The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,600 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 27 trips to carry that many people.
I couldn’t resist using that title…
I had another interview on Thursday. This was for a job that I never even applied for – though it was in the same district that I interviewed with 2 weeks ago. I got there 15 minutes late, though that was because of an accident on the freeway. Still, i felt like I left myself more that enough time to get there should I run into any traffic snafus; and yet, late I was.
In spite of my lack of punctuality, I felt like the interview went alright. Looking back, I probably would have changed an answer or two in the interview, but I don’t feel as if I said anything that would have sunk me. But then, they haven’t called me back, so who knows.
I’m not sure I would have even wanted to take the job had it been offered to me. It’s two hours away from where The Auteur and I are living, In fact, it’s closer to my parents than it is to us. But the fact is, a job is a job and I need a job. Badly.
Well, it has happened. Child support has finally started being pulled from my paychecks. I still think my payments are based on what I was making when I was teaching full-time. God knows they can’t be based on what I’m making now. But there are steps I can take to have child support re-evaluated. I just have to do it.
Today I substitute taught at a juvenile correctional facility.
I had heard about the facility a while ago, and i was tempted to fill-in there but it wasn’t until I talked to some teachers at another local school that I really thought i’d give it a try.
Like a lot of people, I was nervous to go there. I was intimidated by the fact that the kids there are…incarcerated. But the more I heard about it, the more intrigued I was: small class sizes, no possibility of snow days, kids whose very freedom depends on their cooperation with authority. From what I could see, these weren’t bad kids. they are kids who did some really dumb, or even bad things; but they themselves did not seem like bad people.
I played basketball with the boys’ PE class. It was probably the one time of the day that they are allowed outside and the closest thing they currently have to a sense of freedom. I’ve never been much of a basketball player. I’ve always lacked the coordination for the sport; but I wanted to connect with the kids. I actually scored 8 points.
The entire day was a very…humbling experience. It really helped me put a lot of things into perspective. Concerns and stressors that I’ve had lately suddenly didn’t quite so important. The kids with whom i worked were pretty much stripped down to the basics – literally. These are young people who have lost their freedom. The experience mad me not only appreciate the small things; but it also made me realize that things currently can and will work out .
Naturally, seeing these young people there naturally got me thinking about The Kid and hoping that he stays out of trouble. Given the chance, I would most certainly work at this facility again.
Let me get a few things out of the way first:
I generally don’t like reality shows. I’ve watched a season or two of “Survivor” and “American Idol” but they’re basically the same stuff year after year. Having said that I absolutely love “Bar Rescue”. I feel that the vast majority of “reality” shows are just camera rolling while people fight in the hopes of parlaying their appearance into an entertainment career. Frankly, I have enough conflict in my life that I don’t need to see that of other people. Then of course, there’s the question of whether or not reality television is more scripted than sitcoms and dramas. My feelings about reality and the state of our society in general can best be summed up by this quote I once heard: “In the past, we used to watch TV to escape reality. Now, we watch TV to experience reality”.
The Auteur is a big fan of Bravo’s phenomenally popular “…Housewives…” shows. With the exception of “New Jersey” series, I don’t really pay much attention to these either. However, one night I caught an ad for “The Online Dating Rituals of the American Male”. Since I perceive myself to be something of a men’s advocate, i thought it would be remiss of me if I didn’t give this show at least a passing glance.
I think that Bravo envisions itself as an upscale version of Lifetime. The so called “men” i see on this channel are either at best hard-core metro-sexuals and at worst relentlessly flamboyant homosexuals who make David Alan Grier and Damon Wayans’ characters from the old “Men on Movies” skit from In Living Color look relatively macho in comparison. In any case, virtually all of the men I see on this channel are nothing like real-life guys.
The series premiere of “Online Dating Rituals of the american Male focuses on Marcus, a 36 year-old divorcee who’s looking for his future wife and Alex a 27 year old self-described “Texas boy looking to get laid”- perpetuating the stereotype of the delusional ego-maniacal douchebag.
Some observations from episode 1:
- These guys seem a litte more down-to-earth that most of the people on Bravo shows.
- The show illustrates the real-life concerns that come with online dating: Is her on-line profile a reflection of their real-life self? Trying to extract information, such as their age.
- Alex is talking about his penis on the first date. Classy.
- the show’s bumpers are statistics about on-line dating; the first being “80% of online daters lie about their height, weight or age on their profiles.
- in an interesting twist, the show included a text message exchanges involve the people featured on the show – both the guys and their dates.
- we see a little but from the point of view of Marcus’s date. She thinks they’re going out again. Alex’s date has no such intentions.
- Marcus gets a text message from a perspective date while he’s at work. This is what I will say about on-line dating. People who are online want to date and it seems a lot easier than going out and picking people up the old-fashioned way.
- A therapist describes Alex as a “wanker”. the show takes us through his various dates. God, this guy’s a pig; and he’s obsessed with on-line dating.
- Marcus dates a girl with whom he was scored as 10% compatible. He’s looking for quality.
