Am I in the Wrong?

I was supposed to go to Disneyland with my sister this Memorial Day weekend.  Unfortunately, my plans unraveled as soon as my car went into the shop.  The issue?  Now there’s a can of worms.  Back in October, my car broke down in the Walmart parking lot.  I had it towed to a privately owned shop, which I will not presently name.  They found that the fuel pump needed replacing.  Okay, so $870 later, my fuel pump was replaced and the car was working, for a time anyway.  Around November, I noticed the fuel gauge wouldn’t read a full tank when I filled it.  So in February, I took it back to the privately owned shop.  (I had to wait a few months because they went on their “Holiday” schedule and was not open on weekends, the only time I could bring in my car).  They dropped the tank again, but couldn’t find the issue.  I didn’t have to pay anything since it was under warranty, which was good.  Okay, so I took my car back, and decided to just live with it.  Suddenly, I started noticing the smell of gasoline in my garage, especially right after filling the tank.  The privately owned shop said they couldn’t find anything wrong, and that it should be fine.  Guess what?  It wasn’t fine.

At this point, I took it to the dealership.  Guess what they found?  Two seals on the gas tank itself were busted, a hose that connected the tank to the car was completely rotted due to age, that should’ve been caught, and the entire sending unit needed replacing.  I didn’t break those two seals, and when I was showed the damage, it’s pretty obvious that age didn’t either.  So what did?  Because of the damage to the two seals on the tank, I was leaking gasoline and vapors—you know highly combustible fumes.  I could no longer park it in the garage (a confined space), but it was dangerous to park outside because of the hot Arizona weather.  So now I get to spend another $800 so the dealership can re-repair my car. 

Back to the original intent of this particular post.  I try to be financially responsible, and I’m lucky that I save what little money I make in case of a rainy day.  However, because of my car troubles, I can no longer afford to attend Disneyland.  Slightly disappointed, I broke the news to my sister who was not happy because now, she has to cover the costs of the entire trip that I will no longer be attending.  Here’s where it gets interesting: I called my mother to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day, and things went downhill after that.  I’m told that my sister has a “valid argument” in that she “expected me to cover half of the costs of Disney and that it’s more hard on her because she has kids and pays bills.”  This is where I started to scream.  I don’t pay bills??????  Let’s break down my pathetic finances because apparently I have answer to my sister and mother in its regards:

After medical, dental, and vision insurance, as well as my medical spending account card, I’m lucky if I make $900 a month.  Remember that kids, four degrees and I don’t even make $900 a month.  My monthly bills cost roughly $800/month.  My bills consist of:

$400 Student loans
$110 Car and Life insurance Loan (A loan that was taken out in 1998 courtesy of my parents and I get to pay back—another long story)
$85 Cell phone
$200 Credit Card that I only use to purchase gas for my car (and helping me build credit!)
$55 on Dad’s hospital bill (okay that one doesn’t exactly count because I use my Medical Spending Account card)

Any extra money I earn from overtime or Dad feeling generous, I store away in my rainy day fund which I’m going to rename “Laura’s Car Repairs Fund.”  My bills aren’t a lot in that luckily, I don’t have to pay rent, cable, water and utilities, or electricity.  Yet to deny my expenses pisses me off especially since I make so little money.  Now that everybody knows my personal finances, and how pathetic my existence truly is, my apologies for not funding my sister’s vacation that I will not be part of in any way, shape or form.  I know that it makes me a terrible human being for putting my flammable vehicle before my sister’s vacation because you know, it’s the only car I have that takes me to my job that’s 33 miles from my house where I earn so little money.  The car that I couldn’t park in our garage because it was emitting gasoline vapors which is also highly combustible.  Not to mention the danger of breathing in said fumes to both me and my father.  Again, I have to apologize to my sister, who constantly boasts about how much more money she’s making now that she’s had a promotion and is on the 4^th floor with the CEO. 

