I am now officially one of those crazy motherfuckers you see talking to themselves on the street.
“Fucking shit. Fuck. Motherfucker. Fuck you. I’ll fucking kill you. Fuck, fuck, fuck, goddammit, motherfucker!”
The 550 bus has a habit of not showing up. Two days in a row it did not come. Today, the third day, it shows up twenty minutes late.
The bus driver looks like a black Jabba the Hutt. He steers with his belly.
“Did the bus schedule change? Because on the internet it says this is supposed to come at 1:13.”
“I’m just late.” Said with great indifference.
Twenty minutes late. On a trafficless Saturday afternoon. Unless Han Solo was giving him shit, this is unac-fucking-ceptable. This is how people are fired. This is how lives are destroyed. This is how madmen are born.
How depressing would it be if, when we died and went to heaven or hell (assuming), God or Lucifer gave us some sort of life-receipt with the amount of time we’ve spent walking, sleeping, eating, pissing, shitting, jerking off, fucking, working, and being in transit.
How many years of our lives do we spend going to and fro?
So far I’ve worked two days at Equinox and it’s going pretty well. Coworkers are nice and I’ve seen a few celebs. I wish there was more lifting equipment, but it’s a sports club and people at sports clubs want to do everything but lift weights.
I’m still in that new, on-my-best-behavior period where I want everything to be perfect and go smoothly (people only act like this when they have new jobs or crushes, by the way). And it’s not, on my end at least, because I’ve been showing up at work covered in sweat. Like a fat chick when she gets out of bed in the morning.
As much as I want to write about other things right now -- mainly my new job -- I harbor the fear that this blog will be discovered by a coworker who may be none-too-thrilled with the shit I've posted. So no gossipy shit for now. I’m also blinded by my rage and general contempt for the MTA so, naturally, all of my thoughts are drifting back to that mess. I have to pay $62 tomorrow for a July bus pass. For buses that don’t show.
But hey, at least I have three things to celebrate: the new job (assuming I don’t get fired), finishing the latest draft of my crude and hilarious college sports comedy, and one whole month of not shitting in a domestic setting.
Maybe I should be a Navy SEAL.
(And to whoever anonymously posted a comment on my last entry, thanks. You made my day.)
June 1: Held it
June 2: Walgreen’s on the Miracle Mile
June 3: Best Buy Culver City
June 4: Gold's Gym Hollywood
June 5: Wood Ranch at the Grove
June 6: 8000 West Sunset Boulevard (Birthday shit)
June 7: 7-11 at the corner of San Vicente and Hauser
June 8: 7-11 at the corner of San Vicente and Hauser
June 9: No urge
June 10: No place to go
June 11: Gold’s Gym Hollywood
June 12: Chipotle at the Beverly Center
June 13: Carl’s Jr. on Fairfax and Olympic
June 14: McDonald’s on Vine and Sunset
June 15: No urge
June 16: Carl’s Jr. on Fairfax and Olympic
June 17: No urge
June 18: McDonald’s on Vine and Sunset
June 19: Chipotle at the Beverly Center
June 20: McDonald’s on Vine and Sunset
June 21: No urge
June 22: McDonald's on Vine and Sunset
June 23: Ralph’s on Pico and San Vicente
June 24: Carl’s Jr. on Fairfax and Olympic
June 25: McDonald's on Vine and Sunset
June 26: No urge
June 27: Pizza Place on Sunset
June 28: No urge
June 29: Equinox West Hollywood
June 30: Carl’s Jr on Fairfax and Olympic