Random Shit

So the cleaning lady for the Super 8 I'm staying at obviously didn't notice the DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door. she knocked for a good 3 min. Housekeeping... over and over and over... "surely she'll notice the do not disturb sign" i thought. She opens the door and i'm laying in bed screaming at her! "Do not disturb you stupid bitch!" I think she owes me an apology. :) Never wake a gay man! LOL Oh i just ate two cookies right as I was headed out to the gym. ..

Have you ever thought that the world was actually full of robots? Did you think that you were the only real human and the rest of the world was “in on it?” If you’ve ever thought this same thought than you’re not alone. I’m also a real human and you should find me because all of these robots are really getting on my nerves. Sometimes I think that these robots get programmed every night, with information on how to ruin my life on a daily basis.

As a child I saw a movie where this boy’s parents killed their co-workers, ground their meat up into sausage and fed it to the boy as his dinner. Once the boy found this out he desperately tried to stop his parents but his father, Randy Quade, had become obsessed with human flesh and then decided to kill the boy. I lost a little respect for my dad after seeing that movie, mainly because he would make these hot dogs with German sausage that absolutely hated, and force me to finish my entire plate. I always thought it was human flesh and felt horrible after every meal containing sausage.

I’m part of the calculator generation, forced into a life of computers at a young age and video games. It’s hard trying to remember all these passwords, I could have it worse off though, I could be part of the manual labor and cigarettes’ generation. I played Sonic the Hedge Hog on my Sega video console as a child, let me just say, this was no good for me. My perception of reality was completely off track when I was younger and playing video games didn’t help matters. Every time I was in the back seat of our beat up station wagon, I imagined I was running at the same speed of the car I was traveling in, hopping off of things just like Sonic would do. I’d imagine sometimes that the car had left me behind and I’d have to “wind up,” imagining that I was tucked inside a small ball, spinning like a wind up toy car, then I would magically shoot off with the speed of like and catch up to the car.

I constantly forget things. I can’t hear and I buy in bulk. Sometimes I think I’m either a crack head or an old person. Same difference really. I've never really been a drug user. It's not for me, I've always been high on my own, I don't need drugs to make me more interesting. I'm an old soul, I'm still a gentelman on some occations and I always wish things were as simple as when we didn't have the internet. I also own multiple amounts of deodorant at any given time and enjoy movies with Racheal McAdams. That's why I'm old. Listerine also reminds me of old people.

The Clinic

   

The burning sensation showed no sign of slowing down as I sat parked in front of the RBJ Clinic. A Mexican Man in his early 40’s wearing a rustic blue collared shirt tried frantically to open the doors to the clinic where his STD’s would be treated. I remember the man’s chest hair was white and black, mainly white with the finesse of a mangled shaggy dog. His tan seemed fake from the bronzer in a bottle squeezed excessively onto his body and I chuckled as I noticed one button desperately trying to release itself from the pressure of his enormous belly that pushed against it. He eventually gave up, though it is important to get there early, he got back into his car to go back to sleep. I was almost certain he had an STD just by how nasty, and filthy he appeared.

I had previously gotten angry with an employee at the clinic on a Friday, three days earlier, because when I called at eight in the morning I got an answering machine that said the hours were from eight to five excluding lunch. I continued to get that message til about 8:15. People, there is a time to be persistent and in the event of an STD, a desire to kill the itch is the most important fixation of all. The people that work at these clinics should understand that their patients could be met with a life and death situation. The well-being of my penis was in danger and if there’s anything I will always protect, it’s my penis… and my balls, those are also pretty important. The point is that they should be on time, it’s just so irresponsible not to be. Anyways, I set my appoint that Friday and on Monday showed up early. It came as no surprise to me that the doors would be locked at eight when I got there for my appointment. About ten minutes later a woman in paper thin blue scrubs walked right through a door I hadn’t tried opening. I walked in and noticed two waiting rooms that mirrored each other. A Hispanic lady, most likely a receptionist was sitting in the Limbo of these two rooms stared at me with a wide grin. She motioned for me to come over, yelling “STD?” at me from across the room. “STD’s are on this side of the clinic, you can check in over here.” When I got to her sliding glass window I told her my name was Jordan and that only my really close friends call me STD. She was oblivious to my sarcasm and went into the details about where in the clinic I would travel to along with the map I would need to find my way.

