Why a socialist shouldn't work in the financial industry (aka what's the view like up there from the top of your high horse?)

I'm pissed off as per usual, but this time there is a target. My manager. And I am sure I am not alone. Everyday he writes a huge newsletter type email that he entitles his morning notes. I am usually a fan of these notes, not the excerpts from the Wallstreet Journal or basically any of the body of the notes, but what I like his the quotes he ends with or the meeting announcements he begins with. But not today.

This mornings notes began with a little note. He started by saying that he was inspired by John Kerry's speech last night. This surprised me, I began to think that this guy is completely different than what I thought. Oh but he quickly corrected my change of heart. His next line stated that he was inspired to help the brokers make over 200,ooo dollars a year so they too could be tax more than the 50% they already take.

My thoughts was, "Does that include me, are you going to push me to make over 200,000 this year because I have no problem paying the taxes on that amount." Maybe those who can't handle the taxes shouldn't be allowed to make that much. I think if you bitch about it than you shouldn't get it, just like you don't get a baby the toy that he throws a fit over getting. You shouldn't reward the whiners.  I mean sack up for crying out loud. Like they say in Spiderman: "with more power comes more responsibility."

I don't know about the rest of you but I am tired of these rich cry babies. So you might not be able to afford that second home in France this year. I'm sorry. Is the fact I have to eat a burden on you. Or the fact that the Raman diet has lead me to intake too much MSG and now they have to pay for my heart condition. Again I apologize. But mostly I am tired of the wealthy of this country feeling no responsibility for the legs they stand on. No one is wealthy on their own.

I think the problem is that the American Dream gives us this false sense of what is our entitlement. The north/south gap has grown too big. But really it is because we live in a country that facilitates the dream that grants the same country to ask for some of it back. They wouldn't have their wealth if they didn't live here. What the country givith, the country can takith away. Yes, the wealthy have a responsibility to the rest of us. We made them. We consume their products. We build their products. And we take their shit.

I hate the justification that the rich say that they worked hard for their money so they are entitled to it. They worked no harder than the unskilled worker working two jobs. In fact they do less work. What they forget is how hard it is. 49% of Americans live below the poverty line. Something has got to change. If that mean higher taxes for 1% of the country, than so be it (sorry mom and dad). But if this country gives you more than you need to give the country more.

The manger ended his notes by saying: "Vote for the politician that promises least; they will be the least disappointing. Have a great weekend and I hope everyone has a sense of humor." First, isn't that how George W. won the last election but instead of promises it was intelligence. This is a horrible quote from a manager who is always trying to be inspirational and optimistic. But the sense of humor line is the one that gets me. I don't have a sense of humor; I can't afford one, you don't pay me enough.

I feel better now. Although the keyboard didn't enjoy the tough love. It's amazing what a good vent can do. I hope all you George W. Bush fans out there have a sense of humor. Oh, wait. Of course you do, you elected him.

Political Issues

I figured since no one really likes to discuss political issues, I would instead talk about my own issues. Of these I have many. Today the one that reigns supreme is: guilt. I feel so guilty all the time about insignificant things. I feel guilty when someone wants to buy me lunch and I don't feel as though I've earned it. I don't want things that other people, who do as much as myself, don't get. That is so un-American of me. We should always want things we don't deserve. And that much I do. I have no problem with striving or yearning for such thing, but once I actually get them I feel bad. Is that weird?

Another side effect of this issue is that I can't say no. I blame this problem on the Reagans. Since they encouraged people to "just say no" and I encourage myself to do everything contrary to the Reagan administration. Thus, I've become a push over at the Reagan administration's making. I know that Julia is going to yell at me; leave some message about how I have to think better of myself. This I know, but I can't change how I feel.

The most selfless people in this world are so because they don't think they are worthy of being selfish. I don't think my guilt is really about self-esteem issues. Believe it or not, contrary to the image projected in this blog, I don't have self-esteem issues. Self-confidence issues are another story. The differences being that I know I am a great person but I have little faith that other people can see that.

So, if my guilt isn't about self-esteem, what is it about? My answer: Communism. Or more accurately: Marxism. I feel deep down that everyone should be equal. Which would really be: Socialism. But actually: Catholism. I am a product of the protestant work ethic with the heart of a catholic (don't kill me Julia). I don't mean the modern day catholic, just like when I say anything beneficial about the republicans I don't mean modern day. I suppose I am just fundamentally torn. I am cold and I am torn lying naked on the floor.

Someone Help the Spell Checker

The poor blogger spell check can't handle my creativity. The first time I used it I thought that my spelling was more atrocious than I thought, but then I put the same document in word (cursed word) and it corrected my spelling just fine. I never thought I would live to see the day when a Microsoft product would be better at something.

However, there is one particular correction that bugs me. It always highlights the words blog or blogger as wrong, yet it know how to correctly spell TiVo. TiVo is a brand and it knows it yet it doesn't know its own brand. They really need to correct that.

