Rev. Mitcz’s FOF #4

Wow, Bob beat me to the FOF posting. Way to go, Bob. I’ve been pretty pissed off this week, almost made me want to make a “Fuck Off Wednesday” article. But, I held out. This won’t be listed out, quick and easy like the last ones - cause some need explanations. So, here we go again..

The Apartment

My apartment complex is… pretty good, I suppose. The apartment itself is a nice one, especially for the price. However, suddenly I’m really starting to hate the fuckin’ complex itself and it’s silly little ways. For instance - we’re a “gated community”. Normally I despise gated communities because they’re just annoying, and they never ward off robbers and the usual bad flavor, they just make scared white people feel safe. This complex has taken the gate thing a bit further. For all gates, save for the “main” gate, you can only enter via a remote control (think of a garage door opener). If you enter through the main gate, you can use the directory to call our apartment, and we can “buzz you in”. Once inside one of the two main gates, you’ve got about 10 parking spaces to choose from, and then - another gate! Again, it requires a remote control. Guests can’t park in the front lot beyond the gate for more than an hour, else they’ll get towed. So, we make them come around the back to the gate near our apartment. Since it needs a remote, we have to walk/drive to the end of the complex, let them in, and then return to the apartment. But, wait, it gets worse.

If you want to leave the apartment complex, you need a remote control to do so. Yeah, no shit. If you’ve got guests over, and they start to leave, you’d actually have to walk/drive all the way to the end of the complex to let them out of the gate. The main gate, however, doesn’t have this stipulation. But, that doesn’t matter, because you can’t park in the front lot for more than an hour unless you have a parking permit (which you can only get if you live here).

The remote controls they give you for opening the gates cost $45. That’s a lot of money just to get in and out every night. So, we went about it in a different way. We bought a universal opener, and programmed it w/the codes provided by the gate opener that Celina bought from the complex. To make things easier on us, Bob bought one too - so now he’s got a gate opener that doesn’t require us to get up and let him out when he leaves. The Home Depot sells these openers for about $20-25. So, we saved a little money, but I’d still prefer they just didn’t use this shitty gate system anyway. It’s all bullshit.

As if the gate opener issue wasn’t annoying enough, here’s another nugget of glory. We arrived home on Saturday night to a note on our door. It said that from July 21-28, they would be “inspecting” apartments. They’ll just be walking right on in, and if you’ve changed your locks (we haven’t), the front office will need your keys. The claim is that this inspection is to “maintain continually high standards for maintenance in the apartment complex”. They’re pulling the angle that “this is for your good, not ours”. But, if it was truly about that - shouldn’t we be able to opt out? Yeah, we should. But, we can’t.

When we moved in, they said “we don’t allow cats. But, we haven’t really made it official - so if you have cats.. just don’t say anything.” If you know me, or my girlfriend, you know we’ve got Bouschka, and Kahlo. Our children, as it were. Now, because of these inspections, we’re forced to be paranoid. Mike is currently babysitting our kitties, and anything remotely cat-related has been discreetly packed up and shoved into our utility closet. We did all of this Sunday night. It’s Friday, and we ain’t seen shit. No inspectors, nothing. I even called the front office to find out if maybe they came by and we missed them. But, nope, apparently not. So, I’ve been without my kitty all week. That’s enough to piss me off. But, this whole inspection thing is really fucking stupid.

On the Job Front

I got a job offer from one of those employment agencies the other day. I go in Tuesday for some kind of interview. Not with the end employer who’s offering the job - but with the employment agency. They asked me to bring:

• A portfolio
• A list of Six references
• Two copies of my resume
• Two forms of identification

A few of the items make sense. Actually, all of them make sense. But, the numbers are what trip me out. Six fucking references? Why? Do they figure I made 4 of them lie, but 2 of them have morals? I always thought the industry standard was 3. So, now I’ve gotta throw in a few more, for good measure. I think just to shove it in their face, I’m gonna bring 7. Yeah, that’ll show ‘em. Also - why 2 copies of my resume? Does an employment agency, who specifically caters to the “creative industry” not have a goddamn copier in the office? It’s also worth mentioning that they found me via Monster.com - which means they already have my resume. But, again, that would make too much sense for them to just print out a copy or two for themselves. Granted, this has it’s advantage - my resume sucks ass, and a friend of mine is rewriting it for me. So, hopefully when I go in there - I’ll seem a lot more professional.

