Having lived and worked in Michigan for the last ten years, and dealing with the asinine weather associated with that wretched state, I recently decided to pull up stakes and move to San Diego, California. I had just had enough of that fucking snow and ice. I think that (for anyone bored enough to read this) a little background is necessary.
I worked for the same company for just shy of four years. I started out as an entry-level general labor worker for a restaurant supply company. It’s not necessary to know the name of the company….well, fuck it, it was……um….Sysco’s main competitor in Grand Rapids. An absolutely perfect example of entrenched management and cheap hollander-ism. Anyhow, I managed to finagle a couple of promotions out of it after a couple of years, eventually getting “out from under the sweat.” Basically, I just got fucked a little less than all the people who had been there less time than I had. I can honestly say that I had no plans of going anywhere, certainly not picking up and moving all the way to California, though I had entertained the thought, as I had lived there previously while stationed at Camp Pendleton. I missed the weather, and I certainly missed the women, and so, when I had to use some vacation, I decided that a trip to San Diego was in order.
My vacation routine may vary from most, in that I wake up every day and start consuming as much alcohol as I can. The morning I left Grand Rapids, I woke up and immediately did four or five(I forget) shots of whiskey, along with two long islands in the airport lounge. I was honestly worried whether the TSA Nazis would notice my drunken state, and hoped like hell they would allow me to board the plane. Somehow, I slipped past them and boarded the plane without incident. I managed to down two more long islands while waiting for my connection in O’Hare, and the poor woman next to me on the plane had to deal with my banter, which was probably extremely obnoxious, because of the fact that the stewardess had given me three little bottles of Dewar’s, for free, which I had never consumed before. Flying sober blows.
Anyhow, I was still feeling the effects when I landed in San Diego. My friends that picked me up from the airport were waiting with some outstanding Cali weed, I believe it was called “Lunchbox” or something similar. Forgive my memory failing me, but you have to make allowances for such things when a ridiculous amount of drugs and alcohol are involved.
On day two, everything changed. I had been badgering my friends about finding some acid. They had no connections for acid, but they could damned sure find me some shrooms. I distinctly remember eating the shrooms with guacamole and chips the first time, but can’t be sure about anything after that on the first night. One of my distinct impressions of that night is that my friend’s pupils were so dilated that she resembled a cat. Also, they had a dog originally from Iraq, that someone had brought back, though the dog had no ears or tail(cut off by some sadistic iraqi cocksuckers). This, naturally resulted in the dog having a somewhat jaded view of people, and, probably the first-ever case of canine Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was a bit unsettling, especially under the influence of hallucinogenic mushrooms, to have to worry about the dog randomly ripping your throat out for making eye contact.
I dropped at about 9 pm, which, looking back, was probably a late start. I attempted to go to sleep at about 1am, and four hours later i was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Eventually needing to piss, I got up and stumbled my way to the bathroom. I had a severe case of vertigo, and distinctly remember pissing and thinking to myself, “why the fuck did I even take this horrible drug?” I actually didn’t want to be as fucked up as I was.
Well, fuck it. Where the hell am I going with that? Absolutely nowhere. The point of that little story was to explain exactly why I love California. Suffice to say, the level of debauchery achieved during that little vacation is going to be a tough act to follow.
On to hipster douchebags. This hipster craze is just running wild, with not enough people to mock and ridicule these legitimate marks for looking, talking, acting, and sounding like fags. The superior attitude, coming from inferior people, is just too much for me to take. The clothing they wear, the “music” they listen to, the sense of entitlement, is screaming for a good old fashioned midwestern ass-kicking. The ironic part (irony….ha) is that most of these societal dregs come from middle-upper class midwestern families, and move to places like Portland or Charlotte, and then consider themselves part of the “intelligentsia.” Just because you like a band that has literally sold 12 copies of their album does not make you “underground” or “original.” It means you have extraordinarily shitty taste in music. It’s bullshit posturing, nothing more, nothing less.
So I have a solution: when you see hipsters on the street, simply yell “HEY HIPSTER.” When they turn and look for the source of the voice, they have outed themselves. The shame should be enough for them to renounce their hipster ways, and ensures humiliation, which is the most effective way to make a point. Also, PBR is fucking terrible. Admit it.
Also, weather. I left Michigan on a Monday morning. The first snowfall of the year occured the very same night. This was a source of savage joy for me. I can’t even describe the jubilation I felt to know that I missed snow by a slim margin of ten hours or so. After a long and grueling 37 hour drive across the great plains, across the Rockies, and finally across the long desert, I arrived in San Diego to a perfect 70 degree Southern California November day.
Honestly, the only reason I mention the weather is that I cannot believe that I actually put up with it in Michigan for so long. I must have been insanely fucking stupid to stay. I firmly believe that Michigan is full of closet sadists, who wear their weather stupidity on their sleeves like a little red badge of courage. Anyhow, the weather here is fucking top notch. I have been in the ocean 3 or 4 times since I have been here, and while it is a bit chilly, it sure the fuck beats drilling holes in the ice on lakes and swimming in that.
I have intentionally avoided being in a relationship since 2006. I’m not going to mince words here, I did pretty well for a 5’6″ white guy from a small town in Michigan the first time I lived in California. When I got out of the Marine Corps, I moved back to Michigan and basically banged the majority of women in the town (and surrounding areas) I am from. You could call it a one-man Slavic horde, the way I just came back and dominated. Except I’m not Slavic.
This was all well and good, until late 2005, when an unnamed “lady” finally paid me back in spades for the women I had used sexually. I’m not going to relive it here, but I got burnt badly by this one. It never would have worked anyhow, she being 5’10” and whatnot. The point is that I intentionally didn’t get involved in any relationship from that time up until about a month ago.
I met an awesome girl out here, who is also from Michigan(small world, there are MANY transplanted Michiganders in the San Diego area), and began hanging out with her on regular basis. I mentioned to her, after about a month of dating, that while I didn’t want to rush anything, I wanted her to think about becoming official. I thought that this was a recipe for disaster and didn’t expect a positive response. About a week later, and much to my surprise, she said that she had been thinking and she wanted to make it official. So, for the first time in six years, I actually have a girlfriend. Damn it.
A funny side story. I was asked to wait at her apartment for the AT&T guy to show up, due to her being busy. Being a generous person by nature, I agreed. Long story short, he showed up and I ended up shooting the shit with him for like 20 minutes after he was finished with the installation. I was telling him how I don’t want to get busted taking pictures with my phone of hot chicks while with my girlfriend. He suggested that instead of being blatantly obvious and simply taking a picture, and inevitably being bitched at because of it, act like I’m moving my phone around to try to get a better signal and snap a picture on the sly. God damned good advice, except I can’t figure out how to get my camera on my phone to go silent when I take a picture. It makes an extremely loud and noticeable noise, sure to be noticed by any half-bright girlfriend.
Ah, yes. On to fucking the state of Michigan. I am receiving unemployment from the cocksuckers in Michigan, and I have approximately 9 weeks of benefits remaining, unless I am forced to file for federal aid. Now, I have a job interview on Monday, and I have every intention of taking the job if offered. Due to the ass-raping I have been subjected to by my former employer, as well as the state of Michigan(to be covered in the next blog), I have every Goddamned intention of continuing to collect unemployment benefits while simultaneously collecting a paycheck from the job I (hopefully) get. They have no compunction about taking 30% of my income for no apparent reason, therefore I have none when returning the favor.
Well, that’s about it for this one. Forgive the half-assed effort I put forth, I promise to drink a bottle of vodka and write about politics for the next one. It will be epic.