If that last sentence makes me sound petty and immature, I’m sorry.  I actually was extremely happy for her, but that promotion has turned her into a terrible person, who thinks her shit doesn’t stink, and puts me down every chance she gets.  Case in point: my birthday recently passed, my coworkers decorated my cubicle and my teammates brought me amazing gifts (thanks again guys!), my sister’s reply?  “You can’t do that shit on the 4^th floor---I got a surprise party.”  Congratulations!  You’re a cunt!  Way to take something that actually made me feel good for a change and put me down some more!  Because I don’t already loathe my existence right?  Kids, there are two things I’ve learned in my 27 years on this earth: never waste your time and money going to college, and try not to have siblings.  Thanks for listening, and hey, Mom was right; writing does make me feel better!

Here's to Being an Emo

I’m starting to grossly dislike the tone of this blog.  I know I could just write about something different; something happy perhaps.  However, I would be lying not only to my two readers but to myself.  Ever feel like you’ve reached your breaking point?  Allow me to elaborate.

I am 26 years old, nearly 27.  I still live at my father’s house.  My father, who is extremely possessive and controlling; I seldom leave the house for the aggravation of his mood swings are not worth it.  I have never been on a date.  I have four degrees for which I worked extremely hard, and I don’t even earn $12 an hour.  Gas in one month is nearly half of a paycheck.   I have looked for other employment opportunities to no avail.  I have applied for 11 positions with ASU, and not one has contacted me for an interview.  I am tired of delivering mail to people around the office; I am tired of finishing people’s projects and performing the work that belongs under another job title without fair compensation.  I am tired.  I cannot lie; I have contemplated suicide more than once.

There is a guilt that I feel when stating that last sentence publicly.  I know there are others who are suffering far more than I ever will.  Maybe it’s a depression for which I need medication.  Maybe it’s the PTSD I incurred as a result from being sexually assaulted by my own cousin.  Who knows?  I am tired of this melancholy yet cannot shake it.  I wish I had the means to move out, start living.  I simply cannot afford it.  My dream is to attend Durham University in England for two Masters Degrees.  I’m sure of my acceptance along with some scholarships and grants, but I would still need student loans.  Yet I fear the struggle to pay them completely off for I am struggling to pay off the loans I have now.

Nothing feels worth it to me anymore.  My family only makes me feel worse about myself.  I have a father who won’t let me live, a mother who just doesn’t care for her own social life is more important, and I won’t even go into my issues with my sister.  She treats her own children like shit (mainly her daughter), why should I be any different?

I miss my grandfather. I don’t know why but having him around created a comfort and security in me.  I need out; out of this rut, out of this life.  Anyway, back to living my life through books. Speaking of, happy birthday to my favorite poet and libertine, the Earl of Rochester.  He would be 365.  Bon soir. 

Gripes of the Employed

I am no longer unemployed.  In fact, I received the gift of employment roughly nine months ago.  Unfortunately, that gift has come with a price: my very soul.  Let us pause for dramatic reflection and for the love of God, somebody cue the histrionic music! For each day that I sit in that bloody office, each day that I sit in that wretched cubicle, I die just a little bit.  Only on the inside however and I cannot decide if that makes it better.  I suppose if I were dying on the outside it would be worse; for what on earth would the majority of the male species gaze upon as I stroll throughout the office distributing my twice daily distributions?  Did that come off as arrogant?  I hope not.  Though I will say that I have never received so much attention from the opposite sex anywhere than I have in my nine little months at my current and God-willing, short-lived job.

Bugger; I fear I have made my dissatisfaction with my employment discernible.  What shall I do?  Find another say you?  Easier said than done say I.  My trouble is a rather prominent lack of professional experience.  Academic experience is something of which I have mastered; in truth, earning a living with the occupational title of “Professional Student,” is something that interests me greatly.  Alas, earning a living as a “Professional Student” is not probable and to quote Sexual Harassment Panda (Google it), that does indeed make me a “sad panda.” 

