This update is long overdue, so where's what's been going on:

Tuesday, I talked to the guy at Enterprise regarding my desire to rent the car for another week. Turns out, they will make exceptions for pricing for reliable renters. Since I’m considered a reliable renter, they gave me the second week for the same price as the first! The total cost for the 2 week rental was now $397.67.

Wednesday, I went to work (on my day off) to get the prints built for the Valentine’s Day opening. All six prints were built on time and screened.

Thursday, I worked until 3pm and left early to check out some car dealerships. I headed to Easy Credit Auto Sales in Cocoa and test drove a 2000 Chevy Cavalier. I didn't notice anything wrong with it, and the price was reasonable, so I put $1000 down and agreed to the $75/wk payments.

What I wasn't told was that the down payment didn't cover the taxes and fees, so I was going to have to pay those up front as well. So, instead of adding the remainder to the total cost of the car and extending my payments by a couple of months, I have to pay the extra along with my first six payments.

Ultimately, I owe $230 every two weeks for the first three months, 24 payments of $150 every two weeks. I'm budgeted for $250 per month.

This is freakin' awesome.

Somehow, some way, I'm going to get my budget worked out so I'm not eating ramen noodles three times per day. It doesn't look promising, but neither did my outlook for getting a car.

To start this shitty, shitty day, it's raining. Rain from the sky. Rain on my parade. Rain, rain, rain, rain, piss...

I left my car at the shop until I could make arrangements to have something done with it, which took a week. I called for a tow truck and had the car towed back to my apartment so I could get my crap out of it and figure out what to do with it.
There went $75.

Then I paid my cell phone bill.
Another $231.

I paid my credit card.
Another $150.

I paid my apartment bills.
Another $150.

I paid for my rental car for this past week.
Another $200.

I paid my student loan.
Another $120.

I guess I'm not going to be able to rent a car again this week, considering it's going to cost over $300 because of Valentine's Day! So, I'm stuck without a car of my own this week, and I have a couple of dealerships to check out so I can possibly buy another car.

Although, I haven't had any luck in the financing department. More on that issue later...

Sooooo.... yeah....

After paying $120 to tow my car to the shop (I was in the middle of nowhere), I spent another $113 to find out what was wrong with my car. Turns out, the answer was EVERYTHING!

Apparently, to unload the car quickly with the least amount of effort, the cracked head was "repaired" and the motor sealed with epoxy so it would run for a little while after it was sold. The wrong airbox was put in, the timing chain wasn't installed on new guides, and the constant jerking of the engine damaged the transmission. The first pop I heard was the transmission, and the second pop was the chain snapping. Awesome.

So, the repair order was for a new motor, a new transmission, and all labor fees for installation.

Needless to say, but the cost to fix the car is more than the car would be worth afterwards. Go figure.

Now, I'm left without a car for a while, and to top it off, another projector went down today. I've just booked a rental car for the week at a wonderful $200/wk rate (without insurance), just so I can go to work this week.

BLEH!

So, here's my (very) late update on what's been going on as of my last post, up to today:

I made my flight to Virginia on the 23rd. I got stopped in the Airport - for my shoes - go figure... no joke.

I got off the plane in Richmond, my ears still haven't popped (12 days later), and I picked up my new car on the 25th. The battery was dead, so when we stopped to put gas in the car, it wouldn't start again. The battery was replaced and I drove the car around for two days to get used to it. I drove home on the 27th, burning four quarts of oil (which I replaced along the way.)

I worked on getting the car to stop burning oil and did the standard fluids check. Added two quarts of transmission fluid to the transmission, another three quarts of oil for the engine, and checked the coolant and washer fluid. Everything seemed to be okay, except for the rough shifting from 1st to 2nd and 3rd to 4th.

Several other issues were noticed and worked on, including a bad PCV valve, some cracked hoses, and a trashed airbox. While driving to work today, two loud pops from my transmission confirmed the condition of the bands and left me stuck on the side of the road.

