Slower than a herd of turtles

I’ve had many instances of waiting in my life.  I remember waiting for my first set of SAT’s score in high school… a disappointment.  I remember waiting for my third set of SAT Scores – A Triumph.  I remember waiting to hear from schools (I got into all 10 colleges – WOOT!).  I remember waiting for graduation and then for the speaker to announce my name so I can triumphantly grab my diploma.  I remember waiting for the end of the summer when I would have to leave Cornell U. to go to NYC to look for a job.  This one’s the last one, I promise.  I remember waiting to hear back from jobs.  That was probably the worse instance of waiting.

By the time I had seen my third round of SAT’s, I had already basically gotten into a couple of schools.  The last set really only mattered for Cornell.  I knew I was graduating, and without any ceremonies, I would have still gotten that beautiful piece of paper that says “On this Day 5-28-2006, it is declared that JJRC is not stupid.”  Waiting for jobs to get back to me was painful.  But even now, I’m still getting responses from places I had applied to months ago.  Such was my previous dilemma.  I had a job I wanted, but a better one was thrown my way.  It says worlds about my loyalties to my job since I had a to make a choice, and I chose to leave the Devil I know for the Devil I didn’t because he had more money.

Waiting is extremely painful, especially when you don’t know the result.  Lord, whenever my phone rang during my unemployment, I popped up like a pop tart out of the toaster and ran to my phone.  Usually, I wasn’t impressed or somehow managed to make a complete ass out of myself by burping or dropping the phone and having it close.  They would interview me, and if I didn’t do any of the above, I would get an interview.  I’d go to the interview and try my best to “Wow” them.   It was as painful as watching a bear try and ride a tiny bicycle for a crowd of children throwing popcorn at it.  I’d sit there and pray that I could answer the question better than anyone else, and with sincerity.  I’m sure everyone gets those people who are too polished. You could slide around on their faces with socks because of how polished they are.

These people are mainly the competition.  If they didn’t exist, we’d all have jobs.  Better ones probably.  Douche B. McGee (the B. stands for Bag) will go into any interview and dazzle the interviewer with amazing references (Yes, that is the Bill Gates), great clothing (oh, Georgio Armani is a close friend of the family’s), and charm (Is that sex panther you’re wearing?).   Then you have me, and many like me, with our references (Um, he was actually manager of ALL the Dairy Queens), demure clothing (Oh, this is from Salvation Army, it’s not helping if you don’t buy things from there), and our off comments (You actually smell like pure gasoline.. he he ).  So, D.B. McGee will probably get first dibs at the job.  He’ll get to pick and choose.  Then it trickles down from there; First choice to second to third to fourth and God forbid, you make it to number five.

I actually managed once to become D.B. McGee once.  I got offered two jobs and I picked one, and then I got offered another and took that one and left job two.  It made me feel dirty.  Almost as if I had sold myself to the highest bidder… I wonder how the real D.B. McGee’s deal with it.  I’d probably have to live in a church to at least try and save the little soul I had left.

For anyone out there that found this wondering what a group of turtles are called – it’s either a Dole or a Bale.  Knowledge is power children.
JJRC

Crap you’ve seen over and over and over Again

Have you ever seen a commercial and thought, “People got paid to make and then be in that?” Yeah, then you’re not brain dead. Unfortunately for us living folk, there are many advertisers out there who just aren’t blessed with a working brain. The quality of commercials have severely dropped. Poor programming is painful enough, but these commercials make you almost want to read a book.

1) The Lawyer Ads during the Daytime Talk Shows and Jerry Springer: I’m sure the only people who watch shows between 9am-4pm are poor saps who are home recovering from a two story fall, a slip in a convenience store, or a crack in the sidewalk. They really don’t take into account housewives/househusbands, the unemployed, the people on school break, the strippers, and junkies. The ads are all the same, and for extra authenticity, the lawyer is superimposed into a courtroom or a library. I’m sure only stupid people get fooled by that. If you pay attention, unless they’re at a desk, they’re just standing in “the courtroom” not touching anything. If they touched anything, the curtain would probably fall down, exposing the green screen and causing the film crew to lose countless minutes of work on their masterpiece of a commercial. Also, they’re probably allowed only 20 minutes in the studio because the dirty smut actors need their sets back to make their moneymaking porn.

