Josh Hilden's Blog, page 21
March 15, 2014
“I Hate Asking For Money”
I learned a lot of things from my family. I learned how to start a fire with a road flare, I learned how to open a beer bottle on a truck door, I learned that movie blood tastes like syrup, I learned it was okay to name your cats “Honky” and “Spooky” as long as you were being ironic, and I learned the best place to hide you weed was in the dirt of the giant plant in your living room.
I also learned not to ask people for money.
In our family it was the height of rudeness to ask somebody how much they made at their job. So you can easily imagine that it was damn near a stoning offense to actually ask someone for a buck. I don’t actually think this policy is a bad thing but sometimes you do need to ask for help. It was a refusal to ask for help which eventually contributed to my family’s bankruptcy in 2005 and losing our house in 2011. But to be fair to myself I’m not whining or looking for sympathy just stating a few facts before getting to the heart of all this.
So two years ago, well closer to 18 months ago, I did a Kickstarter to being my publishing business. I needed the start up capitol to pay for a few different things but most for the cover art for the firs three books of the Shores of the Dead series. The Kickstarter was successful and I even reached the first stretch goal off $1100.
I enlisted an amazing artist who agreed to do the covers. He finished the first one and knocked it out of the fucking park, if you want to know what it looks like go check the book on Amazon. We had plans for what came next when tragedy struck. My cover artist had a stroke right before Christmas 2012, then after new years his home burned down while he was in the hospital.
I won’t let you wonder about what happened. He eventually recovered and is now working again. But I had to eat two thirds of the money, I’m an asshole but I’m not the asshole who will demand a refund from a stroke victim.
In the end I had to finance the remaining covers from my own bank account. I found another awesome artist who nailed covers 2 and 3 while cutting me an excellent deal. So everything tuned out fine but 70% of the Kickstarter money was wasted. But I recovered, reinvested the profits back into the company, and came out ahead in the end.
Fast forward to last summer, while attending Gen Con I decided it was time to take the next great step forward. I’d spent the first full year of publishing concentrating on the digital marketplace. It was now time to work on pushing the paperbacks but more importantly it was time to start interacting with the fans and customers in person.
It was time to join the convention circuit.
I spent the last day of Gen Con 2013 asking the authors who populate “Authors Alley” about the process. How did they get their tables? How much did it cost? What were the added expenses of putting their table together? And most importantly I asked them what advice they could offer me on the whole experience of doing conventions.
Let me tell you right now that Indie Authors and Artists are some of the best people in the world. Every question I asked was answered in detail along with follow ups. That single round of Q&A convinced me I could do it too.
I determined I would do it by myself this time. I was not going to ask anyone for funds and instead I was going to make sure to put aside part of my revenue every month in preparation for Gen Con 2014. I worked out what I would need, I made contact with the people at Gen Con, and I saved my pennies. Everything was working like clockwork.
Until it wasn’t.
Snag number one happened in January when it was determined my middle daughter needed massive amounts of dental work. I am not going to give you the numbers but she needed all four wisdom teeth and a full set of braces applied to her mouth. According to her orthodontist she has one of the worst sets of teeth he’s ever seen. In order to pay for it (and keep in mind we have dental insurance) I had to completely deplete the Gen Con fund.
There was no choice in the matter. I would do anything for my kids.
I was reduced to a zero sum game but I knew tax season was here and I could use the meager return we’d get to finance a bare bones Gen Con experience. This looked like a sound plan until sag number two happened.
Two weeks ago the engine in my wife’s 2008 Chevrolet Cobalt blew. We’d taken very good care of the car and maintained it since day one of ownership. The mileage is commiserate with the age and there is no identifiable flaw other than “Shit Happens”. We still owe on the car until June of 2015 and have been a one car family since mine died in December of 2012.
There goes the tax returns for 2014.
So now we are five months from Gen Con and funds are nearly nonexistent. I refuse to shave the household budget in order to pay for the outing and GWSP has monthly bills that have to be paid if we want to stay in operation. I wrestled with the conundrum, made decisions, and then reconsidered those decisions.
Sigh… I am now doing something I hate. I am asking for help.
The table at Gen Con is paid for and the hotel arrangements are being divvied amongst several people. What I need to pay for are;
{C}· Prints – I will need more than a thousand dollars to cover the bare minimum number of prints I need to take in order to hopefully sell and cover the costs of the trip.
{C}· SWAG – I am going to be GIVING AWAY bookmarks, lanyards, buttons, and anything else I can think of.
{C}· Table Bling – I want to have a custom banner, table skirt, and displays for my books. I was shocked when I saw how much this can cost.
So that is the situation. As much as I hate this I am asking people to contribute through the website “Go Fund Me”. I have set out some rewards for levels of funding and I am hoping people realize I am only doing this because I can’t think of a better option.
http://www.gofundme.com/7k54oc
-Josh
I also learned not to ask people for money.
In our family it was the height of rudeness to ask somebody how much they made at their job. So you can easily imagine that it was damn near a stoning offense to actually ask someone for a buck. I don’t actually think this policy is a bad thing but sometimes you do need to ask for help. It was a refusal to ask for help which eventually contributed to my family’s bankruptcy in 2005 and losing our house in 2011. But to be fair to myself I’m not whining or looking for sympathy just stating a few facts before getting to the heart of all this.
So two years ago, well closer to 18 months ago, I did a Kickstarter to being my publishing business. I needed the start up capitol to pay for a few different things but most for the cover art for the firs three books of the Shores of the Dead series. The Kickstarter was successful and I even reached the first stretch goal off $1100.
I enlisted an amazing artist who agreed to do the covers. He finished the first one and knocked it out of the fucking park, if you want to know what it looks like go check the book on Amazon. We had plans for what came next when tragedy struck. My cover artist had a stroke right before Christmas 2012, then after new years his home burned down while he was in the hospital.
I won’t let you wonder about what happened. He eventually recovered and is now working again. But I had to eat two thirds of the money, I’m an asshole but I’m not the asshole who will demand a refund from a stroke victim.
In the end I had to finance the remaining covers from my own bank account. I found another awesome artist who nailed covers 2 and 3 while cutting me an excellent deal. So everything tuned out fine but 70% of the Kickstarter money was wasted. But I recovered, reinvested the profits back into the company, and came out ahead in the end.
Fast forward to last summer, while attending Gen Con I decided it was time to take the next great step forward. I’d spent the first full year of publishing concentrating on the digital marketplace. It was now time to work on pushing the paperbacks but more importantly it was time to start interacting with the fans and customers in person.
It was time to join the convention circuit.
I spent the last day of Gen Con 2013 asking the authors who populate “Authors Alley” about the process. How did they get their tables? How much did it cost? What were the added expenses of putting their table together? And most importantly I asked them what advice they could offer me on the whole experience of doing conventions.
Let me tell you right now that Indie Authors and Artists are some of the best people in the world. Every question I asked was answered in detail along with follow ups. That single round of Q&A convinced me I could do it too.
I determined I would do it by myself this time. I was not going to ask anyone for funds and instead I was going to make sure to put aside part of my revenue every month in preparation for Gen Con 2014. I worked out what I would need, I made contact with the people at Gen Con, and I saved my pennies. Everything was working like clockwork.
Until it wasn’t.
Snag number one happened in January when it was determined my middle daughter needed massive amounts of dental work. I am not going to give you the numbers but she needed all four wisdom teeth and a full set of braces applied to her mouth. According to her orthodontist she has one of the worst sets of teeth he’s ever seen. In order to pay for it (and keep in mind we have dental insurance) I had to completely deplete the Gen Con fund.
There was no choice in the matter. I would do anything for my kids.
I was reduced to a zero sum game but I knew tax season was here and I could use the meager return we’d get to finance a bare bones Gen Con experience. This looked like a sound plan until sag number two happened.
Two weeks ago the engine in my wife’s 2008 Chevrolet Cobalt blew. We’d taken very good care of the car and maintained it since day one of ownership. The mileage is commiserate with the age and there is no identifiable flaw other than “Shit Happens”. We still owe on the car until June of 2015 and have been a one car family since mine died in December of 2012.
There goes the tax returns for 2014.
So now we are five months from Gen Con and funds are nearly nonexistent. I refuse to shave the household budget in order to pay for the outing and GWSP has monthly bills that have to be paid if we want to stay in operation. I wrestled with the conundrum, made decisions, and then reconsidered those decisions.
Sigh… I am now doing something I hate. I am asking for help.
The table at Gen Con is paid for and the hotel arrangements are being divvied amongst several people. What I need to pay for are;
{C}· Prints – I will need more than a thousand dollars to cover the bare minimum number of prints I need to take in order to hopefully sell and cover the costs of the trip.
{C}· SWAG – I am going to be GIVING AWAY bookmarks, lanyards, buttons, and anything else I can think of.
{C}· Table Bling – I want to have a custom banner, table skirt, and displays for my books. I was shocked when I saw how much this can cost.
So that is the situation. As much as I hate this I am asking people to contribute through the website “Go Fund Me”. I have set out some rewards for levels of funding and I am hoping people realize I am only doing this because I can’t think of a better option.
http://www.gofundme.com/7k54oc
-Josh
March 12, 2014
“Meet the New… So Different From the Old”
I used to have really great job. It wasn’t an easy job. It wasn’t a glamorous job. I wasn’t a well paid job with good benefits. I didn’t get to wear a snazzy uniform with a jaunty hat. There weren’t sexy girls and pretty boys around every turn. Also… the once every six weeks free food would have made the hairy cook I knew in the Nut House gag.
I know what you’re thinking right about now.
“Josh, that sounds like a horrible place to work.”
Patience, there were things there I liked a lot. Yes you read that right I said “were” instead of “are” and that was intentional. As of last night (Tuesday March 11, 2014) there are no longer enough decent things at the job to outweigh the bullshit I need to wade through every day.
This essay is all about the incidents in the last couple of week, and especially last night, which converted me from mostly happy worker bee to violent hornet. Seriously I would love to bury my stinger in some asshats lower lip. Or better yet their eyes!
Okay, deep breath, before I begin the bitching… and the moaning… and the whining I need to regale you with the few pluses of my day job (at night). But before I assault you with those “Happy Little Trees” I give you a little context information. I work in an upscale retirement community called “Bethany Lutheran Village” (Just by writing that name out I could be summarily fired if you believe the “Social Media Policy” the Human Resources Department has been beating us with about the head and shoulders for the last 5 years. Also in case the title didn’t clue you in, I work for a church. Although to be fair they are good at keeping the spiritual and professional aspects separated.
The first and far from least important positive aspect of my job was the residents. They are some of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. Oh sure some of them are jerks, I mean seriously have you ever immersed yourself in a group of nearly 1000 people and not encountered a few nut sacks? There was for example the lovely old woman who was so delighted that a “Darkie” was finally elected President of the United States.
Old Timey casual racism, always good for an uncomfortable chuckle.
The residents are (not were) always pleasant and appreciative. For the most part they treat us like we are one of their family. Probably the way the better rich people in the South used to treat the help. It was/is nice and makes interactions with them something to be looked forward to as opposed to something to dread.
Well there is that old woman who likes to touch my beard, I avoid her.
The next thing about my job which made me like it was the hours. I work second shift and after 4:00pm I am the only person from my department on duty. I’m in housekeeping if you were actually curious about it. Sometimes this can be a pain in the ass, especially if there is an emergency. But most of the time I spend my evenings free of any and all supervision. So yeah that was pretty damn cool.
Yeah, I know you are wondering why this is now a bad thing.
The reason is the creepy second shift maintenance man. I’m not going to give his name because he’s that kind of creepy as well as the pervy kind. He is a goldbricker of the first order, I mean I’ve been known to scam a little extra time for writing while at work but this guy… even his coworkers are unsure if he actually does anything at night other than hit on the old single women.
Yeah, like I said that kind of pervy.
This guy has spent the last five years trying to figure out my routine. Every time we cross paths he starts to give me the third degree. The thing is I wouldn’t engage beyond minor platitudes and that pissed him off. He never said he was mad but you could tell he didn’t like not knowing what I did and how long it took me to do it every night. But I was able to successfully ignore him until 2 weeks ago.
Then Kelly (my supervisor) quit and all hell broke loose.
Now this wonderful person has upped his game. He shows up in areas I am working in all of the time. He calls me on the radio to find out where I am. And I am pretty sure he is randomly checking the housekeeping office to see if I am in there.
Not really sure how this one is going to end.
