I am sitting in the living room now. It is also the kitchen. There is a TV. I am tired. I had some tequila while I made eggplant parmesan. The eggplant parmesan turned out terrible. My kids were freaking out. I slammed together a salad when my wife said that eggplant parmesan is not a meal in itself. My back hurts now. I have ten pull-ups left before I get to 300. I am worried that I will lose ground against my brothers in the competition when I go on vacation on Friday. I had a wonderful day, puttering around like Kurt Vonnegut told me to. I am tired now, though, and when I fell asleep on the couch as my daughter, who is in a sleep regression, was screaming, my wife couldn’t believe that my son had not brushed his teeth yet. I think I will make a box of macaroni and cheese and get shit faced.
Pesticide
Fuck is going on over here. Fucking night time and all of that. Tuesday again. Jesus the time is… fucking wristband watch having motherfucker tell me what time it is. You know life is more fragile than the winter wheat, why not take risks with your life. Fucking shit. Fuck is going on in this bitch. I just taped up some network switches to sell. I spent probably three hours getting these bitches, taping them up for shipment and then I’ll drop em off it’ll be like 4 hours or some shit and the profit is like $70 so say $25/hour to be generous. And I had to steal them bitches. Fucking crime don’t pay.
So what’s good. Tuesday. I just decided fuck it I’ll do my job, you know, like I been saying. I figured out the month of July. Balance transferred some shit to pay other shit. And fucked up-ly I missed a payment on the 28th when I had the money to pay it but I thought that shit was on autopay.
Whatever man bout to go on vacation. For the last time for a while? Who can say.
Put pesticides all over the house and shit to kill my lawn and my children and maybe some few ants along the way. Probably going to die tonight. Brain is fuzzy than a motherfucker and choking and shit. Respiratory distress out this bitch. Fuck it. Got that shit all up in my leopard print Crocs and shit all over my skin you know. That Delta Dust. Or some kind of pellets. Some old do it yourself pest control when I already got a whole contract with a pest control company to come fuck up all the groundwater and destroy the fucking plants you know.
God dammit I got a fucking call from this dude a while ago it was a scam artist. But the number they spoofed was to the state water supply directory or some shit, so I thought they were after me. I imagined all the lawyers and shit and all the days off my routine.
Shit doesn’t make any sense man.
Drink Your Coffee and Shut the Fuck Up
Can you sell things if you don’t buy things? How can you understand the mentality of someone who would buy something, in order to sell to them, if you can’t fathom buying anything. The only things I buy are on Amazon and I need them. Or at the grocery store. Or restaurants. Or experiences like renting a car or some shit. Or clothes Or books. I don’t know I don’t feel like I buy shit but I guess I do. I just can’t imagine telling someone why they should buy something without being completely ironic. People shouldn’t buy shit. People are broke. I guess I think everyone is broke because I am broke.
If you don’t think people should buy things, you can’t sell things. When I was in Amway, I thought that if I did get someone else to get involved with me, i would just be fucking them over because then they would be walking around feeling like a total piece of shit because all they had to do to be rich was go find more people to be involved with Amway. So if you had the key to your own financial salvation and you didn’t use it because you were scared to talk to people about Amway, what the fuck kind of person were you. And on top of that, I was an evangelical Christian at the same time, and if you can’t overcome your fear of looking uncool to talk to someone about Jesus, you’re just condemning everyone around you to eternal torment. And you knew the only reason you weren’t talking about Jesus and Amway to people all the time is because then you would be uncool. And all you cared about was being cool. And still care about, it seems.
So we’re back to this. Stop being cool. Stop trying to sell shit. Just do your job in the day time and watch TV at night and get drunk every couple days maybe smoke some weed drop some acid eat some molly every few weeks and call it a life. I keep waiting for the apocalypse to prove me right but now I got deep wrinkles and shit and we’re in the same position we been in since the nuclear bomb was invented.