Into the Mystic

"We were born before the wind..." That is a great song. I've always been fascinated by the mystic world. I'm intrigue listening to Julia talk about it. I'm not sure what I believe, but I believe in possibilities. Even if you think it is hog wash, it is still interesting for the mythic quality it possesses. I have to admit the idea that someone knows more about what is going to happen to me than I do kind of infuriates me. How can they see my future and I can't?

Although, sometimes I can feel the future. Those moments where you just know the way something is going to turn out. Not because your mind predicts it but because your instinct gives you that calm feeling. That hypnotic feeling that makes your body at ease allowing you to merely go through the motions to get to said results.

It's funny because over the last couple of years I've learned that thing happen for a reason and they happen when they are suppose to happen. I noticed that when things weren't working out they were always such an effort and the moment things did work out it is so easy. By easy I mean that they just happen like a bolder that gets the initial push down the hill that becomes unable to stop.

Even if we know the future, it doesn't mean that we will believe it. A lot of times I want to believe it but I can't. It's interesting how the closer the future gets the more uneasy we become about it. I remember when I was young I never had any doubt that my future wouldn't incredible and now the closer I get to it the more riddled with doubt I am.

We use the future as a goal. But it's a goal that keep moving. Always replacing its self as it slips away.  Now I am trying to concentrate on the near future and rediscover the doubtless state of the future. My glance into the future is the same as TiVo's, two weeks. I'll worry about November sweeps when we get closer to them. For now I'll concentrate on reality TV.

Life No Longer For Sale

My generation has grown with the best ad slogan ever in existence and yet we don't heed its words. Just Do It. It sounds so easy and we make it so hard. At best we contemplate just doing it, but that defeats the whole purpose. I spend so much time trying to will myself out of my situation that I spend no time actually trying to get out of it. When there is a will there is a way, that's how the saying goes. But the way needs to be taken; it doesn't just come because you will it. The will gives you the answers but the way gives the results.

Today, I am taking my life back. It is off the market. I no longer feel the need to sell it. I've realized that I don't need a new life; I just need a little renovation of the current one. I'm determined to have the red tape taken away from my life. The pool of misery is man made. So I intend to build myself a hot tube of happiness. Wait that sounds kind of sleazy. But the point remains the same. I am going to just do it.

No more excuses. No more willing without taking the way. Why do self-fulfilling prophecies always have negative connotations? I intend to make a new self-fulfilling prophecy a positive incarnation. I've let life kick the crap out of me for too long. I'm going to take the hand that has been dealt to me and try to make it better. And if all else fails, I'll at least learn to bluff a little better.

Get out of my mind, get into my car.

I have a song stuck in my head, but even worse is that I only have one line swirling around on repeat up there. "Back to life, back to reality." I never really thought about it, but I wonder if there is a purpose as to what songs get stuck in our head. Like your subconscious using your dreams at night, maybe it uses songs during the day. Really annoying songs get stuck in our head because they are meant to teach us something. I guess my head want me to get out of my head today. Even my subconscious needs a break. Need to stop thinking bad thoughts about brokers or clients. And in some cases I mean the good bad thoughts.

Or maybe it is just revenge. Punishment for thinking too much. Your subconscious says, "You like thinking so much, trying thinking while I sing this bitch of a song all day, see how fast your mind works then, sucker." It makes sense that the outside world is always at war; it is a biological marker in that our body is always at war with itself. Conscious fighting unconscious, white cells fighting bacteria, heart fighting head. We are conflicted by nature. Thus so are my arguments. There, Julia, I contradict my opinions because it is inherent to me. Plus, I did high school debate which conditions you to see both sides of the argument and to never have your own opinion.

But on the other hand...

I don't know if I want to pull out my hair or hers

There is this woman at work that drives me crazy. She needs to be on medication. I always thought that everyone else loved her until one day when I went out on limb and spoke of my feelings to Iris. Iris didn't understand my annoyance. But two days later she was on the band wagon. Then I felt bad because I thought maybe my saying something had wooed her to the dark side. I didn't want to be the reason that someone hated someone else. This plagued my conscience until the other day when I was working in the cage (operations). It turns out that a coworker back there dislikes this woman more than myself;  I never expressed my emotions to her, she came to her malcontent on her own.

I still feel bad. She has never committed any serious infractions against me. I can't help my displeasure of her. Why do some people get under your skin (and not in the good way)? What is it about her that makes me want to take medication? Do you ever hate someone for no reason so you try to find specific things about them to justify your feelings? The world does this. Most of the times our allies and enemies are determined on whether or not we like them. Your like of other countries isn't always decided by history, sometimes it is just instinct. There is something about that country that I don't like, send out agents to gather intelligence. You could investigate any country/person and find things that make you hate them or like them. What you find is merely based on which you choose to pursue.

I know that there are a lot of amazing things about the coworker but I can't help that she drives me to drink. I recognizes her positive qualities but for me the annoying qualities outweigh them. Lucky for us there is always someone else who sees the inverse. But she is in good company because she will never be able to annoy me more than I annoy myself. That might be why I don't like her. She could possess the qualities that I hate about myself. Maybe that is really what our instinct of hate is based on. Who we like/dislike is just a reflection of what we like/dislike in ourselves.

