Thanks, Forrest! Now run the fuck away!

I’ve been thinking.  Yes, it is a highly dangerous past time of mine that I delve into quite frequently.  I realize you’re shocked, but deal with it and move on.

Moved on?  Good.

So, my great epiphany?  Life really is just like a box of chocolates because, you know what, you don’t know just what you’re gonna get.  Especially if it’s a box of chocolates given to you by your ex-wife who you cheated on three times and the chick you got pregnant decided you needed to pay child support but instead of actually telling you to pay child support she decided to accidentally bump into your wife at the hair salon and throw a fit about how she’s been trying to steal her man and that she’s gots a baby to support, bitch, and she ain’t gonna let some stupid-weave-wearing-bimbo-slut steal her baby’s college education or her man!***

Yeah, if that chick gave you a box of chocolates, that would be exactly what life was like: filled with rat poison, razor blades, cyanide, arsenic, exlax, lye, ricin, belladonna, tetrodotoxin, hemlock, strychnine, and, of course, poo.

I guess that was the box of chocolates I opened this year.

***Note: I do not know this from experience.  Really, I swear, my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who’s going with the girl who saw something like this happen at a hair salon my cousin’s uncle’s mother’s nephew’s male-lover applied at once.

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On parenting parents

So my dad woke up about 5am and was fine. He turned the heat up, went back to bed, and woke up not so fine anymore. His left leg is completely numb and he can barely move it. My former Cub Scout dad, raised by a former Girl Scout, was prepared and had a cane. But he’s having a minor attack of vertigo and can barely use it.

Mom and I have told him to call the doctor, but he won’t. He’s too stubborn. He also feels obligated to stay home and care for my recovering mom.

He already feels helpless, having been forced to retire in June due to his disease. So being laid up now is not an option to him. I can completely understand where he’s coming from. After all, everything I know about being a good man I learned from him.

But I also learned about being a responsible adult from my mom, who argues the point, “How can you take care of me if you’re dead?” A very valid point since my dad is currently experiencing symptoms of a stroke.

My grandparents are the same way. They refused the nurses hired to help care for them, and went so far as to call the police to file kidnapping charges on the assisted living home the court ordered them into.

This is why I can’t leave. I don’t want to get that 4am phone call telling me Mom fell or Dad had a stroke. I don’t want to see them turn into my grandparents, with my dad being forced to relieve himself on the floor because he can’t make it to the bathroom and them having their home condemned.

So I stayed, pretending their helping me by saving what I would pay for rent in an account for retirement or school.

But all pretense is now put aside. I make enough I could move out and still save money, so I had to tell them. That was a mistake. Now the little things I did for them I can’t do. They’ve lost that feeling of being the parent and gained the feeling of being parented. And it sucks. For everyone.

While on the potty

I have absolutely no time to write lately, which sucks cuz I wanted to start my novel. So I’ve started blogging on the toilet at work. This is what my life has become. A stinky shit hole.

I’ve already written about the idiot I currently work for and mentioned a few of the past idiots. I hope no one sees me as being like that. Then again, when was the last time I mentioned it to my bosses? Never. So who knows how my employees feel about me? Who even knows what my boss thinks of me?

Oh, right, everyone in the store who’s not me.

And, seriously, how hard is it to pee IN a toilet? I’ve never had a problem with it. I cane even pee into a bottle. If you’re under ten years old, then I can kind of understand. I mean, everything takes practice before making perfect. But come on, 40-year-old men! There is ABSOLUTELY no reason for me to have to hike up my pants so I can sink a sub.

My boss seems to be a major douche

So, I’m not exactly sure why my boss seems to be such a douche.  There’s lots of little things he does, and a few big things, but all in all, there’s not just one thing I can put my finger on.

And that makes me wonder if it’s really I who has the issue.  It seems every job I have I work for an idiot, a jackass, or a combination of the two.  Now, it’s kind of a prerequisite to being in management that you be rather arrogant, so I’m not going to complain about that.  Selfishness, however, is a completely different story, as is self-righteousness.

For example, while his wife was stuck in Mexico because he couldn’t get the paperwork together and take the time off until the holiday time, he bitched and moaned about it everyday.  Yet when one of the employees only child is going through a tough time (as is he) because they’re going through that horrible waiting process to find out if she actually has cancer or not, he told said employee, “It’s not a big deal.  Besides, you need to leave your emotions outside of work.”

