last week was my birthday, which marked the one year countdown to the end of my second decade of life.
...i suppose that may have been a little dramatic way of saying that i turned 20, but i believe it's completely necessary. after all, turning 21 will begin a whole new life for me. i dont associate with any fortune tellers, but i believe that legally being able to drink could possibly be the greatest time in my life. either that, or it will be a downward spiral of chaos, shame, and regret. chances are i'll be too drunk to notice anyway.
despite the sheer insignificance that turning 20 brought me and brings millions of people every year, it will be remembered for the day i got accepted to ferris. which, to a lot of people, is no big deal. any asshole with a pencil in his hand could one day call themself a bulldog. but like turning 21 will do, it too marks a complete 180 in my life. for the first time in damn near 15 years, i am looking forward to going to school. because i know what the alternative is. work. and dont get me wrong - i realize im not doing manual labor here, but i do feel that i am in desperate need of a change of surroundings. working midnights, being on probation, and moving back in with my parents has done little for my social life's ego.
i would now like to explain how i spent my night at work:
-after almost 3 straight hours of online poker, consisting of buying fake drinks for everyone and flirting with the best-looking braud at each of the tables via open chatroom, i finally won a good size pot. i then lost all of it and then some in consecutive hands over the next 10-15 minutes. this really put a damper on my night.
-on a positive note, i finally beat my all-time high of Mario Bros (on the computer, not nintendo. from what i remember, i dominated that shit.) by beating the 4th level. halfway through the 5th level, though, a flying turtle ended my 5th and final life. if there's a more un-dignified way of dying, i certainly dont know it. however, it would be a great story to tell the grandchildren. next week i'll give level 5 another shot. that duck is going down through firepower.
-i read 1.5 pages of A Fan's Notes, a novel that i bought about a month ago and have yet to reach the 20 page mark. of all the noted reviews this book received, it forget to mention that the author's keen, intellectual dictation is not recommended for the graveyard shift worker. it has almost literally put me to sleep on numerous occasions.
-i stapled a hurdle track to the top of my desk for my fingers to race on. needless to say, this did not entertain me for long. i wish i knew where my fingerboards were.
-during what i like to call the glory hour (which is the hour before i punch out), a gun shot wound victim comes in by ambulance. this is an elderly man, and whatever an elderly man does at 6.30 in the morning to piss you off, please think of me before you decide to shoot him. if you dont give a shit about me, at least try to aim for the toes. possibly an arm, the chest. but the thigh? here i am, pen and paper in hand attempting to get some information on the situation, but all i can do is focus on the grim future lying there on the bed between this gentleman's legs. [note: i say 'grim future' because it is inevitable that mine and your testicles will one day look like this mans. also, i say 'lying there' because this sagging, unshapely sac of ball remnants hung away from the body and formed it's own little comfort zone on the bed, nestled ever so loosely between each thigh.]
i stood there trying to think of every horrific car accident i had ever seen, and realized that this was practically the sum total of them all.
so i'll be dealing with those flashbacks for the rest of my god damn life. that is, at least until i become an old man with my own distinct ball sac.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
robots
if you want anything done right in this world, you have to control it with robots.
but the question is, who programs the robots? who is to determine what is right and wrong, what should and shouldnt be done? more importantly, what's to stop the robots from evolving and creating a mind of their own, like that one movie starring will smith? then we're all fucked. (unless, of course, will smith's real life personality was directly related to the roles he portrays in the movie, or movies such as i am legend, enemy of the state, bad boys, or even the legend of bagger vance. then he could just save the world from sure destruction. but when i hear 'will smith', i cant help but to think of things like the fresh prince, oscar the fish, and big willie style.)
as long as you have the human factor of opinion (commonly referred to as fucking up) involved, nobody will ever be happy and justice will never be served. you could apply my incredibly flawless theory to almost any given situation.
