Posts Tagged ‘angry’

I reintroduced oatmeal into my diet. I also took out milk. I haven’t noticed any difference other than an increase in my oatmeal farts.

This is probably one of the better things I have going on right now as things are getting pretty hectic in my neck of the woods! Why am I yelling?

I’ve gone from partially to super to partially sick over the last 3 weeks. I lost my voice completely one day for a few hours. I have since cut out coffee and replaced it with the healthier option, tea. Tea is basically just really hot water and perfect if you like chewing on mouth blisters.

There’s a lot of changes at work too, which has taken up most of my time. I’ve been meaning to blog for a while now, but other writing priorities have taken up my time. Oh and bee time!

The company I work for is expanding faster than the vagina of a 30 pound newborn baby sliding out from its mother’s vagina. We basically need 20 employees by the end of the year. Right now, we have like 9? Tomorrow we’ll probably have 8. The day after, we’ll be at 11. There’s been so much change over either because the new employees suck, don’t like the job, or just stop showing up.

Unequivocally, the company wouldn’t be where it is without me. I say that with complete honesty and humility too. My responsibilities include: all of the scheduling, all of the billing, all of the other administrative duties, telling my coworkers not to use the n-word so much, telling my coworkers if they are going to use the n-word to do it more quietly, and a lot more you’re too stupid to understand. Okay maybe you’re not too stupid. It’s Thursday and I’ve been around stupid people all week.

Mainly, everything I do is my sole responsibility. If I call in sick, there’s nobody who can take over for me. I haven’t called in sick since I started working there in July of 2013. This is with a 1.5 hour commute one-way that includes about 4 miles of walking and an hour on the train. Basically, I doubt anyone else would put up with this.

But of course, it’s all my choice and as much as I fantasize about telling everyone to go fuck themselves, some days aren’t so bad. It’s just lately there aren’t many of those.

Besides being the most responsible one at work, that’s not a joke…, I have to play the bad guy while making sure everybody is happy. It’s like when a professional wrestler is clearly a heel and he’s fighting other heels. I’m finding this doesn’t work. Either playing the good guy or the bad guy does and I’m trying to balance both.

Today I had to basically fire someone who just had a kid. Well, I didn’t do the firing. I was just there when it happened because I’m second in charge and I’m the reliable witness. Nobody wanted to fire him because of the circumstances, but he was just such a shitty worker. The turnover at work is getting ridiculously silly for a job that pays $10 per hour. Over 20 people have been interviewed and only 1 has worked out in the last month. The phrase “a fucking waste of time” was invented for mathematical situations like this.

It’s…well it’s not strange…it’s something though that I have thinking about. With all of my responsibilities, duties, jobs, tasks, and position as the second in charge my lifestyle is still distant from someone with the power I possess. I live in an apartment that has a hallway most dicks can stretch across (mine included, yours probably not) with a lifestyle that is a fraction of the people I need to work to please. Perhaps it’s my efforts that makes me feel lower than them? A passion to do a good job without an equal result may be why I find myself muttering “fuck you” a million times a day.

It’ll be really funny when I have a breakdown. Like, of epic proportions. Sometimes when I am really frustrated I’ll think about it in my head and how it will go. I’m responsible for satisfying well over 100 people who probably would not go out of their way to do the same for me.

The problem is I’m not sure what I want. For now, I’m just going to eat lots of oatmeal and feel bloated and fart tons because when times are dire it’s all you can do.

oatmeal

I’ll keep this brief because I already wasted about 2 hours of my night just trying to get home. I’ll elaborate more because I want some content on the Internet about how much the PATH Trains suck.

First let me give you details on how my daily commute goes:

I walk about 25 minutes to get to the PATH train. I tend to arrive at around 8AM. I take the train 1 stop and transfer to another train on this lovely rail system. Usually I arrive in New York at 8:35-8:40. I then walk another 20 minutes to work.

Coming home it’s everything in reverse so read like a Chinese person (they read backwards) and figure it out.

Last Wednesday though, while traveling home I got to my transfer station. After about 10 minutes of sitting (or standing because these trains are more packed more than…well I guess PATH trains are the metaphor usually used, so that) they made an announcement that all service was suspended indefinitely. They gave us no option other than to go backwards and use a different train system. So I did it because you can’t rely on anyone.

