I don't make friends easily

Never have really. That's not to say I don't have great friends, I certainly do. I just don't make new friends with any sort of regularity.

I think a big part of it is that I don't like people. People for the most part are stupid, lazy, self-centered, rude, and can only be depended on to do what's best for themselves. I think it'd be more accurate to say that I hate people.

The events in New Orleans, and all along the Gulf Coast have only served to reinforce that for me. True, there have been some really great stories of heroic people, saving others, behaving selflessly and so on. But I think these stories appear a little more heroic than they are due to all of the bad shit that went down there as well. Humanity as animals.

All of this crap just makes me hate people more and more. If I go out in the city, there's bound to be at least a half dozen people who do something so painfully stupid, ignorant or self-centered that I want to beat them about the head with a shovel.

I am slowly in the process of developing Wal-Mart voice. Mare and Jenn both have teacher voice, designed to bring unruly children back to order; I'm getting WM voice to teach people the proper way to behave in public.

"Hey lady, less gawking, more getting-the-fuck-out-of-my-way."

"Mister, pay attention. The shit that is your brain is dribbling out your ear."

"Well done Captain Fuckwad, between you and your ill-behaved running and screaming spawn, you've done your best to ruin everyone's day."

Seriously people, the world is going to hell in a fucking hand cart, and your average person on the street seems too damned stupid to realize that they're not just on the street, they're *in* the friggin' street! Pedestrian 0, Chloronating the Gene Pool 1.

The thing that alarms me though is that I'm losing my filter. I was in Hell-I-mean-Wal-Mart the other day, and this kid was screeching at the top of his lungs because he couldn't have some toy. Mom was either oblivious, or had recently read the back cover of a new age parenting book that said you're supposed to ignore everything that pops out of your uterus. So at the top of my lungs (1.5) from three aisles over I shouted "Enough already!" and the kid shut up right away. I'm not a parent, I don't have any special skills other than a knowledge imparted by the back of my Dad's hand as to how children should behave in public.

I pulled one public temper tantrum when I was a kid. One. And my mom whacked my ass right in the store, marched me out to the car, and took me home. And at 4 years old, I suddenly knew what was acceptable in public, and what wasn't. My brother and sister were the same way. We were allowed one tantrum apiece, and that was it.

I don't advocate beating kids, but kids are not small adults. You can't reason with a 3 year old. You tell 'em what's what, and when they don't behave there have to be serious consequences to their actions. Kids who understand that there are consequences to their actions don't grow up to be teenagers who act out, adults who have no concept of reality or whatever.

If I ever become a multi-millionaire, I'm going to patrol parking lots with a sledge hammer. Every time someone does something stupid with there car, I will hit it with said sledge. And then write them a cheque to cover the damages.

Maybe I should hold out for billionaire.

Cooke

"People call me Cooke."

"Why Cooke?" she gazed over her coffee. She normally would have thought this was a bad idea, talking to a guy in a diner. He seemed harmless though, and he certainly was cute.

"James Markham William Cooke is a bit of a mouthful."

"Why not James, Mark, Bill, or Jim or something like that?"

"Only my mother called me James. And my ex called me Jim. Everyone else calls me Cooke."

"So what do you do Cooke?"

"I'm an analyst for the government," he touched his lightly greying temple. Control, he breathed.

"Really, that must be... uhm..."

"Painfully dull," he finished. "It is. What about you Karen?"

"I work in accounts receivable for DataCorp," she grinned. She'd started the job only weeks ago, and was proud of herself. It was a real grown-up job, making real grown-up money.

He smiled at her, happy for the obvious pleasure she took in her job. "Could I call you sometime?"

Karen paused for a moment, pursed her lips in exaggerated thought before fishing a pen from her purse. "I'd like that."

Da-da-da-da

So I've been quiet... sue me. This job search thing really sucks. What with all the effort of finding a job whose description doesn't make me want to hang myself, then the additional effort required to compose a cover letter, tweak my resume, and then send it off... and from all this. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

So, I'm taking today off, and doing a little writing. And reading. And perhaps, in honour of the first week of school, some 'rithmatic.

I've (re)discovered in the past couple of weeks that I don't function well without some structure in my life. If I don't have a reason to get out of the house almost every day, I get lethargic and cranky. I guess I'm saying my days of being gleefully unemployed are at an end.

I'm now surli-ly (did I just type that?) unemployed. Sans-job-in-a-surly-fashion if you will.

By the way, if House is not the finest show on television, I'm not sure what is. And the first person to say Arrested Development gets a kick to the crack. I've watched it, I don't like it.

Thanks also for the lovely comments, even though I've been a slacker. You are all wunderbar!