'ok andy, you had my attention at 'will smith'. now whats your fucking point?' may be crossing some of your minds. well im glad you asked, you impatient piece of shit.
when a patient comes into the ER after *trying to commit suicide, a psychiatric doctor is supposed to undergo an evaluation with this patient, determine if they are legitimately crazy and could put themself or others at risk again. for the sake of argument, let's say the patient mistakenly took uncle jim's erectile dysfunction pills for vicodins just before swallowing a fifth and a half of jack daniels.
aside from the fact that the patient is sloshing around the ER with a 45º rock solid boner, the real problem is that the psyche doc is an INTERN! a mid-to-late-twenties college grad with everything in the book to prove, with his job on the line. now surely he wouldnt be able to just let this patient go with a pat on the shoulder, showing the patient how to correctly identify a pill bottle the next time he decides to kill himself. no, the doc has to diagnose the man. give him a cube with plastic sheets on the bed and padded walls. write something like 'major depression with psychosis' on the patient's chart. this pre-mature but post-puberty (big boy) doctor has the power to tell this man he's crazy. and he will, and so will the next one.
the most apologetic psychiatric doctor is like the most caring serial killer.
*a very wise hitler-like man (in the form of forceful text messages to contribute to another website) once opened my eyes about this whole suicide tactic known as trying to commit suicide, then failing. to those whom this may apply, i say to you 'fuck you'. if you want to kill yourself, you can kill yourself. hell, if you're not sure it will work, let me assist you! but when you try and you fail, you're the lowest piece of shit on this planet. and if ONE soul reaches out to you with a sympathetic hand, then you had absolutely no reason to try to grab their attention in the first place because obviously, they're just as fucking demented for giving a shit about you.
but the question is, who programs the robots? who is to determine what is right and wrong, what should and shouldnt be done? more importantly, what's to stop the robots from evolving and creating a mind of their own, like that one movie starring will smith? then we're all fucked. (unless, of course, will smith's real life personality was directly related to the roles he portrays in the movie, or movies such as i am legend, enemy of the state, bad boys, or even the legend of bagger vance. then he could just save the world from sure destruction. but when i hear 'will smith', i cant help but to think of things like the fresh prince, oscar the fish, and big willie style.)
as long as you have the human factor of opinion (commonly referred to as fucking up) involved, nobody will ever be happy and justice will never be served. you could apply my incredibly flawless theory to almost any given situation.
'ok andy, you had my attention at 'will smith'. now whats your fucking point?' may be crossing some of your minds. well im glad you asked, you impatient piece of shit.
when a patient comes into the ER after *trying to commit suicide, a psychiatric doctor is supposed to undergo an evaluation with this patient, determine if they are legitimately crazy and could put themself or others at risk again. for the sake of argument, let's say the patient mistakenly took uncle jim's erectile dysfunction pills for vicodins just before swallowing a fifth and a half of jack daniels.
aside from the fact that the patient is sloshing around the ER with a 45º rock solid boner, the real problem is that the psyche doc is an INTERN! a mid-to-late-twenties college grad with everything in the book to prove, with his job on the line. now surely he wouldnt be able to just let this patient go with a pat on the shoulder, showing the patient how to correctly identify a pill bottle the next time he decides to kill himself. no, the doc has to diagnose the man. give him a cube with plastic sheets on the bed and padded walls. write something like 'major depression with psychosis' on the patient's chart. this pre-mature but post-puberty (big boy) doctor has the power to tell this man he's crazy. and he will, and so will the next one.
the most apologetic psychiatric doctor is like the most caring serial killer.
