Twisted Princess

I finished packing, I moved, I’ve been out of my apartment for almost a week. I love not living in the SC anymore. Fuck the traffic, fuck the brain-dead robot drivers, fuck my shitty job that I’m almost done with (13 days, biotch!), fuck my apartment, I’m over it all. The commute from Salinas is a road-raging twat, but that’s fine, because pretty soon I won’t have to deal with it, and that’s enough for me.

Everything has been awesome. I’ve been riding my bicycle every day, I only have to live with my parents for another 21 days (most of which I’m gone anyway thankfully), I’m getting my security deposit back minus carpet cleaning (fuck carpets), I’m reading three books, and I finally got a new phone. Old Phone can suck New Phone’s dick and lick his asshole (yes, it’s a he), it’s THAT much better. Everything RULES, and my past life BLOWS!

Oh, and I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and a dentist appointment next week, before my company cuts off the benefits. I am going to DRAIN THAT BITCH as much as I possibly can before I leave. They can go fuck themselves right in the shitty wages, inadequate leave time and random drug tests.

Yay for new beginnings and new places. Down with negative entrapment and endless misery.

Captain’s Log, June 21, 2008:

I have 4 days left to pack (including today). Since I never completely unpacked last time, it’s a lot easier. And getting rid of an assload of shit helps as well.

I’m looking forward to leaving before the height of tourist season. Traffic is ridiculous and street work is always done at the worst possible time.

On the flip side, the work situation is crumbling around me. I gave my notice on Monday, along with the marketing coordinator (MC). Things kind of reached a limit last Friday when MC was irritated all week because no one was offering to take on any of her projects. We’re super slammed with magazine shit, which takes priority. And naturally our cheap as shit corporate office never replaced the designer that left, so we have extra work that we absolutely don’t have time to do. Even without any slacking. My big, stupid mouth said something like, “we don’t want to take on any of your projects because we have no time to do them and it just stresses us out when you ask how it’s going.” This somehow caused a “situation” between MC and senior designer (SD) which resulted in SD telling MC to essentially quit taking shit personally and don’t expect her to get down on her knees and worship her for doing her job (this is the truncated, out-of-context version). I haven’t really been involved in a major work-related confrontation since my dumb cunt of a supervisor left me on a street corner in Anchorage, Alaska in 2004. So MC quit on Monday, and I was going to give my notice anyway. This is precisely why I hate working in small offices that are predominantly female. There is just too much estrogen and too many damn feelings. Guys generally don’t have feelings, which makes them way easier to work with.

Ultimately, if our publishing manager had stepped the fuck up and fought the Evil Enterprise a little harder to get us another designer A MONTH AGO, none of this would be happening. Well, I would still quit. But people wouldn’t be as overworked and crabby. I have actually heard rumors that they’re not even going to replace me when I leave. WHAT? They are hiring a new MC/Sales to get a shitload MORE work, but they expect only two designers to do it? Really? That? I am so glad I’m jumping off that sinking ship. If it weren’t for Europe and needing money, I would get out now and scurry up north.

Other than that, everything is still swimming along. I went to a schmooze fest for work last night, which was cool. Free food and booze, you can’t beat that. And my netflix came yesterday, broken. In half. Not even just cracked. Thank god I’m busy and shit, or I would have been pissed.

Captain’s Log, June 16, 2008:

Holy shit, did anyone watch the U.S. Open, or am I the only golf nerd? I’ve been obsessed for the last 24 hours, and Tiger Woods did not let me down, despite recent knee surgery. Bummers for Rocco Mediate, although I would have happily cheered on the underdog.

So my official plan outline has been determined. I’m moving out of my apartment so I’m not broke on the streets of European cities yet to be determined. Then I’m going to Portland for a couple months to avoid responsibility for a while longer. After that I’ll return to California (unless I get some ridiculous-awesome job offer or something) most likely San Francisco (unless I get some ridiculous-awesome job offer somewhere else). I don’t intend to leave California forever, I don’t think I’m physically able. But you never know, maybe I’ll like Europe so much I’ll just come back for the rest of my stuff.

As far as packing, I’m getting rid of A LOT of shit. Shit I haven’t used or seen, other than the last time I moved it. I threw away a bunch of expired seasonings and tea yesterday as well. I had bullion cubes that expired in 2002. And I don’t cook. So what the fuck am I going to do with bullion cubes? It’s liberating. It’s saying YES to moving on and throwing away shit I don’t need, and detaching from the personality of the object. The more I move, the less attached I am to material possessions. My mom was all butt hurt two years ago when she found out I’d sold or traded (who remembers?) the Super Nintendo she’d gotten it for me as a present when I was 12 (whenever it came out). It’s a SUPER NINTENDO, not a quilt that my grandma made before taking her last breath. I can buy another one on ebay or something. If I didn’t feel so goddam guilty, I’d ditch the 40 pound box of Curious George crap, too.

