tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-328374952024-03-07T12:44:13.758-06:00Jimmy's HeadWelcome to the shavings of my soul. It gets kinda crunchy in here. You have been warned.Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.comBlogger445125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-42498669178231598102011-04-23T03:19:00.001-05:002011-04-23T03:21:19.891-05:00Soon to buh-byeHey.<div><br /></div><div>*PSSSST*</div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, you.</div><div><br /></div><div>Come over here -> <a href="http://jimmyrawks.wordpress.com/">http://jimmyrawks.wordpress.com/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm leaving this place, and I think you should come with me.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cake - she is not a lie.</div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-7311972393313928242011-04-23T01:22:00.002-05:002011-04-23T01:25:31.967-05:00This isn't goodbye...<span class="Apple-style-span" >Jeebus. I'm about to transfer this bitch over to Wordpress, and I'm super-scared.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Um, well, if this doesn't work, I'm gonna be really pissed, and it was nice blogging, but I will be eating this entire computer (it's a desktop - there's quite a bit of it) if it doesn't go through successfully.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >See ya on the other side. &=\</span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-20113344440562141372011-04-23T00:35:00.006-05:002011-04-23T01:12:52.707-05:00One-time mania<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEsabIu7KcbodFVceStlNypZHNSptuuY2PL6qwYlKaFEWmO_wuAIId1FngW7r8WmUwwoA9Bp6SX8QASHe0_ldki9zBiyYKSukfDQNua3Rqu7MFc8Q3gmLER_g4bQIRv7MQD0q2/s1600/middle-finger-x-ray.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><span class="Apple-style-span">Okay.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Mania.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I think this is about as "manic" as I get. I had my first good day today. Like, first semi-good, got out of bed, intermittently did the dishes, didn't feel world crashing on shoulders day that I've had in a long time.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">So, B says we have to go see a friend tonight. We go over to friend's house, which is hard, because I'm not drinking or smoking right now, to stay clean (and because of shit that happened, which SUCKED. But, I'll wait and blog about that, when I move my blog over...), and...well, I just need to do this. It's just hard for me to go over to B's friend's house, because it's all that regular nonsensical redneck talk - N***** this, fag that. And, it totally grates on my nerves. Like, my nerves on a cheese grater. And, I keep my mouth shut, because there are times where you just have to - everyone, now - choose your battles.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Incidentally, I HATE those battles. Because it makes me so angry in my head that I don't want to fight with words anymore. I hate that hate. I'm already DEALING with that hate. So, I have to just shut my mouth and look at the pretty stars, or worse - I end up as the babysitter. But, if I have to hang out with people who are stickier than me, just to get a word in edgewise, then I guess that's what I'll do.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">SO. B had five out of a six-pack, one hit, and he was ready for bed when we got home. It was 930p. It is now 1242a, and I'm still bursting out of my skin. I suddenly have mondo-energies, and I'm feeling slightly panicked, for whatever reason.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Ummm...MONDAY. Monday, I'll be going to the career center in Alabaster. I'm really nervous about that. Hell, I'm nervous just taking the dogs out. But, this "Jennifer Joad" is going to have to be exercised, like a demon. I'm sick of her. I DO enjoy playing with inchworms and bees and letting the dogs out whenever I want and NOT having to clean up poos when I get home from work. But, she's scaring me. I don't like not being able to look people in the eye when I talk to them. I feel like an agoraphobic...and I very much am not. I've never been. I'm pretty lazy, and I do like my own space, but I've gotten to where I climb B like a spider monkey, when he gets home, and that is ALSO not me. Every time I do that, and he has to unclench my hands just to be able to go take a wiz, I'm like, "What the hell has happened to me? I've undone every bit of independence I've ever had. This is ridiculous. I'M ridiculous!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I've been doing a lot on Facebook with animal rights stuff. Not that *I* have done anything - I've just been reading a lot, researching and reposting. Okay, so I take it back - I'm not doing much of anything, except hanging out on Facebook. Then, I look at the clock, and it's 3p, and - that's right - nothing's been done. I get REALLY depressed when B's not here, but I get really frustrated when he is. It's a lose-lose sich.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh, and the St V/Pell City gig is a no-go. They've got me marked as ineligible for rehire. Asses. I don't want to think about that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Um...what else?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh, I cut myself again. It was the night of "hugest mistake ever, hence the no drinking/smoking deal," but it was also the night of discovering who my real friends...weren't. And, I'm over it. Exceeeept, now I have this lovely gouge in my left forearm to remind me. It's on the inside of my arm, about 8.5 inches long and extends from my first finger on my palm, a little over halfway down my arm. And, yes, I feel stupid. And, no, I don't remember doing it. But, I never said I wouldn't cut myself again. I've never made that promise. I never make promises I can't keep.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Yeah, it was a dummy move, but I did a dummy thing.......which resulted in being judged by a bunch of dummies, so there. I was upset at the time, but I'm good now. It was one of those "don't get fucked up around people you don't know" moves. And, I never will again. Yup. QB taught me my lesson. Even though she's guilty of that and SO much more, I was the one judged and ousted.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And, this is my response:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEsabIu7KcbodFVceStlNypZHNSptuuY2PL6qwYlKaFEWmO_wuAIId1FngW7r8WmUwwoA9Bp6SX8QASHe0_ldki9zBiyYKSukfDQNua3Rqu7MFc8Q3gmLER_g4bQIRv7MQD0q2/s320/middle-finger-x-ray.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598655098270687346" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Rude. Yes. I know. And, totally not my style. But, I've already done my apologizing, and I'm finished. I've already felt bad, but the more I dwell on it, the more I realize that I was wronged as well.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Jesus, this is turning into the zebra ALL over again.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Which is why I'm glad it's over. Because it was ALWAYS drama. And, I'm too old for that. She's even WAY older for that, but whatever.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Back to me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Hmmm....I think I'm going to play Dragon Age. I wish I could play Paper Mario on Wii. Actually, I wish I could just have peace of mind to just sit down and cross-stitch, but I feel like I just ate a packet of lit bottle rockets.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Fuck. I wish I could write something that didn't sound like a fucking page out of "Dear Diary." Meh. I will. One day.</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-46053404437491834012011-04-06T10:06:00.004-05:002011-04-23T01:16:53.517-05:00NO-tivation<span class="Apple-style-span">Mmmmkay. One more time, I haven't been a good blogger. It's been a moderately stressful last week or so. And, when you live in the woods and don't have a lot going on, there's not really a whole lot that's worth blogging about.