I feel a lot of pressure every time I open my e-mail. I try to never give out my address but it's very hard nowadays. If you want to use certain apps or visit certain websites, you HAVE to give them your e-mail address.
Since I post these through Blogger, I have to sign in to my Gmail account which is why I was reminded of this nightmare which will now become the topic.
In the last three minutes, which are still within my first ten minutes of waking up....(Yes, I write these almost immediately after waking up. It's called "Worthless Cathartic Writings" but that doesn't mean I don't serve them fresh,) I've come to realize that I have:
A "credit card statement ready" - Why do they word it like that? They make it seem as if they are JUST NOW ready to take my money and no sooner. Mind you, I pay it every two weeks, well more than the minimum and always early. I know I owe you the money. At no point did I think it was just free money. I'm 34 and I've had this, my first credit card, for about 3 months now. If I was under the impression that this was free money, I'd have had 30 of them fifteen years ago. I'd have used my free money to buy a credit card company and I'd be sending YOU a bill, Capital One. Relax.
Some shit from Turbotax - Dude, fucking stop. I file my taxes once a year. There is no need for any other correspondence. Single, Zero Kids, I don't own anything nor do I run a business. No services you have other than "tell me how much I overpaid for working in America" are applicable to me. Taxing my fucking inbox smdh
"35 RECOMMENDED HOMES FOR YOU" - Hi, what's your name again? Zillow? Oh yeah, we met a few weeks ago when I was toying around with the idea of SOMEDAY buying a house. I remember specifying a geographical location in your search bar and NOTHING ELSE. How is it that you think THIRTY-FIVE different houses all fall under the blanket of me wanting to live in them? Three of the houses are literally unlivable and four others are not even for sale!
I want a house someday, I think. I don't know though, renting is kinda nice.
"Hey, here's money. I'm gonna live here and you just gotta make sure all the stuff works always. Also, the grass is looking a little tall in the back. *winks* I'll have your money for you a week early every month, no need to prepare a statement like those assholes at Mastercard. Thanks."
I do want a house though, hence the searching on Zillow but I'm very picky. It needs to be in the middle of the woods. I don't mean like "lots of trees in a quiet neighborhood," I mean like NO NEIGHBORHOOD. Just a house surrounded by trees. That's what "middle" means. There's a house in the center and no visibility through the trees on any side of it. None of those old ass broken trees either. I don't need them falling on my shit and fucking up my brand new roof (every house for sale has a new roof).
I'd give my address to very few people. I don't want politicians at my doorstep with their parade of bullshit pamphlets. Just a couple of friends and on the off-chance that there is a business that delivers food out to my home in the middle of the woods, they too can have my address. My e-mail address is already ruined but I have to draw the line somewhere.
Ok that's enough for today. I have to go a write a rent check, pay my credit card bill and.....OH! Would you look at that! AIRBNB WANTS ME TO GO ON ANOTHER VACATION AND THEY HAVE COMPILED SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR ME!
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Faking Boregasms
After a quick vote, one person responded and requested "coffee" as my topic today. This actually has little to do with coffee but I'll get into that.
I prefer to save my complaining for here or the stage. I generally don't like "speaking to the manager" because I'm a manager. I rarely have a complaint that warrants speaking to a manager and unlike a lot of people, I know the difference.
I just wanted some ice cream. My girlfriend and I rarely have dates and when we do, they're often small jaunts to get some kind of food. I don't really like going to the movies because I always fall asleep and generally nothing of interest is showing that we both can agree on.
Yeah, I fall asleep. They dim the room and that giant screen just becomes a giant nightlight to me. It doesn't matter what time of day or whether or not I've had my nap yet, I WILL FALL ASLEEP.
Anyway, we passed the movie theater and stopped in the coffee house next door that I frequent often, (always for coffee and never for ice cream.) I'd not tried their ice cream yet. I get unreasonably excited about ice cream because it, along with coffee, is one of the few pleasures in life I still fill my fat head with. I've even largely given up dairy in my diet because I'm liar about being healthy. I usually opt for the dairy-free Ben and Jerry's and eat it on my couch with no pants on. That last part seems like a gratuitous detail and it is but I'm painting a fucking picture here. A good painter evokes emotion and I'm sure you just had one reading that.
