Monday, Day One, 11:16
a.m.: Out of the blue, for absolutely no reason, while inebriated Thursday,
March 1st, I decided to not watch television for a week. Why? I
don’t know, I do that kind of thing from time to time. I had nothing to prove
to myself and nobody to try and please.
“No t.v.
for a week? That’s easy! I don’t even have a television at my place,” are the
words that may possibly be floating around in your head. If so then I say that
you are not a true American or a patriot and that you need to hurry out and buy
a television before the forces of terrorism hear about you and laugh
triumphantly. Or, perhaps you’re the kind of person who has such a wonderful
active lifestyle (with your new custom-made hair) that you rarely watch t.v.
Well, screw you too, because I don’t get down like that. I’ve got no job and
have nothing but time in which to watch the “boob tube.” My Dojo of Love is set
up around the very idea that people come together to watch t.v.
So, throughout
the week I will make short entries to follow how things are going. Then I’ll
post it all on Monday, March 12th.
This should be an interesting week
4:00 p.m.: So far
so good. I’m a little bored, but managed to spend the day doing laundry and
whoring myself out for employment. I’m worried about tonight though. The whole
point of evenings is to watch t.v., isn’t it?
Tuesday, Day Two,
11:06 a.m.: Last night was brutal. Luckily I got to see some webcam boobies
and that helped to pass the time. So did reading, which is my first love
anyway. Today is going well. I’ll be gone for most of the afternoon with my
first job interview. I mean, the first ever. My pits are so soaked I’ve had to
change shirts three times already! I hope they don’t notice. It’s funny, I’ve
interviewed thousands of people as a journalist, including the (now former
since he resigned last week) secretary of the Army, the deputy secretary of
defense, the chief of staff of the army, General Petraeus, hell even Tom
Brokaw, yet I’ve rarely been on the receiving end of an interview. Maybe I
should take a bunch of Valium first to calm my ass down. I’ve got another
interview tomorrow. We’ll see how I do on this one first. I guess not watching
t.v. has been beneficial; I sent my resume out to a bunch of places yesterday
and I’m more focused on trying to get employed, (which is both a good and bad
thing.)
Thursday, Day Four,
11:14 p.m.: Temptation. Strong
temptation. And not just to watch tv. I also quit drinking for the week as
well. That’s right, no substances and no television. Why would I do that to
myself? Because I’m a masochist, apparently. Today was the worst day of my
life. This coming from a guy who’s been to war twice and has seen shit you
wouldn’t believe going on around him. And I stand by my statement: Today was the
worst day of my life. They have honesty in advertising, but they should have
honesty in help wanted ads as well. If a company calls itself a marketing and
advertising firm and offers a job in public relations, then that’s what you
should get when you apply. If a company is really nothing more than a bunch of
shady-ass solicitors who make you walk all goddamn day from business to
business, bothering and annoying everybody you come across in a vain attempt to
sell some Papa John’s coupons, they should tell you that as well. My experience
is in writing and public affairs, not in hassling regular people to buy some
stupid coupons they don’t need so they can get nice and fat off of greasy food
and corporate America
can get nice and fat off of these simpletons’ money. Have you ever been on the
giving end of a sales pitch? Lies, miscommunication, deliberately misleading,
insulting and I don’t know what else, are the name of the game there. The worst
part is that I’m back to square one as far as the job hunting goes. I was all
excited because I had two interviews and a walk through/observation day all in
one week. But both places that interviewed me are exactly the same! They are
both offshoots of the same parent company, but one’s in Baltimore
and one’s in Falls Church , Virginia
And to compound this glorious day,
at the end, what was supposed to be a relaxing Poker Night, turned into a
devastating ass whomping for me. I just don’t get poker. I really want to
surrender myself to the loving embrace of alcohol, but I can’t. It’s not even
about watching t.v. anymore. That’s easy, it’s just a little awkward in social
settings, because everywhere you go there a t.v. on and I have to turn my back
to it or stand in a different room and converse by yelling. It’s not about the
t.v. watching. It’s about my underdeveloped will power finally growing a set
and making what it hopes isn’t its final stand. I just wish that the week I
decided to quit all of my vices and fun activities wasn’t also the busiest,
most stressful week I’ve had this year.
Hmmmm, a
blog where I actually talk about myself without exaggeration. This isn’t
interesting at all. Not to mention the complete lack of humor.
Friday, Day Five,
7:19 p.m.: Everybody has their breaking point. Pick up artists know this.
Interrogators and torture experts know this. Our pitiful and corrupt government
knows this. And now I know it. Sure I can justify and rationalize, but it
doesn’t really change things. I had only planned to stop drinking for a week,
which I technically did since I stopped doing that last Thursday, (I stopped
watching t.v. on Monday) but it still feels like I’m giving up. Don’t get me
wrong I haven’t actually done anything yet. But by the time you read this I
will have. And by the time I post again, that portion of the experiment will be
over. Success? Failure? No clue. All I know is that I’ve had a very stressful
week and I’ve been on edge, snapping at people and walking around with a
dangerously short fuse. I need to relax. I realized that today at lunch when I
was in a restaurant trying to eat and have a conversation with my friend while
this, and I use the term loosely “mother” allowed her super-hyper child run
around throwing things on the ground and making all types of noises while she
just continued to talk to some old couple at her table, thinking she’s cute
because she obviously shops at thrift stores and wants you to know that she’s
kitschy because she wears bright red galoshes even when it’s sunny out. I had
to calm myself and count to ten because I was very close to walking over to the
mother and telling her to shut her retarded child up before I pick him up by
HIS GODDAMN HAIR AND THROW HIS ASS THROUGH THE GODAMN PLATE-GLASS WINDOW! People
who know me know that I am fully capable and willing to walk up to the mother
and yell at her in front of a restaurant full of strangers. You know that scene
from Family Guy where Brian is in the
restaurant and he starts crying really loudly like the baby next to him? That’s
exactly how I felt. Not to stereotype or make racial generalizations but why do
white people let their kids do whatever they want in public? Do they think it’s
cute? Do they think that we’re all having a jolly time listening to a child
scream at 7 million decibels? Take a
hint from black people, beat your child in public, then he/she won’t act that
way. And I make you this promise, I’m not going to be so nice next time some
shit like that goes down, so handle your kids people because you never know
where I’ll be and I’ll be very happy to handle your kids for you.
Time for
drinkies!
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