Nobody is ever on time any more

Like never. What the fuck is wrong with people?

So, I quit my job a few weeks ago (another story meant for a different day, preferably one where my urge to write DIE, MOTHERFUCKER, DIE! over and over again on an effigy of my ex-boss has abated somewhat).

Anyway, I’ve had half a dozen phone interviews in the past couple of weeks and not one of them has called me when s/he said s/he was going to call me. Not one. At least once this meant sitting around for over an hour and for whatever reason, when I’m waiting for a phone call, I’m incapable of doing anything else for fear of missing the call, even though I realize that the whole purpose of mobile phones is that you can carry them around to wherever you want to go. I just don’t want to be sitting on the can or caught with a giant mouthful of food or in the middle of using power tools or standing in the checkout line at Target or on that 5^th glass of scotch when the call comes in. (OK, so I don’t use power tools but everything else is completely plausible.) 

Yesterday, I was tasked with the calling bit. The call was scheduled for 2PM. I called at... fucking 2PM because that's when I was told to call. And what did I get? I got routed straight to motherfucking voicemail. And it wasn’t even a personalized voicemail and this is the founder and CEO of the company. I’ve never been a CEO but I feel like were that ever to occur, I’d probably personalize my voicemail, even if it was just, “Hello! You’ve reached the goddammed CEO of this motherfucker. I’m away doing important CEO shit, so leave a message, bee-yotch!” (Actually if I’m ever CEO of something, that’ll totally be my voicemail message. You heard it here first, folks!)

And this isn’t just a recent trend. It has gotten so bad that, when I was still employed, I would purposefully head to a meeting 5 minutes late because I KNEW nobody would be there on time. I hated myself for this, but the alternative would be sitting around by myself in a conference room wasting time with my dick in my hand (figuratively of course, since I don’t actually have a penis, in case you were wondering).

To add insult to injury on the day my ex-boss decided to demote me for no fucking reason - note here that he will maintain that it was technically not a demotion, but I will then maintain that he is a lying piece of shit who should be shot in the face – he was 15 minutes late for the meeting.  HE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO BE ON TIME FOR THE 1-ON-1 MEETING THAT HE FUCKING SCHEDULED TO TELL ME HE WAS MAKING A DECISION TO SINGLE-HANDEDLY DESTROY MY CAREER. In fact, he was never on time for any meeting. Never. But then again, nobody is anymore, so I guess I can’t hate him for that….

Well, actually yes I can. I totally can. And I can also hate him for being a raging douchelord. Actually I can hate him for just existing. Breathing air. Walking on the same planet as me. Being born. Looking the way he does. Talking. Eating a fucking sandwich like that. Drinking goddammed water. That motherfucker. If only he'd stop drinking water maybe he'd fucking die! DIE, MOTHERFUCKER, DIE!!!!!

..but I digress....

Anyway, which is ruder: 1) having to cut people off and schedule a follow-up so you can be on time for your next meeting or 2) rolling in 15+ minutes late to a meeting with the excuse that your last meeting ran late, thus causing that meeting to run late and every meeting thereafter? Number 2, right?  Then why the fuck does everybody choose this course of action?  Because they’re assholes. We’ve become a society of inconsiderate assholes.

But this can stop here and now, people! Stop being assholes. Get your happy asses to meetings on time. And if you start getting to meetings on time, maybe everyone else will start doing it and then maybe one day your grandkids won't know what it's like to live in a world full of selfish, inconsiderate late-for-everything assholes and you can feel good about your contributions. Maybe the world will still be in shambles. Maybe the polar ice caps will be melted and maybe the terrorists will have won, but at least when you're waiting around for the world to end, you'll have the comfort of knowing it'll be on time. 

My brother didn't die in combat, but I consider him a casualty of war. Perhaps I shouldn't, but I do. Jamie was adopted into our family from the Philippines at 14. He had spent his entire life to that point in an orphanage. He had trouble adjusting to our family and life in the US. I remember the stories vaguely, but what I remember most is the laughter. It didn't really matter what was going on, Jamie could always make you laugh and unlike my sense of humor, his felt like he was giving you a gift. It's hard to explain, but even during his last days in hospice, he always had a joke and a smile for everyone he walked by and the nurses and the staff obviously adored him, as most people who came to know him would. 

If you’re standing next to me at the grocery checkout line I’m judging you based on what you’re buying. No exceptions. Doesn’t matter what I’m buying. Whatever you’re buying always somehow makes you inferior to me. If it’s a self-check-out line, I’m also judging your intelligence based on how long it takes you to figure out how to find the produce code for the cucumber you are no doubt going to be shoving in your ass later.