I just wanted some ice cream this night though. Some real ice cream, made with that authentic cow-teat nectar we've all grown to love. I'd always seen the signs for their ice cream when I'd stopped in for my morning coffee. It's the ice cream you'd imagine a coffee shop in 2017 would have - free-range, organic, anti-depressant free blah blah blah
This is getting really long-winded. Basically, it was all ruined quickly. Shit attitudes on the other side of the cold showcase ruined the experience. I wanted them to be as happy as I was to get the ice cream. We were perplexed. Had we done something wrong? We were greeted as though we'd just killed their parents and came out to celebrate with some peanut butter swirl.
I may have been speaking to the manager a few days later. I'm not sure, I didn't ask. I just grabbed the ear of a much more pleasant person. I explained to them that I know what it's like to have a shit day and also work retail. I've done it plenty of times. I still do it every day and I've gotten really good at making people think they and their experiences are unique when they are so tragically ordinary and boring.
I'm so busy faking interest and smiles on the clock that I'm generally unpleasant for all the other hours of the day. Anyone who knows me can attest to this.
"Jim hates everything," they say. This is not entirely true but my excitement is generally so weak from all the faking I get paid to do. I enjoy many things, I just don't have the energy in my face to show it.
In conclusion, I regret it. I regret ever saying anything to the person-who-may-or-may-not-have-been-the-manager. I think they went back and told them and now they're nice to me. Not normal nice but outrageously nice and interested in my presence. I think they are literally trying to kill me with kindness when I go in there now.
If you are that person and you are reading this (you're not) YOU WIN! I give up. I know what you're doing and I'm begging you to PLEASE STOP! Go back to your misanthropic steaming of lattes and begrudged scooping of ice cream. I just want you to be happy again.
I prefer to save my complaining for here or the stage. I generally don't like "speaking to the manager" because I'm a manager. I rarely have a complaint that warrants speaking to a manager and unlike a lot of people, I know the difference.
I just wanted some ice cream. My girlfriend and I rarely have dates and when we do, they're often small jaunts to get some kind of food. I don't really like going to the movies because I always fall asleep and generally nothing of interest is showing that we both can agree on.
Yeah, I fall asleep. They dim the room and that giant screen just becomes a giant nightlight to me. It doesn't matter what time of day or whether or not I've had my nap yet, I WILL FALL ASLEEP.
Anyway, we passed the movie theater and stopped in the coffee house next door that I frequent often, (always for coffee and never for ice cream.) I'd not tried their ice cream yet. I get unreasonably excited about ice cream because it, along with coffee, is one of the few pleasures in life I still fill my fat head with. I've even largely given up dairy in my diet because I'm liar about being healthy. I usually opt for the dairy-free Ben and Jerry's and eat it on my couch with no pants on. That last part seems like a gratuitous detail and it is but I'm painting a fucking picture here. A good painter evokes emotion and I'm sure you just had one reading that.
I just wanted some ice cream this night though. Some real ice cream, made with that authentic cow-teat nectar we've all grown to love. I'd always seen the signs for their ice cream when I'd stopped in for my morning coffee. It's the ice cream you'd imagine a coffee shop in 2017 would have - free-range, organic, anti-depressant free blah blah blah
This is getting really long-winded. Basically, it was all ruined quickly. Shit attitudes on the other side of the cold showcase ruined the experience. I wanted them to be as happy as I was to get the ice cream. We were perplexed. Had we done something wrong? We were greeted as though we'd just killed their parents and came out to celebrate with some peanut butter swirl.
I may have been speaking to the manager a few days later. I'm not sure, I didn't ask. I just grabbed the ear of a much more pleasant person. I explained to them that I know what it's like to have a shit day and also work retail. I've done it plenty of times. I still do it every day and I've gotten really good at making people think they and their experiences are unique when they are so tragically ordinary and boring.
I'm so busy faking interest and smiles on the clock that I'm generally unpleasant for all the other hours of the day. Anyone who knows me can attest to this.
"Jim hates everything," they say. This is not entirely true but my excitement is generally so weak from all the faking I get paid to do. I enjoy many things, I just don't have the energy in my face to show it.
In conclusion, I regret it. I regret ever saying anything to the person-who-may-or-may-not-have-been-the-manager. I think they went back and told them and now they're nice to me. Not normal nice but outrageously nice and interested in my presence. I think they are literally trying to kill me with kindness when I go in there now.
