenly I get two simultaneous pages, from a cashier on register, and from loss prevention.
Cashier: "There's a sales sticker on this for $14.99, but it doesn't ring up at sale price, there's only one in stock, and there's never been one on sale."
LP: "That guy was acting really suspiciously. I didn't catch him swapping stickers on camera, but I'm pretty sure he did."
So I go up, and of course it's something fucking stupid. Barbara Streisand, one in stock, not on sale. Price sticker was definitely not put on by a gun. I pull the usual act, and it WORKS. First I send off someone to find a nonexistant second copy, and they come back to say it's not on sale. Then I go:
"Well, you'll notice the exception in our policy is that we reserve the right to conclude that the pricing was due to our error, and that it hasn't been tampered with by an outside party.. We can't watch the floors constantly, but there were some kids moving stickers around earlier today."
(You never imply that you caught THEM doing it, unless you have it on camera.)
When I said this, basically the guy tried to keep his sarcastic "I'm better than you, your customer service is terrible" smirk, but his upper lip started twitching. He gave up on getting said shitty Barbara Streisand DVD for $14.99 and only got his shitty Cyndi Lauper DVD which was actually on sale.
A clerk snuck out under the pretense of a smoke break at the same time, and watched the guy get into his car, to get the guy's license plate.
The fucker had COVERED his license plate. No kidding.
And today, I'm in the back doing supervisor stuff again. This big fat bitch and her big fat kids, whose combined girth take up an entire counter of five fucking cash registers lined up, are ringing things up. Said fat bitch rings up one of our coupons. The clerk closes his drawer as the transaction's over, and THEN she asks him to break a twenty. I'm right there, so I let her get change, even though the company policy is not to make change. Fat bitch walks out. Right now I'm unaware of her bitchy nature. Fat bitch gets about 4 feet from the door, bends over to the horror of every other living thing behind her, and picks up another coupon(A 15% off coupon, that only works on a single item, only on DVDs, does not combine with other coupons, does not work on DVDs that are on sale, so on, so forth.). Tubby bitch and her kids walk right up to the front of the line, and park their fat asses right in front of the register again, blocking three cash registers. She demands that she be allowed to use it after the purchase. I calmly tell her the transaction's already gone through, for one thing, that she already fucking redeemed one coupon, and that, no, I can't even do it over the computers. She then demands we refund her money, so she may run that coupon through, with the other(Not getting, what, that it's already been redeemed, and that we can't void and re-redeem it?) I tell her no. She asks to speak to a supervisor. I tell her I AM the supervisor. She asks to speak to someone above me. I tell her I'm in charge.
Then I give her my employee number, my full name, and what time my boss will be in tomorrow, and smirk at her as she and her fucking family go, presumably to hold the world for ransom by eclipsing the sun with their bodies and plunging us into another ice age. I don't know what it is about these fat Henderson fucks, but they really throw their weight around and try to intimidate you into breaking the rules for them, then try to get you fired when you uphold the policy.
Honorable mention fuckhead:
Stupid blonde bimbo comes in with a bunch of shitty rap CDs. They are opened. They look like they've been lost up someone's ass for a decade, then excavated with a rusty pick-axe, then dragged behind a car.
"I bought these yesterday."
"And what's wrong with them?" I ask, begging the obvious.
"I found them cheaper somewhere else".
"And? They're opened. We don't give refunds on opened merchandise, only exchanges for the same product, because we only take defects back. And in which case, you get the replacements back after we open them."
"So you can't HELP me at ALL?" she asks, in whiny rich-slut voice, funbags held aloft.
"No."
"I'm never shopping here again!"
9 times out fo 10, the "cheaper" place never has enough stock, and is in fact, Wal-Mart, who censor the everloving FUCK out of music. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 17th, 2005|10:56 pm] |
1. Swollen corneas. That is why I have not been updating.
2. I banged an attractive blonde girl in the rear.
...
That's right, I got in a minor car accident. Couldn't stop in time. Ended up doing no damage to her Jetta. We both shrugged it off and drove off without even exchanging so much as names, after seeing our vehicles were unharmed.
3. I am being worked to death and paid back to life right now, opening the new Tower store that I will be supervising at.
4. I am brimming with inspiration for short stories and for my novel in progress, and I've none of the time to put this shit on paper. Arrrgh. |
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| Still not a professional. |
[Nov. 12th, 2005|08:39 pm] |
Yesterday I showed up at the new store on four hours, maybe less, of sleep. I closed the old store the night before, and had to be at the new one at nine.
