Posts tagged obamacare
I had the chance to watch some videos and read some materials online about the law of attraction, or LOA as they are calling it on twitter. Candy would have gotten me interested in learning more about this, because she comes across a lot of spiritual and self help type stuff as she surfs the internet literally all day in between binge watching certain television shows.
I really like the philosophy and the idea behind the law of attraction, because it involves simple positive thinking and the ability to put one’s self in a mind set where they already possess what it is they want, so what they really want is drawn to them.
There was always a sense that I could accomplish anything I put my mind to. It started back when I was just hitting puberty. I thought to myself “I would like to have my own money.” So, I found out I would need a worker’s permit at the age of 15 or 16, I forget. I got one, and I proceeded to apply for jobs. I was living in such a small town that there were not that many businesses to choose from, and all the kids my age would be hitting all of them the same way I was, if they were so inclined to work as I was.
I got an offer with a local supermarket, but I would have to spend the first week or so working for a store in Metairie, which was a town about 15 minutes away on interstate. I already spent a lot of time out there, because that’s where the big malls were, and all the cooler places where younger people hung out. The supermarket where I was trying to work was within walking distance from my house, while this place required a half hour commute considering both ways.
They were fixing up a store because a regional manager was visiting, or inspecting, and I had to do all kinds of jobs there that were never going to come up again in the supermarket where I thought I would be working. I had to sweep a ceiling, paint a back warehouse, and there was all kinds of cleaning. These were the kinds of things that were only done once a year or even every other year, so while this was my initial experience, it was not going to be the usual experience.
I was so determined to make my own money, that I would try to hustle, and instead of dragging ass, I was enthusiastic and energetic. I was fucking young, so it was easy to be hyper back then. I think back and wish I took better care of myself so that I could have at least more than half of that kind of energy at 46. Now I have to quit smoking and start working out to even come close to having that kind of energy ever again.
When I started working at the local store, there wasn’t any need for the kind of clean up that took place at the other store. The manager at this store was keeping all that shit together so that it never got as bad as it did at the other place. The store in Laplace was a lot slower than the one in Metairie though. The store in Laplace was part of a strip mall, that was one of maybe 3 in the whole town, one of only 2 that I would care to hang out at when I lived there. The store in Metairie was linked on to the back of a big mall, so it got all kinds of traffic from people who wanted to go grocery shopping after mall shopping.
The big job at the store in Laplace was buggy pushing. Yeah, somebody has to bring all those buggies back into the store when they are taken out to the parking lot and emptied out. At least back in Laplace, there wasn’t a major percentage of the buggies leaving the parking lot and being pushed home, like they do here in Las Vegas. It is actually a small business opportunity in Vegas to have a truck and trailer and round up buggies all over the city, and get paid by the buggy to bring them back. Now, businesses have to go high tech and install one special wheel that is supposed to jam up if you roll that thing out of the parking lot. I have no idea how that works, but I should look it up to see how it is hacked.
I would spend nearly the entire shift out in that parking lot pushing those things back into the store. Over time, I started to imagine that I wasn’t even “in” my body, but ordering it to do things for me as I sat back comfortably in the back of my mind somewhere, listening to music I had memorized by listening to my records over and over.
I was impressive to the store manager, who would see so many other kids listlessly and slowly doing the least amount of work necessary. I would be pushing myself as I was pushing those buggies, trying to push just 1 more in the row than I did the day before regularly, or get to the point where I had to stop adding to a regular trip because I might lose control, or lose the end buggy if I had to stop suddenly.
Thinking back I can remember the technique that I would learn to control a big long row of buggies. There was a kind of trick to it. The fewer you had, the more control you had, because you had to shove left or right to stop in addition to steering. If you couldn’t put enough sideways pressure on the one you were pushing, the one at the front would slip right off the row, probably right into someone’s brand new car, and you don’t want that.
The main point about the buggies, and that first job, is that before I got the job, I didn’t know I could do “a job” at all. Even further, I wasn’t handed paint and brush at my own house to paint, but these guys handed it to me expecting a job that would impress a regional manager. I think it did.
I didn’t know I could spend 8 hours in the deep south summers pushing hundreds, or thousands of buggies back and forth in a day, and then turn around and be an energetic kid running all over town after. I didn’t realize how quickly I could save up money to purchase that first car. When I got the job, and started the job, I didn’t think getting my own car was even a possibility, but naturally it would be, because as long as I kept the job, I would accumulate more money. I was a kid, it wasn’t like I was paying rent.
After just a few months of working at this place, I had enough money saved up to buy a used car, and that led me to see another goal realized that I didn’t think was possible while I achieved the earlier goal of getting and keeping a job to begin with. Of course, getting that car would prove to show me what my real agenda was all along, independence.
Buying a first car made such a big difference in the sheer amount of time that I would spend at my childhood home. I would basically be just sleeping there, and by the time I was 17, I could have just quit high school, shifted over to full time at my supermarket job, and got my own apartment. That would have gotten me into way too much trouble. It’s bad enough the way things turned out after getting that car.
When I say it’s bad enough the way things turned out, I mean that with that independence, and that confidence, I started visiting bars at 17 before I was even old enough to be drinking. I would meet up with a woman in her mid 20’s, and she would end up being my first ex wife, because I was impulsive enough to get married to the first woman who put out on a regular basis.
So many things turned out how I expected them, as long as I set small goals, and checked them off one at a time. If I really wanted to get away from my parent’s house, I had to first get a job for income, then get a car for transportation. Once those 2 things were done, I just had to wait until I graduated high school to figure out what I wanted to do next.