So, my car is broken down, both the engine and transmission require extensive repair, and I'm the proud owner of two non-working vehicles.

Hopefully, the repairs on the car won't be too bad, and I'll be back on the road in a couple of days.

This concludes the 5-minute update.

The autopsy has come back for Chopper 5, and the coroner has determined that Chopper 5 was proper fucked by old age. Memorial services will be held on Saturday, January 19th at 1:30am. Services will include a funeral pyre, some pissing on the corpse, and quite a few drinks in memory of what a whore she was. A damned dirty whore. Everyone is invited to get shit-faced and share a few unkind words at the slag's expense. BYOB.

In other news:
It's a total pain in the ass to get from Point A to Point B. Always. In most cases, my Point A was home and Point B was work, or Point A was work and Point B was home. Most of the time, this involved Point C - the side of the road trying to beat the dead horse that was my truck.

Now, with my truck dead, securing another mode of transportation has been a nightmare. The first thing I did - the first thing I always do - is call my mom. Yes. Yes, I am a Momma's Boy. So, my mom found a car for me and told me to come get it. How hard could it be to get from Point A - my home in Florida - to Point B - the car in Virginia? The answer: A fucking nightmare!

Let me outline this nightmare:

1. Road trip. Rent a car, drive the rental to Virginia and drop it off at another rental office, get a ride to the middle of nowhere (where my mom lives) and drive my new car back to Florida in time to be at work for my next shift. This was my first and favorite idea.
   1. Car rental companies charge extra for out-of-state trips. Usually X cents per mile over your Y free miles per day. It gets expensive quickly.
   2. Car rental companies in Florida will NOT rent one-way out of Florida.
   3. Car rental companies suck when it comes to renting a car. Period.
2. Bus trip. Get a bus ticket, board the bus, make a few stops, a transfer, make a few more stops, get dropped off, get a ride to the middle of nowhere (where my mom lives) and drive my new car back to Florida in time to be at work for my next shift.
   1. A 10-hour drive in a car is an 18-hour drive in a bus. So much for relaxing before driving back and going back to work.
   2. The bus departure is at 7:55pm and arrives just before 2:00pm the next day. That's already two days of work missed, plus the third day to get back to Florida.
   3. Taking the bus sucks. Taking two buses sucks three times as much. Screw math!
   4. I'm not paying $122 to be rubbed against by the drunk guy on the bus for 18 hours.
3. Road trip. Rent a car, tell the rental company that it's an in-state rental, drive with a friend to Virginia to the middle of nowhere (where my mom lives), drive the rental car while my friend drives my new car back to Florida, drop the rental car off at the original rental office, get in my new car, drop my friend off at his house, go home and relax for a while, and get to work for my next shift.
   1. Paying for a rental car for two days plus gas for the rental both ways plus gas for the new car to get back to Florida is expensive. Even if both cars get +30mpg.
   2. An out-of-state accident with the rental car would surely cause more of an issue that I can afford to fix. I'd be screwed.
   3. Finding someone who is willing to go on a road trip from Florida to Virginia and back, who can get permission to go on a road trip from Florida to Virginia and back, is nearly impossible. It's definitely impossible if I limit the "someone" to my friends. Why do they have jobs and parents and a life outside of their interaction with me?!?
   4. Car rental companies suck when it comes to renting a car. Period.
4. Fly. Get a plane ticket, get a ride to the airport, board the plane, take-off, fly, land, change planes, take-off, fly, land, get a ride to the middle of nowhere (where my mom lives) and drive my new car back to Florida in time to be at work for my next shift.
   1. Plane tickets are expensive. Especially when you're buying them at the last minute because something has come up and you really need to get somewhere!!!
   2. I've never flown on a commercial flight, so having to deal with two airports and their policies is out of my realm of knowledge. Are you allowed to wear shoes with laces? And they won't confuse the laces for fuses to a shoe-bomb? You're sure?
   3. Buying a plane ticket online when you've never flown before is like trying to prove that you didn't kill someone when you're caught holding the murder weapon, covered in their blood, and you can't stop screaming, "Oh, God! Oh, God, I killed him! Oh, God, why did I kill him?"
   4. The only way to get a cheap ticket at the last minute is to buy one online. As soon as I find a way to email a DNA sample, I can buy a last minute plane ticket online.

