moving

Hey! Over here!

http://hulgawest.tumblr.com/

Fortune

Just got this fortune. Let's check back and see if it happens.

"Something to do with the country, or near a river or ocean may figure strongly in an event which will occur within about one month."

Pretty specific don't you think?

It would be pretty funny if I drowned in a river that ran into the ocean while visiting the country. And after I died, the universe was all, "bish, we tried to tell you dumb ass but your just dissed us on your fucking stupid blog, so that will be 10 years spent as a microrganism or some shit."

Suprisingly, the universe has a pretty filthy mouth.

Finding common ground

Excerpted comments section on a documentary crime show video between two bored, overly sensitive morons.


BOSM 1: You're delusional if you think he could not have done more. If that was your mother would you just sit there while this guy with a shotgun shot her? He was not being held at gunpoint by this guy. Instead he sat there like a little pussy and his hands in his face. I would rather be a retard than a coward. Which you clearly appear to be.

BOSM 2: You dont know me from shit, dont assume the life i live or what i would. I found out real early im not like most people so i have to think what the "typical" fucking dweeb would do, not what I would do.

BOSM 1: he is a pussy and i agree with you on that. But this world is made up of at least 90% or better of pussies and softees. I wouldnt even hang with nobody who would shoot some little girl in the face OVER NOTHING. So I would never be stuck in a situation like that. Therefore, I wouldnt have to work my way out of it.

BOSM 2: Btw I agree with you. I would also not hang out with a psychotic dickhead like that either. So in a way we all a product of the company we keep.

BOSM 1: Hey you're the one who called me a "fucking retard" is that not presumptuous? Not to mention rude, considering you don't know shit about me either. So technically you started it. Your use of language towards me on my post regarding this video was totally uncalled for considering I was just trying to have an opinion. You could disagreed without using such strong judgmental language about me, then I would not have bit back. Every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction my friend.

BOSM 2: yea i agree, thats why i didnt get mad when you called me a coward. It aint nothing serious. The bottom line is, the shit was pussy to shoot an innocent little girl, and i think we both agree on that.

BOSM 1: Agreed.

You should probably wash that first.

This is another entry in my survive-the-recession series.


One of my favorite past times is thrifting. I often have dreams where I’m walking down a street and there are a few thrift stores to check out in a row and they are filled with interesting objects on sale for pennies. These are the most restful dreams. In the bad dreams, the thrift stores are closed and I can only look through the window.

I think the reason I like it so much is that unlike new things, every object in the thrift store has a story to tell. You might giggle and poke at the brown, rubber fake boob, but then you realize that the reason it’s there is most likely because its wearer died of breast cancer. This may seem like a depressing way to shop, but for a person who loves stories with drama, it makes purchasing new things, duller than dull, as beige as beige can be. They are so blank and storyless.

The other reason I like it is the cheapness of it all. I can buy a new wardrobe for about twenty bucks. So what if it’s stinky and ill-fitting? That’s what dry cleaners are for. Recently, I spent more on fixing a skirt than I bought it for.

Here are some objects you should never purchase in a thrift shop; underwear, sheets, nightgowns, porn, socks, litterboxes, bedside commodes, bandages, and inner ear wash kits. Shoes can be okay provided that the previous owner’s foot hasn’t shaped the shoe too much. If so, it’s like putting your soul into someone else’s body. There is something disquieting about it.

The book section is also a great place to stay well read for cheap. Be prepared to weed through Backstreet Boys picture books and lots of lesbian poetry that was probably purchased during the L.U.G.-y (Lesbian Until Graduation) self-discovery years. Self help is also big. Probably more self help books are donated to thrift shops every year than are sold to actually help people. Pick through the celebrity autobiographies and you might find a Graham Greene first edition.

The grossest used object that I’ve seen for sale was a used bed that someone tried to sell me in Texas. It had a bloodstain on it that was about torso sized. Someone definitely bled out in that bed and the salesman thought he could still get two hundred bucks for it! He was an optimist. I can only imagine the dreams that a person would have sleeping in that bed. Maybe thrifting dreams where the only items for sale were blood soaked? I’ll never know because we passed on it. I should probably add bed to the do not buy list too; yeah, definitely no beds.