Coming hot on the heels of “Creepy McCreeperson” are my coworkers. Now you would think working on second shift I would have very little interaction with my coworkers. You’d be right in this assumption ad since I moved up my start time and hour and a half (I’ll tell you why in a few minutes) I see them even less. If you think this would lead to them having little impact on me… well first I now know you are not a regular reader of these essays and second you’d be wrong.
Seriously, you call yourself a fan? If you were a real fan you would be reading and rereading every word I write five times the day it’s released!
There is a civil war brewing on first shift and the ripples are whacking me in the back of the head. We have psycho boy trying to assert his authority, the ladies are in revolt, and captain crazy pants is having a daily nervous breakdown. And you might be asking yourself, why is all of this happening to our department?
The answer is simple.
Our “Oh So Wise Mountain Gorilla” of a manager couldn’t lead ants to a picnic. Let me make one thing clear, as a PERSON I actually kind of like my manager. As a BOSS I think she is an under qualified, over educated, micromanaging, schizophrenic, and unstable bitch!
I can’t stand her.
I know I should just be happy that I have a job in this economy. And honestly I am glad I have a job that gives me 40 hours a week and has full (if very bad) benefits available. But all I’ve been doing so far is laying the background so I can tell you what happened yesterday.
Last night was the biannual Board of Directors meeting. Every six months twenty odd people gather in out building and everyone freaks the fuck out. I know I work in a religious organization but you’d think God was coming to pass judgment every time the board gathers.
This is supposed to be a nonprofit organization. I am sure that explains the boards $1000 plus suits, luxury automobiles, and copious amounts of expensive accoutrement. One of the members wears a watch I am sure cost more than the house my grandmother raised me in.
So last night I was cleaning the floor in the little café here at work. It’s a quaint little bistro that serves over priced food and staffed by slobs with bad attitudes. Just as I’d finished sweeping the wooden floor the board meeting ended and the members congregated in the small lounge area by the Café. They moved tables and chair all helter skelter.
When I returned an hour later to finish cleaning I saw that those paragons of virtue and charity had not only left the furniture scattered wily nily, they’d strew trash across all surfaces. Napkins and coffee/water cups dotted the surfaces of the tables and even the floor. These people who make more money in a year than I make in five trashed an area they’d seen I’d already cleaned and didn’t pick up a fucking thing.
So yeah, I can’t afford to quit yet, but I no longer give a shit about a job I used to actually love.
-Josh
I know what you’re thinking right about now.
“Josh, that sounds like a horrible place to work.”
Patience, there were things there I liked a lot. Yes you read that right I said “were” instead of “are” and that was intentional. As of last night (Tuesday March 11, 2014) there are no longer enough decent things at the job to outweigh the bullshit I need to wade through every day.
This essay is all about the incidents in the last couple of week, and especially last night, which converted me from mostly happy worker bee to violent hornet. Seriously I would love to bury my stinger in some asshats lower lip. Or better yet their eyes!
Okay, deep breath, before I begin the bitching… and the moaning… and the whining I need to regale you with the few pluses of my day job (at night). But before I assault you with those “Happy Little Trees” I give you a little context information. I work in an upscale retirement community called “Bethany Lutheran Village” (Just by writing that name out I could be summarily fired if you believe the “Social Media Policy” the Human Resources Department has been beating us with about the head and shoulders for the last 5 years. Also in case the title didn’t clue you in, I work for a church. Although to be fair they are good at keeping the spiritual and professional aspects separated.
The first and far from least important positive aspect of my job was the residents. They are some of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. Oh sure some of them are jerks, I mean seriously have you ever immersed yourself in a group of nearly 1000 people and not encountered a few nut sacks? There was for example the lovely old woman who was so delighted that a “Darkie” was finally elected President of the United States.
Old Timey casual racism, always good for an uncomfortable chuckle.
The residents are (not were) always pleasant and appreciative. For the most part they treat us like we are one of their family. Probably the way the better rich people in the South used to treat the help. It was/is nice and makes interactions with them something to be looked forward to as opposed to something to dread.
Well there is that old woman who likes to touch my beard, I avoid her.
The next thing about my job which made me like it was the hours. I work second shift and after 4:00pm I am the only person from my department on duty. I’m in housekeeping if you were actually curious about it. Sometimes this can be a pain in the ass, especially if there is an emergency. But most of the time I spend my evenings free of any and all supervision. So yeah that was pretty damn cool.
Yeah, I know you are wondering why this is now a bad thing.
The reason is the creepy second shift maintenance man. I’m not going to give his name because he’s that kind of creepy as well as the pervy kind. He is a goldbricker of the first order, I mean I’ve been known to scam a little extra time for writing while at work but this guy… even his coworkers are unsure if he actually does anything at night other than hit on the old single women.
Yeah, like I said that kind of pervy.
This guy has spent the last five years trying to figure out my routine. Every time we cross paths he starts to give me the third degree. The thing is I wouldn’t engage beyond minor platitudes and that pissed him off. He never said he was mad but you could tell he didn’t like not knowing what I did and how long it took me to do it every night. But I was able to successfully ignore him until 2 weeks ago.
Then Kelly (my supervisor) quit and all hell broke loose.
Now this wonderful person has upped his game. He shows up in areas I am working in all of the time. He calls me on the radio to find out where I am. And I am pretty sure he is randomly checking the housekeeping office to see if I am in there.
Not really sure how this one is going to end.
Coming hot on the heels of “Creepy McCreeperson” are my coworkers. Now you would think working on second shift I would have very little interaction with my coworkers. You’d be right in this assumption ad since I moved up my start time and hour and a half (I’ll tell you why in a few minutes) I see them even less. If you think this would lead to them having little impact on me… well first I now know you are not a regular reader of these essays and second you’d be wrong.
Seriously, you call yourself a fan? If you were a real fan you would be reading and rereading every word I write five times the day it’s released!
There is a civil war brewing on first shift and the ripples are whacking me in the back of the head. We have psycho boy trying to assert his authority, the ladies are in revolt, and captain crazy pants is having a daily nervous breakdown. And you might be asking yourself, why is all of this happening to our department?
The answer is simple.
Our “Oh So Wise Mountain Gorilla” of a manager couldn’t lead ants to a picnic. Let me make one thing clear, as a PERSON I actually kind of like my manager. As a BOSS I think she is an under qualified, over educated, micromanaging, schizophrenic, and unstable bitch!
I can’t stand her.
I know I should just be happy that I have a job in this economy. And honestly I am glad I have a job that gives me 40 hours a week and has full (if very bad) benefits available. But all I’ve been doing so far is laying the background so I can tell you what happened yesterday.
Last night was the biannual Board of Directors meeting. Every six months twenty odd people gather in out building and everyone freaks the fuck out. I know I work in a religious organization but you’d think God was coming to pass judgment every time the board gathers.
This is supposed to be a nonprofit organization. I am sure that explains the boards $1000 plus suits, luxury automobiles, and copious amounts of expensive accoutrement. One of the members wears a watch I am sure cost more than the house my grandmother raised me in.
So last night I was cleaning the floor in the little café here at work. It’s a quaint little bistro that serves over priced food and staffed by slobs with bad attitudes. Just as I’d finished sweeping the wooden floor the board meeting ended and the members congregated in the small lounge area by the Café. They moved tables and chair all helter skelter.
When I returned an hour later to finish cleaning I saw that those paragons of virtue and charity had not only left the furniture scattered wily nily, they’d strew trash across all surfaces. Napkins and coffee/water cups dotted the surfaces of the tables and even the floor. These people who make more money in a year than I make in five trashed an area they’d seen I’d already cleaned and didn’t pick up a fucking thing.
So yeah, I can’t afford to quit yet, but I no longer give a shit about a job I used to actually love.
-Josh
March 7, 2014
“Hypocrisy & Me”
I hate hypocrisy!
I know bold statement and maybe I should consider the shit in my woodshed before I make it. So let me state for the record and unequivocally so there is no confusion.
“I am a complete asshole who is guilty of many of the things I hate, but I fucking admit it!”
I have said, thought, and done so many things in my past that make me ashamed. I try not to hold people to things they said, did, and thought I the past although I do fail at it. We all fail at it, I mean be honest how many of you actually forgive people who apologize?
But some hypocrisy makes me feel… stabby.
Just a bit of fair warning before you start reading and the brain bay starts kicking you in the grey matter. Before I get into the meat if this one you need to know up front this may be the single most schizophrenic essay I’ve ever written. This one is going to hop all over the place.
This all started a couple hours ago.
I think we are all aware of the foolish girl who blabbed about the settlement her father made in a lawsuit. The settlement was paying for her prep school and a European vacation this summer, although I believe the family is actually well off and could afford her schooling with or without the settlement. Regardless her bragging on social media resulted in the breaking of the nondisclosure agreement and cost her family $80,000.
That’s two years of my family’s income.
So I think it’s safe to assume we all can agrees what she did was stupid right? I also hope we can agree that kids do stupid fucking things and that MAYBE they should be forgiven? I am not saying that they should be given a pass and I DO NOT believe in the adages “Boys will be boys” or “She’s just a girl” they are both stupid sayings.
Now I sometimes hang out on a archaic areas of the internet “Yes I know how 90’s of me” where a lot of old school trolls congregate. To be fair there are some awesome people there as well but I communicate with them on other platforms so it’s safe for you all to assume that they only reason I go there is to observe the people who love to “Poke the Tiger”. So this topic was posted there and at first everyone agreed that the girl was dumb. They also seemed to agree that if it’d been them the vacation would be kaput and they’d have to get a job.
Then it changed.
Warning, no names, genders, or locations will be revealed!
One person said this:
“Guess the girl got an education on to what she should and should not say on Facebook...plus a leather hide on her bottom for being so stupid.”
The response was this:
“The girl is a child, maybe cut her a little slack as she makes the first painful mistake of her life?”
Which resulted in this response from a third person:
“When it’s a mistake that costs her parent's 80k that is a lesson she NEEDS to learn, no slack cut.”
This third person is the one that stuck in my craw. I know this person, not well mind you but we’ve met in real life. I also know this person’s history to an extent and what pisses me off is this person has a child (now adult) who was a drug addict and convicted felon. To further enflame the issue when this persons child was released they forgave them and took care of them.
Do I have a problem with that?
OF COURSE NOT!
I am a father of six with one child who’s made problems with the law and made some seriously bad decisions in his teenage years. He’s done time in county lockup, spent years on probation, and fought problems with alcohol. Is he perfect now? No, but he’s doing well. He married an awesome woman who’s like a daughter to me.
What’s my point?
Isn’t it obvious, do I really need to spell it out for you?
It’s so gods damned easy for people to vilify and wish bad things on people, but if it’s somebody they care about then they will do everything in their power to help them. I am okay with that, people should help people who need it if it’s in their power.
Would it surprise you to know that both of the people who advocate either violence or no “No Slack” are extreme right wing blowhards? Of course it wouldn’t. I can’t speak for the person who advocates “Tanning” her hide I don’t know anything about them o their personal life.
The other one… yeah I know them.
That person is a hate filled, classist, racist, rightwing, neo con, “Libertarian” asshat! I swear to god if I have to read them referring to the president as “Barry” instead of calling him a Nigger like I am positive they want to I might smash my head against the wall!
Do I know they are racist?
Of course I don’t. But you know what? I may not have a video or audio recording of them screaming epitaphs but I’m not stupid, most people aren’t stupid, and we can read between the fucking lines. It is very clear what this person is and how they feel on many issues.
Want to know something that will blow your fucking mind?
I’m 100% okay with that.
Wait! Come back here and sit down so I can explain.
I don’t agree with any of that but that fact is this is the United States of America and people have the right to think and say whatever they want without being punished by the government. But I have the right to call them on it and let it be known I think they are complete assholes.
I know none of this shit matters.
I know even if the people involved in this read this they will just think I am a “Fat and bitter asshole” and there is a case to be made on that but I don’t care. Just because stuff stays stuck in my craw and I tend to forget very little doesn’t mean I’m not right. And even if I’m not right and nobody agrees with me it’s my opinion. So if you want to hurl mud or insults at me…
… go fuck yourself!
-Josh
I know bold statement and maybe I should consider the shit in my woodshed before I make it. So let me state for the record and unequivocally so there is no confusion.
“I am a complete asshole who is guilty of many of the things I hate, but I fucking admit it!”
I have said, thought, and done so many things in my past that make me ashamed. I try not to hold people to things they said, did, and thought I the past although I do fail at it. We all fail at it, I mean be honest how many of you actually forgive people who apologize?
But some hypocrisy makes me feel… stabby.