And so I showed up, on that little sleep, and what we were doing that day, was getting the music DVD racks together so they can be filed, and so the store can look neat when the first few customers walk into the store to trash it. The store is packed with OMs, regional managers, and all sorts of bigwigs.
See, there are hip hop music DVDs that have very little to do with anything music related. They're more like porn, basically. Luke's Freak Show is a big one. But anyways, I'm seperating my pile of DVDs into other piles. I barely had any coffee and I was just kind of edgy and pissed off. I take a DVD off of my pile, and the very next one underneath it has a HUGE black ass that takes up 2/3 of the DVD cover, with a tiny little thong neatly flossing this gargantuan ghetto-booty.
To make a long story short, I'm pretty sure that my boss' boss heard me shouting "It's too FUCKING early for Booty on Duty." |
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| Have I got a story to tell you fuckers. |
[Nov. 7th, 2005|06:22 am] |
It all started when I got off of work today.
So my friends' band is playing at a party, and I'm getting the nescessary fire dancing fuel, which I can only ever find at Wal-Mart, easily my most hated retail chain.
I pull out of Wal-Mart(Which has such a fucked up pavement in their parking lot that I think nothing of the bumpy ride) and I notice my tire's flat as soon as I pull out into the smooth road. I pull into the nearest parking lot, to discover that I am beyond fix-a-flat. So I call my friend, because he still has about an hour to get off, right?
Well, we fight with the fucker for a while. My tire iron's one of those weird ratchet-style ones, and as a buddy's turning it, since the inside was stripped, it came loose and wanged him in the face. That's right, my car just clocked a one-time acquaintance in the face. I told him I owed him at least two beers.
Eventually we give up, even though the car's stuck in the ghetto, because we don't have the tools. We leave it jacked up in the parking lot, to show any fucker who wants to jack it, that it's already jacked, so to speak.
Then I jump in their truck and we head off to the show.
On the way to the show, we take a wrong turn off the freeway. We don't know where the fuck we are suddenly, except that we're not in a friendly place. A neighborhood where you could easily buy crack.
Some drunk motherfucker is changing lanes and apparently tries to drive right through us like we're just his own alcohol-induced stupor's hallucinations. We swerve into the median and miss him, but he's pulling a trailer, and he wangs us in the side with that.
"MOTHERFUCKER!" we all cried out. The driver had stopped. We're all, "GET HIM! GET HIM!" then we hear the characteristic thumping of a flat tire.
Oh, shit.
Shithead runs a red light and gets away. No witnesses either. We, of course, were too pissed to write down his license plate.
So we pull over and call every single person we knew to try to get help.
It took a jack from one car, and a tire iron from another, and also some clever improvisation, to get that tire off and the new one put on..
See, the first car that came was a Jetta. The jack was designed specifically for lifting a jetta. Which is a lot like a parachute being designed to allow a feather to fall safely to earth. It was useless on the big fucking truck we'd borrowed to lug around a drum set and all manner of instruments.
The second jack was a bit better, but it was for a car, not a truck that's way off the fucking ground. So we had to improvise.
"It's a ghetto. There have got to be loose bricks somewhere." We found about 5. Put those under the jack, and jacked it up.
Then we got to the show.
My friend's band played of course. Only five songs. http://www.myspace.com/sixshooterstothesky
The show's over, we bullshit for a while, I meet the coolest 15 year old ever(Who took a bus from NE Las Vegas, all the way down to the way, way, way south to go to a house party to support the local music scene). Finally we go and eat buffet. I'm glossing over these details, because they're unimportant.
Then came the fixing of my car. Firstly, the spare is some kind of fucking retarded down-syndrome tire. It's smaller than the others, and all in all, just.. WHAT THE FUCK.
Then there's the small matter of either the tire iron or the nuts being stripped, and us not knowing which.. Had to run to the aforementioned accursed Wal-Mart to buy tools which didn't help. We eventually decided to dig out Rich's second tire iron, which was underneath all of the shit in his trunk. A 30-pack of beer, two skateboards, a car battery, two bottles of liquor, all of that fun shit.
So we pull it out and immediately Liz drops it out on the asphalt. THere's this SHIT all over it?
"What the fuck is that?"
"Looks like.. Corrosion!"
"My hand's burning!".
Yeah. We all got battery acid on us.
Eventually we got the corrosion and acid off the tire iron and used that.
And now I'm home, my hands itching a little even after washing that shit off. I'm afraid to piss or to jerk off, just in case I didn't manage to get it all off.
So, let's recap:
Went to wal-mart twice
Replaced two broken tires.
