IPOD
RADIO
Yeah, a month. I know. It's been busy. I'm almost totally whole. There was a confusing incident where I got fired for 18 hours on Thursday, but it's all good now.
I now:
+++have my truck back
++am employed for 48 hours a week
++have a freaking awesome girlfriend
+have a house with enough food to make it to next Thursday
+have a Christmas tree my girlfriend bought for us and helped decorate
=filled up for the first time in four months (Hey, it's not like I drove it. Shut up.)
-am on thin ice at work
--Have $3.78 in the bank (no shit)
---Have $330 on credit cards due on the 19th, which (with the electric bill) is all of my money.
That's about the passing of the month. I can give specifics, but eh. I'm gonna go work through Half-Life 2 now. Peace.
(EDIT, 11:01 AM 12/12/05)
Besides wanting to say that midnight tonight will mark my one month anniversary, someone asked me to explain what in the flying fuck is going on with my job. Well, the explanation wouldn't fit as a comment, so here goes.
Dig. I work for a glass company that is subcontracted to The Methodist Hospital in the Texas Medical Center in Houston.
We used to have eight people on the crew. Just before Thanksgiving, we got run off because the general contractor had run out of money because he needed drywall guys as well to attack the walls blocking the holes. (Whoever bid this job only looked at the blueprints and said, "Oh, well, we need this, this, and this," neglecting to actually walk the floors.)
When the job resumed, Methodist had cut us down to five people. As the youngest and most inexperienced glazier, I was gone first.
Well, last Saturday, three of the guys started some shit when some tools broke and refused to work, instead insisting on going home because they "couldn't get anything done." John and Rinato proved them wrong, and they got in a damn-near-brawl right in front of a tenant.
This is even worse than it sounds. See, in the Scurlock Tower, which is a professional building, "tenant" means "specialist," and my experience in the medical field (combined with my mother, the overqualified nurse) tells me that "specialist" means "complete and total self-absorbed prick." (This is no lie. I'm constantly having near-misses in the basement garage with assholes going 40 up the somewhat blind ramps at 5:XX on any given day of the week.)
Tenant tells Methodist. Methodist tells Binswanger. Binswanger gets on the warpath against these three. They fire every cheap shot they have against John, me, God, and everyone. Their asses are collecting unemployment while Clarence knew better than to believe a bossy vet of the game and an ornery motherfuckin' welder. Raul is the mystery here. I think he listened too long and too hard to Mario's shit, otherwise, I've never had a problem with him.
That was just to get employed a week ago. I was cooking spaghetti when I get a call from John telling me to be at Scurlock at 5:00 PM tomorrow. I work two days without incident until they have a glass truck coming at noon on Wednesday. (Believe me when I say that unloading trucks is the LEAST fun of the jobs.) They work from 12 to 4:30, head up to the union meeting (first Wednesday, 5:00), then be back at 7 to keep working. I... skipped both. "Dentist appointment" at 1 and "had to rush someone to the hospital so she didn't die and missed the call saying no rainout:" at 7.
I get a call at 10:34 the next morning saying that I'm fired for not having a vehicle. I freak out. My vehicle is actually due out of the shop at any moment, and without a job, I can't afford to pay back my grandparents OR the credit card, which gave me $250 for rent last month. I call once (I'm bad about being responsible, like...), don't leave a message, and keep freaking out. I call the body shop, fully expecting to kill someone with words, when I hear "It's ready."
I bum a ride back with my friend Ian, who goes to school across from my apartment and lives four blocks from the shop on the south side of town. I stand in the cold for a while as they figure out that I don't have A/C (non-issue for at least three months down here in Texas), there is something on the back of the cab that needs a touch-up, and I'm missing a small part that they'll get and install for free as apology for taking so long. After some sojourning in Pearland, I get back to the house at about 4 AM. Normal for me, working or not.
When I wake up, I decide I better explain what the hell is "going on" so I can remain employed. I'm not the best liar, but I did it well enough for them to take me back at 7 that night. (Don't tell me I'm a horrible bastard, I know that already.
)
I now:
+++have my truck back
++am employed for 48 hours a week
++have a freaking awesome girlfriend
+have a house with enough food to make it to next Thursday
+have a Christmas tree my girlfriend bought for us and helped decorate
=filled up for the first time in four months (Hey, it's not like I drove it. Shut up.)
-am on thin ice at work
--Have $3.78 in the bank (no shit)
---Have $330 on credit cards due on the 19th, which (with the electric bill) is all of my money.
That's about the passing of the month. I can give specifics, but eh. I'm gonna go work through Half-Life 2 now. Peace.
