my inarticulateness

ugh, my last attempt at a post was utterly abismal, for sure. i will reiterate to my readers at this point, who really ought to be out playing in the sunshine, wait oh, it's been raining, well not really, today was merely pedestrianingly overcast, perhaps the type of weather i hate most, for while i quite dislike the rain, the daylong gloom of overcast has always sickened me ever since my childhood days at los berros elementary school. oh the horror, the horror, the smell of the misty dew upon the black asphalt. the screams of the enjoyment of recess, but how could anything be enjoyed under such oppressive gray gloom, no sun today. well overall, the whole fucking lot of it was pretty fucking oppresive, just like now, the same but different. i was at dumb job number one today, working endlessly at revising the goddamn rentals for about 20 different upcoming events, sitting at the tables in the center of the conference room, perhaps at about 2:46pm, maybe later, i don't know, it's all such a blur which i can't forget away quick enough, anyway, my point, it felt like i was seated at a desk in grade school, work on the some retarded ass problems from a text book, the slight taste of stress coarsing through my body as i meticulous attempted to overcome the damn near insurmountable mess of a pile paperwork, ergo "framework" scattered out in front of me, must check the rentals for this one again, must not miss anything, must avoid getting yelled at by big mean boss man paulie, oh the horror, oh the similarity, oh the job well done. big mean boss man expressed his and queen bee meme's delight and appreciation of the job i be doing, thus my work ability and efficiency is ever so approved of. and i think to myself, oh wonderful, my job is safe, well i know that, of course my job is safe, but oh to know that additionally my work, retarded as it may be, is in fact valued, why for a moment i almost took some amount of pride in that which i do for money. why when i speak of my day job, it is not unlikely for me to somewhat emote that yes, while i work for a stupid catering company, it is the number one caterer in the bay area, and whereas before i would mention that work involves some stupid bullshit of running errands and shuffling paper around, that now indeed it is more i dunno to say, oh i work with the operations and shit like that. why indeed i am the operations assistant, whatever the fuck that means. but it sounds important, and it is. why one day i could succeed my big mean boss as the director of operations, he's even said so, and then all my hair could fall out, i could become even more of an embittered asshole, be constantly stressed the fuck out, berate the fuck out of the employees in my department, and quickly have a nervous breakdown or quit or something. really my big mean boss doesn't do all that, i mean he does some of that, but it is a tough job, and not one that i really at all want. ever. well, maybe if it paid twice as much, which it probably should. even then, i dunno if that would motivate out of bed to be at work at 6am until 6pm. though maybe i could pull it off for a couple months, but then all my hair would fall out, the stress condenscing in my nasal region thus making my nose grow larger. did you know that i was not even aware that i had a big nose until fairly recently? why looking at myself straight on in a mirror, why i never would have guessed. and my asshole friend tony berating me for years for having a big nose, it never fazed me, cuz he was a short chubby mexican with a big nose with a bump up near the top. i figured the cunt was projecting. and then suddenly, in poorly shot photograph i saw it, horrified, i have a big nose. this is why tony once said i look like a bird. even tommi made a comment the other day, something about me being bird like or some shit. maybe it really does get in the way in an annoying way when i kiss boys? it's a wonder i've never broken the motherfucker! but i swear, i didn't always have a big fucking nose, that which is only enhanced of uglyness by wearing make-up, something i used to enjoy. no, i've known for many years now the astonishing fact that one's ears and nose do in fact continue to grow throughout one's life. so it's only going to get bigger! oh what am i to do? never did i ever consider that i would want plastic surgery, and woe be to those who would follow in the path of jennifer gray, but still, if it interfers with the desire of cute boys to kiss me, what ought i do? and my lips, i they full enough? not eating is tough, perhaps i ought to really have the remaing fat sucked out of my belly. and with my hair tied back at the moment, when i was downstairs during the set break doing push-ups in the office the mirror did done told me that my ears looked ever so much slightly bigger, but i guess that one's ok, cuz my ears are hella erogenous and maybe i look a little more elfin, another bizarre backhanded complement previously paid to me by tony. no, plastic surgery perhaps is not the way to go, but i often wonder, how ought my face really look like, because it is not the way necessarily it was made out to be. i had somewhat of an over-bite growing up and had to wear nightly neck gear at night for several years, of which i would routinely yank off after about half an hour of attempted sleep and toss across the room, cuz it hurt like a motherfucker. but with a combination therapy of retainers and braces and such somehow i managed to escape a fate which befell my mothers brother, aka my uncle john, the concert pianist virtuouso who used to play with world reknowned flutist Rampal, at least until flute guy died. now my uncle john, i ain't seen him in about 10 years, well he was always a real nice guy, but the dude has an overbite like a motherfucker, i swear, his damn chin is like hella recessed. so when i said to my mom, as a little squirt, why must i wear this god damn neck gear, she said unto me, cuz you don't wanna have an overbite when you grow up like your uncle john, cuz we didn't have this back then, or they couldn't afford it or some shit, but i think that a fair amount money, so i dunno know what the deal was, and my knowledge of history and technological devolopment of orthodontry is somewhat limited. anyways, my point is, my face has already been realligned against per presumed genetic predicaments, and then scarred as fuck from horrible horrible acne, in part caused by a bad diet of dairy during my adolescent years. so it's settle then, the only plastic surgery i will consider is gene therapy from stem cells that might one day reduce the scarring upon my ugly ugly face, for while scars are cool and do build character, i'm over it, not that i've really cared for most of the recent 8 or so years or whatever. anyway, the my original point was that the purpose is blog is not your enjoyment, not a retarded ass diary, not gossip about my silly friends and bitch about my dumb fucking jobs. it is for me to practice writing. and to make the time go by faster at the stupid jazz club, haha.