*a very wise hitler-like man (in the form of forceful text messages to contribute to another website) once opened my eyes about this whole suicide tactic known as trying to commit suicide, then failing. to those whom this may apply, i say to you 'fuck you'. if you want to kill yourself, you can kill yourself. hell, if you're not sure it will work, let me assist you! but when you try and you fail, you're the lowest piece of shit on this planet. and if ONE soul reaches out to you with a sympathetic hand, then you had absolutely no reason to try to grab their attention in the first place because obviously, they're just as fucking demented for giving a shit about you.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
random life updates
- unlike my business partner, i have tried to keep this million dollar idea of ours a secret. the problem is, we have been talking about it for weeks and have yet to make any progress. but i think that if i publish a dated post here on blogger, it will give me more motivation to get started if, let's say, in a week i check back here and see that i still have done absolutely nothing. if you would like a hint, the final product is an idea much like postsecret, but the initial planning has a lot less public involvement. im sure i've already said too much. i can be paid off, though, if you're interested.
- im on a week long stretch of graveyard shifts without a day off, and this hospital is really starting to get to me. the redundancy is getting rather boring, and though i've only been here a short period of time, it feels as though im about to embark on my 35th anniversary. honestly, if you've seen one gun shot to the chest, you've seen them all. if you've seen one runny nose, you've certainly seem them all. but, i must admit... i wouldnt have it any other way here. im not much for 'excitement' in the ER. i like to be able to lean back in my chair, prop my feet up. im a simple man.
- which brings me to my next point of discussion: im also exceedingly lazy, and have the thought motivation to do something about it. if not, i am sure to develop an RSI. at this point, a momentary injury sounds a lot better than a lifelong strain on my back thats already evolving at this young of age. ever since i can remember, i have never been able to touch my toes throughout gym practice in school. but now, it's embarassingly worse. i need to stretch, get looser, maybe build some muscle so i can put pin-up girl tattoos on my arms. and all this time i've been so stupid. as an employee here at the hospital, i have free access to a gym every day. never stepped foot in it once. but i will. just need to transform the thought into action. i need fuel. and not the spaghettios and can of coke (x2. nightly.) that have been getting me through these midnights. i need something like 'tacklin fuel'.
- something that has irritated me as soon as i stopped being a hypocrite about it is when people give their uneducated opinion. now granted, opinions make the world go 'round. war, religion, death, destruction, politics, tv programming, chihuahuas with sweaters. if you think about it, just about everything and anything can be traced to an opinion somebody had. BUT, when you argue a point with no knowledge other than instinct, just drop it! it's not worth you getting upset about or getting assholes like me upset. if it's an opinion, acknowledge that it's an opinion and you cannot possibly be right about it or convert my point of view without detailed fact so shut up about it. im stubborn and ignorant and nonapologetic.
- on a happy note, i've come to terms with something in my life that i am not exactly ready to be public about. which i guess means i havent exactly come to terms with it. nonetheless, it's something that makes me incredibly happy, and i no longer want to go without it. sort of like smoking pot, but i suppose i dont have much of a choice there.
- its getting closer and closer to my last day at the ol' apartment. im happy to be able to save money, but not happy about moving back in with my parents. we'll see how long it lasts. im awaiting a letter from ferris, which is ultimately going to be my decision maker for what my near future plans are. if i get accepted without having to take some credits beforehand, i may move up north asap. if i need credits still, im going to stay down here and work and go to occ i suppose. the good thing about working here and going to school is that i get $1600 in free money. not to mention im hoping to still be able to use an outdated meap scholarship.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
867-5309
at 4.00am today i am faced with the possible life altering decision to finish reading the final 23 pages of my current novel killing yourself to live or blog about my new onset love for a no-longer mysterious girl from the step-down unit on the 9th floor of the west tower hospital across the street. love prevails.
not only am i falling asleep here at work reading this book, but ive come to the sudden realization that after i finish it i'll have nothing left to read. no new material. granted, there are books on my shelf that i have told myself i'd like to re-read, but i dont think that's something that anyone actually ever does. if they tell you they've read the same book twice, chances are they're also the type of person to not let you know of a dangling booger. and that, for one, is not the type of friend a friend would like to have. so i am in no hurry to finish the book.