I wrote a nasty letter to PATH which I have yet to send during my commute back to New York then back to New Jersey. In total it took me 3 hours to get home, more than twice the length it usually does. I also had to pay more money because the train more convenient for me to take home wasn’t the one honoring a switch-over.

This same thing happened again today. At first they blamed Amtrak, but apparently it was another signal problem. I’m not sure what a signal problem is. Were the tracks giving the PATH trains “fuck me eyes” and the PATH train mistakenly flirted with them? That’s the only way I can think signals could get crossed. Did the PATH conductor think the coach told them to bunt? Signals shouldn’t fail. Signals can be as simple as a color-coded switch. You can have homeless people with flags out there doing this job yet there seems to always be signal problems with this train system.

I’ll have plenty more to say about this, but it’s almost 9 o’clock and I’m still really angry about how this incompetent train system stole away my night of watching Warehouse 13.

So please, excuse me while I spend the next few blog posts seriously complaining about how much I hate my commute to work because other than my dangling toenail on my left foot on my pinky toe this is the most frustrating thing I have going on.

path-train

(Trivia question: How many people were elbowed or had coffee spilled on them by fellow passengers while boarding this train?)

I am getting old. Yes, 24 isn’t that old. It feels it though. There are people on MTV dating shows 6 years younger than me. I was already getting picked on in first grade when these people were popping out of their mothers. 18-year-old girls are almost off-limits for me. It’s getting to a point where I’m creepy to them. It happened so fast too. I remember when I was 20 and 18-year-olds thought I was the man. They assumed I had my shit together and that made me cool in their high school eyes. I still don’t have my shit together and I’m worrying that people are about to notice. I can only hide for so long that I haven’t achieved a single thing in life worth bragging about.

(Gia is worth bragging about. Gia’s mother’s life is empty though. She hasn’t achieved much that she has to brag that Gia can count backwards quickly)

The idea that the thought of “21-year-olds are so disrespectful. When I was that age I was nicer to older people. I showed them respect” popped into my head recently scares me. When I was that age? When I was that age nothing in the world was different. That was barely 3 years ago. Still, I believe it to be true. 21-year-olds aren’t nearly as polite to me as I was to 24-year-olds when I was that age. They’re standoffish and cocky. They don’t come to me for advice or think of me as their older brother. No. Instead they’re too busy getting girls that I should be getting. Stupid 21-year-olds. You shouldn’t have all this figured out yet!

It’s safe to say that all 21-year-olds are pretty damn stupid. I can say that. I was 21 at one point. An entire year! Everything I did was stupid. Do you know how I got less stupid? I listened to what older people had to say. Without knowing it, they helped guide me into the confused 24-year-old I am right now. I would be even more lost in the world if it wasn’t for their semi-help. The problem with people who are 21 is that they’re far away enough from living under the tyranny of high school but also haven’t really lived in the real world. Yes, it’s annoying to have to call the power company. It’s part of growing up. I am always being called sir. I hate when cute girls do it. It makes me feel like I could be their father. Making me think that makes me think about time travel then I get nervous. What if she is my daughter? She traveled back in time to meet me then tried offering me a free water bottle if I signed up for some stupid contest.

If you’re 21 and reading this, you’re probably furious. I know, I know. You’ve got it all handled. May I suggest though that you print this out and put it in a time capsule? Open it in 3 years and realize how little things still make sense. Sure, you’ll be a little smarter and wiser. You’ll also probably hate the newest drinkers at the bars. It’s always easy to hate people younger than you. Especially when they’re 21. Nobody at 21 accomplishes a thing. All you do is drink and try to convince yourself that the meaning of life is moments away from entering your brain. Sorry, but it’s not. You’re in for a whole hell lot more of confusion and frustration. Welcome to the rest of your life, slowly watching your body decay.

(Sid Vicious has being 21 all figured out. He managed to kill himself before reaching 22)

I’m never a good example for anything. I’m too nice of a person. My dad’s old password for AOL was “timisgoo” which was supposed to be “tim is good” but he insisted that the “d” would go over the 16 character password limit. I was such a good kid that being good was what my dad associated with me above all else. I always show respect to others. I hold doors, once helped a woman move a carpet, and never over stay my welcome. I’ve only pinched one girl’s butt and she didn’t even notice. She was a descendant of Winston Churchill’s, you kinda-gotta pinch it. That’s why I don’t blame anyone who is 21 for being such a cock. I’m so incredibly good that by comparison, everyone seems like a disrespectful ass.

