SO. I have not posted in a blog for a very long time.
What to write, what to write…
I feel so pressured here! My work is going to be scrutinized by a soon-to-be English major! The very same soon-to-be English major who asked me to write something in the first place! It’s not like I planned to use this thing anyway, but I suppose that since I have it and I have nothing better to do…
I really have no clue what to write. Perhaps a story. Yes, I think that will do.
AHA. I got it.
Imagine, if you will, a glance into the future. Imagine a world where anyone could be whoever they wanted to be at the push of a button. Not too hard to imagine one would suppose…just have a big red button in the middle of your house, or maybe even at the front door. Push it as you were leaving, and voila! You are now the star quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys. Or the premier ballerina for the Mariinsky Ballet. Or any hundreds of thousands of millions of possibilities. The mind is a most imaginative thing. However, such a thing is not very realistic or practical. No, if such a thing were to be invented, it would most likely be taken control of. Say perhaps, by a corporation with its own interests? Leasing the technology to those that it would feel it would make the most profit off of? But why stop there? Why not rewrite every single one of your employees to be the best they could be? No, that wouldn’t work either. Everyone would be the same, there would be no imagination or creativity, and these are things that people use to differentiate themselves from the flock. No, without these things, we wouldn’t have our marvelous invention in the first place! Such a corporation that would have control over such a device would surely recognize that great minds must be perserved and there should be other, more practical uses for such a device. Not to mention the outstanding legal and ethical issues with simply rewriting the base foundation of everyone who came to work. And so perhaps such a corporation would need to keep the discovery of such a device a secret. But then what could be done? How could they maximize profit and power and control while keeping it all under wraps? Aha! Let’s create a brothel. But not just any brothel, no no no. Their escorts are capable of ANYTHING. They can create the perfect man or woman to suit your needs and desires all in one simple package. All they ask for is a ton of money…and your loyalty. You scratch their back, they scratch yours. You need a favor, they’ll oblige you…as long as you do what they need. And in return, they give you whatever you need: a pretty girl, a stand in for your Broadway play, an assassin? And so, sadly, it seems that this would be more of a realistic scenario for our little device.
You know, there’s this little quirk about me that I’m not sure you know, but I am very lazy. Very, very lazy. And so I had this whole interesting story planned about this girl who was kind of roughing it in Santa Montica, selling various paintings that she drew on the boardwalk, catching the eye of a very handsome gentleman. The two clicked, and the handsome gentleman revealed he wanted to do more with her than just buy a couple paintings and display them at his very grandiose mansion estate. But he pushed a little too far and she wanted out, which he wasn’t willing to do, especially since he was a premier neurologist at the corporation which had this device. And so he drugged her to make her seem schizophrenic so that they would take her and turn her into an escort. The perfect escort. And there’d be some backstory on how the escort life would be, how they were inactive when they weren’t actually WITH someone, etc. And then there’d be this whole thing about her discovering her true love and getting even with the guy with the help of a technician who grew a conscience, and…yeah.
Does this story sound familiar? I BET IT DOES.
And if it doesn’t, then you can just marvel at my genius.
So much for my really cool story. Perhaps I can write a poem instead.
Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! I laugh because I must not cry! To carry a grudge is like being stung to death by one bee! Everything we see is a shadow cast by that which we do not see!
Okay I’m not a poet. Or rather, I’m a very lazy one.
I suppose if I reallllllly tried to, I could come up with a darn good poem. BUT ALAS, POOR YORICK, I KNEW HIM WELL. I mean, alas, I am lazy. And of course, that isn’t exactly the proper line, is it Horatio?
Har har, Shakespeare jokes.
I’m going to guess that ABSOLUTELY NO ONE WHO READS THIS will understand any bit of it. Unless Dusty is a fan of Shakespeare. Then maybe she’ll get the poor yorick joke. I can’t imagine my cousin fawning over Shakespeare. She’s more of the GEE GEE GEE GEE BABY BABY type.
Yes, she would get that one.
I am positively, quite tired. Work is stressful. You know what, I’ll talk about work.
I work for a sadomasochist. Not only does she revel in inflicting pain on others, she loves to inflict pain on herself.
Now, that’s an absolutely terrible way to talk about someone, and I am glad that this is SOMEONE ELSE’S BLOG, so that if someone were to read this they will think that SOMEONE ELSE is the one saying that. TEE HEE HEE I AM SO CLEVER. Just so we’re clear on that point. I am completely blameless for what comes next.
Now just so we’re clear, I work at a restaurant. Scratch that, I manage a restaurant. Scratch that, I practically do everything for this restaurant. Ugh. So my duties include bussing tables, seating people, taking orders, bringing food, ringing up customers, answering the phone, wrapping up to-go orders, mixing drinks, pouring drinks, tending a bar, preparing food, making food, dealing with customer complaints, dealing with employee complaints, dealing with employer complaints, scheduling, hiring, interviewing new trainees, training new trainees, cleaning, restocking, ordering supplies (via unreliable restocking people), filing credit slips, counting money, managing money, dealing with money, stressing out over getting yelled at every day.
Let’s see. Did I forget anything? I don’t know. I am tired.
