littlewashu: (Default)
I feel hated today, hated and ignored like I'm screwing things up all over the place without meaning to. I am too careless, perhaps?

It's rough to be disliked, but as I always say, there's no rule that says you have to like anybody. Anycertainbody, I mean. You don't even have to have a reason, if you don't want. And if you're civil and polite in public, and never make a big stink, then there's nothing I can say. But it still stings a little bit, I still want to know why, and yet maybe also don't want to know? It's none of my business. But it's still a bummer.

Am I being rude lately? Too abrupt? I used to love talking on the phone and now I can't really stand it. I get distracted. I'm in it until the first searching-around-for-something-to-say, and then I want out. Which, in my opinion, should be okay. Last night I was talking to my friend Jason from Nerd Camp, with whom I haven't spoken since . . . hmm, 1992 maybe? 1993? And we talked and it was cool and then it was 11:20 and we'd been talking for 25-30 minutes and I had just gotten home from a long drive and I wanted to get settled and ready for bed so I said I was going to go and he said okay and didn't sound upset or anything and I was so grateful, I hate being made to feel guilty about that sort of thing. I will get together with Jason and maybe Ill over a few drinks and we will catch up, that will be eight million times better than a phone conversation.

Or if I'm out. Or have company. I hate when people talk on the phone when I'm hanging out with them, I think it's rude, but I guess that's pretty standard.

My computer's still broken, folks. Still. It's been three or four weeks and I'm getting increasingly frustrated and miserable about it. I feel helpless, and that's my least favorite feeling in the whole entire world, helplessness. I want to just buy a new one but 1) I can't afford it and 2) I probably don't really need to. I just wish it would work again. Mitch has been on the case and doing research and seeking consultation and I appreciate all the work he's been doing on my behalf, but it's so frustrating that it's my computer and I have no idea what's going on. The other day I was trying to get some music to play because I had thought that my WinAmp would at least work but it wasn't and people were chiding me in a friendly manner and I snapped at them because I try to lighten up about it but I just can't. It's so frustrating, have I made that clear yet? Also people are always like "well what's wrong?" and like an ignoramus I have to actually tell them that I don't know which makes me feel irresponsible and stupid, and then if they're a computer person they try to offer advice, even though I just told them that I don't know what's wrong with it, and that makes me want to hit them or start crying. Maybe both, sih-multaneously. I'm going to try not to think about it right now.

I went up to Rochester with my mom to visit my brother this weekend and I met his girlfriend and went to a frat party and there are a lot of things I want to talk about in that regard, but I'm feeling so down and the weekend was so nice and I don't want to get those sentiments mixed up in each other because I think the blues will win, so I'll leave it for when I'm feeling better.

I have no work and Wojo left so now I have nothing to do, only this time I feel guilty about it.

So rather than paying for my car myself, I pay my dad. The explanation for this is long and boring and depressing, but please take my word for it that this was NOT my idea and I am NOT happy about it. (Notice, however, that I am not unhappy about it enough to have insisted I pay it in full. Not that I could afford to). I had, in fact, my first-ever can't-stop-crying panic attack when I found out that the car wouldn't be in my name. Man, my dad offered to stay over that night because he didn't know what to do, sleep on my floor, and I just looked at him and thought "that wouldn't help at all." I love my dad and think he is a good and nice and smart and funny man, but his presence alone would do nothing to comfort me. My mom, maybe, but not my dad. Poor Dad. Anyway, so as a result I'm paying WAY less per month than it is actually costing. My lease is up in December. And I'm so torn between being grateful for my dad for easing my financial burden, and resentful for doing so without me asking, and now leaving me quite incapable of affording a comparable car this time around. I could never afford the true price of the lease and insurance, not with the way I have arranged my life. I hate how I make a very decent salary, and still struggle to live on it. I live beyond my means and it makes me sick, there are so many people who make less than I do and have REAL problems, whereas mine are made up and still cause me stress. I really fucking disgust myself.

