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I had to purchase new work clothes last week. Bear in mind, this involves my favorite activity - shopping. Also bear in mind that whenever I talk about leaving my house in a positive light, I'm probably being sarcastic. So, I go shopping for work clothes, and, much to my dismay, one cannot be a female working professional without possessing at least a b-cup. And I cannot have a b-cup without surgery. Or eating more junkfood than I already do, which would pose serious health risks. Very serious. So I did the next best thing and bought a push-up bra. Last week was the first week in which I have worn a bra every day since I was in high school. And I'm not even a dirty hippie feminist.

Yep. Women are equal in the workplace, darts, v-necks, pleats, and all.

Also, thin is in is bullshit. Tits are made of fat. Stop contradicting yourselves, clothing stores. Make shopping easy. Make clothes to fit me.

A Lesson in Everything

So, I've got this new job, right? Everything seems awesome until my start date when I have to be trained.
The lovely woman training me, the former assistant/story editor, hates my guts for no apparent reason. When I interned with her, it was the same way. I could say "my, you look beautiful today" and present her with a certificate saying she'd won a date with World's Sexiest Man Johhny Depp and she'd still find something to criticize. Of course, this has led to me not feeling adequately prepared to start my job on Monday, nor will it help her former boss, whom she claims to like, in any way shape or form. I don't even want to befriend her - she likes looking at cat pictures and says things like "Noms" when she wants to eat something delicious. I'd just like to get comfortable in my new environment and learn my job.
Bless those who curse me, right?
I suppose so.
But seriously - there have been moments this week when I'd rather go back to being so depressed that I was beyond suicidal thoughts (see first post).
It's never easy, is it?
On another note, soon I will be 21, removing my back-up excuse to be antisocial. I will now have both the income and the age to sustain a social life. Damn it.

Daddy Issues and Perfect Timing

God is our heavenly father. Awesome. He's God, he's my dad, and that makes me like Hercules, right? Hold up - let's look at God's track record as a father. He's got one son, Jesus, and he gave him up to an earth family. That's respectable. It's tough to be a single parent with a full-time job. But then he and his kid have a relationship, and as Jesus gets older, his relationship to his father turns him into a societal outcast. Eh, that's okay. Jesus was a nerd. So am I. My dad is a cop and I'm extra safety conscious. I get it. But then Jesus gets blamed for everyone else's problems and stuck to a cross in the worst way. What does his dad do? He turns his back on him. "Dad! Dad! Why have you foresaken me!" And God let's him figure it out on his own. Which he did, and he reached his full potential, but seriously. Either God is a bad parent with a great kid, or a very hands-off parent who lets his kids figure their own lives out in order to give them purpose. I'm gonna go with the latter, which is a little nicer, and probably more in tune with the nature of God. But seriously. What a pain in my patoot!

And here's why:

God's timing is perfect. We're the ones who screw it up. But we, like bad girlfriends, blame daddy when things don't go our way. Case in point: my own life. I'd been waiting and waiting to hear about a job for which I interviewed. I got it, but I had to wait a week and a half. Hence the wanting to be properly depressed. So my own impatience, I think, led to a prolonged evening in which I, having lost all hope, left my phone in the car. I missed the call. Waited an extra night. And I'm sure dear ol' dad was laughing his almighty head off. And sometimes, I think, being the hands-off but omnipotent guy that he is, God likes to stretch things out for entertainment. Which is perfectly fine when it is not happening to me. But given my position in this universe, it's always happening to me.

I Just Want to Be Depressed Like Everyone Else

My "faith" in God has prevented me from being properly depressed. I can't even say I'm so sad I want to die because if I did, I'd be stuck with him for eternity. And because suicide is some kind sin, it'd just be another big joke.
"Sure, you found salvation, but you've got that weird little stigma attached to you that you killed yourself to get here."
Gee, thanks for removing that option, sir. At least I can't kill myself.

When I told my mom about this, and how I feel my whole existence is a joke, she said that it's okay - at least it means God pays attention to me, that most people don't even get that much.

Hey, at least I can laugh about this, right?

Welcome to My Life - The Joke in the Mirror

Hello, dear reader. Allow me to introduce myself.
I am Sam, Sam I am, and yes, I've eaten green eggs and ham. BUT that's not why you're here. You're here because you, like God Almighty and the whole city of Rock Island, IL, and parts of Chicago and Los Angeles, like to laugh at the comedy of errors that is my life.
Some days, I think I was created to be God's jestor - the only kid not in on the joke.
Through a fun house mirror, my life, my hard work, my faith in God all make it look like my creator created me as a toy - much like Job, I'm a pawn in a cosmic game. I guess I'm just one of those people who will never get the life they planned...

To that I say

BRING IT ON BIG GUY! You wanted a pawn, and instead you got me. And I know how to laugh in the dark.