the agro-crag, dogs/kids, and POL
today, i received the following email from my one of my aunts:
"Lauren,
You are living the life I would have lived if I had had the guts when I was your age! Things must be quite 'exciting' in your neighborhood. Do you see celebrities? It wouldn't surprise me if you'll soon be a celebrity yourself.
I just wanted to drop you a quick line to say hello and we love you!!!
Write when you have a chance,
Polly"
at first, i was proud that someone had finally said the one thing i've been waiting to hear for years... that i'm actually doing something kind of cool, something that maybe someone somewhere might be somewhat envious about. that i had guts! someone had finally caught on to how cool i feel sometimes. and yes, that is a brash and arrogant statement to make, but you know what? that's what i am sometimes. take it!
so i was cocky for about 15 minutes, and then i considered my surroundings.
i was sitting in a closet of a break room, at 11 am on a wednesday. i had been working since 8 am (and by "working" i mean counting and stacking loads and loads of mildly explosive bathtub frivolity). i was earning $8.50 an hour. i was checking my email on my cellphone, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. the same thing i eat. every. single. day.
what the fuck is so cool about my fucking life?!?
what guts does one must have to take the first job they are offered in retail? and conversely, what the fuck kind of guts am i missing that prevents me from QUITTING this job because the commute is an hour each way, and i pay $7 for parking, and i get paid in monkey crap? no glory here, people, because there are no guts here.
i'm not doing anything extraordinary. i'm not doing anything that 99% of this very nation, nay, the WORLD, isn't doing on a daily basis.
i'm working at a job i mildly resent, getting paid shit, and feel generally overqualified for it all to begin with. okay, so maybe those little goobers in nigeria don't feel the same way, and maybe i should be glad that i have the job i do, instead of having the job of the three mexicans who come biweekly to clean the building restroom. do they have guts? does it matter?
but i'm digressing.
though, in all fairness, i don't really have a point which to return. i guess what i'm trying to say is, is that for 15 minutes today, i felt really cool, because my aunt in iowa said i had guts.
and then for 9 hours today, i felt really uncool, because my aunt in iowa said i had guts.
when really, i just have a knack for storytelling and focusing on details that make me seem like a bad-ass, but the full story in reality, is really either just bad or kind of ass-y. but never bad-ass.
so i was hating my life-situation all day, finished working, and began the drive home. as there was unexpected traffic on the 10 (i know, i know, traffic on a freeway should never be unexpected, but it really shouldn't have been so busy), i followed 2 cars in close proximity for the entirety of my drive. the first car had a handicapped license plate, and i could see a little white haired woman behind the wheel. every now and again, i'd see a black head of hair and a blond head of hair pop up from the back and front seats, respectively. at first i thought they were small children, but the more those wee heads kept raising up, i began to think they were dogs. but really, i couldn't tell. they would look out the window, but not turning around enough for me to see, you know, a snout. or floppy ears. at any rate, i was in deep thought about whether these were dogs or kids, when i decided to turn my attention to trash on the side of the freeway. as i was hardly moving, i got a good look... lots of hub cabs, some wood, some plastic drawers and tubs, a broom, cigarette boxes. i looked up again, to see the little dog/kids popping up and down, and then looked back to the side, to see a pigeon missing its head.
i think that must somehow be quite prolific.
and at any rate, the little old woman and her dog/kids made for their exit, and i proceeded to follow a bastard in a weird looking car that had a hemi c. whatever that means. i decided i wanted to put a fake engine bragging i.d. on my civic. like "HEMI ZZXVVYSZ". you know. shake things up.
anyway. onto the POL, or, the point of life. (POL, at times, however, can also refer to "position on life" but for current discussion, please consider POL to stand for the former).
maybe i seem gutsy to other people because it seems like i have POL. when really, i have about as much POL as a fruit fly. oh wait. they actually doing have a point. to hover around fruit. fuck.
well. i perused the craig's list blackhole when i got home, and realized i'm terrified to switch jobs. mostly because as overqualified as i feel, i'm actually quite underqualified in the ol' experience department. also, i really like only working 20 hours a week... except for this week, because i literally only have $3.24 to last until march 10th. fuck me. i also really like being able to take vacations to follow bands and that kind of nonsense.
but god damn it. i want a POL. i have to have been intended for something better than selling soap, watching lost and listening to david bowie while i write in an online journal. and i AM cocky enough to actually post this for OTHER people to read, because what, i ask thee, is the point in writing if it only falls upon mine eyes? and my dear ipod, flex armstrong, seems to know my pain, as he has now shuffled from bowie's "sense of doubt" to "heroes".
and we CAN be heroes...
if just for one day.
I CAN BE A HERO!
I HAVE GUTS!!!
and i DESERVE a piece of that agro-crag, mike and mo. i know where the glitter cannons are. i've traced the most direct route. i've got on my rubberized fingerless gloves and my helmet-cam. and believe me... i'll earn my fucking piece.
if we can beat them, for ever and ever...
we can be us...
just for one day.