Just a bit of fair warning before you start reading and the brain bay starts kicking you in the grey matter. Before I get into the meat if this one you need to know up front this may be the single most schizophrenic essay I’ve ever written. This one is going to hop all over the place.
This all started a couple hours ago.
I think we are all aware of the foolish girl who blabbed about the settlement her father made in a lawsuit. The settlement was paying for her prep school and a European vacation this summer, although I believe the family is actually well off and could afford her schooling with or without the settlement. Regardless her bragging on social media resulted in the breaking of the nondisclosure agreement and cost her family $80,000.
That’s two years of my family’s income.
So I think it’s safe to assume we all can agrees what she did was stupid right? I also hope we can agree that kids do stupid fucking things and that MAYBE they should be forgiven? I am not saying that they should be given a pass and I DO NOT believe in the adages “Boys will be boys” or “She’s just a girl” they are both stupid sayings.
Now I sometimes hang out on a archaic areas of the internet “Yes I know how 90’s of me” where a lot of old school trolls congregate. To be fair there are some awesome people there as well but I communicate with them on other platforms so it’s safe for you all to assume that they only reason I go there is to observe the people who love to “Poke the Tiger”. So this topic was posted there and at first everyone agreed that the girl was dumb. They also seemed to agree that if it’d been them the vacation would be kaput and they’d have to get a job.
Then it changed.
Warning, no names, genders, or locations will be revealed!
One person said this:
“Guess the girl got an education on to what she should and should not say on Facebook...plus a leather hide on her bottom for being so stupid.”
The response was this:
“The girl is a child, maybe cut her a little slack as she makes the first painful mistake of her life?”
Which resulted in this response from a third person:
“When it’s a mistake that costs her parent's 80k that is a lesson she NEEDS to learn, no slack cut.”
This third person is the one that stuck in my craw. I know this person, not well mind you but we’ve met in real life. I also know this person’s history to an extent and what pisses me off is this person has a child (now adult) who was a drug addict and convicted felon. To further enflame the issue when this persons child was released they forgave them and took care of them.
Do I have a problem with that?
OF COURSE NOT!
I am a father of six with one child who’s made problems with the law and made some seriously bad decisions in his teenage years. He’s done time in county lockup, spent years on probation, and fought problems with alcohol. Is he perfect now? No, but he’s doing well. He married an awesome woman who’s like a daughter to me.
What’s my point?
Isn’t it obvious, do I really need to spell it out for you?
It’s so gods damned easy for people to vilify and wish bad things on people, but if it’s somebody they care about then they will do everything in their power to help them. I am okay with that, people should help people who need it if it’s in their power.
Would it surprise you to know that both of the people who advocate either violence or no “No Slack” are extreme right wing blowhards? Of course it wouldn’t. I can’t speak for the person who advocates “Tanning” her hide I don’t know anything about them o their personal life.
The other one… yeah I know them.
That person is a hate filled, classist, racist, rightwing, neo con, “Libertarian” asshat! I swear to god if I have to read them referring to the president as “Barry” instead of calling him a Nigger like I am positive they want to I might smash my head against the wall!
Do I know they are racist?
Of course I don’t. But you know what? I may not have a video or audio recording of them screaming epitaphs but I’m not stupid, most people aren’t stupid, and we can read between the fucking lines. It is very clear what this person is and how they feel on many issues.
Want to know something that will blow your fucking mind?
I’m 100% okay with that.
Wait! Come back here and sit down so I can explain.
I don’t agree with any of that but that fact is this is the United States of America and people have the right to think and say whatever they want without being punished by the government. But I have the right to call them on it and let it be known I think they are complete assholes.
I know none of this shit matters.
I know even if the people involved in this read this they will just think I am a “Fat and bitter asshole” and there is a case to be made on that but I don’t care. Just because stuff stays stuck in my craw and I tend to forget very little doesn’t mean I’m not right. And even if I’m not right and nobody agrees with me it’s my opinion. So if you want to hurl mud or insults at me…
… go fuck yourself!
-Josh
March 4, 2014
You’re the Inspiration: Part 2 – “The Toys I Loved Before Boobies”
Last time, actually two essays ago since the last one was a giant bitch fest, we talked about the toys which fired my imagination before I started school. Ah the good times, gay Fisher Price campers and the slaughter of the Tub Town residents by Poseidon.
And don’t forget the pixie handjobs… always the pixie handjobs.
So today we will delve into the last of my innocent childhood creative playthings and inspirations.
It all started long long ago in a house far far away. And by that I mean it began with Star Wars Action Figures. I was just a little too young to get in on the infamous “Early Bird” offer of figures but by the next Christmas I was insane for Star Wars.
I remember that Christmas for two reasons. The first is that it was the one we spent living with my grandmother because mom and dad couldn’t decide if they wanted to be married or not. For the record I am a big believe that my parents really were in love with one another but they were too fucked up in the end to stay together. I will say this until I am cold and dead.
“Getting divorced is the best thing my parents ever did for me.”
But more important than living with grandma for the first time it was the Christmas of Star Wars. I can’t even remember how many action figures I got but I do remember the crowning glory. I was given the Millennium Falcon. It was the first time I sprouted the fabled Geek Boner… except you know… I didn’t actually raise the main sail. Too young for that you perverts.
In the years before Empire Strikes Back came out I created my own stories of action and adventure. I did voices for each character and made sound effect for the vehicles. Not to be a one setting guy the weirdo’s from my Fisher Price toys were invited to join the Star Wars people in their adventures. This all culminated with a massive battle between the Falcon and Space Shuttle, after I’d shorted out the electronics in the tub.
It was a draw.
As the movies kept coming out I continued to get the toys. As my legions grew and the adventures I created flourished. I still love the memories of my Star Wars action figures but in the end they were not the toys which defined my creative years between the ages of 5 and 12. That would be the homoerotic muscle-bound awesomeness of GI Joe A Real American Hero!
Before we move on I need to share an interesting side note about Star Wars. It is the first movie I remember seeing and it was in a Drive In as well. So yeah, take that you fucking Hipster Geeks!
I’ve told the story of my first GI Joe action figure in great detail already. So instead of giving the lengthy tale another beating I will give you a very quick rundown. Are you ready? Good, here we go and pay attention because there will be a quiz afterwards.
{C}o Mom went to Dayton in order to deal with Post Partum Depression
{C}o I stayed with Dada and we grilled steaks in the rain
{C}o Mom bought me a GI Joe action figure (Short Fuse)
{C}o Mom brought said action figure back from Dayton and I was happy
{C}o I took the action figure to school
{C}o A cocksucker who was supposed to be my friend stole the action figure
{C}o I was devastated
{C}o It made me the bastard I am today.
My parents recognized my GI Joe obsession quickly and it became the primary mine from which they sought gift ideas. I want to make this very clear. I had, and still have, a lot of GI Joe shit. Until I put down the Sky Striker and started noticing Jenny Thornton’s boobies GI Joe was my number one creative form of expression. As you will see in the essays which follow this one GI Joe has heavily influenced almost all of them. It even shines on my love of Boobies and Abs… oh Scarlet and Duke, anyway, moving on.
As with Star Wars mashup was the rule of the day and every other toy I possessed was incorporated into my GI Joe creative fandom. The Masters of the Universe action figures, I had a handful of them, were giants who ravaged the land and had to be smacked upside their squashy rubber heads by the Joe’s. Although to be fair Skeletor and Cobra Commander were always buddies in these little plays.
That was always fucking epic!
I had other toys in that period I remember fondly. Transformers and Gobots made a brief appearance along with Masters of the Universe figures. I was never a massive collector of these toys but I liked them and still have a few of them. But despite the multiple lines of toys that entertained me and allowed me to stretch me creative imagination there was one collection of toys which almost matched GI Joe and Star Wars.
Marvel Secret Wars action figures.
There weren’t many of these but I had almost all of them and they were/are amazing. I had/have a few of the various DC Super Powers action figures (Brainiac was my favorite) but Marvel had my heart back in the day. I was just really getting into serious comic book collecting at that point (we will discuss it later) and the toys were the BEST comic book action figures on the market. Unfortunately I was a little too young to get on the MEGO bandwagon back in the day. Although I had a naked Spiderman… everyone had naked Spiderman.
After the age of 12 I didn’t create so much with toys. I still loved them and to this day I still collect them. My current fixations are Pop Vinyl’s and Marvel Universe action figures. But it’s not the same. That is sad but it’s not a bad thing, as long as creativity evolves and doesn’t stagnate moving on is a positive as opposed to a negative.
Next time we move on to television shows. I was going to do Comic Books next but let’s be honest, I am a child of the television generation and while I am a voracious reader TV was my first love. I keep thinking of more parts I can write about so Glob only knows how many parts this will end up being. But suffice it to say I am going to keep talking about Brokeback Fisher Price Campers and Naked MEGO Spiderman.
-Josh
But seriously I need to know, why did we all take off Spiderman’s clothes and never put them back on?
And don’t forget the pixie handjobs… always the pixie handjobs.
So today we will delve into the last of my innocent childhood creative playthings and inspirations.
It all started long long ago in a house far far away. And by that I mean it began with Star Wars Action Figures. I was just a little too young to get in on the infamous “Early Bird” offer of figures but by the next Christmas I was insane for Star Wars.
I remember that Christmas for two reasons. The first is that it was the one we spent living with my grandmother because mom and dad couldn’t decide if they wanted to be married or not. For the record I am a big believe that my parents really were in love with one another but they were too fucked up in the end to stay together. I will say this until I am cold and dead.
“Getting divorced is the best thing my parents ever did for me.”
But more important than living with grandma for the first time it was the Christmas of Star Wars. I can’t even remember how many action figures I got but I do remember the crowning glory. I was given the Millennium Falcon. It was the first time I sprouted the fabled Geek Boner… except you know… I didn’t actually raise the main sail. Too young for that you perverts.
In the years before Empire Strikes Back came out I created my own stories of action and adventure. I did voices for each character and made sound effect for the vehicles. Not to be a one setting guy the weirdo’s from my Fisher Price toys were invited to join the Star Wars people in their adventures. This all culminated with a massive battle between the Falcon and Space Shuttle, after I’d shorted out the electronics in the tub.
It was a draw.
As the movies kept coming out I continued to get the toys. As my legions grew and the adventures I created flourished. I still love the memories of my Star Wars action figures but in the end they were not the toys which defined my creative years between the ages of 5 and 12. That would be the homoerotic muscle-bound awesomeness of GI Joe A Real American Hero!
Before we move on I need to share an interesting side note about Star Wars. It is the first movie I remember seeing and it was in a Drive In as well. So yeah, take that you fucking Hipster Geeks!
I’ve told the story of my first GI Joe action figure in great detail already. So instead of giving the lengthy tale another beating I will give you a very quick rundown. Are you ready? Good, here we go and pay attention because there will be a quiz afterwards.
{C}o Mom went to Dayton in order to deal with Post Partum Depression
{C}o I stayed with Dada and we grilled steaks in the rain
{C}o Mom bought me a GI Joe action figure (Short Fuse)
{C}o Mom brought said action figure back from Dayton and I was happy
{C}o I took the action figure to school
{C}o A cocksucker who was supposed to be my friend stole the action figure
{C}o I was devastated
{C}o It made me the bastard I am today.
My parents recognized my GI Joe obsession quickly and it became the primary mine from which they sought gift ideas. I want to make this very clear. I had, and still have, a lot of GI Joe shit. Until I put down the Sky Striker and started noticing Jenny Thornton’s boobies GI Joe was my number one creative form of expression. As you will see in the essays which follow this one GI Joe has heavily influenced almost all of them. It even shines on my love of Boobies and Abs… oh Scarlet and Duke, anyway, moving on.
As with Star Wars mashup was the rule of the day and every other toy I possessed was incorporated into my GI Joe creative fandom. The Masters of the Universe action figures, I had a handful of them, were giants who ravaged the land and had to be smacked upside their squashy rubber heads by the Joe’s. Although to be fair Skeletor and Cobra Commander were always buddies in these little plays.
That was always fucking epic!
I had other toys in that period I remember fondly. Transformers and Gobots made a brief appearance along with Masters of the Universe figures. I was never a massive collector of these toys but I liked them and still have a few of them. But despite the multiple lines of toys that entertained me and allowed me to stretch me creative imagination there was one collection of toys which almost matched GI Joe and Star Wars.
Marvel Secret Wars action figures.
There weren’t many of these but I had almost all of them and they were/are amazing. I had/have a few of the various DC Super Powers action figures (Brainiac was my favorite) but Marvel had my heart back in the day. I was just really getting into serious comic book collecting at that point (we will discuss it later) and the toys were the BEST comic book action figures on the market. Unfortunately I was a little too young to get on the MEGO bandwagon back in the day. Although I had a naked Spiderman… everyone had naked Spiderman.