Ready for the reason why this whole situation was even mentioned in my FOF article? When she asked about my portfolio (mind you, I said I had little in the way of print experience, but she still said “well, bring your portfolio”), I mentioned to her that “my last employer was an adult-related web-based entertainment firm - so a lot of my professional work deals w/things of an adult nature” - she says: “Oh… well, we don’t want to see that”. That’s why this is being mentioned here. I get this shit all the time. The funny thing is, they think I’m the immature/perverted/whatever because not only have I done said work, but I’m happy to show it off, and I don’t regret having worked there for little over a year. But, by saying “oh, we don’t want to see that”, they’re telling me “I’m just too immature and suburbanite to accept that there are companies out there making money through a field I don’t necessarily agree with. While your portfolio, containing that material, might be very well-designed, and a good display of your talents - I’m afraid I just can’t put aside my own inhibitions long enough to look past what could be a small issue - and see the work for what it is”. That, my friend, is immature bullshit.

What will I be doing about it? I’m going to bring it in anyway. I’ll just make sure there’s no “nudie” parts showing. That’ll show ‘em. I really hope they don’t suddenly find my online resume and come check this site out. That would be funny.

My Teeth, My Car, and Cellphones

Gonna speed things up a bit.

My teeth suck ass. Not literally, you pervs. Not only does my mouth look pretty fuckin’ unruly, but I’m unable to eat very cold items, anything sugary, desserts, etc. On top of that, my wisdom teeth are suddenly becoming a problem, and I’ve been in agonizing mouth-and-jaw pain for the past 3 days. If I were to use my dental insurance for a visit to have this little problem taken care of, they’d no doubt say “holy fuck! we need to overhaul your mouth!” and I’d end up spending the next 5 years’ worth of income on my goddamn mouth. Think I’m kidding? My last quoted bill for dental work came to $16,450. That was before this wisdom tooth problem. I should also mention that I fucking hate dentists and doctors. Not because I’m “scared” (though, yes, I’ll admit I fear dental pain), but because.. fuck, man, they just don’t wanna give you a break. They charge out the ass for their services. Even lawyers, the bastions of ill-will towards good men, perform “pro bono” every once in a while. Dentists and doctors? No such thing. Also, my insurance won’t cover anything “aesthetic” as far as dental work goes. So, I can look like a back-alley hick with teeth on the brink of shattering, but to ask for insurance to cover it would be like asking for plastic surgery. This isn’t a vanity thing. If they were a little off-white, perhaps I would understand. But, believe me, it’s horrid. HORRID, I tell you.

My car… ohhh my car. It’s a good car, actually. The only problem until recently was that it was without A/C. Most of my driving in the beginning was for pretty lengthy distances, so the wind would cool me off. Plus, it was early summer. Now, mid-summer, driving around the neighborhood for food, groceries, smokes, etc. is a fuckin’ horrible time. What’s worse - I come home to an apartment without central A/C, so I just end up sweating like a pig all day. I wouldn’t mind all this if the heat did something good - like give me muscle tone, or burn off fat at an alarming rate, or.. give me a tan. But, no, it’s just hot, sweaty, and annoying.

The new problem with my car is traffic. More specifically, if I’m in traffic (like, unable to move more than 10 feet a minute for longer than about 10-15 minutes) - my car will overheat and shoot antifreeze out all over the highway. I discovered this sometime last week or so, when I was stuck in Newport Beach freeway traffic for about half an hour. I don’t know if I’ve always had this problem with my car, and that finally pushed it over the edge, or if the problem arrived on account of that little incident - but I find myself having to reschedule meetings, interviews, etc. because of the traffic. Yay! One more thing that is going to suck dry my non-existent flow of income!

Cellphones.. oh lord, the cellphones. I got a new cellphone. A nifty one, too. Color screen, wireless internet access, web browser, e-mail, games, polyphonic ringtones (they sound like midi files - but damn are they cool), pictures, voice recorder, etc. But, I got it because a client of mine put me on their Cingular plan. I was already locked into a contract w/Verizon before that. I still am. They want $175 to break said contract. The only reason why that contract is in order is because the phone I had when I first got the service was a royal P.O.S. and I kept losing reception, the battery would die, etc. So, they finally gave me a newer phone (another P.O.S. - but w/a glowing blue screen! oooooh….) and in turn got me locked into a contract. Man, FUNK DAT! I could go on, but really… what’s the point? It’s just pissing me the fuck off, that’s all.

Okay, I’m done fucking things off. For now.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment or subscribe to the feed and get future articles delivered to your feed reader.