The difference between a cement plant and a prison

I took my car to a new mechanic last week. I have had several bad experiences trying to maneuver through the male dominated world of the auto shop. Being a woman, with some automotive life experience, I expect to be ripped off or dismissed by the knowing, macho types that car culture often attracts. As I stood waiting in the steamy, crowded office, papered in Lamborghini (or as Otis “Half-Eaten” calls them, Lambos) posters the main mechanic talked with some old guy with like the worst B.O, ever. When he left, I started telling the mechanic about my car issues. He was a big, hulking guy. He looked Middle Eastern in the way that my dad did, which is to say, probably not Middle Eastern, but from somewhere close by. He was wearing dirty coveralls (natch) and was probably around fifty. He listened and handed me the paperwork to fill out.

He says to me as I’m doing this,” That old man, he comes here a lot. He smells so bad. His car is so filled with garbage that it’s hard for us to work on it. Poor, poor man, I think he’s very depressed. Both his sons died of AIDS. It’s very sad.”

That is one monologue that I did not expect. And the caring manner in which he related it, it was heartfelt and intimate, two things I also didn’t expect to encounter at the auto shop.

The universe is still expanding and exploding which according to Big Sur and I guess science and stuff, causes the world to be entropic, often negative, and chaotic. But, lately I have been surprised by open, generous, caring people with expansive energies and although the world still contains all those explosive characteristics, I’m experiencing a lot of the other stuff too.

checking the pulse at the welfare office part II (the weirdening)

Actual dialogue at the welfare office this morning.

Scene: generic government office 3/4 full. Two middle aged women sit and fill out forms together while the stink of booze rises off of them. It's 9:30am on a Wednesday.

Woman 1: "Wild Child, what's your real name?"
Woman 2: "Shirley."

Checking the pulse of the welfare office

Today I had the delight of visiting my local welfare office. You hear a lot about those places, but it isn’t like what you think. Or maybe it is. I won’t pretend to know what you think. I guess I know two opinions folks have on the welfare office although people probably have others as well. One is it’s a sad place where useless/dangerous people who have too many kids go, to get free stuff. The other is it’s a sad place where sad people go who have not had the privileges the rest of us have had, to be demeaned while they get free stuff for their multitudinous children.

Now, I guess I am finally one of the privileged. I certainly am solid middle class at this point in my life. However, most things in my life are qualified. For instance, I have a graduate degree but it’s from a state school. I’m a homeowner who only got there the old fashioned way (people died). Maybe I can’t believe I had the luck to be solid middle class so I’m trying to tear it down. Don’t know….

Anyway, I do think I have a unique vantage point. When I was in high school we donated our couch that we had been using every day, because someone gave us a newer one, and when Goodwill came by, they wouldn’t take it because it was too fucked up. In years prior, I didn’t have a winter coat and it was pretty cold where I lived. One of my best friends lived behind the impound lot in a trailer with six siblings. Man we had some good times breaking into those cars. Around this same time, I took my first overnight train ride, on the Orient Express from Venice to Paris. I guess my point is I’ve pretty much seen both sides of things and I know enough to know that what most folks think about class issues is usually simultaneously right and wrong.

Let me interject one moment to say that I’m not going to say why I was at the welfare office but I will say that I was referred to them to check into a situation. It was my intention to be honest and see if they could help me. I actually did tell the person who interviewed me that I considered myself middle class, so I wasn’t trying to scam.

When I walk in, there is a metal detector. I am asked to empty my pockets into a dirty, plastic bin. The security guard goes through my purse. I walk into the main room where there is a bank of windows behind bulletproof glass facing a bunch of plastic chairs all stuck together, DMV style. It looks like a boring George Tooker painting. If you don't know his paintings go google right now. I'll wait for you.

There are two armed guards giving everyone the stinkeye. There is a small T.V. area where kids can go hang. The kid's T.V. is behind bulletproof glass. You know how grumpy those welfare kids get when they run out of those big cheese blocks. They don't get bratty, they get shooty. In spite of all this security, no one looks particularly scary. It’s mostly moms and old people in a rainbow of colors. I’m not the only white person there.