- The show drives home the theme that anything is possible with on-line dating.
- Marcus has another date that is an absolute train-wreck.
- Alex has a date with a woman who is out of his league. He needs to stop grabbing butts on the first date. Somehow, she is receptive to this.
- I didn’t want to like this show but 30 minutes into the 44 minute episode, i had already decided I would probably watch it again.
It’s sad to me that this was even news-worthy. A man and his wife were having a baby and he wanted to be there to witness it; and it is his given right as established through collective bargaining through his labor union.
A great article. I’m happy to say I’ve found someone for whom I can check of all 10 of these criterion.
We’ve all heard “oh, there are plenty of fish in the sea” when it comes to dating. But, when was the last time you walked into someone’s house to find hundreds of tiny minnows proudly hung along their mantle?
No. You want the catch. You want the one you couldn’t possibly let go. The one you’d do anything to reel in.
So, how do you know you’ve found a keeper? Here are 10 signs to look out for.
She doesn’t look for attention.
The women who don’t look for attention, are precisely the women we should be giving our attention to. Girls who are always looking for compliments or to be noticed, are often insecure and looking to overcompensate. What’s more – is that they’re likely more concerned about their own happiness, than they would be about yours.
Women who are content with their own self confidence and don’t look…
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People think that getting a divorce decree is the final step in the whole divorce process. I’m coming to the realization that it is just the beginning.
As I posted earlier here, this past Christmas, my divorce and my interactions with The Kid and with Jabba were taken to a whole new level. One would think that once the divorce was finalized, or at least very close to being finalized, that things would start to settle down – adjust to the New Normal if you will.
HERE, I’M GONNA SAY IT: I believe that The Kid was – and continues to be – manipulated by Jabba. I think he was coached and coerced into saying “Dad, i feel like I’m being replaced” and “I’m not here to see the Auteur; I’m here to see Mother and The Old Man”. I saw what a good time he had while he was here with us. I saw first-hand how willing he was to confide in The Auteur; and the fact that he seemed like he would genuinely miss her as he was getting ready to go home.
The Kid’s word continue to haunt both me and my relationship with the Auteur. Even before this Christmas visit, I already had some real concerns with The Kid’s mouth. He’s becoming a smart-ass. He is very sarcastic, particularly for a 6 year old. He is, as mother put it best, “his mother’s son”. The sad reality is that there is very little I can do about this.
The following is a re-telling of an event that occurred on the night of Saturday June 8th into the morning of Sunday June 9th 2013. It is on a very short list of the most shameful experience of my life. It has taken me literally two weeks to process everything that occurred, get multiple perspectives on the chain of events, mend the most essential fences and finally have the nerve to re-live it. I chose to write this now because I realize that this blog may one day burn some bridges with it’s brutal honesty; and I want to show future readers that I am just as willing to hold myself to the same proverbial fires.
Click HERE to read part one of this story.
Many of the details that follow from the bar I received second or third hand. There are some things I do recall; I assume they occurred during my brief moments of clarity. To paraphrase Prince: I was drunk when I lived this. Forgive me as I went astray.
I remember all of us getting a round of drinks and me toasting the Auteur a “Happy Birthday”. A little later – although it may have been during the same round – I remember one of the Auteur’s friends – whom I shall code name “The Set-Up” wanting a Jager, but not having any cash. I apparently offered to buy her one – not really thinking anything of it – just extending an olive branch to one of the Auteur’s friends. Apparently right around the same time that I was offering to but The Set-Up a drink, our waitress was coming around to collect on our round. The waitress was giving me an opportunity to pay for The Auteur’s drink, but I was too fucked up to pick up on it until about the second or third time she said so. The waitress took my money and gave The Auteur back hers as well.
After this point, I didn’t even know what happened to all the money I had on me. Granted I was only carrying $40 or so, but STILL. I had no recollection of who, where or what I spent my money on. I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t give the waitress mentioned above an extra $20 on accident. Something similar to this happened to me one night when I went out with a few friends from the Social Club; only that time I didn’t think much of it.
Throughout our evening at the bar, I made several trips to the bathroom. This is not all that uncommon as I will typically visit a restroom at the slightest inclination my body has to urinate – drunk or sober – that’s how my body functions. Seeing how this was a bar and I had clearly had too much to drink already, one might assume that I was going to the bathroom to vomit. This was not the case. I think that I experienced a few blackouts while I was in the bathroom. I didn’t throw up and I didn’t pass out. And yet, this was a case of something far more than just losing track of time. An article on Wikipedia refers to this experience as a fragmentary blackout or a brownout. Once again, it was only after I discussed the night with The Auteur that I realized what had happened. Even now, over two weeks later, I have only vague recollections of standing at a bathroom stall for an excessive period of time. If my stomach, liver or kidneys had refused to take part in this alcoholic decathlon I was subjecting them to, it might have been an easier night for me. Instead, it was as if the booze had gone straight to my brain, literally.
Click HERE to read part three of this story
- The Blackout Experience (jorgeamoreno78.wordpress.com)