Dear Diary,

Top of the morning to you or something.

Well, guess what. I’m pissed at my employer. Actually, I’m more pissed at the HR department that interviewed my Girl.

They fubar’ed on her interview, and gave her the wrong test, gave her a supervisor test, so she didn’t pass and didn’t even get interviewed. I’m currently working on getting the responsible parties fired.

I wish my Girl didn’t get so depressed over stuff like this. She was calling me last night, I expected her to be all excited that she got the job, and she was in tears thinking she was stupid because she couldn’t pass what I thought was an idiot test.

Well, I had no idea which test she had taken, so when she started describing it to me, it was a test of internal procedures and dumb stuff that a person not inside the company would have no way of knowing.

So I told my direct supervisor here about it today, Frank, and he’s like, yeah, for sure, that’s the supervisor test, I’ll talk to our boss, get the ball rolling for another interview, she’ll for sure have the job.

I asked all the agents that had been hired on recently, and they had taken the test I was familiar with, the idiot test.

It’s so not fair — but such is life.

And when I was describing the problem in front of stupid Jarhead supervisor that is supposed to be gone by now, he’s like “Whatever.” I coulda killed him in that moment and had no remorse whatsoever.

Well, that pretty much describes how I feel about him all the time, but urge to kill at that moment was above normal levels, for sure.

How do you convice someone they aren’t dumb, when you know they aren’t, but they think they are? She has serious problems with how she images herself in her mind. She always says she’s not pretty, not smart, but she’s wrong about this. It’s not like she’s fishing for compliments, she just has a low self-image. It was something she told me about when we started dating, that she had a low self-image. But if anyone else said that about her, I’d beat ’em up, but you can’t do that when the person degrading her is herself.

Errgh. Frustration. She’s going to get depressed again.

(couple seconds later)

Speak of the devil.

My Girl just called me a few seconds ago. I told her that it was a mentor/supervisor test.

“No wonder I didn’t pass it.”

That’s the response I was looking for. I told her that the ball was rolling to get another interview for her… We haven’t been able to get anyone hired, and no joke, they’ve all been taking the friggin supervisor test.

She seemed in good spirits, and was on her way to an interview.

But she is still exercising that independence that she wanted so badly and hanging out with some friends tonight. Which wouldn’t bother me really, but why does she have to hang out with guy friends, which I’m sure would pounce her if I didn’t make my presence as a boyfriend known early on.

Just jealousy rearing it’s ugly head.

Gosh, I’m really getting obsessed with my Girl, aren’t I. I didn’t used to write entries totally revolving around her every friggin day. Maybe that just means I’ve gotten closer to her, or perhaps the drama in my life has begun to revolve around her, or I don’t know.

Drama drama drama. Kinda reminds me of January of ’99. (Hows that for a transition? heheh I kill myself sometimes)


January ’99

New year, obviously. Recovery from the party taken place. When I got back from Dallas, beer bottles everywhere, and amazingly, two cases of bud and miller still left.

I found that my roommate Dewey had fallen head over heels for this Rachel chick, and they had already gotten engaged. Like two weeks after meeting each other.

Noone really could stand Rachel. She was overbearing, had Dewey around her pinky, and generally caused strife among the people of the house.

So what did the people of the house do? Made it difficult for her to be around. Nate and Larry found her hotbutton. I want to preface this by saying I had no part in this, I really didn’t mind Rachel that much, but everyone, and I do mean everyone, didn’t like her. ‘Cept Dewey.

Her hotbutton was racism and racist comments. She would leave the room if she heard them. So one wrasslin’ night, Nate and Larry did nothing but make racist comments to piss her off. Larry went downstairs to get his rebel flag (remember, we’re in East Texas in this story, so you are always going to know at least one or two people with a rebel flag) and wrapped himself in it like a blanket, so that when she came out of Dewey’s room to tell them to shutup, she’d see it.

She saw it, and got all white in the face, and ran out of the house.

A few days later, Dewey and Travis decided to move out.

“Too bad about Dewey, ’bout time for Travis.” were my thoughts on it.

So I invited my co-worker Lumpy to come live with us. Hysteria was a guy I met back in the diz-ay, when I was an old BBS’er. He and I went way back, and he had finally gotten a job doing fairly well where I worked.

But Lumpy was an odd duck. Crackbaby and I refer to him as “…a scumbag, but our friend…”, which is a pretty accurate description. You’ll see why when I get into it later on.

Funny facts about Lumpy… He’s 23 I think now or somewhere in there, and he’s had over 20 jobs. And he’s wrecked like 12 vehicles. And he’s probably made it with every chick in a 30 mile radius of our hometown. Lumpy’s favorite beer: Shiner Bock

So Lumpy got the basement that we converted into a bedroom and Larry had the bunk downstairs, and I had the upstairs bedroom, Dewey’s was vacant. This probably didn’t take place (Lumpy’s move in) till about the third week of January.

Ok, I’ll admit, str8 edge Rizzn over here drank a little bit over at Ferrill’s house that New Year’s weekend. Well, my birthday is in January… second week, my slight intoxication at Ferrill’s gave me the courage to make the decision to go ahead and take the plunge on my decision to leave the str8 edge world.

So one wrasslin’ night, Travis, Dewey, Larry, and Nate were cappin’ off the leftover cases of beer, and I randomly decided to join in. Drank 4 of em’ really quick, didn’t even get a buzz. Got quite dissappointed.

Then the sh!t hit.

I lost my job completely at the ISP.