I had an additional year of high school, not because I failed, but because I was kicked out right at the end of the fucking year in my junior year. So, I had to do that year all over again, after having a recurring dream of exactly that happening. A lot of kids would have said “fuck it” right then and there, but my mother used to taunt me about how I would never finish high school, so a part of me did the extra year just to prove her wrong. Now I know where my passive aggressive tendencies come from! Thanks mom!
You know, the biggest fantasy I would have had at that time besides having a car, would have been getting laid. While in my early 20’s, with a car, a job, and money in the bank, I didn’t realize how easy getting laid could be, even before the internet. I had to go through some pretty hard lessons and my first ex wife before I understood the dynamics of dating and desperation.
I believe that the only way my story of coming of age is relevant to the law of attraction is in the way that I believed I would accomplish things, and I did. Even when I was young and dumb in my teens, before being young and just as dumb in my 20’s, I still set out to accomplish things one at a time until reaching some end goal. It is something that has become so regular and easy in my life that I sometimes take it for granted. There have been times I have almost gone right off the cliff because of my confidence that the brakes would stop the car in time.
Even now, I have just achieved the latest goal, of getting a medical marijuana card. To people in California, it’s no big deal, because it’s under $100 and you can get it in the back room of a dispensary. Here in Nevada, there is a shitload of stuff you have to be put through before getting this little token.
I was here in Nevada for almost 3 years before getting that card, but just like the process of getting my first car or first regular piece of ass when I was younger, there were steps that had to be completed before hitting the goal. I had to wait on obamacare to kick in so I could get my first hip x-ray. Then, I had to take the radiologist report to some strip mall doctor’s office and give them the routine about how I am too young for hip replacement, but obviously need one. Then, I had to shell out nearly $300, and that is WITH A DISCOUNT because I had brought in actual medical records. Then, I had to wait nearly 2 months for that shit to come in the mail after waiting 3 hours for the DMV to take my fucking photo.
So, just getting that little card took a few steps, none of which were convenient or ‘fun’. If obamacare had started just one year earlier, I would have gotten the card a year earlier, because I made sure to move to a state with medical marijuana BEFORE obamacare kicked in. Before that, I made sure to regulate my income so that I know I would be covered under medicaid, and I could still manage to live on a %133 of poverty level income. So, the actual entire process of getting that card started with me living in Louisiana, making a certain amount for a full year before obamacare even kicked in so I would know I could live on that much, and still move my ass 2000 miles across the country to a state less stuck in the past who has the compassion to allow people to use a fucking plant to alleviate great amounts of physical pain.
To me, the southern states have always seemed masochistic and sadist for turning their noses up at medical marijuana. Further, it is ironic to me that the “river parishes” where I grew up, is also known as “cancer alley” because of all the chemical plants along the Mississippi river right there. Of course when people get cancer that was caused by that fucking pollution, the politicians would say “fuck you, you don’t need that marijuana shit for your cancer.” My mother died of fucking ass cancer in that shit hole state, so naturally, I have a sense of resentment for Louisiana, and every other southern state that continues to force it’s residents to suffer because they are bible thumping fuck-tards from the distant past who can’t get their heads out of their fucking asses to save their fucking stupid, useless lives…
Wow, I got a little negative there. I have always known about the connection that marijuana has to health and well being, decades before all this new research has finally been released, after being kept hidden by corrupt politicians and the corporations who bribed them to begin with.
Every time a southern state says “NO” to medical marijuana, I am reminded of why I had to get the fuck out of there, and why I don’t enjoy giving that place credit for my growing up because I hate it, and the entire southern fucked up region so much. Recently, Florida said NO to medical marijuana, and it’s ironic that with all those suffering old people down there, they are so desperate to keep the status quo of pill addiction and abuse…
Wow, I just got way off the subject there! Maybe not entirely though. I look at the law of attraction as if we are all children, experiencing everything for the very first time, every day of our lives. Just because we grow up, or get old, doesn’t mean we have seen everything and done everything there is to do, if you want to do it.
Even though I am 46 now, I can still relate to being a teenager who is trying to work out how to get that first car when I work out the massive undertaking of moving 2000 miles to get out of bum fuck egypt and into a place that is more progressive and modern politically. When I was young, I thought I wanted to move from Louisiana to Florida. Talk about getting out of the toilet only to end up in the sewer!
Florida would have been nearly *worse* than Louisiana! Just talk to “Florida Man” about that one! Also, I have already mentioned that those assholes recently voted down medical marijuana while Nevada voted it in over a decade ago but just pussyfooted around and cock blocked it up until NOW. 🙂 Nevada is still cock blocking medical marijuana, and I might just become more of an activist to point it out, since they are literally trying to make me suffer by not giving me access to my state approved medication!
Alright, I have wondered so very far from my original subject, and I have shit to do, but I guess I am saying that no matter what the undertaking, or how difficult you think it would be, or how impossible it might seem, it is doable, possible, and if you really want it, inevitable. The law of attraction can’t be taken for granted to the point where you just sit back and think about something all day expecting it to happen for you. The law of attraction gives people the motivation and inspiration to complete those small goals on the way to the larger one, even when that large goal seems unattainable. Nothing is impossible. Believe in your dreams.
you know, i kind of like this style of not capitalizing, but that was one way when people could tell when i was intoxicated. at this point, i am getting a thrill out of writing more while not intoxicated, so without that little hint, it should still be obvious if i am drunk or not, or if i might be just a tiny bit high.
i re-read the prior post, and i could go back and clean it up a bit, but i want to leave it, because i did announce that i was somewhat intoxicated, although not nearly to the degree that i have been in the past during my worst online behavior ever.
