I'M NOT PAID WELL ENOUGH

...or so I'm told, by several of my co-workers. That either means I need to promoted, or stop working so hard. Unfortunately, there is no room to be elevated, and I have only one speed when I'm working...which is to FUCKING WORK. I like my job, don't get me wrong. And I don't mind going above and beyond when duty calls.

But it is frustrating knowing that deep down, I could be doing so much more. And it's not for lack of ambition; sure I could blame the shitty economy, but I could also be more pro-active in trying to find another job. And that, right there, I think is where I falter. I HATE looking for jobs, trying to explain how awesome I can be in the form of a resume.

And besides, the jobs out there are not only few and far between, but the difference between taking a chance on an un-known employer, versus the known quantity I currently am employed by...well, I guess I'm staying put for now. But this job has already lasted longer than I ever expected it to. Static. For. Now.

I ALMOST DIED

Happy New Years from Chicago. I'm not a big fan of New Years Eve, nor other "big" holidays; this past Christmas was the first one I experienced without a single member of my family, extended or otherwise. I wasn't really in a mood to celebrate because...

I FUCKED UP BIG TIME. Let me preface this by saying I am NOT looking for sympathy or anything; the only reason for this post is to get the ghosts of my mistakes out, kinda like therapy. But here goes: I fucking hit a parked car going 40MPH, drunk (naturally).

Besides tarnishing my stellar driving record, I destroyed my brother's VW GTI. And I spent the night in jail. And was taken to the hospital sporting leg irons and hands (which were bleeding) cuffed behind my back. Word to you, dear reader: don't ever drink and drive, but if you do, and destroy a 2 cars in spectacular fashion, don't do it in Chicago. [For the record, I passed the "ABC" test with flying colors].

I won't post the number I blew, but it was shockingly high, like "you should have alcohol poisoning" according to not one but three officers. Either the machine is broken, or I'm fucking immortal, because I didn't even feel hungover the next day (although I was still in shock). I'm still trying to get the blood out of the jeans I was wearing, but otherwise I'm remarkably intact.

I've said this many, many times, but I want to reiterate it: THANK FUCKING GOD NO ONE ELSE WAS HURT. I feel stupid/embarrassed/humiliated/ashamed. But I can deal with that. If I had injured someone else physically, I don't think I could deal. Oh, and I was told if I hadn't been wearing my seatbelt/had the benefit of an airbag, I would would have sailed through the windshield. Having 2 bruised lungs is nothing in comparison.

I'm a tough MOTHER FUCKER, and I'll get through this, and I consider myself lucky...but this is going to wipe me financially. Par for the course I suppose. It's going to be a long road to restore the trust I destroyed, and pick up the pieces, etc. It's not going to be easy, in fact it's going to be fucking awful. I can only plead patience.

Happy 2011?

I'M TRYING SO FUCKING HARD

...to live up to my potential, to support my family and friends, to stay "true" to myself. I'm under so much fucking stress, and I don't know why. Maybe it's the job, or family relations, or what the fuck else. But I've sucked at life lately, and I want it to change and feel good for the first time in a long while.

I realize people got it worse than I do, but that's cold comfort. I've thankfully been given options to prove myself, and I have every intention to do so. And I'll do it...to a fuckin' T. But what toll will it take? What's left for me at the end if the day? Is that a selfish question to ask?

Don't you dare steal that awesome picture of the Marina Towers...without asking. That shit took me a long while. Oh, and btw...I'm throwing my hat in the ring to become a commercial photographer. And also to play shortstop for my beloved Cubbies.

I just wanna kick life in the ass right now! And shit keeps getting in the way. Am I to ambitious...or too easily thwarted? Or do I think too much? Fuck this. I gotta go to work. Or just blast Punk Rock? I think so...

POOR MAN'S LOTTERY TICKET

One might assume that along with my other illicit habits, that I would be a "natural" gambler. Not so. In fact, I am terrible at gambling, and since I normally decline to participate in activities that I'm bad at, I rarely if ever wager my hard earned money.

Now that I think about it, my biggest "score" occurred way back in 2003. Rambling around the Harrah's off the Vegas Strip at 7am, in search of a McDonald's, I sat down at a $0.25 slot machine ("Red White N' Blue!"), popped $1 in, grabbed that lever and out came $75 dollars. I was stunned. That Egg McMuffin tasted DAMN GOOD.

All that being said, I do in fact play the lottery several times a week. Not the stupid scratch off cards or ticket variety, buy what I call "Poor Man's Lottery". Every time you but something at Walgreen's, the receipt invites you to take a short survey; once a month they choose 1 random respondent, and that person receives $3,000.

Seeing as my main competition are little old blue haired women, I like my odds. Plus, I'm gotten so AWESOME at taking these dumb surveys, I can knock them out in 30 seconds flat. Ironically, if I did actually win $3,000 I'd probably piss it away at Arlington Park. Or buy a Volvo. Or SNEAKERS!

PS - Anyone notice I bought "STD" Pomade? Fuck! Good thing I kept the receipt...