See the picture in the upper left corner? That's not me anymore. No hair: chopped it all off. All of it. Prime example of what I do to when something refuses to cooperate with me. 
I like it, except my head is cold now. I don't like a cold head. My hair has never been this short...ever. I guess I didn't really know what to expect. New picture comming soon, as soon as I can buy new batteries for my digital camera.
Still no internet yet...
Still no new job yet...
Still working on both.
I like it, except my head is cold now. I don't like a cold head. My hair has never been this short...ever. I guess I didn't really know what to expect. New picture comming soon, as soon as I can buy new batteries for my digital camera.Still no internet yet...
Still no new job yet...
Still working on both.
Hey everyone!
Sorry that it's been a while since I've been on. Expensive doctor bills have forced me to let my DSL bill slide, so I'm temporarily without internet. This should be remedied in a couple of weeks. Other than that, I'm doing good. Lots of work related stress right now, so I'm glad I decided to get back on the meds when I did...
I'm looking for a new job, because Meijer's sucks large portions of ass right now. Too much to do and not enough people to do it. Not a lot of options here in Sandusky, but I'll figure something out...I always do.
It's situations like this that make me miss Cleveland. I miss my old friends there.
I'll definately be back on line in about two weeks (give or take a few days). Then I'll return in all my abrasive and obnoxious glory.
On a totally unrelated note, I heard a joke I thought was kinda funny. The person who told me this joke said that if you understand it, you're a nerd. I guess I am a nerd after all.
There are 10 types of people in the world:
Those that understand binary, and those that don't.
Sorry that it's been a while since I've been on. Expensive doctor bills have forced me to let my DSL bill slide, so I'm temporarily without internet. This should be remedied in a couple of weeks. Other than that, I'm doing good. Lots of work related stress right now, so I'm glad I decided to get back on the meds when I did...
I'm looking for a new job, because Meijer's sucks large portions of ass right now. Too much to do and not enough people to do it. Not a lot of options here in Sandusky, but I'll figure something out...I always do.
It's situations like this that make me miss Cleveland. I miss my old friends there.I'll definately be back on line in about two weeks (give or take a few days). Then I'll return in all my abrasive and obnoxious glory.
On a totally unrelated note, I heard a joke I thought was kinda funny. The person who told me this joke said that if you understand it, you're a nerd. I guess I am a nerd after all.
There are 10 types of people in the world:
Those that understand binary, and those that don't.
For those who have been concerned (the list is small, yet distinguished) I went to see my psychiatrist for the first time in three years. Going to the doctor sucks. I hate doctors...especially shrinks. No, not all doctors...just my doctor.
Well, I'm back on fucking meds again.
Just when I thought I had taken it all, I get a new one I haven't heard of before: Luvox. Good news is: she says it should help with my occasional compusliveness, as well as depression (one med for two things...I like that). Bad news is, it may very well take over three months for it to work.
So, right now I'm sitting here with a headache, and I feel like I'm going to puke. This is why I quit taking this shit to begin with.
On the bright side of this whole thing...she was kind enough to temporarily perscribe me some nice fat valiums. The downside of that is: she is fully aware that I enjoy abusing my meds for recreational purposes, so I only get enough for two weeks, before I have to go and see her again to get another.
I hate it when it becomes inconvenient that people know me well.
After (or should I say: IF) The Luvox starts working, she's going to perscribe me some xanax, so I'll lose my beloved V's.
Well, I'm back on fucking meds again.
Just when I thought I had taken it all, I get a new one I haven't heard of before: Luvox. Good news is: she says it should help with my occasional compusliveness, as well as depression (one med for two things...I like that). Bad news is, it may very well take over three months for it to work. So, right now I'm sitting here with a headache, and I feel like I'm going to puke.
This is why I quit taking this shit to begin with.On the bright side of this whole thing...she was kind enough to temporarily perscribe me some nice fat valiums.
The downside of that is: she is fully aware that I enjoy abusing my meds for recreational purposes, so I only get enough for two weeks, before I have to go and see her again to get another. I hate it when it becomes inconvenient that people know me well.
After (or should I say: IF) The Luvox starts working, she's going to perscribe me some xanax, so I'll lose my beloved V's.
I'm getting way too depressed as of late, and it's getting harder to control my moods. I'm seriously considering going back on my meds.
Someone, please, come up with a reason why I shouldn't.
Someone, please, come up with a reason why I shouldn't.
Rocky (1987-2000): May you eat scraps from the table in the halls of Valhalla forever.
