diaster magnet
July 11, 2008
It’s a damn good thing I’m so anal that I keep hard copies of all my writing, even the terrible what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking and work-in-progress varieties. My hard drive crashed last week, and everything is gone. Gone, gone, gone… Photos, music, poems, and all the miscellaneous crap that I haver spent years collecting. All gone.
So apparently I’m anal enough to keep hard copies, but no digital copies. I should’ve known that the moment I started thinking about copying everything onto data CDs, my computer would take a spectacular nose dive into the bowels of hell. Murphy’s Law proves itself relevant once more.
Holy crap…do you people realize that Willie Smith left a comment on my last entry?? Freakin’ Willie Smith! And he likes my stuff…and complimented me on my superb grasp of the English language. I think we were once in an issue of Exquisite Corpse together, but I could be wrong. Either way, my life is now complete…
Boyfriend and I are all set to take a trip to good ol’ below sea level New Orleans in December. Hopefully, the city survives this year’s much-hyped hurricane season. I was actually going to vacation in NOLA back in 2005 when YOU-KNOW-WHAT proceeded to kick that poor city’s ass around the block like a piece of shredded newspaper.
My grandmother has taken to calling me a disaster magnet. Case in point: After Katrina ripped through the southland, I planned instead to visit Stef in Houston. And guess what? Hurricane Rita came along and forced Stef and her family to evacuate.
This just proves that I should be as spontaneous as possible, because the Powers That Be have (more than once) determined that me planning anything is overrated.
D and I are still on speaking terms. Why do I do this to myself? I must be a masochist. On some bizarre level, I must enjoy hurting myself. I do it often enough.
Boyfriend is being forced to work insane hours for the next few weeks or so. One of his employees is on a leave of absence because of severe depression. But if you ask me, this woman sounds like nothing more than a victim of Lazy Little Bitch Syndrome. Apparently, she is always whining, blaming her problems on other people and making retarded excuses to get out of doing as much work as possible. I hate lazy people. They drive me fucking insane. Believe me. I work with more than a few.
Speaking of blaming problems on other people, I have a friend who does just that. Nothing is ever her fault…not the fact that she got fired from one job because she was always calling in because she was too tired to go to work…or the fact that she quit her last job without finding another one first and now she has no money to pay her car payment or insurance. It’s not her fault that she never gets to spend any time with her son…because she just works SO FUCKING HARD…and is always driving to this far away place or that far away place to visit random guys she meets on the Internet and then is always surprised when all they want is sex. Or because she’s always hanging out with her long-haul truck driving friends who invite her to live with them, and then it’s their fault that there’s no food in the house or they don’t have time to help her move her stuff in from her old place.
Seriously, this girl makes me want to pull out my fucking hair. Every sentence she speaks always begins something like this, “Well, so and so KNOWS that I have a son to take care of…” or “So and so KNOWS that I have to be at work at such and such time tomorrow…” or even “So and so KNOWS that I don’t have time for that…” Sorry, honey, but I must say that I know very few people who pay that much attention to another human being or are professional mind-readers.
Uhh…anyway…
I have to jet and meet Boyfriend for dinner. More of the bitchfest later. Promise.
