Grrr....arrrrghhh....adssssss

I've had a shit morning.

I mean shit.

I mean, what with the constant rescheduling of me (without my knowledge) which led to the hackle-raising fun of having the functionally retarded cleaning lady mock/bitch at me for not being aware of the third unannounced change to my schedule this week, and the snow-ball kiddy riot wherein the fucking sixth graders (walking arguments for contraception that they are) attacked a group of fifth graders with ice balls to the head, kicks, punches and shoving into the snow, only to break down into tears and squeal like stuck pigs about the unfairness of it all when called out on it.

Alright. Job bitching done.

And I'll save my rant about the upcoming US election that fucking everyone and their mother just has to ask me my opinion on.

Instead, to cheer myself up for Beerday, I'm going to try a comic little experiment.

I'm signing up, and selling out. Just for shits and giggles.

I'm putting Google AdSense on my page.

This amuses me for a plethora of reasons. Like, what the hell kind of products are they going to try to sell based on the contents of my blog? Malatov cocktail kits? Second-hand clothes? Leather child-restraint straps? Tours of fabulous drunken downtown Rvk? Books on anti-consumerism? I want to see what they advertise!

Also, if I make enough to buy a sixpack of beer, I promise to share it with the three people I know read my blog...he he he

Limbo lower now.

(<---REALLY GOOD MOVIE)

So thanks to Emblita's perfectly timed shabuku, I turned in my letter of resignation from the school on Monday.

I then promptly fell ill and spent the next 36 hours in bed.

It felt great, printing that thing out, slapping the ol' John Hancock on the line and all, but the fact that the principal was so busy that I wound up having to send it to her via email and interoffice was a serious anti-climax. Like having your grandma walk in on you mid-wank.

I keep waiting for a phone call or an email or just to be called to the carpet, but nothing, nada, zilch.

Which I guess is a good thing, I mean, I'd hate to wind up in a shouting match or storming out or anything, considering thatI'll be working in the same buildling at least until March, but I would like to have it all signed seal and finished.

The thing is, despite applying for numerous other jobs, I'm kinda looking foward to next month, only working about 60% but earning the same if not slightly more moolah. Having time in the mornings to work on the place, to write, to swim, to fart around with projects too long delayed.

I can't wait.

In other news, during my feverish limbo on my new little couch (Thanks Embla and Klaus) I wound up watching movies like mad including Walk the Line (really good but short of brilliant) Kinsey (brilliant!) Hannibal Rising (complete and total shitstorm of badness) and Hellboy (which I've watched a zillion times and love).

I really don't know why I felt the need to tack that on to this post...anywho...

Update: I finally got the word, I'm officially on short-time now. They tried the whole passive-agressive bs with me ("we really want you here, why are you leaving us?") and so on, but its nice to know that I'm gone. Solid gone.

Less is More...

I'm still job hunting, but...

Turns out that the After School Thingy (longtime blogadytes, if such strange and wondrous beasts exist, will remember the AST) pays a considerably higher wage for considerably less onerous work.

So for the sort term at least, I'm thinking I'll hop ship and throw my lot in with them for 56% of my work, which will make me a lot more money, while sparing me the ongoing annoyance of middle-school kids. I'll try to keep the my mornings in the library...but start an hour later making it an 8 hour day. I already work an 8 hour day, difference being that I loose out on the better paid work by punching out at 4pm instead of punching in a 9 and working til 5.

Now I know the mythical creatures haunting this blog remember just how much I hated the AST last year. Of course, this was when I was 1:Basically running it myself for less money than the never-present boss got and without any of the resources at her disposal, and 2: Doing such a good (though maniacally tiring) job of it that the boss started to tell people I was a drunk and mentally unstable in order to keep people from asking the logical question as to why I wasn't running the place.

The new boss-lady at AST is friggin' awesome though. So beat the old ones record for "Hopping up on a table to dance at a work party", not to mention that she runs the place less like a prison and more like a playground and *gasp* SHOWS UP AND DOES HER JOB!!!

If the school, who seem to think that I should be grateful for all the shit-work they continue to pile on me in excess of what I've been contracted for doesn't like it, I'll just work at AST and use my mornings for remodeling, working out, and writing.

Fuck 'em I say. Right up their academic little booties.

Be it resolved...

that in this year of our Lord (hey ya gotta admit, that's worth worshiping) 2008, I Sma the ageing expatriot punk hereby commit myself to the following:

1: Quitting the current job (if my overwhelming disdain for it doesn't get my punk ass fired first) and finding gainful employment that meets the following criteria:

A: No Kids, No Mentally Ill, No Geriatric or Handicapped Clients. Not because I'm callous, but because I'm burnt-out and can't summon up the necessary empathy to do the work properly.

B: Pays more than my current position, or, pays the same but involves less stress and shorter hours.

C: Is something I like.

2: Finish the friggin' apartment. I need a kitchen and a shower and I won't feel like I actually have a home until I have both. Bourgeois of me as all hell, I know.

3: Write more. More bloggin', more letters, more short stories, hell, even take a swing at something longer. Also get back into making music more...which with the help/threat of Jimmy, shouldn't be an issue.

4: Save up some cash so I can finally go visit people on the mainland. Ying and Ragnar, Nín and Anna Magda, Tatja and Lasse, Andres and Claudia, Myriam and Riitta and all the rest.

5: Keep working out, but not to the point where I get all psycho about it. I get psycho enough being a kiddy-jailer all day.

Selling out?

I've decided to sell out.
At least a bit.
See, I'm tired of working 50 plus hours a week for less money than many of my friends make in 15 hours or so less. I'm also tired of the responsibility of working with little humans. I have a hard time taking the pressure of being a surrogate father figure to 70 some kids, with all the joy and drama (don't forget the drama) that entails.
I miss working with grown-ups.
I miss people who are capable of reason and discussion.
I miss people not covered in snot.
So I'm selling out. I'm hunting for jobs in the corporate, capitalist world out there.
Something challenging, fun, creative, and well, lucrative. I've got debts to pay off. And I'd like to take a vacation sometime.
But it still feels like a fall from grace.
Not to mention that while I may have the talent to do a lot of interesting things, I don't necessarily have the qualifications. My computer skills are incredibly basic, and thanks to all the years of increased income facilitation and social work, my resume doesn't really qualify me for anything other than, well, increased income facilitation and social work.
Vicious little cycle that.
Like a mo-ped made of rusty knives.
But I want to try. So I will face my fear of rejection, swallow my punk pride, and apply for jobs like this.
If anyone wants to hire me, I've gone all cyber-spacey and posted a blog c.v.
Just don't beat me up in the comments for being a sell-out. I know already.