2) The People on the Dating Hotline are HOT!: We’ve all seen the commercials where women are sitting by a phone with a cord twirling it around her fingers. She’ll usually say something generic like, “I used to go to bars and clubs, but I would get hit on by goons. So now, I chat with singles just like me at this 800#.” Usually only women show up on these commercials and they’re wearing skimpy dresses as they talk on the phone to “other singles”. Some loser is probably thinking, “well, I’m sure this can’t be fake.” Upon calling, it turns out to be some kind of on-phone sex romp. It turns out for be the best $1000 invest this loser’s ever made.

3) Do you sometimes get plagued by bad odor?: This is by far the worst of the commercials I see constantly. Feminine Hygiene Product Producers need to become aware that half of the country’s population is male. It’s uncomfortable to see a woman shopping in a supermarket and then a flood of cameras bombard her to interview her (because she’s an expert and a “real woman”).

Announcer: Excuse me ma’am. Do you have a moment?

Jenny: Why yes. I’m a media whore and will do anything to be on television.

Announcer: Great! Do you ever experience wetness and odor in your pad?

Jenny: Oh God, almost everyday, but what can I do about it?!

Announcer: You should consider Always! They have wings!

Jenny: NO WAY!!!

I’m not a woman, so I don’t have a clue what menstruating is like. But, these commercials are giving me a horrifying impression. From the looks of it, you’re only allotted one Maxi pad and you can’t change it, so it gets foul. No wonder women get so damn cranky. I  would also figure Jenny would be more discrete about her monthly situation. No, she’s not. She tells the whole country that she has sticky uncomfortable smelliness… why?

4) Oh Tommy, Don’t worry Mommy will clean it up!: This angers me the most. It’s bad enough these kids are all terribly misbehaved. What really angers the bejesus out of me is that Mom just stands there smiling and shaking her head. I once saw a carpet cleaning commercial where little Tommy decided he needed to squeeze chocolate syrup all over mom’s white carpets. Mom came in an seemed appalled for about a second. She then smiled and hugged Tommy like she did her a favor. The cleaning company comes in and poof everything is clean. At the end of the commercial, Little Tommy grabs a jelly jar. The announcer says. “OH NO! Here he goes again (stupid chuckle).” WHAT?! If I decided my mom’s couches needed a delicious chocolaty make-over, I’d be spanked until I couldn’t sit down.

Think about this. We live in a country where lawyers are willing to sue anyone (no matter how pathetic), people are content with talking to another “single” on the phone, women can discuss their messy periods like it was great news, and children are messing shit up left and right. I think some companies should get their first amendment right to free speech taken away. Maybe I should make a commercial about my new campaign.

JJRC

I’m up to my eyeballs in Job Offers – what a world

When did I become a hot commodity? Am I really that worthwhile that jobs have started throwing money in my general direction? The answer is yes. It seems that as of last Friday, the good Lord decided he’s had enough of me wasting my life.

God: Hey, Gabriel… come here. What’s JJ doing down there? It doesn’t look right.

Angel: Looks like he’s toiling, sir.

God: Ugh, I know what he’s doing… I have 34 eyes. It was hypothetical… you’d think I made you yesterday. Well, this just won’t do… I’ll make this company throw some money at him… poof- Now, he’ll be better off.

Angel: I believe so, sir. What about the starving people in Kenya, sir?

God: I’m getting to that… bring me an Iced Tea, and stop asking me questions.

That’s how I think it went down. I got offered my first job last week on Thursday. I didn’t want it, but it was nice to have something on the table. I got offered the second job on Saturday, and I snatched it up. I was a little too greedy and got myself into a fine rut… I got my third offer today, and it was better than either of the two could have been. The only draw back is that its in Long Island… I guess God can’t give you everything, but I appreciate it God – you’re the person… since I don’t know God’s sex, I’ll just leave it as that. He or She will understand.

Tomorrow will be painful for sure. I’m never good with being the bearer of bad news. It turns out I can’t be a complete jerk. I’ll have to brace myself and hope no one bursts into tears… or flames… or shot flames out of their tear ducts (though that would be pretty freaking cool). I wonder how bad this is gonna be. I’m sure they reserve a special seat for people like me in hell. I’ll probably be stuck next to Hitler and Charles Manson…

Manson: So what did you do?