If you are that person and you are reading this (you're not) YOU WIN! I give up. I know what you're doing and I'm begging you to PLEASE STOP! Go back to your misanthropic steaming of lattes and begrudged scooping of ice cream. I just want you to be happy again.
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Surprises ruin everything
I've spent too much time writing about things I like. Even if they're masked in disappointment like "losing money at a casino" or "taking 14 swings to get through one hole of golf," I'm still describing things I like to do.
I'd like to take a minute to talk about something I don't like. And I'm serious, I'm only taking a minute to talk about this; not because I don't want to dwell in the negativity of things I don't like. I actually do enjoy that and could spend all day doing it but I have to get ready for work in a minute.
"I hate surprises" - we hear people say it all the time and that's because LITERALLY EVERYONE HATES SURPRISES. The only surprise we're ever cool with is a surprise party. Even then it can get a little dicey. We had a surprise party for my mom this summer and I'd be lying if I told you I didn't think there was a chance she might have a heart attack. That was a little frightening.
Surprises are almost always bad though:
You got laid off today - SURPRISE!
You peed on that stick and now you're pregnant - SURPRISE!
You left your dome light on in your car and now it won't start - SURPRISE!
You wake up from a coma - SURPRISE!
You get the picture.
My least favorite surprises, as of late, have been the tacky pamphlets of local politicians. Every day I come home and SURPRISE! HERE'S ELEVEN MORE OF THE SAME SHIT I LEFT AT YOUR DOOR YESTERDAY! I'm not going to mention any names as I don't really know much about these people. I still assume (despite their campaign of punk-rock postering my fucking front door for the past month) that they are decent people. There's also not one particular person at fault either. There's a few and I have a plan for them that's more community-driven than public shaming. Public shaming isn't nice.
Now, as luck would have it, listed online is all of their addresses, none of which are very far from me. The elections were yesterday and all I have to do is wait to see who won. I'm not 13 so no, I'm not going to egg their houses or tp their lawns or do anything illegal. I just have questions that need answering. I'm compiling a list of things that the community needs to know.
And yeah, you guessed it, right at the top of that list is "DO YOU LIKE SURPRISES?"
Then I'm just gonna shower their homes with my business cards. I get it, they bought all these campaign materials and it's not good for anything after the campaign so they have to use it all up. Well, I too have 600 business cards with outdated information on them that I desperately need to unload so.....one hand washes the other. That's how community works. We'll wade through this waste of paper as a team.
I'd like to take a minute to talk about something I don't like. And I'm serious, I'm only taking a minute to talk about this; not because I don't want to dwell in the negativity of things I don't like. I actually do enjoy that and could spend all day doing it but I have to get ready for work in a minute.
"I hate surprises" - we hear people say it all the time and that's because LITERALLY EVERYONE HATES SURPRISES. The only surprise we're ever cool with is a surprise party. Even then it can get a little dicey. We had a surprise party for my mom this summer and I'd be lying if I told you I didn't think there was a chance she might have a heart attack. That was a little frightening.
Surprises are almost always bad though:
You got laid off today - SURPRISE!
You peed on that stick and now you're pregnant - SURPRISE!
You left your dome light on in your car and now it won't start - SURPRISE!
You wake up from a coma - SURPRISE!
You get the picture.
My least favorite surprises, as of late, have been the tacky pamphlets of local politicians. Every day I come home and SURPRISE! HERE'S ELEVEN MORE OF THE SAME SHIT I LEFT AT YOUR DOOR YESTERDAY! I'm not going to mention any names as I don't really know much about these people. I still assume (despite their campaign of punk-rock postering my fucking front door for the past month) that they are decent people. There's also not one particular person at fault either. There's a few and I have a plan for them that's more community-driven than public shaming. Public shaming isn't nice.
Now, as luck would have it, listed online is all of their addresses, none of which are very far from me. The elections were yesterday and all I have to do is wait to see who won. I'm not 13 so no, I'm not going to egg their houses or tp their lawns or do anything illegal. I just have questions that need answering. I'm compiling a list of things that the community needs to know.
And yeah, you guessed it, right at the top of that list is "DO YOU LIKE SURPRISES?"
Then I'm just gonna shower their homes with my business cards. I get it, they bought all these campaign materials and it's not good for anything after the campaign so they have to use it all up. Well, I too have 600 business cards with outdated information on them that I desperately need to unload so.....one hand washes the other. That's how community works. We'll wade through this waste of paper as a team.
