Oh the places you'll go...

Bloggers! Hola. Sawadee-kap. Oy. Sup. I am greeting you more than once because I have been away too long, and also because languages are interesting when transliterated.  So, my internet is finally up.  Huzzah! I can, again, waste hours a day looking up random facts and, well, blogging.  I took too long of a break.  I should have gone to a coffee house and ordered a tea with little bits of milk and honey, sipped and typed and let you all in.  But I didn't.  I've actually been a little bit out of the writing habit, which is a shame because I was doing a pretty good job for me.  So this is the first step (again) of getting into a habit.  Hit me with your literary nicotine patches, cover me like that pretty man from that smoking movie, give my blood something to scream about.

Because I have been absent for longer than I'd like this particular post is a little post-dated.  I had the idea about a week ago and couldn't get out of my sweatpants long enough to type (in jeans now!), so here we go.

Jobs.  Employment, position, co-worker, proletariat, hands over cash, the river of green and the lost treasures of paradise.  I STILL need a job.  But this isn't me complaining, this is me posting about all the various lives I could be living right at this very moment.  Here we go (yes, again, keys in ignition, rev rev):

Ventura Theater Company- There's me, black AmerAper hoodie, checking the date on your ticket as you try and hide the little joint that sticks out of your shirt pocket.  It's cool, dude, Snoop here encourages the puff puff.  I set up the mics backstage and maybe wipe the floors clean after a show, sticky from beer and dropped thiz pills.  I work weekends and have started a band, I'm stoked but obviously don't get paid enough (minimum plus pity tips) or get enough hours.  My fun free time is eaten away by nights laid awake wondering if I should have given Pepper my demo or how that new chorus is starting to sound an awful lot like honkey tonk blues.  But I'm good, see.  I've got a job.

Nature's Grill- Do you want fries with that?  Not really, I mean, they serve blue tortilla chips with salsa and are super hip low-fi class, but I am taking your order and wiping the tables after you leave. I've met the relatively few number of true hippies in Ventura; don't get me wrong they have punk tendencies like everyone else but they do enjoy the Grateful Dead a bit.  I know where Lassens is and what is in that fake hamburger crap.  No, I still won't eat it.  But I'm pretty happy.  No pity tips, but rather real change due to good friendly service and my awesome hair that did not manage to get into your food.  I've met people my age and can bike to work, and slowly, yes slowly, I'm writing that quintessential novella that defines what it means to be an honest hard-working college graduated hippy bum spirit-life-seeker.  I'm good, see.  I've got a job.

Paradise Pantry- No, no I don't work at a sex shop.  I work at a wine and cheese shop.  The people come here right before the sex shop down the street, get drunk and lactaided up, have a good night overall.  I wear a nice black apron and my converse, but other than that I'm still lookin' like me. Maybe my not-yet-happenin' beard is a little long because in the dark small space that I make money, all those long bottles and mildewing cheese, I feel that the extra hair gives me an edge.  I'm getting to know all the different varietals, how that particular brand of cow crap gives that particular year a little zest, a little nudge in the acidity.  I begin to speak as if I've been to Italy three times (oh, wait, I have, culturelaugh) and as if I go to France bi-monthly to check on my small but reasonably well off vineyard estate.  My parents home in Petaluma is actually now in Sonoma County, it kisses up against a long, stalwart Pinot traditional to the area.  Cheese has taken on a whole new meaning. "Cheddar"? What do you mean by "cheddar," sir?  ....Man, even I can't bullshit knowing about chesses, sorry guys.  Look at me in the wine and cheese shop, I'm a little snooty and I know A LOT about cheese. Brie. Goat. String.  I make a decent wage and feel that these skills will get me far in life.  I'm good, see.  I've got a job.

Patagonia- AHHHH this mountain is so gnarly bro!  DUDE that wave almost ate your life.  OH MY GOD that piece of paper was so recycled.  Do you like this really cool shirt?  Do you want it?  Its twenty-five bucks.  No we don't take cash, we don't use paper here.  Credit card?  Sorry, plastic hurts the environment pretty seriously.  Have you seen the news about climate control?  You can wear it in the store, I guess.  We are organizing a Reiner hike to clean up the water-bottle trash near the summit.  Want to come??  Um, will you be in sub-zero temperature zones?  Go shop at REI then. -----So I'm using my pretty powerful tools of humor to humiliate a company I really want to work for.  If, somehow someone from G.P reads this, I'm just jokin' around man.  If I were there I'd be getting decent benefits, going hiking often, and wearing snazzy expensive American made clothes. I would also be part of the future young space explorers mission to Patagonia's semi-near planet called RUGGED.  Sounds like fun, right?  I'm healthy and fit and know how to not get killed by ice and poison oak.  I have beefed up a tad. I'm good, see.  I've got a job.

These are the potential lives I could be living people. Don't you want to know all of those dudes? Currently the front runner is a coffee shop that just opened, has no employees, and will hopefully need at least one in the next coming weeks.  Working there I would just be, well, me.

Love peace and happy times, fellow bloggers.  Till we meet again!

p.s. the only part of this that has to do with writing is that this post was pretty creative.  Also, there was a job as a music journalist that I literally just remembered but don't want to doctor the post majorly to include, so....hargenshnargen as music journalist: super freaking happy.