In stages, the goals in my life:
Age 5-11: Meet Rhett Butler, and possibly marry him in a Southern Wedding. Be the most perfect Scarlett O'Hara. Do this by dressing up as her for every halloween. If this does not work, try being the "little mermaid". She got the dark haired guy in the end...he can pass for Rhett Butler, can't he?
Age 11-13: Lose this baby fat before high school. The rolls are not cute and no one will ever kiss me. NO ONE. Meet Weezer, possibly be their band bitch. Become an Egyptologist, discover something awesome that changes every anthro/archaeology text known to man. Do this while entering in to the FBI Academy, meeting Fox Mulder, and having fraternal boy/girl twins.
Age 14-18: Don't get pregnant. Study for the SAT's. Get into AP English and History. Scrape through math and science. Don't get pregnant. Make friends, not enemies. Be a good friend. Don't get suspended...again. Don't get pregnant. Graduate and go away to college.
Age 19-21: Transfer in to SFSU. Don't party too much. Don't fall in love. Start to remove yourself from everyone. Develop a bad attitude. Travel. Travel a lot. Do it alone, or do it with someone, but do it.
Age 22-26: Get a job at a law firm in preparation for law school. Graduate and start working on the LSAT. Travel more. Don't have kids. Don't fall in love. Try something new. Make new friends. Keep your old friends too...
Age 26 - Present: Find a new career, because the law thing is a no go. You hate lawyers. Write more, because its what you love, and if you don't do it now, if you don't risk the criticism, you'll wake from a lifelong dream full of regrets. Marry the man that surpassed all of your dreams, even the ones that you never thought you could dream. Have a family. Adopt a dog. Travel the world with the person you fell in love with. Show him all of the things that you love. Move to another city, try it for a bit. Tell your family you love them because they have always loved you. Buy another car, the one you have is a your baby but its starting to fall apart. Get your credit in tip top shape, and dwindle the debt. You are almost there. Find the people you love, the friends, the family, and respect them for what they are. Find the people that bring the worst of you and cut them. Don't be afraid of this. Enjoy it, this day, this time, this moment. Because its going to be over. That life you knew, the people that you loved, they sometimes go when we don't want them to, and there is not much you can do about it. So make sure that its today that you do whatever your goal was to do.
Showing posts with label fox mulder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fox mulder. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Another Chapter in Awkward Handbook
If you are my friend on FaceBook you may have already read that I made a career change. I did, after all, blast the shit out of my recent change. Leaving the law office was bittersweet, leaving it for a different field? That's some exciting shit right there.
After seven years of working in the law field, and after briefly flirting with the LSAT, I left this field. Seven years of other people's health and liberty within the grasp of my pudgy fingers.
I wanted to be a lawyer, I wanted to get experience. So I decide to work for attorneys to get experience before graduating college. I didn't want to get myself in to law school debt only to find out that I fucking hated it. And guess what...I fucking hated it. Attorneys are weird. Helpful, but lack empathy. Not all of them, but some of them. They are the poster children for successful asperger stories. I thought I would fit right in....But I failed. I thought I had empathy, but my client's annoyed the shit out of me.
Let me explain.
I loved what I did. I helped the disabled population get their SSI benefits. And while doing this, some of them died on me. That's right...they fucking died waiting for the US government to give them their medical benefits after working their whole life and losing it all because they were sick. Well I left that and dabbled in Immigration law. I got to tell people that because the notary they used when they first got here because they wanted to save a buck, filed their papers wrong, that they were going to get deported and permanently barred from the US. Didn't matter who they married, that they were educated, hard working, etc.
Immigration is a personal passion. And regardless of what you think, its an ass backwards institution. It's set up for failure. It's set up to mentally fuck.
I spent many years caring about the lives of others while failing to make a dent in mine. I was unhappy in what I did, I hated the money, and resented the people I chose to help. So I left. I jumped at the opportunity to enter the glitzy corporate world of commercial property management. You know the kind, pant suits and fancy coffee mugs kind of place.