To make a long story short:
I didn't get a rental car. I didn't get a bus ticket. I didn't rent a car and drive with someone else. I didn't get a last minute plane ticket. I made some calls, did some bitching, and finally resorted to buying an advance plane ticket, having to wait two weeks, and flying out on a tiny 50-seater plane non-stop from Florida to Virginia so I can get my new car and drive back to Florida in time to get to work for my next shift. In the meantime, I have to schedule myself to work the same shifts as my roommate so we can carpool. It's not really a big deal, but I'm really going to miss being able to drive myself to the store when I'm out of green tea.

Finally, I'd like to say how much it sucks that shit always piles up on you when you think you've finally gotten clear of it. Everything was going fine until my truck died. Then, I had to find a way to get from Florida to Virginia to get a new car. Now, I have to pay for a new car (but not all at once thanks to my mom), I just bought a plane ticket (which was actually really cheap - $102) so I can get the new car, pay for the gas to get back to Florida from Virginia (probably $100), electric and internet bills are due ($100), my cell bill was just paid ($150), my student loan is due ($120), gas for carpooling for two weeks ($40), my credit card bill ($200), taxes I owe on my truck before the 31st ($50), registration for my new car before the 31st ($100), there was an emergency at work so I had to rent a car for two days ($80), groceries, gas for my new car after the 25th, and either moving expenses and rent for the new place ($500) or rent for my current apartment ($330) by the 31st. I have $240 in my bank account now, I get paid $700 on the 23rd, and I have my income tax refund of nearly $900 that I should get sometime between February 1st and never. It's a good thing I'm relying on that refund to pay for all this shit, otherwise, what would I have go wrong to add to this pile that's already covering me?

I'm sure things will work out in the end. By the end, I mean the end of my life, when all of my expenses and debts will be passed on to my progeny.

Ah... Sweet relief!

I'm sad to announce that at at 3:14pm on January 7, 2008, Chopper 5 died of natural causes.

Wait. Sad? Sad is the wrong word.

OVERJOYED!!!

That piece-of-shit truck gave me nothing but trouble from the moment I bought it, and I'm glad it's dead! Now I have no excuse to not get a new car.

The only problem I have with Chopper 5's death is the lack of transportation I have to and from work. Luckily, I'm off until Thursday. I guess I should really make the effort to replace my truck.

The last thing I remember is falling asleep December 30th, 2007, and now I wake up and it's January 1st, 2008!!!

It's been horrible being sick with the flu, but the worst part is being so sick that I had to take a coma to feel better. I've also suffered lapses in judgment and memory that I'm just now realizing.

I always schedule myself to close at work on New Years Eve since I never have anything to do and I know the other guys almost always do, but Saturday I agreed to the arrangement that would give me Monday off because I was sick - completely forgetting that Monday was New Years Eve!

Now I just feel like an ass. I could have gone to work and just done my best. The worst thing that would have happened would be that I started most of the movies late. It's not like the theatre is ever busy on New Years Eve. I would have pissed off like six people. Instead, I ruined all the plans my lead projectionist had for celebrating New Years. That makes me a certified dildo.

The only up-side is that I'm feeling well enough to stay conscious long enough to write this. I'm still sick, though, so I'm going to take another double-dose of NyQuil and pass out until I have to go to work today.

Damn.

I have to work today.

Happy friggin' New Year!

I've said it many times over the years, and I'll say it again here:

I don't mind that people go to the movies on Christmas Eve and Christmas, considering not everyone is a Christian. I'm not saying that I completely mind that Christians go to the movies on these days either.