The run in

I was peacefully minding my own business as I waited outside the arclight for my friend to meet me when who should walk out of the theater, a former crush and his girl. Now, in my opinion it is much worse running into a crush than a former flame because you can find hostility towards an old flame or at least some kind of tangible emotion but when you run into someone that you never had anything other than possibly friendship with then all you feel is the return of the butterflies. Upon seeing him I did what any self-respecting girl would do, I turned away so that he or his perfect little specimen of a woman wouldn't see me.
 
Then while I was still waiting a guy that I think went to college with me walked by. I saw him again inside while we stood in line to get tickets. I didn't know if I should say hi because if he did go to my school then we might had a class together, we didn't know each other through socializing. If I said hi what would I say? "Hey, I think we might have been in the same room at one point in time." That is always a weird social situation. You must decide if you want to look like a bitch or a loser.
 
To top off my wondrous day, it was my roommate's last night in town before she goes back east, possibly never to return. But I can't talk about that because will bring up a whole range of emotions. How do parent's do it? How do you let people make mistakes when you know they are just that? It must suck to be a psychic. You know the errors that people are going to make but you can't stop them because you know they need to make them in order to grow or accept their path. It's like watching someone bob and weave through oncoming traffic because they have to get to the other side of the road. You understand the journey but it doesn't make it any easier watching the cars about to hit them. Wouldn't it be so much easier if you could live people's lives for them? I know nothing about my own life but I feel as though I have the answers to someone else's life. Such a hypocrite.  But hey, if someone would like to live my life for me, I'm game. Why will I not be surprised when there are no takers to that proposition? Please, live my life for me. I'm at a lost of what to do with it. I know someone out there must have the answers. I'm listening.

The merry-go-round of life (aka I think I'm bipolar)

The weekend is over. The summer is over. My complacency is over. I am antsy. I can't sit still. I can't concentrate. I can't accept this as my existence. What is the point? How can a circle fit into a square? Why does oxygen turn blood from blue to red and not purple? My blood flows through my veins yet I can't feel my heart beating. How can I have an irregular heart without an irregular heart beat? The stock market closing bell rings. For whom the bell tolls. The sound of the closing bell, the ding of the elevator, the click of the call forwarding button; all the sounds of freedom. I can escape the building, but I cannot escape my destiny.
 
Can you get back time by traveling to a different time zone. It's said that it takes light a certain amount of time to travel (light years) and if you go to a distance far enough away if you looked at earth you would see the dinosaurs. If I can travel to a planet that can see light from twenty five years ago, then could I relive my life? Could I change it,  manipulate the light or would I just witness the same train wreck over again. Maybe my twin in space will have more luck when Einstein lets her return to earth. She will be young, so I can teach her the little that I have learned. But would it not matter, would she suffer the same destiny? Maybe destiny is a time loop you can't escape. I am swimming but I am not moving anywhere. I think one of my arms is broken, I keep swimming in a circle. How does a circle fit into a square? How can an outsider be inside? How can an escape artist get out of cuffs without the key? How do I escape my destiny? Or how did my destiny escape me?

Still bored part 2

What is your favorite word?
Vacation
What is your least favorite word?
synenergy
What is your favorite sound?
a car driving on the open road
What is your least favorite sound?
Traffic
What is your favorite curse word?
Fuck you Biren
What profession, other than your own would you like to attempt?
Interior designer of bag ladies' grocery carts
What profession would you not want to attempt?
publicist of bag lady interior designer
If heaven exists...?
This is a test of the emergency death system. This is only a test. If this had been an actual death...


This game is getting pretty boring. Please help me with other game options. I need guidance in the time killing department.

Socially and Emotionally Stunted

This I have always known about myself. But the extent of which actually still surprises me sometimes. This weekend for example I went to a party, I've always been shy about meeting new people, but this was the first time that I actually went out of my way to not talk to new people. It's one thing to be shy and not know how to approach people. But it is another to not talk to people who try to talk to you. Wow. Even I'm at the point where I am disappointed in myself. But screw it. I won't dwell on my weaknesses because I still had fun at the party.
 
I think most people in LA are socially and emotionally stunted, that's why people come to LA, right? It fosters and breeds that kind of mentality. Although, I suppose stunted and detatched are two separate disorders. Or it might just be a result of growing up. We become more and more distant and closed off the older we get. But maybe I'm not that far gone. Afterall, I am blogging and that is not a medium that allows you to close yourself off. But the beauty of unloading emotional baggage on blogger is that you can sign out whenever you want. Check your baggage on your blog rather than the over head compartment where it always falls out and hits someone on the head. It doesn't matter how pretty your luggage is, its always going to weigh down the plane.

The hand-me-down men syndrome

Warning: the following post contains some bitchy comments. A sense of humor is advised.
 
Why is it that some woman assume that every guy in the universe would choose them over you? They demonstrate this belief by trying to pass the men they reject on to you. "So and so just flirted with me, they are so gross. You should go out with them." A) Why are you recommending someone that you think is nasty, what do you think of me? B) Do you really think the only way I'm going to get a guy is if you turn them down first? Bitch, please. As much as every woman would like to believe that every male, and even female for that matter, is attracted to them, sadly it is never the case. Maybe, just maybe, some people aren't as shameless flirts as others. Afterall, I'm not attracted to every guy so I don't want every guy to be attracted to me. I know, you're thinking: "Hold the presses. Everyone wants people to be attracted to them." This is true, but why do all of us insist that everyone has to be?
 
