The world has turned and left me here.

I have tried fourteen different ways of starting this blog, each comes off as more pompous than the one before. Jesus. I don't know how I want to tackle this. I can't help but dwell and be bitter about where I am in my life in comparison to where I wanted to be in my life at this time five years ago. I have been out of school for over a year now, and am nowhere closer to a job in the industry I studied for, I have had nothing resembling a meaningful romantic relationship in over two years, and even with the housing market crash, I am no where nearer to owning my own home. 

I am, however, improving myself, if not my predicament. I have controlled what used to be a bloodlust for Dr. Pepper, having had 6 since October 12th, 2008. I drink iced tea with lemon like Courtney Love does drugs, though. Unsweetened, so whatever. I am, at last count, 16 pounds lighter than I have been in several years. I have a cat that, though pretty stupid, is very loving and cuddly. By pretty stupid, I mean he's dumb as hell. Really really dumb. I live with 4 of the raddest rommates I could ask for. While we have gone through several house line-up changes, we are definitely at the best yet. Fucking Elder. Fuck that dude. 

I was recently in my best friend's wedding, and it makes me feel like shit to know that it was one of the few times in recent years that A) I agreed with a friend's decision to get married and B) I was happy for someone else being happy. Jesus. What an asshole. With the onslaught of updates from Facebook, MySpace and god knows what other data streams feeding my images of happiness from those who I know to be complete wastes of time, I can't help but feel that there is a pheromone I emit that causes a flight response from others. 

I know that's not true, but it's hard to see a light at the end of the tunnel when you've been in a fucking tunnel for two years. How Columbus didn't off himself is beyond me. I was doing better a couple days ago, but I was set off again by the following bits at work. 

1 - 9% of the company's staff was laid off, including my Regional Manager, the Corporate Head of Investigations, and two other corporate people from my department.

2 - A 90-day review was administered to me this month. I have been with the company since April. Seven months later and I get "At Target". OK, I have some things to work on, and most things I'm OK at. Fine. 

3 - Less than two weeks later I am given a "Formal Action Plan" - a step down from a warning. It's a Shape Up or Else form. Everything on it was based not on my performance compared to previous employees, or a standard, but what is EXPECTED at a high-loss store. In the six months I have been at the store, I have stopped or helped stop nearly $50K in loss, which is 20% of the loss for the prior year. Fuck that. 

4 - My boss who gave it to me said that it was prepared by the guy who was laid off, but he had to administer it. Because of the lay-offs, everyone's freaking out and trying to cover their own ass. 

5 - I came back from lunch when my boss was at my store and found that he had spent the hour I was away looking up different jobs and/or schools. This did not bode well for me, and I immediately started stressing out. 

6 - I was not paid for two days, causing me to be $250 short from where I thought I would be, or $250 worth of being fucked in the ass.

Jesus. I am a college-educated, experienced young man, and the best I can do is making sure purses have a fucking security sensor on them? Dammit. No wonder I feel like a failure. I try to pass the time with smiles and jokes, and try not to go crazy on the eating. This bit is tricky because cooking is great stress relief for me, but eating while depressed is what got me into this damned predicament in the first place.  I have a couple times now made food I planned on putting away until I needed it, only to have my roommates devour my chilli. Granted, I usually give them a bunch, but this was the first time I was genuinely irritated that they ate it all. 

I had to go and do dishes to calm myself down, as I really like my roommates and don't need to lash out them because I'm having a rough time. My only real anchor to the world of calm is my friend Laura, who is as analytical as you can get and can decipher and translate vague descriptions of raw emotions into something useful and can help guide me to a slightly more practical resolution. However, when you have someone that you can turn to for emotional support, you can easily add too much burden on them, and use them as either a crutch, or a space-saver for a romantic relationship, neither of which would be either appropriate or deserving to her. 

Thus, I often feign comfort, not just around her, but at work, around friends and family. I stress and stress, trying to reach out and grab something tangible and solid. The best I can do is hold on to delicate strings of friendship, which, in combination with others slows me down, but none of which I believe are strong enough to pull myself up by. 