Unlike Frodo from Lord of the rings, I had zero companions to help me on my quest to Mount RBJ CLINIC WAITING ROOM, or more widely known as “Candy Mountain.” After about ten minutes of searching, I started to imagine I was Gandalf, with a large staff and a light at the end of it, headed to my doom. I would fall miles and miles, past a place where fires burn, into nothingness and back again, landing in a cold dank spot called Clinic Waiting room. I sat there in silence, looking around I could see that this place wasn’t meant for me. There were about five or six others in the waiting room. Two sisters, shouting into one phone, at a man they were both upset with. Apparently he had befriended them both in bed and left them with a similar parting gift. They yelled white trash remarks into their pay as go flip phone, minute were running low. I noticed it was quite, I looked their way to see one of the girls texting extremely slow, trying to understand what words mean. There was a young Asian guy dressed in business clothes as if he was headed to an interview afterwards, a Hispanic couple seemed way to flirty to be in a STD clinic, the ugliest black man on earth with whom I’m sure STD’s originate, and a younger Hispanic kid with his mother and 2 little siblings. He must have been about seventeen, and anyone could tell he was completely embarrassed to be at an STD clinic with his mother. His little brother and sister played on the floor for a while than started screaming and fighting over a pamphlet informing youth about Chlamydia.

I was the only person aware or even disgusted about the STD porno the clinic had airing on the television above our heads. It was a complex story about 4 different people, all worried about getting STD’s, the problem was that the content was rated PG13 at best, there were some “R” rated love making sounds for sure. All of these people were smiling at the end of the video, three of the four ended up being fine. The fourth person, the only one who decided not to use a condom got a couple STD’s, got pregnant and ended up with AIDS by the end of the video… even she was smiling at the end. Because when does Chemo-Therapy not make somebody burst with joy?

An older white woman in her fifties with dirty blond hair called me in to get examined. She asked a lot of personal questions, to which I replied “gezz, what are you, my mother!” Immediately I knew I had fucked up. She had me strip down, completely naked, and inserted a long thin Q-Tip down the length of my penis. It stung and I could tell that this was the highlight of her job. I thought we were done after that, I was wrong. She had me bend over and then she stuck a finger up my butt. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to sex with a woman, and I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy it at all! She gave me pills that made me nauseous and sent me on my way; I was going to be ok! I didn’t have anything that couldn’t be cured and the numb feeling from the Q-Tip was supposed to go away within a few days. As I limped up the Mountain, back into reality, I felt a since of control in my life again. I was worried that I may be just another gay guy with an STD, that thought has stuck with me ever since and I hope I never have to visit Mount STD Clinic ever again.

The Other Woman

Sometimes I think back to a four month period of my life and wonder how I made it through the difficult time with absolutely zero drug usage. If it wasn’t for broadcast television and the Chelsea Lately show/ HGTV, I never would have made it! It was a period between about October through January in 2009 to 2010. I remember it well. I was single, living with my best friend and saving up so that I could move away from the world’s most mind-numbing town, San Angelo, TX. Week after week I felt the void of nothingness, getting no where while experiencing the same drag show every weekend where the same fat ass guy in fish net stockings decided to make fun of people while his/her duck tapped penis would start to sweat the adhesive away. Many other people may have a different experience with this town, but that’s mine and I’m sticking to it.