And here is where the story gets awesome. Because this awkward Mexican walks in to the upper echelon of propriety. And do you know what I say? Do you know what I answer when I am asked how I like my change in career? I say, "its great, its not like the buildings I manage are going to get deported".
Their bleach blonde smiles went limp as I caught "the fuck?" expressions they exchanged. Oh well. Wait until they see my cubicle covered in Fox Mulder pictures... I might even bring my WWII SS Panzergrad cigarette case to show and tell!
This is going to be fun.
After seven years of working in the law field, and after briefly flirting with the LSAT, I left this field. Seven years of other people's health and liberty within the grasp of my pudgy fingers.
I wanted to be a lawyer, I wanted to get experience. So I decide to work for attorneys to get experience before graduating college. I didn't want to get myself in to law school debt only to find out that I fucking hated it. And guess what...I fucking hated it. Attorneys are weird. Helpful, but lack empathy. Not all of them, but some of them. They are the poster children for successful asperger stories. I thought I would fit right in....But I failed. I thought I had empathy, but my client's annoyed the shit out of me.
Let me explain.
I loved what I did. I helped the disabled population get their SSI benefits. And while doing this, some of them died on me. That's right...they fucking died waiting for the US government to give them their medical benefits after working their whole life and losing it all because they were sick. Well I left that and dabbled in Immigration law. I got to tell people that because the notary they used when they first got here because they wanted to save a buck, filed their papers wrong, that they were going to get deported and permanently barred from the US. Didn't matter who they married, that they were educated, hard working, etc.
Immigration is a personal passion. And regardless of what you think, its an ass backwards institution. It's set up for failure. It's set up to mentally fuck.
I spent many years caring about the lives of others while failing to make a dent in mine. I was unhappy in what I did, I hated the money, and resented the people I chose to help. So I left. I jumped at the opportunity to enter the glitzy corporate world of commercial property management. You know the kind, pant suits and fancy coffee mugs kind of place.
And here is where the story gets awesome. Because this awkward Mexican walks in to the upper echelon of propriety. And do you know what I say? Do you know what I answer when I am asked how I like my change in career? I say, "its great, its not like the buildings I manage are going to get deported".
Their bleach blonde smiles went limp as I caught "the fuck?" expressions they exchanged. Oh well. Wait until they see my cubicle covered in Fox Mulder pictures... I might even bring my WWII SS Panzergrad cigarette case to show and tell!
This is going to be fun.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
TT: Geek and Freak?
Let me tell you gentle readers, I never imagined this subject would make me think so hard and ponder on what to write. Geek. Its connotation once held such negativity that I sometimes shudder to hear the buxom blonde with black framed glasses to proclaim her moniker as geek. The fuck chick, the only thing geeky about you is your barbie collection softly stored in the hall closet, and even I have something like that. But its true, in this day, the word no longer means the end of a social life. Geek no longer encompasses trench coats and dungeons and dragons ( I had a brief d & d phase, and I didn't call it d &d). In this day, almost all can quote Star Wars, make references to Khaleesi, and explain the history of House Harkonnen. But in my infancy, in my dawn of creation, I had many phases of geekdom, many of which lead people to believe that not only was I this geeky chick wearing two sizes too big pants and band shirts, but that I was a amrginal frreak. I present to you, my many stages of Geektacity:
The Truth is Out There
The truth is out there, and I was certain that the love of my adolescent life, Mr. Fox Mulder was going to lead me to this truth. Let me tell you people, the X-files was more than just a show, this was THE show that introduced me into puberty. I didn't know what crushing, daydreaming, or tingling was until I watched this show. Yeah, I know what I just said. This was more than sci-fi, this was my life. It helped that I had been softly steered towards sci-fi whle I was still a toddler, but it was Fox, Mr. Hot man Mulder that really dragged me in to the depths of the unknown. He was the one that made me question our existence and to look for signs everywhere. I didn't care that they weren't on the cover of teen people, or that his hair didn't wisp like JTT (in case you didn't know, that's Jonathan Taylor Thomas), this was a man's man, with a gun, and a badge! I was going to join the FBI and find this man, and together we would gather the evidence to prove once and for all that the existence of aliens is here!!! And then after we would settle down on Catalina Island and have geeky FBI babies. I had to settle for the X-Files special edition barbie dolls. But I want to believe.