(EDIT, 11:01 AM 12/12/05)
Besides wanting to say that midnight tonight will mark my one month anniversary, someone asked me to explain what in the flying fuck is going on with my job. Well, the explanation wouldn't fit as a comment, so here goes.
Dig. I work for a glass company that is subcontracted to The Methodist Hospital in the Texas Medical Center in Houston.
We used to have eight people on the crew. Just before Thanksgiving, we got run off because the general contractor had run out of money because he needed drywall guys as well to attack the walls blocking the holes. (Whoever bid this job only looked at the blueprints and said, "Oh, well, we need this, this, and this," neglecting to actually walk the floors.)
When the job resumed, Methodist had cut us down to five people. As the youngest and most inexperienced glazier, I was gone first.
Well, last Saturday, three of the guys started some shit when some tools broke and refused to work, instead insisting on going home because they "couldn't get anything done." John and Rinato proved them wrong, and they got in a damn-near-brawl right in front of a tenant.
This is even worse than it sounds. See, in the Scurlock Tower, which is a professional building, "tenant" means "specialist," and my experience in the medical field (combined with my mother, the overqualified nurse) tells me that "specialist" means "complete and total self-absorbed prick." (This is no lie. I'm constantly having near-misses in the basement garage with assholes going 40 up the somewhat blind ramps at 5:XX on any given day of the week.)
Tenant tells Methodist. Methodist tells Binswanger. Binswanger gets on the warpath against these three. They fire every cheap shot they have against John, me, God, and everyone. Their asses are collecting unemployment while Clarence knew better than to believe a bossy vet of the game and an ornery motherfuckin' welder. Raul is the mystery here. I think he listened too long and too hard to Mario's shit, otherwise, I've never had a problem with him.
That was just to get employed a week ago. I was cooking spaghetti when I get a call from John telling me to be at Scurlock at 5:00 PM tomorrow. I work two days without incident until they have a glass truck coming at noon on Wednesday. (Believe me when I say that unloading trucks is the LEAST fun of the jobs.) They work from 12 to 4:30, head up to the union meeting (first Wednesday, 5:00), then be back at 7 to keep working. I... skipped both. "Dentist appointment" at 1 and "had to rush someone to the hospital so she didn't die and missed the call saying no rainout:" at 7.
I get a call at 10:34 the next morning saying that I'm fired for not having a vehicle. I freak out. My vehicle is actually due out of the shop at any moment, and without a job, I can't afford to pay back my grandparents OR the credit card, which gave me $250 for rent last month. I call once (I'm bad about being responsible, like...), don't leave a message, and keep freaking out. I call the body shop, fully expecting to kill someone with words, when I hear "It's ready."
I bum a ride back with my friend Ian, who goes to school across from my apartment and lives four blocks from the shop on the south side of town. I stand in the cold for a while as they figure out that I don't have A/C (non-issue for at least three months down here in Texas), there is something on the back of the cab that needs a touch-up, and I'm missing a small part that they'll get and install for free as apology for taking so long. After some sojourning in Pearland, I get back to the house at about 4 AM. Normal for me, working or not.
When I wake up, I decide I better explain what the hell is "going on" so I can remain employed. I'm not the best liar, but I did it well enough for them to take me back at 7 that night. (Don't tell me I'm a horrible bastard, I know that already.
)
In a week where I was metaphorically pissed on every day, it could really end in no other way than being literally pissed on by the cat. I was sitting on the floor, playing Soul Calibur III, when all of a sudden I feel some warmth on my leg. I got pissed. I took a shower. I vented to some friends.
I would be able to work if someone had tended to the God damned walls that are in the way of my workspace. Since they didn't even walk the space, they've already run out of money on their original bid and are begging on their hands and knees to the board for more.
Of course, if we miss a couple of days, they'll try to give us the hours back in the form of consecutive double or 10/8 suicide shifts. Hmm. Let me see. How do I say "fuck no" and still stay "gainfully employed?" (Those words are never said without sarcastic intent by anyone but car dealerships. Take a wild fucking guess what I mean by that.)
Not having a vehicle is the worst, especially when you live in the suburbs. Everything here is so stretched out. I have to walk a quarter-mile just to get any food around here. It's no wonder people in Texas are so fat. Yes, I don't even think of disincluding myself in that number.
Sorry for all that. But if blogs weren't invented for random bitching and passive-agressive grappling, what for?
I would be able to work if someone had tended to the God damned walls that are in the way of my workspace. Since they didn't even walk the space, they've already run out of money on their original bid and are begging on their hands and knees to the board for more.
