PVS

Pre Vacation Syndrome is hitting me like a mofo.

i’ve been even more unproductive today, compared to other days. yes, i know, it’s quite unbelievable that i could be even more comatose here at work, but trust me on this. if it’s one thing i know, it’s slacking.

so anyways, tomorrow i go on another trip. yay me. i can’t wait to get there, but i’m almost tripped out, i think, at this point. too many days away from the cat, too much time worrying about getting to the airport on time, too much “i’m on vacation, i can buy anything i want” bills to pay off.

i’m not complaining. or whining. shut up.

ok. next topic.

yes, jenny, i did cook last night. yes, i made the main dish. it was my interpretation of it, at least. probably the really chicken out way, but fuck you. and i plated it better than you did. eat your heart out, master chef.

you know those people who keep on telling you to save the environment and take public transportation? those peeps must be oil sheiks, trust fund babies or bill gates’ relatives. taking public transportation is, apparently, more expensive than buying a Ferrari. i kid you not. in other news, the kiosk that take payment for fare cards now take cash, credit, debit and organ.

after 9 months of eager anticipation, my furniture’s finally arrived. i know. maybe now i can pay it off with my social security distributions. shit, that means having to move a whole bunch of old stuff to the basement, clean, and rearrange stuff. should be interesting. it’s almost like extreme home makeover, except i don’t have a designer, it’s really not all that extreme, it’s only for one room and it’s not free. it’s a leather couch, so i might have a cat to give to a good home in a few weeks.

i’ll pack and go to bed early. i’ll pack and go to bed early. i’ll pack and go to bed early.

it just wasn't meant to be

i thought it’d last forever. i mean, you were mine. and now, i’m forced to let you go. damn it, i wish it weren’t so. i never even had the chance to milk all the privileges of having you, my sweetness.

but honestly, it wasn’t really all that. you just sat there and did nothing. EVERY SINGLE DAY. you were supposed to be a superstar, but you were just there, sitting on your fat ass, not producing anything at all. as a matter of fact, you barely moved this whole time we were together.

so with a heavy heart, but a bit of relief, i sold my shares in the Berkshire Hathaway stock fund.

maybe later, pretty thing, we’ll get together once again, but for now, i think i’ll explore my options a bit.

see you around.

kryptonite

i can deal with crazy roller coasters, bumpy everlasting bus rides, uncomfortable train rides, long choppy boat rides, nyc subway, boston T, but i can't last through a simple "for 6 yr old" swing ride without getting sick.

what kind of sick twisted logic is that?

vacation needed. STAT

day 3 of my imprisonment here at New Job Inc.

slowly figuring out the ins and outs of the new group, the group dynamics, my role, etc.

so far, it seems like i'll be a slave/glorified assistant. my tasks here so far have included "help me move the table for tomorrow's meeting" and "your role in the meeting is to take notes. good notes"

shit, i'm not complaining, just as long as they pay me the agreed upon wages. I'd even make coffee for them too, if they so wish. but no vacuuming. i gotta draw the line somewhere, right?

so anyways, people here are quite varied. there's the friendly ones, the quiet but nice ones, and the martha stewart (smile, but i'll stab you in your forehead before you can say "cupcake"). but the one that stands out so far is just this girl/lady/whatever.

she's nice, been here for a while now, i think. knowledgeable, friendly, polite. she knows how things work around here, and i've been fortunate enough to have her show me the ropes.

BUT SHE WON'T SHUT UP.

like ever. the 2 days i've been here, i've been bombarded with information from her, not only about the job, but about her personal life. her bf, their marriage plans, her bf's job perks ($400 clothing allowance every month. shit, i want that), her monthly commute expense, her side job, her college life, and so on and so on. mind you, i've only been here for 2 days. but she WON'T SHUT UP.

and so, i ask the question, why did i sign up for this again (other than the whole paycheck thing, you know)?

despite all my rage

so i'm part of the common folks again.

in a bit under 8 hours, i'll be at orientation. it may be a different, but in the big race, i'll still be a rat in a cage.

between an aquarium trip, a boston trip, an amusement park trip, and a few days of idling, 2 weeks just flew by. can't realy complain about it though. it was relaxing, interesting and definitely fun.

but now, it's time to step up to the plate. new place, new opportunities, new clean slate. time to show what i can do, learn what i can't do. parlay the opportunities into something concrete, grab the chances and use them. it'll be demanding, i hope, rewarding, i pray.

let's see how long this optimism lasts this time around, if the 8:30am orientation doesn't kill me first.

i hate golf

and golf definitely laughs at me.

there i was, standing over the little fucking white dimpled piece of shit ball. i was hitting the ball decent, and i noticed the medicus in my buddy's bag. for those of you who don't know, the medicus is a "golf aid" that checks if your swing is "correct".

so anyways, i figured i brung my game today, so i was going to hit with the medicus. i mean, shit, i got the perfect swing DOWN.

practice swing #1, good. practice swing #2, perfect.

step up to the ball, set up, take the club back, watch the body, and swing down.

it went 80 yards, give or take.

i look down at the mat and see the white ball sitting there, didn't even move a fucking inch. so i walked out and retrieved my club from the field.