there has been some talk about an ebook that came out recently, written by a friend of candy’s, and this work was not very appreciated at all by so many people. at the same time, so many people provided negative feedback. when i see something like that, i am reminded of just how irrelevant my own writing can be, and how i am probably just ‘talking to myself’ more than expressing anything of any value or interest.
i realize that there are times when i go off on some tangent and i really try to get deep into something, but some of my own descriptions seem somewhat disconnected and incoherent at times. that is probably more related to practice than if i am intoxicated on alcohol.
i went into that forum i talked about before with an agenda. the main agenda was to just “make new friends and meet new people”. this seems harmless enough, but now i realize that the typical agenda of the individual in that forum is not going to be quite that simple. i forget that the “making friends” part is just “part one” in the advanced long term agenda.
i was fighting a losing battle to assume that my honestly simple agenda would hold much interest for those who would focus, rightfully, on those individuals who had an agenda that came somewhere close to their own. when i talk about “just friends”, that pretty much eliminates us from the swingers, the voyeurs, the unicorn hunters, and most importantly, the “fat herder”.
i briefly mentioned this “ptsd episode” where “drunk me” decided to “go off” in some forum because i felt that people hadn’t paid enough attention to me or something. i had been somewhat offended by the tendency for one person who ran the group to hit me with information about a group get together in response to my initial post, where i said in the last paragraph that candy was not into that stuff.
i felt disregarded, a little disrespected, and somewhat offended by that exchange. as time went on, that sense of being offended and blown off increased as there was literally no other response to anything i would post in that thread or any other thread i attempted to participate in.
now, if i had creeped people out already with my participation, or anything i had said, it still didn’t stop someone from blindly pursuing an agenda even though i stated in my post that we were not candidates for that agenda. this kind of social media cold calling is always very unattractive, because it’s going to draw in the kind of guys who are not so open and up front about wanting to “make new friends”, because they are looking for easy prey for one of many possible agendas.
it was really unfair for me to try to communicate with the most social acting person in that and literally hundreds of other forums, because i should have realized that she too was casting a large net, but for something that i would have no interest in if it involved having sex in front of people that we don’t know.
i should have known better that this person would really like to “get to know new people” as she seemed to try so hard to do with every other person in the forum. she was casting this net out there, reeling in as many people as she could herself, but as she said it was about friendship, it really wasn’t, and the vague and ambiguous nature of “he likes to watch” wasn’t very informative as to her likes and dislikes as an intellectual friend.
maybe a part of me was so used to being rejected sexually as a single male, that now, i am really insulted when i am rejected for simple friendship that doesn’t involve eventually fucking someone or watching them get fucked by someone else, or letting them fuck my old lady, or whatever.
i am really grateful for that whole experience, even if it made me “look bad” in the eyes of all those people who have an agenda that doesn’t match mine or candy’s anyway. maybe, just maybe, no matter how bad i get online, there are people out there who wanted to say the same things, but just didn’t want to deal with the burden of being a social media outcast.
candy should be ashamed or at least embarrassed by some of my behavior online, but she’s “used to it” now. she knows that as i go around making a fool of myself occasionally, that i am only scaring off the vultures and the buzzards that don’t want true friendship as much as they seem to want to find new sex partners gathered around the corpse they consume.
that is a horrible and morbid association, but that’s how i view the whole alleged size acceptance community at this point. people love to use that phrase, size acceptance, while they hold these gatherings where socialization comes at a price at the door, and the smaller bbws can stare and gawk at the ssbbws in much the same way everybody else in society does. i have heard, and fortunately not experienced, that this type of behavior is not only tolerated at some past events, but encouraged for amusement and entertainment.
that is a harsh allegation, but i have heard some pretty low down stuff about the ‘vegas bbw bash’ before it changed management and became ‘something else’. in the last year before the management changed, i somehow stumbled upon facebook posts by people who left early for some reason or another. luckily for them, all was not lost because the new group was forming as the old group was dying. it’s just a kind of changing of the guard, and for all i know, it may be better, but candy doesn’t want to submit herself to the mere possibility that she could end up being the entertainment when things might fall apart.
it doesn’t help matters that there has not really been any kind of close friendships online with the kind of people who shell out hundreds of dollars to “meet new people” at these events.
i am really cheap, so not only is it not really affordable to begin with, i simply can’t allow myself to invest without some kind of return on investment. that would provide me with an agenda as i paid hundreds of dollars, and the chance for real disappointment if i didn’t get exactly what i wanted.
that’s why i can just simply elect not to participate, for the comfort of everyone else involved, and because candy has no desire to walk into a room full of complete strangers, and watch the cliques form and she’s stuck with the online asshole that is me.
now, there are gatherings that are free to attend, and there are gatherings that have a small cost at the door per person, much more manageable, and without building up much expectation. the only problem with those gatherings is shared with the larger gatherings. there is a lack of interest to get to know people before or unless they actually attend one of these things first.
i have some fucked up perception at times, but this reminds me of a guy who doesn’t want to waste any time having to get to know a woman online before hooking up first. i am sure the ladies of a more feminist persuasion would love that argument.
much the same way, candy enjoys the online attention at times for being a ssbbw celebrity of sorts, but at the same time, it would be awkward and uncomfortable for her to enter a situation where the only attention she receives is from guys who wish they could fuck her, or women who pity her and want to give her advice to help her change because they used to be like her.
we went to hang out in a hotel room while an event was going on because candy wanted to hang out with just one person who was there for a bit. after candy got up to go to the bathroom, and her friend was off for a few minutes doing something, a woman walked up to candy and started sincerely talking to her about how she used to suffer like candy, and how horrible it was, and how much she worked to correct it.
