A Triumphant Return

Or so I would like to have you believe.  Yes, it's true, I have viciously ignored this blog like an ugly and future-less bastard child whose mother I owed money in the state of Nevada, but I promise, I'm going to be a better blogger now.  I'm going to come to all my blog's baseball games and maybe even a family picnic or two.  If I don't have better things to do.  You know how it is, blog.

Anyway, if'n you haven't heard, I got a job.  I work for a certain online purveyor of clothing and other random shit that's based in Seattle and isn't Amazon.com.  I do customer service, somehow.  Fortunately, I make slightly more money than I did at OfficeMax, meaning that I didn't quite go off to get a master's degree only to come back to the exact same shit.  Supposedly, this job isn't nearly as dead-end though; I might get to go places in the company, provided I prove my worth.  On the other hand, employers talk a lot of shit, so who knows.  But for now, it gets me moneys, I work with a good group of people, and even though customer service is far from my ideal gig--being a mean and spiteful person when it comes to those I perceive as less intelligent than me--the days go by pretty quickly.  I wouldn't say I like it, but I don't really dislike it either.

At the very least, my job gets me in a bitchy mood every now and then and bitchiness = productivity.  No one produces when they're happy.  No conflict, no story.

On what I so super swear is a totally unrelated note, my conviction that the one constant in human behavior is intense stupidity deepens by the day.

Seriously, people, read the fucking fine print.  Especially when it's clearly marked and in the open.

The current project is moving to Seattle.  I'm trying to find a place to live in West Seattle with my homeboy Jason.  This is turning out to be more of a pain in the ass than I anticipated, but such is the way of things.  Some places really have a high opinion of themselves.  Others dislike pets, which is a problem for both of us.  Others won't call you back and others have fucking mold issues.  Went and checked out a place last night that was half really cozy little house, half total shithole, but it could work.  Nice neighborhood anyway.

Also, there's some goofy personal relationshipy stuff going on that I'd love to tell each of you about but am loath to put on the internet.  Suffice to say I may have stumbled into a situation from which there is no clean extrication.  A quagmire, if you will.  I'm not really sure what I want from the situation and that presents its own problem.  I do know that I fervently wish I was half as ruthlessly self-interested as I advise other people to be.