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm actually about to jump in the shower, then I'm going to head out, to fill out an app at a staffing service, since their web page isn't working. I'm trying to keep myself motivated to do things because, A) we're out of money, and B) I'm swatting depression off of me like naggy flies. My car is in serious need of repair and an oil change, of which I can afford neither, so I really SHOULDN'T be leaving the house. But, jobs aren't exactly knocking on my door these days. I'm suddenly a part of the "X-Ray Do Not Want" list, which blows, nor do I understand, but that's for another post. One day. When you guys are bored. And, I'm full of woe. And, can't find anything else to bitch about.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Fo' now, Imma go shower. I've got so much shit around here that I still need to do, but I'm not even the slightest bit motivated. I swear, if they could bottle motivation and sell it on the street like crack, I'd take it. I would freebase motivation. I'd even take it in suppository form. This is ridiculous. I know other people have those days of not wanting to do anything, but mine seem to be, um, EVERY, SINGLE DAY.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I hadn't been taking my meds, because I didn't feel like they were making a whole lot of difference, but sure enough as I came off of them, I started feeling worse than ever. So, they're doing SOMEthing - just not what I need them to do.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Plus, I can't figure out what of this is pure laze, and what is depression. Does it matter? Is there really a difference? Because I'm not getting ANYTHING done, no matter what it is. And, my feelings of "LOSER" are starting to set up house again, which makes it even HARDER for me to find that elusive motivation.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">According to Google, motivation looks like giant boobs in a fish-eye lens. Yeah. That just makes me motivated to make money, so I can get a boob job and a camera with a fish-eye lens, so I can post my junk on the internet.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Oop - nope. It's gone again.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Okay. My smell is motivating me out of this chair. It's almost 1030, and I've got shit to do. There. That's my motivation for the day. That, and Jack's whining. Although, that's about enough to motivate me to run outside the house with no pants on, screaming.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh, yeah. Shower. Here I go.</span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-63141034854008724772011-03-25T14:04:00.005-05:002011-03-25T14:10:09.342-05:00Celebrity Watch - Animal-Style<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfBZLNnnPXK3XFQ4udmy7nt2R3mgGITpCa3QvLM1fQgt4bCPl3tx7XIPQgzal2gSsKCVUuK3mLPmWGPEwXGVswffwQb8eTLC2ux-5BPT7FaExiQtIoGZ_Y-gOZCi1l1NoBl4M/s1600/3.25.11+dump+%252813%2529.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfBZLNnnPXK3XFQ4udmy7nt2R3mgGITpCa3QvLM1fQgt4bCPl3tx7XIPQgzal2gSsKCVUuK3mLPmWGPEwXGVswffwQb8eTLC2ux-5BPT7FaExiQtIoGZ_Y-gOZCi1l1NoBl4M/s400/3.25.11+dump+%252813%2529.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588096249335416482" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">I got to meet a celebrity and a survivor yesterday. &=)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I've got a super-stellar headache right this second, so I'm going to lay down. Just wanted you guys to revel in a picture of this handsome fella, until I get a chance to tell his story.</span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-85115741436895445932011-03-23T10:28:00.004-05:002011-03-23T10:35:43.307-05:00I forgot what it means to look up<span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh! Omg, guess what?</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >"A job" was able to get in touch with my aunt (AT HER SCHOOL) and find out where I was, because THEY WANT TO HIRE ME! She said it's likely to be part-time in the beginning, but OH MY GOD IT'S A JOB.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Now, get this: I DON'T HAVE A PHONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ok. Ok, I have to pull myself together. I think I have a little money left in my bank acct. I can go get another card for Bryan's phone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh, but first I'm going to brush my teeth.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >OH! Oh! Oh, oh my gosh. I....OH! I have to go!</span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-2730419994168027152011-03-22T10:24:00.004-05:002011-03-22T10:48:52.809-05:00Hahahaha<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisijd00jtPzSH6cY4BpMrVPAD5gv4asmB-RRzBcJiv9kSHu41p-7wfKo7ZIuSs8BTidV3zFh0Nk4j4lEQPvGR3XpDJp0YoxRcn0yLpP-MOEmh_vVmB_6CbiOV-DekWYrgFSuOA/s1600/epic-win-photos-hacked-irl-yeah-just-use-your-hands.jpg"></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisijd00jtPzSH6cY4BpMrVPAD5gv4asmB-RRzBcJiv9kSHu41p-7wfKo7ZIuSs8BTidV3zFh0Nk4j4lEQPvGR3XpDJp0YoxRcn0yLpP-MOEmh_vVmB_6CbiOV-DekWYrgFSuOA/s1600/epic-win-photos-hacked-irl-yeah-just-use-your-hands.jpg"></a>I talk A LOT!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >How can you guys stand to read all this?</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Jeebus, it's like talking to me in real life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I just tried to read a couple of past posts (which as you know, I never do), and I almost bored myself into a coma.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >No wonder my hits have gone down.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Anyway, just wanted to stop by and merely say s'up.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't want to get into thoughts right now, because they're the same as they ever were. And, as much as I LOVE reiterating myself on my BLOG, I just can't bear it. It's like shoving my nose in the shit I've made for myself.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >In the meantime, I'll leave you with a picture, since I was up till almost 5 this morning, clogging Bryan's hard drive up with stuff that's funny at 5 in the morning. Don't want the fruits of my labor to go to waste:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisijd00jtPzSH6cY4BpMrVPAD5gv4asmB-RRzBcJiv9kSHu41p-7wfKo7ZIuSs8BTidV3zFh0Nk4j4lEQPvGR3XpDJp0YoxRcn0yLpP-MOEmh_vVmB_6CbiOV-DekWYrgFSuOA/s400/epic-win-photos-hacked-irl-yeah-just-use-your-hands.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586930787038833458" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Friends don't let friends eat hot dogs, period. PERIOD.</span></div><div><br /></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-41759837594691599192011-03-21T13:09:00.005-05:002011-03-21T13:45:13.504-05:00Please help me not give in<span class="Apple-style-span">I sit here, soaked in baking soda, vinegar and tears. There's never a time in my life that this song hasn't applied. And, six years later, it still brings me down from scrubbing cabinets, to a genuflection of pure sorrow and pain.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvyDDw0o6uE"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Wonder Woman</b></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Katie Todd</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Breathe deep<br />in light of what is all around you<br />but don't speak<br />words are becoming your worst enemy<br /><br /><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; ">Seize the day<br />do you have something you can sink your teeth into<br />In a stale place<br />are you able to cry or make a silly face<br /><br />At the end of the day<br />you just aren't the same<br /><br />please don't give in<br /><br />Are you set in your ways<br />is there room for change<br /><br /><b>*please don't give in*</b></span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-78073974995948729202011-03-21T12:35:00.005-05:002011-03-21T12:41:53.101-05:00WYSIWYG<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6v41BQP2ShLRfqmy-yHVQUdvFAHbaX64OJID9-KeUv2ABbq1CXVwqNh2N2o2LbFRA2VEF1O1c-sIE8r3xN9MY9cizGs9Tu5JEbN-GTKGuCxi4R6Omo8axcg2T16KWIeg3k18/s1600/SDC14539.