I am sure everything I just wrote will be misinterpreted and blown off, but think about it. Why do we all have to constantly be desired? For once, I don't believe I know the answer. Does the ego have/need motivation? Pride and lust are a deadly combination. I suppose I'm just naive. Or maybe I'm just ugly. But please, don't feel the need to give me your castoffs any more. I'll do just fine on my own. Besides the hand-me-downers never realizes that you would never want the kind of guy that would flirt with them. I don't mean that to be catty, but meow.

Hair today. Gone tomorrow.

Last night I colored my hair. Now, there are several risks involved in coloring ones own hair: first, it could turn some horrible color because it doesn't react well to your original color; second, it might make all of your hair fall out if it's overprocessed; finally, no one will notice the difference. The last fear/risk is the greatest of all of them. Your psyche might be bruised by the first two but you can get the color fixed and you can regrow hair. However, the last risk can be earth shattering. To know that when your hair looks completely different to you, so much so that you feel like a new person, no one else can tell the difference.
 
What the heck? It's like proof the your invisibility. The emperor can change the color of his clothes as much as he wants but it doesn't matter because they are still invisible. But maybe I should look at it a different way, like I have a secret that no one else is privy to. I'll think of it like wearing hot pink panties. The satisfaction of knowing that you are wearing crazy undergarments and no one else can see them. If they only knew. If you're lucky I'll let you in on my little secret. So instead I'll appreciate my undercover hair color.
 
Although the converse is also true. If everyone comes up to you and says how wonderful your color looks then that gets your goat too. You start to think, "was my hair really that horrible before." You never want to get overly complimented unless you've just come from a TLC makeover show. The self esteem teeter totter is rarely in balance.
 
A change in hair color works as a metaphor for change itself. Dramatic at first, then the roots begin to show,  and it fades over time if let unattended. Plus, with hair color and change key is to  pick the right shade.

It takes 2 weeks to learn to love me, but only seconds to hate me

I've recently discovered that everytime I give someone something to read of mine, whether it be a script or a blog, they always seem to be closed off from me once they have read said material. Is it because I come across one way in person and then when they see a glimpse of what the inner workings of my head can produce they don't like me anymore? I really don't think that anything I write is offensive. At least, I don't intend anything I write to be taken to heart. I'm sorry if I pissed any one off. I truly am. But I am who I am. Julia might say that Scorpios hide who they, she thinks this is because we're vengeful, but really it is just because we are scared. I thought this analogy I once read was perfect: Scorpios are like catepillars in a cocoon waiting for the right time to become the butterfly. Sappy, yes. Incorrect, no.
 
I once joked that it takes two weeks to learn how to love me. This statement was said at a time when I was temping and by the second week of each job they would try to offer me a job. But the interesting thing about love is that it can take a lifetime to earn it or receive it. But it only takes a single instant or a misworded sentence to lose it. Love takes a life time but hate takes a minute. That's a horrible thought. Horrible but true.
 
We've all known people who we grew to like but then they said or did one small thing that changed the entire way that you view them. However, on the positive side unconditional love does exist while I've never heard of anyone hating unconditional. We usually try to fabricate some kind of justification was to why we hate them. Love is something people have a hard time putting into words (despite the numerous love songs, etc. that try to do just that), where hate can result in longwinded speeches that state every infraction committed against them.
 
There is a thin line between love and hate and apparently that line is my blog for some people. I apologize profusely. My thoughts are not meant to injure anything other than my own self esteem. I know I am probably reading too much into everything. I wouldn't think that my thoughts drive people away if it hadn't been a pattern that I've noticed. I guess Cooley's Looking Glass Theory is right. "I am not who I think I am, I am not who you think I am, I am what I think you think I am."  And apparently I think that you think I am a total bitch. Not that it isn't justified.

Still bored

What is your favorite word?
Kwyjibo
What is your least favorite word?
Cancellation
What is your favorite sound?
Comfortable Silence
What is your least favorite sound?
Uncomfortable silence
What is your favorite curse word?
Punkass Bitch or Bitchass Punk (whichever situation dictates)
What profession, other than your own would you like to attempt?
A Robbie Williams's Groupie (As I refer to them; Egomaniacs)
What profession would you not want to attempt?
A Dick Cheney Groupie (As I refer to them; The Chen Gang)
If heaven exists...?
You've just been punked

Highly caffeinated and Under Medicated

I always thought it would be cool to make a t-shirt with that saying. But truth be told I am highly caffeinated and under motivated. So, I've come to the realization of several things. First, I come to a lot of realizations. Second, my blog is way too depressing. Third, I've got to learn how to proof read. Forth, everything I say, write, and think is all wrong. And finally, if a line goes on forever and some people think that the universe could be round, then a line would not exist because it would invariably become a circle. I knew high school geometry was all wrong, now I just need some stupid theorem to prove it.