Now, in all fairness, the guy I’m currently working for is far from being the only manager who said anything like that.  I had a manager in Savannah who told me the same thing, then told me all about her parents and their disease and how they were crippled, and that, no, regardless of the Family and Medical Leave Act I was not, in fact, going to be allowed to take the time off to go to my grandmother’s funeral if she died.  It’s never felt better to tell someone “Fuck you, stupid cunt”.  And, no, I didn’t lose my job for it, either.

So, all in all, he’s not really that bad of a boss, he’s about par for the course, which makes me wonder: WHAT are they teaching people in business school?

Also, I described my zombie apocalypse survival plan to one of my coworkers just in case it begins while we’re working today, and a couple other people the other day, and, thus far, no one finds it strange that I actually have and action plan for that.  Anyone else have an action plan?

Deliriousness is fun…WHEE!

I am one step closer to insanity at this point.  I worked from 2p – 10p, went back from 1a – 5a, then went back again from 9a – 5p, then went back yet again from ~1a – 4a.  I haven’t slept since I woke up Saturday morning at 7.  So, needless to say, every time I want to go smoke a cigarette, I find myself inexplicably in the bathroom with my pants around my ankles.

Also, RedBox is evil.  I reserved “Zombieland” at a kiosk at a place I had to be, but some fucktard broke the thing.  It’s driving me nuts what they could possibly have shoved into it to get it stuck on the screen “Your DVD return cannot be accepted” blahblahblah, and the acceptor whirring away…for over an hour…

Really, people, RedBox does not take dirty diapers, despite some of the movies being as bad as flying poo.

Although flying Pooh would be highly entertaining.

Also, I really need to get laid, I think.  Every guy I’ve seen in the past three days between the ages of 20 and 35 have had me drooling.  This is a picky man writing this.  Also, women are suddenly hot again.  Two years is just too damn long to not get any.  It’s all I’ve asked for the past two years for every gift giving occasion.  You would think that somebody would love me enough to help me out a bit.

But that’s okay.  I’ll suffer my loneliness alone since apparently I don’t have any real friends who love me.

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want too, dammit!

So I decided that since I couldn’t actually go out on my birthday I would go out last night and party.  And I did.  Only, I’ve gotten to the point where “partying” actually means “sitting-at-IHOP-drinking-coffee-and-enjoying-completely-horrible-service-because-NO-I-guess-I-wasn’t-hungry-after-all-Mr.-Server-Guy”.  It’s a rather odd occurrence.  Partying used to totally be about how much beer/vodka could I down in 20 minutes before stripping and running around naked until someone finally decided to pay me to put my clothes back on (as I’ve said before, I’ve always been quite the scam artist/drug dealer entrepeneur) or someone starting having sex in the middle of the Twister game.

Have I just gotten old?  Is this what life’s going to be like after 27?  Now that I’ve hit 27, there is no fun, no games, just sitting around like the guys waiting to die in 1984 until I finally learn to love Big Brother?  That’s not the life I want!  I want to be 19 again.

Stop, vagina time!

So it was an interesting weekend.  It started with getting told off about what the staff does when I’m not there, peaked with vagina, and ended with me blogging.

It has come to my attention I am expected to break the laws of physics and be both at home/not working/having fun/getting drunk and also babysitting the staff who are working while I’m enjoying said off time.  And by babysitting I mean holding the hands of the 60+ year olds I supervise.  And by holding their hands I mean telling them exactly what to do, when to do it, and possibly holding it while they pee.  I’m not okay with that.

Saturday night, as usual, there were loads of drunk/stoned/high/generally-insane-and-not-in-that-completely-fun-way people.  Then these two couples came up.  I was too busy dealing with the couple inside to stop the couple outside that was copulating on my trashcan.  Hey, I’m not going to complain since it was, thankfully, not on the hood of my truck.  I don’t need to explain that dent to my insurance company.  So they walk in (the inside couple, not the copulating couple) and are looking for the bathroom (because the 2 ft by 2 ft sign just doesn’t work) when the chick, who’s drunk, says, “Ohhhh, it’s under the sign,” like a total airhead, even though her completely sober boyfriend couldn’t find it.  On her way there, I notice that, hey, that little black dress is up kinda high and I can totally see her HOLY SHIT THERE’S A VAGINA HANGING OUT!  And then she dropped her jacket.  And her boyfriend was too busy looking down her cleavage to pick it up so she, of course, had to show me EVERYTHING!  I think that experience alone has made me completely gay.

Any sexy single guys out there wanna go out?  I just want that image to not be burned into my brain any longer.