After the age of 12 I didn’t create so much with toys. I still loved them and to this day I still collect them. My current fixations are Pop Vinyl’s and Marvel Universe action figures. But it’s not the same. That is sad but it’s not a bad thing, as long as creativity evolves and doesn’t stagnate moving on is a positive as opposed to a negative.
Next time we move on to television shows. I was going to do Comic Books next but let’s be honest, I am a child of the television generation and while I am a voracious reader TV was my first love. I keep thinking of more parts I can write about so Glob only knows how many parts this will end up being. But suffice it to say I am going to keep talking about Brokeback Fisher Price Campers and Naked MEGO Spiderman.
-Josh
But seriously I need to know, why did we all take off Spiderman’s clothes and never put them back on?
March 3, 2014
“It’s The Little Things”
Today just sucked massive balls!!!
Let’s start at the beginning and move on from there. I know I am well known for airing my massive grievances to the world in general. For the most part I treat these horrible situations as the Earth shattering events they are. I know the fates of multiple dimensions are at stake in these moments and that Giants will eat Babies unless you read my insane missives.
Today we will not be doing that.
Today we are go9ng to be discussing the cavalcade of mundane and for the most part stupid bullshit I’ve had to deal with today. Although to be fair one of the things I will be mentions is far from stupid. So without further adieu let us jump right into the asinine day which has been Josh’s March 3, 2014!
Part 1: Waking Up
Every morning I have to wake up at six in the morning and wake up two very lazy teenagers for school. If both of the said teenagers were capable of staying up this would not be much of a problem. Unfortunately while the boy child is up and moving like a well oiled machine the girl child is another matter all together.
Have I mentioned my middle daughter to all of you before?
I’m sure I’ve entertained you with tales of how much peace and serenity (the number one most irritating phrase my former stepmonster used to use until O wanted to dig my ear drums out with an ice pick) she’s sucked from my life since turning 14.
My daughter is a lazy, whiny, and sarcastic human being. For the second year in a row my daughter has been ordered to appear before a juvenile magistrate for truancy. Now before you get on your high god’s damned horse let me point some shit out to you. First she was 16 the first time she was ordered to do this. Second she is now 17. Third she is woken up every morning and yells, kicks, and screams telling us she’s “Too Sick” to go school when in fact she waits until we go to bed and gets back up to cook, eat, and watch TV.
We refuse to call her in when we don’t give her permission to stay home so she has to serve multiple detentions. Apparently she likes detention because it has never been sufficient motivation for her to get her ass out of the bed. And before you start telling me to take “This” from her and ‘That” from her all I can say is if you don’t think I’ve tried all of that you can go fuck yourself.
Short of breaking the law we’ve tried everything.
If you have a 17 year old girl and she does everything you ask without digging her heels in then Bully for you. You are one lucky fuck and you should be thanking the god I don’t believe in for your good fortune.
So this morning I woke her up and then waited 25 minutes. When She was still planted firmly in the bed I told in the calmest voice I could muster that if she didn’t drag her carcass out from under her covers I was going to dump and entire tumbler of water on her face.
A tumbler I did NOT even have.
What I received for that was several minutes of my beloved daughter yelling a screaming at me.
Oh the joy children bring, I recommend everybody have a dozen.
Needless to say despite a few more hours of rolling and thrashing in bed I never actually got back to sleep. Thus my awesome day started out with a distinct lack of sleep.
Part 2: I Needs My Pills II
After deciding my fight to wrestle the sandman to the ground and make him let me sleep I got up and began my day. Stomping my way down the stairs and grumbled and fussed as I entered the kitchen. I withdrew a can of iced tea from the refrigerator and retrieved my basket of medication from the top cabinet over the coffee maker.
I keep the pills up there so The Bunny can’t get them but I’m pretty sure the little spider monkey may be able to shimmy up the downspouts and conquer the roof. That being said I may need to invest in an Al Gore-like lock box one of these days.
Anyway I pulled the bottle of my diabetes meds out and choked the down. Then I grabbed the massive bottle containing my lithium, opened the “Child Proof” cap, and dumped it in my thick Solomon Grundy paw.
There were no pills to be had.
I’ve spoken at length in the past on my need for my pills. In fact I’ve hammered the point so hard that I am not going to rehash the point. But suffice it to say I was feeling pretty damn jittery and on edge by the time we left the house to first stop at the store and get said pills, and second go to… work.
I did eventually get my pills so at least that was rectified. But not before I was already beginning to stress out. So yeah when the next act of out drama occurred I was already pissy.
Part 3: The Car
We own a 2008 Chevrolet Cobalt. It’s actually my wife’s car but I love the damn thing. It has been the most reliable vehicle I’ve ever owned. However there has been one problem with the automobile.
That would be the loan.
When we bought the car BRAND NEW we were told we could have a 5 or 7 year loan. The difference between the two loans was $20.00 and I was all for the 5 year loan with the slightly higher payments. Unfortunately some person who will go unnamed wanted the lower payments stretched over 2 more years. So while if we’d done it my way the car would have been paid off last June we will still be paying on the fucking thing until June 2015!
On the way to work the car died.
I’m not going to go into the details of what happened because I’m not a car guy. My middle son, who is a car guy, has been looking at it with one of his friends all afternoon and he assures me they can fix it and for a hell of a lot less than what a garage would charge. That is a good thing and I trust the kid, he has an excellent mechanical head on his shoulders.
But now we are carless until he fixes it.
I’d like to kick a hobo!
Part 4: Some People Need to Be Slapped
I got to work with minutes to spare thanks to the arrival of my son. Like I said he’s really a good kid even if I wanted to kill him 10 years ago. Like I said everyone needs a couple of teenagers… wanna buy one cheap?
There is a guy in my department who is a little… unbalanced. Let’s call him Gregory. Gregory thinks he is going to be the one who will take Kelly’s place as the department supervisor. To this end he has been arguing with everyone on first shift and trying to impose his will on them. I’m not sure why they are taking it from him, yeah he’s an ass but I am convinced most of it is an act. Most of his bullshit hasn’t affected me since I am on second shift and everyone else id on first.
That was until today.
When I arrived today I found Gregory had rearranged the Housekeeping Office. It doesn’t matter that he is not the boss. It doesn’t matter that he had no authority to do this. It doesn’t matter that he probably wasted at least an hour of time he could have used on his actual job doing it. And it does not matter that there was nothing wrong with the way it was set up before and that it is actually now much less efficient.
Gregory is a passive aggressive cock sucker who needs to be in charge.
Yes I know it doesn’t actually affect me. I know it shouldn’t bother me. I know this has almost nothing to do with me. But it’s pissing me off! The damn manger, our “Oh So Wise Mountain Gorilla” needs to pick a fucking supervisor!!!
Oh wait, she’s not doing that until mother fucking August!
So that’s been my day. Add to that my right hand which is still giving me shits and fits and I am feeling ever so awesome.
Really
I’m serious
Now would be a good time for one of you to bring me booze and some “Special” brownies.
-Josh
Let’s start at the beginning and move on from there. I know I am well known for airing my massive grievances to the world in general. For the most part I treat these horrible situations as the Earth shattering events they are. I know the fates of multiple dimensions are at stake in these moments and that Giants will eat Babies unless you read my insane missives.
Today we will not be doing that.
Today we are go9ng to be discussing the cavalcade of mundane and for the most part stupid bullshit I’ve had to deal with today. Although to be fair one of the things I will be mentions is far from stupid. So without further adieu let us jump right into the asinine day which has been Josh’s March 3, 2014!
Part 1: Waking Up
Every morning I have to wake up at six in the morning and wake up two very lazy teenagers for school. If both of the said teenagers were capable of staying up this would not be much of a problem. Unfortunately while the boy child is up and moving like a well oiled machine the girl child is another matter all together.
Have I mentioned my middle daughter to all of you before?
I’m sure I’ve entertained you with tales of how much peace and serenity (the number one most irritating phrase my former stepmonster used to use until O wanted to dig my ear drums out with an ice pick) she’s sucked from my life since turning 14.
My daughter is a lazy, whiny, and sarcastic human being. For the second year in a row my daughter has been ordered to appear before a juvenile magistrate for truancy. Now before you get on your high god’s damned horse let me point some shit out to you. First she was 16 the first time she was ordered to do this. Second she is now 17. Third she is woken up every morning and yells, kicks, and screams telling us she’s “Too Sick” to go school when in fact she waits until we go to bed and gets back up to cook, eat, and watch TV.
We refuse to call her in when we don’t give her permission to stay home so she has to serve multiple detentions. Apparently she likes detention because it has never been sufficient motivation for her to get her ass out of the bed. And before you start telling me to take “This” from her and ‘That” from her all I can say is if you don’t think I’ve tried all of that you can go fuck yourself.
Short of breaking the law we’ve tried everything.
If you have a 17 year old girl and she does everything you ask without digging her heels in then Bully for you. You are one lucky fuck and you should be thanking the god I don’t believe in for your good fortune.
So this morning I woke her up and then waited 25 minutes. When She was still planted firmly in the bed I told in the calmest voice I could muster that if she didn’t drag her carcass out from under her covers I was going to dump and entire tumbler of water on her face.
A tumbler I did NOT even have.
What I received for that was several minutes of my beloved daughter yelling a screaming at me.
Oh the joy children bring, I recommend everybody have a dozen.
Needless to say despite a few more hours of rolling and thrashing in bed I never actually got back to sleep. Thus my awesome day started out with a distinct lack of sleep.
Part 2: I Needs My Pills II
After deciding my fight to wrestle the sandman to the ground and make him let me sleep I got up and began my day. Stomping my way down the stairs and grumbled and fussed as I entered the kitchen. I withdrew a can of iced tea from the refrigerator and retrieved my basket of medication from the top cabinet over the coffee maker.
I keep the pills up there so The Bunny can’t get them but I’m pretty sure the little spider monkey may be able to shimmy up the downspouts and conquer the roof. That being said I may need to invest in an Al Gore-like lock box one of these days.
Anyway I pulled the bottle of my diabetes meds out and choked the down. Then I grabbed the massive bottle containing my lithium, opened the “Child Proof” cap, and dumped it in my thick Solomon Grundy paw.
There were no pills to be had.
I’ve spoken at length in the past on my need for my pills. In fact I’ve hammered the point so hard that I am not going to rehash the point. But suffice it to say I was feeling pretty damn jittery and on edge by the time we left the house to first stop at the store and get said pills, and second go to… work.
I did eventually get my pills so at least that was rectified. But not before I was already beginning to stress out. So yeah when the next act of out drama occurred I was already pissy.
Part 3: The Car
We own a 2008 Chevrolet Cobalt. It’s actually my wife’s car but I love the damn thing. It has been the most reliable vehicle I’ve ever owned. However there has been one problem with the automobile.
That would be the loan.
When we bought the car BRAND NEW we were told we could have a 5 or 7 year loan. The difference between the two loans was $20.00 and I was all for the 5 year loan with the slightly higher payments. Unfortunately some person who will go unnamed wanted the lower payments stretched over 2 more years. So while if we’d done it my way the car would have been paid off last June we will still be paying on the fucking thing until June 2015!
On the way to work the car died.
I’m not going to go into the details of what happened because I’m not a car guy. My middle son, who is a car guy, has been looking at it with one of his friends all afternoon and he assures me they can fix it and for a hell of a lot less than what a garage would charge. That is a good thing and I trust the kid, he has an excellent mechanical head on his shoulders.
But now we are carless until he fixes it.
I’d like to kick a hobo!
Part 4: Some People Need to Be Slapped
I got to work with minutes to spare thanks to the arrival of my son. Like I said he’s really a good kid even if I wanted to kill him 10 years ago. Like I said everyone needs a couple of teenagers… wanna buy one cheap?
There is a guy in my department who is a little… unbalanced. Let’s call him Gregory. Gregory thinks he is going to be the one who will take Kelly’s place as the department supervisor. To this end he has been arguing with everyone on first shift and trying to impose his will on them. I’m not sure why they are taking it from him, yeah he’s an ass but I am convinced most of it is an act. Most of his bullshit hasn’t affected me since I am on second shift and everyone else id on first.
That was until today.
When I arrived today I found Gregory had rearranged the Housekeeping Office. It doesn’t matter that he is not the boss. It doesn’t matter that he had no authority to do this. It doesn’t matter that he probably wasted at least an hour of time he could have used on his actual job doing it. And it does not matter that there was nothing wrong with the way it was set up before and that it is actually now much less efficient.