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLbFcQSEwaocDgTp1iWQ4iwaReaKSvRZlUncjlfOxa9D27Pi5ZRpgjUT2u_iO_JQColOzMYrU1khssa8R5B8UjZxRDszDuwmQFznhmj0eRtnpR0dRHaEZTEnyjfElQIpXADKtf/s1600/SDC14563.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLbFcQSEwaocDgTp1iWQ4iwaReaKSvRZlUncjlfOxa9D27Pi5ZRpgjUT2u_iO_JQColOzMYrU1khssa8R5B8UjZxRDszDuwmQFznhmj0eRtnpR0dRHaEZTEnyjfElQIpXADKtf/s320/SDC14563.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586588605129921858" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Yeah, I'm fat.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6v41BQP2ShLRfqmy-yHVQUdvFAHbaX64OJID9-KeUv2ABbq1CXVwqNh2N2o2LbFRA2VEF1O1c-sIE8r3xN9MY9cizGs9Tu5JEbN-GTKGuCxi4R6Omo8axcg2T16KWIeg3k18/s320/SDC14539.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586589140694760114" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span">But, I'm still me.</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-20132144152168831882011-03-21T06:56:00.008-05:002011-03-21T11:06:35.000-05:00Dreams in blue<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV56bHTaWAWY8wlCVBTtVrIs99tNW8LCXp4gQJDTAC9Uma-CnW_vA5LTgWyH4U9nn5NCyUbxb_WA8d4BFDZYgm64E9jLnWi1A1rH9yub4MLVxnV_AbX5xkl1KxfcFU9tOC3wfx/s1600/oia-santorini-greece.jpg"></a><span class="Apple-style-span">I had a lovely dream, that we met here:</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rB4mRv_JxSlCEFs0xojNJ0BuaOyc45rJO79AE98BllfrxDQPp8hnNeVAdTo6VKajic93m9zVcVJzG_Yg2Uy61B2zTRYaT1iGVVUX-t7Un59NDDai4aY1d8s9uemPqot_-vFL/s1600/dining+alfresco+in+venice.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rB4mRv_JxSlCEFs0xojNJ0BuaOyc45rJO79AE98BllfrxDQPp8hnNeVAdTo6VKajic93m9zVcVJzG_Yg2Uy61B2zTRYaT1iGVVUX-t7Un59NDDai4aY1d8s9uemPqot_-vFL/s400/dining+alfresco+in+venice.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586501631982601314" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm such an old-world romantic. I've never taken the time to trace my history, but I can assure you, I came straight from Italy (or Greece, which would make me even happier). That place has called to me ever since I saw my first photograph of of the blue-topped Grecian church in Santorini. I love that city. I'm obsessed with the lushness of Ireland. I love the history of Rome. I have friends in Bosnia. I've always been a world traveler in my heart.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV56bHTaWAWY8wlCVBTtVrIs99tNW8LCXp4gQJDTAC9Uma-CnW_vA5LTgWyH4U9nn5NCyUbxb_WA8d4BFDZYgm64E9jLnWi1A1rH9yub4MLVxnV_AbX5xkl1KxfcFU9tOC3wfx/s400/oia-santorini-greece.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586509347506466050" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 301px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">It's been on my mind, ever since moving. Sometimes it depresses me to think I'll never know any other place than this. But, since a comment from a new friend, Agnar (he's a bird - I know what you're thinking - it will never work. The beak, the talons...but, I digress), I've only been able to think of anywhere other than here.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And, Greece, you're so on my mind.</span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-55015978139606646612011-03-20T21:35:00.002-05:002011-03-20T21:54:19.138-05:00Your joint is sticking outHaha, wow. I was screwing around on my blog settings, and I read where my avg is 3 hits a day.<div><br /></div><div>Which is weird. Because it actually hurt my feelings.</div><div><br /></div><div>That was weird.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and the other thing is, I have no idea what this thing looks like on the other side, because none of the settings I make seem to take effect on my side (color, font, eg.). <-that accumulation of dots altogether makes me nervous. Anyone know the correct way for that? Any eggy-heads out there, pleeze advize.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, which narrowly brings me close enough to what I was originally saying (Yep. I forgot.) - I think I'm getting around to picking up my skirts and headed over to <a href="http://wordpress.com/">Wordpress</a>. I've already signed up - I've just been incredibly distracted (NOT for this post). BUT, the super-favorite thing is that I can have specific posts protected. Plus, blogger has actually become very, um...errrrrr......mmmmMyspace? Yeah. I need a more mature blog.</div><div><br /></div><div>God, I feel like I just gave you guys a commercial:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >WordPress - For the Mature Blogger</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I'll have advertisements for Centrum Silver and dating sites for senior citizens.</div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, right, so I have a little paranoia for getting old. Sue me.</div><div><br /></div><div>No, seriously, you probably could.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >...i don't have anything, though...</span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-90006728189465739602011-03-20T21:07:00.002-05:002011-03-20T21:14:01.483-05:00Honester than that...<span class="Apple-style-span" >This just popped in my head, for some reason.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I love this. So comforting. Like a blanket. Of hugs.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm with you in Rockland<br /><br /> where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free<br /><br />I'm with you in Rockland<br /><br /> in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; text-transform: uppercase; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Howl</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; text-transform: uppercase; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>Allen ginsburg</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-70345064934936715672011-03-20T20:26:00.002-05:002011-03-20T20:36:55.019-05:00I was going to say something...<span class="Apple-style-span" >...but I forgot.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I also just like being able to get on dis blag whenever I want, now. &=)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm trying to let go.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm still holding on to what I want to, though. Some things you just beg will one day relinquish their hold on you, but some things you don't ever want to release.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >And, those are the things for which I'm sorry, but I'll still never reveal to anyone. (Well, there's this one girl...that I love with all my heart, who is THE only person who will ever know everything about me, much to her chagrin. Never met a friend like her and never will again.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Hahaha, I LOVE rambling, when I'm too high. But, I hate reading it later.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay, I have to go or I'm just going to keep talking about nothing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Going.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >....nnnnnnnNOW!</span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-24641998975580706742011-03-19T08:57:00.002-05:002011-03-19T09:14:59.771-05:00Who are you, again?AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<div><br /></div><div>I MISSED YOU, BLOG!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to start being more diligent about you. God knows I need it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Right now, the trailer is in shambles, since we just moved in. I'm in the process of scrubbing out these smelly, old-ass cabinets, that have had funky old crap in them and closed and sealed off for over five years. Holy God, it's...it's almost more than I can bear. But, I live here, so it has to be done.