A.T.F. Alcohol, Tobacco, and Fine-Ass Ho's.

Something is going very wrong in my life right now. This epiphany occurred to me at around one in the afternoon as I sat in an overly crowded Subway (the restaurant, not the transportation depot) eating my "not on the six grams of fat or less menu" tuna sandwich. The whole place was filled with smelly construction workers and one of them was clearly stoned and wearing a neon yellow shirt that hung around his ankles and said A.T.F. which apparently means Alcohol, Tobacco, and Fine-ass ho's.
So maybe I am going about things all wrong. Maybe if that's all I needed in life to be happy, things would be much less frustrating. I could get drunk everyday whilst increasing my chances of lung cancer or emphasima ten fold. The whole lesbian thing, I could really take or leave. I'm just not into ho's before bro's. So I don't know if this would even work out.
Anyway.
The issue here is really that I'm just blown away by the housing market. I'm pretty sure that crack head A.T.F. is living in a Winter Park 2 bed 1 bath home that looks like a toolshed but actually costs around $350,000. I mean if this smelly bastard can't find a shirt that fits him in the local Wal-mart can manage to put his paycheck into actual equity instead of throwing it in the rental trashcan, I should be able to do the same, yes?In all fairness, I'm just cranky. I'm cranky because once again, I'm coming up on my two week mark of not going to the gym. This actually has a much deeper meaning than simply "couldn't get my fat ass out to the gym today." You see, the sentence: "I haven't been to the gym in awhile" can actually be broken down to mean the following:
a.) Hi, I'm feeling pretty disgusting today, how about yourself?b.) Using only fried, artery clogging, fast food grease nuggets, I have been able to sustain an existence for almost two weeks without a second thought given to any sort of food that would exist on a government dictated pyramid.c.) I am perpetually exhausted, unmotivated, and eating flav-o-ice popsicles.d.) I simply haven't found the time in my slothness to walk the dogs who are miserable and simply don't understand why I can't find a half hour in my day to help them break out of our 3'x3' apartment on the third floor.e.) I am looking like a fat, sleepy troll. If I can't make it to the gym you better bet that I am slothing out of bed at the last POSSIBLE instant and my hair will be jammed into a giant 16 pound knot on the back of my skull.I'll put on some clothes that might be clean and probably match and sulk into my little work chair dreaming of fried nuggets from any given fast food hut-- only 4 hours from now.Now that my first project is coming to pass at my new job, I think I can start to accurately judge my surroundings. It's still up in the air as to whether or not I will continue my reign of abuse here. I like the projects and the idea that I will be able to find creativity in something I know little about. I like to learn new things-- but no, I don't have a degree in aviation and I don't know the difference between this airport and that airport so maybe that does warrant my boss talking to me like I should be wearing a helmet and a drool cup. I don't know. We'll see. We'll see.
Either way, back to my Subway adventure with the tuna fish and the smelly A.T.F. man... so I'm sitting here thinking about life and I realize that once again, my unhappiness is my own fault. It comes down to the fact that I am disorganized and flustered about 100% of the time and I get my barings straight just in time to move on to the next latest issue without having really accomplished anything. I am infact very lucky and certainly very thankful. It wasn't too long ago that I really did have it bad. Customer service is really having it bad. Really having it bad is answering the phone and hearing "Hello. kalsdjfiowjelknfaishdifjkefijaoidsjiasknfij8iuc" on the other line and knowing that you can't POSSIBLY decipher what this person on the other line wants. Really having it bad is when that person then calls the corporate headquarters of your really bad customer service job and they place them on hold to find someone that fluently speaks jibberish who will not only give this person everything they want with a cherry on top, but ensure them revenge on the poor person who dared to not speak a language other than English. From this point on it really does get bad. Corporate will call your store and talk to your manager who will then alert every other manager above you as to what has happened so that each and every person in the store who outranks you can individually tell you the same thing over and over again until little vessles in your brain start to pop and sizzle.Then if you're REALLY lucky you will REALLY get to have it bad because the powers that be will decide that EVERYONE can benefit from learning to handle the jibberish person and you'll have to show up at the store at 7:00am on a Saturday to hear the whole story again in the form of an interactive meeting with games and store bought cookies. They will make up fun little acronyms like: PHONE JOY which will stand for People Honoring Overly Nonsense Excited Jibberish Over Yack machines (phones) and they'll watch you for weeks on end providing you with monkey and elephant stickers if you can infact answer a phone correctly.
Now THAT is having it really bad. So I have to remember how far I've come and be thankful. I need to get my shit together, buy a house and walk the dogs. That will be my alcohol, tobacco, and fine ass ho's and I'll be Okay.