Gregory is a passive aggressive cock sucker who needs to be in charge.
Yes I know it doesn’t actually affect me. I know it shouldn’t bother me. I know this has almost nothing to do with me. But it’s pissing me off! The damn manger, our “Oh So Wise Mountain Gorilla” needs to pick a fucking supervisor!!!
Oh wait, she’s not doing that until mother fucking August!
So that’s been my day. Add to that my right hand which is still giving me shits and fits and I am feeling ever so awesome.
Really
I’m serious
Now would be a good time for one of you to bring me booze and some “Special” brownies.
-Josh
March 2, 2014
You’re the Inspiration: Part 1 – "Early Childhood Toys”
I know that for most writers, or some writers, or a lot of writers, well me anyway inspiration comes from some really weird places. I’ve been thinking a lot about where my ideas come from lately and decided what I needed to do, as always, was work the issues out in public via my essays.
Yes, I’m still trying to kill the vile word BLOG!
So the first thing I did to prepare for this journey was strip naked and lie upon the bed. What? I always tend to think better when my body isn’t restricted by the restraint of clothing. Don’t tell me you freaks don’t have little quirks that allow you to function better. Anyway I was naked, in bed, and cuddling with my body pillow.
Deal with it boils and ghouls.
So I was trying to decide where my first inspirations came from and I’d nearly settle on television as my initial source of inspiration, which I have to admit would have been a little heartbreaking, when I struck upon a very old but powerful memory
Late 1970’s Early1980’s Fisher Price Action Figures!
I have zero memory of receiving them. I only know they were in my football shaped toy box, anyone who knows me can see how funny that is, before I started school and before my unnamed brother was born. That means at the most I was 4 years old.
I know I had three distinct sets of figures. I’m not sure if they all came in complete sets with accompanying vehicles and brick-a-brack. Knowing my parents I’d say they were bought in compete sets.
I had the space set, this one was my favorite. It came with a shuttle and several astronauts. This was amazing. It may have been one of the most durable toys I ever owned as well. The figure were robust and in various space uniforms. The shuttle had a series of wicked sound effects and lights that worked until one too many trips into the bathtub. That was when I learned the difference between “Water Proof” and “Water Resistant” to my chagrin.
I Had the Wilderness Patrol Set. This was my least favorite… except for the plane I used it as the enemy craft the fight the space shuttle which for some reason had laser cannons. The set continued three vehicles a pontoon boat, a Jeepish thing, and a bush plane. Along with the improbable vehicles there were three action figures an airplane pilot, a boat pilot, and a trucker hat wearing driver for the “Jeepish” vehicle. There was one very odd thing about the Patrol set. For some damn reason Lassie was a part of the team. I’m not sure if that was because Timmy was a member of the patrol of if the Trucker Cap Redneck stole her from the farm but yeah… the damn set came with Lassie.
The final set I had was the weirdest. And by weirdest I don’t mean it was a serial killer set of the prison play set. In fact this was actually on the surface one of the most normal sets… until you stop and think about it. This was the camping set. It came with a bright orange Jeep, a silver canoe, a tent, and two male action figures. They were two very manly male action figures. Two very bromance related action figures. Two action figures I could imagine catching in a Brokeback Mountain moment together. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I mean hell maybe back in the day Fisher Price was attempting to prep us for homosexuals in the world of entertainment.
So yeah, there was that.
These sets were the first things I can remember using to create in a directed way. I’m sure I drew things before I knew how to write but I don’t actually remember any of those efforts and nobody ca clarify it for me. I know I made complicated stories (or complicated for a four year old) with these toys. For the life of me I don’t remember these narratives and I think we are all probably better off not knowing what I did with them. Although I’m sure none of the action figures fucked one another… but Lassie probably killed someone.
Because even in 1980 that was how Josh rolled!
The next toy which served as major inspiration for pre literate Josh was something called “Tub Town.” This toy didn’t actually belong to me but instead to my unnamed brother. Tub town was a two level harbor city play set in the spirit of Play Mobil toys. If I were more of an asshole than I really am I would say the makers of Tub Town ripped off Play Mobil. It suctioned cupped the side of the tub. It came with a small boat, four action figures, life preservers, and two buoy barrels.
What I did with Tub Town should have been a warning sign to the adults in my life.
My favorite thing to do with Tub Town was to first build up a good bubble bath. Hey don’t you fucking judge me I still love bubble baths the suds around my twig and berries is so relaxing. It’s like a Pixie Hand Job. Next I would arrange all of the Tub Town accessories on the play set. I would do voices for them and have them interact like it was a normal sunny day and they were going about their lives.
I like to think if I was a force of nature I’d be a tsunami.
The destruction of Tub Town came in waves of sudsy water. Each wave was stronger than the one before and I did the screaming voices of the citizens of Tub Town as they were ripped from their homes in terror and consigned to the depths of my soapy and most likely urine tinged bath water.
These were the toys which began the embers of my imagination glowing hot. I still have nothing but amazing memories of them and I wish I still had them. I looked into picking some of them up on eBay and HOLY SHIT my childhood would be expensive to rebuild. But fuck I really want the Space Shuttle and Lassie… and maybe the gay campers.
Next time I move on to the toys I loved and used my imagination on between the years encompassing 5 – 12. So until them I encourage you to take your possibly gay toys into the tub and drown them in the waves of soapy urine saturated water.
-Josh
Yes, I’m still trying to kill the vile word BLOG!
So the first thing I did to prepare for this journey was strip naked and lie upon the bed. What? I always tend to think better when my body isn’t restricted by the restraint of clothing. Don’t tell me you freaks don’t have little quirks that allow you to function better. Anyway I was naked, in bed, and cuddling with my body pillow.
Deal with it boils and ghouls.
So I was trying to decide where my first inspirations came from and I’d nearly settle on television as my initial source of inspiration, which I have to admit would have been a little heartbreaking, when I struck upon a very old but powerful memory
Late 1970’s Early1980’s Fisher Price Action Figures!
I have zero memory of receiving them. I only know they were in my football shaped toy box, anyone who knows me can see how funny that is, before I started school and before my unnamed brother was born. That means at the most I was 4 years old.
I know I had three distinct sets of figures. I’m not sure if they all came in complete sets with accompanying vehicles and brick-a-brack. Knowing my parents I’d say they were bought in compete sets.
I had the space set, this one was my favorite. It came with a shuttle and several astronauts. This was amazing. It may have been one of the most durable toys I ever owned as well. The figure were robust and in various space uniforms. The shuttle had a series of wicked sound effects and lights that worked until one too many trips into the bathtub. That was when I learned the difference between “Water Proof” and “Water Resistant” to my chagrin.
I Had the Wilderness Patrol Set. This was my least favorite… except for the plane I used it as the enemy craft the fight the space shuttle which for some reason had laser cannons. The set continued three vehicles a pontoon boat, a Jeepish thing, and a bush plane. Along with the improbable vehicles there were three action figures an airplane pilot, a boat pilot, and a trucker hat wearing driver for the “Jeepish” vehicle. There was one very odd thing about the Patrol set. For some damn reason Lassie was a part of the team. I’m not sure if that was because Timmy was a member of the patrol of if the Trucker Cap Redneck stole her from the farm but yeah… the damn set came with Lassie.
The final set I had was the weirdest. And by weirdest I don’t mean it was a serial killer set of the prison play set. In fact this was actually on the surface one of the most normal sets… until you stop and think about it. This was the camping set. It came with a bright orange Jeep, a silver canoe, a tent, and two male action figures. They were two very manly male action figures. Two very bromance related action figures. Two action figures I could imagine catching in a Brokeback Mountain moment together. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I mean hell maybe back in the day Fisher Price was attempting to prep us for homosexuals in the world of entertainment.
So yeah, there was that.
These sets were the first things I can remember using to create in a directed way. I’m sure I drew things before I knew how to write but I don’t actually remember any of those efforts and nobody ca clarify it for me. I know I made complicated stories (or complicated for a four year old) with these toys. For the life of me I don’t remember these narratives and I think we are all probably better off not knowing what I did with them. Although I’m sure none of the action figures fucked one another… but Lassie probably killed someone.
Because even in 1980 that was how Josh rolled!
The next toy which served as major inspiration for pre literate Josh was something called “Tub Town.” This toy didn’t actually belong to me but instead to my unnamed brother. Tub town was a two level harbor city play set in the spirit of Play Mobil toys. If I were more of an asshole than I really am I would say the makers of Tub Town ripped off Play Mobil. It suctioned cupped the side of the tub. It came with a small boat, four action figures, life preservers, and two buoy barrels.
What I did with Tub Town should have been a warning sign to the adults in my life.
My favorite thing to do with Tub Town was to first build up a good bubble bath. Hey don’t you fucking judge me I still love bubble baths the suds around my twig and berries is so relaxing. It’s like a Pixie Hand Job. Next I would arrange all of the Tub Town accessories on the play set. I would do voices for them and have them interact like it was a normal sunny day and they were going about their lives.
I like to think if I was a force of nature I’d be a tsunami.
The destruction of Tub Town came in waves of sudsy water. Each wave was stronger than the one before and I did the screaming voices of the citizens of Tub Town as they were ripped from their homes in terror and consigned to the depths of my soapy and most likely urine tinged bath water.
These were the toys which began the embers of my imagination glowing hot. I still have nothing but amazing memories of them and I wish I still had them. I looked into picking some of them up on eBay and HOLY SHIT my childhood would be expensive to rebuild. But fuck I really want the Space Shuttle and Lassie… and maybe the gay campers.
Next time I move on to the toys I loved and used my imagination on between the years encompassing 5 – 12. So until them I encourage you to take your possibly gay toys into the tub and drown them in the waves of soapy urine saturated water.
-Josh
February 21, 2014
“You Spin Me Right Round Baby…”
At some point I am going to learn to accept I have no control over anything other than the worlds I create in my stories. I am feeling very uncomfortable with some things going on in my life. I don’t mean to imply things are bad or that I am expecting doom and gloom. What I am driving at is I hate it when my tight little world is disrupted and I am forced to adapt to it as opposed it adapting to me.
So Josh, what the fuck has crawled up your butt this time?
Don’t be a smartass, you know I’m going to tell you whether you want to know or not. I am nothing if not consistent in my bitching and whining. But really isn’t that why you people love me… or at least loathe me?
The number one bee in my bonnet is work.
No not the real job, the writing job, the job that actually means something to me. Writing is actually going pretty well. Not only am I cranking my short stories like a machine I’ve jumped feet first into a new novel. It is a lovely little tale entitled “Frankenstein, King of the Dead” and unless you are confused I am writing it so I can have Frankie smashing zombies!
No what I am pissed about is the day job, the boring job, the job I do because I have to as opposed to wanting to. I know you are all tired hearing/reading about my work woes and all I have to sat to that is this… ahem,
“I am not making you read this!”
Sorry, didn’t mean to yell but I think that needed to be said. I may bitch, whine, and moan about everything and anything I admit that. But you people need to take responsibility for being voyeuristic and enjoying my trials and tribulations. Admit it. I’m not judging you for liking my misery. It’s all good. I mean you aren’t the one causing my pain. You aren’t secretly hoping with every essay that I will learn I am the child of gypsies, just like my mother always told me, and that my gypsy parents have returned to inform me I was promised as a third wife to a rich Turkish merchant.
You aren’t hoping for that are you?
Do you promise?
Okay, on to the day job (at night) and what I am pissed about this time. Kelly, my former supervisor and friend, was one of the most organized people I’ve ever worked for. No fuck that noise she was THE most organized person I’d ever worked for. Her office was filled with message boards loaded with important information, filing cabinets containing the necessary paperwork and files for the departments operation, and binder upon binder or relevant papers. Despite the way it sounds her office was well organized and didn’t feel cluttered. Now the office where I take my breaks and do the bulk of my writing looks like cold shell of what it once was.
I expected the bitch manager, our “oh so wise mountain gorilla”, to change things. What I didn’t expect was the way my coworker joined her in this bullshit.
I have a coworker, let’s call him Alan, and he is at his core a good guy. But he is also kinda fucked up. Alan is an admitted unmedicated obsessive compulsive and obvious alcoholic. He comes to work reeking of the booze he consumed the night before and he spends the day shaking, checking door knobs, and making sure water facets are turned off. I am not being a shithead and I really like Alan but god’s damnit he knows all of this and refuses to attempt to make any changes. It’s his choice and he is still one of the hardest workers I’ve ever met, but damn is he irritating sometimes. For five years I’ve been able to laugh at his eccentricities and get along well with him.