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Twenty-One Jump Ship
Counting cards isn't very difficult but I'm pretty sure I'm doing it wrong. I get two, the dealer gets two and that's it. If that was what counting cards entailed, I'd win every time. Sadly, that's not the way it goes.
I don't know what it is that thrills me about things that cost money. I think it's losing. I've never really won big at a casino so my perspective is limited to my experience. What I do know is that I keep coming back for more regardless of the previous outcome. I always have some wild new moxie when I return too. It is beyond the textbook definition of "insanity."
"If I get double aces, I'll split em" (1 out of 221 probability)
"I'll go half my bank on the first deal so I'll have more money to play with when I win that hand. Even MORE if I get a blackjack on that first hand" (Absolute zero probability)
It's even worse with those god forsaken slot machines. The bells and whistles rev up as the machine gets darker and the wheels light up.
BONUS.....("ahhh shit!")......BONUS......("oh fuck yeah, this is it!")........BON-HAHA JUST KIDDING! YOU SUCK! TRY AGAIN THOUGH! DEFINITELY TRY AGAIN! DO "MAX BET" TOO, YOU FUCKING FOOL! YOU HAVE TO WIN THE JACKPOT EVENTUALLY, RIGHT?!
I wish the games were different. If I had a casino, it would be riddled with such games as "Cee Lo" or "Who wore it better?" and "Which hand is it in?" or "Are you smarter than a phone?"
Absolutely no one would win at my casino, mainly because most of those games aren't real. My mom and a few of my friends might win a few times but other than that I'm keeping all the money. I'm a businessman and this is America. If you don't like it, take your ass over to the scratch-off ticket machine or Denmark or wherever.
As far as actual casinos go, I've only one bit of unfinished business. I haven't summoned the berries to sit down at a poker table yet but that's mostly because I can't keep a straight face. That's pretty much the entire game right there. It's ok to get a boner when I have a straight flush because we're all seated adults at the poker table. I have to make sure I don't involuntarily make the accompanying bonerface though or my cover will be blown.
"Sure, I'm bluffing with this hand but you should see what's in the other one!" he says with a wink while being ejected.
I'm nearing the end of my gambling phase. I've gotten wrapped up in a "there's a way to win" mentality and I laugh at myself when I even have that thought because it's absurdly untrue. The truth is, I don't need the money I'd win. I need the money I'm gambling! And no, I'm not that out of hand nor have I done anything devastating enough that I need to fake some kind of ailment and start a gofundme. I just need to accept that I'm a loser. It's not as sad as it sounds. Most people are losers. I'm in good company. By being losers, we all win.
Hey, there's another title for a book I'll talk about and probably never write!
"By being losers, we all win!" by Jim Felter.
I'm gonna need some startup cash.
I don't know what it is that thrills me about things that cost money. I think it's losing. I've never really won big at a casino so my perspective is limited to my experience. What I do know is that I keep coming back for more regardless of the previous outcome. I always have some wild new moxie when I return too. It is beyond the textbook definition of "insanity."
"If I get double aces, I'll split em" (1 out of 221 probability)
"I'll go half my bank on the first deal so I'll have more money to play with when I win that hand. Even MORE if I get a blackjack on that first hand" (Absolute zero probability)
It's even worse with those god forsaken slot machines. The bells and whistles rev up as the machine gets darker and the wheels light up.
BONUS.....("ahhh shit!")......BONUS......("oh fuck yeah, this is it!")........BON-HAHA JUST KIDDING! YOU SUCK! TRY AGAIN THOUGH! DEFINITELY TRY AGAIN! DO "MAX BET" TOO, YOU FUCKING FOOL! YOU HAVE TO WIN THE JACKPOT EVENTUALLY, RIGHT?!
I wish the games were different. If I had a casino, it would be riddled with such games as "Cee Lo" or "Who wore it better?" and "Which hand is it in?" or "Are you smarter than a phone?"
Absolutely no one would win at my casino, mainly because most of those games aren't real. My mom and a few of my friends might win a few times but other than that I'm keeping all the money. I'm a businessman and this is America. If you don't like it, take your ass over to the scratch-off ticket machine or Denmark or wherever.