Got to Be Fucking People Up With Knowledge
You gotta come out the gate like BOOM pay attention you dumb bastards. You got to be smacking people in the face with knowledge like. It’s good if you’re physically able to lift people bodily up out of their chairs, and preferably they knock a desk over while you’re doing it, and throw them into the blackboard and all the chalk and erasers fly everywhere and it looks like Eleven just got done killing that Upside Down motherfucker right there in the classroom you know. And once you do that, you need to get real quiet so no one knows what the fuck you about to do, and stare with narrowed eyes out into the middle distance and just blank the fuck out. And then you start fucking mumbling, you know, and everyone all gets closer and shit and no one says jack shit because they are afraid, because of what happened earlier.
And once you did all that, that’s when the real work begins.
Because then you got to know what you want to say so well that you don’t even think about it. You got to work at the edges of your knowledge you know, you got to impart all your being into what you’re saying. I don’t care if it’s two plus two or who chopped down the cherry tree, you got to be like this is the first time you’re really understanding what the fuck is going on with this shit. And you have to be excited than a motherfucker to tell people all about it and ask them their opinion.
You got to get the audience engaged and shit and everyone talking up a storm and yelling questions and shit and waving their hands around going APESHIT and then you got to sit down in your chair and kick your feet up in the air wildly like Billy Graham or some shit you’re so damn excited to be there talking to these sons of bitches.
And you got to do that day in and day fucking out for 200 days a fucking year and never miss one day and you got to go kids houses and shit and bring them dried pasta and canned turnips and shit like that so they can have a nice thanksgiving or whatever the fuck. You got to go to little Donny’s house in the hood and be like Donny’s a smart kid you know, let him come to school and all of that shit. You got to fight the INS and all that when they take your kids back to Bolivia and shit. You got to build people’s confidence while simultaneously dismantling the fucked up people that they are trying to make themselves into because of the societal pressures around them.
And every once in a while you got to burn a book in front of the whole damn class and talk about how you will fuck someone up if they ever disrespect learning and shit. At the same fucking time. So you confuse the fuck out of everyone so they’re prepared for the fact that no one knows what the fuck is going on out here and it’s all paradoxical as fuck.
Once you did all that, then you’ll be ready to maybe start thinking about being a great teacher.
Fuck That
I decided not to do it. I was standing there polishing a glass behind the bar and thinking about my kids and all the nights I would spend in this place. There were so many reasons not to do it, but still I wasn’t even considering not doing it. Then I was standing there looking around, and I remembered that I don’t really have to do it. I don’t have to commit two nights a week and a weekend shift here and there and have that turn into three nights a week and one night on the weekend. I don’t have to leave my kids to go do that. So why the fuck would I do that? For money? The fuck do I need money for. I pay for everything with credit cards. I’ll just grab a new one and stop paying the old ones. Fuck it. Let this shit ride. You got to have faith in the essential decency of the white man’s culture. In the midst of all this paying for debt with debt, Capital One finally decided I deserved a credit line increase on one of my cards. I guess it’s either God giving me another 3k or the devil. Who can say. God damn this is trash.
Well, now that I don’t have the option to jump ship and go into bartending, because only half the reason I couldn’t accept this job was that the restaurant management was completely incompetent, the other half was I just missed my kids and I no longer accept the tyranny of live in your face managers making sure you aren’t using your phone and shit, not that I would ever use my phone on the floor, because I’m a goddamned professional after all… Sorry this sentence got away from me. Now that I don’t have that option, it seems like I have to be a project manager. I don’t know if this is another phase or whatever but well of course it is and all of that but yeah I just have to be a project manager. Fate has decided. Fate with the gun that implants the career chip in your hand and shit. The winds of destiny blew my little canoe down this fucking project management river and that’s what the fuck I am doing now.
I guess. First I’m going to drink. I drank last night and went to this tiki bar. It was sick. But it was also funny because there was a street light placed right in front of the tiki torch we were staring at from our couch. So the tiki torch was a waste. If I was rich, I would throw a rock at that thing and leave a few hundreds next to it. But that doesn’t make any damn sense. I had a Sabrett hot dog from a tiny trailer and a tiny woman. Holy fuck man. I am going to fall asleep typing. That hasn’t happened in a while.
Nothing.