Now I’m pissed at him.
I get that Alan is mad at Kelly for quitting. He hasn’t said that but I can tell he’s not happy. That being said I thought they were friends. Kelly spent the five years she was the supervisor protecting Alan and bending over backwards to make sure he had a more comfortable work environment. She has put up with more of Alan’s crap (he bitched about her having live plants because they belong outside, he bitched about the way she wanted the inventory done every two weeks, and she allowed his to use large segments of HER office as a storage area for his shit) than everyone else put together.
So guess what he’s spent the last week and half doing?
Go ahead and guess… I bet you can figure it out but I’m gonna bitch anyway.
He has gleefully sided with the bitch manager, whom he has spent the entire time I’ve known him damning as an incompetent busybody. They have thrown away all of the carefully organized paperwork and files, not even bothering to check and see if they would be useful or not. Alan has started doing the inventory the way he wants, I looked at it when he proudly showed it to me declaring that was the way it should be done and Kelly’s way made no fucking sense.
Wow… maybe an autistic genius can understand his system… maybe.
Alan has also moved even more of his things into her office. So really the empty spaces left after his purge are getting filled. The only thing he wasn’t able to do was deal with her plants. Kelly took all of her pants home with her and when she did Alan actually bitched about not being able to take them outside where they belong. I am not sure what he thought he was going to do with them considering its FUCKING WINTER!
I get that I am bitching about nothing. I get that it’s not my office, it’s not my job (and boils and ghouls they can’t pay me enough to take it either), and it really doesn’t affect me on any significant level. Yet still I am seriously pissed off. Kelly earned loyalty from the people under her. She treated them well and had their backs. She deserves better than for the person she was there for the most to gleefully remove every indication that she ever lived.
Kelly deserves better than this.
Alan should be ashamed of himself.
And the “Oh so wise mountain gorilla” needs to piss off.
This job isn’t fun anymore.
-Josh
So Josh, what the fuck has crawled up your butt this time?
Don’t be a smartass, you know I’m going to tell you whether you want to know or not. I am nothing if not consistent in my bitching and whining. But really isn’t that why you people love me… or at least loathe me?
The number one bee in my bonnet is work.
No not the real job, the writing job, the job that actually means something to me. Writing is actually going pretty well. Not only am I cranking my short stories like a machine I’ve jumped feet first into a new novel. It is a lovely little tale entitled “Frankenstein, King of the Dead” and unless you are confused I am writing it so I can have Frankie smashing zombies!
No what I am pissed about is the day job, the boring job, the job I do because I have to as opposed to wanting to. I know you are all tired hearing/reading about my work woes and all I have to sat to that is this… ahem,
“I am not making you read this!”
Sorry, didn’t mean to yell but I think that needed to be said. I may bitch, whine, and moan about everything and anything I admit that. But you people need to take responsibility for being voyeuristic and enjoying my trials and tribulations. Admit it. I’m not judging you for liking my misery. It’s all good. I mean you aren’t the one causing my pain. You aren’t secretly hoping with every essay that I will learn I am the child of gypsies, just like my mother always told me, and that my gypsy parents have returned to inform me I was promised as a third wife to a rich Turkish merchant.
You aren’t hoping for that are you?
Do you promise?
Okay, on to the day job (at night) and what I am pissed about this time. Kelly, my former supervisor and friend, was one of the most organized people I’ve ever worked for. No fuck that noise she was THE most organized person I’d ever worked for. Her office was filled with message boards loaded with important information, filing cabinets containing the necessary paperwork and files for the departments operation, and binder upon binder or relevant papers. Despite the way it sounds her office was well organized and didn’t feel cluttered. Now the office where I take my breaks and do the bulk of my writing looks like cold shell of what it once was.
I expected the bitch manager, our “oh so wise mountain gorilla”, to change things. What I didn’t expect was the way my coworker joined her in this bullshit.
I have a coworker, let’s call him Alan, and he is at his core a good guy. But he is also kinda fucked up. Alan is an admitted unmedicated obsessive compulsive and obvious alcoholic. He comes to work reeking of the booze he consumed the night before and he spends the day shaking, checking door knobs, and making sure water facets are turned off. I am not being a shithead and I really like Alan but god’s damnit he knows all of this and refuses to attempt to make any changes. It’s his choice and he is still one of the hardest workers I’ve ever met, but damn is he irritating sometimes. For five years I’ve been able to laugh at his eccentricities and get along well with him.
Now I’m pissed at him.
I get that Alan is mad at Kelly for quitting. He hasn’t said that but I can tell he’s not happy. That being said I thought they were friends. Kelly spent the five years she was the supervisor protecting Alan and bending over backwards to make sure he had a more comfortable work environment. She has put up with more of Alan’s crap (he bitched about her having live plants because they belong outside, he bitched about the way she wanted the inventory done every two weeks, and she allowed his to use large segments of HER office as a storage area for his shit) than everyone else put together.
So guess what he’s spent the last week and half doing?
Go ahead and guess… I bet you can figure it out but I’m gonna bitch anyway.
He has gleefully sided with the bitch manager, whom he has spent the entire time I’ve known him damning as an incompetent busybody. They have thrown away all of the carefully organized paperwork and files, not even bothering to check and see if they would be useful or not. Alan has started doing the inventory the way he wants, I looked at it when he proudly showed it to me declaring that was the way it should be done and Kelly’s way made no fucking sense.
Wow… maybe an autistic genius can understand his system… maybe.
Alan has also moved even more of his things into her office. So really the empty spaces left after his purge are getting filled. The only thing he wasn’t able to do was deal with her plants. Kelly took all of her pants home with her and when she did Alan actually bitched about not being able to take them outside where they belong. I am not sure what he thought he was going to do with them considering its FUCKING WINTER!
I get that I am bitching about nothing. I get that it’s not my office, it’s not my job (and boils and ghouls they can’t pay me enough to take it either), and it really doesn’t affect me on any significant level. Yet still I am seriously pissed off. Kelly earned loyalty from the people under her. She treated them well and had their backs. She deserves better than for the person she was there for the most to gleefully remove every indication that she ever lived.
Kelly deserves better than this.
Alan should be ashamed of himself.
And the “Oh so wise mountain gorilla” needs to piss off.
This job isn’t fun anymore.
-Josh
February 15, 2014
“Screw The BMV!”
I wrote a truncated and much less coherent version o of this essay on my personal Facebook page today in hopes it would make me feel better. Unfortunately all it did was serving to angry up my blood and make me feel very stabby! Even now as I am attempting to expand upon and clarify my feelings all I can think about is the machete in my basement and how close to the sources of much of my anger my home is…
Okay, I suppose you need to know what happened to cause me such irritation. I mean there must be a reasonable explanation for why I feel like going all “Michael Meyers” on vast segments of humanity. I mean it must have been something insanely bad to have pushed me to thoughts of honor killing and jihads.
I went to the State of Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles (BMV) today.
Wait… where are you going?
Sit your ass back down and listen to me. And stop all of that laughing. I HAVE A DAMN POINT TO MAKE!
Okay, sorry I yelled. It’s been a really bad week. Please see my last journal essay for an explanation. None of what I talked about in that bit of self pity is germane to what happened today but it did serve to have me in an already hair trigger state.
Alright enough build up, let’s break this bitch down!
Let's see if I have all this crazy crap straight. No bisexual jokes please because there will be zero pretty boys in this one. One day I will breakdown just what I find uber sexy in men and women but this is NOT the day for that. This is about serious shit. Serious shit created by my own tendency to procrastinate and put off tasks not directly in my road, but serious shit nonetheless.
My driver’s license expired on August 3, 2013 my 37th birthday (37 NOOCH!). On my actual birthday I had no running car so I forgot about getting it renewed. I fully cop to that being my fault and take 100% blame, well 98% of the blame because as we all know there is no such thing as a hundred percent (10 Josh Points if you get that reference).
It shouldn’t have been a real pain in the ass. But apparently after February 3, 2014 I was no longer allowed to get it renewed without the assumption that I've never had a license. In fact I've had one for more than 21 years. In that time I've received ONE ticket and ZERO points. But because I am 12 days after the final date I have to pay, and pay hard. Or as one of my “BookFace Friends” said maybe the BMV is taking extreme punitive measures because they “Know” I’ve been driving on an expired license but because I am a good driver I’ve never been pulled over so the police could hammer me.
And how am I being punished?
Oh friends you’d best sit back because this one makes the “Brain Baby” kick hard (10 more Josh Points if you get that reference). There are three needlessly irritating and complicated steps to regain my driver’s license and no longer be on par with Taxi Driver Hitler.
Do you think Taxi Driver Hitler would only drive a white cab?
1) The first step I have to take is I have to call and make an appointment to take a written exam (which I need to pay for). The days I can take this test are limited and the locations are few, they are also not in the same building where I can take a road test or actually get my driver’s license. After I have passed the easy test (when I say easy I mean Sloth could pass this thing with no help from Chunk) and given them a substantial quantity of cash (can you guess which one they actually care about at the good old BMV) I move onto the next step.
2) First I have to once again call and make an appointment to take a driving test. This test is NOT in the same place where I have to take the written test and is also only available on limited days. Once again I will need to pay to take this test. So these people get a second infusion of my cash on this road of state sanctioned extortion.
3) After I’ve passed the 2 tests, and let’s not forget PAID for them I then have to go to another location. At this location, thankfully only a mile from my home, I will then be forced to repeat most of what I did today. But at least this place is only closed on Sundays and Holidays so no limited time frame bullshit. After I wait in the line I will turn over my documents, be interrogated by the mutant child of Mrs. Garret and Mr. Haney, be forced to look at stupid lights, and then pay a hefty fee to get a card every American NEEDS to function in this fucking country!
Deep cleansing breath… calm blue ocean.
Look before you start yelling at me that I was a moron for not already renewing my license during the allowed period let me save you the effort. I already know this. My wife has told me repeatedly that I was going to regret putting it off. My friend and former boss Kelly has been on my ass for months to just fucking do it. So yeah I once again I take all the blame for allowing the damn piece of plastic to “Expire” hence reducing me to same status of terrorist and failed shoe bomber.
I get that I fucked up and if there was a substantial penalty fee for renewing my license I would be 100% fine with it. But in more than 21 years I’ve never had my license revoked, it just lapsed!
But none of that matters because now the State of Ohio is raping me for all of the money they can get. In case you didn’t get it I am of the firm opinion that this is a bunch of bullshit.
The car is insured and plated.
I have ZERO POINTS on my license.
I am 37 with a nearly perfect driving record.
This nothing more than so much government bullshit!
-Josh
Okay, I suppose you need to know what happened to cause me such irritation. I mean there must be a reasonable explanation for why I feel like going all “Michael Meyers” on vast segments of humanity. I mean it must have been something insanely bad to have pushed me to thoughts of honor killing and jihads.
I went to the State of Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles (BMV) today.
Wait… where are you going?
Sit your ass back down and listen to me. And stop all of that laughing. I HAVE A DAMN POINT TO MAKE!
Okay, sorry I yelled. It’s been a really bad week. Please see my last journal essay for an explanation. None of what I talked about in that bit of self pity is germane to what happened today but it did serve to have me in an already hair trigger state.
Alright enough build up, let’s break this bitch down!
Let's see if I have all this crazy crap straight. No bisexual jokes please because there will be zero pretty boys in this one. One day I will breakdown just what I find uber sexy in men and women but this is NOT the day for that. This is about serious shit. Serious shit created by my own tendency to procrastinate and put off tasks not directly in my road, but serious shit nonetheless.
My driver’s license expired on August 3, 2013 my 37th birthday (37 NOOCH!). On my actual birthday I had no running car so I forgot about getting it renewed. I fully cop to that being my fault and take 100% blame, well 98% of the blame because as we all know there is no such thing as a hundred percent (10 Josh Points if you get that reference).
It shouldn’t have been a real pain in the ass. But apparently after February 3, 2014 I was no longer allowed to get it renewed without the assumption that I've never had a license. In fact I've had one for more than 21 years. In that time I've received ONE ticket and ZERO points. But because I am 12 days after the final date I have to pay, and pay hard. Or as one of my “BookFace Friends” said maybe the BMV is taking extreme punitive measures because they “Know” I’ve been driving on an expired license but because I am a good driver I’ve never been pulled over so the police could hammer me.
And how am I being punished?
Oh friends you’d best sit back because this one makes the “Brain Baby” kick hard (10 more Josh Points if you get that reference). There are three needlessly irritating and complicated steps to regain my driver’s license and no longer be on par with Taxi Driver Hitler.