It is way too early in the week for PMS, I don't know what the fuck is up with me. Maybe the chilly weather?

To lighten up this entry, I will regale you with a tale of what a psychotic weirdo my cat is. Because nobody isn't entertained by cat stories!!!1

Last night I was getting into bed but Henry was in the way of where I would swing my legs, so I pushed him off the bed because it was easier, I knew, then pushing him into the center where he could turn around and nip me. So I pushed him off, turned to my side and lay down, and he jumped up again. I heard him sitting on the bed right behind my head, I could hear him breathing. I lay there for a minute and it didn't sound like he had laid down, so I turned halfway to look up at him, and sure enough, he was just sitting up, looking at me, breathing on me. Weirdo. I turn back and close my eyes. A moment or two later he leaps over my body so that he's in front of me. I realize that I've been gone for three days, and home for two hours, and I haven't pet the poor guy yet. So I start petting him a few times, he's all staticky. And he's moving around and liking it. Then I put my hand down on the bed. He sniffs it, then bites it, hard, but sustained. And lets go and jumps off the bed, because he knows it's wrong. I just roll my eyes and go to sleep. What a weirdo.

To further lighten things up, here are the lyrics to King Missile's "The Cheesecake Truck":

So then I got this idea about driving a cheesecake truck,
Because I figured at the end of the day I could take some of the leftover cheesecakes home,
And I love cheesecake.
So I went to the cheesecake company,
And they asked me if I could drive a truck,
And I said yes and they said you're hired.
So the next day I got in the truck with all the cheesecakes,
And I drove about a block and I just had to have a cheesecake.
So I pulled over and I opened the trunk and I got a cheesecake,
And I also took one for later,
And I took one for my friend Farmboy,
And I took one to bring home,
And by that time I had eaten one of the cheesecakes.
So I took another one.
Then I figured I might as well stop at my house to drop off all the cheesecakes.
So I take five cakes to eat on the way,
And I drive another block and a half to my house.
Now it's lunchtime so I eat ten cheesecakes and a cheesecake for dessert.
I should point out by the way that all of these cheesecakes were very delicious.
Anyway, I decided that the only thing to do would be to eat all the rest of the cheesecakes and hide the truck somewhere and leave town.
And I miss everybody a lot,
But I'm not really sorry,
Because they were very delicious cheesecakes.

Here's more about music. Last night I was listening to "All This Useless Beauty" by Elvis Costello, whilst in the car. It's a nice song and I like it and I listened to it four or five times and paid lots of attention but I still am not 100% sure I know exactly what he means. When I was in Seattle Eric said "listen to this song" and put it on the stereo and even though I'm not very good at that and don't think I can grok a song from one listen, I tried very hard and said it was nice, but if I *still* can't really figure out what he means, I don't feel badly for not getting it first time through. The only thing I'm sure of is that it's about some chick who is with someone who isn't worth it? Maybe? I think. But anyway, as I was driving home and deciding that this was mostly what it's about (but I feel like I'm missing subtleties here, or something), I also decided that I didn't feel sorry for this woman at all, and wasn't sure if I was supposed to. But I sure don't. If he's not good enough she never should have married him in the first place, and if he turned out later to not live up to her expectations then she should have left him. Sorry man, but no sympathy for her whatsoever. I don't know. I've made this stupid and self-centered and depressing again.

Here, look, a thousand lame cliche formula sitcom plots has occurred in real life. Next thing you know, someone in real life will be hiding a secret and their friend will say "I know what's going on!" and the first person will admit the horrible secret and the second person will say that they were referring to something stupid and benign, but now they know this awful secret.
littlewashu: (lewis)
We went to see Lewis Black at Rowan University last night. Lewis was really very good.

I wanted to kill every single other person in the room.