I wait in the customer service line, explain my sitch, and am sent to another line. I explain my sitch again, the woman asks me to fill out a form, which I do. She gets irked because I didn’t bring my social security card. I apologize and tell her that I wasn’t told to by the person that referred me. She is speaking through one of those mics and keeps not speaking directly into it so I keep asking her to repeat everything. She is getting increasingly annoyed. Then she turns off her mic ( I can still hear her but it’s muffled) and starts giving her co-worker the business. “When we all work together thing go smooth, when you send everyone to me, it doesn’t go smooth”. Stuff like that. The co-workers are staring blankly at her. This makes me feel better because I know her annoyance is generalized. It’s not personal. When we finish our business, I smile and say “thank you”. She seems to appreciate it.

I wait in the rows of sticky chairs and read my book. Kids run around me laughing and playing. It takes about half an hour for them to call my name. I go though a door into a labyrinth of blank cubicles for my interview. The woman I speak to is thorough, professional, even kind. She explains how the system works. It’s pretty complicated and confusing. We schedule another appointment in order to give me time to gather information.

When my dad came to America he got off the boat in New York. He was given fifty dollars by a Jewish charity because he came over here with a bunch of people who had been in concentration camps. He tried to explain to the charity that he wasn't Jewish and hadn't been in those camps. just a regular prison camp. They told him to keep it anyway. When he was finally offered a job in California he had doubts about moving to such a far off place. The woman who interviewed him for the job took him to the window and showed him a homeless man people were stepping over, in the street. She told him that in America, you had to make the most of your opportunities because no one including the government had your back. He took the job.

It wasn’t terrible advice. It’s mostly true that if you have to rely on the government you are in a pretty bad place. They will barely keep you alive. The barest bare minimum. But navigating the system wasn’t as bad as you would think either. From what I saw, there were everyday people (maybe with more neck tattoos than usual) being ushered through a regimented process with dignity and kindness.

Mail Bag

Hello,

I am Oliver N'goran from Cote d Ivoire and I am contacting you because I need your help in the management of my inheritance my father left for me before he died. Please there is Reason for this letter, I will wish that you will read and reply me urgently. You may be surprise why my mail, but I feel it is better to approach you to sort a way forward for my life. The lost of my parents have traumatized me and expose me more about inhumanity among men,

All my father s assets has been forcefully taken away by my uncles and my life is in Danger, I can not take any action now because i'm afraid of been harmed as God has saved me from his den. Before the death of my father, I gained admission to read Medicine at the University of Cocody and could not complete this program due to these problems.My father disclosed to me about his treasure at point of death that worth $6.5 M USD (Six Million , Five Hundred Thousand dollars.) in a domiciliary account with a bank in Cote d ' Ivoire which I am the next of kin.My father was a very rich cocoa farmer and he was poisoned by his business colleagues, which I have my uncle as a prime suspect following his actions since the death of my father.

I want you to stand as my appointed guardian and beneficiary to enable you receive the money in your country since I am only 19 years not up to the age signed with my father in the bank in case of death to release the money for me. This is basically on arrangement. To enable me have the fund as it is the only possible means for the bank to release the Money to me. Please below are three major reasons why I contacted you. 1) I need your assistance to provide a bank account where this money will be transferred to.2) You will serve as the guardian of these funds until I finish my studies to join you.3) You will make arrangement for me to come over to your country after the money has been transferred to you. The agreement states that I have to be 25 year old.

I can not wait for this time, because my uncle want to kill me to have all my father properties for himself, Please this will be done very fast as I have all the relevant documents and I have gone to the bank for the Transfer, so I will be waiting for your mail for us to process fast. Waiting for your response

Thanks and God Bless You.

Oilver N'goran.