Is it wierd to grieve over the loss of a dog for almost 4 years? Then again, he was more than that to me. He was my greatest friend. He was a member of my family...and for a long time he was my only family.
I raised Rocky from when he was a puppy, barely old enough to leave his mother. He was a timid puppy who was always afraid to sleep alone, so he slept on the foot of my bed. Lightning and thunder were always his bane, and it was a fear he never grew out of. Even though he weighed in at slightly over 110 lbs, he always considered himself a lap dog, and never grew out of that fun loving playfulness inherent to puppies.
Rocky was a Pit Bull, and Pit Bulls have a horrible reputation, some of it well deserved. But Rocky was the friendliest, most benign animal I've ever known. He would never intentionally harm a human being, and on the (not so) rare occasions someone did get hurt while playing with him, he was outwardly and obviously remorseful. The injuries were never severe, and pretty much consisted of large bruises from an accidental nip during the heat of the moment. I can personally attest to the fact Pit Bull's jaws are as powerful as everyone says they are, seeing as a tiny nip could easily result in a softball sized bruise.
Like any other "human being", he had his bad habits. He didn't care for stray cats (and the feeling was obviously mutual), and would kill them any chance he'd get. I scolded and reprimanded him for this, so he sought to do it covertly. After the unfortunate deed was done, he obviously knew he would be in trouble, as he repeatedly tried to conceal his crime by hiding the evidence. He wasn't very good at this, but I think the thought process and the attempt serves to prove his massive dog-like intellect.
A pit bull is a hard dog to find toys for...at least ones that will last longer than thirty seconds. A solid hard rubber ball and a braided rag bone did the trick, and such was his love for these simple objects that he cared for them as well as any intellegent child would care for his/her favorite toys. He always knew where both of them were, and if he decided that he didn't want you to play with them, rest assured that you wouldn't. Prying either object out of his jaws proved to be a monumental, and often times futile, task. He was even smart enough to know the difference between the two when you told him to go and get one of them. You could speak to him in full sentences about the somewhat limited subjects he knew something about (playing, going outside, eating, not killing cats, so on and so forth), and he could actually understand you, and occasionally participate in the conversation (or at least express his overwhelming enthusiasm).
Another inanimate object he found unlimited amusement with was an old bowling ball my uncle gave to him. He would spend hours upon hours rolling that ball from the front yard to the back yard and back again by placing his front legs on it and "walking" behind it as he rolled. On several occasions he would try to pick it up by grabbing it with his teeth in the holes.
In 1998, an asshole shot Rocky with an arrow while we were on vacation in West Virginia. The arrow penetrated his right hind leg, struck his pelvis, and exited next to his tail. Rocky didn't take to kindly to this, and in spite of his injury (and being 11 years old...which is about a year longer than pit bulls live on average), he chased his assailant down and gave him about 20 stitches in the back of his leg. The asshole sued, insisting that Rocky be put to sleep. I agreed, with the condition that the guy who shot him would also be put to sleep...seeing as how Rocky wouldn't have bitten him if he hadn't shot him in the first place. The judge, not having all that much to do in the little West Virgina hick town, came out to visit with Rocky while he was recovering from his injury. It was easily aparent that Rocky was a harmless, friendly animal (he licked the judge's face and at one point during the visit, hobbled over and put his head in his lap...almost as if he understood the gravity of his situation), and dismissed the case...and raised a charge of cruelty to animals against the dipshit who shot him. And who says there's no justice in the world?
In the summer of 1999, Rocky started showing obvious signs of arthritis. He still got around well for the most part, but he didn't have the same enthusasum for playing I had come to love about him. Play sessions were short, and the wrestling he enjoyed so much had become a thing of the past. It was hard to watch him deteriorate the way he did, but his company was valuable to me, and he didn't seem quite ready to give up. All that changed March 23, 2000, when Rocky suffered complete kidney failure. The vet told me there was absolutely nothing that could be done for him, and being completely unable to make the decision, I called my mother. She immedately got in her car, and drove 200 miles to Cleveland so she could help me decide what to do. I know it seems like a no-brainer...I just couldn't do it.
The vet told my mom the same thing she told me, and my mom asked me what I wanted to do. I didn't want to see him suffer anymore, but I couldn't bring myself to give the order to put an end to it. I told my mom to do what she thought was best. She immedately told the vet to put Rocky to sleep.
I stayed with him during the process. He never whined, he never whimpered. I hugged him just before the end, and he licked my face, and almost seemed glad it was over. At about 4:45, on March 24th, he inhaled deeply, exhaled...and then there was nothing.