not only am i falling asleep here at work reading this book, but ive come to the sudden realization that after i finish it i'll have nothing left to read. no new material. granted, there are books on my shelf that i have told myself i'd like to re-read, but i dont think that's something that anyone actually ever does. if they tell you they've read the same book twice, chances are they're also the type of person to not let you know of a dangling booger. and that, for one, is not the type of friend a friend would like to have. so i am in no hurry to finish the book.
that being said, i was doing a little novel searching on the internet. i think im going with a jonathon ames book next. i'll have to get up to border's tomorrow so i can have something to read tomorrow night. the variety of solitaire games may seem endless, but i assure you that once you have lost and once you have won, they are all the exact same.
so onto this girl. when they decide a patient in the ER is going to stay at the hospital, part of my job is to assign them to a certain floor by calling the nurses on that floor and giving the patients information. not surprisingly, these nurses dont want patients. more patients equals more work. so naturally, most of them answer the phone in a complete bitchy voice and act as if reading this month's new issue of Allure magazine is more important than giving a gun shot victim a room to be medically treated in. but recently on my mission to book a patient to the step down unit, i came across a young, spunky voice that was nothing short of sexy. the kind that every middle aged american male hopes to be on the receiving end of one of those 800 numbers where you can meet live local girls. as far as they or i know, this could be absolutely true. we would never know, because just the thought that the person on the other end most likely has a whiskey drinking, 25 years of cigarette smokin' dude voice has kept any of us from calling.
i hereby pledge to give one of those numbers a call one night, for curiosity's sake and the sake of all mankind to never have another lonely tuesday night.
sometimes my imagination takes complete control over my mind. which is what happens when i talk to this girl. i think of all the possibilities that could expand from the fact that initially we just flirted a little bit on the phone. most likely i was trying to book a patient with a mental status change, although i cant be sure. if anything grew from our one-sided phone love, it might be nice to know one day exactly what that patient had. i could gather all the little grandchildren on family reunions and tell them that their grandma and grandpa met because of a clincally insane person. like i said, complete control over my mind and conscious thinking.
all in all, the conversations are a relief from the noise and the sleep that comes along with this job. maybe one day we will meet. but i almost hope we dont. i think i am more infatuated with the idea of this girl. which, when i really analyze my life, seems to be a recurrent 'problem' in my life.
i am going around the corner to rest and put my head down on the desk. i'll pretend as though i am trying to clean my shoes with alcohol pads, should anyone see me. this wouldnt be an awkward thing for my midnight 'coworkers' to stumble upon, as i have become quite known for being the weirdo to keep my shoes nice and white with alcohol wipes. and that suits me just fine.
so onto this girl. when they decide a patient in the ER is going to stay at the hospital, part of my job is to assign them to a certain floor by calling the nurses on that floor and giving the patients information. not surprisingly, these nurses dont want patients. more patients equals more work. so naturally, most of them answer the phone in a complete bitchy voice and act as if reading this month's new issue of Allure magazine is more important than giving a gun shot victim a room to be medically treated in. but recently on my mission to book a patient to the step down unit, i came across a young, spunky voice that was nothing short of sexy. the kind that every middle aged american male hopes to be on the receiving end of one of those 800 numbers where you can meet live local girls. as far as they or i know, this could be absolutely true. we would never know, because just the thought that the person on the other end most likely has a whiskey drinking, 25 years of cigarette smokin' dude voice has kept any of us from calling.
i hereby pledge to give one of those numbers a call one night, for curiosity's sake and the sake of all mankind to never have another lonely tuesday night.
sometimes my imagination takes complete control over my mind. which is what happens when i talk to this girl. i think of all the possibilities that could expand from the fact that initially we just flirted a little bit on the phone. most likely i was trying to book a patient with a mental status change, although i cant be sure. if anything grew from our one-sided phone love, it might be nice to know one day exactly what that patient had. i could gather all the little grandchildren on family reunions and tell them that their grandma and grandpa met because of a clincally insane person. like i said, complete control over my mind and conscious thinking.