Side swiped by a drunk driver.
Tore Las Vegas a new asshole by rocking out.
Chemical burns |
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| Happy halloween, fuckos. |
[Oct. 31st, 2005|07:47 pm] |
Picture's blurry because I heard police sirens and so my hands were shaking. |
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| FUCK with a capital FUCK. |
[Oct. 27th, 2005|10:33 pm] |
Not going to Vegoose. Probably because I just made supervisor, and this is my first training weekend. I'm the only fucking person in the store, Kat aside, who listens to the bands that Vegoose will have, but I'm not going. I could probably score free tickets for it, but I'll definitely be working over the weekend and I'm pretty sure I'll be working during the bands I want to see anyways.
And AT40 is 21 and over.
My Halloween plans are officially fucked. I have no costume, and as far as I know, most people will be doing Vegoose or something else cool and I'm arsed out of the 40th anniversary of the acid tests by being born exactly one year too late, and a hippy music festival by getting ahead in life. I might even have acid, and I won't be able to drop it at AT40.
I bought a vinyl copy of Picaresque and I'm going to try like fuck to get it signed, but I'm not sure if that'll be possible. Unfortunately. I do know this, though, the coworker who gets this vinyl copy signed, will bear witness to me shitting myself to death, then reincarnating as a 16 year old Japanese schoolgirl, who will then fuck them in thanks.
As for the acid, well, if some enchanted sugarcubes end up in my posession by Halloween, the only thing stopping me from wearing my most hippiefied of clothes and eating two hits and going trick-or-treating is the fear of getting arrested. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 23rd, 2005|01:49 am] |
I had a good time. Spun some fire at a house party, where like 4 local bands played.
Then we all made dipshits of ourselves at TGI Fridays, after 18 partygoers descended on the bar, and 10 left, only paying for their food, not the gigantic gratuity($50!).
The highlight of my night, though, was the piss I took probably 30 minutes ago.
That little red plastic thing that holds the deodorizing urinal cake said "Say no to drugs" on it. It was gratifying, pissing on that ideal. |
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| Oldest customer ever. |
[Oct. 16th, 2005|12:17 am] |
Yep. Met him today. Well, not sure how PHYSICALLY old he was, but this is what he asked as he brought a single cassette tape to my counter.
"What's hip hop music?"
"Rap."
"You mean they just talk? No music?"
"Sure, whatever."
Then he pointed at my lip(as old fuckers tend to do) and asked me what I do if someone grabs them and starts pulling.
I said "Kick 'em in the jewels, and take a crowbar to their knees while they're down."
He left the store quickly after that. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 23rd, 2005|10:08 pm] |
Eugh.
No, really. Eugh.
Remember me talking about that promotion I was sure to get, because I was told I kicked ass in the interview? Well, the other night, even when Rex told me that he and some other girl got it and that they weren't going to hire a third position, I figured, well, it seems like common sense that they'd wait until Friday, my on-day, to hire me because I'd basically been told that I gave the best interview out of everyone.
Wrong.
Angie came right up to me before I'd even clocked in, all apologetic because I didn't get the position. She gave me a long speech about how maybe I'd been overlooked by the management because I was shy and quiet. Then she proceeded to tell me that I wasn't going to get the position because I'm supposedly shy. Can you taste the irony? 'Cause I can.
She told me if I could improve, I'd have the position for-sure. Now, in the time that takes, who's to say she won't fill the third slot with someone she views as more eligeble? What if I'm left waiting for another fucking sup to get fired or quit, and remain right where I am, advancing at the fucking speed of continental drift? Problem being I wasn't even fucking sure I was going to stay here in Vegas, unless I got the promotion, and my job satisfaction just plummeted due to my real "promotion".
Toy room.
Rex, my buddy, used to work the toy room. Being a supervisor, he can't anymore. Being that I help him and kinda-sorta know what I'm doing in there, Angie awarded me with a promotion that has more responsibility, and no added pay. Technically you're still a clerk, so you make the same wages.
Today I had my first taste of toy-room Hell. I don't really know what to do without Rex there, and today was his off day. No formal training on what to do. There weren't a lot of things to price, but my work was hindered by a number of things. The most major one being all of the fucking screeching teenage girls that came in to trash the stuffed animal sections, and then, the fucking kids and their parents toward the end.