i realize there is a natural instinct to be nice and helpful, but candy has had to remind me on many occasions about how offensive unsolicited advice can be, and this situation was not only uncomfortable for candy, but depressing, and further inspiration not to want to hang out with a bunch of fat people just because she is fat.
there are events in the past that candy has attended, but only because she was good friends with the organizer, so she got to hang out with the “cool kids” and she was protected from any possibility of being made a spectacle or being shunned for being super sized. it kind of helps when the group organizer is super morbidly obese herself, so candy doesn’t feel like the only one.
i know i was unfair in that group, i tried to contribute, but probably appeared kind of manic like i just wouldn’t shut up. this is after repeated complaints about how quiet members are. once i try to make conversation, every comment is followed by an empty box, until i come back and think of something new.
if i am talking to myself anyway, why the fuck should i be there? i could be typing here, and if i do that every day, this shit will eventually pay off in some way. this is the kind of agenda i should get behind.
that’s probably why i got impatient with myself and with the members of that tiny little insignificant group, and allowed myself to truly get nasty with people out of some need to burn out rather than fade away.
i did try to attend 2 different events on my own, to scout the waters of las vegas bbw interaction. the first event was called a “bbw take over” at some local bar. the bar was split into two main sections, and one was inhabited by people who obviously had nothing to do with the bbw thing. it was obvious in no time which section was designated for the bbw event, because there was nothing but rap music going, and a few women that seemed a little larger than the ones on the other side.
i mention rap music as it relates to bbw events, and have to take a time out for this little complaint. i might occasionally like to hear some house, or techno, like turning it into a mini rave for just a few minutes, but at this event, it was rap and only rap music. occasionally there was something popular in the dance category, but mostly, there were what sounded like independent rap artists that made references to “big women” repeatedly, usually making graphic sexual comparisons in the process.
there was a “booty meat” competition. sometimes i realize the very real handicap in being caucasian and having a preference for big butt white women. i can’t get away with telling a woman i like her big booty. black women will usually show off a big booty in a profile rather than cutting off all photos at the neck or maybe waist. that’s where i come up with a phrase i like to use, “white and uptight“. i totally understand how some people can have a racial preference other than their own when they just happen to be white.
i would not have really noticed that i was the only white guy there until i overheard one woman saying as she walked out “that’s the white guy“. it’s like somebody had a running bet on if any white guys would show up at all, and if so, how many. that wasn’t uncomfortable or anything!
that is connected to the second thing i showed up at. i always thought it would be cool to go to a fat strip club, or a strip club that had a fat/bbw night. there was this thing that a woman i have seen on a few websites was doing, and i went. i walked in, hung out at the bar, and this guy comes up to me saying “we’re the only white guys here!” ok, that was fucking uncomfortable. again, i hadn’t noticed it myself and it was not a thought that had jumped into my head, until this jabroni said it.
i was not really impressed by the dancers, except for one, julia sands. she is teeny tiny in my realm of interest on a physical or sexual level, but she was honestly the most talented woman there. most of the others just kind of walked around on stage with their pendulous breasts swinging, and it just wasn’t really attractive to me at all.
after that experience, i realize i would rather watch some of those women in pre-recorded content than ever see them attempt “stripping”. i am sorry for being so negative, but they were just not very good at dancing, the ones i let myself actually look at here and there. the one cutest girl there danced when i was outside getting high with the “only other white guy”, and that is what caused the cops to show up and harass some black guys later. cops are so freaking racist, and weed being prohibited is fucking racist, where is the naacp on that shit?
at the bbw take over event, the only person in that entire place that attempted to socialize with me was a skinny woman who pulled me onto the dance floor, and i think she was a prostitute. i managed to overhear the “white guy” comment because i was outside on the phone with candy, and a couple were leaving and walked close enough for me to hear that. it felt kind of racist to tell you the truth, but because of ‘white privilege’ i’m not supposed to feel discriminated against.
at the bbw strip club thing, i was still looking for a good weed connection, and one chance encounter at that place was vital for that to happen, but it was a guy i already knew from years before, who only came in to see one model for a private lap dance and then get the hell out of there.
i am still so grateful to him for that connection, because the woman organizing the event offered to sell me weed right there, but never followed through with it. she just wanted me to go to the atm to have money to tip dancers, and i wasn’t going to, because i was really uncomfortable with the whole strip club dynamic.
i had been to a strip club over a decade before, with a guy i worked with, because his girlfriend worked there. yeah, i was hanging with pretty interesting people long before the internet came along. it was only once, and nobody there hustled me for dances or anything, so i didn’t get the full experience.
at the strip club, the only people who talked to me were the guy i already knew, and the “only other white guy“, who talked about selling weed, but he never contacted me when i wrote to the email address he gave me. then there were the dancers, and again, i was just too intimidated and depressed by the over all energy of that environment that i could not bring myself to participate. i felt weird, like it would be deceptive to candy to let someone just dance for me, even though it might have helped to get a future modeling collaboration with candy if i had at least tried to tip and show some interest.
i felt weird and awkward, as if tipping someone would lead to an assumption that i was creepy or predatory. i never fully understood the whole strip club thing, and it probably has a lot to do with the fact that i have always chosen to socialize with women on a much more interpersonal and intellectual level. this tip for a show mentality felt deviant and primal to me. that’s ironic coming from a pornographer. being a producer of pornography, i control my environment, and i have decades of experience with the modeling dynamic as a photographer. the stripper and customer exchange feels too much like prostitution to me, which i believe should be legal, but i would never participate in it.