______________________________________________________
Dear Oliver,

Great to hear from you. Wow! You certainly do have a lot of problems. Maybe I can be of help. First of all, God doesn’t live in a den. He lives in a lair, silly. Second of all, I don’t know what the study of “reading medicine” entails, but it doesn’t sound like it will help the 13% of your country’s population that is HIV+. Wouldn’t your time be better spent planning a coup or something?

I’m sorry to hear that your father died and that your uncles poisoned him! That’s going to make the holidays really awkward, I’ll bet. I wouldn’t celebrate at their house. Lord only knows what they put in the turkey! Ha ha.

I think it is really cool that your father was a cocoa farmer. Was there a lot of chocolate in your house when you were growing up? I’m allergic myself, but I do love it. Like I always say, “chocolate doesn’t make the world go round, but it sure makes the trip worthwhile”. Yum!

Sounds like you are in a bit of a financial pickle. I would love to help you, but I have had some pretty crazy bank issues myself. I accidentally wrote some checks without “sufficient funds” and when I told the bank people my checkbook had been stolen, they didn’t believe me! It turns out that fraud charges can follow you from state to state. I was told that I can’t use the banking system for five years, at least not under my real name.

Also, I would love to have you come stay with me and hear all about your weird customs and the cocoa farm and all, but I kind of already have company. Her name is Denise and we are in love. We met one night when I was kind lonely and driving around. She got into my car to um, do business and I took her home with me. We have been together ever since. And even though we argue sometimes, with her pleading to, “please untie me and let me go” and "this dark crawlspace is no place to keep a human being” it’s never that serious. There are always going to be disagreements in a relationship. But I do think the added stress of a houseguest would not help our relationship. Also, I wouldn’t want you to judge our alternative lifestyle. I hope you understand.

Oliver, I am rather concerned about this Danger you speak of. Your uncles sound ruthless and bloodthirsty. While these are traits I admire, I do want to help you defend yourself against them. Here’s what I think you should do:
1. Invite them over to dinner
2. Tell them you are turning the properties over to them in return for your life
3. When they are leaving, kill them! Now that would be turning the tables on the situation, don’t you think?

I doubt anyone would blame you. They did murder your father and they never helped on the cocoa farm. Also, isn’t your country one of those dangerous, overpopulated, fly soaked ones? No one will probably even notice.

In conclusion, I really hope everything works out for you, Oliver. Please write me back and let me know how it all turned out. Also, thanks for writing. I feel like we have known each other a long time and it is very exciting to have a pen pal from somewhere so exotic! Well, I gotta go, Denise is screaming, I mean calling.


Toodle loo!

Steve Coffin

I gotta a job making money for the man, put the chicken in the bucket with the soda pop can.

I have had two jobs in “the industry” since I came to L.A.. They were both short lived, temp job type deals. At the first one I worked for one of the big studios at some satellite office, so I never got to go on the lot. Every day security gave me a bunch of bullshit when I tried to come in to work and I would have to go to the pay phone (I didn't have a cell phone yet) and call my agency. I was supposed to answer a phone for this executive. The only thing was she liked to answer her own phone. So, I only had to answer it while she was at lunch and it never rang then. Every day around 4pm, she would bring me a one page document to fax. I think she felt bad for me. I was probably sending blank sheets to her mom's house or something. My day consisted of trying to hide in my itchy polyester clothes so no one would notice that I didn’t do anything. It was oddly stressful. I would rather have been working. I sat in an almost empty cubicle. It had an electric typewriter and not much else. I did not have a computer, so no solitaire, no email no nothing. I read the complete works of Dorothy Parker in a week.