Firstly, what the fuck are your four year olds doing up at 9PM? Secondly, how did they get to the age of four without learning to use their indoor voice? Thirdly, our store is not a kid-friendly store. In fact, you'd have to be seriously fucking retarded to leave a four year old unattended while you look at blacklight posters, in our store no less. There are two porn sections, one of which is immediately adjacent to the toy room. And, there are Tower clerks with very little patience who just got cockblocked by their bosses out of a matter of DISPOSITION who believe that abortion should be legal up until the age of 10, and that if your child is out-of-control it should be legal, nay, OUR OBLIGATION, to abort the child for you. |
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| I'm alive, motherfuckers. |
[Sep. 19th, 2005|11:22 pm] |
Which accounts for something.
Actually aside from just-now getting my paycheck that took a hit from going to Burning Man, things are going pretty good. I spun fire tonight until it started raining. I would've kept fire dancing, but my camera and stereo don't really like the rain.
Today I was interviewed for my possible promotion into supervisordom. There are three positions open, and probably only five people applying. Angie, the store manager, said I did better than she expected, and answered many questions, including the first, better than anyone she'd interviewed so far.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to make the cut. I was one of the last people interviewed.
Incidentally, Angie's first question, I think to seperate the mice from the men, was, verbatim:
"Let's say, hypothetically, that you're a supervisor. You're the only person in charge in the store, I'm gone, the other managers are gone, and so are all of the supervisors. You look over at the doors, just in time to see some guy driving his van through them. What do you do first?" |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 12th, 2005|11:29 pm] |
Go and look at my Deviantart. Lots of new shit. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 11th, 2005|11:27 pm] |
So, a sewer line or something is broken at work.
The whole store smells like someone farted.
Management's solution? Two whole cans of air freshener.
The result? Smells like a pine tree farted.
Second attempt?
Shitloads of nag champa incense.
It now smells like someone shat their pants in a headshop. |
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| Back to work. |
[Sep. 10th, 2005|01:06 am] |
And it fucking sucks.
But things are possibly very much in my favor.
Today we started taking donations for Hurricane Katrina relief. I kicked every other clerk's ass and raised about $200 and I wasn't even on a main reg. Brooke from loss prevention had to drop by to let me know what a good job I was doing.
Two supervisors were fired very recently and a third I've found out is about to quit.. That means there will be three supervisor positions to fill and hints have been dropped that I should submit in writing my interest in the position. They don't make much more than clerks, but every little bit counts, and these facts were made apparent to me:
1. Not once has a single supervisor complained to the managers about me.
2. I'm reliable and that can't be said for a lot of Tower clerks.
3. In some ways I know the store better than people who have been there for years.. It's only been 6 months for me.
The very worst that could happen if I interview for supervision position is that I get rejected, but the one supervisor I look up to the most, who is sadly leaving very soon, seems to think I have what it takes.
Also:
This is hilarious to me.
This lady came up to the counter to buy a book on karma.
I asked her if she would like to make a donation for Hurricane Katrina relief.
She said no. |
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| Some Things |
[Sep. 8th, 2005|08:03 pm] |
The Burning Man inspiration is still heavy upon my mind and my heart.. It compels me to get started for next year already. There are many things to do, and I'm sure I cna't do them all, but some things:
1. I am going to teach myself a new fire art in time for Burning Man next year. Something not as often done.. Most likely it will be a distant cousin of the bo staff, but in fire form.. The three-sectional staff. I have a good idea of how to build a workable three-sectional fire staff and practice staff and I will go from there. It is a beautiful martial art's weapon and I will make it's secrets mine.
2. I am going to start making a lot more masks. Keep an eye out for deviations on my website of masks I've made. Come Burning Man 2006 I will approach the playa with a backpack full of masks and I will bestow masks to the people they fit.. I'm slowly coming to the realization that the external self is sometimes anything but who you really are.. People do many things to try to externalize their inner selves, and a mask can do that.. I can only hope I find the souls who fit the masks.
3. I want to learn to play an instrument more and more.. A guitar would be nice but I'm really falling in love with any sort of percussive instrument. A drum of some sort might be in order. Learning to drum is something that complements fire dance well.
Today I broke my vegetarianism for the first time in three years.. It's something I don't have interest in doing too terribly often, and I'm not sure if I'll repeat it, but for the sake of curiousity, I cheated.. I had lunch at a Japanese restaurant and partook of some sushi other than my usual kappa(cucumber) maki and oshinko(daikon radish) maki. Fish will be the only meat I'll eat, even if I go back on being vegetarian.. Personal preference. Sashimi and other Japanese foods are also the only way I've ever enjoyed fish. I'm still waiting to see if it makes me sick before I declare myself piscetarian.
And that's about all. |
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