i had an agenda in going to those places, to “make new friends and meet new people”, and maybe see if anybody wanted to sell some weed. it turned out that the only person of any help to me at that time was one guy i *already knew* and candy begged him for the weed hook up via email days or weeks after that event. actually, probably the day after. thank god that happened. just like a game of grand theft auto, i had to hang out at a strip club to get my weed connection before i had the medical marijuana card. it took eight months to get that connection. yes, again, eight fucking months.
i really am grateful to that guy, and i should try to thank him online at some point, but it was no big deal to him, and he gets plenty of action to the point where he probably forgot even helping us out so much. 🙂
about the strippers that asked me if i wanted a lap dance, i was way too uncomfortable for that. even after 2 beers, a hard limit while having to drive, i was too inhibited to go for a “lap dance”. i did get to talk to julia sands, and again, while i have no fixation on her sexually, i admire her work ethic and her talent, and it would be awesome to get to work with her at some point. candy would probably be star struck and very uncomfortable though, so that may never happen unless candy goes for it, not me. 🙂
so, i was really aggravated about the woman at the strip club telling me she could hook me up with weed when she had no intention of it. maybe the cops showing up stopped it from happening, but it’s not like she ever followed up on it later. candy tells me she is probably a pill head who didn’t remember talking to me later in the same evening.
since i mentioned the naacp way back in this post, and something i believe they should look into, i should also mention how my main gripe with any attempt at social dependent size acceptance is in the group naafa. the national association for the advancement of fat acceptance. that group was created in an effort to raise awareness of size discrimination, but they quickly became more obsessed with growing membership and having “bashes” rather than doing anything having to do with raising awareness outside of the “pay to play” social group.
that shit is fucking classism. i know it’s easy for me to cry injustice in classism because i happen to be living in a controlled state of poverty. i don’t freak out about being “poor” because I am “poor on purpose” in order to be totally legally eligible for medicaid. i have done that as part of an experiment to see just how shitty medicaid is, and how many medical professionals attempt to fuck you up the ass when you have medicaid. that exercise in bureaucracy in and of itself took about three years. the first year was the year before obamacare even started, just seeing if i could regulate income at that level and actually live comfortably doing so. it turns out, in the third year, yes i can. 🙂
while i mention my distaste in the way that size acceptance was eventually used as a for profit social platform, it doesn’t mean i am against it because i can’t afford it. if i really, really wanted to participate in that stuff, i would make sure it happened. it took almost $300 just to get my medical marijuana card, so while i live in this regulated state of poverty, i was still able to achieve that easily. the point is, that investment is going to have a much higher return in personal pleasure and joy than attending a social event with a bunch of people i don’t know that i could not go to unless i paid hundreds to get in, or even nearly a hundred for both of us.
i watched as naafa basically disintegrated after the million pound march, where speaker carnie wilson would later end up being a living commercial for lap band, and convince countless women to endure this surgical experiment. one of those women was known by candy long before she ever met me, and that woman never made it out of the hospital alive.
now carnie wilson is probably having her third weight loss surgical procedure, because as long as it’s a celebrity, it’s not insane to keep doing the same thing expecting different results. it works so well i did it three times! what a fuck head.
i guess the name of this post, “agendas” was appropriate. i have given so much information already, and i feel like i could type for another two hours. this little exercise was therapeutic, because it prevented me from “day drinking”.
i will get so much more done and feel so much better to have gotten all of this out. this is obviously the proper medium for me to take out my frustrations with the state of affairs in everything having to do with fat socialization at this point in our history, comparing it to the past, and other failed experiments in the same vein.
now i am free from writing in inappropriate areas as well. this one little, or not so little post has given me insight into myself, my behavior, and my reasoning and perception of the world that exists around me that i only occasionally have to enter into.
I wanted to write, the last post being created from a perspective that had not yet completed a specific objective which required multiple prerequisites. The stress of that upcoming change, decision, or action caused ripples in the time before it, extending months. The planning that had gone into it was set into motion years before that.
I signed in, signed up, and shopped for my plan. The plan would be free, but I didn’t quite know it at the moment before taking the actions. I had employed some type of psychic accounting in order to prevent liability, but I had taken it to such an extreme and I probably did not need to.
A moment here or there, sober or intoxicated, taking a peek at subsidy calculators and the current table of poverty guidelines issued by the same people that think one can live on 700 a month. I could have worked it out much more skillfully, but some frantic, manic, procrastinating, lazy fool chose to take over for a bit instead.
I still haven’t done the research, but a part of me even chose a specific number as an income target. It wasn’t very well thought out, except some simple math showed that I would have to make one amount in order to maintain bills, maybe save a little, and still have the reserve capacity to make big payments in order to sustain a business model that even I believe is unsustainable.
It takes money to make money. Even if I had a crazy plan to make as little as possible and still keep everything going as if nothing was wrong, there would still be times when I know I would have to come up with 500, 750, maybe even a cool grand at different points in the future. As it stands, there are only two main expenses to my entire business model. Hosting and payment processing.
Without having to file a thousand little receipts I can just pop out those two and the rest is small change. I just don’t spend money. On very much at all. Ever. Sure, a few bad habits have somehow slipped through the cracks. Cheap cigarettes in the hopes I’ll quit, cheap beer because I don’t drink it for the taste. A 22 year old vehicle that I somehow prevent from completely disintegrating before my eyes, and a body that insists on working without intervention from a cruel and malevolent medical complex.
I don’t spend money with some ignorant assumption that I’ll just “write it off”, because when the predicted income level is below a certain point, there is not going to be very much cash to throw around in the hopes of “writing it off”. In other words, if you know you aren’t going to make a specific amount by purchasing any product from the use of that product, the purchase isn’t a write off, it’s a loss.