Of course, if we miss a couple of days, they'll try to give us the hours back in the form of consecutive double or 10/8 suicide shifts. Hmm. Let me see. How do I say "fuck no" and still stay "gainfully employed?" (Those words are never said without sarcastic intent by anyone but car dealerships. Take a wild fucking guess what I mean by that.)
Not having a vehicle is the worst, especially when you live in the suburbs. Everything here is so stretched out. I have to walk a quarter-mile just to get any food around here. It's no wonder people in Texas are so fat. Yes, I don't even think of disincluding myself in that number.
Sorry for all that. But if blogs weren't invented for random bitching and passive-agressive grappling, what for?
Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. I got my wisdom teeth out yesterday, and I just finished my first solid food meal of barbeque. The cat has HIV (well, FIV if you want to get technical), I have some weak-ass Vicodin that doesn't do too much for me, I have work on Monday, and I'm gonna watch the Astros game. That's about it, really.
Yes ma'am. Although you know that I never do anything worthwhile.
Today is odd. It's 79 outside, which is cause enough to cut the A/C and open the windows. It usually doesn't start cooling down until much later in the month, but you'll never hear me complain.
It's gotten to where I don't leave the house except for church or school anymore. Maybe that will change. I'm supposed to go see a movie with a friend tomorrow. I don't know what the hell the deal is. Maybe I should ask, I see them right now.
If nothing better comes up, I might go rent a movie tonight. I have some free coupons and I'm sure something worthwhile is there at the store. Or we could go to Sam's and make fun of the huge cans of mayonnaise. God, that stuff is gross. Sadly, we might actually end up buying something. And I'm serious. A Wal-Mart advert in the mail had two "Get Into Sam's Free" coupons. That was the place where I saw the "No Für Elise" sign on the piano that made me think of the "No Stairway" sign in Wayne's World. Or as Matt said, "I will not allow [you to play Stairway]... unless you can do an ironic reggae cover of it." So I did. It was pretty kick-ass, sitting on the back of a truck in the parking lot of a SoLa pool hall back in Austin. I miss that place.
Today is odd. It's 79 outside, which is cause enough to cut the A/C and open the windows. It usually doesn't start cooling down until much later in the month, but you'll never hear me complain.
It's gotten to where I don't leave the house except for church or school anymore. Maybe that will change. I'm supposed to go see a movie with a friend tomorrow. I don't know what the hell the deal is. Maybe I should ask, I see them right now.
If nothing better comes up, I might go rent a movie tonight. I have some free coupons and I'm sure something worthwhile is there at the store. Or we could go to Sam's and make fun of the huge cans of mayonnaise. God, that stuff is gross. Sadly, we might actually end up buying something. And I'm serious. A Wal-Mart advert in the mail had two "Get Into Sam's Free" coupons. That was the place where I saw the "No Für Elise" sign on the piano that made me think of the "No Stairway" sign in Wayne's World. Or as Matt said, "I will not allow [you to play Stairway]... unless you can do an ironic reggae cover of it." So I did. It was pretty kick-ass, sitting on the back of a truck in the parking lot of a SoLa pool hall back in Austin. I miss that place.
Back. The trip back in wasn't nearly as bad as the one in. 11 1/2 hours to Austin, 3 1/2 (normal) back. Obviously, since I'm on the Internet, we have everything in place, no flooding, wind damage, or even power or water loss. It was no worse for us than a bitchin' thunderstorm. As for Port Arthur, Beaumont, and Cameron Parish, LA, they're very much on my mind. I don't have many friends out there, but my friends do.
Otherwise, we appear to be cat-sitting tonight, with a potential recruit for housecat. He's over on the coffee table in the corner, and he's rather entertaining. Already scoping the place out, wondering if it will be a fit.
Austin was great and all, but for all the worrying I did this weekend, I'm just glad to be back in Houston. I missed this dump. All that fresh air up there was clouding my mind, I needed my chemicals from the adjacent refineries. Thank them for no real spike in the gas prices. Just the shortages along... um, everywhere going back into town.
Let me know what you think. I'm just glad to be home.
Otherwise, we appear to be cat-sitting tonight, with a potential recruit for housecat. He's over on the coffee table in the corner, and he's rather entertaining. Already scoping the place out, wondering if it will be a fit.
Austin was great and all, but for all the worrying I did this weekend, I'm just glad to be back in Houston. I missed this dump. All that fresh air up there was clouding my mind, I needed my chemicals from the adjacent refineries. Thank them for no real spike in the gas prices. Just the shortages along... um, everywhere going back into town.