Sometimes I am surprised that I can make it through the day in one piece. Today, I am having much problems with that. For instance, I can't compose complete sentences. Who am I kidding, I can never do that. I keep spilling everything on myself. It is 7am in the morning and I already look like I've been the prime target of a food fight in the high school cafeteria. I usually don't put on much makeup since I wake up at 5am, but today I made the foolish mistake to attempt it. Note: don't put makeup on in dim lighting at 5am, you'll just look like Picasso applied Tammy Fay Baker's makeup on your face.

I'm so tired and the caffeine doesn't help. But, I can't kick the caffeine habit. Even though I've built up an immunity to the benefits of caffeine, e.g. it doesn't wake me up, I can't quit. The withdrawal process is too painful. That afternoon headache is agony. Such is life, I don't do things that are beneficial, I do things that prohibit negative effects. I guess I'm a the-best- offense-is-a-good-defense kind of girl.

I am sooooo bored. The thing I work the most on at work is thinking of ways to entertain myself. One time my friend asked me why weekends can't swap with the weekdays. I told her they could, if everyone collectively decided to do two days of solid work (no surfing the internet, no personal calls, no long lunches) then the weekends could be five days. Stupid bureaucracy will never allow that to happen. I still propose that we screw the electoral college, we'll never get rid of that. Instead, we should start an initiative to make to the weekends the weekdays and vice versa. Maybe we can get it on the next ballot. Until November, I must entertain myself. I think today I will pretend I am a guest on Inside the Actor's Studio.

What is your favorite word?
plethora or Abyss when used in an analogy
What is your least favorite word?
thesaurus (I can't pronounce it)
What is your favorite sound?
A Mac booting up
What is your least favorite sound?
The buzz of fluorescent lights
What is your favorite curse word?
Digitty MoFo
What profession, other than your own would you like to attempt?
A London Tour Guide
What profession would you not want to attempt?
My own
If heaven exists...?
I have no clue why they cancelled My So Called Life

My boredom is so immense that I am sure this list will be revised throughout the day.

This just in... (You give me fever)

For those of you joining the program already in progress, welcome. Julia has said wonderful things about me, but really they were all just a backhanded compliment. Paraphrasing: Digit Whit is amazing, only she is too much of a loser to realize it. Thanks. But none the less, she has infected me with the fever. The blogger fever. All I want to do is blog. All I think about is blogging. I feel as though I have so much to say until I sit back and the horrible realization hits me; I have nothing to say. I mean, I have something to say, we all have something to say which seems to be precisely the problem. We all think the same thing, we all feel the same way, we all say the same thing. It's funny, we all think that we are alone when really it is our collective isolation/alienation that unite us. We're bonded by our solitude. My goodness, blogging is a prime example of that, We all sit alone at our computer writing, hoping someone listens. Can you hear my typing. The keyboard has become the pulse of the nation. The more we've become connect the more disconnected we actually are. No one is ever home alone on a Friday night when they have all of cyber space to keep them company.

Words are merely a collage of our collected consciousness. We manipulate them in different ways only to find out that they are all the same pieces in the puzzle. Well, enough philosophical garbage. I have to go, Roswell starts in a few minutes and I have trust issues with the TiVo. My trust issues are justified. I'm the other woman. That's the benefit of being the other woman, you know that you can't trust. You know it cheats on you. My program has the lowest ranking. So if anything she wants to tape conflicts with it then I get nothing. That is why I must manually override it. Back to your regularly scheduled program.

Sick of this *!@#

I went home for the weekend and now I'm getting sick just in time for this weekend. Every time I go home I catch some kind of illness, the house is full of carrier monkeys. I always joke that it gives new meaning to the term home sick.

But if only it were merely the physical aspects that are making me sick. Mentally, I'm just as sick. Sick of putting up with all the crap I put up with. I'm sick of work. Yesterday, in the midst of my copying hell I asked Iris if it is possible to slit your wrist with paper. While I jested about my own demise, the torture that I feel is real. Now, I know that after reading this the company monitors are going to send me some literature on mental health, but they are missing the point. You can't create a disease and then try to cure it.

I can't handle their abuse of job description wording. Wording of a job description is like the second amendment, vaguely written to allow people to get away with murder. Although things are never written as vaguely as they are interpreted. No one is trying to form a militia. And projects assigned by management doesn't include performing an entirely different job. But vagueness in job description should be treated like the vagueness in the constitution; each right extends as far as the next right. This means a right goes until it infringes on another one of those rights. Translation: my job can go until the start of a new job. So, an obvious violation of this rule would be when a job you are performing is listed as an entirely different job description than your own. The minute that I am doing tasks that essentially mean that I am performing a separate job there is a huge abuse of power/job description occurring. You pay me for doing one job but you have me doing two. The fact that there is a false justification given to the abuse only compounds it. Maybe if they paid me more for doing more jobs, or even changed my title.