I wish I could not let it get to me . . . but man, I just can't help it. He performed for over an hour and a half, which I thought was a long time, and I was very impressed. In that time, at least ten cell phones went off. Ten. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. This is a conservative estimate. It may have been as many as fifteen.

I don't understand why, at cell phone number . . . oh, five, people didn't think "ooh, I think my phone's on! Here, let me turn it off before I create a disturbance." Actually, I think I do understand why. Want me to share? Because they don't care.

The people sitting directly behind me came in about 45 minutes late (and Lewis was over a half an hour late to start, so really, these kids were over an hour late). In the middle of the performance, the phone of the guy sitting directly behind me started to ring. I gave a pointed look to the people sitting next to me, which he was sure to see. Fine. Let's get back to the comedy. Then I realized he had answered the phone. He proceeded to carry on a conversation. Not "oh shit man, I'm right in the middle of Lewis Black, gotta go" -- he was carrying on a conversation. I turned around to stare pointedly at him. He looked right back at me. "Are you serious?" I asked him quietly. I wasn't giving him a dirty look, so much as a "I can't believe this is actually happening" look, because I couldn't believe it was actually happening. I turned back around. He didn't get off the phone. I feel like this whole entry should be in italics, because otherwise, you won't believe me. I actually heard him say to the phone, "yeah, it's pretty funny." After another 30 seconds of me not being able to hear Lewis Black over the DEAFENING RAGE in my skull, I turned back around and looked at him and said "get off the phone." He lifted his chin at me. Twenty, maybe thirty seconds later, he said, "I have to go," and finally got off the phone.

There was this girl, about seven rows up from us. She began to have a conversation with the person next to her. We could hear her, though sometimes we were distracted by the OTHER people having conversations. We looked back at her; she wasn't facing Lewis, and whispering to her friend. She was facing her friend, chatting. She had no fraction of her attention on the stage.

I wish I could let these things not bother me, but they did, like crazy. SO distracting. SO rude. I -- more than anything else, I was amazed that no one was EMBARASSED to be caught doing anything. At the same time, they weren't TRYING to be rude, either. They just -- didn't -- care. They didn't think they were doing anything wrong. I wanted to hack every single person's head off with my dull machete. I fucking hate people. This is why I don't leave the house. Because every single one of those fuckers -- and by those fuckers I mean "the general public" -- deserves to fucking die. Right now.

So what I'm saying is, GOD DAMN FUCKING NO-RESPECT KIDS THESE DAYS, I MEAN SERIOUSLY. I can't wait til someone invents lasguns.
littlewashu: (Default)
Dude in my office just sent to EVERYONE in the office a power point slide show. He didn't write any note to accompany it. It was called NYC.pps, so okay, fine, I knew what it was going to be about.

The first slide was some text on the background of a waving American flag, instructing me to wear red white and blue on the 11th and to take a moment of silence at noon. Now, right off the bat, fuck that. I'm not going to wear red white and blue because you fucking tell me to, that's ridiculous. I don't think it's disrespectful to NOT wear fucking red white and blue on September 11th, but now I'm pushed to think that it IS.

Okay, so fine, whatever. Next slide is of the intact WTC. Fine. THEN it starts going into the whole fucking thing! People watching the news on an outdoor LED sign! The fucking planes! The fucking explosions! People WATCHING the fucking explosions with their hands over their mouths! Are you kidding? And with NO WARNING WHATSOEVER. Sorry guys, but that's fucked up. I don't need to be hit with this shit full-screen at 10:30 in the morning. I'm sure we'll be up to our fucking EARS in this shit over the next week. Jesus. A cheesy PowerPoint tribute would have been bad enough, but what the hell is the point of showing that shit to me again? I know what it looks like. I've seen it enough, thanks. Though every time I see it, it affects me a little less. Jesus.