As far as actual casinos go, I've only one bit of unfinished business. I haven't summoned the berries to sit down at a poker table yet but that's mostly because I can't keep a straight face. That's pretty much the entire game right there. It's ok to get a boner when I have a straight flush because we're all seated adults at the poker table. I have to make sure I don't involuntarily make the accompanying bonerface though or my cover will be blown.
"Sure, I'm bluffing with this hand but you should see what's in the other one!" he says with a wink while being ejected.
I'm nearing the end of my gambling phase. I've gotten wrapped up in a "there's a way to win" mentality and I laugh at myself when I even have that thought because it's absurdly untrue. The truth is, I don't need the money I'd win. I need the money I'm gambling! And no, I'm not that out of hand nor have I done anything devastating enough that I need to fake some kind of ailment and start a gofundme. I just need to accept that I'm a loser. It's not as sad as it sounds. Most people are losers. I'm in good company. By being losers, we all win.
Hey, there's another title for a book I'll talk about and probably never write!
"By being losers, we all win!" by Jim Felter.
I'm gonna need some startup cash.
Saturday, September 2, 2017
Green in too many
I don't know why I started playing golf. I was at a bachelor party, away for the weekend with some friends in Vermont. They had decided that one of the great events of the weekend would be playing 9 holes at some country club none of us had ever been to.
(Speaking of bachelor party events in Burlington, Vermont...did you know that there are zero strip clubs within any reasonable distance and it's illegal to hire strippers in the city of Burlington? You know that now. You're welcome.)
"Do you want in?"
Without any hesitation I said, "Yeah of course I want to do that." Even after having known me for over 20 years they still weren't sure if that answer was sarcastic. I fooled them, though and it turns out I fooled myself as well. After all, what was I gonna sit in the golf lodge and drink Arnold Palmers while watching golf on tv? I barely cared about golf enough to do that. That's for the real golf enthusiasts.
I love Arnold Palmers, by the way. Iced Tea and Lemonade MIXED TOGETHER?! Whoever thought of that was a genius.
I borrowed my friend's shirt; since this was neither a wedding nor a funeral, I hadn't packed my one shirt that has a collar. I wanted a cigar but when I got to the pro shop they didn't have any. I don't even know that I like cigars but at some point I just decided, I'm a golfer now. I didn't even have clubs. You're supposed to rent them and not share but fuck that, I totally shared. I was a golfer and I was already turning the rules of golf upside down. Between my shunning of their antiquated traditions and my inability to actually send the ball anywhere without mailing a hunk of Earth behind it, I was breaking ground in this sport.
What was my score? It doesn't matter. I've yet to keep score. When you see all these people getting their proverbial wood in a knot about how frustrating this game is, it's because they're keeping score. WHY?! Why would you keep score? You're up against no one. My score is "Most of the time I made it to the green." That's a pretty good score. I'd like to see you do better.
Anyway, my friends were pretty impressed so they asked me to play again the next week. Not bragging or anything but they obviously saw how I was en route to change this game forever. I figured since it was my second time out ever in my life, I had better invest in some clubs. I bought a set off a woman on Craigslist for $75 with a bag. They were men's clubs, relax. He wasn't home at the time which was "too bad because he could've told you more about them."
Were they a good brand? Were they in good shape? How the fuck was I supposed to know?! I could have asked her and regardless the answer, I'd have had to take it to be the truth! I know nothing! Even IF her husband was there, any information he would've given me would have been erroneous.
I didn't even take them out of the bag. I touched the top of a few of them and said "These look like a full set of golf clubs. Other than that, I have no idea what I'm looking at so here is your $75." I stopped at the store for a cigar on the way to the links (that's what we call it in the biz) because the lady that sold me the golf clubs was "fresh out" - I sensed some sarcasm. I was again in a position where I had no knowledge of what I was buying. "This looks like a cigar, here is your eight dollars" I said, walking out in my new collared shirt.
The rest is history. Three rounds of golf and 48 lost balls later and I'm hooked. There should be an app and balls with tracking devices also. I'm developing that; it's my idea, don't steal it. Just another example of how I'm breaking ground in this sport.
The summer is coming to an end. It's one of my last few weekends off and the weather is shit. This story is shit too, I realize that. Regardless of both, I'm going to play golf today and I'm really only writing this to see if anyone wants to join me. Am I good? That depends on who's keeping score. If it's me, I'm pretty good. I make it to the green on almost every hole.
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