Monday, August 06, 2007
I Want Money...That's...What I Want
(Ever hear the “Flying Lizards” version of that song? I think it’s better than the original.)
The next day or so you’re going to see a bunch of paid posts around here...just thought I’d warn you. Feel free to read them anyway, you may learn a thing or two. The ones I have planned don’t have a maximum word limit so they’ll be better than the others I did. Hey, I may not talk much in real life but I can write a novel if you put me in front of a keyboard.
Yah, yah, so I’ve sold myself out and am writing for money. Somebody’s gotta pay the bills around here and kitty needs a new pair of shoes. Well, food, anyway. And some litter since she refuses to learn how to use the toilet so I can just come home and flush it. And I, every so often, delight in buying her toys that she’ll ignore. There they lay, where I threw them after waltzing in the door singing, “Renren!! I have fun for yoooouuu!” Her pupils dilate, her tail twitches, she grows interested. I pull the package out of the bag, stick it under her nose, teasing her, “Look what yooouu get!” She stares, intently, as I tear the package open, meowing with impatience the whole time. I yank out a furry little cat nip mouse, for example, dangle it in front of her eyes, every once in awhile jerking the tail so that it dances in middair before her, “Looooooook! Dangly mousey! Yum! Isn’t it exciting?” I then toss it to the floor, she bounds after it, sniffs at it and then turns and walks away. So I, in my brilliance, deduce that either that particular mousey didn’t have enough cat nip inside or she didn’t like the color. And I repeat the process all over again until all 4-6 mice lay scattered about the floor to remain untouched by her. The only one who touches them is me and that is usually in the middle of the night when I step on them on my way to the bathroom. Nonetheless, I remain determined and continue to purchase the damn things for her.
Because I am stupid.
Besides, maybe I would like to have a beer once in awhile. Or a cigar. Actually, not so much on the cigar. I’ve had one in my life and I’m not impressed. No one told me I wasn’t supposed to inhale the damn thing. So there I was, at a gathering, sick as a dog, thinking I was going to die any second. I couldn’t even be cordial enough to say ‘good night’ to anyone, rather, I slithered up to my room as quietly as possible so as not to attract attention so I could go lay on my death bed. So, no to cigars but yes to the ridiculous cat toys and beer.
OK!? That’s why I write those things. Does everyone capisce me? Good. NOW. Then.
Things are going well at work. I’m now doing tours on my own and I think I have found my niche. I’m not going to tell you what it is in case any of you decide you want to come live here and work where I work and steal all my good material. See, we get paid peanuts but we make up for it in tips. And man I tell you, I’m making some good tips. In fact, with the tips I’m making, I’m just about making as much as I made in corporate shithole. Wait until the busy season starts. I’ll be thinking of you all while you’re cooped up in your cubicles, miserable and hating everyone around you...or you’re stuck in 12’ feet of snow with no relief in sight, wishing you were someplace warm.
Actually, I’m lying. I won’t think of you at all. I’ll be too busy enjoying the shit out of myself.
Right now I’m paying my dues. The weather lately has been hotter than Satan’s handbags and it’s probably going to get worse through this month and into the next month. Sometime around the end of September that “edge” should come off and make life bearable once again but until that time, I’m going to sweat about 1600 gallons a day.
Sure makes a beer taste good, though.
Let’s see...what else. Not much, really. Basically, because the heat takes so much out of you, I go to work, I come home, I bathe and I go to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat for 5 days a week. On my days off, I sleep. Sometimes, the only time I get out of bed is to feed the cat and use the bathroom. A few weeks ago I devoured the latest Harry Potter book on my days off but that was over far too quickly and now I have the choice of crappy day time t.v. or, I think, actually, I’m going to read all HP books all over again, uninterrupted.
I wish I was magic. And that Invisibility Cloak? Oh....what I would give for one of those. Just think of what you can learn when others think you aren’t there.
Eventually I’ll probably have the energy to get out and do stuff but you know, this job is so damn cool and I meet all kinds of people from all over the world on a daily basis. I can’t tell you how many times my photo has been taken and I’m in photo albums across the globe. Kinda satisfies that desire to be in the limelight. And they think I’m funny. And they enjoy my tours. And they compliment me constantly and tell my boss and co-workers how much they enjoyed themselves with absolutely no prompting from me whatsoever. That’ll stroke a girl’s ego.
Thus far, my favorites are the people from Texas, (they’re just damn fine folks, I tell you), the English, the Irish, the folks from the Nederlands, the Japanese and the Puerto Ricans. I’m not too fond of the French, (for many reasons but they continue their snotty attitudes on vacation), the Italians, (and that pains me to say that because I’m 1/4 Italian but they are a bunch of idiots. The vacant stares that we get from these Italians...and it’s not because they don’t speak English, they’re just fucking stupid and damn near every last one of them is an asshole...almost makes me ashamed to have Italian blood in my veins. Not that these are the first Italians I’ve not been impressed with...but that’s another story for another day), and some of the South Americans. The reason for the latter is because most of them will bring their infants out...in the boiling fucking heat and not protect their kid from the sun AT ALL! It’s disgusting to watch and makes me want to slap them and sterilize them so they cannot do that to another human being.
Every one else falls in the middle. Some are good, some are bad but overall, most of them are great. And they make my job even more fun that it already is. I just can’t believe someone wants to PAY me to do this job. It doesn’t feel like a job. It feels like playing.
I like almost all of my co-workers. I even like that girl I told you about but I don’t like her work ethic and I wish she would not talk so much. My God she never stops talking. Blab, blab, blah, blah, blab, blah, blab, chatter, chatter, chatter...all. fucking. day. And loudly. She has annoyed the crap out of almost everyone there and she is just now realizing it. But, she’s a victim. Nothing is ever her fault.
I know other people who are the terminal victim in life...NOTHING is ever their fault at all. They are all just so misunderstood. Poor things.
Fuck off. I can’t stand that victim bullshit. Sure, sometimes things happen and they suck and that makes us all sad but every fucking thing that ever happens? My aching ass. Sometimes? It’s your own damn fault. Own it. You’ll grow and become a better person. But. Some people like to play the martyr. She’s one of them. If she would just calm down, things would go so much easier for her. But there’s always one who brings the drama to the workplace isn’t there? There’s always one.
Anyway, it’s past my bedtime. The next couple of entries around these parts are going to be paid ads for various products because, as I said, kitty needs a new pair of shoes. But I’ll start that tomorrow. Right now, I want to pass out.