"Lauren,
You are living the life I would have lived if I had had the guts when I was your age! Things must be quite 'exciting' in your neighborhood. Do you see celebrities? It wouldn't surprise me if you'll soon be a celebrity yourself.
I just wanted to drop you a quick line to say hello and we love you!!!
Write when you have a chance,
Polly"
at first, i was proud that someone had finally said the one thing i've been waiting to hear for years... that i'm actually doing something kind of cool, something that maybe someone somewhere might be somewhat envious about. that i had guts! someone had finally caught on to how cool i feel sometimes. and yes, that is a brash and arrogant statement to make, but you know what? that's what i am sometimes. take it!
so i was cocky for about 15 minutes, and then i considered my surroundings.
i was sitting in a closet of a break room, at 11 am on a wednesday. i had been working since 8 am (and by "working" i mean counting and stacking loads and loads of mildly explosive bathtub frivolity). i was earning $8.50 an hour. i was checking my email on my cellphone, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. the same thing i eat. every. single. day.
what the fuck is so cool about my fucking life?!?
what guts does one must have to take the first job they are offered in retail? and conversely, what the fuck kind of guts am i missing that prevents me from QUITTING this job because the commute is an hour each way, and i pay $7 for parking, and i get paid in monkey crap? no glory here, people, because there are no guts here.
i'm not doing anything extraordinary. i'm not doing anything that 99% of this very nation, nay, the WORLD, isn't doing on a daily basis.
i'm working at a job i mildly resent, getting paid shit, and feel generally overqualified for it all to begin with. okay, so maybe those little goobers in nigeria don't feel the same way, and maybe i should be glad that i have the job i do, instead of having the job of the three mexicans who come biweekly to clean the building restroom. do they have guts? does it matter?
but i'm digressing.
though, in all fairness, i don't really have a point which to return. i guess what i'm trying to say is, is that for 15 minutes today, i felt really cool, because my aunt in iowa said i had guts.
and then for 9 hours today, i felt really uncool, because my aunt in iowa said i had guts.
when really, i just have a knack for storytelling and focusing on details that make me seem like a bad-ass, but the full story in reality, is really either just bad or kind of ass-y. but never bad-ass.
so i was hating my life-situation all day, finished working, and began the drive home. as there was unexpected traffic on the 10 (i know, i know, traffic on a freeway should never be unexpected, but it really shouldn't have been so busy), i followed 2 cars in close proximity for the entirety of my drive. the first car had a handicapped license plate, and i could see a little white haired woman behind the wheel. every now and again, i'd see a black head of hair and a blond head of hair pop up from the back and front seats, respectively. at first i thought they were small children, but the more those wee heads kept raising up, i began to think they were dogs. but really, i couldn't tell. they would look out the window, but not turning around enough for me to see, you know, a snout. or floppy ears. at any rate, i was in deep thought about whether these were dogs or kids, when i decided to turn my attention to trash on the side of the freeway. as i was hardly moving, i got a good look... lots of hub cabs, some wood, some plastic drawers and tubs, a broom, cigarette boxes. i looked up again, to see the little dog/kids popping up and down, and then looked back to the side, to see a pigeon missing its head.
i think that must somehow be quite prolific.
and at any rate, the little old woman and her dog/kids made for their exit, and i proceeded to follow a bastard in a weird looking car that had a hemi c. whatever that means. i decided i wanted to put a fake engine bragging i.d. on my civic. like "HEMI ZZXVVYSZ". you know. shake things up.
anyway. onto the POL, or, the point of life. (POL, at times, however, can also refer to "position on life" but for current discussion, please consider POL to stand for the former).
maybe i seem gutsy to other people because it seems like i have POL. when really, i have about as much POL as a fruit fly. oh wait. they actually doing have a point. to hover around fruit. fuck.
well. i perused the craig's list blackhole when i got home, and realized i'm terrified to switch jobs. mostly because as overqualified as i feel, i'm actually quite underqualified in the ol' experience department. also, i really like only working 20 hours a week... except for this week, because i literally only have $3.24 to last until march 10th. fuck me. i also really like being able to take vacations to follow bands and that kind of nonsense.
but god damn it. i want a POL. i have to have been intended for something better than selling soap, watching lost and listening to david bowie while i write in an online journal. and i AM cocky enough to actually post this for OTHER people to read, because what, i ask thee, is the point in writing if it only falls upon mine eyes? and my dear ipod, flex armstrong, seems to know my pain, as he has now shuffled from bowie's "sense of doubt" to "heroes".
and we CAN be heroes...
if just for one day.
I CAN BE A HERO!
I HAVE GUTS!!!
and i DESERVE a piece of that agro-crag, mike and mo. i know where the glitter cannons are. i've traced the most direct route. i've got on my rubberized fingerless gloves and my helmet-cam. and believe me... i'll earn my fucking piece.
if we can beat them, for ever and ever...
we can be us...
just for one day.