Let me know what you think. I'm just glad to be home.
...Oh, shit!
Well, it was (but shouldn't have been) a surprise to hear that mandatory evacuations are taking place tomorrow for the county adjacent. There is, after all, a possible Cat 4/5 hurricane headed straight for my front door.
I don't watch the news. I don't actively seek it. Spin and sensationalism are bad for your blood pressure, man. So I had heard the name "Rita," and not much else.
Today, Mom calls me and asks, "What are your plans for the rest of the week?"
(Great. Nagging over unemployment.)
"I don't know. You have any for me?"
(Standard cop-out response.)
"I want you to go to your Dad's house."
(Uncle Ken is coming in from Atlanta... I need to ask Chris about that... wait, huh?)
"Why?"
"Have you been watching the news?"
(Hurricane. Riiiight.)
"Oh, that? Hmm."
They want me in Austin when that thing hits, and I'm beginning to be (ahem) converted to their point of view, kna'mean? So barring any changes, I'm probably headed out tomorrow and will remain more or less incommunicado for the better part of a week.
Meanwhile, with the sheer number of NOLA folk I see around in the Med Center and such, I can't help but think about them again, now that their temporary home is once again in the crosshairs.
I literally have no money that is not owed to someone else immediately. Well, maybe $0.94. And what does that buy, a Coke? So I have debt and a Coke to my name. Bitchin'. I sense an interesting weekend coming up.
Well, it was (but shouldn't have been) a surprise to hear that mandatory evacuations are taking place tomorrow for the county adjacent. There is, after all, a possible Cat 4/5 hurricane headed straight for my front door.
I don't watch the news. I don't actively seek it. Spin and sensationalism are bad for your blood pressure, man. So I had heard the name "Rita," and not much else.
Today, Mom calls me and asks, "What are your plans for the rest of the week?"
(Great. Nagging over unemployment.)
"I don't know. You have any for me?"
(Standard cop-out response.)
"I want you to go to your Dad's house."
(Uncle Ken is coming in from Atlanta... I need to ask Chris about that... wait, huh?)
"Why?"
"Have you been watching the news?"
(Hurricane. Riiiight.)
"Oh, that? Hmm."
They want me in Austin when that thing hits, and I'm beginning to be (ahem) converted to their point of view, kna'mean? So barring any changes, I'm probably headed out tomorrow and will remain more or less incommunicado for the better part of a week.
Meanwhile, with the sheer number of NOLA folk I see around in the Med Center and such, I can't help but think about them again, now that their temporary home is once again in the crosshairs.
I literally have no money that is not owed to someone else immediately. Well, maybe $0.94. And what does that buy, a Coke? So I have debt and a Coke to my name. Bitchin'. I sense an interesting weekend coming up.
Is there even any point in updating a journal when all you do is IRC whore with your every free moment?
I got to go have fun with the Christian coalition today. Had to go with the fam to get my truck sorted out ($1300 for all body and mechanical repairs, unless salvage will give me half a Honda I'd say this is my best bet), and stayed for some free food and a quick buck to be made cleaning the house. Mom was impressed with my mad cleaning skills. I told her the reason was two-fold. One: I see tiny imperfections in my own space, and this translates well into cleaning other peoples' houses. Like that damned hard water problem she has. Two: Guess what first-year apprentices spend a shit load of time doing?
Ended up going to a friend's house for dinner. Italian. Alan is quite a cook. Makes me envy him, what with my pretzels and/or pizza rolls and cola diet. (We're eating a little better, I swear!)
Josh turns 18 very soon. I may have to miss all the festivities if I get this job. (Getting OFF at the Med Center at 1:30? They'll all be asleep!) It's gonna suck, but you have to sacrifice to get the necessary cash.
Chris... was less than impressed with my brother's ironic bigotry. I can't just say racism because he covered all the bases. At least the little bastard thinks he's being ironic. See, I need to tell him (and he'll never listen to me, he'll just call me a flaming homosexual because he's cool like that, the ignorant shit) that there is a difference between ironic racism in front of well-off suburban black kids, and ironic racism in front of honest-to-God ghetto-hardened black men. He'll have to learn to accept responsibility for his actions instead of the usual silver spoon in the mouth, and I hope his first lesson doesn't land him in intensive care.
Sigh. Times are tough.