6

i was in boston for 6 days.

mostly, it was to see my sister, perhaps the one person in the world who will stand behind me regardless of the decisions i make. shit, i could show up bald, with a mike tyson tattoo on my face, wearing a pink tutu and she'd still have my back.

but outside of sitting around, enjoying the ridiculously wonderful boston weather, reading the paper, drinking dunkin donuts coffee and donuts, there was this tiny thing about diving around boston.

so 4 dives later in low 60s water, i remembered my disdain for cold water shore diving. lugging the full gear from the car, suiting up in a 7 mil farmer john, omg. i probably developed a few muscles that i never even moved before that. but all was worth it, because my dive buddy was my sister.

and now, the vacation is over.

the welcome back committee did a wonderful job of celebrating my return to the crab state, but still, i'm back to dealing with the same kinds of shit i hoped to forget for a while. store, condo, new job. i'll deal with them one by one, and hopefully it'll all get worked out.

if not, i can always jump into the bathtub and pretend i'm diving.

lobsters 1, ed 0

apparently, lobsters aren't just little buggers with rubber bands on their claws, sitting on top of each other in the tank in the local supermarket seafood section.

who knew that they actually lived underwater, under rocks and in crevices, with their antenna's sticking out?

all i knew of lobster was that it tasted hella nice with some melted butter, so of course i'd figure that me, super duper master genius diver, would have no problem picking them up and examining them.

and of course, i'd be wrong.

those little bugs actually get really defensive when you approach them. their eyes and claws always pointed to you, even as you move side by side, trying to find an angle to pick them up without getting pinched.

the smarter ones hide under rocks, but the dumber ones just walk along the sandy bottom, perhaps going to the grocery store. i'm not sure.

so i decide to pick on the dumb ones. but dumb doesn't mean slow reaction times, i found out. i challenged a few of them, but was pretty much too chicken shit, and only managed to pick one up.

i am nothing compared to them underwater, i realized.

so i had some lobster for dinner.

bitches. who's got the last laugh?

it's 7:07am

do you know where your flight is?

apparently, mine left without me.

i got to the airport at 5:30 and got through the security checkpoint at 6:40. why did it take forever, you ask? well, i'm glad you want to know.

being the Nostradamus genius that i am, i chose today to travel. today. the morning after the brits announce arrests in plots to blow up US bound planes with liquid bombs.

but of course, i did not know.

and i had my beautification stuff, including my swedish penis pump, in the carry on. which was a bad bad thing to do, because no liquids or gels or similar substance items would be allowed through inspection.

good thing breast enhancing pills weren't in liquid format, or i might drop a cup size or two these few days out of town.

so i sit here in front of gate B22, waiting to confirm my standby status for the 8:50 flight, drinking a cup of dunkin donuts coffee while munching on some donuts.

fuck, it's 2am already?

which means i have yet to finish packing. clothes i mean. scuba gear has been packed since this afternoon.

which means i am fucked, because i need to be up in 2.5 hrs.

which means i will be dead tired for my 6:15am flight.

which means i need to get my butt there by 5:15am.

which means i am in trouble, because my ride's getting here at 5am, and it takes at least 30 minutes to get there.

which means i will be late and rushed, but i will get on that ride even if i means i have to blow someone. maybe not.

which means i'll swear that one of these days i'll actually go to be earlier the night before a trip.

which means i'll definitely never ever achieve that goal.

which means i should probably stop blogging and go to bed now, doesn't it?

i have a dream

that one day, i will be able to find a passive stream of income.
that i'll be able to sit on my fat chubby ass and blog all day.

so i'm thinking of setting up a kitty porn website. it's just like those sorority webcam sites, instead of girls, monthly subscribers will be able to see what kitty cat is doing 24 hours a day.

here's a preview of what you might get if you paypal $9.95 to fishballer at gmail.com

*no cats were stripped in the taking of this picture.

signing off

the clutter is gone, leaving just specks of dirt flying all around the cube.

work related documents were shredded, personal belongings all in a box. with a lot of room to spare. i have a lot of toys here at work.

exit interview is done, a mere formality before relinquishing my passcard and other gecko items.

goodbyes were said, false promises of keeping in touch doled out. hopefully i'll run into a few of them again, but i'm not holding my breath on that.

outlook has been cleared out, programs uninstalled from my computer.

well, it's been real. take care, gecko.

time to get out of here.

masterpieces

reflection

sometimes i look in the mirror, and i see a shadow.

not a disfigured me staring back at me, nor an idealized version of me. a blank. a somewhat normal, insignificant me, easily passable for any other john doe out there roaming the streets stands in the mirror. nothing special, nothing note-worthy.

during those times, i struggle to find who i am, what i am. doubts set in, planting its seed, waiting to grow and blossom.

and sometimes you see yourself through the eyes of others, that for some reason unbeknownst to you, they see something in you that you don't. you try to find the reason, the angle they see that you don't, but after a while, you stop. you stop and start believing that maybe there's something to you after all.

with that, the seeds of doubt planted beforehand is no more.