Today, as I was walking down the street to get some lunch, I found a twenty dollar bill on the ground. Awesome.
This was in front of a strip club. lol.
Fortunately, it was folded horizontally instead of vertically, so I know that this wasn’t ever at any point wedged into a stripper’s garter belt or vagina, and comes smeared with the herp or chlamydia. It was probably some asshole taxi driver’s, or some drunk bro’s or something like that. But mine now.
After deliberating it for the better part of the last few months, I finally purchased an iPad today. I saw an ebay deal of the day on brand-new iPads, and seeing as how it wasn’t the retail cost of $500, I saw fit to pounce on the deal while it was available, because I missed out on the last time they were available at this price. Given the fact that I don’t have to pay for shipping or the 8% Georgia sales tax, I think I saved myself about $80.
Hell, add the free strip club twenty, and let’s say I just saved a cool even $100 on an iPad, and even more when I combine all the cash I’ve come upon over the last month from writing, selling old car parts, and selling cheap baseball memorabilia.
Now if only I can really figure out what the heck I’m going to do with this iPad once it comes in, I’d be golden.
I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw this, before I filled up my tank (for the first time since Wednesday). $140.00 to fill up someone’s car? Jesus Christ. And the thing is, I think that the vehicle being filled still wasn’t at full capacity, because of the unlikely event that the car was able to hit approximately $140.00 even on the pump. But no matter, $140.00 is ridiculous. I balked at the notion that filling my new car still encroached into the $40.00 territory, solely based on the asinine price of gas in the first place, but to stamp a Benjamin on top of that, I might as well just kill myself if that were my fate, because there’s no way I’d be able to sustain such fuel costs with how much I’m required to drive in the first place.
To put it in perspective, I’m going to assume that the vehicle is obviously in the class of a Ford Excursion, or super-crew Chevy Silverado, or something along those lines, based on the 35+ gallon fuel capacity. On a good day, these guys are averaging anywhere from 15-17 mpgs, so they’re getting anywhere from 540-600 miles on a tank of gas. Based on where I was filling up from, and the notion that most people work out in the city of Atlanta, or at least from where I was, not there, so I’m going to guess that if these people were like me, they’re putting anywhere around 300-400 miles on their vehicle during a five-day work week. Factor in recreational/weekend driving, and we’re looking at possibly the necessity to fill up once a week. At $140.00 a fill up.
In 1993, my parents bought me a Sega Genesis at a Price Club, for roughly $140.00. Think about that for a second – basically, whatever guzzler this person is driving could have literally bought an entire video game console, with a second controller and Ecco the Dolphin, every single week, for what they’re paying for in gasoline. Fuckin’ crazy.
For the record, I officially regret purchasing my 2003 Mazda6. For the record, I wish I plunked down the $1,500 last year, and replaced the O2 sensor on my prior SR20 Sentra, and probably kept driving it for at least another 20,000 miles, without any car payments, to this point. But I was cash-strapped and foolish back then. And compared to now, when I’m still cash-strapped, but feeling more foolish, and factually handcuffed to the remainder of my car loan that I will have the uphill battle in trying to eliminate before seeking out a new car.
If all goes well, this weekend, I’ll test drive a car, that isn’t too expensive, has anywhere from 50-62% of the power output of the lemon, but 25% better fuel economy, and isn’t, well, the lemon. And then hopefully sooner, rather than later, I’ll sign my balls away for 60 months, but at least have a brand new car, that I won’t have to fret and worry about, for at least one full year, hopefully.
But for the record, the acquisition of the lemon, certainly goes up on the list as one of the biggest mistakes of my life, and I’m not just being dramatic. I consider it an invaluable lesson learned – that mechanics are incompetent, CarFaxes are bullshit, and strange haji Middle-Eastern rock-lot dealers have the power of the genie’s lamp to make any car seem better than it really is for at least a few months, before it turns back into putrid garbage. For the record, I wish I plunked down the money to fix my old car, and kept it, or at least used it then, to have acquired a brand new, reliable car, that I’d have already paid 15 months of my car loan off by now, instead of the lemon.
I don’t often have many regrets, but damn is this certainly one of the biggest.
I actually like this commercial. Guy sees something he really likes and wants, and does what more people should do in order to attain their desires – work for it. He busts his ass doing all the things nobody else wants to do, and in the end, surpasses his goal and is ultimately capable of buying two Jettas. Feel good story of a year.
But it got me thinking – given my own financial woes, and the fact that I have a tendency to get mind-numbingly bored from time to time, that I would be more than capable of doing some of the things this guy does in the commercial, in order to supplement some additional income on the side for my own needs. If it paid somewhat reasonable to off-set the cost of transportation, I’d gladly take ass-kickings from people while in pads, or walk dogs, or other odd jobs that don’t involve me having to deal directly with “customers,” are short periods at a time, and pay in cash under the table. I don’t think I’d want to be the guy at the corner of Ponce and Monroe dressed as Uncle Sam, schilling for tax prep businesses, be the hot dog guy, or do nude modeling, but there are other random odd jobs I’d be willing to do for some side cash.