Costco is an especially good place for this because shit purchases are one thing, but shit purchases in bulk make for some majorly awesome judgy-ness . The shit people buy at Costco is fucking horrifying.  Eight quadruple packs of Wonder bread and a gallon jug of mayonnaise? Why not just pour sugar and lard down your gullet instead?

Regardless, I was at SuuuuuuperTarget yesterday picking up a few items (tomatoes, an avocado, some Amy’s frozen things and tampons if you’re curious and want to judge) and so I’m standing there minding my own business quietly judging the guy in front of me who apparently had a checkout belt phobia because he was cradling all his shit (vitamin C drops, a fancy pink mother’s day card, and Fiber Choice pills) like it was a fragile infant and passing each item to the cashier one-by-one so it wouldn’t touch the tainted belt.  And as I’m sizing the guy up (35ish year old, uptight constipated germaphobe who probably lives in his mom's basement), bam! a “family sized” bag of Fritos gets tossed onto the belt (like literally heaved) behind my (far superior) purchases, followed by bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! - 9 more bags.  Fucking ten giant bags of Fritos! TEN! Now let me stop right here and say I love me some Fritos. Love. Them. Those BBQ Frito twists are like motherfucking crack. I could eat Fritos all day every day but I don’t for (what should be) obvious reasons….  

So naturally I then turn to look at the person who is clearly living my dream to find a whole lotta woman wearing a whole lotta animal print with what I call a Lego hair – you know, hair that looks it was snapped on like a helmet via a round connector at the top of your head - a "hair helmet" if you will...

After the Fritos came industrial-sized cans of refried beans (a size that I didn’t know existed, especially at Target, though I guess I don’t peruse the refried bean section that often), paper plates, and plastic spoons.

That’s it.

Well at this point the rusty gears in my head are turning. Is she making a shitload of some sort of Frito/refried bean casserole? The Frito-to-bean ratio seemed off to me.  Was she planning a party to serve this casserole? Or was she just too lazy to do dishes? How efficient is it to eat Fritos with a plastic spoon? Or maybe the spoons were to eat the beans out of the cans, but then what were the plates for? My curiosity was so piqued at this point that the words, “What the hell are you gonna do with all those fucking Fritos???”  started forming in my head until my hatred for people and conversations with strangers kicked into gear.

Now I realize that she probably had other stuff at home to compliment her purchases… and who doesn’t have a bunch of things already on hand that could go with vats of Fritos and refried beans, right? But then my mind takes a horrific turn and goes to this: Frito bath.

GodDAMMIT! Why did my mind have to go there??? Now I have this picture in my head of this woman crawling into a bathtub full of Fritos and the spooning refried beans from the can into her cakehole (still no idea about the plates, though….).Awesome. Now I'm going to have nightmares... and perhaps now you will too!

Anyway, the point of all this is that I’m judging you, whoever you are, at the grocery store. 

Case of bottled water? Environment hater.

Lots of frozen dinners? Lonely loser.

Case of Ramen Noodles? Poor lonely loser.

Sugared cereals? Horrible parent.

Lots of Greek yogurt? Douchebag.

Tofu and Asian pears? Huge douchebag

And the list goes on…  and then when I’m done judging you for what you’re buying I’m judging you for how you look.

I guess the moral of this story is to do all your shopping online…. Though I guess the order fulfiller will also be judging you.

So I guess the moral of this story is that I’m a horribly judgmental person… but really. Admit it. You are too, aren’t you?

I knew it!

Fucking judgy mcjudgerton asshole….

On my generally soul-sucking commute to work this morning, a Tesla S blew by me like I was standing still only to be slamming on his brakes 10 feet later because, you know, there are lots of other cars at 8AM on a Thursday morning in a city whose claim to fame (among many others) is having the worst traffic on the face of planet.  Note here that traffic was moving at about 70 MPH, which was slower than my liking as well, but what can you do?

Apparently if you own a Tesla S, you can use exit lanes to pass people and pretend like all the other cars on the road are part of your giant slalom course.

Well this got me thinking... who are the biggest assholes on the road?  It’s sort of a tossup between people who drive performance cars and people who drive hybrids (and I can say this because I drive one of these types of cars). So it seems that these two types of people mated to create the king of all asshole drivers: the performance electric car driver. I mean really, what does owning a Tesla S say about a person?