My issue is with the Christians who go to the movies to get away from their families - would it kill you to spend a few days with them? - and the Christians who always, always, ALWAYS come to the movies on Christmas Eve or Christmas and make THIS COMMENT to the people who have to work these days:

"It's a shame you have to work on Christmas (Eve)!"

You JACKASSES!!!

Our Christmas Day attendance this year was 4000. Exactly. Four thousand people came to the theatre to watch a movie this year.

Just one person making the "shame" comment is enough to piss someone off for having to work Christmas, but with the 4000 people that showed up, I can guarantee that more that 1% of these people made the "shame" comment. I know that doesn't sound like much, but consider that this comment is usually made at the concession stand where at least three working people hear it. Now imagine being one of those people having to work on Christmas and hearing the "shame" comment once for every 100 people that come to the stand. To make matters worse, only 30-40% of the total attendance actually visits the concession stand, which means:

1400 people visit the concession stand (35% of 4000)
40 people will make the "shame" comment (1% of 4000)

1 out of every 70 people at the concession stand is a jackass With almost 120 people at the stand every hour, you will hear a jackass speak at least once every hour - usually twice.

Just writing this has made me angry, so I'd like to finish by saying don't be a JACKASS!!!

Thank the people who have to work on Christmas so you can enjoy yourself, and realize that YOU ARE THE REASON THEY HAVE TO WORK!!!

With all sense and sensibility, given the lack of response to previous bouts of quiet complacence and the still absent response to intense interjections and articulate admonishments, I now understand there must be a third option when it comes to dealing with stupid simians.

The fruitlessness of subtle sarcasms and obvious objections to idiotic interventions on verily viable resources where no intervention is imperative has been furiously frustrating.

Why superfluously suture the sufficient scab?

These stupid simians feel it needlessly necessary to reinvent the wheel, while the wheel remains the appropriate apparatus to fulfill the function of a working wheel. Having conceived the creation of the shoe simply to squash the spider, fully forgetting that form follows function, the shoe remains disastrously discarded even as the sticky soles of safe shoes worn on slick surfaces would surely save broken bones from faulty footing.

How do you influence idiots and stupid simians on matters of absurd adjustments to already ample solutions, when outright objection and quiet complacence is conclusively condemned to fruitless failure?

What becomes of ridiculous renovations to working wheels?

I'm surely certain the successful solution to the curious communication conundrum will negate the need to answer the final question.

I finally worked up the courage to call the Gastro doctor for a follow-up appointment, mostly delaying for fear that his opinion would be for surgical repair of my poor esophagus. Lucky for me, he doesn't think that would be the best course of action. Unlucky for me, he wants to do the procedure that isn't guaranteed to work, but is going to put me in the most discomfort WHILE I'M CONSCIOUS!

I have now been placed on two antibiotics and some freaky Prevacid SoluTabs to aid in the repair of my esophagus, but in a couple of weeks the doctor would like me to set up the actual appointment for the follow-up exam and "the procedure." The doctor has decided that the best course of action would be to do an endoscopic exam, followed by Esophageal Dilation.

Joy.

That's just what I wanted to deal with at Christmas. Someone cramming a tube down my throat, followed by a balloon, and inflating the balloon to the point it stretches my esophagus.

At least I have two weeks to work up the courage to make that phone call. I guess for now I'll stick to my daily medication schedule of antibiotics and antacids twice a day, and the always enjoyable liquid diet.

So, this thing I've had since I was a teenager - I always choke on my first bite of food - has become a real medical problem. Most of the time, if I just take a drink of whatever I have in front of me, the food finishes working its way down to my stomach. However, on rare occasions (this being the second one), the food decides it's going to hang around and beat the shit out of my esophagus. If the food doesnt go all the way down, I can't swallow anything else... including my own spit. You'd be surprised how much saliva the human body creates when you're hungry. Without being able to swallow anything, eventually the top of my esophagus fills with saliva and I begin to drown in my own spit. How sad is that?

