An open letter to my kitten [05 Jan 2010|01:45am] lauraisatramp [ mood | sad ] MISSING: Dear Chuy, I miss you. Please come home. Or, ask someone with with thumbs to call me and tell me where you are, and I'll come pick you up. 360-509-2867 Your friend, Laura J Wilkin PS. Boo Boo misses you, too. So crush me baby,I'm all ears.

"We hope you get to be happy sometimes." [04 Jan 2010|06:58pm] lauraisatramp [ mood | discontent ] [ music | The Weakerthans - Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist ] I'm going to have to start listening to emo bands again. I sincerely think that's part of the reason that I don't update my journal anymore. Another ginormo part of the reason is that I don't have a computer. However, I have recently taken a job that gives me at least two hours of nightly unsupervised free time. I've taken some advice from Montgomery Scott, from some Next Generation episode he apparently guest starred on. I never saw it, but was told the scene went about something like this: Interior, USS Enterprise, Engine Room. Something really important and critical is broken, per usual. The new engineer tells the Captain over their intercom that they will have the problem fixed in about two hours. Scotty, baffled by this estimated measure of time, questions the new engineer. "What did you tell him two hours for?" "Because this project will take two hours." "Well, I know that, but you're supposed to tell him it will take four hours, and then look like an engineering genius when you unexpectedly get it done in two hours." See, the brilliance in this line of thinking, and how it applies to my new job, is that there really have been idiots working here in the past. Almost exclusively. I mean, the fact that I know how to use ten key, Outlook, and the fucking internet just amazes and dumbfounds them. They think I'm sort of office-working android sent here from a technologically advanced alien civilization or something. So, couple the sneaky tactic of overestimating project time lines with the fact that I'm more efficient to begin with, and you've got an instant recipe for success. Better than fucking jello pudding and microwave popcorn. Regardless, this strange and sometimes frustrating workplace experience will just make it easier for me to advance in the company, get paid more, accrue more vacation hours, and finally end up shopping for shoes in Paris. That is the ultimate goal, after all. I hate this town. The name, Pacific City, is shamefully misleading. This is not a city. I think referring to it as a town, also, is fucking pushing it. Of course, what's smaller than a town, yet still has a library? Fine, fuck you Pacific City, you can be a town. I'm still going to hate you. I hate the bar. No, I didn't say, "I hate the bars." I hate the one bar in this town. I fucking hate it. First off, apparently, anybody who drinks in public in this town is an asshole. I'm not saying that drunks are assholes. I'm thinking the people who aren't assholes must just get drunk at home. That's what I've taken up as a new hobby. I guess it's okay. My room mates are fine enough. They don't necessarily watch the type of television programs I'd like, but I suppose it's better than bullshit sports programs that every bar insists on playing. Maybe to get myself into more of a drinking mood, I can move my mini-bar into the living room, and get a nice bar stool to accompany it. This doesn't make me hate the bar in town any less. I was going to go on a rant about that, but got distracted. Dragging my bar into the living room is just better for everybody in the long run. Way to turn that into a positive, Laura J. I'm drinking more. This will not get me back into not-fat pant sizes, but it will keep me from killing myself. Being fat is better than being dead, right? Wait, I have to ponder that one. Tomorrow night, I'll try to summarize my feelings on my room mates, and how much I hate sharing a living room. I'm sure they wouldn't mind it if I sat around in my underpants, like I used to. However, I'm not so sure that I wouldn't mind it. Underpants Time is my special time. Maybe I'll put a couch in my bedroom to simulate a livingroom underpants experience. I miss my cat. I hope she came home. So crush me baby,I'm all ears.

homeless and unemployed. [25 Dec 2009|04:58pm] lauraisatramp [ mood | indifferent ] Holy fuck, it's been 15 weeks without livejournal. I got laid off. That lay off turned into a big fat wire hanger of an abortion, because Steve, the Project Director of Sales, is a big cottage cheese infected dick hole. Anyway, extremely long story short, Steve got me and my entire crew fucked out of two weeks pay, and I never want to work for Wyndham again. So I was rocking unemploymemt for about three and a half months. At first, I was terribly resistant. I had to convert $12/hour plus commission into unemployment's $5.83/hour. Good luck paying rent, kid. But I learned how to be poor. You take ANY free handout you can get, and buy beer and cigarettes with whatever is left over. I started to get antsy around November. I had a severance package, but I needed to save it for moving expenses. I realized that, if I were to take a job in Seaside, I would never be able to make enough money to LEAVE Seaside. I also would barely be able to make enough money to live, and I would start depleting my savings account. I was comfortable enough, but I knew if I ever wanted to leave that little drunken haze of a town, now was the time. So, I put in my notice at my apartment. I figured nothing would light a fire under my job-seeking ass than being homeless, cold, and hungry. With the 30th of November as a deadline, SURELY I could find a job by then and figure out what to do with myself. How wrong I was. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I started mentioning to my friends, many of whom had stayed at my house in the past, that I was going to be sleeping in my car by the next week. You know, when you’re in a situation like this, you realize who your true friends are. I realized I had none. Okay, that’s not true. I didn’t actually flat out ASK anybody if I could stay on their couch. But I hinted. I hinted A LOT, and I hinted rather obviously. Here are the POSITIVE responses I got: Bernie said I could stay with her, if I didn’t mind driving the 204 miles to her house. Norma BEGGED me to stay, but, again, I’d have to travel the 218 miles to her house. Gabrielle offered to let me house sit for her in Seattle for two weeks. I liked that option a lot. Tarn recommended a nice quiet parking lot for me to sleep in. Yeah, fuck you, Tarn. That guy stays over ALL THE TIME because he’s too drunk to drive home. Heaven forbid he let me stay over, because I’m HOMELESS! Anyway, my old hump buddy Cory said his room mate just moved out, so I could stay in his spare room. I paid him rent for the first week. $87. The kitties and I moved in and were just getting accustomed to our surroundings when I got a call from Pacific City, Oregon at a place called The Cottages at Cape Kiwanda. Now I work there. I've lost interest in updating the livejournal for tonight. There's too much to report, and I feel like I'm being disgustingly ambiguous when I want to be exceedingly detailed. I'll do my best to document my move, and how erin turned out to be a giant cunt rag in the end later. So crush me baby,I'm all ears.

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