You know, if you took the time to read all that, bravo for you. If you didn’t, I will summarize my job for you. Make sure the restaurant does not burn down. Simple, no?
Ah yes, sadomasochism. Where does that come into play? The restaurant is a family owned business. As such, the owners are a father and a mother, the father who is mostly not there and the mother who is mostly there but demands that things are done her way and only her way and immediately and etc. And she loves yelling at us and blaming us and it is never her fault when an extra dish is made because she made it twice or she made the wrong thing or etc. Nope. It’s always our fault for brining it to the wrong table or, and get this, she yelled at me for a whole day about this, “asking the customer to take a dish that he did not order and telling him to eat it anyway.”
This is a true story, and I think I shall tell you this story, my fellow tumblr readers. So, there were these two tables, and they had all ordered their food and such, and it was kind of busy, so everyone was hustlin and bustlin and what not. And so here comes the food! And everything is delivered to the right tables and the customers at these two particular tables are eating their food very happily. Except, UH OH, SHE MADE AN EXTRA 13. GASP.
And so of course someone says, “This is extra!” To which she says, “NOOOOO! THIS NOT EXTRA. YOU BRING WRONG TABLE.” (yes, accent. bad english.) And she rifles through the ordering tickets, looking to see where the mistake was made, asking WHO TAKE ORDER? WHO BRING WRONG TABLE? etc. And as is my custom, because I do not want anyone to get yelled at and because it is counterproductive to be standing around yelling all day when food needs to be made and customers need to be served, I take the blame.
Though, there was no blame to take really, she made an extra 13. Simple as that. BUT NO. IT WAS NOT.
She accused me of taking a 7 and bringing it to the guy who ordered the 13 and told him to eat the 7 instead. Which, while plausible, just means that she made an extra 7, no? But she would not hear it. And she yelled all day about it. And glared at me all day. And yelled to everyone about it. And I would not hear the end of it. Sigh.
This is my life. Well, not my whole life, of course. =P But yes. She revels in stressing herself out unnecessarily and stressing out everyone around her unnecessarily. So ugh. And I must work tomorrow. So I should probably sleep. But I wanted to post this ridiculously absurdly long post in this thing to see who would actually read it all. And it’s not as long as I’d hoped it would be. I need to ramble more.
Just as a reference. TEE HEE.
Now then, back to rambling. Work is oh so very tiring. My feet hurt, and that’s really about it. It’s just one stressful yell after another. Can’t even chill at home and eat ice cream and watch a movie, what with all the yelling going on.
I miss watching movies. I haven’t watched a movie in awhile. You know, I used to watch a lot of movies, like alllllllllllllltheeeeeeeeeeeeeeetiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime. But now it’s just, come home, sit down, zone out for a couple hours, go sleep. Wake up, go back to work.
On that note, the Bakuman opening theme is kind of catchy.
It’s kind of late, and I probably should sleep, but this post is nowhere near as long as I want it to be. Darn it.
And I need to go in early because my coworker has the stomach flu. No doubt more yelling will go on tomorrow. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Tomorrow’s going to be a nightmare. A NIGHTMARE. LIKE A HORSE ON FIRE. BLACK FIRE. RAWRRRG.
YARRGGHH. I don’t know what to write about. I need to keep going, like the Energizer Bunny, but I just don’t have any material to write about. I mean I could write my whole life story, but that’d take too long. Or rather, not too long, it’d just be humbug to write about. Well, not humbug, but just…something.
DID YOU KNOW MY OLD ELEMENTARY SCHOOL WAS TURNED INTO A TAI CHI ACADEMY OR SOMETHING?
Of course you didn’t. Well one person did. It’s still amusing. I should go back there one day when I visit good ole Oahu. Get some shopping done. Go see my old house. Torment my younger cousins. Cough.
Then again, my cousins could come up HERE. Where there’s SNOW. HINT. HINT. Come to think of it, it’s been pretty cold this year. I reckon we’ll be havin a white Christmas this year, ey.
I forgot which audience I’m writing this for. I suppose this is primarily for Dusty, who requested it in the first place, but then again I don’t really know the audience that I am writing it for. As in, how may I write this in the best way that would make it the most interesting for said audience?
I could talk about wrestling… =D
I wish I had more days off. More time to sleep. Sleep is always good. GRAWRGLE. I should sleep. But this still isn’t long enough. OH WELL.
Whatever, I am done. Perhaps this will be sufficient. It’s not sufficient for me. =( But I don’t really have any topics to write about. Oh well. Mm.
I was going to end this in a particular way, but now that I’m here I don’t remember what way that was. Well…yes. We’ll leave it at that. Seeing as how I’ll probably never login to this thing ever again unless it is asked of me for some silly reason. BUT, perhaps, this will entertain you Dusty. Have fun.
Oh right. The title. Spoiled milk. WELL THAT’S A MYSTERY YOU’LL HAVE TO SOLVE ON YOUR OWN. MUAR HAR HAR HAR.
I have comandeered this tumblr. The original user of this tumblr has asked me to comandeer it. I shall return it when the original user asks me as such. In the meantime, I’ll probably never use this thing ever, because I don’t even know how to. OH WELL.