Back then, one of the biggest problems for users of our system was a virus you may have heard of called NetBus. It’s a trojan horse program that once installed, gives hackers access to your computer. Cursory scans of our users systems showed that about 85% were infected by this program, so anytime they got online, they were vulerable.

I had been working on a program that would go thru the users and uninstall the virus behind the scenes. But to do so, it had to use the backdoor created by NetBus.

There are programs that you could install to make a hacker think that you have NetBus installed, and if the hacker decided to try to intrude on your system, it would log their IP address, and send an email with it to the SysAdmin.

Well, one such user had one of these programs and reported me, not knowing what I was doing.

I eventually got a hold of this user and explained it to him, but he had already told someone else in the company about this intrusion attempt, and it made it’s way to the company’s legal department, and by that Friday, I was let go.

Everyone in the office was just sick to hear it. My boss went out and got blasted that night. The former owner, the big boss was almost in tears.

So I was pretty broken up about it, too. I was totally up to suggestion. And who to suggest stuff to

me but probably the worst influences in the world on me, but some of my greatest friends, Crackbaby and Lumpy.

They suggested I try acid.

I did.

My first drug.

But the acid turned out to be bunk. We just ended up sitting in the basement for 7 hours watching Record of Lodoss Wars with dialated eyes. And that’s it.

So a week later, Crackbaby took Lumpy and I to Denton, mecca for all drugie hippie college types, to some old roommates of his and we got some plane tickets and boy was it a flight. Timothy Leary I think was the name of it.

Absolutely wild. I was telling skunk_girl about it not long ago. First of all, the apartment was a total hippie trippin’ smokin apartment, with blacklights, flourecents, and those trippy lightning balls and devices they sell at Gadzooks. And at first I didn’t feel the effects of it, and someone popped in the movie Armageddon, which I have not seen sober.

A message to anyone who trips acid out there: Do not watch Armageddon on acid.

All I remember from that was that dude from Resevoir Dogs (Mr. Pink) was crazy, the chick that played Bruce Willis’s daughter was fine, a bunch of sh!t was flying at planet earth, and Mr. Pink got tied up on an asteroid, and a bunch of people died. In space. Oh, and there was a crazy Russian in there somewhere. And a dead one, too, I think.

It got too much for me at one point, I didn’t really realize I was tripping, but I knew the movie wasn’t making much sense. I went to go get up and pee in the bathroom. Well, of course the mirror caught me, and I was spending what seemed like an eternity watching my face melt and go back. I realized I was tripping then.

When I went to go take a wiz, I got caught in a time loop. I just kept going and going. Sorry, don’t mean to gross you out or whatever, just a real weird deal. One of the things I remember.

Then I went back inside, I think Armageddon was winding down, so I just was looking around the room. I was reclining on a white blanket, and I looked down at it, and all of a sudden I was flying through clouds and stuff. It was crazy.

Then the movie was over. I totally missed the end. I couldn’t tell you who survived it, and if the Earth survived, or what. I just remember it was over.

Crackbaby was smoking buttloads of pot in the corner, but I wouldn’t touch the stuff. I wanted a pure experience, so I could judge what it was doing to my body and mind. But he was taking hits off a bong called ‘Satans Cock.’ It was a five foot grafix bong, which translated from pot head terms, is a tube about five feet long that’s clear, with a bowl on the end, that takes two people to operate (one to light, on to hit the bong).

Crackbaby was at the what we call “Crackbaby, breathe” stage. Where you have to remind him.

After a few cig breaks and pauses to admire the pretty colors, I remembered I had Vitamin C in my car, and I went on a solo adventure to the car to find them. Well, I went out the door, over to where I had parked, and I couldn’t find the car.

“I must be really fubared,” I thought.

So I went back inside, retrieved Lumpy, and we went to go find the car. Couldn’t find it.

We both went back inside, found Crackbaby, who would be of almost no help to be sure, but went back outside to find the vehicle, and couldn’t find it.

“It must be gone,” I concluded.

Talked to the Dr. Feelgood, as I like to call him, and told him I couldn’t find the car, and he was like, “Where did you park?” Just outside the door. “Oh man, I’m sorry, I shoulda told you, you can’t park in the complex, you’ll get towed.”

Now normally I woulda flipped out and been a nervous wreck. But that’s me sober.

That night I didn’t give a fsck! I was like, sure man, no problem, we’ll just get it in the morning. It didn’t even phase me that I didn’t have a car right then and I was over 100 miles from home.

The rest of the night progressed, night became morning, we slept for a few hours, ate breakfast, and proceded home.

That’s about the extent of the first half of January. More fun stuff that extends itself to another volume happenned in the second half of January. And thats when the new chapter of my life and my downfall really began.

Just to sum up where I’m at right now…. I’m unemployed, living in a house with 2 dudes, Larry and Lumpy, and I just broke one of my cardinal morals, drugs and drink.

It doesn’t get better for a while.


But anyways. For some reason I’ve been procrastinating with my entries lately.

I think for sure I’m going to be able to get my Girl a job here, because of the whole fsck up. I’m supposed to meet with my boss and maybe some HR people about it soon to see what’s going down.

I’m audi 5000 diary. Maybe expect a small update before today’s over.

/rizzn

Quote of the Entry: “Ginger ale bottles and cans (just clap your hands) are as understated as they can possibly be, with the exception of a pronounced NO CAFFIENE label that might as well just read “Won’t Kill Grandma!”

– youradhere