They talk about professionalism. They aren't professional, they are just cheap. Trying to have me fill a job that was formally occupied by a full time employee. You can't decide not fill a position because you feel as though you were overstaffed to begin with and then instead have me "help out" part-time in the position. The company doesn't get to save the cost of a full time person's salary and benefits and then not give me anything. The job position wasn't in question until the person who filled it left over a specific issue. It would be one thing if they were down sizing, but that was never a thought until she left. She would still be there, there would still be that job title.

I think it was all made worse by the fact that I was never asked but simply told of the new position. But such is life. Screwed with no satisfaction. My spirit raped and pillaged at their whim. My soul left battered and bruised by their beating of it. But hey, it is all worth it if a multi-billion dollar corporation can save what to them is like mere pennies. As long as the almighty dollar is tucked in safe in bed at night, then I can sleep easy. When the quest for the dollar destroys our civilization, when Rome falls again, I know my place in the proletariat revolution. For now I will take comfort with the fact that what I just said has earned me an FBI file. Big brother, where have you been? I've missed you, you never write back anymore. I write you all the time and you never answer, but it's ok because I take comfort in the fact that you are always watching me. Whether or not you are actually protecting me is another issue. However, no matter how alone I feel I know I'm not because I know you are always there. I'll write to you soon. In the meantime maybe you could send me some chicken soup for my sick body and my injured soul. I hear chicken soup does wonders for both.

What time is it?

My day is but a daze to me. Time keeps slipping away. Time isn't tangible, leaving nothing for me to grab hold to. We can't hold onto the moment or the present; we can only cling to the past or leap to the future. An instant is what separates the past from the future. One becomes the other and sometimes not in the linear order that you would expect. I feel as though my past is my future. Inescapable and undeniable. The tragic circle of time. Time moves in cycles. A time line doesn't exist but rather a bubble cluster outline of time dominates history. Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it. What a load of crap. Of course we are going to repeat it, if history has taught us anything that is it. It's as if each event in history is empirical evidence of that. The only difference is that the circles' diameters seem to be getting shorter. It is taking us less time to repeat our mistakes.

Time ticks on and I'm dizzy. I might faint from all the circles I've been running. If I had the ability to stop time I would stop to take a huge breath. One good, deep breath would do the trick.

Time stops for no man. Before you know it your time is up. There is no time yet there is an abundance of it. I don't have time to write and I write all the time. I guess I'm just waiting for the write time.

Dress for Success

In a magazine article, my branch manager stated that he feels the dress code needs be enforced more. This got me to thinking, by this I mean got me fuming. I'm suddenly reminded of my elementary school days in which we wore uniforms. Isn't a dress code for little kids to keep them from killing each other over a pair of Nikes. But yet here I am as an adult working for a company with a dress code.

What is the point? To look professional. I use to get that. As my mother always says, "presentation is everything." But the more I work in the "real world" the more the notion of being professional is such a joke to me. After all, we have to make sure we're dress professionally while people take and make personal calls. Can't dress like a slacker while people surf the internet. But I've come to the realization that dressing professionally boils down to one point: people feel the need to dress professionally because when their job finally kills them, they will already be dressed for their funernal (even in death it is all about multi-tasking).

Dress codes are designed to even out the playing field when in actuality they create more of a gap. Dress codes highlight the socioeconomic differences of employees. Everyone can dress casual and look the same, but professional clothes are expensive and thus hold much distinction amongst them. It's not hard to tell the difference between an Armani suit and a JC Penny suit, but it is hard to tell the difference between a pair of Old Navy jeans and a pair of high end designer jeans. Dress codes are just another means of oppression to keep the higher class superior to the working grunts. It's imperative to make sure you can spot the office hierarchy by the quality of their outfits because lord knows you can't spot them by their intelligence.

One the other hand, aren't we all suppose to dress the part. The American Dream. If you dress the for the dream people might actually believe that you achieved it. Perception is more important than reality. You don't have to actually work hard, you just have appear to be. If we pretend to live the dream then maybe we will think we are living it. How did we ever come to the conclusion that people have more credibility because they have a strip of fabric around their neck or a block of wood attacked to their foot. Or even that someone has something important to say when they stand behind a microphone.

But really the whole notion of a dress code is to keep people united. Sorry, I meant to keep people oppressed. The age old notion that any form of decent causes a slippery slope of to anarchy. Someone wearing that pair of sneakers will eventually lead to a Coup. We must all be parts in the same machine, making sure everything runs smoothly. Apparently, my bright pink scarf might throw a wrench in that machine.

The notion of professionalism exists because we have to separate our work life from the rest of our life. It is easy to know how to behave when you have your fancy clothes on. After all, it's not like people will behave unprofessionally if they are dressed professionally. It's not as if sexual harassment, unethical work practices, or gossip exist in the work place. How can they exist if we are dressed professionally? Professionalism is a joke and professional dress is the punchline. And trust me, I'm not the only one laughing.

Long Weekend Woes

I've just come back from an overly long weekend. I don't know how people can do it. Returning to my mundane work universe is too tragic. The memory of this place had been fully erased. Every memorized extension has vanished. Every daily routine forgotten. And every instant spent here removed from my mind. But one step back here and all the memories flood back despite the fact that you aren't wearing rain boots. So, here I sit with mud up to my ankles, wondering why I'm here again. Who did I piss off? I sit here in spite of myself and because of myself.