What’s up y’all how you doin. I’m about to go on this trail. I feel super nervous. I don’t know if I should tell my wife that. I don’t have my black shoes and black tie. I am not prepared. As usual. Shit.
Strangeness & Charm
I listened to this podcast called ‘Server Life’. It looks like it ran for 30 episodes around 2020. It started off with commercials, so I can only assume these people are getting paid. I wonder if they got paid enough to quit their jobs and just live off the revenue from the podcast. That would be nuts.
Shit man tomorrow I go back up in that bitch for a trailing shift. If you don’t know, that’s where you follow one of the employees around dressed in all black smiling awkwardly and shit.
It is very, very strange to know that tomorrow night I will be walking around a restaurant instead of being home with my kids. It won’t have the full strangeness, though, because neither of them is going to school tomorrow. I don’t know what the fuck it will look like when I go to work before they come home from school and shit. That’s wild.
It’s strange to even have to be anywhere at any time. I’ve been working remotely for over four years. I think I hate the fact that I have to go into this restaurant at a certain time, but I’m not even sure because it feels so strange that I cant tell.
It kind of has been alleviating stress at my real job, which it shouldn’t because I don’t have the job yet and it is really not clear that my wife will be able to handle the kids without me on a regular basis.
Last night I was reading Last Call and thinking about bartenders and shit. I remember working with people who had left the corporate world to work in restaurants talking about how they weren’t cut out for that shit. I thought about Anthony Bourdain and how he wrote a memoir about his restaurant days and what if I could do that shit. I never liked him until I read Kitchen Confidential because I just saw him on No Reservations and I thought he was an asshole. But I guess for some reason the fact that he paid his dues in restaurants made me feel like he earned the right to be an asshole. But then again, I still didn’t like the show because I still thought he was just kind of a dick just traveling around saying shit about shit like dicks do. But Kitchen Confidential was a jam. It is so good that I gave him a pass on the rest of his life, fuck it. Then of course he killed himself and so attained sainthood. Even Jocko Willink had some shit to say about it.
I was reading Ad Age and it turns out this thing is like basically a page 6 for ad agencies. Page 6 is what they used to call the gossip column back in Iowa or somewhere. They just write shit about what’s going on in advertising but it’s just a soap opera type thing because that’s all people care about, right? Humans are entertaining and shit. I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about on this part, but y’all haven’t been liking the short posts so I’m going to keep this little ramble on, fuck it.
And you know it ties in anyway because Kitchen Confidential was a little gossip columny you know? Fuck it man, shit, if I can ever get my thoughts in order maybe I’ll write some shit about something someday. Like bartending or whatever the fuck.
I should go to sleep, fuck. Last night my brother and I drank hard and did pull-ups. We really went in on some shit. Then I smoked weed by myself when I got home, which was a huge mistake and I hardly even remember it. Which is partly why it was a mistake and the other reason is I woke up woozy than a motherfucker three hours later when I had to take my daughter to daycare. I was passed out in the bathroom while she peed and shit. She’s potty training you know. Normally the lack of sleep I can overcome for an hour or so, but that weed did me in.
Well shit man I got to do these last 5 pull-ups to even out my 300 a day average. Have a great night.
Wednesday.
On Friday, I am going to the restaurant to follow one of the bartenders around on their shift. They will ask me to make a drink. I can’t express to you the feelings that I felt driving to this restaurant for the interview the other day. I was like. Fuck.
I don’t know what the fuck to do man.
I am going to take my kid to the dentist now.
Fucking Tuesday.
What up bitches I’m still alive up in this mother fucker still writing shit down and whatever the fuck and bout to get into bartending and shit pretend like I live for this shit like Xavier from triple X and all that shit bro going to wrie on chalk in the driveway with a margarita in my hand and the white convertible mid engine Corvette going to run my daughter down while I’m looking at a thousand gypsy moths and people are trying to sell me chimney caulking and shit like that.
Shut the Fuck Up
Fucking hell man I am having a god damned breakdown. I need to shut the fuck up and just do my fucking job like a fucking man and shut the fuck up.
The Gordon Flanders Blog 