Here’s the thing though; upon looking for odd jobs in the Metro Atlanta area, they simply don’t exist. Not to the under-the-table criteria that I’d prefer, at least. Going to Craigslist results in nothing but modeling, veiled modeling ads that sound like porn screening, and veiled modeling ads that are for shitty no-name rappers that eventually turn into porn screenings. That, or stuff that really does require existing skill, references, and experience. So I googled “odd jobs,” and found a promising site of potential odd job listings, but it literally provided nothing but a list of Craigslist ads for the same shit. And then, there was nothing else.
Maybe it’s because I’m not in San Francisco, or any other hippie/white/liberal community that would have random sheets of paper with tear-strips advertising one-off jobs on the fly, but at least in the Atlanta area, any tear sheets involve people trying to sell services so that they can make money, or support groups of some sort. Dog walking is now done through official agencies, or “professional” walkers, and it seems like the ability to get odd jobs is now dependent on the cliched “who you know” kind of mentality.
Much like the mom ‘n pop industries were more or less decimated by the evolution of Wal-Marts and other superstores, the odd job culture seems to have been destroyed by society, and the incorporation of small businesses turning common, small labor into work hoarding and essentially, pimping.
Officially, with today nixed as well, Mother Nature has taken a net of $1,200 out of my pocket this week. It’s ironic how as children, we love the snow, and want nothing more than snow days to cancel school, and give us days off, but are completely oblivious to the grownups, whom like me, need it to not snow, so that they can work, in order to make a living and keep a roof over their heads. As one with grownup responsibilities and concerns, I can sufficiently say, fuck snow days.
At least over the weekend, it is expected to surpass the 40F degree mark, meaning all this bloody ice all across Atlanta has a chance to actually melt now, and I’ve been informed that work is back on, as of Monday; it’s good/bad news, in that regard because bad, that this place doesn’t have off for Moloch, Jr. Day, but good, because I’m sick of not fucking working, and I can springboard that into a nice, full 40-hour work week. The whole situation was kind of what I predicted; the roadways might have been mostly cleaned up, but the side streets to get to the office, and most importantly the mostly-covered, shaded, wooded parking lot of this place that is on several natural layers of hills, stairs, and asphalt had to have been turned into a parking lot of death through much of this week. It’s slightly different than having to park on the curb when the driveway is too icy to traverse, because at this place of work, there is no metaphoric curb, or remotely close location to park and walk to the building – just hills. And death.
In a twist of irony, I found another job lead that I think I could possibly get my foot in the door with – because I’ve been there before, as a freelancer. Meaning, if I were to apply with this company, there’s about a 100% chance that the agency that initially placed me there for a paltry seven cumulative working days is going to c-block the whole thing by demanding a finder’s fee. But I have to try anyway.
Okay, today is bullshit. I went out driving yesterday, and sure, it’s hazardous in some spots, mostly near my home, but it’s definitely not impossible to get to work today. I’ve been calling my current place of work repeatedly, and as indicative by the lack of pickup at the reception desk, I have to assume that they’re closed, or at least only the overzealous who don’t live far are making it in, working independently. Yesterday, I drove around, and yes, it’s hazardous in some areas, but it’s by no means impossible to get around and about. Four fucking straight days of non-work (as of now), and I’m officially peeved about it.
In a bit of unintentional humor, while watching the news all morning long, gauging the condition of the streets and highways, I learned that it must suck to be the “social media coordinator” for Fox 5 Atlanta, when it comes to acknowledging birthdays of children in a city that’s like 97% black. It’s literally like the scene from Office Space where the Bobs can’t pronounce Samir’s last name, culminating in the classic “not gonna work here anymore” drop.
Happy birthday to Caden L, age 11!
Next up is Dee… on-tay W! Age 12. (D’ontae)
And then we have a happy birthday for…Kuh-lay-ee H, age 10 (Kalei)
Happy birthday, Lacy H, age 13.
Birthday wishes go out to…Shay…Quin-cee-ya W. (Shay’e-Quincya)
And finally, happy birthday to…Duh…zan-nee M. (Dazhan’e)
Seriously, it’s good that you don’t actually see his face when trying to read these names, because I’m sure he’s got the most irritated and agitated look on his face at all these names containing more accent marks and random apostrophes than a Spanish textbook. It’s like parents deliberately name their kids these weird names for the deliberate purpose so that they’re easy to cyber-stalk or monitor them on Facebook because they’re legitimately the only names on the entire planet spelled in such asinine manners.
So I’m trying to sell my old 27″ television, a DVD player, and an entertainment stand, as one cohesive package on Craigslist, since I’m currently trying to pimp by bedroom, and clear up some space, and make it all cool to my customization. I put up at listing for all the aforementioned items, and since I’m actually asking for money, instead of giving things away for free, I don’t imagine to hear that many interested parties. Regardless, since posting my items, I’ve received just one email – and their name happens to allegedly be “Tank.”
U have a contact #
Is the only thing that they wrote in this message. I know I’m hard up for funds these days, but I don’t think I really want to do business with someone named Tank, lest they be an actual, Left 4 Dead Tank, which is like a partially invincible, steroid-raged induced gorilla zombie that can punch things really hard, and bring oh-so much destrucity to my world if I let them know where I live. Granted, I’d know when Tank arrived, because I’d be able to hear the music, but since real life is what I’d say to be on advanced difficulty these days, knowing of Tank’s arrival would probably still be too late, and I’d probably end up with the front door smashed down, and be incapacitated immediately when Tank punched the entertainment center with the 27″ TV still on it, over me, knocking me over to bleed out.