JJ: I ditched a non-profit for money… then I murdered a couple of people due to stress.
Manson: well, if you were stressed, it’s OK.

Hitler: Were you feeling stressed when you left the non-profit?

JJ: No, not that I recall… I recall feeling gassy.

Hilter: You weren’t stressed?

Manson: yeah, you’re kind of a monster… I’m not sitting next to you anymore.

Hitler: Me either…

Oh, no! I’m worse than Hitler… I’m gonna have to go to church constantly now… Jesus, this is really the last thing I needed… eternal damnation. So, are any of you reading this gonna join me? I’ve got two opened seats next to me.

JJRC

Everybody’s Working for the Weekend, and So am I

So, before today, I would sit in my room, seeking employment.  Now, I’ve been upgraded to employed office whore!  I now have the dreaded nine to five.  I’m sure everyone experiences this feeling.  I don’t want to go to work anymore.  Go figure it’s only been a day, and the novelty wore off super quick.  I didn’t really know what I was doing and I asked a million questions.  Luckily the young woman who’s sitting next to me is extremely understanding.  She would help me when I had things to ask.  Here’s a sample of our encounters (names have been changed to protect the innocent).

Me: What’s that thing on my desk that’s blinking and making noise?

Jenny: That’s the phone… do you want to answer it?

Me: No…

Jenny: Oh, that’s ok. I can get it.  You’re understandably nervous.

Isn’t that awesome?  I love it when people know how I feel inside… enough to let me slide with being mildly retarded about answering the phone.  By the end of the day, I was picking up that fucker like it was my job… which it just so happens to be.   Day one, came to an end late because I didn’t know what time I was supposed to leave (stupid me).  I also happened to show up 20 minutes early because I was kinda scare the trains would mess me up.  Another one of my coworkers had this to say (once again, name change for innocent).

Tommy: what time are you here til?

Me: Umm, five I think?  It’s a little over I know… I just want to finish this up.

Tommy: umm, you’ll have too many opportunities to stay here late… once I left at 10pm. Now, that was a long day. So, you should leave.

Me: Umm, ok…

Tommy: Actually can you call other Jenny for me?

From now on, my co-workers will be a myriad of Tommys and Jennys.  I figured, I’ve already used those names enough that they’re like part of my family… my large dysfunctional family.  So Tommy was right, and I prepared to leave.  He motivated me to leave when he had something for me to do “real quick”.  Sigh, I stayed about another 10 minutes and it was about 5:25 when I actually managed to get out of there.  If he hadn’t said anything.  I would have left by my own volition at like a quarter after. Damn you, Tommy.

It was nice today.  Everyone was excited that I was there, and they all came up to me (cautiously, because they didn’t know if I bit) to say hello with their names. I always thought introductions were nice, but a little forced.  I’m never very good with these kinds of situation.  So, trust me, about 5 people coming up to me and extending a hand when I was mildly busy saying, “Hi, I’m Tommy.” It kinda threw me off.  I would smile awkwardly and say, “Hi, I’m JJ.”  Then we’d stare… I didn’t think anything else was left.  Most people thought so.  It would drag onward.  “So, you’re new.  I work over there.”  I would fire back with a… “Oh that’s cool… I should stop by some time.”  I would then wince because I realized how stupid that sounded.  So, that was my day in a nutshell… I like my new job and I hope my next entry isn’t titled -  How to be banned from a non-profit agency.

JJRC

Things that are getting old

There lots of things in this world that are aging at an alarming rate. Me for instance. I’m getting old, but it doesn’t bother me that I’m aging. What’s really cracking my nuts is the simple fact that I’m still unemployed. It’s because I’m unemployed and young that I’m noticing time slipping through my hands… There’s nothing between me and my golden years… just time. “It takes months.” “Don’t worry! You’ll find something.” “Oh, you’ll hear back real soon. I’m sure.” These phrases uttered constantly once brought a quiet and calm to my soul. Now, my soul knows better apparently, and those quick fixes are slowly disappearing. I need a job… the way a smoker needs another cigarette.