I don't know why I wrote this. Maybe I just want someone else to know what a great friend he was to me...and how my life seems somewhat diminished by his absence.
Is it wierd to grieve over the loss of a dog for almost 4 years? Then again, he was more than that to me. He was my greatest friend. He was a member of my family...and for a long time he was my only family.
I raised Rocky from when he was a puppy, barely old enough to leave his mother. He was a timid puppy who was always afraid to sleep alone, so he slept on the foot of my bed. Lightning and thunder were always his bane, and it was a fear he never grew out of. Even though he weighed in at slightly over 110 lbs, he always considered himself a lap dog, and never grew out of that fun loving playfulness inherent to puppies.
Rocky was a Pit Bull, and Pit Bulls have a horrible reputation, some of it well deserved. But Rocky was the friendliest, most benign animal I've ever known. He would never intentionally harm a human being, and on the (not so) rare occasions someone did get hurt while playing with him, he was outwardly and obviously remorseful. The injuries were never severe, and pretty much consisted of large bruises from an accidental nip during the heat of the moment. I can personally attest to the fact Pit Bull's jaws are as powerful as everyone says they are, seeing as a tiny nip could easily result in a softball sized bruise.
Like any other "human being", he had his bad habits. He didn't care for stray cats (and the feeling was obviously mutual), and would kill them any chance he'd get. I scolded and reprimanded him for this, so he sought to do it covertly. After the unfortunate deed was done, he obviously knew he would be in trouble, as he repeatedly tried to conceal his crime by hiding the evidence. He wasn't very good at this, but I think the thought process and the attempt serves to prove his massive dog-like intellect.
A pit bull is a hard dog to find toys for...at least ones that will last longer than thirty seconds. A solid hard rubber ball and a braided rag bone did the trick, and such was his love for these simple objects that he cared for them as well as any intellegent child would care for his/her favorite toys. He always knew where both of them were, and if he decided that he didn't want you to play with them, rest assured that you wouldn't. Prying either object out of his jaws proved to be a monumental, and often times futile, task. He was even smart enough to know the difference between the two when you told him to go and get one of them. You could speak to him in full sentences about the somewhat limited subjects he knew something about (playing, going outside, eating, not killing cats, so on and so forth), and he could actually understand you, and occasionally participate in the conversation (or at least express his overwhelming enthusiasm).
Another inanimate object he found unlimited amusement with was an old bowling ball my uncle gave to him. He would spend hours upon hours rolling that ball from the front yard to the back yard and back again by placing his front legs on it and "walking" behind it as he rolled. On several occasions he would try to pick it up by grabbing it with his teeth in the holes.
In 1998, an asshole shot Rocky with an arrow while we were on vacation in West Virginia. The arrow penetrated his right hind leg, struck his pelvis, and exited next to his tail. Rocky didn't take to kindly to this, and in spite of his injury (and being 11 years old...which is about a year longer than pit bulls live on average), he chased his assailant down and gave him about 20 stitches in the back of his leg. The asshole sued, insisting that Rocky be put to sleep. I agreed, with the condition that the guy who shot him would also be put to sleep...seeing as how Rocky wouldn't have bitten him if he hadn't shot him in the first place. The judge, not having all that much to do in the little West Virgina hick town, came out to visit with Rocky while he was recovering from his injury. It was easily aparent that Rocky was a harmless, friendly animal (he licked the judge's face and at one point during the visit, hobbled over and put his head in his lap...almost as if he understood the gravity of his situation), and dismissed the case...and raised a charge of cruelty to animals against the dipshit who shot him. And who says there's no justice in the world?
In the summer of 1999, Rocky started showing obvious signs of arthritis. He still got around well for the most part, but he didn't have the same enthusasum for playing I had come to love about him. Play sessions were short, and the wrestling he enjoyed so much had become a thing of the past. It was hard to watch him deteriorate the way he did, but his company was valuable to me, and he didn't seem quite ready to give up. All that changed March 23, 2000, when Rocky suffered complete kidney failure. The vet told me there was absolutely nothing that could be done for him, and being completely unable to make the decision, I called my mother. She immedately got in her car, and drove 200 miles to Cleveland so she could help me decide what to do. I know it seems like a no-brainer...I just couldn't do it.
The vet told my mom the same thing she told me, and my mom asked me what I wanted to do. I didn't want to see him suffer anymore, but I couldn't bring myself to give the order to put an end to it. I told my mom to do what she thought was best. She immedately told the vet to put Rocky to sleep.