all in all, the conversations are a relief from the noise and the sleep that comes along with this job. maybe one day we will meet. but i almost hope we dont. i think i am more infatuated with the idea of this girl. which, when i really analyze my life, seems to be a recurrent 'problem' in my life.
i am going around the corner to rest and put my head down on the desk. i'll pretend as though i am trying to clean my shoes with alcohol pads, should anyone see me. this wouldnt be an awkward thing for my midnight 'coworkers' to stumble upon, as i have become quite known for being the weirdo to keep my shoes nice and white with alcohol wipes. and that suits me just fine.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
gods gift to man
im going to travel into unsafe waters this morning, get a little intimate with you all. doesnt that sound wonderful.
i read that book that i posted in an earlier entry, average american male. at first, the plot seems pretty weak. in fact, there doesnt even appear to be a plot. a sex driven guy dates a future driven girl, and they end up breaking up before a marriage that the guy never even wanted in the first place. he then starts dating a new girl, who at first is everything that his ex girlfriend is not. but then, she follows the same path. and at the end, the guy knows its not going to get any better than that, so he decides to marry her. the overall theme being to settle for less. no guy is going to date an 18-24 year old horny girl his entire life. at some point, something has to be good enough.
anyway, this book has got me thinking a lot about my own perspective as a guy, and my point of view on women. i feel like this guy is too relatable. and im not sure if thats a good thing or a bad thing.
i suppose everyone has some sort of 'standards' [god i hate that word], but is it wrong that 90% of mine are sexual? the first thought that crosses my mind is how she is going to be in the sack. i mean, looking at any given 8 on a 10 point scale on any given day, she may be an 8 on looks, but she may then drop or add a point or two after the conclusion is made.
sometimes she has an insanely obnoxious voice that i know i wouldnt be able to get off to without the secret placement of ear plugs in the dark. sometimes its her laugh that wont take me past a first date. sometimes, an absolute 10 is sitting at a table across from me, until she turns her head 45º and the bone structure of her face goes hand in hand with that of caveman. im then convinced she's the descendant of some sort of slow-evolving neanderthal who never knew the difference between sex and sniffing squirrel shit.
which ironically is sort of admirable.
i read that book that i posted in an earlier entry, average american male. at first, the plot seems pretty weak. in fact, there doesnt even appear to be a plot. a sex driven guy dates a future driven girl, and they end up breaking up before a marriage that the guy never even wanted in the first place. he then starts dating a new girl, who at first is everything that his ex girlfriend is not. but then, she follows the same path. and at the end, the guy knows its not going to get any better than that, so he decides to marry her. the overall theme being to settle for less. no guy is going to date an 18-24 year old horny girl his entire life. at some point, something has to be good enough.
anyway, this book has got me thinking a lot about my own perspective as a guy, and my point of view on women. i feel like this guy is too relatable. and im not sure if thats a good thing or a bad thing.
i suppose everyone has some sort of 'standards' [god i hate that word], but is it wrong that 90% of mine are sexual? the first thought that crosses my mind is how she is going to be in the sack. i mean, looking at any given 8 on a 10 point scale on any given day, she may be an 8 on looks, but she may then drop or add a point or two after the conclusion is made.
sometimes she has an insanely obnoxious voice that i know i wouldnt be able to get off to without the secret placement of ear plugs in the dark. sometimes its her laugh that wont take me past a first date. sometimes, an absolute 10 is sitting at a table across from me, until she turns her head 45º and the bone structure of her face goes hand in hand with that of caveman. im then convinced she's the descendant of some sort of slow-evolving neanderthal who never knew the difference between sex and sniffing squirrel shit.
