What awful parenting. If you can successfully block out your kid's shouts, the little shit is either spoiled or left to his own device all the time. You are just plain neglectful and an asshole because you expect us to do the same.
I might need to move to a town with true residents. Too many people are living in apartments down here. "We do not have the space for a birthday party, but I know this hotel does." Party coordinator is not in my job description.
And now the mother shows up from her room to coral the little one. I guess I know who actually tries to deal with the constant calls for attention. She must have needed a break. It almost make me want to pull up the guest information and post the father's name in the event of divorce. If the court wants to use maineventofthedead.com as a source of evidence in a custody hearing, at least this website would serve some purpose. No one is sending suggestions to help me out in finding a way to promote my B-movie pro-wrestling zomcom, Main Event of the Dead, I would be happy to send you a treatment if you e-mail me at russthebus07@gmail.com.
No, I am not going to risk this job by calling out bad parents. That risk is reserved for when a Hotel Harriet comes to the property. With so many birthday parties, that is bound to happen.
It is just about to be 7:45 pm on Saturday, November 10, 2018. That mean it was a redundant news week and that my purse strings are finally feeling the pinch going into the holiday season. Thankfully, the new job makes my weekly income more secure, but the other job seems a little too overly prepared to not abuse its employees until it is absolutely necessary.
I like the job, so it pains me that I can not post the name of the company that is associated with that rave review. This compassion could send the stock up or it could plummet when consumers go, "that's why I cannot get help with finding an out-of-print LOL Doll." Regardless of my appreciation, I could use a little abuse to get that money I was not making last year a little bit sooner.
The week seemed unusually busy for me. I had two days off, but I was unable to get anything out of the buy-two get-one free video game deal from the previous week. Oh the time it takes to vote and spend your Hot Cash at Hot Topic. My girlfriend was in a constant state of panic fearing things would not go well with her most recent craft sale. Happily the fears were unfounded. But said fears gave me a little more time to myself. "The Ultimate Cut" of Zack Snyder's "Watchmen" on Wednesday and a trip to the seedier side of Peoria on Thursday.
It was pretty productive trip. Not many of my friends at Big Al's were working, but one of my best was. This was a good night just letting me vent about my existential conundrum without someone immediately telling me I cannot off myself.
It was five years ago that I was still screaming on social media for help/advice/concern with my seeming shagged life. And it was five years ago that I unfriended all of my family, so that I would not get locked up or scolded by the insensitive ones, which I hate to say may be all of them. I am not trying to speak ill of them, empathy just does not come easy to them and I think only a couple would dispute that.
The point is, when someone feels like they are at the end of their rope, you may snap their neck if you pull them from the ledge suddenly. Like Spidey and Gwen I suppose. I use to have friends who knew that but they are either dead or too consumed dealing with those who panic about them to help me out.
The only person who reads this blog for certain now is my girlfriend and she is predisposed to lack empathy at least with humans. Come on Champaign Humane Society, let her take in all the kitties she socializes for you. I really want to meet Einstein the biter. Before that, it was my friend at Al's that I have been getting reacquainted with the last month. And now it feels like I need to drive back to remind her of the blog, but I can definitely understand if my significant other does not want me traveling to a strip club in the name of public relations.
My pal at the Al was kind enough just to bullshit with me and not deny me the time to think about how the state of my current mind is going to lead to a 20th century American satirist end be it bullet or booze. She asked questions about what I think I needed for me to feel comfortable with who I am and gave suggestions on how I could move forward and still be the suicide-romancing me. It was better than any therapy session that Blue Cross Blue Shield ever paid 80% of.
I consider myself an open-minded guy. Perhaps all psychology majors should minor in burlesque and need to perform for a couple of years as strippers instead of getting residencies. You got to relax your audience before you break open their skull. Maybe I would have followed my therapists demand to kiss my dad's ass to get back in at Caterpillar if I was turned on or ironically laughing at his performance.
The trip kind of revitalized me brainwise. A little pricey, but as Silk Spectre II said in "Watchmen," "I'm used to getting up at 3 in the morning and doing something stupid."
Putting that quote down leaves me thinking that I just wish more people understood the stupidity. I guess child rearing is safer and biologically proves you were there. But, if you could create a cat breed and get it named after you, is that not the same thing? Dogs are better at playing catch than I ever was.
If there is fun to be had without wiping asses, shouldn't more people be like me?
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