I stayed with him during the process. He never whined, he never whimpered. I hugged him just before the end, and he licked my face, and almost seemed glad it was over. At about 4:45, on March 24th, he inhaled deeply, exhaled...and then there was nothing.
I don't know why I wrote this. Maybe I just want someone else to know what a great friend he was to me...and how my life seems somewhat diminished by his absence.
Have you ever watched a group of people destroy someone's dream? I'm doing it right now...
The store I work at was the dream of an immigrant from the Netherlands who founded the store back in the 1930's, and his dream was based on making customers happy. One of the ways he made people happy was by a selling quality product. The other way was by treating his employees with dignity and respect. Make the employees happy, and they'll make the customers happy too. It was honestly a great place to work.
Fast forward to 2004, and you find that Wal-Mart has taken this old guy's idea and run with it. The founder isn't alive anymore, so his kids run the business (which now consists of 150+) stores. Instead of being happy with their little slice of the pie (which is rather large, all things considered), they want more pie.
So they hire a company to make them more profitable. Why you may ask (the answer isn't as obvious as it seems)? So they can open more 8-10 stores a year like Wal-Mart does, instead of the 2-3 stores a year that they used to open. This company that they hired seems to have a simple philosophy: if you want to make money like Wal-Mart, you need to become Wal-Mart. Keep in mind that the stores aren't really losing any money...they're just not making as much money as they want them to.
Here's some exampls of the "great" ideas this company has come up with to cut costs: disregard the employees' desire to unionize and refuse to negotiate contracts where unions exist, cook frozen pizzas instead of making them fresh, offer a substandard insurance package, and cut hours from an already decimated work schedule. You have no idea how many times I've heard, when discussing a new policy or procedure, "this is the way Wal-Mart does it."
So I wonder, as I sit here and bitch, how much does dignity and respect actually cost? It must be expensive, because that was pretty much the first policy to go.
I feel like a rat on a sinking ship.
The store I work at was the dream of an immigrant from the Netherlands who founded the store back in the 1930's, and his dream was based on making customers happy. One of the ways he made people happy was by a selling quality product. The other way was by treating his employees with dignity and respect. Make the employees happy, and they'll make the customers happy too. It was honestly a great place to work.
Fast forward to 2004, and you find that Wal-Mart has taken this old guy's idea and run with it. The founder isn't alive anymore, so his kids run the business (which now consists of 150+) stores. Instead of being happy with their little slice of the pie (which is rather large, all things considered), they want more pie.
So they hire a company to make them more profitable. Why you may ask (the answer isn't as obvious as it seems)? So they can open more 8-10 stores a year like Wal-Mart does, instead of the 2-3 stores a year that they used to open. This company that they hired seems to have a simple philosophy: if you want to make money like Wal-Mart, you need to become Wal-Mart. Keep in mind that the stores aren't really losing any money...they're just not making as much money as they want them to.
Here's some exampls of the "great" ideas this company has come up with to cut costs: disregard the employees' desire to unionize and refuse to negotiate contracts where unions exist, cook frozen pizzas instead of making them fresh, offer a substandard insurance package, and cut hours from an already decimated work schedule. You have no idea how many times I've heard, when discussing a new policy or procedure, "this is the way Wal-Mart does it."
So I wonder, as I sit here and bitch, how much does dignity and respect actually cost? It must be expensive, because that was pretty much the first policy to go.
I feel like a rat on a sinking ship.
Grrrrrr...I need to work on my website, but I can't seem to get motivated. I had better, because I'm paying for my webhosting. The holidays really bring me down. People get shitty, work gets busy, and relatives get demanding. It puts a serious strain on my already stretched emotional state. The problem is: I love working on it, and it kills me that I just don't want to. This is part of the reason why I don't work in web design.
I just want all this madness to be over already. Working in retail, the madness really began just before Thanksgiving. That's a long time to be perpetually stressed.
Today sucked at work. I have been really busy doing things that are my job, and a supervisor from another department told me to do something that I was specifically told not to do. I told her I didn't have time to do it, and was subsequently told to "make time". I refused, and my supervisor told her to get bent (not in those words). That made my day.
I'm getting sick of the bad attitudes at work. I think I'm going to start encouraging people to quit again. I love the power of the spoken work on the weak minded...
I just want all this madness to be over already. Working in retail, the madness really began just before Thanksgiving. That's a long time to be perpetually stressed.