ASOS
Let me tell you, if you don't know ASOS, you don't actually know Game of Thrones. And if you only know Game of Thrones through HBO, that's ok, but shut the fuck up, because you don't actually know shit. You don't know what it is to sit there, at 16 years old, and cry yourself to sleep because the hero of the hour just had his head chopped off in front of everyone. You didn't lay awake at night wondering why George hates you so fucking much, why he chooses to pick off those people (and they are people, not just characters) and leave you there in a vat of tears, your heart in your throat, compounded with a loss of appetite. I do want to take this time to thank my friend for introducing me to the series and essentially making me the most annoying girl that my boyfriend has ever had to endure. Thanks for letting me geek out on you babe. And quite honestly, I am grateful to HBO...that show is fucking amazing.
History
I spent my Senior year perched on a tree in the quad of my high school, or in the corner of the media center reading about Henry Rex (VIII) and his marital conquests. Why? Because he was bad ass whose dick prompted a religious reformation and broke ties with the Pope. He was also a bad ass because the guy married six times...six times!!! I believe that number can only be rivaled by Elizabeth Taylor, who conincidentally was married to Richard Burton (twice), who played the role of Henry in "Anne of the Thousand Days". But now I have gone off on a tangent.
Lets not forget Schindler's List and the impact it made on my historical brain. Ralph Fiennes in a SS uniform. Holy shit...I was sold. I had to know everything and anything about World War II, Germany, the SS, Hitler, genocide...my world had become endless, a vast canvas of lives and events that had all come before me. I had to learn of them all. I had to know them, their speech, their dress, their friends. I devoured each sentence and voraciously searched for the next chapter. I still do.
It doesn't stop there. Each event that passes I somehow tie in to fascism and fanaticism. My references to the wars, great or civil, sometimes are too much for my listener to comprehend. Many a time I have gotten the "here we go again the with nazis" or "the romanovs are dead".
But those that know me and love me, and maybe not love me, but know me, will tell you, "that's just her, she really geeks on this shit."
The Truth is Out There
The truth is out there, and I was certain that the love of my adolescent life, Mr. Fox Mulder was going to lead me to this truth. Let me tell you people, the X-files was more than just a show, this was THE show that introduced me into puberty. I didn't know what crushing, daydreaming, or tingling was until I watched this show. Yeah, I know what I just said. This was more than sci-fi, this was my life. It helped that I had been softly steered towards sci-fi whle I was still a toddler, but it was Fox, Mr. Hot man Mulder that really dragged me in to the depths of the unknown. He was the one that made me question our existence and to look for signs everywhere. I didn't care that they weren't on the cover of teen people, or that his hair didn't wisp like JTT (in case you didn't know, that's Jonathan Taylor Thomas), this was a man's man, with a gun, and a badge! I was going to join the FBI and find this man, and together we would gather the evidence to prove once and for all that the existence of aliens is here!!! And then after we would settle down on Catalina Island and have geeky FBI babies. I had to settle for the X-Files special edition barbie dolls. But I want to believe.
ASOS
Let me tell you, if you don't know ASOS, you don't actually know Game of Thrones. And if you only know Game of Thrones through HBO, that's ok, but shut the fuck up, because you don't actually know shit. You don't know what it is to sit there, at 16 years old, and cry yourself to sleep because the hero of the hour just had his head chopped off in front of everyone. You didn't lay awake at night wondering why George hates you so fucking much, why he chooses to pick off those people (and they are people, not just characters) and leave you there in a vat of tears, your heart in your throat, compounded with a loss of appetite. I do want to take this time to thank my friend for introducing me to the series and essentially making me the most annoying girl that my boyfriend has ever had to endure. Thanks for letting me geek out on you babe. And quite honestly, I am grateful to HBO...that show is fucking amazing.