Maybe my past experience of getting burned in Orlando by that mystical creature Alexis did more help than harm in the long count calendar after all. I mistakenly trusted her to access my credit, thus destroying my credit for that 7 year waiting period for everything to just disappear from the credit report. During those 7 years, one can become quite disciplined in not depending on other people’s money to maintain regular expenses or splurge on what I like to call “stupid shit”.
All those years of avoiding collection efforts, waiting for time to pass, and finding rental accommodations that did not depend on excellent credit really taught me some valuable lessons. To this day, I couldn’t get unsecured credit if I tried, and I have made it that way on purpose. I didn’t use any identity protection “service”, I simply made sure that while my score is actually considered “good”, I do not meet at least one of the criteria for being easily granted credit. I also monitor it myself with an alternate service that is free, except of course for all the ads that are actually paying for it.
There was a built in incentive to be super cheap when you know that the money you have stashed is all you can depend on, and there will be no “safety net” because the credit done run dry and the parents are dead, well, one of them. It provides quite an incentive to view money as “time” instead of seeing it as all the shit you have been told you need on television.
When I went through my last severe depression, I was prepared to release all possessions and live on the street for a while, just as an experiment. I was impressed and disappointed with myself at the same time as I got the job that prevented homelessness at the last minute. I was impressed because I didn’t think I could really pull it off, but I was disappointed because by getting that job, I was abandoning my “plan B”. I didn’t have the balls to be homeless.
I was too selfish to let go of everything I had created and maintained online, even though, being homeless didn’t mean being “host-less”. I could still have existed comfortably on the digital plane even as I was sleeping in a 20 year old van. Hosting is just over $50 a month, rent was $450. I was ready to trade down and allow my physical self to exist in limbo in order to maintain my digital presence for as long as possible. I didn’t have the balls to go through with it. Getting a job, making some cash the old fashioned way, was actually easier for me than just being a lazy fuck and panhandling until I got disability.
It didn’t help that shortly after Candy’s first departure, I made a friend in a guy named Mark. He was 59, and he had been homeless for about a year after coming to Baton Rouge from Chicago. I met him the day after he moved in to an apartment upstairs, just after getting his back payment from social security. This was probably in the second week after Candy left. I would need to review the video footage to make sure, but I don’t think I started making little videos with him until after a month.
He was very abrasive, demanding, insulting, intolerant, somewhat racist, homophobic, unpredictable, unstable, alcoholic, and addicted to Tramadol. He was a real Archie Bunker type, but add the severe alcoholism and drug abuse. I was at a very low point, and I don’t think he saw me for more than an hour of any day sober. The times he would see me sober were when he nagged at me to drive him somewhere after waking me up by phone or knock on the door to wake me up before I could start pounding vodka. Even then, I had to constantly resist the urge to down beers with him that I told him not to open before we would even return “home”.
He shared quite a bit of information about exactly how to “be homeless”, survive, even thrive. The information was geographically specific because he had spent the prior year learning these things right in my own backyard. If I saw him on the street at some point before really meeting him, which I very well could have, I would have refused to acknowledge him, while being aware of his presence just in case he pulled some shit on me. I have a sneaky suspicion that I had seen him too, because he was familiar, and I would have faded memories of those times when I ran some errand and had to avoid “those people”.
Even with his encouragement, and offer of limited support in this venture, I couldn’t go through with it. The alternative was to cut my hair, shave, bathe for once, and wait to start drinking until AFTER I went to at least 3 places in person to drop off a resume and fill out an application, if they even fucking let me. Instead of basing my search at the time on typical want ads, I created ever widening spheres of physical distance I would have to travel for each “zone” where I applied. The closest places weren’t interested at all, but things started looking up when I hit about 3 miles out…
That decision changed a whole lot of future shit. It changed where I live right now, how much cash I have, what computer I’m using, if I still owned that van, and in a way, it has changed who I actually am, “right now”. This changes over time, I know, but that was one of those pivotal moments when I had a distinct choice about how to proceed, and the choice I made led to a future that I am more than satisfied with.
My decision to occasionally rant and rave about this and that over the course of the last six months may have been an indirect effect of the pressure and stress brought about by my fear of missing another mark. Doing it all wrong. My occasional visit with my sometimes evil, insensitive, alcohol induced alter ego hasn’t helped very much. I was in such a panic over having to pay some crazy new monthly bill, that I somehow created a plan that I don’t think I allowed myself to be fully aware of at the time.
I picked a number, and I was so very amazed to see that it was less than $100 off from what I was “hoping for”. I know that the number itself would not inspire very much celebration to a lot of people, because it is a very low number. I am astounded that I am able to maintain the reserve that I have while working at such a low margin for almost an entire year. I know I was sabotaging myself here and there when it came to making money. I could have encouraged someone to get off their *ss and help me out a little more often. I could have taken the massive reserve of unused content and add it to two websites that have not been updated in over two years now.
I didn’t do any of that though. I got lazy. I wonder even now just how much of it was intentional, and how much of it was following along with a plan that I created when I was too intoxicated to even remember it on a conscious level. I never even bothered to do more research to find a much more exact number, or even a slightly higher number that would have still created the same result. Full subsidized healthcare.
I may have created all of this knowing that as a regular earner of one amount, I will be penalized by a lack of subsidies in such a way that would probably not seem fair or proportionate to whatever financial pain I may perceive as an individual who has lived, saved, and been very comfortable with an income level considered “%100 poverty”. I haven’t really worked out the math, but a part of me glanced over at the federal table of poverty level income at one point and I realized that I might not have gotten much of a subsidy at all if I had made as little as 5K more that same year. In fact, my worry was that making one dollar more than some cut off amount would lead to me making one higher amount, and then being forced to pay out so much over the course of a year that I still end up at poverty level income anyway.
