Holy Crap!!! I have a blog? Yeah, and it has just been chillin' out there in the internets. I've had one view for the past couple weeks, and that's only because I happened to stumble onto it. It is really quite impressive to think that anyone who has access to a computer with internet can speak their mind for the world to hear. Unfortunately, that includes me too. I thought I'd keep up with my blog. At least once a week... that's not too much, right? Wrong. So now I'm composing a post that is plastered on the wall of the web that belongs to me... the web doesn't belong to me, but the wall. Anywho... Are blogs a waste of time? Any thoughts? I get that people use them to unwind, but for realzy? A notebook and pen are way cheaper than a computer and internet connection. I love hypocriticizing. Making nonexistent words is fun too!

Living with the Dead... not as sinister as it sounds.

            Last time I posted I discussed finding a job and having that job… and whatever else I said… lets be honest, I’m not going to reread what I said. I can’t believe any of you even read it a first time through.

            So… I’m still on the job search. Here are a few things I’ve learned.

Pi R squared, but Pie are round… feel free to pass that along.

            Anyway, one of the job postings I came across was for a mortician driver. This would definitely be a life-affirming job. I mean, if you’re having a really bad day, you just have to look at your clients and remember that things could be worse. Sure, the people you work with are dead beats, but hey… if you ever need to talk things out, they’re there to listen. Another positive thing would be the ability to use the carpool lane. I sort of wonder if I would need to supply my on means of transportation. Would they give me the job if I only had a motorcycle… and if so, would they supply the stretchy cords? I should probably call and ask about these questions. I’m pretty sure I’m not the right person for the job. Every time I’d go to pick up the body (I assume I’d be picking up the body… one of the job requirements was must be able to lift 150+ lbs (creepy)) anyway… every time I’d go to pick up the body, I’d tickle it, just to make sure people aren’t messing with me. Another one of my hinders is the fact that I’ve been watching a lot of zombie movies recently. A common theme in those is dead people… and if life is just one big horror film… I’m not gonna be one of the first to die.

            I find that most jobs require previous experience… but most people who have prior experience with transporting dead bodies are in jail… so it’s a learn as you go type of thing. Anyway… that’s really as far as I’ve gotten with the job search… I’ll keep you posted.

I wouldn't need college if I already made that...

          I’m currently going through one of those “holy crap, money counts” moments in my life right now. See, I’m attending college currently. We all know that college isn’t cheap, and I’ll have you know the university I’m currently attending is extremely not cheap. I realize how fortunate I am to be going to this university let alone college. I think 1% of the adult world has a college degree. I certainly wouldn’t be here without the financial aid they have offered me, but I’m finding out that it still isn’t enough. I even got a job as a resident advisor which pays for my room and board, but still, financial anxieties reside in my thoughts.

          I love my university. However, I grow more and more curious about how it operates. For instance, when they do come down to the financial aid decision, the ask for my FAFSA (everyone’s favorite past time), my parents and my own tax return forms, and my parents W-2 forms… not mine. (w-2 forms tell how much money an individual made in a year.) I am paying for my own schooling, and yet they don’t ask for how much I make. I’ll give you an idea of what I make… $100 a month for my RA position on campus + $120 a month for my four hours a week at a residence hall front desk + $50-$150 a month for my off campus job (it pays $10 an hour… but offers about two days per month). So… my average month = $270-$370… making my salary… well, a lot less than my parents.

          Here’s the issue. Yes, I’m declared a dependent student… I live at home during the summers, but I’m paying for my schooling. They don’t ask that question on FAFSA… do they? Oh well... not much I can really do about it… Now I’m looking for a “legitimate” summer job. Posts on that soon to come.

Realization

In honor of my realization that some of my posts are longer than my school papers... here's a short post.

Thanks for reading...

I hope you enjoyed.

Appetizers, Chicago, Tips, and Ice

     I have had myself one crazy weekend/week. Not that I've been partying or saving kittens from trees, but it certainly has been one of those abnormal series of days. It started when I was hanging with two of my guy friends, watching either "300" or "The Notebook" (I can't remember at this point) when we decided we wanted pizza. We call up and order and expect the pizza in about 45 minutes. It arrived 2 hours later. That's cool, I'm patient, my buds were less forgiving, so I'm picked as the guy that gets to go and pay for the pizza. I opened the door and there stands the delivery gentleman with a wide grin... naturally I grinned back. "That'll be $18.75, and for a $5 tip I'll throw in a box of piping hot buffalo wings I just found here in my bag." My grin became a chuckle... Not only did he give us a little "sorry I'm late" speech, but now he's bribing us for a tip?!? I told him unfortunately I had to pass on the wings...
    Long story short... we should have gotten the wings. I say this because a few days later we found ourselves at a wing joint. Nothing to exciting about this experience, but I just had a realization. Nobody (with the exemption of those who go in expecting to order one) is ever prepared for the question: Can I start you out with an appetizer? No one in the party wants to decide for everyone else. Occasionally you'll get one brave soul to step up and give an immediate yes or no, but chances are this individual will have a friend that does the same thing, but gives the opposite answer. Those that aren't quick to respond usually end up not getting an appetizer, yet they still pull up the menu as soon as the question is asked. Ah decisiveness... what a wonderful thing.
     This brings us to the next experience: pick up the hitcher or not? I was driving my car with my friend in the passenger seat... technically all the other seats are passenger seats, but this is beside the point. About half a block down I see a guy wave me down. I pulled over because I though the guy was going to give me good investment advice... anyway, the guy was an older African American (which usually wouldn't make a difference... but he greeted us with "Hey! White folks!" Like he has never seen white people before... lets be honest... hard to get away from white people in the US) I couldn't really make out what he was saying... my friend and i picked up:

1. Chicago
2. Auntie
3. Brother in a Wheelchair
4. Need help

Somehow... this ended up with me allowing him in the car. The ride consisted of me introducing myself... he responded with "Chicago." He asked us if we were the police. As much as I wanted to lie, I said no. When we stopped at a stop sign, he got out of the car and talked to a guy on the corner for about a minute and he then got back in the car... He asked us if we were the police three more times and the second time he got out of the car at the corner I fled. Since the incident, I have come under a lot of criticism from friends... except for one who commended it...
    So... naturally I felt the need to tell everyone about this experience. We had a bit of an ice storm the following night, so it was slick out needless to say. I was walking to class with a friend and having a conversation while walking on ice is difficult. You start of with a sentence that actually makes sense... but then suddenly all conversation is interrupted: "Chicago? The guy said his name was (slip) Oh $#!t!" It makes for very unproductive conversation.