Fool's Facebook Faux Pas

So anyway. This fellow employee asked  me why I didn't like to Facebook friend people at work who were supervisors and managers. I found his question rather puzzling because it would be obvious why you would not want to be Facebook friends with your supervisors and managers especially if you have a blog like this one. If you're Facebook friends with them how are you supposed to talk freely about how bad your day was at work?

For example: Suppose there's a guy name Jorge. Jorge has a Facebook account and he has stupidly friended his supervisor and his manager

Jorge: "LOL. Shit was so funny what my boss did today. 'There' so stupid sometimes. (note: why do people never use the word 'they're'?)

Supervisor: "And what exactly did I do today, Jorge?"

Jorge:"It's nothing."

Supervisor: "No,  please Jorge, remind me of how stupid I am."

Jorge:"No, it wasn't you man… It was one of other supervisors… Yeah that's it.

Supervisor:"Really, which one? Jennifer that's in the wheelchair because of her polio? Or Margo that's going through a horrible divorce and her father's dying. Which one of us is the stupid one Jorge ? Tell me please.

Jennifer: "OMG! I Can't believe you think I'm stupid, Jorge!

Margo: "WHY ARE YOU GUYS EXPOSING MY SHIT IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!!!!!

Supervisor: "It's not me, it's Jorge."

Jennifer: "Fuck you, Bill! Why don't you talk about how you're always starring at my ass, all the fucking time.!"

Supervisor: "Hey! I can look where I want."

Margo: Jenny. Don't worry about it. Bill is so gay he sews his own dresses."

Supervisor: "I AM NOT GAY!"

Mr. Head Supervisor: "You guys. I think we should all have a meeting about privacy policies, tomorrow in my office."

Supervisor: "Shit! Jorge! Your friends with Tom?" (Note: Drives me nuts when people don't use 'you're')

Jorge:"I forgot I friended him. He never post anything or clicks 'like."He must have been lurking for the past year."

Mr. Head Supervisor: "Yes. And I really enjoyed all of those shots of you at a bar, hangng with your hommies and as you said in the photo:  "Try'n to get on some bitches."

Rita: "I knew it! Jorge, you fucking cheater! 'Your' so dead!" (Note: 'your'. ugh!)

Jorge: "Thanks boss. My life is ruined."

Mr. Head Supervisor: "Only half. The other half will be ruined monday morning when I fire you."

Jorge: "WTF? Ahh man well… FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL YOU PUSSIES! I QUIT! YOU CAN SUCK THE AIR OUTTA MY FAT BALLS YOU PUNK ASS BITCHES!

Miss Rodriguez: "I'm so ashamed to call you my son. Such a disrespectful young man."

Jorge: "Ma?  'Your' one of my friends? I thought you were dead?"

Miss Rodriguez: "No, I'm just a lurker."


That's all, E.M.

Clean your Damn House!

I'm not the most anal-retentive person in the world but I do like to have a clean house. Nothing pisses me off more than a house that's so dirty, you are starting to step on important stuff. Don't you just love that sound of cracking plastic of a CD cover or that electronic device that your lazy ass didn't pick up? I think, even if you don't want to have a house or apartment which would be the envy of Felix Unger,  Your house should at least be sanitary, especially the bathroom and the kitchen. Your bathroom is the petridish of the entire house. It has a place for shit. There are no other places in your house where shit should be. If you have shit anywhere else in your house  (exception for TV shows and litter boxes) then you have a major problem and your kids need to be taken away. The bathroom is also where all of the other body fluids should be. Why the hell do people floss their teeth while watching TV? That's crap flying of of your mouth and onto the living room floor! Speaking of living rooms. That's the first place that people see when they enter your house. If the rest of your house is as clean as a hospital bed, it doesn't matter, because if the living room is dirty, you might as well have an old, festering horse carcass in the hallway. There's always this pattern of travel people take in your house whenever the visit and it drives me fucking bananas. It doesn't matter who they are: fist time visitors, in-laws, neighborrhood kids. They always travel the same route in our house so I have to make sure I have these rooms clean whenever anyone visits:

1) The living room is first, like I said, but I've seen in-laws go to the back door first for some strange reason, so make sure that area is clean.

2) They go into the kitchen: The only reason I think they do this is to make sure you're not trying to pull a fast one with the clean living room trick. Sometimes they may be carrying food which would be a good reason to be in your kitchen–IF THEY LET YOU TAKE THE FOOD TO THE KITCHEN. But they want to do it themselves, a clue that they're just spying on you.

3) Bathroom:  Everyone ends up there. Make sure you hide your pills in case they're a drug addict friend or just nosey and want to figure our what medical problems you're hiding. You may get away with a dirty bathtub for friends because they won't look behind a shower curtain, but in-laws will look for mold.

4) Bedrooms: You can close the door to the master bedroom but not the kids room. Everyone ends up there when the brats yell: "Hey! Aunt Bathsheba! You want to see my Barbie Planned Parenthood Clinic?

5) Backyard: If it's not going to rain, clean it. It doesn't have to be sterile but if there are kid visitors, you may want to remove the chainsaw collection and the wasp-nest honey experiment you have going in the back.

6) Basement: "Why the fuck are you going in my basement?" I think, but there they go. I've seen kids do this more than in-laws and friends. This should be danger free for that reason. Also, get rid of the porn collection, at least the fetish ones.

7) Front yard:  If the house had a head, this would be the hair. Everyone sees it and it goes downhill from there. Get the bathtub/toilet planter off the lawn you hillbilly!