Do you think Taxi Driver Hitler would only drive a white cab?
1) The first step I have to take is I have to call and make an appointment to take a written exam (which I need to pay for). The days I can take this test are limited and the locations are few, they are also not in the same building where I can take a road test or actually get my driver’s license. After I have passed the easy test (when I say easy I mean Sloth could pass this thing with no help from Chunk) and given them a substantial quantity of cash (can you guess which one they actually care about at the good old BMV) I move onto the next step.
2) First I have to once again call and make an appointment to take a driving test. This test is NOT in the same place where I have to take the written test and is also only available on limited days. Once again I will need to pay to take this test. So these people get a second infusion of my cash on this road of state sanctioned extortion.
3) After I’ve passed the 2 tests, and let’s not forget PAID for them I then have to go to another location. At this location, thankfully only a mile from my home, I will then be forced to repeat most of what I did today. But at least this place is only closed on Sundays and Holidays so no limited time frame bullshit. After I wait in the line I will turn over my documents, be interrogated by the mutant child of Mrs. Garret and Mr. Haney, be forced to look at stupid lights, and then pay a hefty fee to get a card every American NEEDS to function in this fucking country!
Deep cleansing breath… calm blue ocean.
Look before you start yelling at me that I was a moron for not already renewing my license during the allowed period let me save you the effort. I already know this. My wife has told me repeatedly that I was going to regret putting it off. My friend and former boss Kelly has been on my ass for months to just fucking do it. So yeah I once again I take all the blame for allowing the damn piece of plastic to “Expire” hence reducing me to same status of terrorist and failed shoe bomber.
I get that I fucked up and if there was a substantial penalty fee for renewing my license I would be 100% fine with it. But in more than 21 years I’ve never had my license revoked, it just lapsed!
But none of that matters because now the State of Ohio is raping me for all of the money they can get. In case you didn’t get it I am of the firm opinion that this is a bunch of bullshit.
The car is insured and plated.
I have ZERO POINTS on my license.
I am 37 with a nearly perfect driving record.
This nothing more than so much government bullshit!
-Josh
February 14, 2014
“A little Bit Personal, A Little Bit Professional”
We will be returning to my soul searing examination of my flaws and deficiencies in our next little cyber rally. Today I have some other issues which I need to address. Some of these issues are bad and some are good, but in typical Josh style even the good ones have some bad connotations.
I mean would it be me writing this if it was all sunshine and puppy dogs?
So, two major things happened in my life this week. Both of them are potential game changers and one of them was a definite heart breaker. Also I’m been fighting the cold demon “Phlemlor” all week. He is a wily and sticky opponent but I’ve managed to keep him at bay long enough to do a little writing and feel bad for myself.
Again, this is Josh.
Alright bitches, moving on.
The first thing that happened was the worst and also the heartbreaking one. I’ve worked here at the day job (at night) for going on 5 years if you forget about the four month vacation I took back in 2011. Except the first 10 months after my “Time in Tahiti” my supervisor has been one person, Kelly.
On Tuesday February 11, 2014 Kelly quit her job.
Her reasons, although known to me, are not mine to share. Suffice it to say it was necessary and not a decision she made lightly. Kelly is/was the single best Boss I’ve ever had. In fact she is the only person I’ve used the term “Boss” about and not meant it as a backhanded compliment. She knew how to handle people, she knew how to juggle chaos, and she knew how to wrangle a department manager who has no concept what her employees actually do and assumes we are all out to lie to her and fuck her over.
Kelly kept us sane.
Kelly was/is my friend.
Now she is gone and I have no idea what I am going to do. Our “Manager” has decided she is going to directly run our department for a few months (she has three other departments one of which she also has decided to run directly after the supervisor was promoted). This has already lead to a slowdown in productivity as she monkeys with an operation which didn’t need any fine tuning. Add to that the feeding frenzy amongst employees who have begun kissing her ass because they want the supervisor’s position and it’s fair to say that if I didn’t work by myself in the afternoons I’d have to cut a bitch, maybe two or three bitches just to be safe.
Just to be clear I DO NOT WANT THE JOB.
Was that clear enough?
I fear I may be forced into throwing my hat in the ring. There I one person in our entire sprawling department I’d be comfortable having as my supervisor and she is vacillating on whether or not she’d be willing to do it. On the other the one person I would NOT want as my “Boss” in fact the single worst candidate I could possibly imagine has been campaigning hard for the job and subtly, or not so subtly, intimidating people who may want the position. He’s kinda crazy and he’s a bully. I don’t want to be forced to butt heads with the thick browed jackass just to keep my sanity.
Did I mention my writing space?
Yeah work is my writing space.
Over the last 5 years 85% of all my writing has been done in my Bosses office. Kelly never cared that I wrote in her office and that I MAY have taken extra time to write when I should have been working. A lot of that might be because I NEVER ONCE neglected my responsibilities for my passions. Also I think she got a thrill whenever I presented her with a paperback book written in her office.
When I was on my four month vacation I wrote almost nothing. A lot of that had to do with my depression and personal struggles but it was also because I’d lost my work space. I am not a particularly superstitions person but I do believe it is easier for me to write in some places than in others and the single best place for writing I’ve ever found is Kelly’s office/former office.
As the department manager makes changes to the office and makes it her own the energy seems to be leaving. Of I’m not overreacting and saying I soon won’t be able to write anymore. I’ve honed my craft over the years and I can crank words at a good clip in the dentist’s office with a bunch of hyper kids running around. But some of the magic has left my sphere and I think I will need to find a new “perfect place” to create.
That being said I’m going to start scamming as much time at the day job for my writing as possible. Kinda hard to work above and beyond for someone I can’t respect let alone tolerate for more than a few minutes. Still I’ll do my job, I always have, and I always will.
Until I start making enough money writing and I decide to leave.
Now for the better news, because damn writing all of that kinda pissed me off.
It is official, as I look at my bank statement this minute, I will be exhibiting at Gen Con 2014 in Indianapolis Indiana this August. It will be four days of shaking hands and trying to convince my fellow geeks and nerds to buy my books. I have dreamed of doing this for a long time. In 2008 I worked Gen Con as an employee/Freelancer for Palladium Books and aside from dealing with someone’s psycho management style it was a fucking blast!
The last two years I’ve attended as a patron and soaked it in. It was great and I had a wonderful time but I did it while being jealous at all of the indie publishers and writers who were schmoozing, networking, and meeting their fans.
So I took the plunge. I pestered the Gen Con planners for details. I was ready like a lynx on the day table applications opened up. And when the page changed from closed to open I pounced on that motherfucker and mauled it like an abusive zookeeper.
Yesterday I got my confirmation.
Today they took my money.
Now it’s real… and I am sweating bullets.
I need money. I know it sounds obvious but I need quite a bit of money. If I want to do this right and maybe make a little money at the convention I need three things I’ve never needed before.
1) I need a banner, some signage, and a table skirt. I want to look as professional as possible and have an attractive table that draws people over. I’ve been pricing these things and for decent quality it can be pretty pricey. I am not looking to put on a show and make my table look like a killed a clown and strewn its pieces wily nily around the convention floor but I’d like to at least look like I know what the fuck I am doing.
2) I need to rent a van. In order to transport the books and swag I will be selling and the stuff for the table I need transport for a total of 6 days and 5 nights.
3) I need stuff! I have to order prints of all of the books I am planning to sell. I need to order the swag I intend to give away. This stuff is NOT cheap even in bulk it’s still going to cost.
So to sum it up, I think this is the single best opportunity I’ve had in my writing career. I am about to have exposure to more than 40,000 potential readers not mention an opportunity to network with other writers and publishers. I am considering do a crowd funding campaign in order to raise the capital to finance the trip.
Ugh
I said I’d never do that again. I “Kick Started” the beginning of my business and I don’t regret it but I think I’ve done well reinvesting the profits and building my brand but I’ve been afraid of taking in money that should go to someone else who’s just trying to start their dream. That being said I will be announcing the new crowd funding campaign this weekend.
Okay, that’s it. It’s Valentine’s day so go get laid or something.
-Josh
I mean would it be me writing this if it was all sunshine and puppy dogs?
So, two major things happened in my life this week. Both of them are potential game changers and one of them was a definite heart breaker. Also I’m been fighting the cold demon “Phlemlor” all week. He is a wily and sticky opponent but I’ve managed to keep him at bay long enough to do a little writing and feel bad for myself.
Again, this is Josh.
Alright bitches, moving on.
The first thing that happened was the worst and also the heartbreaking one. I’ve worked here at the day job (at night) for going on 5 years if you forget about the four month vacation I took back in 2011. Except the first 10 months after my “Time in Tahiti” my supervisor has been one person, Kelly.
On Tuesday February 11, 2014 Kelly quit her job.
Her reasons, although known to me, are not mine to share. Suffice it to say it was necessary and not a decision she made lightly. Kelly is/was the single best Boss I’ve ever had. In fact she is the only person I’ve used the term “Boss” about and not meant it as a backhanded compliment. She knew how to handle people, she knew how to juggle chaos, and she knew how to wrangle a department manager who has no concept what her employees actually do and assumes we are all out to lie to her and fuck her over.
Kelly kept us sane.
Kelly was/is my friend.
Now she is gone and I have no idea what I am going to do. Our “Manager” has decided she is going to directly run our department for a few months (she has three other departments one of which she also has decided to run directly after the supervisor was promoted). This has already lead to a slowdown in productivity as she monkeys with an operation which didn’t need any fine tuning. Add to that the feeding frenzy amongst employees who have begun kissing her ass because they want the supervisor’s position and it’s fair to say that if I didn’t work by myself in the afternoons I’d have to cut a bitch, maybe two or three bitches just to be safe.
Just to be clear I DO NOT WANT THE JOB.
Was that clear enough?
I fear I may be forced into throwing my hat in the ring. There I one person in our entire sprawling department I’d be comfortable having as my supervisor and she is vacillating on whether or not she’d be willing to do it. On the other the one person I would NOT want as my “Boss” in fact the single worst candidate I could possibly imagine has been campaigning hard for the job and subtly, or not so subtly, intimidating people who may want the position. He’s kinda crazy and he’s a bully. I don’t want to be forced to butt heads with the thick browed jackass just to keep my sanity.
Did I mention my writing space?
Yeah work is my writing space.
Over the last 5 years 85% of all my writing has been done in my Bosses office. Kelly never cared that I wrote in her office and that I MAY have taken extra time to write when I should have been working. A lot of that might be because I NEVER ONCE neglected my responsibilities for my passions. Also I think she got a thrill whenever I presented her with a paperback book written in her office.
When I was on my four month vacation I wrote almost nothing. A lot of that had to do with my depression and personal struggles but it was also because I’d lost my work space. I am not a particularly superstitions person but I do believe it is easier for me to write in some places than in others and the single best place for writing I’ve ever found is Kelly’s office/former office.
As the department manager makes changes to the office and makes it her own the energy seems to be leaving. Of I’m not overreacting and saying I soon won’t be able to write anymore. I’ve honed my craft over the years and I can crank words at a good clip in the dentist’s office with a bunch of hyper kids running around. But some of the magic has left my sphere and I think I will need to find a new “perfect place” to create.
That being said I’m going to start scamming as much time at the day job for my writing as possible. Kinda hard to work above and beyond for someone I can’t respect let alone tolerate for more than a few minutes. Still I’ll do my job, I always have, and I always will.
Until I start making enough money writing and I decide to leave.
Now for the better news, because damn writing all of that kinda pissed me off.
It is official, as I look at my bank statement this minute, I will be exhibiting at Gen Con 2014 in Indianapolis Indiana this August. It will be four days of shaking hands and trying to convince my fellow geeks and nerds to buy my books. I have dreamed of doing this for a long time. In 2008 I worked Gen Con as an employee/Freelancer for Palladium Books and aside from dealing with someone’s psycho management style it was a fucking blast!
The last two years I’ve attended as a patron and soaked it in. It was great and I had a wonderful time but I did it while being jealous at all of the indie publishers and writers who were schmoozing, networking, and meeting their fans.
So I took the plunge. I pestered the Gen Con planners for details. I was ready like a lynx on the day table applications opened up. And when the page changed from closed to open I pounced on that motherfucker and mauled it like an abusive zookeeper.
Yesterday I got my confirmation.
Today they took my money.
Now it’s real… and I am sweating bullets.
I need money. I know it sounds obvious but I need quite a bit of money. If I want to do this right and maybe make a little money at the convention I need three things I’ve never needed before.