History
I spent my Senior year perched on a tree in the quad of my high school, or in the corner of the media center reading about Henry Rex (VIII) and his marital conquests. Why? Because he was bad ass whose dick prompted a religious reformation and broke ties with the Pope. He was also a bad ass because the guy married six times...six times!!! I believe that number can only be rivaled by Elizabeth Taylor, who conincidentally was married to Richard Burton (twice), who played the role of Henry in "Anne of the Thousand Days". But now I have gone off on a tangent.
Lets not forget Schindler's List and the impact it made on my historical brain. Ralph Fiennes in a SS uniform. Holy shit...I was sold. I had to know everything and anything about World War II, Germany, the SS, Hitler, genocide...my world had become endless, a vast canvas of lives and events that had all come before me. I had to learn of them all. I had to know them, their speech, their dress, their friends. I devoured each sentence and voraciously searched for the next chapter. I still do.
It doesn't stop there. Each event that passes I somehow tie in to fascism and fanaticism. My references to the wars, great or civil, sometimes are too much for my listener to comprehend. Many a time I have gotten the "here we go again the with nazis" or "the romanovs are dead".
But those that know me and love me, and maybe not love me, but know me, will tell you, "that's just her, she really geeks on this shit."
Friday, February 1, 2013
The day I shit myself
I didn't actually shit myself...at least not in the occasion that is to be described. But you sure fucking clicked on the link, didn't you, you sick-o.
I did however have a story about the time that I pulled a ten hour shift at the law office. Happily walked my ass two blocks to the "secure" parking garage where my car was parked, only to find the window busted in.
So the story goes like this...
It was a Friday...maybe Thursday. I should know this shit since it just happened a month ago. So after pulling this insanely long day at the office....well let me stop here and tell you about the office. It's a small firm. It's a little chaotic, unorganized at times. Some of the clients are cool and banter with you, but some of them are royal cockers who ride the last inch of patience I could ever have. And its usually the cunt climbers that I typically give all of my attention to that get UBER ANGRY WHEN I can't take the 55 minutes to listen to them bitch about god fucking knows what. To be honest, if it has nothing to do with the case I typically check out and jump on Reddit and the George RR Martin fan site.
Fuck you, I lead an exciting life.
I mean, normally these clients just want to feel validated and heard, even if it is not relevant to the case whatsoever, so I try to do that for them. But then these bratty shits just take and take, and they can't seem to comprehend that I cannot devote so much time to the incessant complaining. So this particular day had a slew of these people. I am not kidding, every client that needed hand holding grew an extra fucking hand that day. It was a nightmare...To top it off, our checks were going to be distributed a day later than anticipated. Fuck me, shouldn't have bought the forty dollar wine when the "juice" box works twice as fast.
So I end the miserable day looking forward to a dinner with the babe and the cousin. And despite the long hours, I was going to have just enough time to make myself look like a lady and not the vagrant that rustled out of bed. I walk the block, all the while trying to navigate the marijuana reeking ghetto kids. In my quest to be healthy, I walk the two flight of stairs to my car, slowly...no need to pull something. Since I was already exerting myself by walking up the stairs, I thought it best to park as close as possible to the stairs. Essentially putting the car in a perfect spot for a would be robber.
I walk past the passenger side and open the door to the driver side. BAM. My shit is all over the driver seat. Now, to those of you who know me, you will know that my car is the mother of all shit shows. It is filled with clothes, shoes, food, wrappers, water bottles (empty and full), decks of cards, cassette types, CD's, books, etc...this list could go on for days. The day my car does get cleaned is the day someone died and I am letting foreigners into the car. So to say that I noticed my shit was all over the place means that shit was torn the fuck up in that car. I mean they went through every god damn crevice and dug up shit I had not seen since I first bought the car in 2005. Now tack on the fact that I had a bunch of tupperware boxes with old christmas shit, nothing fancy. Just crap.
I instantly panic and call the babe. I didn't notice a broken window so for a moment I thought some paranormal, parking garage poltergeist shit was going on. As I am on the phone, on the verge of tears, which is not much different than any other day, I notice some crazy alien black looking shit on the seat of the back passenger side. I think, cool, any minute Fox Mulder is going to show up to fulfill all of my prepubescence sexual fantasies, like hand holding and shit. And then I realized, thats not alien shit, that glass, broken glass, from the back window that I had literally just walked passed.