8) Linen closet: Why the fuck? Again. Only female in-laws look in there.I remember this one time when a girl visited me and my roommates house. The first thing she said was:  "It's clean." Seriously, you've never seen our apartment. What were you expecting? Just because we're men, doesn't mean we spend all of our time mud wrestling bears in the living room. I decided that the reason some people like to snoop in your house when they visit is to 1) See if your shit is better than yours and 2) See if their chaotic lives are better than yours. If your place is clean, it's like saying:  "In your face! We've got two kids and a clean mother fucking house, bitch!


 I actually say that to the in laws when they visit, usually thrusting my pelvis in their direction. I had a neighbor stop by unexpectedly. We were busy opening birthday presents and so their was wrapping paper all over the floor. The rest of the house was clean. She looked so pleased to see the mess and said how she didn't feel bad about her messy house, now. I resisted the urge to say: " Do you open birthday presets everyday at your house?

After writing all of this, I think I'm going to go clean up, now.That's it, E.M

Brohoof!

What an interesting day I had.

1) It all started in the morning, when I saw a woman in an electric wheelchair popping a wheelie across the street. at first I thought "cool" But now I wonder, hmm, maybe her chair has a short in it and she's zooming out of control. Oh, well, I'm sure we'll hear about it on the news.

2) A woman comes to my cash register. A) She's buying a handful of materiality sized dresses. B) she has a big stomach. C) She's complaining to me that she has to "live in these dresses." So with these pieces of evidence, I assume that she's tired of the lack pregnancy attire and can't wait to slim back to normal. To which she says: "What makes you think I'm fat?" Which of course I say: " Well, after a while, you'll lose all the weight." To which she says: "Maybe I like the way that I am." Which raises my antenna that she's not pregnant! just fat!

Stranger still than both of these, I got my yearly review or as I like to call it: 'here we go again.' But it was actually positive. I don't think it was because I became Mr. super Target team member, go-for-it bull shit. just that I've learned what their tolerance level is for talking to me and I try to stay right above that level. Perhaps they thought that since I'm hovering above shit level like a woman levitating over a toilet in a public rest room,  than I've joined the herd–brohoof!

Ain't gonna happen.

I notice that the drug dealing kid across the street has had a lot of his Bronnies coming and going lately. I actually thought he had quit the whole "illegal" thing. No reason for the air quotes, I just like using them.  Then again, maybe he's not selling pot anymore, maybe he and his friends are setting up an internet company or a baby sitting service, or perhaps a combo–a service that sells drugs and babies over the internet.  As for my business I don't like the fact I have to go back to art to try to dig myself out of another hole. Art should be a journey, not a distraction or the blue pill that fools you into thinking everything is going to be all right. Because it's not. Shit's going to happen (is it shit's or shits?). Sure, I had a good day today, but I'm sure a bad day is right around the corner, holding a baseball bat with nails in it. But so what. It's going to be there one way or another. At least I'll have lots of  pretty pictures in the world with my name on them, even if they don't sell. Whenever they talk about the famous artist that made lots of great art but never made a dime, they always talk about Van Gough. It's like some lesson to the failed artist: "Don't worry, you're not famous now, but when you're dead, you're gonna be rich...in heaven or hell." That's a question, is it better to be rich in heaven or hell? In heaven You really can't have a room full of strippers lying down in a row as you play a sexy game of steam roller, I'm pretty sure the Evangelical god hates that. On the other hand, I'm sure in hell there are no relaxing zen gardens where you can just chill out without somebody bothering you and offering you cocaine or a firey, demon blow job.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Van Gough died and then became rich in hell. Big deal for him. I really have no interest in waiting until death before I sell an art piece, I want my stripper steamroller game now! What I have learned about trying to sell art is it's 5% talent, 35% who you know and 60% attitude. Back when I worked at Binder's Art Supplies in Atlanta, There was this guy I had to work with, let's call him Loud Mouth. L.M was a terrible artist. His paintings sucked and I'm not being petty. But L.M. Was good at one thing. He talked and bullshited about how great he was and was good at selling his awful shit for a thousand dollars a pop. What he would do was do a painting of a non-famous basketball player, take some photo's of that portrait (as horrible as it looked) to a game and show it to the player who would flip because after all, no one ever noticed them when they sit on the bench all the time. So he not only found a market but he was able to sell himself. Brohoof to him for that, negative props for society for supporting bad art. I saw a lot of bad art t that job, Once, a lesbian couple came in with a nice painting of yellow sun flowers on a blue back ground. They had us frame it with a brown mat and a black frame. It looked like shit. Perhaps they did it that way to match their ugly dog-stained furniture at home. I hated that job. I was really bad at framing and this guy that made the frames, called from another location and was complaining about how bad of a framing job I was doing.  By this point, I was moving to California, so I hung up on him. Lick my balls! (I wish I had also said).

 I was also dating a girl at work, I use the term dating loosely because after all we had been doing(stripper steam roller) while her boyfriend was in jail for urinating on the sidewalk (not a joke), as soon as he got out of jail, she let him move in with her. This was after me and my good friends helped her move out of her old apartment in one night, not an easy task because she apparently never heard of closets, drawers or anything else you put your stuff in. Clothes and crap were all over the floor and had to be packed away. So We broke things off and I had to work RIGHT NEXT TO HER! You talk about torture and suffering. Then she started dating this customer. I have no idea what happened to Mr. urine. Can you imagine working next to someone you dated and then they start dating someone that gets paraded in front of you?

There is a happy sequel tough.Because of what she did, I had no reason to stay in Atlanta.I moved to California and have a wife and kids. Without her horrible actions, my kids would have never been born!!! If we had stayed together with our Jerry Springier life, I'm sure she would have repeatedly cheated on me and heaven forbid if we lived together, our floor would have had a 2 feet deep carpet of garbage. Whew! That was a close one!.

Lesson, the red pill sucks but at least you get out of the Matrix.

That's it, E.M.