What started out as a horrible day ended as an even worse day. I had to open at work - an 11am to 6pm shift (which isn't bad to most people, but that's when I usually sleep) - so I was already in a bad mood. Then, since i had a break between shows, I decided to head to the food court and pick up some food before I was too busy to go later. I went to the Cajun Cafe for some sweet and sour chicken with steamed rice to go. I told the lady, "I'd like sweet and sour chicken with white rice to-go please." She was aparently stuck in "here-or-to-go" mode, so she asked me if I wanted it for here or to-go. Annoying. I told her I wanted it to-go, and she said she would meet me at the register. To the register, I went. I paid for my food, grabbed the to-go box, and headed back to work. Now the fun begins.

Once I was back upstairs and at my table, I carefully removed the box from the plastic bag, found my fork, knife, and napkins, set aside my eggroll for later, and opened the box.

That stupid twat gave me bourbon chicken!

I threw a temper-tantrum for a couple of minutes and figured I might as well eat it since I wasn't going to have time to go back and change it. Besides, I like bourbon chicken, but it wasn't what I was in the mood for. I took my first bite, a single piece of chicken that I cut in half just to make sure it wasn't too big for me to swallow for my first bite. While I quietly chewed, I opened my can of coke, since I knew no matter how much I chewed this food (unless i pureed it) it was going to get stuck and I would look to my coke to be my saviour. Chew, chew, chew, and swallow; the chicken gets stuck. I reach for my coke, take a sip, swallow it, and gag like you would not believe. That chicken was not moving.

Since I could still breathe, I wasn't too worried because I knew it would go down eventually. I just had to work at it. That is, until I started choking on my own saliva. Now I'm a little worried. I hacked up the spit, and decided that maybe I should just keep spitting into a trashcan until the chicken moved just so I wouldn't choke again. Four hours later, the chicken had barely moved if at all, but I decided since I wasn't able to work anyway, I might as well go home and try to relax. Hopefully, relaxing would make my esophagus relax and the chicken would go down.

Another four hours later, it's time to go to the hospital. The chicken was firmly planted and I wasn't going to be able to remove it on my own. Shit.

It's a good thing my roommate was home, because I knew I wasn't going to be ok to drive back from the hospital once I had the chicken removed. He agreed to drive me to the emergency room and offered a little advice. Stop choking my chicken. Sound advice, but it's even harder to keep a straight face knowing that my chicken was in fact choking me. Catching eachother with gay jokes makes us laugh. Anyway... back to the matter at hand.

I knew the medication they gave me last time worked wonders, so when the doctor came to see me, I told her that Glucagon (an esophageal relaxant) worked well and I'd like to try that before having to resort to drastic measures. She agreed and sent the nurse in with a 10mL dose to get me going. 40 minutes later, nothing was happening, however I was feeling very, very nauseus and had dry heaved hard enough to bring up a buick from my stomach once I got the first dose, but aparently it wasn't enough to bring up that stingy piece of chicken. Go figure. So, a second 10mL dose was administered in hopes that the first dose partially dislodged the chicken, and this second dose would allow it to ease down. 40 minutes later and no dice. Same dry heave, same look of dismay on my face. It was now time to call in the Gastroenterologist to perform an Esophagogastroscopy to push the chicken into my stomach with an endoscope.

I was supposed to be partially sedated but coherent for the procedure. I guess it didn't help that I was absolutely exhausted from being up all day with chicken in my esophagus, but once they gave me the three part sedative, I was out like a light. Completely unconscious for 2 hours. I missed the whole procedure, but I ended up with these cool pictures and I would like to share them with you now.