which ironically is sort of admirable.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Accepting Responsibility is Mandatory
well, happy new year to you all. it's been a week, but i've been pretty busy with things no one would want to hear about if they just regained their sense of hearing after being deaf their entire life. so i didnt write about it either.
this past weekend though, i came to the next step of my probation process. i went to a camp called ARM in howell, which is like an alcohol/substance awareness program. 30 dudes packed into a cabin all there for similar traits of mip's, dui's, owi's and crashing cars into houses. while drunk. idiot. casey and tyler were there too, so we had a little advantage going into the camp knowing a couple people.
anyway, it wasnt anything like i expected. im picturing drill seargants just preaching and lecturing around the clock on cruise control, giving us the privelage of eating, sleeping, taking a shit... that sort of thing.
instead, it turned out to be a vacation. i never realized how unhappy i was with my life until i had a good time at a probationary camp. who knew. but the food was delicious, the 'lectures' were completely interactive, and the staff was pretty cool too. once you know the worst legal trouble a room full of 30 guys are in, it sorta breaks the ice for everyone expecting to have a bad time. we bs'ed a lot, smoked cigarrettes, and laughed at the big ol' night babysitter we had, fatty patty. we went on this rope course which was something i almost expected. for some reason, it seems like all camps can teach life lessons by having you cross a rope tied from tree to tree, or whatever the obstacle may be. it was pretty fun.
we had recovering addicts as guest speakers, which like the obstacle course was also another thing that was expected. probation likes to show you how bad your life could be if you continue down your path., like looking at an old black and white photo of the alcoholic black sheep of the family that your mother always warned you about.
overall, it was a great time and i wish i could spend another two weeks out there, with the exception of being able to mingle with the lady group. i hated everything about the ride home. to be back in the real world. back to work and sleep. back to a little thing i call my life. this is when it really dawns on me that there are changes i need to make in order to make myself a happier, more successful person. and maybe that was the point of the camp all along. maybe it was to keep us all sober for the weekend. or maybe it was something beyond my comprehension, such as self discipline, trust, and accepting responsibilities.
impossibilities has 5 i's.
this past weekend though, i came to the next step of my probation process. i went to a camp called ARM in howell, which is like an alcohol/substance awareness program. 30 dudes packed into a cabin all there for similar traits of mip's, dui's, owi's and crashing cars into houses. while drunk. idiot. casey and tyler were there too, so we had a little advantage going into the camp knowing a couple people.
anyway, it wasnt anything like i expected. im picturing drill seargants just preaching and lecturing around the clock on cruise control, giving us the privelage of eating, sleeping, taking a shit... that sort of thing.
instead, it turned out to be a vacation. i never realized how unhappy i was with my life until i had a good time at a probationary camp. who knew. but the food was delicious, the 'lectures' were completely interactive, and the staff was pretty cool too. once you know the worst legal trouble a room full of 30 guys are in, it sorta breaks the ice for everyone expecting to have a bad time. we bs'ed a lot, smoked cigarrettes, and laughed at the big ol' night babysitter we had, fatty patty. we went on this rope course which was something i almost expected. for some reason, it seems like all camps can teach life lessons by having you cross a rope tied from tree to tree, or whatever the obstacle may be. it was pretty fun.
we had recovering addicts as guest speakers, which like the obstacle course was also another thing that was expected. probation likes to show you how bad your life could be if you continue down your path., like looking at an old black and white photo of the alcoholic black sheep of the family that your mother always warned you about.
overall, it was a great time and i wish i could spend another two weeks out there, with the exception of being able to mingle with the lady group. i hated everything about the ride home. to be back in the real world. back to work and sleep. back to a little thing i call my life. this is when it really dawns on me that there are changes i need to make in order to make myself a happier, more successful person. and maybe that was the point of the camp all along. maybe it was to keep us all sober for the weekend. or maybe it was something beyond my comprehension, such as self discipline, trust, and accepting responsibilities.
impossibilities has 5 i's.
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