This is all I want from 21-year-olds. Don’t be loud. That simple. Don’t be so incredibly loud and invasive that I notice you. You can be as mean and rude as you want. You’re young and can get away with it. But don’t be loud. Give my ears a break from you. Destroy the rest of my senses as much as you would like. Have gross offensive to the eyes hair, don’t bathe frequent enough where I can smell it, and touch me inappropriately. I don’t know how one would go about invading my taste buds. I think I have tasted a 21-year-old at one point and I don’t remember them ever tasting badly. She was quite rude though. She told me that I kissed too fast and to keep my hat on. Picky! Picky!

(The only thing from 1991 worth acknowledging)

There are a lot of mixed messages pounding in my head about how to deal with emotions. On one hand I’m told not to cry because I’m a boy and need to be strong. On the other hand I’m told not to bottle things up. Most of the time, all I want to do is cry. I want to cry when the line at the bank is too long. I want to cry when one of my sinuses are stuffed up. But I can’t cry. All because of how society will react to my behavior. It’s nuts.

I keep my emotions bottled up for the most part. I don’t like to rub how awesome my day was in the faces of others. I also like to be honest so I have to go out of my way to make sure that I have a bad day. That way everybody wins. I get to remain being honest about how bad my day was and you don’t feel lousy knowing how inexplicably awesome it could have easily been.

The older I get, the more in touch with my emotions I am. I’m not afraid to cry or smile in the faces of strangers. I’m so not afraid of it that I probably do it too often. Which do you think is creepier? The smiling stranger or the crying one? I’d say the smiling one. There are more things to cry about than there are to smile about. I’m much more likely to trust a crier than I am a smiler. People who smile too much are usually brainwashed and may or may not still have their testicles. At least a crier you know their intentions, to bring you down.

The only time one should really always show their emotions is when they are positive emotions. Really, as much as it can be annoying to know about how much more wonderful your life is than mine, it’s still good for you to let it out. If I have a problem with your great life, I will not pay attention to it. Or more likely, I will find a physical flaw of yours and make fun of it. And if you have a problem with that, big ears, you can continue bragging about how wonderful your life is. You have to give a little to get a little.

For negative thoughts I believe more often than not it’s best to keep those deep inside. If I let out everything I thought I would probably be in prison, an insane asylum, or on television. I’m not tough enough for prison, not flexible enough for straight jackets, and don’t tan well enough to be on television. I could always play a ghost or a hermit, but then there’s the fact that I am a terrible actor.

From talking to other people, if I hadn’t kept my emotions bottled up as a teenage boy and instead shared my feelings like I was “supposed to”, I probably would be dead in a murder suicide right now. Being a teenage sucks and the worst thing about it is that it’s impossible to understand that you’re not alone until you get older. Mostly everybody I know had fantasies of blowing things up or stabbing enemies to death with novelty pencils. Teenagers are the most violent human beings, what with raging hormones and the anger at having pubic hair to trim. It’s not good to share your emotions when you’re a teenager. They try to send you to school psychiatrists who forgot what it’s like to feel left out. School psychiatrists are dicks. The moment they send a kid somewhere else for “help” is the same moment they ruin that kid’s self-esteem. And that’s all we’ve got in this world, esteem for ourselves. Once that’s ruined, then we’ve got nothing. Then we really have something to be angry about.

It’s good to be honest about how you feel, but remember, if you think it may make you sound crazy, it probably will. Some things are left unsaid, at least for a while. If you’re reading this and you’re an angry teenager do not fret. Most of those problems that piss you off now will go away. You’ll find new things to get angry about. Instead of being pissed off about what someone said on Facebook you can be pissed off about the realization that you will die alone. Yikes!

Wear your emotions honestly, but don’t be surprised when people think you’re a nutbag. We’re all a little crazy, big deal. But if your emotions involve kidnapping, torture, or murder, wait a few years until you grow out of it. Odds are you’ll find someone else who feels the same way and you’ll both end up in prison for doing something perverted to a mean gym teacher’s buttocks.