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm paying for it right now, by wallowing in some pretty immense pain. That's what happens, though, when you've been fairly stagnant for the last year or so.</div><div><br /></div><div>Still on quest to find self, as well as either finding happiness or allowing myself to be so.</div><div>Back on meds, which I'm NOT crazy about, but I'll do anything to not feel like shit.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fucker.</div><div><br /></div><div>Right now, I'm just doing the whole one day at a time thing. Sometimes I can't even handle the one day. I'm like the Monarch - I constantly hate EVERYTHING. I hate myself more than anyone else can ever claim. It's "teh suk," I assure you.</div><div><br /></div><div>BUT, nothing else to do but keep pushing forward. Every day, I have the same fight with myself about how fucking tired I am, how I just want to sleep, how I want to just dissolve from this world. I have so many fantastic people in my life, though. It's your fault for me wanting to stay. &=P</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>*SIGH SIGH SIGH*</div><div>I have to get off here and rest my neck for a minute, before I have to get back to cleaning the kitchen. I've got to get this shit done, since we're supposed to hang out with Laura and Cory tonight. Everyone knows I've GOT to have at least a 6-hr nap beforehand.</div><div><br /></div><div>Miss you guys. Miss posting. Miss typing. Miss working. Miss energy. Miss happiness. Miss my best friend. Miss my little mom. Miss life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Does anyone need hugs? Because I've got a TON stored away, that I need to give away pretty soon, before I get all weird and start hugging myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>XOXO</div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-46174596229425995622011-02-14T12:17:00.003-06:002011-02-14T12:41:03.881-06:00Because you know who you are.<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oo1SN98JwtE"><span class="Apple-style-span">Fascinoma - Don't Go.</span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; " >Im walking this road<br />because you stole my car<br />im singing this song<br />cause you have all my cds<br />you want me to believe<br />in your love<br />and yet i will when you give back my stuff<br />give back my stuff<br /><br />the gerbils are dead<br />your books have found a new home<br />under the tree<br />where i have buried your clothes<br />and you want me to believe</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; " >in your love<br />and yet i will<br />when you dig up your stuff<br />dig up your stuff<br /><br />how am i supposed to love<br />my love is in this dark town<br /><br />how am i supposed to love<br />my love is lighter then<br /><br />if you go<br />if you go<br />if you go<br /><br />don't go<br />don't go<br />don't go<br />don't go<br />don't go<br /><br />im walking this road<br />because you stole my heart<br />im singing this song<br />cause you stole my cds<br />you want me to believe</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; " >in your love<br />and yeah i do cause i cant love you enough<br />cant love you enough<br />give back my stuff<br />you have my love<br /><br />Don't go</span><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My past life, all the retrospection, haunts me like zombies, constantly breaking free of the dirt and pulling themselves free of their cold, lonely graves below.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Happy Valentine's Day, strangers.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Hope yours is better than a mangled heart and tattered memories. Make new ones. Pick a time to start over, and leave everything else behind. This Spring, be born anew.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm going to try again, like I do every year.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div>Maybe this year I can get it right.</div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-78981336883110747782010-12-29T19:46:00.003-06:002010-12-29T19:49:06.770-06:00Having a beer tonight....<span class="Apple-style-span" >"Midwest Pet Products:</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't want to say that your products are crap, because my dog managed fine for his first year of life - while he was small. A few months ago is when the nightmare started. Every few weeks, I come home from work to find him (or my boyfriend's dog) out and our apartment absolutely trashed, irreplaceable items destroyed. Apparently, what they do is slam their bodies into either the front or the back of the crate and manage to unhinge the wire u-hinges, into which the crate walls fit. Today was the last time. My boyfriend and I have given in, and as I type this, he's tying all the walls of both dogs' crates together with heavy-duty wiring. We're at our wits' end. I don't know what you guys are doing with your profits, but you might think about getting your team on a new, reliable design. I've been completely happy with your products, until they started repeatedly breaking out of their crates. After this, I'm having a hard time singing your praises.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Just wanted to let you know."</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b>God damn, I'm exhausted.</b></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-9802682693904045082010-10-25T22:50:00.008-05:002010-10-26T11:25:07.292-05:00On the way out<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9wqAq2xnHG7CJMuUiXwTMTX4tqtcapbTEHbwchyphenhyphenvyMpb0LIWZO75Kv9RQ4HkSwCsv6h1bv-G3TuG7N9v95c3MtPqZELeEAqpnKiaN3ktRjJu9yO1RMwNLm0Imo5ulHKdX_7a/s400/fingers-arguing.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 209px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532380169815093394" /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSop-IMGOinIWpSNx2TFVOybOHZxKhrR33EYGnj1qDOPYSPrsRt1aeAGp1LBMcW4QQQn-JY6uwMbHZr4SqC-vmjpSjn_b7U5vYx4-zKLV7Bqn68gytqNcqhos0bKza2ZArCfH8/s1600/yay.jpg"></a><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, we got into what I would consider a pretty monumental (yet, INCREDIBLY RETARDED) fight tonight.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It was over whether or not I should go get the grocery list out of the car.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Naturally, we didn't speak all the way through the store, all the way home, and until I got off the phone my friend about one of my prospective jobs. THEN, he was interested.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But, we never talked about what happened.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, I'm pretty much ready to go. I don't have a lot of patience with relationships. But, to be fair, we don't really have a whole lot in common...except for video games. I really want to, like, go through and LIST the things that bother me, but I feel like that would just be "me pointing out his faults," and I don't want to do that. That's crude, because he's an incredible guy.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is one of those cases where it's not necessarily him or me (although, it's probably more me than anything), it's both of us.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm just ready to be back out on my own again. I feel like a sponge. I feel like he's "putting up" with me, and I DON'T LIKE THIS FEELING. I feel like a HUGE burden...and I am.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But, this is the only option that won't drive me absolutely bat-shit insane, unfortunately.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On the upside, the job thing is looking up. The skip tracing job called me back.