The second job I was working for one of the big industry papers. I was placed in the editorial department. Every morning when I came in, all the major newspapers would be lying on my desk with certain articles circled. It was my job to cut them out then photocopy several sets for the morning editorial meeting. It was to be my only peaceful time of the day. After that task was accomplished, the phones would be turned on. When the temp agency called me, they asked if I had ever worked with multi-lined phones. I said yes. I really should have asked how many multi is. I was thinking it was like five or six. Turns out it was forty. And they rang all the damn time. They never stopped until they were turned off at five. They were split between me and another woman, twenty lines each. Still, that is a lot. We never spoke to each other or took breaks. People would call, all agitated, yelling things like, “whose Kate Moss’s agent?” I really didn’t know anything about the industry and I have to admit I would occasionally “get cut off” from the person asking the hard to answer question. We got about twenty minutes for lunch and maybe one bathroom break all day. I was too inexperienced to call anyone out on the legalities of this. When my lunch break came, I would eagerly exit the building, lighting the first of three or four cigarettes I could suck down in twenty minutes. I would walk down the street to the 7-11 and get a hot dog and a soda. Once, I was walking through the parking lot and I saw a car that had been abandoned in front of the store while the owner went in to quickly buy chips, smokes, rubbers or whatever. He had forgotten to set the parking brake, but had locked the car up tight. It was rolling back into the very busy intersection. All these people came running to try to stop it. I remember standing there watching it drifitng forebodingly while all this anonymous good intention tried to make things right, and thinking, “yeah, entropy is a bitch”. But, they did stop it.

I got to actually go onto a studio lot the other day for an actual meeting. After the meeting, I did "get lost" a little on the way to my car. I think I have pretty much earned the right to wander a bit.

On looking for a job part deux (the saddening)

So the job search continues and each day brings a new lesson in humility. I have lowered myself to checking Craiglist. And yes, it is lowering oneself. For one, most jobs expect everything and give nothing back.

Example:
Can you design websites, answer a forty line phone, work overtime, travel, redesign our office, and speak Spanish and Chinese? Don’t bother applying if you can’t work weekends and baby sit the boss’s children while doing all of the above.
Compensation: 8-10.00 and hour

The other discouraging aspect is that you have to reevaluate your life daily. What didn’t fly yesterday may be a fucking okay today. Are you hungry and disappointed enough to be a sign spinner? Would it be awesome or awful if you had to wear a costume with a headpiece while spinning said sign? At least your friends wouldn’t know it’s you, but on the other hand the headpiece might carry that staph infection that started on skid row and county jail. Oh, what to do.

Not that any of it matters anyway. It’s not like after the many, many emailed resumes and cover letters I’ve sent, anyone has responded. Oh, I take that back. I did get one interview, at a collection agency. They worked on commission. So, however many people you could properly scare into paying you, you got a part of it. Not blood money exactly, more like corn syrup and food coloring money. Anyway, I passed, which I kind of regret sometimes, in my potential sign spinner employment moments.

The other job site I have been checking is Careerbuilder. All I have to say is, “Careerbuilder, you are no Monster”. In order to sign up, it’s like a half day temp job, with no pay, natch. After this lengthy beginning, the offers start flowing. Offers like:

Work at home 500 dollars a day, totally legit, just a one time sign up fee. This company is totally legit. We are a housewares company based in England that needs American data entry workers to help us collect payment. Totally easy and totally legit. Did we mention we’re legit? We totes are!!!!!

How does it even work that entering data helps collect debts? The whole pitch reminds me of a trannie hooker with a full beard trying to talk an army guy into getting a blow job. “I’m totally a woman, I swear! This beard is old food stuck to my face. I swear!”

Anyway, I’ll keep plugging away. The only other strategy I can think of is driving around looking for help wanted signs in windows of businesses. Maybe this can be my soundtrack. http://www.sadtrombone.com/ Wish me luck!!

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.