It says he (or she) is a speed-crazy prick AND a holier than thou tree-hugging douchebag.

Obviously this revelation prompted me to look up prices on the Tesla S as soon as I got to work with the intent to possibly purchase one. Well apparently they’re not insanely expensive. I mean, they’re pricey, but not like Maserati or Ferrari pricey (which explains why the dude seemed to not care about almost driving right into me to get back into my lane when his lane came to a screeching halt and mine was still moving (slowly)). And as I sat there contemplating a purchase, I realized that it didn’t have a gearbox and thus no stick shift. Now I realize that it’s not necessary in electric cars for optimal performance, but I just like being able to angrily jam a car into a gear and stomping on the gas and hearing the rev of the engine….

Anyway, the other thing is that I’ve never had a laptop or phone or electronic doohickey with a battery that’s lasted anywhere near as long as its claim. I also suck at remembering to recharge shit, so I’d have this nightmare of being constantly stuck in the middle of the highway with a dead battery… or even worse: stuck at work <shudder>.

So I’ll not be purchasing this car anytime soon, but if anyone out wants to give me one I would graciously accept.

So I was in New York City this past weekend to see a concert with some friends. The concert was yesterday, but I figured I’d make a mini vacation out of it and spend the weekend there.

At some point in my recent life I fancied myself a runner. These days I kinda sorta run. Sometimes. At a pace many might not consider really “running”.

Anyway, yesterday was one of those infrequent occurrences when I decided to run. This is a big deal because travel tends to make my running an even less frequent occurrence, even though I always go through the motions of packing up my running gear with lofty ideas of actually using it that rarely come to fruition. Recently, running shoes have made great underwear and sock holders for consolidated packing, but that’s pretty much it.  Too bad sports bras don’t make fashionable hats…

But because I used to be a runner I knew that yesterday was the Boston Marathon – a race that has always been my white whale because I just haven’t had the dedication to train well enough to qualify for it.  But, somewhere in the back of most runners’ minds is the goal to one day qualify for and then run Boston, regardless of how realistic it actually is. (There are a few bullshit ways for contemptible bastards to get into Boston without actually qualifying, but that’s a different discussion for a different day.)

And so, as thousands of runners were lining up in Boston with the sole purpose of running 26.2 miles, I woke up to a cool, cloudy New York City spring morning -  after a late night of too much food, sloth and wine -  resolved to put my running gear to use and go for a run at exactly 10AM – the start of the elite men and wave 1 runners.

I couldn’t have asked for better weather or a better location to run and as I was cruising* around the Jackie O reservoir I wondered to myself why I didn’t do this more often….ummm, because you have become a lazy-ass fuck.

I managed to eek out just over 5 miles (not quite 26.2 but super super close in the land of delusion), before heading back to my hotel on the edge of the park to start thinking about how to spend the rest of the day.

As it turns out, me and my friend R ended up eating a leisurely lunch and then tooling around the park until making a spur of the moment decision to go see the Hayden Planetarium show.  All I’m going to say about this decision is that it was the best $25 nap I’ve ever taken. There was just something about the moving stars and Whoopie Goldberg’s soothing voice that just lulls one into a very restful and peaceful sleep.

Little did I know that while I was taking my expensive (but totally worth it) nap, there was some horrible fucking shit going on in Boston.

Now, I write a lot about how much people suck and even though I generally say this in jest, we actually really do. We have the potential to be a super horrible species – terrible beyond words - and it’s not just a select few of us. Every single one of us has this evil lurking inside. Some of us are good at quashing it, others notsomuch.

But we also have the potential to be so incredibly awesome. It’s a shame that it often takes horrific tragedy to bring it out. It’s almost as if we need to have a common enemy to work together and act selflessly. And I don’t know whether the beauty of the selfless acts outshines the ugly fact that it takes pain and bloodshed and tragedy to bring them out. I tend to think that it does not, unfortunately.

And now as I come to the end of what I have to say, I don’t know where I was really going with any of this (which is clearly nothing new).

I guess my point is that I found my inner runner again yesterday, which is really to say that I found my inner humanity and I’m guessing that perhaps some of you did too. And I really hope it doesn’t take another act of inhuman atrocity for us to find it again. 

*the use of the word ”cruising” may be a bit of an exaggeration

Do you remember what your Myers-Briggs personality type is? You must have had to take this test at least once – perhaps in school or maybe because you worked for some dipshit company that decided they could more effectively manage your ass based on your shitty personality.