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSop-IMGOinIWpSNx2TFVOybOHZxKhrR33EYGnj1qDOPYSPrsRt1aeAGp1LBMcW4QQQn-JY6uwMbHZr4SqC-vmjpSjn_b7U5vYx4-zKLV7Bqn68gytqNcqhos0bKza2ZArCfH8/s1600/yay.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSop-IMGOinIWpSNx2TFVOybOHZxKhrR33EYGnj1qDOPYSPrsRt1aeAGp1LBMcW4QQQn-JY6uwMbHZr4SqC-vmjpSjn_b7U5vYx4-zKLV7Bqn68gytqNcqhos0bKza2ZArCfH8/s200/yay.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532390886502281634" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I also heard back from Debbie, who said the lab job has now turned into an assistant administrative job with a substantially larger amount of money. The only drawback to that job is they won't be ready to hire me until sometime in November, but that's just right around the corner, soooo.....</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, I think I'm going to get on with the skip tracing, then move on to the other job. I'd like to at least SEE if the skip tracers would let me stay on PRN or something, but I'm not sure if they offer that sort of thing. Psh, we'll see. I gotta do something, and it's gotta happen soon.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I need myself back. She's not the greatest thing, but I've gotten pretty attached to her.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0J1rprmAsEmgCpLN5nanzh7a6ROhRduQk4EZMktCSsG2tqKi5xCUocvmfwjE9JTHNDfvkNgytcR3ONU-qZfyqQ9Sr4VXPT6VyO1kX4-8Av8i6lHvKXMUMCzur3BI4TVPZupJK/s1600/hugging+self.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0J1rprmAsEmgCpLN5nanzh7a6ROhRduQk4EZMktCSsG2tqKi5xCUocvmfwjE9JTHNDfvkNgytcR3ONU-qZfyqQ9Sr4VXPT6VyO1kX4-8Av8i6lHvKXMUMCzur3BI4TVPZupJK/s200/hugging+self.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532390721962795234" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Maybe we can stay friends....</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-10921900813407600832010-10-22T09:03:00.010-05:002010-10-26T02:03:27.184-05:00Breaking down...only to rebuild<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is how it always goes.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I reach the absolute lowest point to which I can possibly sink. Then, everything starts pulling together. Fast. Almost too fast. And, then I'm forced to make a decision. And, THAT'S the part I'm really no good at. I have no confidence that I'll make the right choice. ZERO. I feel like, I've boned myself this many times over (which I'm assuming is why I'm in this situation), what makes me think I'm not setting myself up for another self-sabotage?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">*huff* It's times like this that I'm pretty sure I'm my worst enemy, even though I really do want good things for myself.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, these are my options. And, mind you, I still haven't had any offers - only interviews:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Job #1 - Skip Tracer</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">$12/hr</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Insurance, 401k, PTO</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">8a-5p</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">No holidays, no weekends</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Located in Birmingham</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Job #2 - X-ray Tech</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">$21.31/hr + $2 shift dif</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Insurance, 401k, PTO</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">6p-7a, 7on/7off OR 12-hr weekend shifts, plus various shifts M-F</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Located in Pell City</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Job #3 - Lab Tech</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">$15/hr</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Insurance</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">8a-5p</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">No holidays, no weekends</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Located in Birmingham</span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">*still don't know a whole lot about this job, yet - just found out about this one this morning</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Obviously, my gut says, "Hey, you need money like a homeless man! Take that job in Pell City!" BUT, that would put me - yep, you guessed it - back in Pell City. And, while I ADORE my family and my friends who live there, I really can't imagine a worse fate...for MYSELF. The thought of living in Pell City is enough to drive me even further into an almost interminable depression. It's NOT the people I love, obviously. It's the shallow, bigoted, biased, intolerant, narrow-minded behaviors of everyone else who live there. It's like living in Birmingham, only on a much smaller and more concentrated scale. Plus, there's no theatre, there are no shows, no plays, no decent bars or clubs, etc. I'd have to drive back to Birmingham to do ANYTHING.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On the upside, I'd be back with my family, which is, in no way, a negative. If there's anything I regret about living in Birmingham, it's that I'm missing out on the kids' lives, and I don't get to spend ANY time with my grandmother. And, I'm only EVER going to rue that forever. BUT, if I get a decent, regular job in Birmingham, I can stay here, but I'll make enough money to afford gas and upkeep on my car, which is ideally what I'd like.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I like the idea of the skip tracing job. That sounds like a lot of fun. But, the lab tech job would put me back in the medical field, which for the record, I don't HATE. I just hate working with people who are deliberately hard to work with. I felt really stupid, because I had to tell the HR lady from the hospital about the bullying I had to endure for four years, when I worked at Highlands. I told her that I repeatedly told my boss, but he always ignored it. And, that's what usually happens.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That's why I never told my boss at Makario's that that asshole was stealing my tips. You really think he was really going to reprimand his family member, based on something *I* said? I'm not stupid. Unfortunately, being a boat-rocker and telling the truth has done nothing but screw me in the past, so I'm forced to choose my battles, now. And, I'm not going to generalize that race of people, but I know the people at Makario's always stick together, no matter what. So, that's why I quit. I didn't have to, but I also don't believe I should have to put up with that kind of mistreatment. I don't enter establishments with the intent of making trouble, but I'm always put into compromising situations, where I have to decide what to do, whether it's telling the truth, covering for someone, reporting something negligent or illegal...and you know what? After being basically unemployed for over a year, I'm not entirely sure it's always worth telling the truth, if *I'M* the one who ends up suffering for it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I don't like that. I don't like having to compromise myself...FOR A JOB. All I've EVER wanted was to have a job, where I go in, do work, get along with the people, get out and get paid. Well, no. I've always wanted a job that I enjoy, as well as coworkers I could call family, no matter the amount of money I make. But, that's pretty impossible, with the selfishness that consumes people today. These days, I'd say probably 99.8% coworkers will throw you to the wolves without any reflection. The closest I've ever been to anyone was at Grow, and those people are still in my life. But, they're good people, too. No one there ever gave each other any crap. We always worked hard and worked together like an office SHOULD. I mean, holy CRAP! Aren't we all working towards the same goals??? I can't tell you the people with whom I've worked (and currently know) who work harder trying to AVOID work. It's insane.