There has to be more out there. I can't believe that the only purpose in life is to work so as to merely pay your bills. Why do humans have to screw things up? Industrialization has destroy any purpose to life. Life, like the society it co-exists with, has become a mechanism of the machine. We've become a machine. Our routine like clockwork. The machine grinds our spirit. It becomes all that we know. We forget the pre-industrial world. We forget who we are or who we wanted to be.

Honestly, some days I don't even remember what it is that I ever wanted out of life. And I'm certain that I don't know what life wants out of me. All I know is that I can't just exist. Breathing is not enough for me. It's not enough to just be alive, I want to be living. How do I accomplish that? How do I become the person I want to be? Is that why people give up? Is it too difficult to find a solution that the problem becomes easier to deal with or ignore than it does to solve it. Do people just bid their time waiting, hoping the answer will come to them. I know that is what I do. You can only tread water for so long. The abyss will eventually suck you under. I don't think I can hold my breath that much longer.

Miss independence

Holiday weekend. WooHoo! I'm so excited that I don't know what to do with myself. It's amazing how your mood can change. Last night I was stationary on the couch, unable to move; so depressed that the notion of doing anything made the numbness deepen. But, today. Today is a new day. I'm getting out of dodge for the weekend. Sometimes you have to get lost to find yourself. And do some laundry.

How weird is it to have a washing machine in your house and take laundry on vacation so you can do it at your parent's house? I don't know why but there is something appealing to packing a big bag of laundry and some shoes. Obviously, the packing process is much easier when you merely have to throw some dirty clothes in a sack. But it is more than that. It's part of the process of being at home.

Why when we go visit our parents' house do we refer to it as going home? People ask me what I am doing this weekend, and I say, "going home." Yet when I'm there and I have to come back to where I live I answer that I'm "going back to LA." Will my family's house always be home or is it just home because LA doesn't feel like home to me?

Maybe I'm not as independent as I once thought. I guess in the Revolutionary War I would have been a loyalist, since I can't seem to part with the motherland. Maybe I need to right my own Declaration of independence and my own Constitution. Me the person of the LA state of Hollywood, in order to form a more perfect network, establish contacts...

However, in the actual Revolutionary War, if I had been a loyalist I would have moved back to London because I love it and I probably wouldn't have gone to the colonies to begin with.

It's interesting to read the Declaration of Independence, given the current political arena. A lot of it reads like a letter to the President. We fought so hard and now it all seems relevant again. I think I might go throw my Starbucks Chai Tea Latte in the river. In fact, they actually have a proposed espresso tax in Seattle. The more things change the more they stay the same.

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The Pursuit of happiness. John Locke said: life, liberty, and property. But Jefferson change the philosophy he borrowed from to pursuit of happiness. What does that really me? Why is it an unalienable right? Apparently I am dumb because it's a truth that is self-evident. Why are we only entitled to pursue happiness? Why aren't we guaranteed happiness? Happiness isn't an unalienable right, merely the pursuit of it is. It's kind of like: you have the right to go after happiness but whether you get it or not is your downfall.

But do we have the right the opposite. By law we don't have the right to death or denying liberty. Does that mean that we don't have the right to pursue unhappiness? You can pursue happiness, but unhappiness has to find you. But the sad part is, unhappiness is more prevalent. Maybe we aren't taking advantage of rights that bestowed upon us by being born. What's the point of having unalienable rights when you don't exercise them? Last night on the sofa I wasn't pursuing happiness. Maybe that is my problem, the pursuit of happiness is an active right. It's not like life or liberty that are just given to you. In order to take advantage of that right you have to actually pursue. The passive rights are easy the active rights are hard. But today, I declare my independence from my misery. I will take my first step in my journey to pursue happiness. Let the good times roll.

Your friendly neighborhood boys club

The office's walls ooze with testosterone. Ego is the cologne that penetrates the air. When they are in the elevator I have to wait for the next one because I can't fit in there with my fat ass and their big heads. Everyone wants a membership to the boys club. It looks like so much fun when your head peaks over the fence. Getting in the club doors seems the hard part. Once you are in they love you in an instance. That is how it appears from the outside looking in. Men seem to instantly bond. There is no method or reason for who are their friends; really it is solely dependent on them being in the same place at the same time.

I use to resent them because I couldn't be inside the circle, but it was my resentment that kept me outside. I too could smack the butts of the boys. I could tell loudly obnoxious stories to impress inconsequential people. I could even smile like I know something that you don't know. I'm in with the in crowd.

At work we have several boys clubs. The real boys club and the faux boys club. It's really the faux boys club that gives the real one a bad name. Once I thought they were one and the same but now I see one as the cheap imitation that it is. A postcard of Picasso to seeing the painting with your own eyes. The picture is the same but all the character, definition, and power of color aren't there. You would never judge a painting by a postcard, and that is what I did. In fact, the real boys club is a masterpiece.
Every angle you view it from you find something unique about it.