If you’re unfamiliar with this test, I’m not going to explain it to you in detail. Fire up the Google machine and do your own fucking research. Contrary to what my blog name would seem to indicate, I’m not really here to be helpful - just ironic, bitchy and marginally entertaining.... but in a nutshell, back in the day a psychologist named Carl Jung came up with some psycho-babble-type theories about how we as humans experience our shitty existence. Then two chickies (Myers and Briggs) took Jung's theories and created a test that was supposed to determine each person's personality type and they broke this down into 4 pairs of traits: Extrovert/Introvert, Sensing/iNtuiting, Thinking/Feeling and Judging/Perceiving. Their theory is that everyone is more strongly one or the other of each of these trait pairs, so then they break people into 16 categories based on these traits. If you don't understand why there are 16 categories, you are a math idgit and I can't help you there.

Regardless, you can take a test which will spit out the four letters indicating your personality type. For example, I'm an INTJ (Introvert, iNtuiting, Thinking, Judging) . I'll get into what that means in a second, but just based on those words you can probably see that my test results would seem to indicate a lack of warm and fuzziness in my personality. Clearly you can tell, based on this blog, that that is 100% incorrect. I'm the epitome of warm and fuzzy, dammit! If I could hug every single one of you, I totally would - and not one of those lame one-armed bro-hugs. No sir! In fact, I'd be gettin' all handsy trying to cop a feel!

So, in order to take a "reputable" version of the test you generally have to front up some cash to do so. However, there are tons of free ones floating around the interwebz (like this one) but most people will say they are BS, though most people don't know what the fuck they are talking about, so there's that...

Anyway, the point of all of this is just for me to say that to me, these personality types are really just a tiny, microscopic step above a horoscopic profile. And in my case both are similarly accurate in describing my personality, probably yours as well. 

And really, the thing is that some people’s personalities just suck. Plain and simple.  I mean if you really think about it most of us have shitty personalities. But both the Myers-Briggs and horoscope profiles tend to make everyone seem like a fucking prince. I mean sure they mention some less-than desirable traits, but they spin them as good things.

Case-in-Point, a dude named David Keirsey took all these personality profiles and assigned roles (names) to them, which makes them seem even more horoscopic (and thusly, hokey as fuck).  Below is a graphic from Personality Desk depicting them:

Ooooooooo doesn't it make everyone sound fabulous? Congratulations, you are "The Dynamo"! How fucking great is that? It's so much better and more scientific than being a Capricorn or a Dragon, isn't it? Of course it is! And so much more meaningful! And look at all the other personality types? Aren't they wonderful? You're awesome. I'm awesome. We're all fucking awesome!

Well as I've said before, we're not all awesome. In fact we are all mostly the antithesis of awesome. Don't hate. You know it's true. So after doing an extensive amount of research (we're talking several minutes here), I've come up with my own, much more accurate personality profile names.

Ah, so now you see it, don't you? Now it all makes sense. Now you see your true colors for what they really are, eh? You're welcome. Maybe I really AM providing helpful hints after all!

Anyhoooo, if you've taken the test and know your fo shizzle personality type, you might also be wondering how common yours is. I've made a super cool Excel graph depicting the personality type distributions (numbers courtesy of The Myers & Briggs Foundation - I figure they're probably one of the more reputable sources, other than me of course, being that they took the time to pay $10 bucks to GoDaddy.com* for that web address).

Note that just because your personality type is common or uncommon doesn't prove you are any more or less of an asshole than the next guy... well, unless you're MFing Hitler. In that case it's probably safe to assume that you are a ginormous asshole.

*Disclaimer: technically the bit about GoDaddy.com is probably not true.

Ever heard of the Holstee Manifesto?  Perhaps not by name, but you may recognize it.  It’s been around since 2009. You can read about it on their website where they pimp out various and sundry wares bearing touchy feely proclamations inciting people to give The Man a big “fuck you”, thus blissfully plummeting into a life of peace, love, understanding, and poverty.  If you haven’t seen it, take a gander below:

 

Sounds great, doesn’t it? It’s fucking utopia, isn’t it? And so so easy when it’s written out like that. Don’t you read it and then suddenly feel like “aha! HERE is the key to my happiness. I’d never THOUGHT that such things could make me happy. All of the answers to my life are written here!” It almost brings a tear to my cynical eye. Almost. 

But just for shits and giggles, let’s break this down a bit.

Do what you love and do it often!

Done! I like watching TV, eating fattening food and fucking  (not necessarily at the same time). How about you?

If you don’t like something, change it.