            Late at night, bored and numb after watching 7 straight hours of HGTV, I decided I would check the mail. It was late and as I was walking up to the collection of mail boxes provided by my apartment complex I notice a black cat in the distance. Not an actual cat, but a man whose face first struck me as cat-like. He had the face of a panther, the bulge of a blue whale and personality of a kitten. We locked eyes for a moment as he purposely dropped the stack of mail fumbling in his arms. As I helped him pick up his mail we struck up a conversation. We started hanging out after that, in the beginning I’d get massively drunk and call him when I was horny. It was risky, feelings were involved, he was in the military, my favorite new show on ABC, The Witches of Eastwick, was about to be canceled and also because he was going through a divorce, after a couple months of sex I started to fall for him. It was exciting, sneaking around, I’d never done something like this and it provided that “Lifetime” thrill I had been missing in my life.

               His wife at the time was a ghetto black girl we’ll call Abortioniqua. Abortioniqua was in school for cosmetology and encouraged every stereotype a black woman has ever had. I imagined beautiful, powerful black women like Beyonce, Keri Hilson, Tyra Banks and Monique, ashamed of this woman. She had a job she worked at for 8 hrs a week, and left all of the bills up to “the husband” as she called him. She routinely called her husbands job and made up lies to try and get him fired. She called the police to get him arrested; she got in fights at clubs, and even as I’ve heard it, slept with one of his friends, a woman. Abortioniqua was what made the relationship Mark and I had, interesting, exciting, and tiresome. The constant sneaking around took a toll on me and after a while I demanded that the divorce be finalized. He started pushing divorce more with her, how she didn’t see this coming was beyond anyone at that point. He had been sleeping on the couch for the past six months and said about two words to her on any daily basis. She started checking his emails and following him. We used extra precaution, with him being military, the risks were even higher. He could’ve been kicked out of the military or even worse, being forced to stay married to her for much, much longer. Perhaps he wasn’t as cautious as usual or she just wasn’t as dumb as we thought, after all, we did all live in the same community. Did we really think that she would never notice his car parked over at my apartment everyday?

                 Mark stayed over one evening, which I enjoyed because this was rare considering the amount of discreetness we endured. We made out for 30 minutes then he left. I pranced around in my boxers afterwards, made myself a bowl of cereal and started to watch cartoons. Right as I start to take the first spoonful of delicious Special K, I heard a knock at the door, Mark must have forgotten something. I open the door, boxers on and cereal in hand to be met by a pointing finger and flying questions by Abortioniqua. “Are you Sam?!?” she shouted. My mind raced, “how much could she know?” I wondered. She shouted the entire time, wondering why he was always at my apartment, after a while I could tell she had no clue that I was Marks lover or that he was even gay for that matter. I started to return some the attitude; Mark had been right about her the whole time and any guilt I felt was long gone. The woman was a grade A bitch, with a black belt in psycho! I I was pokerfaced after about 10 seconds of arguing with a gorilla faced, ghetto girl from bad girls club. I closed the door with a “yes, uhhuhh, yep, oh yeah, sure, ughuhh, yeah I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” She replied by pounding on my door and demanding that I get my pussy ass out there and bring the “white bitch” with me. Little did she know that I was the “white bitch” and I certainly didn’t feel like getting jumped that early in the morning. I watched out of the window as another, much prettier black woman held her back from destructing my door any further.

               Mark called to apologize, I moved to another city and we continued our relationship, through the divorce and onward into our own problems. The moral of this story is to keep it simple people, don’t date married dudes. Married dudes!!! Stop sleeping around til after your divorce is FINAL!! Its not fair for anyone!

Telemarketers

Most people have worked at jobs that they can’t stand, hate or decide to kill themselves over. Most of the time it’s telemarketers, mainly because most of them are bat shit crazy. Alas, the point I’m trying to make is that, telemarketers probably deserve it. Who decides to become a telemarketer, that’s the dumbest job on the planet!