I haven’t been unemployed for this long since I was 12. Sure, some would say that Child Labor Laws were in place in 1996, but I really couldn’t help it. I needed the money to feed my soda and candy addiction at such a tender age. As you can see, I’ve led a dark and dangerous life… say no to pop rocks, kids. Though, that’s besides the point. I was young when I started to work, and while in high school I managed three jobs. Now, I can’t even manage to find one where I sit around and type at a computer. I HAVE A DEGREE PEOPLE!!!

It’s like screaming at deaf people when I send my resume out. I’m sure some of those HR people are like OOOH Cornell… flip through a couple more… OOOH Wait…. Harvard. I’m sure things like that happen often especially in this town. This city has too many learned people. Get over it, guys! I’m sure very few of average Harvard students are better than your average Cornell Student, and if you don’t know an average Cornell Student, you can shake hands with me.

Sure, I’m not the brightest… nor was I the first… or third in my class, but come on! I’m sure personality has worlds to do with being hired. If anything, it’s the interview that’ll give you the job… not to mention connections and friends of friends. Since I don’t have the latter, I’ll have to rely on the former to get me a job, but if I went on nearly as many interviews as I had applied to, I would have had a job and an amazing pension plan by now.
It becomes more and more apparent that I might have to start lying on my resume to get these jobs… I don’t mean embellish, everyone does that. I mean straight up lie! If I don’t, I might end up flipping burgers at the new McDonald’s down the block…. Sigh, I’m sure I’ll find something/someone to give me work in an office. I’m just getting frustrated… and maybe a little scared. So, I’ll freak out after my interview on Friday, and if it that position doesn’twork out for me, I might end up working elsewhere… in which case, would you like fries with this entry?

JJRC

How much does a Polar Bear weigh?

If you’re sitting in a New York City bar and some drunk chick taps you on the shoulder and asks about a Polar Bear’s weight, what do you do? Well, the girl apparently asked the wrong table because we actually tried to figure it out. We sat there looking at each other wondering what the answer could be. I assumed this was a question to settle a stupid drunk argument about fat polar bears. After a couple of seconds, the girl extends her hand and says, “Enough to break the ice, I’m Jenny.” I didn’t catch her name, it could have been Petunia for all I knew.

We all laughed and turned back around. What an awkward way to make someone’s acquaintance. We didn’t really know what to do after that. The girls also didn’t appear to be too attractive. We let that one go. So, how often does a young lady actually lean into a random table of frat guys to ask such a foolish, but charming question. I think the interaction would have ended better if the waitress showed up with beers and said – that table over there bought you these. That’s how you win a man’s heart. Food and drink get you an in with a guy – almost guaranteed… unless he’s dieting… or playing ball on the other team.

It appears that the pick-up line is more of a man’s dominion. Girls are to be picked up and men are to do the sweeping off their feet (with smooth lines about how I lost my number and need hers). The way girls get in with guys is through food and drink or through the grapevine. If a guy hears “Hey, see Jenny over there, she was asking about you.” It’s intriguing and chances are (if Jenny’s worth it), our Hero, let’s call him Tommy, will wander over to Jenny and find out what the scoop is. Maybe Jenny might get a pick up line from our smooth Tommy. Only if she’s lucky, and she’ll swoon and be his forever. But if Jenny decided to be bold and walk up to Tommy and say things like “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Assuming Jenny is not someone who should be on the cover of Maxim, Tommy might start to think – what a crazy bitch. I need to get away from her… Hot women can do what they want. If Jenny was amazing looking, she could probably walk up to Tommy and take a dump on the stool and tell Tommy to follow her back to her place, and he would oblige – gladly.

To have a slightly unattractive girl come up to you at a bar and ask you about the weight of polar bears… it might come off as a little desperate. It appears especially desperate if the group of girls Jenny is with start laughing at her. Poor Jenny didn’t have much going for her that night. She might have found love in a back alley… who knows?

So ladies, a word of advice. Pick-up lines are flattering, but confusing. We decided to actually think about how much the polar bear weighed… or why I would be tired of running through your mind… or if I rent or own my wings. Men are not used to being courted. Don’t get me wrong – GO FEMINISM – but this is something that will need more than a couple of beers to fix. To make men comfortable with this, we’d need to redefine society.

