My Crappy Week

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Pop Goes The Ego

Okay fuckers, this is the pic on my dating profile:



Yes, it's from 2007.




The way I roll on internet dating sites is I keep my profile hidden. That keeps my face from being associated with the other douche bags online. If you've never been on a dating site, you should really take note. Girls get TONS of mail from douche bags. Girls don't usually write back to douche bags. A large percentage of douche bags get frustrated and start sending butt hurt emails.


So basically, girls log into dating sites. They find themselves in a sea of douche bags, they read douchey, butt hurt messages which call them "stuck up," and "vapid." Then they click on your profile and go "This guy must also be a douche bag."


Fair enough.


I keep my shit hidden so that doesn't happen to me.


When I see a girl I like, I send a simple " ;) " and that's all.


Sure you can read a girl's profile. Sure, you can write some bullshit to make a girl think you're awesome. But, why waste the effort if they're not gonna write back?


I just send a simple winky-face, and 1 in 8 girls write back.




Here's a girl who responded to my winky-face.


Her name is Siobhan (pronounced: Sheh-Von)






Certainly no divergence between the two pictures. (PFFFFT)


I talk her into going out with me.


She was super hesitant to give me her phone number, but I finally got a text at work:


Girl:

Hey 6 at trudys tonight?

Me:

Yup. :)
Do you get picture text?

Girl:

Yes

Me:

Hi Siobhan!

Grainy but current. :)

Girl:

You dnt look like person in profile

Me:

Never heard that before.

Girl:

Maybe cause its a profile and not head on shot. But from that picture im not interested. Which sounds mean but its true and i dnt wanna have you drive down here for nothing.

Me:

no that's not mean. I was just shooting you the pic so you could see what I was wearing so you'd know me when I walked in. You want a better pic we'll take a couple where I'm smiling. don't fret over a rushed snap shot from the men's room. trust me.

Girl:

Sorry. I wont be showing up tonight

Me:

Jesus.

Me (half hour later):

Don't feel bad. it's perfectly in bounds to be skittish in the context of first dates. :) it's alright if you need to cancel.

Girl:

I need to cancel.

Me:

Yeah, we covered that, lol.

Girl:

Oh okay just making sure aren't making the trip for nothing.

Me:

I meant don't feel bad for cancelling.

Girl:

Alright.

Me (1 hour later):

Girl:

Um...

Me:

Haha
Based on my experience, that writing on the wall is nothing short of true. ;)

Me:

I'm not gonna push the meeting up thing, I'm already home. But ou should poor yourself a glass of wine and we'll chat on the phone. :)

Girl:

Oh really? Okay

Me:

Do you want me to call you now, or wait until 6 as planned?

Girl:

What? Why would you call?

Me:

You just said okay, to the phone proposal. check your texts. ;)

Girl:

I didn't see that msg

Me:

Yeah well how are you feelin' it?

Girl:

I'm not much of a talker... esp on the phone.

Girl:

[silent treatment]

MFWTF?

Parking Ticket?

Racism????

Several hours of volunteer work made a participant eager to take on a writing contract, for an educational project which paid around 40cents per word. The project coordinator already had writers in mind. Those writers turned out to be slow, demanding and finally one of them walked.



With the position open again, and the participating volunteer having fully expressed an interest in taking on the writing contract - for the participant could have benefited greatly from the compensation and exposure - it was disheartening to hear that - though the participant had dedicated hours of work to the cause - the gainfully employed writer who was awarded the contract, was selected based on skin color.



According to Dr. Beverly Tatum, this is not racism because I am white, and the writer who got the contract... is not.



Even though I've read Tatum and preached similar material, I feel hella bitter about this.



Not bitter like "go back to your country," bitter.

But more like "I don't think you should use 'advancement' and 'social justice' interchangeably," bitter.



There's more to the story, so lets review the facts.



























I can fully accept this concept of "only whites can be racist," because the SYSTEM is created to view whites as individuals and non whites as Hyphenated Americans.

However, I don't think that this concept exonerates any American from Actin' Right.

And on the topic of writing, I think Hayden trumps Tatum:

"To put it succinctly, I feel that Afro-American poets ought to be looked at as poets first, if that’s what they truly are. And as one of them I dare to hope that if my work means anything, if it’s any good at all, it’s going to have a human impact, not a narrowly racial or ethnic or political and overspecialized impact."

Fired???????

I no longer have the worst job ever!

According to the staffing agency I appeared to "lack motivation," because I asked for my Birthday off and also, on my fourth day - of having to stand around doing nothing - I arrived late.
There's no excuse for arriving late, but if you arrived late and still beat the boss to work, then the fact he found out you were late is cause to assume that his informant will most likely NOT be divulging that you arrive early every other day.

All I know is the other temp, who was eager to have a three day weekend, kept pressing me to ask the boss if we had Monday off. I had already told her that the office would be open Monday, and I later watched the associate manager tell her the exact same thing.

Everyone loves a three day weekend but I wasn't planning to take Monday off. In fact I told the other temp that because she already made plans to go camping, that I'd be fine with working Monday (which would've been a great opportunity for me to fly my first solo mission on a slow day.)

So at the end of Thursday, she went to the boss to inquire for herself. Then she left abruptly, and then I was asked not to come back. They said that "with the long weekend coming up" they thought I'd enjoy having Friday to myself as well.


I think I got fucked.


The staffing agency says they're not going to put a negative mark in my file because even though I was being trained by a temp who had a whole 2 weeks seniority over me, not having a desk, phone, computer or chair made it impossible for me to perform the job they hired me for (which, btw, was NOT Assistant Receptionist.)

I was viewing this shitty job as an opportunity for me to spin straw into gold. The only thing bringing me back to work each day was my internal insistence that this was a test of my enduring positive attitude. So being accused of lacking motivation is the fucking DIM (dick in mouth.)

Anyhow, they're looking to restaff the position but I think they're doing it internally because I have yet to see this posting on Craig's list.


Help Wanted:

Insecure, Front Desk Temp Seeks Assistant/Scapegoat

Full time, Mon-Fri

Duties include sorting, filing, copying and spending most of the day in time-out.

Successful candidates will possess mortgage industry experience and a complacency with having all interactions with upper management brokered through a jaded, error prone cow who is aggressively vying for permanent placement.

Permanent placement for this position is not likely, but it will feel like an eternity.

Applicants with birthdays need not apply.

A Card With Some Money

I hate tangible gifts. I want something finite that I can throw away or throw away on booze and cigarettes. So when my girlfriend asserted that I must want SOMETHING for my bday, all I could aid her with was a list of Don'ts.

She said she thought my love for her gift would transcend my aversion to said don'ts. Which I could have played along with, had she said that BEFORE I took a huge shit all over her gift.

Where I've argued that the term Bitchiness technically is separate from calling the subject a bitch- she was able to apply my logic towards NOT calling me a deuce bag (technically.)

So I got to roll stag for the first few hours of my special day.



Fuck my life; Look what my Mom got me.






I shit you not, that's really what she got me. Two of them.


It's a quintessential example of how I, at 27 years old, fucking hate receiving gifts.

My mom thought that I could create one of those magical moments where you're on a date and find two hoppity balls in the street, by just showing up with them- pre inflated- in the back seat of my car.

I do not jest; my sister told me so.



That explains the fucking color scheme.






My sister told me that my mom literally said "Maybe they can bounce 'em down the block- or around the mall."


The fucking MALL?????


I wonder where she got that idea.