Why does my current employment offend me so you ask?  Ah, I shall divulge for it is my favorite topic!  ßSarcasm…Anyway, for starters, I am grossly underpaid.  Now I know what some of you are thinking, “Well aren’t we all?”  Not when you have four, count ‘em! FOUR degrees and you earn barely above minimum wage.  Gas in one month is nearly half of a paycheck.  Lack of professional experience as their excuse; okay, I get that.  I did work—but instead of money, I was paid in degrees.  One cannot earn four degrees, graduate with high honors, and earn membership in the Golden Key International Honors Society without working.  Believe me, I worked.  There were numerous sleepless nights spent researching, analyzing, writing and learning.  Now, I suppose one could argue that my degrees are worthless, for they are in History and English.  Not true!  History and English can be translated into numerous fields, including business, but finding those fields in this economy has proven rather difficult.  Personally, I think the market is oversaturated with Business degrees.  If I am going to pay thousands of dollars for tuition, why should I not study what I love?  Besides, it is my dream to attend Durham University, receive two Masters, earn my PhD, and become of Professor of History. 

Gripe two: office politics.  Twice now I have gotten caught up in office politics, being torn between two managers and the supervisors.  I simply do what I am told at this point for my input means nothing.  I report to one manager on paper, but in reality report to another for I am now on his or her “team.”

Gripe three: job responsibilities.  I refuse to take on the responsibilities of another job title without being paid sufficiently for it and hey, given that title.  Now my mother says, “You need do anything you can and learn everything you can so that when you get the promotion, you’re ready.  Use the company to your advantage.”  How is me doing someone else’s job at the same pay using the company?  Would it not be the other way around?  Why should I take on more responsibility if I will not be financially reimbursed?  Advancement opportunity has finally arisen—stay with me now—I was planning on applying for the position until the supervisors informed me that they felt I was not ready.  Their plan: have me perform the job of what would be the promotion without actually receiving it, and simply waiting for the next opening which who knows when that will happen; could be another year from now for all they know.  I understand their logic; I would be more “prepared” for the job as it were having been doing it for God knows how long.  On the other hand, I never actually wanted the promotion.  I was only applying simply for more money and what a sell-out that would make me.  I need not refuse their proposal however for the manager of whom I report in reality came to my rescue.

Oy vey.  There are others but I grow weary of the griping.  Who wants to remain in such a negative space and most of all, who wants to hear about it?  Am I right?  Let us now focus on the positives:  I have a job.  A small and laughable paycheck is still better than no paycheck.  It also grants me temporary freedom and if you are, dear reader, at all informed on what it is like having an old Greek man as your father, then you are all too aware of what I imply and how precious any freedom is, no matter how fleeting.  Finally, I am receiving that long desired professional experience.  I know my soul will revitalize with a new company in a different industry.  Until then, I shall plow ahead.  Here’s to Durham in 2013-ish!

College Poetry

There will come a point in one's college career where he or she will run across a professor who believes he or she knows ALL. I mean, everyone knows you can't interpret a poem without the use of literary theory thereby completely bypassing the historical, political, biographical, societal, cultural, and philosophical contexts right? I had such a professor; He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. No, not Lord Voldemort. Actually, I think it'd be rather cool having him as a professor. Can you imagine? Never a boring lecture that's for sure! Anyway, my professor, let's just refer to him as D.B. (those are his actual initials, convenient that it coincides with "Douche Bag"). One day whilst "analyzing" P. Shelley's poem, "Ode to the West Wind," Professor D.B. was simply adamant that there was no other acceptable interpretation if one does not apply Aristotelian thought. Not once did he place the poem in any other context and quite frankly, I was appalled. So I zoned out and wrote this poem in his honor:

Professor-dom

The professor loves to pontificate,

As is proof of his Holy Doctorate.

He pleads for all to join him in comment,

Knowing none can match his mouth's excrement.

He drains the life from all the great poets,

Stealing immortality they've earneth.

Poor Browning, Wordsworth, Shelley and dear Keats,

Poets of whom the professor thus beats.

A word of caution to the professor not mild,

Death! Should he rape the life from Oscar Wilde!

Do I detect a slight influence from my dear Earl of Rochester? Perhaps ;)

Things I've Learned Since Graduating College

Having graduated with honors nearly a year ago, with two Bachelor's Degrees in History and English respectively, I have come to very stark realizations. I understand that these degrees are not in as high demand as say, a Mathematics or Science degree, but History and English can effectively translate into productive and flourishing career opportunities. The problem is locating those opportunities and unfortunately, I do not live in an area where said prospects are in abundance. Having said that, here are some things I have learned about college:

If college is something you simply must do, and if you wish to succeed in America, get a Business, Science, or Mathematics degree.