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I love working. I don't expect anyone else to. But, I do expect a certain amount of respect and even forced pleasantness to occur, when you're at a job. And, you know what? When you push yourself to be more positive, you actually BECOME that way. It's weird.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">*INCOMPLETED*</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><-I hate when I do this...</span></span></div><div><br /></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-73538688116127387222010-10-18T14:21:00.008-05:002010-10-25T23:32:47.773-05:00Points of light<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; "><div style="font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I know this is a repost. I can't explain what I'm going through, but this song touches something very deep inside my psyche and addresses those things with which I'm having problems. Basically, my problem is letting go - I just never learned how, without obliterating everything, including the beautiful things.</span></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_pE79uOfkHhkN7VDHU8M9RZeEP2NqQFDbkc3ONAbpCj2OmJXdgx01U2MBeE7QI8RPrO__fseLGxrtAIlerSOLAd_bi-Mw1M48F-d4xFhdtHT0XuZbrL_Gt9RGxcC2eoqQS0B/s400/stars+-+set+yourself+on+fire.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532207529997257202" /></span></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Stars - Your Ex-Lover is Dead</span></div><div style="font-size: 13px; "><br /></div><div style="font-size: 13px; ">God that was strange to see you again</div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Introduced by a friend of a friend</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Smiled and said 'yes I think we've met before'</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">In that instant it started to pour,</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Captured a taxi despite all the rain</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">We drove in silence across Pont Champlain</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And all of the time you thought I was sad</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I was trying to remember your name...</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Now you're outside me</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">You see all the beauty</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Repent all your sin</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It's nothing but time and a face that you lose</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I'll write you a postcard</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I'll send you the news</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">From a house down the road from real love...</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Live through this, and you won't look back...</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Live through this, and you won't look back...</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Live through this, and you won't look back...</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">You were what I wanted</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I gave what I gave</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I'm not sorry I met you</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I'm not sorry it's over</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I'm not sorry there's nothing to save</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I'm not sorry there's nothing to save... </span></span></span>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-43199519308635324252010-10-17T05:28:00.006-05:002010-10-25T23:34:02.392-05:00Missing pieces<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RU1iqiQLozBPvEzFEI_AW7-jszwpDd8WBby8NEU6PjHcWk9JH5NVn-j1eFcd_Y9y1us0huR5GjRXCPSYweF1ywi2VcEk3ipuGBTdd21XdQlgDUAVSJQ9XrbI-1Xy0kO3vgj0/s1600/quitter.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RU1iqiQLozBPvEzFEI_AW7-jszwpDd8WBby8NEU6PjHcWk9JH5NVn-j1eFcd_Y9y1us0huR5GjRXCPSYweF1ywi2VcEk3ipuGBTdd21XdQlgDUAVSJQ9XrbI-1Xy0kO3vgj0/s400/quitter.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528971681866939202" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Holy hell. I've got to pull myself together.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I have no idea what I'm in this for anymore. I'm so fucking depressed, I can hardly get off the couch. I can't motivate myself to do anything. I can't even motivate myself to cry OR get help. I can't answer the phone anymore.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">And, when I was standing at the Portugal. The Man show the other night, I actually resolved myself to death. I conceded. It's been ages since I've gone home with anyone from a concert, but I found myself hoping I'd run into the reaper on the way to the bathroom. I would have left with him, without a second thought or a backwards glance.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">That scares me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I need something. I can't find ANYTHING within myself anymore. I can't DO anything. No one has any inkling how fucking difficult it's become, just for me to talk myself into leaving the house...for ANYTHING. My bank account is in the red, and it happened because I refuse to go to the bank and deposit this check.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">What is going on??? How long is this going to last? Is this it? Is this who I've become? What's the point in going on? I can find no motivation, no push, no drive, nothing but anger and resentment. I hate EVERYTHING right now. I've missed so many of my friend's parties. I've desperately missed my family. I completely abandoned my best friend for the last year or so that she was here, and now she's gone. I've missed out on almost everything this past year.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">And, it doesn't seem to be getting better. At all. I had 365 days of hell. Why am I being forced to suffer more? I hate to be self-righteous, but why am I being forced to suffer at all? Every time anything goes wrong in my life, I make myself reevaluate who I am as a person, and how I could possibly be negatively affecting anyone in my life. It helps from time to time. But, every day? For 365+ days? Am I REALLY that horrible of a person? I TRY to do right, and I TRY to do things for others...pretty consistently, actually.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Jesus. This just goes off onto 90 different planes of insanity. It's so unorganized, and I'm so broken, I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm so tired. I'm too tired to get help. I'm too exhausted to care. My self-esteem is so low, I can't even force myself to have a reason to physically stand up straight.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">And, it all stems from me not having a regular job. How is that possible?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm so far from who I ever wanted to be, I can't even figure out what the fuck I'm supposed to do...except pray for death every, single day. I don't even want anyone to sympathize with me anymore. I can't hardly stand to think that anyone else actually feels this horrible. How does the world keep going on?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">God, I need direction. A sign. Message in a bottle. A REASON. Sanity to check back in. Any time.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Please, life. PLEASE. Don't make me keep doing it like this. I'm so sick of this depressive repeater. I'm sick of typing the same shit. I'm fed up with being this faggy homebound human being. I'm tired of all my blogs being about the same god-damn thing every few weeks, months.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Fix me?