But let me tell you, the joke was on the mother fucker that broke that window, got in my car, and went through all those piles. And believe me, there are a lot of piles...because there was absolutely nothing of value in my car, well, nothing of value to them. I do have the first and second CD babe made me last year, and the charm bracelet spelling out "Vanessa" that my goose princess made when she was four. But they were still there, and I was ok. Well, I was out 140 dollars to replace the window...you dirty rug rubbing motherfucker.
But its ok, it is ok. Because an awesome person made a voodoo doll for the asshole that broke in to my car...so fuck you dude.
I did however have a story about the time that I pulled a ten hour shift at the law office. Happily walked my ass two blocks to the "secure" parking garage where my car was parked, only to find the window busted in.
So the story goes like this...
It was a Friday...maybe Thursday. I should know this shit since it just happened a month ago. So after pulling this insanely long day at the office....well let me stop here and tell you about the office. It's a small firm. It's a little chaotic, unorganized at times. Some of the clients are cool and banter with you, but some of them are royal cockers who ride the last inch of patience I could ever have. And its usually the cunt climbers that I typically give all of my attention to that get UBER ANGRY WHEN I can't take the 55 minutes to listen to them bitch about god fucking knows what. To be honest, if it has nothing to do with the case I typically check out and jump on Reddit and the George RR Martin fan site.
Fuck you, I lead an exciting life.
I mean, normally these clients just want to feel validated and heard, even if it is not relevant to the case whatsoever, so I try to do that for them. But then these bratty shits just take and take, and they can't seem to comprehend that I cannot devote so much time to the incessant complaining. So this particular day had a slew of these people. I am not kidding, every client that needed hand holding grew an extra fucking hand that day. It was a nightmare...To top it off, our checks were going to be distributed a day later than anticipated. Fuck me, shouldn't have bought the forty dollar wine when the "juice" box works twice as fast.
So I end the miserable day looking forward to a dinner with the babe and the cousin. And despite the long hours, I was going to have just enough time to make myself look like a lady and not the vagrant that rustled out of bed. I walk the block, all the while trying to navigate the marijuana reeking ghetto kids. In my quest to be healthy, I walk the two flight of stairs to my car, slowly...no need to pull something. Since I was already exerting myself by walking up the stairs, I thought it best to park as close as possible to the stairs. Essentially putting the car in a perfect spot for a would be robber.
I walk past the passenger side and open the door to the driver side. BAM. My shit is all over the driver seat. Now, to those of you who know me, you will know that my car is the mother of all shit shows. It is filled with clothes, shoes, food, wrappers, water bottles (empty and full), decks of cards, cassette types, CD's, books, etc...this list could go on for days. The day my car does get cleaned is the day someone died and I am letting foreigners into the car. So to say that I noticed my shit was all over the place means that shit was torn the fuck up in that car. I mean they went through every god damn crevice and dug up shit I had not seen since I first bought the car in 2005. Now tack on the fact that I had a bunch of tupperware boxes with old christmas shit, nothing fancy. Just crap.
I instantly panic and call the babe. I didn't notice a broken window so for a moment I thought some paranormal, parking garage poltergeist shit was going on. As I am on the phone, on the verge of tears, which is not much different than any other day, I notice some crazy alien black looking shit on the seat of the back passenger side. I think, cool, any minute Fox Mulder is going to show up to fulfill all of my prepubescence sexual fantasies, like hand holding and shit. And then I realized, thats not alien shit, that glass, broken glass, from the back window that I had literally just walked passed.
But let me tell you, the joke was on the mother fucker that broke that window, got in my car, and went through all those piles. And believe me, there are a lot of piles...because there was absolutely nothing of value in my car, well, nothing of value to them. I do have the first and second CD babe made me last year, and the charm bracelet spelling out "Vanessa" that my goose princess made when she was four. But they were still there, and I was ok. Well, I was out 140 dollars to replace the window...you dirty rug rubbing motherfucker.
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