I still bitch about spinning my wheels at work, I still don't understand why I am attracted to weirdos and eccentrics, I still fear making big changes in my life and I still fear that I am going to be miserable for a long time coming. Will I still be working an entry level job in three years with a boss who is working towards his online AA degree? Will I still be second guessing myself that maybe a reformed cokehead deserves a second chance? Will I be the last one renting a house with 4 college students while everyone else has gone on? Fuck. Will I ever be on solid ground? 

I used to be a pillar of strength, now I am a gelatinous mess of a person. How the fuck did I get here? How the fuck do I get out?

Facism is Fashion Forward -or- the Preferences of Pedophiliac Priests

Anyone who knows me knows I am pretty cheap when it comes to clothing items. I wince when I fork over $20 for a band's shirt at their show, but I know that it's helping them out and I'm repping a band or artist who I think is the shit. Also, it serves as an advertisement to others: "Hey, I like this band, and if you do, too, let's be friends." It's a very easy way to filter through people. If I see someone wearing an Insane Clown Posse shirt, I can compare the stereotypical thoughts that spring to mind when I think of ICP fans, to what kind of person I want to associate with and immediately know that I want nothing to do with this person. It's a sort of personal risk management assessment. 

Anyways, I'm getting sidetracked. I work in an outlet for a high-end clothing retailer, you know, one of the ones that uses phrases like "fashion-forward" and "couture" and where Prada and Gucci are purchased as impulse buys like they are a pack of Juicy Fruit. I was walking through the store, passing the same clothes I have passed hundreds of times when I realized that what I had originally mistaken for a chain link pattern on a hoodie meant for 6 year olds was NOT a chain link pattern, but in fact, an array of nooses. Or is it neese? Is noose the plural of noose? Either way, that's the pattern on a hooded sweatshirt made for CHILDREN by the Ed Hardy line by Christian Audigier (pronounced awd-ee-gee-air, try to sound as condescending as possible when you say it.) 

Don "Ed" Hardy is a tattoo artist known for his "classic" style or work. If you think of the tattoos associated with the navy during WWII, that's the style. However, he licenses tons of stuff to Audigier, who slaps them on t-shirts, sweaters, hats and pajamas and sells them for a pretty fucking penny. Our cheapest shirt is $41.99, with most running in the $65-99 range for a t-shirt, and at least a hundred dollars for a hoodie. You don't even want to know the price range when they BeDazzle them. Seriously. They have sequins and shit, and it ups the price another 20-25%. 

Well, I actually looked at it and felt that it wasn't appropriate. Me, the guy who thinks kids getting hurt is the funniest thing ever and cusses like the dickens. I breathe in air and exhale the word "fuck," and I think it's inappropriate. What's this world coming to? 

I just feel that each and every parent that shops for their children here, who spends $100 on a pair of jeans for their 5 year old, thinks of their child as an accessory. How Paris Hilton walks around with a rat dog in a pink, diamond-encrusted pink Juicy Couture bag, that's how parents here see their children. How can they use them to accentuate their L.A.M.B. bags and Micheal Kors purse. Here is an ACTUAL conversation I heard at our Orange County location:

Mom: We should get Kaylee these jeans!
Dad: Which ones are they?
Mom: Seven For All Minkind.
Dad: Oh, yea, they're supposed to make her butt look better.

At this point, I turned to see them holding jeans meant for a FUCKING THREE YEAR OLD! I mean, honestly. Here's what I expect a future conversation has in store for young Kaylee.

Mom: Honey, what do you want for your sweet sixteen?
Kaylee: An abortion!
Mom: Another one? OK, but just this once.
Dad: Damn, Kaylee, your ass looks great in those jeans!

Gah. It's fucking disgusting. And, as I need money to support myself, and this job provides said money, I had to bite my tongue and go on with my day. Honestly, though, who buys $100 jeans that not only will your child outgrow in a matter of months, but buys them with the understanding, and even the desire, to make their 3 year old's ass desirable. Jesus.  I can't believe this kind of shit. And people wonder why there's pedophiles out there. 

