Toting Guns and Going Shirtless

I still talk to probably only one person I went to high school with, and even then, it’s only when I’m back home, and all we do is smoke, eat snacks, and watch cartoons.  Coincidentally enough, she has the same name and birthday as my boyfriend.  Quite the talking point.  

Usually the only times I hear about anyone are when my parents read in the local newspaper that someone I once knew was arrested or died or something.  I’m friends with a fair number of them on Facebook, but that really provides little to no information about what they are up to—all that ever comes up about someone I knew in Silver City in my newsfeed is some sort of quiz result.  All that quiz result shit ONLY comes from people I knew back in New Mexico, rarely from anyone else.  Not only do they take these quizzes and send me all kinds of ridiculous invitations to also find out what kind of romantic flower I am or what kind of girlfriend I am or what shoe I would be if I were a sho, they comment on their quiz results.  Lots of “LOLZ” and references to copious amounts of beer consumption are usually involved in these comments.

My new favorite trend on Facebook among my high school friends is their affinity for posting pictures of themselves (usually the guys, but there are a few girls too) wearing wifebeaters (or no shirts at all) and shooting guns in a field.  There are usually a few guns in each picture too—an assortment of rifles, shotguns, and handguns.  I think this trend has been building up for a few years now, and it’s probably pretty consistent throughout the country, but San Francisco has made me soft.  I know longer find decaying crackheads screaming about blood and shit in the gutters or lesbians dry humping (scissoring?) in a public park at 2 p.m. on a Sunday shocking, but I feel compelled to call Tayler over to share my amazement and dismay when I see some pictures of old family friends enjoying an afternoon shooting and drinking.  What have I come to?  I do think it’s pretty weird though, even weirder than the pictures of people’s newborn babies.  

Pastry ho

I got a new job.  I am no longer selling children, civil rights, or hope for “progressive” politics.  I now am dole out pastries and fuck up lattes for a living.  I graduated college a year ago yesterday.  Or the day before, I can’t really remember.

I work with Olivia at La Boulange, corporate French cafe that has a bunch of San Francisco and they’re looking to build some sort of strange empire in the Bay Area and probably the whole world.  I haven’t cried yet, which is good, and so far, only the kitchen staff has yelled at me.  They are Mayan.  The don’t even really speak Spanish.

I treated myself to a huge mimosa and some donuts after work.  I felt pretty proud of myself

I just walked by a lady who looked at me, shook her head, and said to her running partner, “Already drunk.”.

I’m blazed and I’m drinking a black Sparks on the bus to Bay to Breakers. My goal is not to blackout. Or get in a fight.

my jig==is up

My title was supposed to be “my job” but I’m trying to smoke a spliff and type at the same time,  I’m giving up on typing.  I’m jamming “Daylight” by Matt and Kimnonstop.  I’d resisted their charms for months but I’ve finally given in.

I work for a pyramid scheme of sorts, under the guise of an organizer and fundraiser for “progressive groups.”  College educated kids are hired to recruit anyone who can raise more than at least $100 in one night and then paid salary to keep these people on staff and earning above some quota.  This seems all sort of good, but the people they recruit are ridiculous.  I am a rarity as a recruit, but I was out of work, hadn’t worked in months, and had no other future options, so I called in based on their ad on Craigslist.  My boss said I was the best interview she’s ever had.  Little did she know that in only months time she would be bedridden with two broken heals, demoted to an assistant director, and I would be dating her then “boyfriend,” of sorts.  She should have never hired me, she would have been better off.

But the people who organize the batshit company I work for are even more nuts than their recruits.  They seriously believe they are doing hardcore serious progressive political work.  They’re ruthless.

My office is not.  We only talk about 3 things: 1) drugs (barry likes pills, joseph and nick are pot heads, i’m stoned all the time and no one ever knows, and everyone drinks way too much) 2) sex (we only really talk about the sexploits of Barry, the Irishman who once hooked up with a transvestite and 3) Laday Gaga—she has an ugly face but cool style, we’ve listened to “Poker Face” too much but it’s still okay to watch Kid Cudi’s “Poke Her Face” (or whoever did that remix).  That’s all we do when we’re not canvassing is talk about those things.  And believe me, we do as much as possible to not actually canvass.  We take bathroom breaks, taco breaks, coffee breaks, ice cream breaks, phone breaks, napping in GG Park on 420 breaks…it goes on.  We still do alright (well not me right now) because we’re wholesome and articulate doing shit, shit work.  

So imagine an office of people who do as much as possible to alleviate the stress and frustration of having to do a disgusting job forced to join the ranks of an office that does not question what it is doing.  I was appalled when I was expected to start working at 4:10.  At our office, we’re lucky if we’ve left by that time.  We all have to order food, desert, coffee, anything to prolong lunch.  Then, when we get to our destination we have to go to the bathroom again, get coffee again, and dick around for another fifteen minutes.  We also stop at 8.  It used to be 8:45 after 9:00 proved to be too late, then it became 8:30 and then eight.  The Berkeley people told me today, “So, we’ll pick you up at 9:15.”  I almost choked.  Yeah right, I just went to Safeway and made phone calls.

I don’t know what to do because my work people are my only friends but I cannot work there anymore.  I don’t think we’d really have anything to talk about but work. 

Positive

Waking up this morning panned out a lot like the opening scenes of Office Space and Wanted.  I felt absolutely sick to my stomach, and sick in that way that is not even tangible like the 2009 H1N1 virus swine flu thing or a bad hangover.  It’s a sickness that comes from having to do something you truly hate for hours on end and knowing that you’re going to have to keep doing this thing until Friday at about 10:00 p.m.  There’s no escape from it.

Things are looking up though, because if I learned anything from Office Space or Wanted, it’s that by 4:00 p.m. today, I might be enjoying the benefits of botched hypnotherapy or I might be a super assassin avenging the death of my dog Sophie.  So here’s to optimism.  

Yesterday, Tayler and I went to see Ferlinghetti at the San Francisco Film Festival.  Ferlinghetti made an appearance after the film and then Tayler and I followed him into Dosa.  All these San Francisco society types got loaded and asked ridiculous questions.  Some just drunkenly yelled out answers before the director could.  It was a good movie to see in conjunction with reading the graphic novel The Beats.  The theater we went to, the Sundance Kabuki, has a bar.  We were kind of drunk too but blinded by excitement rather than belligerence.  

Then I had to return to work to run numbers and all hope and excitement from the evening was crushed.  

Overheard

rogges:

Today this guy sitting next to me in a coffee shop was telling his buddy how after Generation X The Simpsons Generation was born. A Generation Removed, devoted to the satirization of everything it observes. He didn’t describe it exactly like that, but he said that he considered coming up with the aforementioned designation his life’s ouvre. Well, he didn’t say it precisely in those words. His partner in conversation (a GenXer) seemed rather unconvinced, and probably would have preferred to not have had that unanticipated interruption of his detailed exposition on the positives of charter schools.

Anyway, whatever this first guy was talking about, I’m pretty sure everyone I know within a certain age bracket has seen all or nearly all episodes of The Simpsons, one of the many filters through which they absorbed some vague understanding of current events/trends. Not drawing any conclusions, just noting.