If I have to just give it all to them, why even try to make more than a certain amount? It was difficult to even try writing that out without using specific numbers in an example, because I didn’t do the fucking math myself. I just kind of guessed that there would be some kind of steep cut off for subsidies way too low to be realistic or reasonable. So, I went for a target income, when considering expenses, would end up at a point where I do not exceed the federal standard for %100 poverty level by more than 1K.
That was a crazy sounding plan, I know, it seems crazy as I type it. It was convenient that I worked that one full time job the year before last, and I noticed, that without the W-2 from that job, the desired target income was not that much more. It seems even more crazy to me that I would have a serious anxiety about making “too much” money. I should have been adding it up with each statement all through the year, but I was just making general estimations based on quick glances at deposits.
Now, I’m “here”. I enrolled by the deadline. I almost didn’t, because the state exchange that I used was going bat shit crazy on sunday night, and I just kind of gave up because I knew monday was the deadline. I am talking about a state exchange, not the feds. The feds site is such a piece of shit that they keep extending the deadline for them… Nope, my state has an exchange, and the site almost fucked me over because I had to do this big complex application, but the site shit out before I could put my “free” medicaid plan into some arbitrary fucking shopping cart. That shopping cart shit almost fucked me out of enrolling in time, which would have cost me an additional $95 as a “mandate tax”.
I was lucky that I felt compelled to “double check” and go back to the site on the day of the actual deadline, because while the site did say I had “enrolled”, it still forced me to do the shopping cart step, threatening me with potential non enrollment, even though I “digitally signed” this big ass document that took at least 20 minutes to fucking fill out. I came up with the term “entrolled”, because I thought I was enrolled but because that shit is already more fucking complex than taxes, it is almost impossible sometimes to know for sure.
I shouldn’t complain, but it was stressful. It fucked up this whole tax season procrastination thing I had going. I would have made estimated payments through the year based on estimations, but I never knew just how close my fucking estimation would be to what I ended up with. I didn’t know until I was forced to do all the fucking work of filing my taxes without actually filling out the fucking web form…
I would have procrastinated to do all that shit until at least march, but now I have already been forced to do it, I have all the numbers, and as long as I don’t have a deposit or buy any business related shit, I was ready to do fucking taxes before fucking christmas. That is fucking bogus. Oh well, it’s done. I was also super thorough and honest in giving my future psychic prediction of exactly to the penny what I will be making in 2014 too.
I have always thought it was amazing that psychic accounting will soon become a regular term in our vocabulary, because according to the form I filled out at the state exchange I used, I have to honestly predict my income for next year under threat of fraud and perjury. It’s bad enough I had to do my fucking taxes before christmas, now the assholes are going to threaten me to psychically call to the dead and ask exactly how much my fat porn is going to make next fucking year.
Wow, mood change there! I can bitch and complain about having to figure out taxes to the penny months early, but it is a genuine “first world problem” isn’t it? I mean, the alternate me, on a timeline where I never got that job, would probably not be too worried about being hit up for a mandate tax that he would not have to pay because he would not have an income to pay taxes on. Although, I am curious about the details of that potential alternate reality, like, would I still be liable for a mandate tax even though I did not meet the minimum filing threshold of income. Maybe I didn’t do more research on that detail because I didn’t really want to know, or I just don’t give a fuck because it is so detached from the future that ended up taking place.
Either way, here we are. I am not homeless, and I somehow tricked Candy into coming back willingly. 🙂 I have endured the year 2013 with a local move, and the first year payment to process visa on the websites. That was a lump payment of 750 right there. It does take money to make money indeed. All the while, I was making less than $1000 over what my government declares %100 poverty level. I keep typing that phrase out, because after enduring the alleged hardship of making that income, I still have money in the bank. Am I “poor” because of my income alone when I am still “comfortable” and actually have “savings”?
In fact, I seem to have everything I want and need, and the only pressing things I still really want are not going to cost any money. If one of my final goals is to get a specific certification, it is up to me to make it happen. Money is not an obstacle to education because I would find a cheap way to have someone else pay for it without going into debt. If I want to gain yet another type of certification that I don’t want to get into, there are very defined steps for me to obtain that “license”, and because of the very thing I have been complaining about, I may now start a process that will not even cost anything. I will finally have a “doctor”. That could be scary, because Mark taught me some stuff about handling medicaid doctors too… 🙂
This latest experiment in living just over poverty level has been educational, not only in showing me that I could do it, but also in changing my perception of poverty in general. It is ironic that I chose to sit down and write on christmas day itself, a day which represents a loop of disappointment, resulting charity, disappointment, repeat. As a I phase out and watch local news, a part of me would be involuntarily touched for a moment by the generous act of a charity group handing out toys to poor children.
After a moment, I would realize, that I was just afflicted on a subconscious level by a phenomenon that has been created as a direct result of corporate capitalism and blind consumerism. In other words, if christmas did not exist to begin with, poor children would not be denied that specific positive event, created to raise the bottom line of retailers across the board. There is a desire, as a human, to allow myself to just flow with this feeling of charitable propaganda, because I want to feel for the children, to see them happy. The logical side of my reasoning has to ruin the party though, because I am quickly reminded that this entire system has been created out of a new type of greed and sophisticated marketing and propaganda.
