InDesOWNING

If only I could put into words just how awesome I feel about myself when it comes to my Adobe InDesign comprehension, and then put those words onto my resume and subsequent cover letters.  I’d imagine I’d have not only a job, but a permanent Russian hooker underneath my desk for the rockstar ability I like to boast.

I’m fairly confident that I’ve already exceeded simply impressing my temporary peers with what I’ve demonstrated thus far, but after the events of today, I like to think that I may have convinced them that I’m like the grand weezard of InDesign here.  In seven business days, I have improved upon templates developed in a time when Adobe PageMaker was the norm, and tackled three projects deemed “too tedious to do,” because of my InDesign knowledge.

Because of me, this place will no longer have to manually adjust final PDFs, and insert covers, legal pages, tables of contents into proper order, since I showed them how to section off pages within the ID documents and create proper sequential page numbering.  Because of me, this company can actually justify throwing out their Adobe PageMaker installation disks that amazingly, they actually still have, and handed to me in preparation for the “too tedious to do” project.  Little did they realize just how seamless a .PMD file converts into an ID format until shown by me.

Seriously, aside from the egregious boasting, self-high fiving, and literary fellating I’m giving myself, if any company that had a position that was purely InDesign based, and they passed up on me, they would legitimately be brain dead.  Not just brain dead, but physically dead as result of becoming brain dead, and their corpse dug up, lobotomized, and having someone urinate on their dead brain before letting it rot for worms and crows.  I’m that confident in my InDesign skillz.

Brogging of the mundane

Burglary update

finally managed to get a hold of the Fulton County prosecutor aide in regards to the thugs that tried to rob my home back in October.  Honestly, given the lack of effort exerted by the county, I figured that I had heard the last of them after the initial arrest of the hoods.  I called every number and contact I was given, with no response.  In fact, I had to hound this person in order to respond to a letter they had sent to me.  Apparently wanted to let me know that their bond pleas have been denied a second time, and one more denial, and then they’re going to actual, court-court.  But it’s comforting to know that since their arrest back on October 27th, they’ve been in jail since.

Continue reading “Brogging of the mundane”

An amazing thing happened to me today

I went to the DMV, and I was in and out of there in literally less than five minutes. Absolutely, unfathomably, inconceivable.

Seriously, I walked inside, and there was no line, so I was immediately ushered to the information booth where I was given a number for my circumstances (renewing tag), along with the invoice. I sat down and pulled out my checkbook, and began writing “City of Atlanta Tax Commis-” and then my number is called. Dumbfounded, I sit down in front of the lady behind the glass, as she looks at me impatiently as I fill out the rest of my check. I tear the check off, give it to her, and she gives me my new 2010 blue tag sticker, and I’m literally like “that’s it?” and, unamused, she looks back at me, and responds “that’s it.” And then I’m back out the door.

It took me four times longer to drive to and from the place than it did to get my tags renewed.

Otherwise, life is, still pretty weary these days. I haven’t found faith yet, but I have been strangely less inclined to blurt out “GOD DAMN IT” and other supposed blasphemous terms. Yet the most extreme of my actions was that I was in my car listening to an old CD, and when Marilyn Manson’s The Fight Song came on, and the lyrics where it goes “I’m not a slave, to a god, that doesn’t exist,” I instinctively skipped the rest of the track. For some reason, it just doesn’t feel appropriate to be listening to that, lately.