You know what, I have time, let me go off on the Catholic Priest scandals. You may or may not know the following background I have with religion:
- My Great Grandmother was one of the founding members and a Deaconess of Inland Christian Center, a Non-denominational church in Colton, CA. 
- I went to said church for nearly a dozen years.
- I taught 1st and 2nd grade sunday school for two years
- I was assistant teacher to the 6th grade doctrine class, the equivalent of catechism for the Catholics. 
- I have no less than four missionaries in my family, and have two people in Nairobi named after me because of how well loved my Great Grandma was. 

The first real shock I had to my religious beliefs was when I realized that one of the pastor's 17 year old daughter was pregnant. I asked my Great Grandma if she had gotten married and if she was, in fact, pregnant. I was told simply "we don't talk about it." What? Why the hell not!? Her father is supposed to be the lightning rod of good and spiritual purity, but his daughter's off sinning in the back seat of an El Dorado! 

Well, then I asked the head of the doctrine class how she explained dinosaurs, and she started going on about how the dinosaurs WERE in the bible, and said that the Leviathan was a dinosaur. Horseshit. I was also told that the bible was the ONLY religious book that had no contradictions, and thus Christianity was the only religion that had it right. Well, if that's true, and the Torah is all in the bible, then the Jews got it right, too, right? And the Muslims must have a solid idea and may be close enough to get in with the Christian heaven. 

The Bible, I was told, was the word of God, and the only right word of God. If that's true, why are there different versions? Did God go "Oh, my bad. Hey, King James, I call mulligan. Re-write that part about divorce." I don't think so. Man was flawed since the talking snake made the woman born of the rib of one man eat the one fruit that would make her realize her tits were hanging out. Thus, when God whispered his words to men who would right it down, does it not stand to reason they would mess it up or maybe even do a little editing?

Well, with constant chipping away, I decided that organized religion was full of shit. I am a huge fan of Jesus and the message he was selling, but when you add the power of persuasion and the persuasion of power, it gets tainted and diluted. Fewer things have outraged me more than hearing about case after case of Priests molesting youths around the country. It was discovered, and their punishment? Fresh meat. They were re-located. Why the FUCK aren't they in jail? Honestly. What they committed was a crime that utterly ruined the lives of hundreds of people. And as they started when these people were young, it took more years of their lives than had someone been sexually assaulted in their forties. 

How does one claim we are a "Christian Nation" who is trying to spread the message of love, peace, and of course, freedom, when we let shit like this pervert ourselves. We freak out and stage protests if there is a rat having makeup tested on it, but a kid gets raped and you don't have people lobbing molotov cocktails at the parish. I just have a feeling that the reason some of the more hardcore PETA/ALF type people are so passionate about animals is that they realize how shitty people are. 

Jesus, this is getting long and depressing, isn't it? Well, that's not my intent, but as I am tired and irritable, I assume that that is leading me down these roads. I'm going to leave you fine readers (reader?) I should probably see if anyone besides Aaron and Tara has read this. 

I am interested in seeing what other people think of me or want me to elaborate on. Next topic, as requested, will be: Why I am awesome.  Til next time.

Drinking with the Irish Girls

Ooo boy, a new blog. I wanted somewhere to record my rambling rants and raves, to log my laments and longings, to alleviate my aching for alliteration. And here we are. I'm not sure what the purpose of this really is, other than to put my thoughts down on proverbial paper so that when I am old and senile, I can look back to see that I was once young and stupid instead. 

I already look back on my life and think of the mistakes, misunderstandings and misguided decisions I have made and think "Fuck, I was retarded." I know, I know, that's not politically correct, but I stand by it. I think about where I am in my life, and where I expected to be in my life, and while it really fucked me up about a year ago, now I am just annoyed that I've let myself sit stagnant and still in the pond of life. Now, I've lost the momentum I had, and trying to start up again is such a pain in the ass. 

Hopefully this thing will allow me to see when a progression. I wish I had more of my writing from the last two years, but what I have is a collection of conversations between Amanda and I (including our grand finale blow-out. Always fun.) and a collection of bizarre haikus:

I don't think she's hot

I want to bang Karen O

Just to say I did

Or

Achilles: The Shit

Robotic apocalypse

I love Robot Jox

So, here's to a solid 2009 and beyond. I will be taking requests for diatribes and ramblings, so if you want to hear my opinions on things other than music, let me know and I'll go to town.