OK. Well....I’m not a fan of Dan Snyder owning the Redskins. Being that later in this manifesto it suggests that I quit my job, I can’t really hope to afford to buy the Redskins from him, so I guess I’m just going to have to hunt him down and run him over with my car. (Disclaimer, KIDDING! I am not threatening anyone’s life nor well-being here. At least not officially. Also: please don’t sue me, Mr. Snyder.)

I also don’t really like skinny jeans on guys. Or cats. I don’t like cats. So should my new life’s mission should be to eradicate cats and men in skinny jeans? hmmmm….. OK maybe it should. Who knew?

If you don’t like your job, quit.

OK, so this is where things start breaking down. Are they suggesting I default on my mortgage? Ain’t no way doing what I love is gonna net me the kinda cash I make at my current place of employment. Plus, nobody likes working for a living. Nobody. People who say they do are liars. People tolerate their jobs. That’s as good as it gets with very few exceptions.

On top of that, there’s a lot of shit in this world that needs getting done that nobody wants to do. If the people doing those jobs all up and quit this world would suck way more than it already does.

This statement is just irresponsible and dumb.

If you don’t have enough time, stop watching TV.

There aren’t enough hours in a day to watch the amount of TV I want to watch, so I should stop watching TV to be able to watch more TV?  This makes no sense whatsoever. Fucking morons.

If you are looking for the love of your life, stop; they will be waiting for you when you start doing the things you love.

First of all: “THEY"??? Am I a reverse Mormon? Is a harem of men just waiting to do my bidding? Holy shit, that sounds freaking awesome!

But hold on a sec…

Are these men just stalking me waiting to pop out of the shadows the day I get my shit together? That sounds pretty fucking creepy if you ask me.  Dammit, now I’m going to be a paranoid mess.  Thanks a lot, Holstee you motherfuckers.

Stop Overanalyzing

Why? This is what smart people do. Stupid people under-analyze things and get killed doing stupid shit that they should have analyzed more carefully before doing.

All Emotions are Beautiful

Oh really? Well how about psychotic rage? I guarantee you that nobody on the other side of that axe-wielding emotion stops to admire its beauty.

When you eat, appreciate every last bite.

Oh I do. I appreciate the fuck outta a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. It’s only after that last bite that I start hating myself.

Life is Simple

So this is just dumb. Life is only simple for simple people. And “simple” is just a polite way of saying "moronic". Then again, if ignorance is bliss…. Eh. I’m still going with my first statement. This is just dumb.

Open your mind, arms and heart to new things and people, we are united in our differences.

OK, I can dig re: new things but notsomuch people. As a general rule people suck. I suck. You suck. We all suck. THIS is what unites us. And then we bond together in groups of people with similar types of suckitude. Why would I want to mingle with other groups? That’s like introducing an unnecessary contagion into an already shitty little mixture.

Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them.

The fuck you say? No thank you.  I’ll pass on this one. Most people have some fucked up shit going on in those squirrely little heads of theirs (notice the correct use of plural pronouns here v. the incorrect use of them in the manifesto) and I don’t want some yayhoo stealing my dreams and passing them off as his own. Fuck that noise.

Travel often; getting lost will help you find yourself

Well thanks to your previous suggestion, I’ve just quit my job and can’t fucking afford to travel. Also, I have genius level spatial skills. I don’t get lost because I know how to read a map.

Some opportunities only come once, seize them.

Well this might be true, but it’s probably prudent to be a bit selective here. After a rather unsatisfying one night stand, I had the opportunity to provide the young gent with the means to call me again. I didn’t seize that one. I’m certain I’m better off for it.

Life is about the people you meet, and the things you create with them so go out and start creating.

Up until now I haven’t complained about the horrible punctuation. I tend to be comma happy so it’d be much like a pot/kettle thing, but the comma in the above statement irks me to no end. No end I tell you! Regardless, I think this is telling me I need to go out and make babies. If that’s the case everyone on this planet should be happy I’m not heading this advice. I also think that this would be better worded as follows: “Life is about meeting people and fucking like rabbits.”

Live is short.

Maybe, but it’s the longest thing you’ll ever do. Also: cliché much?

Live your dream and share your passion.

Anyone remember the theme song to Flashdance? I know I’m dating myself here, but I’m sure some of you remember. Well, there’s a line in it that says, “Take your passion and make it happen.” One of my friends thought the words were “Take your pants down and make it happen.” I prefer my friend’s version. I don’t think I need to elaborate any further here.