I move in eight days, the countdown has officially begun.

Captain’s Log, June 14, 2008:

Despite my instincts to promote hate and bitterness, everything is moving along quite swimmingly (aside from a couple run-ins with some cockasses this morning). Prospective tenants have signed a new lease for my apartment (which means I’m free!), I just made $200 on craigslist, and all is well. I’d rather not be packing today, and this is an obvious distraction. I’m fairly certain that I just electrocuted myself on a power strip, but that’s ok. The vitamins are still working. Gas is $4.59 per gallon right now. My car hasn’t seen a full tank since February, but that’s ok. The vitamins are still working. I’m eligible for a cell phone upgrade, and my options are unlimited. I have a doctor’s appointment next week so I can stock up on drugs and suck all the use out of my benefits before I quit my job. Didn’t I write about the same shit LAST June? I feel like not a lot has changed in the last 12 months, but I’m wearing bigger jeans. Apparently Santa Cruz is making me crazy AND fat. But that’s ok, because I’m leaving leaving leaving, and I’ll pretty much be roving around after Europe. Stay tuned for the next installment, when I reveal the outline of my soon-to-be-not-so-super-secret plan. Yay for moving and wandering! Boo for jobs and responsibility. What are those, anyway?

I just went to Trader Joe’s for some quick snacks. I tried to pull into a parking spot but there were (surprise) two Oldie McBlue Hairs guiding the cart through it. What the fuck, first of all - why are you driving your cart through a parking space? How does that even work? Anyone who’s ever been to Trader Joe’s knows that the lot is never empty and thusly there are never two empty spots next to each other. Secondly, while they were SHUFFLING ALONG, I thought “be patient, they’re old. They don’t move as fast.” Finally, they got out of the way and as I got out of the car, I smiled at the one closest. The other one clearly didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Thank god she had her friend/lover/whatever with her. The more lucid of the two kind of smiled back at me. When I closed my door, she said, “You ran over my bag, you little bitch.” She didn’t actually say “you little bitch” but with her tone, that’s what I heard. How is that even possible? What was her bag doing in a parking space anyway? I know she’s all old and the world is big and scary, but parking spaces are for CARS, not GROCERY BAGS or CARTS. All I said was, “I didn’t see it there.” God, someday I’M going to be old. Someday we’re ALL going to be OLD. And regress into fucking children who think everything is a huge deal. Jesus fucking Christ man. Someone kill me before that happens. Seriously.

The vitamins have desensitized me. I feel nothing. Being forced to visit and/or converse with people I would rather not is surprisingly tolerable (and there is a list of people I wish would just leave me the fuck alone, believe me). Even the road rage is minimal. While waiting for someone in front of me to pull into my office parking lot I yelled “CAN YOU TAKE LONGER TO GO IN?” Then the 12-year-old voice inside me said “That’s what SHE said.”

But aside from all the crap, I’m fairly certain that someone is taking over my lease, which means I don’t have to resort to shiesty subletters, many of whom think they’re above a security deposit. Fuck those assholes, I don’t want their nasty crawling on my furniture and shit anyway. Yuck. Fate has intervened, thank god. This is all just one step in the getting-the-fuck-out process. I realize now that I probably shouldn’t have left Sacramento last year. I’m not going back, however I think it was CLEARLY a retarded and blind decision based on a refusal to act autonomously. But it’s too late for regrets now, and now I know that Santa Cruz fucking blows. Unless you’re a REALTOR® (that’s how I’m supposed to write it). Did I mention that you have to be REALTOR® to live here? Unless you’re rich or siphoning off your relatives.

Oh, and today at work is Bacon Day. One of my coworkers had a birthday last week so we had an office breakfast thing today. Hooray for Bacon! And Vitamins! I miss Sandwich Day at my old job. But I think something is bothering me since I’m listening to King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime.

I think M is for Motherfucker would be too predictable. And right now I don’t really care enough to hate on anyone with such energy.

I’ve been at my current job for about 10 months. It took nine months for me to start hating it. Much like a human fetus, my hate and loathing has a gestation period of nine months. But all I’m really giving birth to here is uncertainty.