</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-91551932296467022312010-09-20T23:25:00.009-05:002010-10-26T00:00:16.032-05:00Adventures in Rooming, Part 1/God, please don't let this last long<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Okay, so.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I have roomies, now.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this, but I HATE living with other people. Mainly, because I'm a wretched, ogre-ish bitch and VERY set in my ways. And, I can't stand having to put up with other peoples', ahhhh, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">dirtiness? Yeah. I guess that's pretty much it. It's okay to be dirty in your OWN house, but I think when you live with other people, if you guys aren't dating or married, you should probably pull yourself together and clean </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">up your act, so to speak.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Example 1:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Does anyone know what this is?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tWQWcPGM3WpuORbcwo18TM66bgZFwhXKqK2oVsQGnv5x60hlGjDP4D-dAJLuJ6GwxtFeVOfGaqTMjqV6GUAas1Q1pYeIFB2QbGfenYu0JfT1CigatFVkJHpu0p2pVBea2YqH/s400/9.25.10+dump+047.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521436540362534098" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Here, allow me to zoom in:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHLLeTox3Zwe9hbFyyK84pfxCCPOWzhtYZD-joX3R2i5q3ukzQhcg4x0yL8M_KSDHq8NOb9nxDFH9z-tc94xHEQULGmgDhkq90lWJvnjux65jLueXkgFsgoAGc2tGuIaSGzFw/s400/9.25.10+dump+046.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521436853267802162" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I'll give you a hint. It's dried poop. And, it's been there for a week, now. Mind you, this is not a trick of the lens that I'm doing with my awesome point-n-shoot cam skills. This is t</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">he LID of the potty. For those of you who might be confused as to where that is, it's located on the OUTSIDE of the toilet.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Now, let me back up for a minute and tell you, I'm going to be talking a lot about the roomies, but we're going to use nicknames, so that we don't severely embarrass anyone. Because God knows I've done enough horrifying stuff that I actually HAVEN'T posted on my blog, although I haven't the slightest clue as to why. It's not as if my life could be anymore shameful than crapping in my pants, while being attacked by a psycho.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">But, I digress. And, now, regress.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">While I was NOT present for the making of this piece of art, I can pretty much guarantee it was Shatner who did it. The reason I know this is because when Shatner and I lived together previously, he had a night of drunken debauchery - his birthday, as a matter of fact.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">A few months ago, he got REALLY shit-faced (no pun.........THIS time) and when we got home, he managed to shit, not only all in his pants (and then, subsequently HIDE them deep within the bowels of the dirty laundry, which I found LATER, much to my dismay and the disgust and almost projectile vomit of brand new boyfriend who was helping me do my laundry), but it covered the whole outside of the toilet, as well as the floor, tub, and the wall to the sink, which were on either sides of the toilet. As I came in from escorting new boyfriend to his car, I opened the bathroom door, just to check on him, and saw Shatner standing BUTT NAKED in the middle of the bathroom. He said, "JUST A MINUTE!," and slammed the door in my face. "Uhhhh, you're naked. Are you...okay?" "Yeah, I just got sick," and as I looked down, I realized that I was standing in a pool of alcohol-vomit, outside the bathroom door.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I pulled some yucky towels out of the closet and mopped it all up. I managed to somehow get Shatner coaxed back into the bed (while we were no longer dating and no longer sleeping together, we WERE still sleeping in the same bed - hey, I used to hate letting a king-sized bed go to waste, but that was SO long ago...) and he finally went to sleep. In the morning, when I awoke, I went to said bath-puke-pooproom and noticed there was, what appeared to be dried shit and toilet paper all over the floor, bathtub, potty and wall. I managed to get most of it mopped up with some lysol and a rag, and when I made it back into the bedroom, I saw...POO STAINS ON THE SHEET.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">If you know anything about me and my relationship with my bed, you'll understand why that's a bad thing. VERY bad.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">So, here's what actually happened:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Shatner falls asleep on the bed, while I'm walking new boyfriend out. He gets sick in his sleep, and as he jumps up to make for the bathroom, he barfs and craps on the way in. The puke, obviously, goes on the floor, since there's no barrier to stop it. The poo is contained, until he makes it to the potty, where he removes soiled pants. He sits on potty with soiled behind, and in removing rancid pants, steps in crap in pants, thereby leaving behind li'l footprints. It's kinda like Footprints in the Sand, but not quite as endearing and a WHOLE hell of a lot smellier. After marching around in poo, then "disposing" of pants (he swears he doesn't remember hiding them, but I certainly remember throwing them in the trash), he drunkenly sees the mess he's made and attempts to clean dookie with dry toilet paper, which I'm almost certain when you're drunk LOOKS clean, but in reality is a whole lotta smearing, if nothing else. After I coax him from the bathroom, he comes and climbs into bed, where he digs his feet into my sheets, leaving skidmarks of poo.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ah, I forgot to mention that when I literally SCARED him awake, by yelling at him to wake up, that I'm changing the sheets, because there's shit in the bed, as he was climbing out of bed, he had crap all up and down both arms and on his chest and face. I said, "If you touch me, I'm pushing you off the balcony." I forced him into the shower (the conversation went something like this..."But, I don't feel good!" *SHOVE* *water on* "There. I made you better.") and cleaned and scoured and disinfected. I'll go ahead and say, I've cleaned up a LOT of adult excrement and yuck in my life...but there's NOTHING like that shit infecting your sanctuary...and it's NOT YOURS.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Okay, so all this brings me to the present.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Yuck.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">And, if I SOMEHOW GET PINK-EYE (after washing my hands to the point I can hear the bones of my fingers clacking together as I scrub), I'm killing everyone in this house and possibly on this block, including myself. I've already mentioned the poo stain and have requested that it be removed, but all I got was an "I didn't do that! Is that crap? It's not mine!" Like hell it isn't. If I know anything, it's the color, shade and smell of Shatner's innards. After practicing advanced bathroom techniques for over 30 years, I've managed to always make mine stay IN the potty. I had one instance where I had a premature defecation, and that was when that psycho at my old work took me down like a linebacker. I'll admit, it literally scared the shit out of me. I don't know how that happened, but I remember it, and I remember being not only incredibly shocked, but also extremely mortified. I even forced myself to tell my lawyer, in the hopes that it might strengthen my case. So far, I'm pleading with him to forget I said that and "PLEEZE don't make me say that on the stand, if we can possibly win without my telling that part." But, that will make all of one time in my adult life that I've pooped myself. So, there.