So I applied to work as a call service representative (telemarketer) in the summer after my first year at college. My brother Thomas already worked there, I was actually surprised he had a job, these people must hire anybody! He put in a good word for me and I got the job. It was undoubtedly the worst job I’ve ever had. I worked for a company that did trouble shooting for Boost Mobile, a pay as you go phone company. At the time, the best phone they had was the Razor by Motorola. The service for these phones sucked giant walrus balls and the cards you loaded money on for these phones were always crapped out. Now I understand why so many telemarketers kill themselves around Christmas time, its because that’s when cell phone sales are highest.

The only time a customer was ever happy was when they had just bought their phone and called in to activate it. All other phone conversations were a complete mess. To make matters worse, our call center number was almost the same as the number you call for phone sex with women named Candy and Dallas. Once, I picked up to answer a call and all I could hear were people having hardcore sex in the background. I proceeded to ask the guy if he needed help with anything. He continued to just breathe into the phone, after a minute or so I told him that things were getting creepy and I’d have to hang up. Honestly, it had resembled a few dates I’d been on before so I wasn’t so surprised by it. He asked me to do things with my butt that weren’t natural, I would have talked a lot longer with him but they record the phone conversations. Also, I needed another pay check to afford all the alcohol I’d be drinking the next few weeks. I asked the man if I could help him with anything again, to which he replied, “Yeah! you can help me jack off.” I replied, “Sir, I can hang up.” And I did.

Most of the people who buy pay as you go phones are too poor to afford regular cell phones, or they’re just pimps who need a second phone. I’ve had women ask me out on dates, homeless people ask for extra minutes or where I work so they can bum a cigarette, and a guy named Carl piss me off with every ounce of his energy. Carl was a white male in his early sixties who knew absolutely nothing about technology. He was frustrated with his life because his daughters no longer kept in touch with him and I imagine he shit himself on occasion, it’s the only explanation I can come up with to why he was such an asshole. 

As soon as he heard my voice on the phone he demanded to speak to a supervisor, when this happens we put them on hold for two minutes and wait for the person next to us to get off their call. The girl who sat next to me was a nineteen year old who’s soul purpose was to go to raves and meet black guys who spend all their money fixing up their car. When she described guys she was into, she didn’t describe their features, but instead the features of their car, “Oh, I really like this guy!” she would say. “He is really nice and his Pontiac has polished chrome rims, two dvd players and a bad ass sound system.” She would go on about other stuff, but I didn’t follow well because I didn’t know what torch or nausea or what V6 meant. Isn’t that a vegetable drink? I assume she was always on drugs because she would dance in her chair as if she was actually at a rave, twirling her arms in and out til I got dizzy or until she went to the bathroom to vomit.

My friend got on the phone with the man, she told him that she really appreciated him waiting and that I would be more than able to assist him. As she put me back on the phone, I could hear him screaming like a banshee, mid-air as she handed over the head set. He was upset about his phone not having any minutes left on it. I told the man that if you don’t use them within 90 days they expire. The man only had about 20 min left anyways. I offered to fix the problem and give him the 20 min back. That could have been the end. He cussed me out right and left. He called me a faggot, which I only allow in the heat of sexual passion, and usually only black guys. The conversation lasted another hour; we had a cuss word limit of three, which he passed within the first three seconds of the call. I could have hung up but I knew he’d just call back and get me again. I learned about his daughters and his dogs, he had diabetes and he didn’t like Blacks, Hispanics, Gays, short people, young people, and most of all his ex wife for giving him the phone to begin with. I decided that day that I would quit. The girl who sat next to me said we should get hammered drunk before work and take all of our calls anyways. She never showed up after that day, no one knows what ever happened to her. I called into work for the next two weeks, I eventually ran out of money after being gone for a while. I knew if I were to come back I would need a fantastic story. I told them that my mother had recently been diagnosed with cancer and that I was gone for two weeks with her because she had to have someone to drive her to the hospital. I worked half of that day then walked out. Telemarketing can suck my balls! I’d rather be homeless!