JJRC

Added 10-23-2006: a polar bear weighs 550 to 1,700 pounds.  Because it seems like a lot people are looking for that info.

JJRC

Why is your face red?

Today was like any other day. It was quiet and mostly peaceful. I was sitting at my desk seeking employment in my pajamas until WHAM! I fell out of my chair. It wasn’t one of those instant falls. I wasn’t doing anything particularly stupid. I guess I was sitting close to the edge and the chair decided to slide out from under me (Asshole chair…). It happened as if in slow motion. I was sitting quite peacefully, and then slowly the chair slid out and I tried repeatedly to brace myself to no avail. Next thing I know, I was on the floor in a sitting position with my chair floating above my head. It turns out that the chair was somehow jammed between the desk and the wall. I was embarrassed. But why?

Yeah, the chances of you falling out of your chair as you read are incredibly slim. It’s so rare the occasion that I fall out of anything, that I was very embarrassed which makes me think why? No one saw me (thank God), but I’m embarrassed to even write it out. Once I fell in my room at Cornell because I stepped on a detergent bottle and my foot decided to remove itself without telling me. My ass and elbow weren’t as happy as my foot was. I was alone and more embarrassed because I hit the floor hard. I would think the thud would have people from two floors up coming down to see if I had died or if part of the roof had collapsed into my room…. luckily college students are too preoccupied with sex and the Internet to notice even a marching band walking by.

But what an odd feeling embarrassment is, because usually no one sympathizes. Imagine a good friend of yours wandering up to their crush and dropping their wallet/purse. As they bend down to pick it up (RRRIIIIPPP) – their favorite/lucky pants tear at the seams from over wear…. You most likely don’t think – OH NO, HOW TERRIBLE. You think – OH NO! AWESOME!!! Embarrassment is the reaction to others laughing at you clumsy falling downs. I would prefer that everyone just laugh out loud when they fall down, break a chair or realize they have a whole in the crotch of their pants.

I know the world would be safer and more pleasant if everyone just decided to laugh as opposed to becoming angered and/or annoyed. Your friend will probably not get that date unless they make a big joke of it… and once the subject of the embarrassment gets in on the act, it’s not fun or funny. It’s just a story to tell. I tore my pants once as I got into a car to drive to K-Mart… I had to tie my sweatshirt around my waste, but everyone had a good laugh – even me once I realized I was wearing clean and fun boxers. They had little dinner signs on them that said “Eat out, all night long”. This is how it should be. Expose those holes at the K-Mart! Let your crush see you rip your pants and expose your underpants in front of them by accident! Write about how you embarrass yourself alone in your room by falling out of things!

Alas, the world would be a better place. Imagine world leaders sitting around a table telling about times their turbans or neckties were set aflame by a candelabra during a fancy dinner… Once this starts happening, there might be a chance for World Peace. And that would be sweet.

Red faced,

JJRC

Love makes the World go Round?

Love makes the world go round, Love is the answer, Love is never having to say I’m sorry, and Love is nothing but a secondary emotion. Not to mention – Love is all I have to give to you because it was made for me and you.

So, what’s with this emotion, sensation, feeling we call love? Yeah, we’ve all see movies where gorgeous men and women decide to quit their jobs and run into each other’s arms in of a fountain, a crowd of people applauding, or a church. In all those instances, someone’s life gets ruined. Movies have this amazing ability to make you think that this is the way it should be. But, sometimes people are just victims. For example, we’ll take the movie “Spaceballs”. Yea, the Druish Princess was going to marry an a-hole douchebag with a terrible haircut, and of course, Prince Lonestar was probably a better match and their lives would be more exciting. But, what about Prince Valiant with this bowl cut?

That poor man has to now travel the galaxy looking for a bride just as hot as the one he almost had. Judging from the two seconds he was on screen, chances are he’d just take a nap. This isn’t really about Prince Valiant anyway – but do you see? It could have been alright for him, but just because he was a little tired, he loses the best thing that’s happened to him. It’s about love. We never really get a realistic movie when it comes to Love. We get random fluff that’s supposed to entertain us. If they’re really ambitious, they’ll try and get a tear out of our eyes., and thus a chickflick because men don’t cry. But why?