1) I need a banner, some signage, and a table skirt. I want to look as professional as possible and have an attractive table that draws people over. I’ve been pricing these things and for decent quality it can be pretty pricey. I am not looking to put on a show and make my table look like a killed a clown and strewn its pieces wily nily around the convention floor but I’d like to at least look like I know what the fuck I am doing.
2) I need to rent a van. In order to transport the books and swag I will be selling and the stuff for the table I need transport for a total of 6 days and 5 nights.
3) I need stuff! I have to order prints of all of the books I am planning to sell. I need to order the swag I intend to give away. This stuff is NOT cheap even in bulk it’s still going to cost.
So to sum it up, I think this is the single best opportunity I’ve had in my writing career. I am about to have exposure to more than 40,000 potential readers not mention an opportunity to network with other writers and publishers. I am considering do a crowd funding campaign in order to raise the capital to finance the trip.
Ugh
I said I’d never do that again. I “Kick Started” the beginning of my business and I don’t regret it but I think I’ve done well reinvesting the profits and building my brand but I’ve been afraid of taking in money that should go to someone else who’s just trying to start their dream. That being said I will be announcing the new crowd funding campaign this weekend.
Okay, that’s it. It’s Valentine’s day so go get laid or something.
-Josh
February 7, 2014
Josh, Flaws and All, Part 5: “Being Greedy Is Bad … and Selfish Isn’t Much Better”
I had to take a break after the last essay. It was due to a combination of stress, exhaustion, and a creeping sickness. More the sickness than anything else, seriously there is plague savaging the Miami Valley and it feels like we are living in the opening of “The Stand” sans the body pits. But I m feeling better, not good mind you but better, so I’ve decided to dive back into this subseries of essays before I puss out.
Last time we talked about how stubborn I can be and how that is not always a bad thing. Today we will be discussing greed and selfishness and how my attempts to NOT be greedy and selfish have fucked me over a couple of times. And yet I would rather fight against my generally greedy/selfish nature as opposed to seizing everything I desire and fuck everyone else.
All of that being said never fear, as you are about to learn, I am at my core a greedy/selfish fuck.
I’ve always wanted the last piece of pie, the extra burger on the grill, the final can of coke in the fridge, and to be the person to choose what we watch on the television. I have perpetually wanted what I wanted and to hell with what anyone else wanted. I’m not proud of this and in point of order I am extremely ashamed of it. As far as I am concerned I am a thief because of this dark streak.
Read on and see if you disagree.
The first really selfish greedy thing I can remember doing had to do with the bag of pennies. We were living with my Pseudo Step Father Steve in Saline on his farm, do we all remember the farm and how I really became afraid of the dark there? Anyway we were living there and the adults were having a New Years Eve party.
I want to say this was New Years 1985/1986 but I could be wrong.
Steve’s entire families, or at least the majority of them, were there. Among the sea of Krauts and Hillbillies were Steve’s nephews Terry and Tony, the children of Steve’s only sister. I always liked the two of them and they are the only people from that family I actively missed as the years went by. The four of us, my unnamed little brother was there, were in the upstairs of the great old house poking through one of the spare rooms with its mounds of boxes and junk.
I think Terry found the bag of pennies.
What I remember more than then pennies was the bag. It was a bright yellow mesh bag with a drawstring to hold it closed. I can still see the delicate lines of black thread in the yellow mesh. We asked Steve about them and he said we could each have one dollar worth of pennies. At that age and in those years that was a decent amount of change. We each divvied out 100 pennies each and put the bag back were we’d found it.
It haunted me.
Over the next few weeks I snagged a few more pennies from the bag every day until I had nearly 500 copper coins. I wish I could say it felt awful, that I felt like a bastard for taking something that wasn’t mine. But I didn’t, taking those pennies felt exhilarating. This was in the days before I discovered masturbation but the feeling in retrospect was not dissimilar.
I never returned the pennies and I don’t believe anyone ever realized more of them were missing. But in the end I could never bring myself to spend them. Not because I felt bad for taking them at the time, although I feel horrible about it now, but because I was paranoid.
I was sure my unnamed brother knew and was waiting to fuck me over.
Now for a little back story. My unnamed brother, of fuck it lets go back to calling him “Scotty” for lack of a better option. Scotty is four years younger than me. One day we were at the local “Cheap Shit Store”, this was before the rise of the dollar store, a place called Ben Franklin’s. I’d always thought the chain was strictly a Michigan thing but I’ve lately learned that they existed all over the place … the shit you learn when you aren’t looking for info.
Anyway we were at the store and I saw Scotty steal a road map. The kid was at the most five or six years old at the time and I have to say if I caught one of my kids doing it at that age all I would do is make them apologize to the store … actually I might not. Int his day and age the jackass store manager would probably call the police and demand a little kid be arrested as a terrorist and sent to Guantanamo Bay.
I’d just ground them and maybe give them a swat on behind.
But nine or ten year old Josh was a selfish and greedy little asshole, he looked at what Scotty did and instead of telling or keeping his mouth shut asshole Josh blackmailed his little brother.
Yeah I did that, I admit it.
I didn’t make him my slave or anything but whenever I wanted something Scotty had, usually a snack of some sort, I made him give it to me or I’d tell. If I did something I wasn’t supposed to and Scotty knew about it, usually it involved taking food or looking at Steve’s Playboys, I’d threaten to tell. And I was a clever little fucker. I made a code name for the blackmail. If I said “X” to Scotty he knew I’d tell on him.
How did it all end?
Well I didn’t take pity on my brother and back off. That is what an honorable or at least semi decent person would have done. No in the end Scotty outsmarted me. One day I did something, for the life of me I can’t remember what, and told Scotty if he said anything I’d tell. When he asked me “Tell about what?” I was stunned. I reminded him about the map and he said “What map?”
That was when it dawned on me. Scotty had gotten rid of the map, no map meant no evidence, and no evidence meant I was now at his mercy. For several years after that I was in terror of retaliation.
Hence, the pennies were never spent.
It is a really bad memory and I am sure it has a lot to do with the anger between my brother and myself. Although there is so much more in that situation I won’t be talking about anytime soon. But for what its worth and I am sure to Scotty that amounts to a negative number of some sort, I am really sorry about it.
There is more I could talk about when it comes to being greedy and selfish. I could talk about the money I spent on DVD’s, Toys, and Comic Books in the last 20 years but I think I’m going to skip that. Not because it’s irrelevant but because they are a sad story of a lonely guy dealing with depression and not realizing what he needed was a doctor and not that new box set of Star Trek DVD’s. I have covered a lot of my adult financial shenanigans in essays about our bankruptcy and retreading that ground feels stale and boring.
No, I think that one story (In two parts) is a good one to stand for the rest.
Alright, so now we know I am greedy and selfish. I guess we have also learned that I have been a bastard of a brother in the past. Although to be fair to myself I admit my mistakes and transgressions unlike some people.
Next time I want to talk about something a little different I don’t know how much it counts as a flaw but I want to talk about my health. More specifically I want to talk about how much I ignore my health and how that is having an effect on my day to day life.
And yes before you ask we will be touching on my weight issues again.
Till next time Boils and Ghouls!
-Josh
Last time we talked about how stubborn I can be and how that is not always a bad thing. Today we will be discussing greed and selfishness and how my attempts to NOT be greedy and selfish have fucked me over a couple of times. And yet I would rather fight against my generally greedy/selfish nature as opposed to seizing everything I desire and fuck everyone else.
All of that being said never fear, as you are about to learn, I am at my core a greedy/selfish fuck.
I’ve always wanted the last piece of pie, the extra burger on the grill, the final can of coke in the fridge, and to be the person to choose what we watch on the television. I have perpetually wanted what I wanted and to hell with what anyone else wanted. I’m not proud of this and in point of order I am extremely ashamed of it. As far as I am concerned I am a thief because of this dark streak.
Read on and see if you disagree.
The first really selfish greedy thing I can remember doing had to do with the bag of pennies. We were living with my Pseudo Step Father Steve in Saline on his farm, do we all remember the farm and how I really became afraid of the dark there? Anyway we were living there and the adults were having a New Years Eve party.
I want to say this was New Years 1985/1986 but I could be wrong.
Steve’s entire families, or at least the majority of them, were there. Among the sea of Krauts and Hillbillies were Steve’s nephews Terry and Tony, the children of Steve’s only sister. I always liked the two of them and they are the only people from that family I actively missed as the years went by. The four of us, my unnamed little brother was there, were in the upstairs of the great old house poking through one of the spare rooms with its mounds of boxes and junk.
I think Terry found the bag of pennies.
What I remember more than then pennies was the bag. It was a bright yellow mesh bag with a drawstring to hold it closed. I can still see the delicate lines of black thread in the yellow mesh. We asked Steve about them and he said we could each have one dollar worth of pennies. At that age and in those years that was a decent amount of change. We each divvied out 100 pennies each and put the bag back were we’d found it.
It haunted me.
Over the next few weeks I snagged a few more pennies from the bag every day until I had nearly 500 copper coins. I wish I could say it felt awful, that I felt like a bastard for taking something that wasn’t mine. But I didn’t, taking those pennies felt exhilarating. This was in the days before I discovered masturbation but the feeling in retrospect was not dissimilar.
I never returned the pennies and I don’t believe anyone ever realized more of them were missing. But in the end I could never bring myself to spend them. Not because I felt bad for taking them at the time, although I feel horrible about it now, but because I was paranoid.
I was sure my unnamed brother knew and was waiting to fuck me over.
Now for a little back story. My unnamed brother, of fuck it lets go back to calling him “Scotty” for lack of a better option. Scotty is four years younger than me. One day we were at the local “Cheap Shit Store”, this was before the rise of the dollar store, a place called Ben Franklin’s. I’d always thought the chain was strictly a Michigan thing but I’ve lately learned that they existed all over the place … the shit you learn when you aren’t looking for info.
Anyway we were at the store and I saw Scotty steal a road map. The kid was at the most five or six years old at the time and I have to say if I caught one of my kids doing it at that age all I would do is make them apologize to the store … actually I might not. Int his day and age the jackass store manager would probably call the police and demand a little kid be arrested as a terrorist and sent to Guantanamo Bay.
I’d just ground them and maybe give them a swat on behind.
But nine or ten year old Josh was a selfish and greedy little asshole, he looked at what Scotty did and instead of telling or keeping his mouth shut asshole Josh blackmailed his little brother.
Yeah I did that, I admit it.
I didn’t make him my slave or anything but whenever I wanted something Scotty had, usually a snack of some sort, I made him give it to me or I’d tell. If I did something I wasn’t supposed to and Scotty knew about it, usually it involved taking food or looking at Steve’s Playboys, I’d threaten to tell. And I was a clever little fucker. I made a code name for the blackmail. If I said “X” to Scotty he knew I’d tell on him.
How did it all end?
Well I didn’t take pity on my brother and back off. That is what an honorable or at least semi decent person would have done. No in the end Scotty outsmarted me. One day I did something, for the life of me I can’t remember what, and told Scotty if he said anything I’d tell. When he asked me “Tell about what?” I was stunned. I reminded him about the map and he said “What map?”
That was when it dawned on me. Scotty had gotten rid of the map, no map meant no evidence, and no evidence meant I was now at his mercy. For several years after that I was in terror of retaliation.
Hence, the pennies were never spent.
It is a really bad memory and I am sure it has a lot to do with the anger between my brother and myself. Although there is so much more in that situation I won’t be talking about anytime soon. But for what its worth and I am sure to Scotty that amounts to a negative number of some sort, I am really sorry about it.
There is more I could talk about when it comes to being greedy and selfish. I could talk about the money I spent on DVD’s, Toys, and Comic Books in the last 20 years but I think I’m going to skip that. Not because it’s irrelevant but because they are a sad story of a lonely guy dealing with depression and not realizing what he needed was a doctor and not that new box set of Star Trek DVD’s. I have covered a lot of my adult financial shenanigans in essays about our bankruptcy and retreading that ground feels stale and boring.
No, I think that one story (In two parts) is a good one to stand for the rest.
Alright, so now we know I am greedy and selfish. I guess we have also learned that I have been a bastard of a brother in the past. Although to be fair to myself I admit my mistakes and transgressions unlike some people.
Next time I want to talk about something a little different I don’t know how much it counts as a flaw but I want to talk about my health. More specifically I want to talk about how much I ignore my health and how that is having an effect on my day to day life.
And yes before you ask we will be touching on my weight issues again.
Till next time Boils and Ghouls!
-Josh
