It's been awhile I guess, hasn't it? Since last I logged in and ranted a lot has happened in my life and in the world. Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett and Ed MacMahon all passed from this life. Conan took over for Jay Leno (finally). The House passed the Climate Change Bill. And of course, I got fired from my job for "sexual harassment."
If I haven't already told you the story, then I'm sorry. It's not really something I feel like rehashing for the seventieth time, especially here on the internet, but if you ask me in real life or on AIM, I'm sure I'll pony up an abriged version. Needless to say, there was no "sexual harassing" in the slightest and it was a mere argument and disagreement (and a couple of tears on the other party's behalf) that led to it all. Yes, I was a jerk and yes, I probably shouldn't have flown off the handle about it, but to get my ass canned for something I didn't even come close to doing--and for a pretty major offense, at that--I still believe was out of line. Of course, the HR guy at Martin's had been gunning for me for awhile, so it was just the last chapter in a hilarious job story to tell the grandkids some day. Before they finally gave me the boot, I was accused of being gay, of having affairs with various female co-workers (consistency was not their strong suit), of bragging incessantly about my raise, of never getting any work done as I wasted time away doing crossword puzzles, and of course, snorting cocaine off a toilet seat.
That last one I even was called down to the office to discuss. So you can take my claims as you will.
Point is, I've moved on. I'm supposed to be out looking for a "legitimate job" as my mother calls it, even though I've started working for a friend of mine, helping him get a hedging software LLC off the ground. His wife (who I have been friends with since I was knee-high to a grasshopper) is also in the process of starting a non-profit organization that I am helping to launch. Of course, this means I do most of my work in my underwear in front of my computer, or over at their place, getting HTML guidance. Most people call that "telecommuting." My mother calls it "Not A Real Job." Never mind that they pay me for something that I would do for free otherwise. Or that they're actually looking out for my best interests instead of just wringing work out of me for eight hours every day. Or that I'm going with them to Buenos Aires in August, where they live off and on.
If that's not a real job, then please never let me find gainful employment. My dad always talks about how I should find something I love so I never have to work under someone else's boot. My mom paints homemade crafts for fuck's sake. And she has the nerve to get on my back about not having a real enough job? Her own mother gets on her all the time about finding a Real Job and her retort is always that she already has exactly that--just one that she gets to schedule all on her own. So how is this different than what I'm doing? The correct answer is: Not at All. Except for my mom has hit that age, the Perfect Age, where every opinion you have is correct in the face of all opposing logic, and anyone younger or older than you doesn't know their head from their ass.
Perhaps you've been a victim of this--as a kid, your parents always know what's best and you always listen lest you get the third degree. But then shouldn't they always listen to their parents? No! Because once you pass out of the Perfect Age Window, then you again know nothing whatsoever. This is roughly the time you get dumped in a nursing home and forgotten about, referred to during sporadic Sunday mornings car rides to your Assisted Living Facility, as "Crazy Aunt Mary" who has no idea how to even put on a nice outfit to go out to the afternoon Pizza Hut buffet, let alone invest her money. Congratulations! You've slipped down the other side of the grand ol' bell curve. And it's quite a slope.
I, for one, am excited as all hell. Come 40 or so, I'll magically have all the right answers even though my opinions will still be as ignorantly skewed as they were at half my age because I've stopped developing new opinions and yearning to learn new things. But it won't matter what I think, because whatever insane fucking bullshit that comes out of my mouth will be golden gospel. And if you don't like it, I'll ground you. Or toss you in a death dungeon somewhere far enough away that we only have to visit on holidays. Same difference.