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Connect Four

March 13, 2013

So last year about the same time, at the very beginning of spring I was helping my ex move of of his house. It was about the same time I realized that we weren’t in love, and that if I continued to play this game with him I would be doomed to watch him diddle his life a way in a gutter of sad, scared self pity and piss.

I realized that he hated me a little bit- and that was because I was also wallowing in self pity. My self pity was totally wrapped around my job. I hated waiting tables. I was seriously hateful. My hate was oozing everywhere- spreading like herpes in a new age group.

I set our terrible relationship on fire with my hate, and he pissed on the flames with his recycled whiskey. Somewhere in this realization, I decided that I didn’t want to bring people food anymore, and I didn’t want to date someone who didn’t like me-but I didn’t want to do anything about it.

I didn’t want to fix my relationship, so I just didn’t do anything when he stopped talking to me. I went to a couple of parties to see him make an ass of himself so that I could stop adoring him. I have pictures of him drinking out of a dog bowl. When I looked at the picture, I imagined all of the dirty and bad smells that surrounded him and I was able to let go.

I also didn’t want to proactively find a better job. So I just let things get out of control until I got fired.

Getting fired was way more magical then letting my mess of a relationship dry up. I felt overwhelmingly free and empowered. I was ready to take on the world and stop waiting tables. My ex told me that I would be waiting tables at another restaurant in a month. He probably doesn’t remember that he said that, but it totally sealed my fate.

After a good month of searching, I found an office job. I loved it. I did not find another relationship. Instead I found bbq made possible by my friends in Denton. I loved bbq so much that I endured the nonsensical ramblings of the racist neighbor that always made his way over to the lawn. When the summer was over, the food went away and I started to get serious about my next step. A promotion.

I’d been working at this new company for less than six months, but I was a top producer.

I got promoted, but everything wasn’t as great as I’d hoped. I picked the department that was having the most trouble. AGAIN, instead of proactively searching for a new job, I just waiting until everything got out of control. My position was eliminated. Now I have no job.

It’s awesome. I’m thinking clearly for the first time in a few months. And this time I don’t have any love rubbish to cloud my judgement.

I realized that it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. My new plan is drunken net working. I’ve gotten at least three job leads just from hanging out with people and drinking. What you have to remember about drunken net working is that you have to go places where people have to have jobs in order to afford the drinks. That means Denton is out of the question. Denton is a college town- college kids don’t have money, so they can’t get slammed and tell you who is hiring.

So this networking may be the key, but I’m really diligently looking for alternate employment. In the meanwhile, I’m going to try my best to write as much as possible and work out.

So, I met some of the smartest men from the Dallas Rugby Club last Saturday. (I might have a little writer’s ADHD. Do you like kittens? Of course you do, because ice cream is delicious.) So they all showed up about ten minutes til close at the quarter bar. They were all really tall and had amazing foreign accents. So I was standing at the bar, after playing a mind boggling game of Connect Four (don’t hate), and they just started passing my shots. After the third one, I felt a little guilty. I decided to actually chat them up. This is where the real disappointment hit me. These dudes were butter faces. Or I guess “buthis” faces.  I decided that it was nice to be polite since they were contributing to my inebriation, and it became instantly clear that they thought that I was just as ugly as I thought they were. One man from Australia looked like he’s rather vomit than talk to me…and accent aside the feeling was pretty much mutual. He passed me off to this guy who only spoke french. The french guy probably didn’t know what was going on, but magically he was the most polite and best looking. He was the best looking of the group- like being the prettiest waitress at waffle house, or the freshest milk at Wal-Mart.  We (my two friends from the connect four battle) left the bar a few moments later, and I remember that I almost had my feelings hurt until my mind was consumed with the need for a cigarette.

What was the point of this story? Oh yeah, I’m going to make an attempt to look better so that butter faces don’t have a chance at chipping away at my self esteem.

So I’m working on my new career, my improved self–and what about love?

What about it? I can make my own recycled whiskey. And look good while doing it.

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