Three Days After Valentine's...

It's officially February 17th, it's now safe to discuss Valentine's Day...
It's too cliche to go over why the holiday exists and how it only exists as a holiday to supplement capitalism in Western societies, so I'll spare you the details of the rant that you've heard or read from previous nihilists (eventhough I am a nihilist).

Returning to the narcissistic side of me, I did not have a Valentine and nor did I want one. I worked at 5am that day with no sleep and then proceeded to nap the rest of the day away.

The night before, the store that I work for had a group meeting. We talked about all the redundant and idiotic things that should be common sense to most people that work in retail, but somehow the majority of our elder employees have failed to grasp in their half a century of employment. Maybe most of them have stopped caring and have taken security in the idea that it's very hard to fire an employee that's been working with them since the Ice Age.

After the meeting, the upper echelon (as well as the "Borderliners") of cool coworkers as well as bosses went to the nearby bar where we proceeded to imbibe copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and a group sing-a-long of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" ensued courtesy of karaoke night. The best part, was that after the bar had it's last call, one of the female dinosaurs that worked there invited us all back to her house to listen to music and keep the party going. Most of us ventured out and had a good time, with me keeping in mind that I had work at 5am.

What happened was that I realized that I managed to find myself attracted to two of my coworkers. One that is 3 years younger and my friend, while the other is 3 years older and my boss. I ended up kissing one of them, and the other came back to my house to keep me company while I waited for the inevitable dawn to beckon me. What came of these prospects? Nothing. Why? 'Cause that's the way I want it to be. I know that girls become sentimental and sensitive to these holidays, but I refused to play into their hand. And while I was incredibly inebriated, I was still sensible to not take advantage of the situation because I'm hardly compatible with any of them.

The lesson is that slight incompatibility and a moment of weakness equals years of distress.

To me, it's not a coincidence that my first love came on Valentine's Day with a girl whose birthday is also on Valentine's Day. We had our moment in the sun, but inevitably we parted ways...only to return to each other on different terms...then part ways again...then return to each other on completely new terms...then part ways again. . .well you get the idea. This had essentially caused me a great deal of confusion and frustration and left me with a sour and tiny bit of skepticism about the corporate holiday.

That's not to say that I'm not still putting these two potential female prospects in my pocket. There's a 6th sense that I've gained from my journalistic and psychological perspective in life about gaining women's interest and the proverbial "slow and steady, wins the race" will hopefully play it's hand.

Lesson: Drinking and Valentine's Day is an easy way to pick up lonely women.

Sediment Sentiments

I've just returned from work back to my house that I rent with my best friend. My job requires that I work a lot of odd hours; both late and early. Where do I work, you may ask?

I'm currently employed at a trendy grocery store that prides itself on it's quality and low prices. If that doesn't narrow it down for you, then let me add that it sells many organic products.

Still not enough?

This store also emulates popular terms that are commonly used in reference when working on boats or at sea.

At the expense of not further embarrassing myself, I will not divulge the name. but hopefully you get the gist of it.

This job started as a means to an end --a way to earn money while my DUI case was being settled and to get my mother off my back as I looked for other jobs.

...Now, a year later, my Machiavellian standpoint has diminished and I've become a slave to the blue-collar working world. Well, maybe not a slave. At least I moved out. A captive would probably be a better description. Nothing like earning a Bachelor's in Psychology to put you on the right track.

The lesson here is do what you like. Never compromise. I should have majored in something I was good at and enjoyed like Art or English. Instead, I let my parents influence my choice and now I'm part of the growing chain of trendy grocery stores.

Awesome.

I'm so awesome, that I'm falling deeper into this void by being considered and trained into management.

Sweet.

I know it's easy and cliche to blame the parental units, but it is their fault. People say that there are two things that determine who someone is: Nature and Nurture. Nature, in this case would be the inherited genetic characteristics that I received from my parents. Nurture, would be the environment that my parents had suffocated me in. Both of these dichotomies are of the "not-my-fault" kind. Maybe adopted children have it easier because they can blame a lot more people. Their adoptive parents can be responsible for the poor upbringing and the real parents can be blamed for faulty genes.

Nice.

The real lesson here is never have kids. They will always blame you for everything.

Last Nite, She Said

I was up late listening to Creative Screenwriting magazine's podcast featuring the writer of the movie Juno, Diablo Cody. Her mini biography that was presented was quite interesting and a little inspiring. Although I'm usually inspired by all the screenwriters that are featured in the podcast, this one in particular felt like it spoke directly to me. She started working a lot of odd jobs, but what I seemed to really take away from the podcast was her weird passion for writing. I could empathize with her sentiments, especially when Diablo said:

"You know as a writer, when you're having difficulty actually being published through legitimate channels, blogging is kind of a cool thing because there are no rejection letters, there is no publishers, there is no editor -- you're just generating material and putting it out there."

Thus, as an aspiring writer myself, I am taking her advice. This will be my new forum for venting, social commentary, and the creative spikes that tend to occur in my thirst for stories and squeezing a milliliter of interest from life.