I don’t need all the shit on television, I don’t need this or that specific thing, I have not created a ritual involving this or that over priced “treat”. I have a very short list of very specific things that I would choose to have in my life, but I would let go of those things with little bitterness if my hand was forced and shit got out of control. For example, there does exist a price point where I would say “fuck this, I quit smoking!” While it seems like beer is going up and up, I am fortunate that my prior experimentation has not left me physically dependent, so even if I still enjoy psychological exploration of my intoxicated alter ego, it is not a daily habit, and a habit that can be scaled back to such infrequency that I would begin to miss it altogether, if all the assholes that sold beer passed some price point that I am not quite sure about this second.
The only thing I can’t do without is a person, and I lost her before, over and over. There is no amount of money that could keep her, or lose her. There is only my bad choices that could lose her. I am lucky that one of the only bad choices I have even been tempted by was alcohol, and I am very fortunate that she was able to make a compromise to allow occasional use of a lesser source of this chemical. Trade down from vodka to beer, and attempt to restrict intake to a point that leaves me much less intoxicated than I used to get on vodka. Every once in a while, there is a breach in my own security, and a part of my own self attempt so live dangerously and push my limits. Both with myself, and with her.
I know it is wrong, I know I don’t need it. I know I would always choose her over it. I guess that is where the term “guilty pleasure” comes from. There is a part of me that argues “I’m a grown man, if I want to get really fucked up on some ice beer now and then just cut me some slack!”. It is not that simple though, not nearly. It never is. Compromise is a very delicate and complex thing. Both sides have to give. I am grateful she has bent to the degree that she has, and while there has been one dented wall incident from a thrown mug (not at me thank god), she has shown remarkable restraint when I have chosen to take my ice beer intake one can over the line.
I can’t make excuses, I can’t even really talk to her about it, because it makes her too uncomfortable. I have to assume that I am “alcoholic”, even if I don’t feel like I am. Even if I don’t crave alcohol intoxication every day, or every other day, or I let it slip for 3 or 4 days so my resistance is super low, I still seem to thoroughly enjoy the initial intoxication, and once afflicted, I am driven to push further and further. I think that is called “binge drinking”, but it is nowhere near as severe as my little relationship with vodka was.
I still “use and abuse” alcohol, like some kind of explicit street drug. I deny myself for days, sometimes really just “forgetting to drink”, sometimes getting it while out, knowing that I won’t be running errands for nearly a week and I want to take a little trip to fuzzy reality land just once before I have to go out again. I can’t purchase a “30 pack” because at some point I might allow myself to consume more than 12. If I get a 12 pack, I have to put 6 in the cooler and give Candy the other 6, or I will most probably get up to 10, maybe opening number 11 but not being able to finish it, leaving a sorry sight of 1.5 beer total the day after I got a fucking 12 pack. I could have gotten loaded twice, but instead, 5 beer me said “fuck that shit I want to get fucked up!”
It is hard to figure all this shit out at times, if it’s not one thing it’s another. I felt like writing for a bit, and I came up with the title complexity before I knew for sure i wanted to write about. I didn’t even get into some stuff I was thinking about when I first started, like trying harder to apologize for all my ranting and raving about weight loss surgery. I thought that subject was limited to drunk me being stupid, but it appears that frustrated sober me before mandate compliance was using distraction and misdirection yet again.
If I seem so skilled at tricking myself into this or that behavior, I have come to another theory, about how I may be able to re-align my thinking and goal orientation in such a way where I actually “forget to drink”, or even better, procrastinate from drinking. That’s a thought. I was using alcohol while I was committing the act of procrastination, but maybe, I can turn some shit around so that I am literally too busy with some other shit I would rather be doing to be tempted to take a trip to that place where I hang out with a part of myself that I hate but am fascinated with at the same time.
I wondered myself why I would feel compelled to hyper post all over facebook when intoxicated on alcohol. I would ask myself “who am I talking to?” I think I might kind of be talking to myself there. I have reached some point where I only get loaded about twice a week, the second time is not as severe as the first because I am still dreading the last time. This last time I did it, I noticed something about it that was already turning into a habit, a game that I was playing with myself that I wasn’t fully aware of as I was doing it.
Within 2 days after one of these binges and facebook rants, I would slowly begin to remember things that I would have typed, as well as music and news articles I may have posted. If I posted photos, those will come back to me later too. One of the reasons I avoid facebook after a drunken rant session could be related to this fuzzy memory game I have been playing that I didn’t “remember”. When I use terms like distraction, misdirection, and even regression I might be minimizing the actual phenomenon.
What started out as using alcohol for escapism and avoiding reality has definitely evolved into something else. It is still not habit, it’s not every day, I don’t consume alternate substances not meant for consumption that contain alcohol, and if there was just one beer in the fridge it would not be appealing to me in the least unless I went out and picked up a sufficient amount to “peak”.
It is kind of ironic, that I will take on the responsibility of having a problem with alcohol, but at the same time, I am forced to reconcile with the fact that occasional alcohol intoxication would be acceptable, if it was mild and I didn’t have to push it to the point where I am starting to have trouble walking and typing. Even worse, it would not be so bad if there were not a part of myself that has a limit, but it is a very very high limit. I noticed that I stopped taking diphenhydramine to enhance alcohol altogether, because I literally can’t type at a much lower level of alcohol consumption.
I realize that this problem would not even be as “bad” or unacceptable if it wasn’t compounded by the past trauma and experience of my partner, who resents that fact that she can’t keep multiple forms of alcohol to make cocktails with because I might raid it. She is ok with alcohol consumption, but not alcohol binging. That is very ironic, because she occasionally enjoys a food binge. We have had to fight against co-enabling by making very distinct compromises. The complexity of love… 🙂
I am running out of steam, I don’t know how or why I got over 4500 words, but hey, I won’t be drinking. Not tonight. 🙂