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">See? Crazy stuff happens all the time. I just don't always have the balls (or the internet) to mention it at the time.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway, when this guy drinks, he's got the rectal control of a 90-year-old. Wait, I take that back. I've done air contrast barium enemas on over-90's, and they've still managed to hold it better than him.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Of course, THIS "shit" is just the tip of the iceberg. Mo' later.</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-37908320884270737582010-09-19T10:57:00.006-05:002010-10-25T23:36:31.045-05:00Next time, don't come in here<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Got this from a customer yesterday, INSTEAD of a monetary tip:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSwEExZqb5RXW7hRzSKjUZv1rd6LeI5vLju8ey7zugT2bwARyT9l2tglCk40n3rwaELaVcc_CW0natJmBxM0dVekrRx0Av4Eq33yVWSTxhLjBNjvvlkUk3hSU19TyRwqpemXB/s400/really.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518654730997133522" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Okay, seriously, DON'T ever leave your server "tips" like this, unless you want to make an enemy for life, unless you're telling her how friggin' awesome she is. I can PROMISE you that we do NOT take your "advice" into consideration or even seriously. I can't believe what judgmental bitches people are, when you wait tables. I mean, for fuck's sake, who the hell grows up and says, "I want to be a server, so that people can treat me like TOTAL dog poo for 6-12 hours out every, single day!" Almost everyone I know has waited tables (reluctantly, no doubt) at some time in their lives, and nearly every person who ended up having to work in the same kinds of places I've worked (lower class establishments - not like Bottega), it's resulted in some of the most miserable experiences of their lives.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I may not be the best server in the world, but I'm all over my customers like scabies. (Probably not the best analogy, but whatev.) I watch them like a hawk. I bring all their food, the absolute second it comes up, I keep their drinks filled, and when they take the last bite of their entree or even LOOK like they're not interested in their food anymore, I swoop in with the check - I'll even wait for them to pay, if they start digging for their money. If things are getting hairy, and I've got 50 tables going at once, yeah, I'll bring your check early. But, it helps ME keep everyone straight, and I, personally, HATE waiting on my check. HATE IT. I hate when it seems my server has disappeared into the nexus, and I'm left with a bone-dry glass and no check. I'm constantly walking by my tables, so that if anyone needs anything, all they have to do is look at me or put their hand up to catch my attention. I am THERE for my customers. (And, yes, I'll divvy out hugs to those who need them.)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Apparently, this guy wanted me to burp him, change his diaper, and lay him down for a nap, before I brought his check. Now, he's just going to get a loogie or a booger in his food. Okay, okay, I'm totally kidding...................maybe. *raises eyebrow*</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Lesson for the day:</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">DON'T piss off your server. 99% of the time, they're in a difficult place in their lives (which is why they're waiting tables), so they'd appreciate a little kindness on your end, too.</span></span></div></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-39034057264975448112010-09-13T00:50:00.004-05:002010-10-25T23:38:05.912-05:00Jennifer vs. The Job Market<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Post 500, and I will go ahead and apologize that it will not be monumental, nor groundbreaking.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We just back from seeing Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, and I can easily say it was one of my favorite movies EVER. I would like to see it in the theatre again (about 50 times), but I guess we'll have to wait for the dollar theatre...since we're broke, and it's about to leave the cinema, anyway.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It's one of those movies that I could watch at any time, and it could cheer me up, IMMENSELY. I adored the music. I loved the people. I was rapt with all the CGI stuff they did.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It. Was. AWESOME!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now, to bed. Work in the morning, where I will put in my 2-week notice. The bastard who works up front has been stealing my tips. I've caught him twice, but I refuse to besmirch myself by being a tattle-tail. Every time I do that at jobs (be labelled the "boat-rocker"), I get this horrible reputation that I'm never able to live down. So, I'm leaving this one behind - at least no bridge burning. It's the least I can do, with as horribly as my life is going right now.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I can do better. And, I will suffer greatly before relief comes. But, I will do better...for myself.</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-2994583646348388622010-09-11T11:30:00.004-05:002010-10-26T00:01:39.394-05:00Where were you?<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On September 11, 2001, I was on my way to Children's Hospital. It was my first real job after I'd graduated as a tech, and I'd been there for only a few months. When I got to work, a lady on the elevator said, "Isn't that awful about the Twin Towers?" I said, "Yeah...wait. What? What happened?" She said, "A plane apparently went off course and crashed into one of the towers!...all those people..." I had no idea - I guess I'd been listening to a CD or something on the way to work (back when I HAD a stereo in my car).</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When I got to work, and I was passing through CT, that was the first time I'd seen a news report. I went and got my phone and called my aunt Amy. I stood there, clutching the phone, and we watched together in horror as the second plane crashed into the second tower, and subsequently, as the first tower collapsed. She and I cried on the phone together and told each other how much we loved each other.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Aside from physically being with my family, there's nowhere else in the world I would have rather been.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>I love you, Amy.</b> Thanks for being the main memory of my 9.11.</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32837495.post-17402479184817749362010-09-10T23:40:00.005-05:002010-10-25T23:58:44.955-05:00Blog about your day - Take 1<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Shleepy.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I just got back from babysitting someone's five chilluns tonight...and I made twice what I made from working seven hours at the restaurant today - AND this asshole stole my tip today.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I fucking hate that job.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">With a </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">FIERY PASSION</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm going to bed. ArtWalk with Bryan tomorrow afternoon, then slave labor from 5p-2a.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">NOT looking forward to this. This week has been a complete suckfest. It seems the more I work, the busier it is, the harder I bust my ass, the LESS I bring home.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">God, PLEASE make this be more temporary than I had first hoped...</span></span></div>Jimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05110265305164640811noreply@blogger.com0