I hate the faux boys club because everyone thinks that it's real because the real boys club is rare and the faux is over-populated. It's so effortless for the genuine articles while the faux try so hard. You can't try to be laid back and cool. You can't do drugs trying to become the cool druggie that never talks other than to occasionally say utterly profound things. You are either natural at smoking crack or you're not. Don't pretend to be a druggie, just because you have the money to buy them doesn't mean you know how to smoke them. I'm not a natural born druggie, so I don't even try. But the fauxs of this world do.

In our office we have several fauxs. In fact, there are multiple gangs of them. Not even gangs, more like tribes. They speak their own language, wear their own tribal garb, and scarfice new receptionists to their god. They are a tribe in actual need of extinction. I say we kill them and give their land to the native Americans. After all, they are: loud, obnoxious, bolsterous, anxious, and unaware. They need to be told that a conversation is not a play they are putting on for people's amusement. Don't they know people want to be voyuers not invited audience members, however it is more like involuntary audience member to a performance of a really crappy conversation with bad acting.

We get so use to the show of the fauxs that we believe that the real are urban legend. But just when you are about to write off the boys club, you find the real one. The diamond in the rough no more; now a shiny, glimmering gem. I admit it, I'm a fan now. I love the real boys club. I love watching them interact and seeing things I shouldn't be privy to seeing. The little gestures, the sincere laughs, the undeniable coolness of it all. I peak my head around the corner just to feel apart of their conversation, even if at a distance. You can't dissect it, you can't comprehend it, you can only stare in awe of it. It's Starry Night, The Gates of Hell, Norte Dame.

And every once in a while they turn their attention your way. Usually it is at the moment in time that you just royally fucked something up. But unlike faux, they never make you feel stupid; they just say something cute, smile, and walk way leaving you not remembering that you had messed up at all. They are angels on earth that overwhelm us with their presence. It seems as though they life live the way it ought to be. They take it as it comes and laugh in it's face when it arrives. For them life isn't a struggle, life just is. It doesn't matter how much money you have you can't buy a membership to the boys club, there is no waiting list. Either you are a member or you're not. The best that money can do is buy you a seat with a nice view of the club pool.

I want to blog this memory out.

I was reading my friend Jenny's blog when something she wrote struck me. It might not have actually struck me, but it did feel like someone hit me over the head with something. Jenny wrote about the plight of our generation, one of them anyways. She wrote that she views herself as better and smarter than everyone else. She further states that this is how everyone our generation feels.

We can't merely be a generation of conceit. If this was true than we wouldn't all have rampant self-esteem issues. I propose a spin on her theory. Yes, everyone thinks that they are smarter than everyone else. We each view the world through our own eyes. Like houses on the same hill, everyone's view is slightly different. If you live on a hill on the other side of the valley, then the view is the exact opposite. Of course your view is going to be right because you look out the window and that is the view you see, that is the view that is true to you. Of course you are going to be smarter because your intellect is the one you judge other's against. It makes sense, yours is the only intellect you can ever know.

That is the 45 degree angle of Jenny's thought. Now to offer the 90 degree angle. In our mind, we are all college professors. We all weight skills differently. Some people weight the skill of spelling heavily because they are good spellers. I am not that person. But, of course we are going to weight are strengths more when we compare ourselves to other people. You don't go into battle with the weapon you are the worst at wielding. We are not better or smarter than each other we just posses different skill sets.

180 degree angle. Our conceit is merely a protective devise to save us from ourselves. At the core we are all idiots. But no one wants to know that about themselves. Our conceit gives us the strength and confidence to get us through the day. Who would want to get out of bed in the morning if they realized they were a moron. Thinking you are smart and wanting to prove it to the world is much more likely to get your ass in the shower. What the heck do any of us real know? We know what we think we know. Like they say on MTV, "You think you know, but you have no idea." Mindless wanders in the desert of life in desperate search of water. We find soda in the compare and contrast of ourselves against other people. But this is not water, it quenches your thirst for a little while before it leaves you dehydrated and in want for more. Every once and a while we get a glimpse of our stupidity. We view it to be a mirage, but it's not. Everyone does stupid things, luckily there is always someone there to compare and contrast against us, only we are the stupid one to them. In that moment in time we can't fault them for that, we are the stupid one. And there is the root of the self-esteem tree. One bad day and we feel as though we are on the brink of deforestation. However, the bigger the tree the harder they fall. Those who have the most conceit grow so high that they tower over the forest, but when they fall they take their neighbors out with them. Sadly the roots of the tree never go deep into the soil. No matter how tall the tree there is no real cling to the earth thus making the fall inevitable.

360 degree angle (is it still an angle if it is a circle?). Our idiocies are what makes us acquire knowledge. We ask questions. We pursue the truth. We strive for excellence knowing we will never achieve it. Our idiocies give us the ignorance to face the day. Our quest for stupidity is limitless. We want to strive for higher than what we see, farther than what we can run, and longer than what we can breathe. Courage is stupidity but used for a higher purpose, it's stupidity with justification. Reason tells us to do what is easy. Chasing your dreams is not smart. Taking a chance is foolish. A blind leap of faith is dumb. Being stupid is the smartest thing we can do. How do I know that to be true? How do you know that I am right? Because I am smarter than all of you.