I ended up hanging out in the ER the other night for a few hours and I actually had a pretty good time. My mom had a fall and it is the policy of her assisted living place that you have to go to ER if you faceplant, which she did. When I got there, I pretty much new she was not mortally wounded. The ER was very full and so we did not have a curtained “room”. We ended up in the hall for about six hours. She was in a gurney and I was either standing next her or at the foot of the bed, sitting in a chair. At one point I put an earbud in one of her ears and one in mine and we sang along to Strawberry Fields Forever. But, they didn’t even really do anything for her. It was like we were going through the motions of healthcare, like a performance with no finale. Just sitting in my chair for half an hour, I understood why. They had a lot of more intense shit on their hands than my bruised mom. There was the guy who had apparently stepped in a lot of glass. He was also lying in the hallway. He kept yelling, “I’m not drunk”! Dude, if you are in the ER at midnight on a Sunday yelling about how drunk you are not? Um, you’re totally fucking wasted. Then there was the 22 year old who was curled up in a fetal position on the gurney with his arms wrapped around his head, weeping. He kept wailing, “I took some drugs”. The orderly wheeling him around was trying hard not to laugh. There was also another old man who had not eaten in days and lived alone. They were trying to find somewhere for him to go. That was sad. About every 20 minutes or so a very exasperated voice came over the loudspeaker saying, "I need an environmental waste crew member in room 6". Whatever was going on there required multiple cleanups. I just put my ipod on and watched the parade roll by. I wonder if people ever hang out there. Are there ER groupies? It’s pretty great people watching, as good as the courthouse. I know I need to get a life. I have been known to read the dictionary and the phone book. Seriously.

I once had a grip on everything, it feels better to let go.

Up until a few months ago, I was a working artist. Now, I am looking for a job, pretty much any job and I am also signing up with temp agencies. As we all know, like fight club, the first rule of temping is you do not talk about temping. Am I happy about this turn of events? No, no I am not. But, I am looking for the lesson in it, moving forward, numbing my mind, whatever works. I have not had a “real job” in over 3 years and I have not had a job interview in over 7. Wah wah, I know. Poor sweet baby me.

So, rather than dwelling in the inevitable, I thought I would give some tips on how to save money in this new economy. Even during the fat years, I lived pretty lean, so my lean years are like a celebrity a week before the Oscars; starvation, purging and hourly enemas. So to speak.
Here goes.

1. Bring your lunch to work. You heard me. Yeah I know you like your 6.00 sandwich, your bag of chips, and your peppermint patty, but shit adds up. You are spending minimum 30 bucks a week. Times that times 52. You don’t even want to know. You can still have all of that, just bring it from home. You’ll save bunches, and you’ll get so used to doing it, you won’t remember not doing it. I swear.

2. Stop eating out at restaurants. We have been having friends over for dinner and doing like a potluck. Also, you get to spend more time together without annoying waitpersons hovering over you, trying to get you to spend more money. Another perk is that when you host it, you can get totally blotto without worrying about driving home. Remember the whole numbing your mind thing from two paragraphs ago? Pretty much, yeah.

3. Get rid of all your expensive beauty shit. This one is more for the ladies, but maybe some of you guys have expensive beauty shit too. Big Sur barely uses soap, and I have to remind him to wash his hair, so I don’t have to worry about him. Most of that beauty shit is a scam. It’s regular shit, but scented nicely and packaged expensively. Here’s an example. I have dry skin on my face in the winter. I used to use nice cleanser and moisturizer, back when I had money. Now that I don’t have job, I spread honey all over my face at night. And it works amazingly. Seriously, it’s nature’s damn miracle. As for moisturizer, I put a tiny bit of olive oil on the dry spots. Guess what, practically free and it works really well. The honey thing wouldn’t work for vegans, I guess. But for everyone else, go crazy. Just remember to put your hair back. And maybe skip applying it on the nights when you host the potluck. Drinking and honey facials do not mix. I have learned that shit the hard way. Fo sho!

4. Stop going to the movies. Either rent or download that shit. I’m not saying do anything illegal. Just share what you have with friends, and make them share with you. Who’s to say how many friends you have? Maybe you are really popular, like me, and you have tens of thousands. You don’t? Well that’s sad. You should get some more. They are all over the internet, waiting for you, these friends. Just put download TV shows into google and you will start meeting your new friends toot sweet!

5. Stop using so much shit! By this I mean soap, shampoo, paper towels, toilet paper, electricity, detergent, and water. Also at the risk of sounding like my mother, if you’re cold, put on a damn sweater and close the doors. What are you trying to do? Heat the great state of California?!?

6. Install those fluorescent bulbs. That shit will save you money. Also, you should have already done that like a year ago. Where the hell have you been?

Well, that’s all I have for now. In a few weeks when I’m down to eating my own toenails for protein, I’m sure I’ll come up with a few more. Until then, toodles!