Saturday, December 22, 2012

Holy-Days

Holidays are fun in the sun. In the snow, water, wherever. Holidays are usually a time when you have an excuse not to do anything, you sit around, scratch your big hairy nuts, drink hot chocolate and give work the finger.  But it never ends up being like that, sure you'll scratch your nuts, cant miss that, but you never just end up doing nothing, instead there's always an endless amount of shit you have to do.  I remember all my holiday get togethers.  First you have to prepare yourself mentally for the Tsunami of family that is going to come thrashing through your house, stripping you of your privacy, self esteem, and any other comfort you may have been stashing in your secret spot.  But tis the season, so you have to remind yourself that all this shit is in good fortune.  After they arrive and you accept it, you actually have to put up with it, they start asking you questions about school(even though you graduated 2 years ago), then they'll hit you with some more generic questions, do you have a girlfriend? so you answer, yes I do, and I fuck her a lot.  That's what you want to say, but you know they cant handle that response nor do you want to tell them anything truthful, I mean, these people don't want to hear the truth, they want to hear the same generic shit they asked you so that they don't have to engage in honest, meaningful conversation with you.  You see, life, and holidays in particular, are a time of endless formalities. "Hi how are you"(not that you give a fuck), Hi how's school(not that you give a fuck), Hi, hows your girlfriend(I never told you shit about a girlfriend, but not that you give a fuck), Hi, so what're you doing these days(not that you give a fuck about my well being, just want to hear my struggles), Hi, hows................By this point you just want to stick their head into cauldron of boiling tea.  At this point, you find yourself talking less, and then these vultures come back for seconds, "Hi, so quite, are you not feeling well, why don't you come join....."  Come join, come join what? Some more bullshit conversation about someone's son who just got into medical school, or someone's daughter who just got divorced, or how someone's mother in law got breast implants at age 60 and as she was walking down the stairs she tripped and fell onto a nail and one of her tits popped on impact.....well maybe not the last one, I would've gone over for that one.  Can someone pour me a scotch on the rocks? 3 ice cubes, and use filtered water please. That's the worst, when you realize your ice cube has a piece of food in the middle of it, and its just dissolving in your drink, releasing its shitty flavor as you race against time trying finish it before your scotch ends up being chicken broth. Cheers to that.  What was my point of this, well, there is no ONE point, can't I just say some shit without there having to be a defined purpose, that was a rhetorical question so it doesn't matter what your answer was. Anyways people my point was, get as hammered as you can when you're around family, the conversations will all start making sense.  In fact, roofie the entire family and just see how cool and supportive everyone gets.  The holiday spirit will just pour out of them, they'll either piss, shit or puke it out but hey, at least it'll come out.  I leave you at that my friends.  Well Happy Holidays you filthy animals, and a happy new year.

Your one and only Friend,

-Yuvi

Sunday, December 16, 2012

As Odd as It Gets

From a pumpkin patch worker to a bouncer, these are some of the jobs I've had.  I've had a lot of odd jobs and not that I hunted for them, rather they just presented themselves to me.  I feel like you're destined for whatever happens to you.  My first odd job was a knife salesman, I had to go around with this cloth briefcase full of knives and hoped that people would be interested.  Now, I didn't just walk up to the door with a bag of knives and ask to come in, that would be fucking ridiculous, no no, I made appointments with these people and they ALLOWED me to come in.  I gave them my best knife pitch or what I thought to be my best and watched as their faces filled with doubt and indifference. Initially it didn't bother me but after a while of not selling anything and having to drive my mom's car around to various houses, I felt like stabbing someone.  I didn't end up stabbing anyone, I still needed the money.  Since I wasn't selling, I needed to come up with a good money making scheme, which I then did. I began going around my neighborhood and handed out my demo slips asking people to sign them, you see, for every demo I was given $14, so after racking up these slips, I was going to cash out.  Only problem was, 200 "demos" later, I hadn't sold shit and my boss knew I was lying out of my mind.

After that I worked at a pumpkin patch, again, not out of choice.  That job was in college, I needed some quick cash and they needed some quick labor.  Here I was pursuing my bachelors and working at a pumpkin patch where illiterate Mexican workers had seniority over me.  I was their bitch. I would come home smelling like goats and farm. The only fun part was watching parents discipline their kids in public, and hold back their pimp hand. Besides goats, mexicans, pissed off parents and shit pay, that job was a hit it and quit it.

Then I became a scare actor at Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights.  This was the most liberating job I could've asked for, I could finally just chase people, scare the shit outta them and be applauded for it.  I was able to exercise my inner freak and it was great.  I would walk up behind people and just start screaming any senseless shit I felt like at the moment, and they couldn't judge me! I was just doing my job. Sometimes I would just stare at people as they ate their breadsticks and tried their best to ignore me.  Some people got pissed at me, usually over protective boyfriends because they wanted to get some pussy later on that night, but then I'd just fuck with them.  How dumb did they look getting in a fight with a vampire? Fuckin fools, plus they paid to get in. That was a great gig, minus the long hours.  You'd think it was all fun n scares, but it wasn't.  The scariest part believe it or not was the drive back home.  I did this job 4 nights a week, Thurs-Sunday.  I would go to class from 8 am to 3pm, then I'd drive straight to Los Angles from Irvine, I'd start work at 5pm and end at 3am.  I was fucking EXHAUSTED, I could barely keep my eyes open, I looked like a stoned asian. My friend Shawn and I worked the job together so you'd think I would have company to keep me awake, wrong.  He was so tired, he would fall asleep, leaving my asian ass to drive along barely knowing where the fuck I was.  One night I was so fucked up that on the way home, I took a wrong exit and ended up in anaheim, then I got back on track and drove back to anaheim again, I felt like I was on acid.  FINALLY, after figuring out where the fuck I was, I made it back home, it was 5am, I had class at 8am. FUCK. I was a hamster on a wheel.