I got to go have fun with the Christian coalition today. Had to go with the fam to get my truck sorted out ($1300 for all body and mechanical repairs, unless salvage will give me half a Honda I'd say this is my best bet), and stayed for some free food and a quick buck to be made cleaning the house. Mom was impressed with my mad cleaning skills. I told her the reason was two-fold. One: I see tiny imperfections in my own space, and this translates well into cleaning other peoples' houses. Like that damned hard water problem she has. Two: Guess what first-year apprentices spend a shit load of time doing?
Ended up going to a friend's house for dinner. Italian. Alan is quite a cook. Makes me envy him, what with my pretzels and/or pizza rolls and cola diet. (We're eating a little better, I swear!)
Josh turns 18 very soon. I may have to miss all the festivities if I get this job. (Getting OFF at the Med Center at 1:30? They'll all be asleep!) It's gonna suck, but you have to sacrifice to get the necessary cash.
Chris... was less than impressed with my brother's ironic bigotry. I can't just say racism because he covered all the bases. At least the little bastard thinks he's being ironic. See, I need to tell him (and he'll never listen to me, he'll just call me a flaming homosexual because he's cool like that, the ignorant shit) that there is a difference between ironic racism in front of well-off suburban black kids, and ironic racism in front of honest-to-God ghetto-hardened black men. He'll have to learn to accept responsibility for his actions instead of the usual silver spoon in the mouth, and I hope his first lesson doesn't land him in intensive care.
Sigh. Times are tough.
I'm coming to realize there are even more dangerous things to do while intoxicated than driving. Contemplating your life is one of them. Assembling furniture is not, but is certainly fraught with an obvious bit of peril. But let's face it, I'm in training.
I've been honest-to-God trying to find a picture of myself to put to the left here. The sheer reality of it is that I don't keep pictures of myself. That's my family's job. No, seriously. The only pictures I have are me and my aunt at my mom's surprise 40th, me and the fam at Christmas 2003 in McAllen, and some crappy grainy webcam shot.
Because my roommate refuses to check the mail, I got a package a week late from my friend Michelle. It was a tape of Malagasy rock and a book called Punk Rock Aerobics. She's either saying I'm a badass punk rock motherfucker, or desperately in need of losing weight. Just kidding. She'd never do that. Besides, she knows I'm on the Ramen diet right now. Better than when I ran into an old friend during Brazoria Co. jury duty just before I moved in (and into Harris jurisdiction). "Dude, you've lost a lot of weight." "Rob, mon fraund, that's called cocaine." Oops. Is it wierd my friends have a habit of degenerating into lapses of Cajun? I mean, it's theoretically no worse than me track-switching from English to Mexican slang when I'm cussing someone out. "Gah! Shut the fuck up, mamón! I've had it with your mierda, cabrón!"
The latest in a long line of get rich quick schemes involves me, a U-haul, Richmond, VA, and a Tex-Mex resturant with really dirty names for entreés. Like "Tacos al Cabrón" or "Queso con Mierda." That's basically what chilé con queso degenerates to if you give me enough stuff to play with. "Cheese with some shit in it." God, I'm a fucking genius.
No, seriously. Certified and everything.
Oh, go to hell.
I've been honest-to-God trying to find a picture of myself to put to the left here. The sheer reality of it is that I don't keep pictures of myself. That's my family's job. No, seriously. The only pictures I have are me and my aunt at my mom's surprise 40th, me and the fam at Christmas 2003 in McAllen, and some crappy grainy webcam shot.
Because my roommate refuses to check the mail, I got a package a week late from my friend Michelle. It was a tape of Malagasy rock and a book called Punk Rock Aerobics. She's either saying I'm a badass punk rock motherfucker, or desperately in need of losing weight. Just kidding. She'd never do that. Besides, she knows I'm on the Ramen diet right now. Better than when I ran into an old friend during Brazoria Co. jury duty just before I moved in (and into Harris jurisdiction). "Dude, you've lost a lot of weight." "Rob, mon fraund, that's called cocaine." Oops. Is it wierd my friends have a habit of degenerating into lapses of Cajun? I mean, it's theoretically no worse than me track-switching from English to Mexican slang when I'm cussing someone out. "Gah! Shut the fuck up, mamón! I've had it with your mierda, cabrón!"
The latest in a long line of get rich quick schemes involves me, a U-haul, Richmond, VA, and a Tex-Mex resturant with really dirty names for entreés. Like "Tacos al Cabrón" or "Queso con Mierda." That's basically what chilé con queso degenerates to if you give me enough stuff to play with. "Cheese with some shit in it." God, I'm a fucking genius.
No, seriously. Certified and everything.
Oh, go to hell.
FEBRUARY 2006
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DECEMBER 2005
NOVEMBER 2005