13

It’s Friday the 13th. 

But that’s not the 13 I’m talking about.

Because honestly, Friday the 13th doesn’t really do much for me. No, because I’m JUST THAT FRIKKEN WEIRD, I have problems with Thursday the 12th. Don’t try to parse it out. And it’s not a third shift thing, ’cause it started back in elementary school.

No, the 13 I’m talking about today is the 13 shifts I have to work in 12 days. Two of them doubles. And the killer is, my job is doing me a favor and I’m grateful for it.

I don’t know how many of you have noticed, but there’s apparently a sudden shortage of rich people in the country. Weird how that happened. Not that I personally miss them, mind you, but I do make a bit of a career out of being, as Londo on Babylon 5 put it, a remora. So far the lack of rich people has lead to a 3% pay cut and the loss of a shift per week. The shift is the really dangerous thing, because that should technically dump me into part-time status, and I would then loose my newly regained health insurance. Which, since I’m over 30 and own a uterus, would be really, really bad.

So yeah, so there’s been a lot of goofy and ill-considered flailing attempts at controlling costs, a lack of logic and basic math skills at a fundamental level that stuns me when I forget what I’m doing and actually think about it, but hey, HOTEL, you know?

So I’m basically writing off the end of March at this point. I’ll try to poke in and be sociable, but things are just ARGH around here right now.  So while I’m gone, go read The Lies of Locke Lamora. Or The Blade Itself. Or possibly The Gone Away World. And reflect on the sudden upsurge in masculist fantasy fiction, and what it’s contributing to the dialogue between the many genders. Or just enjoy them.

Weird stuff on the internet, who knew?

Because you didn’t need those braincells anyway, Watchmen as a late-80’s after-school cartoon:

Real books that look like they’ve been photo-shopped

Enjoy!

Apparently unclear on the concept…

Yes, I’m talking about me. Yes, I keep forgetting to blog. It’s not my fault this time! It’s THE INTERNET’s fault!

So, we finally got ourselves some SCREAMIN’ DSL at the house. (Side note, now I can test out new themes. None of them seem any better than this one, so this is it for now.) So, there’ve been all these spiffy games and videos to check out on the computer, that sitting here typing out my own therapy just seemed a little… boring. You understand, I’m sure.

But time for a public service announcement:

America, I’m here to let you know, that when you drink too much, you are not funny. You are not fun. You are not interesting. You are not engaging company. And depending on the severity, you are quite possibly not deserving of the oxygen you are wasting.

You are, in point of fact, disgusting.

I understand if you want to have a few drinks, relax, mellow out, laugh at stuff that people with an IQ over 12 roll their eyes at. If you do this occasionally, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s best if you do it at home, away from other people who maybe want to have conversations with people who aren’t intent on killing their own braincells, but I understand that there are, against my advice, places where groups of people can gather and kill their braincells together in public.

What I don’t understand is why Americans feel the need to kill a bunch of their braincells, and then leave the place where braincell killing is appropriate, and wander around pretending that other people are now, in some fashion, responsible for their well-being. If you are currently stupid, and your stupidity is your own fault, and your stupidity causes you to be rude and annoying, and you happen to be standing in front of me, I do not, in point of fact, have any responsibility for you. You do not, in point of fact, deserve my attention. If you are a patron of the establishment I work for, you have the right to expect a high level of service. This does not mean that I am actually acting in loco parentis, nor does it mean I am paid enough to deal with you when you are in the middle of an alcoholic black out. It does, however, mean I might give you bad directions, senseless orders, and intentionally garbled phone numbers. Over and over again. Keep it in mind.

But again, going with the stated theme of being unclear on the concept, and again, talking about myself, knowing how I feel about people who drink and then foist themselves on an indifferent public, I choose to work third shift in a hotel located in a college town. Sometimes I really have to wonder about me.

Yeah, so this was one of those weeks.

Also, guys, close your ears, wouldn’t want you to hear something shocking, but I’m having my period, and quite frankly, I was feeling grouchy even before the gut wrenching cramps kicked in. Like the man says, “What’s he BUILDING in there?”

See? Embedded video! I’m tellin’ ya, I got the SCREAMIN’ in the DSL over here.

Stranger she may be…

But when I came home after a complete shit of a night, she burbled at me until I picked her up, and then purred and head-butted me until I felt better (read: less sorry for myself).

Pixie, Marmel, this is why she gets the extra Yum-Yums. I’m just sayin’.