Today sucked at work. I have been really busy doing things that are my job, and a supervisor from another department told me to do something that I was specifically told not to do. I told her I didn't have time to do it, and was subsequently told to "make time".
I refused, and my supervisor told her to get bent (not in those words). That made my day.I'm getting sick of the bad attitudes at work. I think I'm going to start encouraging people to quit again. I love the power of the spoken work on the weak minded...
Impulsive spending...I love it! I've been good and haven't spent a lot of cash on something I didn't need, so I figured I was about due.
Final Fantasy X-2 is awesome. Chicks with guns...gotta love it! It goes from easy to hard in about a split second. Really catches you with your pants down. If you do RPG video games and have a PS2, I recomend this one. If you haven't played FFX (part one of the story), get this one first. You can usually pick it up for about $20 just about anywhere. It's just as good (visually speaking).
Anyways...work still sucks. It's getting closer to christmas, which means I'm getting closer to the relief of not having to hear early 1920's christmas music 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. The only thing I'm looking forward to is the fist fights in the store on christmas eve
. Folks are totally off the hook around the holidays "Are you ready to RUMBLE!!!!!" 
(That guy looks like a masked wrestler...at least I think so)
Final Fantasy X-2 is awesome. Chicks with guns...gotta love it! It goes from easy to hard in about a split second. Really catches you with your pants down. If you do RPG video games and have a PS2, I recomend this one. If you haven't played FFX (part one of the story), get this one first. You can usually pick it up for about $20 just about anywhere. It's just as good (visually speaking).
Anyways...work still sucks. It's getting closer to christmas, which means I'm getting closer to the relief of not having to hear early 1920's christmas music 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. The only thing I'm looking forward to is the fist fights in the store on christmas eve
. Folks are totally off the hook around the holidays "Are you ready to RUMBLE!!!!!" (That guy looks like a masked wrestler...at least I think so)
Mental state is back to normal (as normal as it gets anyways). No anxiety, very little depression, and I still think Leonardo Caprio is a pussy. Things are right with the world.
I still hate my job, though. The assault of "Feliz Navidad" continues on a daily basis. I should walk into the store director's office and cut part of my own pinky off in protest...like that yakuza guy did in that movie. Black Rain I think? I don't remember. It was a long time ago, and that's about all that stuck with me. Then again, maybe I should just cut part of his pinky off. Yeah, that sounds better
Only 28 more days until the christmas music stops...someone...please...just make it stop!
I still hate my job, though. The assault of "Feliz Navidad" continues on a daily basis. I should walk into the store director's office and cut part of my own pinky off in protest...like that yakuza guy did in that movie. Black Rain I think? I don't remember. It was a long time ago, and that's about all that stuck with me. Then again, maybe I should just cut part of his pinky off. Yeah, that sounds better
Only 28 more days until the christmas music stops...someone...please...just make it stop!
My anxiety is at it's zenith tonight. I just wish there was a reason for it...maybe I could do something about it.
I don't know what's worse: depression or anxiety. Actually anxiety is worse. At least when I'm depressed, I don't feel like throwing up.
Work sucks, life sucks, everything sucks. I can't enjoy anything in this state of mind. Sometimes I hate being me, but then I think: "it could be worse...I could be Leonardo DeCaprio". In that case, work wouldn't suck, my life wouldn't suck (because I'd be rich), but I would suck.
I don't hate myself...I just wish I didn't have so many issues. I am not a toilet. I will not become one by swallowing 6 different pills at different times a day, just to feel "normal". One pill for depression, one pill for anxiety, one more to counteract the various side effects of the first two, and another to counteract side effects of the pill that counteracts side effects...the shit never ends.
I see I'm rambling, so I'm just going to shut the fuck up now.
I don't know what's worse: depression or anxiety. Actually anxiety is worse. At least when I'm depressed, I don't feel like throwing up.
Work sucks, life sucks, everything sucks. I can't enjoy anything in this state of mind. Sometimes I hate being me, but then I think: "it could be worse...I could be Leonardo DeCaprio". In that case, work wouldn't suck, my life wouldn't suck (because I'd be rich), but I would suck.
I don't hate myself...I just wish I didn't have so many issues. I am not a toilet. I will not become one by swallowing 6 different pills at different times a day, just to feel "normal". One pill for depression, one pill for anxiety, one more to counteract the various side effects of the first two, and another to counteract side effects of the pill that counteracts side effects...the shit never ends.
I see I'm rambling, so I'm just going to shut the fuck up now.
