My friend Deek and I celebrated our new jobs this weekend. A couple weeks ago I started working at a television station doing web/graphics design. It's a pretty fun environment. Lots of work to do, but I work with a good group of people — and of course, my beloved Mary Mo. Plus, it's interesting work so I don't mind working lots when I'm enjoying what I'm doing.
I knew my last job was getting bad when I started having that Sunday Dread®. It usually started in the late afternoon. I started getting cranky and sad knowing that in the morning I'd have to go to work again and deal with the same bullshit again and be clock-watching all week, counting down the minutes until I left Friday afternoon, spent and lifeless and just wanting to crawl in bed.
Not that everything was bad. It wasn't. I worked with some lovely people. Many I consider my friends and not just coworkers. Friday, I saw them at a big "everyone's quitting" happy hour. There were at least five of us who have recently been liberated. Four of those are in the same month. Considering the mass exodus, I guess it was that bad.
Deek has been a teacher for twenty years. This fall he will being a new career as a librarian. I couldn't be happier for him. Everyone could see the toll teaching was having on him. I'd give him helpful advice when I could. When he was writing his final exam, I suggested he attach applications to various fast food restaurants since that's where most of those little fucktards angels were going to end up any way.
I believe the children are our future.
Deek mentioned that Saturday morning he got sort of emotional thinking about the last twenty years and all the sacrifices his social life has made because of his teaching career. His friends all know not to call him on Fridays because he used that evening to decompress from the week's events. Sundays were for grading and planning. That left Saturday for chores and errands. Not much left after that.
Although I don't think he should have any regrets, I understand how he feels. I've felt that same kind of remorse when I think about all the years I wasted in a funk of depression and not even realizing it. But my philosophy is what's done, is done. It's never too late to live your life.
Now I just need to heed my own advice.
I don't watch a lot of television unless I rent the DVDs. But I have been GLUED to 24 this season. WOW! What a freakin' roller-coaster ride it's been since January. I do loves me some ficitional terrorism. It especially goes well with homemade pizza.
I had a feeling the Chinese would eventually make an appearance and strongly suspected it would be at the end for a big ol' slice of cliff-hanger pie.
But then it occurs to me, Jack made a crucial error that lead to his being captured.
He. Didn't. Have. His. Man. Purse. With. Him.
Stupid Jack.
A few weeks ago I made an earnest attempt to watch the documentary Grey Gardens, yet every time I tried to watch my interest faded quickly. I guess crazy people don't fascinate me that much.
Maybe the film just needed a kick ass soundtrack to hold my interest.
[via Homer, who told me to go check it out at Chrisafer.]
So last night we watched the documentary Hell House. The film takes a look at a haunted house performed by a members of a church in Texas that is seen by over 10,000 visitors each year. The "Hell House" they perform demonstrates all the "evils" in the world that will send we sinners to hell unless we give our lives to Jesus®.
While watching it, I became very uncomfortable, not because I find speaking in tongues disturbing, but because it reminded me over growing up in Oklahoma. Many of the scenarios these people present, condemn people who are the victims of others: a sexually-abused girl is raped and commits suicide, a dying man from AIDS was abused by his uncle, etc. Yet, the abusers aren't condemned. I knew people like this. It's truly disgusting and vile.
On the other hand, if I viewed Hell House as a mockumnetary á la Christopher Guest, it is rather amusing.
I didn't get to watch all of Hell House because my DVD player crapped out before the end.
Maybe it was Divine Intervention™ saving me from watching that bile-laden propaganda.
Homer is hitting the world wide web on a webcam.
Not like that. Gah. Get your minds out of the gutter Bitches.
Per his request, I called Homer while he was at work so he could wave to the nearby traffic webcam.
They say the camera adds ten pounds but clearly this one is rather slimming.
Actually, I tried to do this yesterday during my last day of work at my old job — since I was so freakin' busy — but I couldn't get it to load on the computer I have been cursing for months. Good riddance to that POS.
On Wednesday, I start a new job working with my former co-worker Mary Mo. (Perhaps the Anne Heche cartoons will make a comeback.) I am very excited about this new opportunity. It's going to be both very fun and challenging; two things I enjoy.
I was telling my friend Buttercup about my new job. She said, "It seems like you started your current job just yesterday."
"But, it feels a lot longer."
Trust me.
It seems I've received a spike in traffic courtesy of everyone's favorite Tucson blogger, Homer. I was telling Homer today that I need to come visit him inflated gas prices be damned.
For those of you here the first time, welcome. Make yourself at home.
Oh...and pardon the dust. It's the maid's week off.
And this reminds me. I so need to find a car wash.
Whaddya think?
