Monday, August 09, 2004

hockey hair.

since the hair nazis have left town, i think im going to have to fix the dead animal on my head. at least i hope they're gone. id feel like a total shit-bird if one of them came in and i had obviously tweeked out the mullet-y part.


ive been thinking. about lots of random crap. the problem is, i cant seem to concentrate on one thinkable subject for any significant amount of time. i have all these problems that need solving, but i dont know which one i should solve first, so i dick around and indecisively distract myself with shiny objects.

and then i cant decide if some of these so-called problems are actually real and as problem-y as they seem.

like this whole languishing in williamsburg thing. i dont know what im doing here. im pretty smart. i think. so i could probably work for the man and wear lots of j.crew if i so desired. but i like my soul, and would be bummed out if my occupation required me to sell it. i might not know what i want so much, but i certainly know what i dont want.

ive worked just about every shit job i can think of. lawn mower, concession stand dude, waitron, referee, wee child watcher, secretary, dispatch phone doosh...etc. all these jobs suck balls. i dont think theres a job in this world that doesnt suck salty, salty balls.

and im ok with that.

ive come to terms with the sucking and the saltiness.

i just dont think it matters. not even a little. i make drinks for people. thats what i do. its not who i am. but some people, mostly the dudes who have socially acceptable jobs, look down on my form of employment. and sometimes i let it get to me. and i think, geezus, maybe i am a total piece of shit. but then i think about the office jobs ive had, and how badly everyone blew in cubicle land, and i pity the poor bastard in front of me flashing his citibank platinum card for to impress the fake tits sitting next to him.

i still have options and stuff. that guy doesnt. soon enough he will find the fake tits he wants to marry, and then he'll have some ankle biters and a dog and a mortgage, and he wont have done anything the least bit different from his parents.

and one day he'll be 65 and he'll be like, 'holy fucking shit, ive never seen Bangladesh'.

and ill be like, 'yeah. what now. bitch.'


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