I can't decide if I want to say something to him or not. He's a firefighter. And I don't want him to think I'm being disrespectful, because that's not my intent. In casual passing it doesn't hit me, but when I see pictures of people running from the towers as they fell -- man, that shit still does. I'm not trying to say we shouldn't mark the day in any way; I think we should, though I'm sure it'll be done in the tackiest manner possible, in most cases. I am saying that it's fucking fucked up to not warn someone that they're about to view footage of thousands of people dying. Is all I'm saying. I ctrl-alt-deleted to get out of that shit, so I guess i don't know what happened in the end.

P.S. No internet from work so if this happens to generate comments, that's why I'm not answering. Not that I necessarily think it will, I'm just sayin'. Man, look at all the sayin' I'm doing!
littlewashu: (Default)
I just got handed some changes to make to a report I wrote on August 2nd. I have to have the changes finished by NOON TODAY. I JUST got handed it, and it has to be done by NOON TODAY. The review comments came in on August 5th, but I just got it handed it to me at 8:25 in the morning on August 23rd, and it has to be done by noon today. August fifth, ladies and gentleman. Fucking ridiculous.
littlewashu: (Default)
I had a weird-ass scary-ass dream this morning but now I can't even remember it. I was away all weekend and now I'm back and I have my performance review today and I'm afraid they'll tell me I spend too much time on the Interweb and they'll fire me and then I'll have no money and I am BROKE AS A JOKE already, seriously, I haven't been this broke since college. I was never even this broke when I was unemployed for two and a half months. But that's okay, it's not like it's an ACTUAL crisis or anything, just a paranoid delusional one IN MY MIND and I had a FABULOUS time in Cape Cod and leaving my family always makes me sad and I'll tell you all about it when I get home from work because NO INTERNET TODAY I mean it.
littlewashu: (Default)
All right, now I'm getting a little perturbed.

Remember Ruth, the girl at work? Well, she's throwing a birthday party for that guy Dave tonight, and "asked" me to come. I say "asked" because she is the queen of the "you'd better come or I'll kill you!" ha ha just kidding only not really schtick. Which -- yeah. I mean, she's all right. We talk at work. I use a TOTALLY different personality from the one I use with my friends, but that's okay, because if I didn't, no one would talk to me at work. Because I wouldn't talk to them. ANYWAY, so she's having this party tonight, fine, I said I'd go. I plan on strolling in at around seven, having a drink or two, and strolling right back out so that I can go hang out with my real friends.

Now, it's not like we're best buddies. We talk at work. Every once in a blue moon we'll get lunch. Sometimes on Friday's I'll go the bar they go to, and we have a good time for an hour or so, before I leave to hang out with my real friends. When she got divorced, I went out with her to celebrate. But that's about it. We don't call each other, we've never hung out outside of work besides those isolated times.

NOW she is e/popping me asking her to "help" pick stuff up for the party. WTF? Why did you not do this earllier? Why do you need help to do this? Why can't you ask one of your actual real-life friends? Why is it my resposibility to SHOP for you? Bringing a bottle of something is a LOT different from helping to pick stuff up for you. This is not my party! She says "do you want to food shop or liquor shop?" WTF? I picked liquor because the store is smaller, and who knows how many things she'll have me running around to get at the grocery store. Now she says "we need Coors Light, a bottle of Arbour Mist, and I will find out what else." First of all, blech. Second of all, grr. She hasn't mentioned money yet. She'd sure as fuck better not be expecting me to pay for this. I don't think she would, but she hasn't mentioned it yet! Worst thing is, I'm such a pussy, *I* might not mention it! No, I will, I will. Because I know you'll all yell at me otherwise.

See, here we go again with the issue of me being selfish. But thing is, if it were one of YOU? Then I'd help! I'd love to help! But Ruth and I are WORK FRIENDS. Man. Eff this polite shit. I feel like I'm putting myself out to even attend this shindig, let alone to stock it. I should start acting like a bitch so that no one wants to hang out with me. I mean I never plan on asking THESE people for anything, so I wouldn't be losing out. But of course I won't do that.

Grumble.

March 2015

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