Upon turning 16 years of age, GET A JOB. Type of employment matters not so long as you have employment. Why? Because professional work experience in this country is EVERYTHING.

If you have had the misfortune of being unemployed for six months or more, you are considered unemployable, unless your life’s goal is to work in retail or fast food.

If you can, avoid college at all costs and I do mean costs! The cost of college is continuously on the rise, and a college degree is not worth what it used to be. I must emphatically stress this point; work experience now outweighs any college degree.

Avoid Graduate school.

Again, if college is necessary for whatever reason, COLLEGE IS NOT THE PLACE FOR SELF-DISCOVERY. Know the career path you intend to follow and follow it assiduously! Be sure to choose a University that caters to that chosen path.

Avoid student loans.

When it comes to higher education, the United States falls short, unless you are willing to pay $50,000 or more for a privately funded Ivy League University. Curriculum for public universities is unchallenging and derisory. In some instances, I knew more about the subject matter than my professors. Certainly, a proud and boastful moment for me however, simultaneously embarrassing for both parties.

Despite all this, if you still wish to attend college, treat it with respect and take your academics seriously. Partying and coasting only promotes procrastination and idleness, and taints any potential employment.

If you are fortunate enough to find employment after graduation, expect an entry-level position. It is better to work your way up within the company so that when you are on top, you know what you are doing. Your college degree does not equate to a high paying job, nor should you get a high paying job simply because you have degrees. Work for it and earn it. Prove to your employer that you deserve it based on your work performance for nothing will bring more satisfaction.

The Backstreet Boys are Haunting Me...

Once upon a time I was an avid Backstreet Boys fan. I'm not ashamed. You know why I'm not ashamed? Because seeing my father strut around the house in one of my old BSB t-shirts has completely validated my former fanaticism. I can now say with the utmost certainty, that the sole reason I ever became a Backstreet Boys fan, was to experience that moment with my father some ten years later.

Ten years later and I still have BSB apparel? No. I threw the t-shirt away years ago, but unbeknownst to me, my father "rescued" it because it originally "cost $20 and throwing it away would be like throwing that $20 away. Who cares who's on the shirt as long as it fits." Nevermind that it's horribly faded, the image is cracked, or that it was my mom who paid for it and sanctioned its destruction.

To complete the ensemble, my father was wearing striped pajama bottoms but has since changed into stark white sweat pants. Oh and I can't forget to mention the socks with sandals. I prefer the white sweat pants. It makes Nick Carter's luscious blond hair pop that much more and it also matches the Boys' signatures on the back of the shirt.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, the shirt:

http://cgi.ebay.com/BACKSTREET-BOYS-BLACK-2-SIDED-CONCERT-SHIRT-1998-TOUR-/270713644348#ht_769wt_1139

You know you wanna place your bids. Don't fight it.

The Sheen-isms Have Officially Topped the Bush-isms

Top 12 things I learned about Charlie Sheen in one hour:

1) He has tiger blood

2) His brain is not from this terrestrial realm

3) People who die from overdoses are "amateurs"

4) He gives people magic

5) His conduct is "bitchin" and his condition is "perfect"

6) "Rock bottom? That's a fishing term!"

7) Only he is capable of harnessing the powerful drug "Charlie Sheen." Side effects include: death by "your face melting off" causing "your children to weep over your exploded body.” This is a bad thing

8) He's all about winning. He wins here, he wins there

9) His partying would make Sinatra, Jagger, Richards and Flynn look like "droopy-eyed, armless children"

10) He's an F-18, and he will destroy you in the air and deploy his ordnance to the ground

11) He was once wrapped in a blanket of moral oppression.

12) Despite being lonely on the top, he's enjoying the view.

Bonus: do ants have toes? Charlie doesn't know, be he'd sure like to.

The Sheenisms have officially topped the Bushisms. He makes Scientology look sane.