How long will it take for me to begin hating my next job? These are BIG FUCKING DUHs that I have realized in the last several weeks (clearly I need to eliminate “fast learner” from my resume):

1. I hate working in small offices. Small offices = cheap companies.

2. Beware of companies that were just purchased by a larger corporation.

3. Beware of companies that just downsized by A LOT

4. Getting to listen to my ipod and wear jeans at work every day is bait for a shitty job. Don’t trust it. It’s like that joke about hell and the shit-filled room.

5. Graphic design sucks. I hate multiple revisions and dickfaces who think we sit with our fingers up our asses waiting for them to give us something to do. We’re underpaid and understaffed, bitches. We don’t have time to spend an hour recreating a shitty logo you’re too lazy to resend in 300 dpi. Go fuck yourself.

6. Everyone thinks they’re good at PhotoShop. You’re not, you suck. Stop fucking cloning in different skies and tree leaves, we can totally tell. And it makes your dick-lick photos look even worse.

7. Santa Cruz traffic sucks sweaty balls from May through September. Jesus fucking Christ, can I just pop home for a second without coming back to a 500-car backlog on 41st Avenue? MAYBE IF THERE WEREN’T THREE FUCKING STOP LIGHTS WITHIN 12 FEET OF EACH OTHER, this wouldn’t be such a problem. Oh and the freeway doesn’t help either.

8. I will never get used this goddam ergonomic keyboard.

In light of my recent addiction to “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” I felt compelled to share this, in all its shuddering inappropriateness. Not safe for work, parents, etc.

Fuck. I’m up way too early. I have an unexpected house guest today and panic drove me to get up already and start cleaning. Fuck.

So I told my boss about my new, updated travel dates (two weeks instead of one week), and she wasn’t happy and said she would “submit this to corporate for approval” and “all we can do is ask.” Back story: Apparently we’re not going to replace the designer that quit ALMOST A MONTH AGO, never mind the fuckload of work we have raping us daily. Upon his visit to our office on Wednesday, he gave us a LAME spiel about working harder and with less staff because it’s that way all over the place, in every industry, blah blah blah. Never mind being ludicrously underpaid in one of the most expensive areas in the country. Never mind that at all. Long story short: since we’re so understaffed, time off is sketchy. If my vacation is not approved, I’m quitting. Immature? Probably. Irresponsible? Most definitely. But considering that I have hated this job since I realized that I don’t want to live here anymore, why would I let a job I hate get in the way of something I need to do?

On another note, does anyone want to sublet my apartment for a few months till my lease is up? My sugar daddy’s wife is back, so I need to hatch an escape plan. Oh yeah, and can I move in with anyone else? Who the fuck knows where I’ll be for the next two/three months.

Dude, I don’t even know. I went to Sacramento this weekend, which was awesome. I got to see a lot of people I haven’t seen in a while. I really miss Sacramento, but I can’t live there anymore. The heat kills me. Santa Cruz weather is great but it’s too expensive to live here, and most of the people are lame. I just dropped $1300 on a ticket to Germany (cheaper than France. Thank god for trains). So I’m a little wiggity about that, seeing as I make NOTHING and have about two months to: a) save enough money to survive in Europe for two weeks; b) find a better paying job; c) find a cheaper place to live (aside from my parents’ house. UGH). Oh, and my final project is due Tuesday. Happy Memorial Day, I get to do homework.

K is for Kids: I spent some time with my sister and nephew yesterday, and I realized that I am a LONG way from having children. Duh right? But seriously. All I want to do on weekends is lay around, ride my bike and go to bars. None of these are exactly child-friendly. I don’t think I’M child-friendly. Boogers and drool still gross me out. I was horrified at the chunk of food my nephew left on the side of his drinking glass, giving me a suspenseful two minutes of “is he going to drink that on accident?”. I haven’t changed a diaper since the new baby excitement wore off. If I can’t handle boogers and drool, don’t even think about exposing me to other people’s shit and piss - one of many reasons I could NEVER be a custodian. Kids are cool and all, but luckily I can go home after seeing my niece and nephew. You can’t escape your own kids unless they’re taken from you by CPS, and that’s not good, either. Sometimes I just want to read a book and be left alone. Kids don’t leave you alone. Ever. Until they’re about 11 and then you can’t pay them to hang out with you, but 11 years is a long time to wait for a book or a rated-R movie.

So I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, but if nothing else, at least Second Job made me realize what a suckfest Santa Cruz turned out to be. I am WAY TOO NEUROTIC for a laid back town such as this. The next time I get a harebrained idea to move somewhere, someone stop me. However, I should mention that I was in San Francisco on Friday to hook up some pimpage (i.e. meet with employment agencies), and despite having to pay $24 to park for two hours in “the FiDi”, I could totally live there. Happy hours and drunken bus rides, here I come.