Next was bouncing, yes I know I'm small, I don't weigh 300 lbs and have a ponytail but hey, they offered me the job, so fuck it, I took it.  This was a cool gig, all I did was get suited, look pretty and stare at bitche's booties.  Now I'm not a clubber, ask anyone, I hate everything about them, the people, the smell of shitty perfume, the mirrors and lights everywhere, the music, the sound of people's bullshit conversations, the sound of pleather squeaking, fuckin everything. BUT, but for once, I got to do what I enjoy most, people watch/ass stare. I could finally just stand there and stare at people without having to explain myself, it was fucking great.  Girls would come up to me and rub my velvet coat, and sometimes they'd start grinding up on me and I'd just stand there and stay in character. It felt nice being able to swat bitches away like flies and crush their self esteem a little, "yea bitch, don't think that you can just come and grind on me and I'll just follow the bread crumbs"  I was able to do all the shit I'd been wanting to try all these years without looking like a fuckin weirdo. I only did this for 4 1/2 months, but I got some good stories out of it. My last gig as a bouncer was working the Halloween party at the Play Boy Mansion.  This was more for the story than anything,  it was exactly what you could imagine, a bunch of half naked/naked bitches running around tripping and falling onto big rich cocks. I didn't see Heff's old wrinkly ass, he was probably busy contemplating fucking his 25 year old wife but wondering if his 85 year old heart could keep up. I saw more fake tits, fake ass, fake lips, fake cheeks, fake teeth, fake personalities, fuckin fake everything! than I could've imagined.  It was nice to get outta there, definitely not my scene.

My most current gig is a UPS driver helper.  That basically means that I'm the drivers bitch, I sit in the passenger seat and drop off the boxes and get paid $8.50 while he gets $34 hrly. But its not that bad, you know why...because the area we cover happens to be movie star territory, its the Hollywood Hills.  So I'm sitting here delivering packages, but not to your ordinary clientele,  the other day I pulled up to a house that looked like a life size barbie house, a swing in the front, fuckin apple trees everywhere, ornaments hanging,  and you know who was inside...Richard Simmons.  And let me tell you, he was fuckin RICHARD, didn't hold back shit, he cut to the chase, asked me my background as he eye fucked me and undressed me with his eyes.  He offered me water or soda, I said water, then he told me how much sugar cane is used in one can, 33 meters apparently. He was really nice, before I left he gave me one of his motivational wrist bands and eye fucked me again. After Richard, I met JC Chasez, one of the backstreet boys, and right after, the legendary John Carpenter, then Jimmy Kimmel.  I was delivering packages to these motherfuckers that I'd seen on TV my entire life and it was surreal.  In ways it was like one of these strange fucked up dreams you have where you say "yea, I had a dream where I was a UPS driver and I delivered a package to Richard Simmons, he eye fucked me, gave me some water and told me how much sugar was in a can of soda".  I soon realized that this UPS gig was just about as cool as it could get, if I was gonna deliver packages, it better be to entertainment icons.


Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Tales of A Corporate Misfit

I hate offices, I hate everything about them.  The way they smell, coffee, toner and self doubt, the way they look, contemporary furniture as if that's gonna make sitting at your shitty cubicle any better, and lastly, the false sense of comfort they give you with a kitchen, not like we're all gonna huddle in the kitchen and drink hot chocolate and talk to one another as equals, no, its only there to make you feel sub human. So you can pour your coffee and mix in that powdered breast milk they call creamer. Apparently coffee and trail mix keep you from slitting your throat with a stack of printer paper.  Office humor never worked with me, you have these boundaries you have to stay within and there's always one guy who thinks he's a comedy god with his bullshit "office approved" humor.  What a fag. I'm one of those guys who has a great sense of humor but can never adjust to office approved humor, if I try this type of humor I sound like a complete fucking idiot, but if I try MY sense of humor, I'd get fired. So which do I pick, neither.  So what does that make me? The faggy intern.  That brings me to my next point.  I hate how the title of an "Intern" strips you of your personality because you're completely engulfed by servitude. I get that an internship is about proving yourself and I'm all about that, I don't shirk work or half ass anything, I just want to shoot the shit with these people without having to cut through this thick membrane of hierarchy.  Is that too much to ask? Can we speak as humans? We all had the same civil rights last time I checked.

PHONES, jesus christ! I've been using one of these fucking things my entire life but for SOME UNKNOWN reason, when it comes to handling phones in an office, I feel like an immigrant trying to order a pizza. Transferring calls is one of the most confusing functions I have ever dealt with, why you may ask? I'll fuckin tell you why, because you cant just answer like you normally would, there's all this bullshit protocol. It's not "Hi or hello" I mean that makes no sense, why would you greet someone like we've been doing for thousands of years.  No, instead its, "Lightning Pictures......yes one second please, no that's one moment please, one second is too casual, be more formal" Oh ok, gotcha, or how bout, fuck off please, let me answer the fucking phone please, stop looking over my shoulder please, why don't you go make some fucking coffee please, I think those sound better. And its never simple, if someone calls for John, I forward it to shawn, if someone calls for josh, I don't pick up, if its for Cathy I forward it to Allison who is one of Cathy's assistants, but if Allisons busy then I forward it to Shawn who is John's assistant. What the hell!!? Why can't I just go over to Cathy and be like "Hey bitch,  there's a call for you so fuckin pick up"....and no I'm not transferring it because you're right fuckin next to me and can hear the phone ringing in my hand. You cant answer your own phone call...... That's when you know you're sitting on some fictional throne that not even the Greek Gods know of.