Is there ever a situation (besides in real life) when the woman in the story makes the wrong decision? And this isn’t just to make a sequel which is the only circumstances where she would make the wrong choice. No. Women always make the correct decision in movies, and it’s usually the obvious choice. Love in real life isn’t that simple. For example, Love Potion #9. It was a terrible movie. Everything about the movie told you that the two scientists would end up together, but they attempted (feebly) to lead you to believe otherwise due to magic spells. The damn potion #9 doesn’t come up until the very end anyway. Meaning that it will solve everyone’s problems. But, I digress.

So, Hollywood really has it wrong. They should make realistic shitshows as opposed to pathetic, unrealistic sob-fests. Almost no one on this planet gets “happily married”. If they do, the happiness wears off within a couple of years and then they’re just married. Do those two doctors in Love Potion #9 stay happy? Yes, because of magic and potions… sadly this world has lost both. So, Love seems to be Hollywood poppycock forced on women (mainly) to create a notion of heaven that isn’t going to come true. Maybe Hollywood should start putting real people on the Silver Screen, and real stories. Then maybe people would pay to see them as opposed to risk getting sued by the MPAA to get them for free.

Just a thought.

JJRC

Interviews, Subways and Suits – Oh My

So, it appears that if there were a dictionary entry for Murphy’s Law, there really should be a picture of me sitting next to it. I arose today at an early 10:00am. The sun was shining and everything looked fine and dandy. I wasted sometime on-line and then decided to prepare some breakfast for myself. It was really the only thing that was missing to make the morning complete. I had an interview at 1pm and it was only 11am. I had enough time.

I make myself a ham and cheese sandwich and throw it on the George Foreman grill. This thing is quite possibly the best thing since two plates of metal that heat up and cook shit. But, I digress. I thought the ham tasted a little funny, but never mind that – I wanted Salad too, and I had to prepare it. I ate both and then took a shower where I start getting some fine stomach pains. I’m thinking – man, I hope this passes. Sadly enough, throughout the entire entry – I assume I have random pains.

I get out of the shower and notice it’s about 11:40 – how did I manage to waste 40 minutes on sitting around eating and showering – it didn’t make sense, but I decided I needed to hurry. I cut my face shaving… sigh. I didn’t mind so much that I had cut myself shaving. I managed to get blood on my shirt, and it would not stop bleeding. So, here I am, half dressed, bleeding with some blood on the collar of my shirt – no time to iron another one. I was thinking – I’ll just deal with it later. I start looking for my socks – oh great – I’m out of black socks. I could literally cry at this point, but I’m a man so I didn’t.

I slapped on some white socks and wore my pants low. Funny story about these pants. When I had purchased the suit, the guy insisted that I was a waist 44…. I was a 38 at best. He thought I was lying to save myself the embarrassment. I told him to make them 38 if he wanted to go that big, but the pants wouldn’t fit otherwise – he didn’t listen and I didn’t bother checking til I got home. By the time I did, it was time for the wedding for which I had purchased the damn thing. So I got screwed over wearing over-sized clown pants to a wedding. I hadn’t seen these family members in years, and this wasn’t the way I wanted to be remembered. That’s another story.

I have lost some weight since college, because I eat less – so these pants don’t fit at all, and I’m looking for a belt which I also can’t find. It dawns on my – why did you waste so much time this morning, you ass? I put on a belt I found which was too big. It was basically as if I wasn’t wearing a belt. Anyway, wandered out of the house looking like shit – still bleeding and incredibly pained by my stomach. I got to the interview 20 minutes early (I could have used that time to make myself look decent). Luckily these two women that were interviewing me didn’t really ask me to get up, and I sat there being as pleasant. Meanwhile, I’m bleeding, bloated and my pants are riding lower and lower. Luckily I left without incident, on the subway I sat uncomfortable and my face decided to stop bleeding (damn you, face).

Is it really possible that all those things happened to me by chance? I had a fine morning until I had that sandwich, cut my face and lost my belt. If I had not panicked at the time, would I have found my belt, not cut my face and maybe even gone to buy black socks? I guess I’ll never really know. Maybe next time I’ll get up at 9am and start getting ready for an interview hours before to avoid any pain and discomfort – not to mention get those damn pants tailored.

Sigh,

JJRC