The first set of 4 images is the upper esophagus and the blockage, which was 3/4 of the way down my esophagus. The second set of 4 images is post-removal. You can see I have a small tear in the lining (top left) but it's nothing major, and severe iritation and erosion after the narrowing (as seen in the first set of 4 pictures - bottom right), which was the ultimate cause of always choking on my first bite of food. Aparently, after the first bite, that part of my esophagus expands to normal size and stays that way until the esophagus has a chance to relax.

So I've moved... again... I waited until last night to even think about starting to pack, packed this morning, moved, unpacked this afternoon, then finally got some sleep. Now, I'm wide awake and I'm bored as balls.

I'm starting to become a professional at this moving thing. This move was #5 for the year, for those of you who are keeping track. I don't even want to think about how many times I've moved, in total, in my entire life. Let's just say it's well over 20. Maybe even 30. Doesn't matter, because I don't want to think about it anyway. I'm looking to only ever move maybe 2 more times in my entire life. Not realistic, considering my record, but it's an optimistic wish based on unrealistic terms.

Oh, yeah. And before I forget... Fuck shoes!

Since I was bored, and I've noticed it always takes forever for me to get around to posting a new blog entry, I decided to explore for better ways for me to post my blog. Much to my surprise, I found a Firefox extension that takes care of everything for me! All I have to do is type!

Chances are, if you've been around me and asked something computer related, I've (at one point or another) recommended switching from IE to Firefox. Tabbed browsing, extensions, customizable search, themes... Here's just another reason why I love using Firefox.

For anyone who doesn't already have Firefox, you can get it at GetFirefox.com. One of the best parts of Firefox is the ability to add extensions to enhance your browsing. My new blog editor happens to be a Firefox extension.

Instead of going to MySpace.com, logging in, waiting for my page to load, clicking the blog link, waiting for the page to load, clicking the new blog entry link, waiting for the page to load, waiting for the editor to load, blah blah blah blah blah... You know the deal. I get to click a little button while I'm online reading email or doing whatever, type a new entry, and click a "Post" button and BAM!!! My blog is now posted on MySpace as if I had used the MySpace Blog editor. Sooooo much faster. Now I'll have plenty of time to stare stupidly at SpikedHumor.com or.. be.. bored... Wait... Maybe this isn't such a good idea... Oh well.

I drive through a construction zone every day that I go to work. Nothing special about it, really, since the construction has been going on for quite some time. There are signs everywhere, starting a mile in advance of the construction zone and continuing until the actual start of the construction.

This particular construction zone serves the purpose of expanding the causeway from 4 lanes to 6, thus adding an additional lane of traffic both to and from the island. This expansion on an East/West road is only occurring on the westbound side (north) of the bridge. Such construction requires that sometimes one of the westbound lanes must be closed to allow construction workers to add to the bridge.

The signage provided before the construction site informs all westbound traffic that a construction zone is approaching within 1 mile. The second sign provides for a generous 45mph flow of traffic. The third sign is sometimes a warning that the right lane will be closed ahead in 1 mile. When the right lane is open, they remove this sign. And finally, the fourth sign is a warning for all traffic to remain in their current lane (when both lanes are open - otherwise you don't really have a choice).

Given such a dangerous situation for both traffic and construction workers alike, it would make sense to have cops patrol or monitor that area to ensure that all traffic laws (and all officially posted signs) are being obeyed.

Why is there never a cop posted at this site???

Every day that I drive through this construction zone, and I mean EVERY day, there is someone who is in a major hurry and has to fly through the construction zone going at least 60mph. No exaggeration. I'll also, in most cases, see someone (usually the same speeder) weaving from lane to lane through traffic. Lastly, on days in which the right lane has been closed and the appropriate signs placed to warn traffic of the lane closure, I can guarantee that there is some idiot that's going to fly down the right lane all the way to the point where the cones start closing off the lane - essentially the last 5 or 6 feet that the right lane is open - and recklessly zip into the left lane regardless of traffic.

All of these actions are clear violations of traffic laws, and are more importantly gross violations of safe driving. So I ask again:

Why is there never a cop posted at this site???

Hopefully, for the safety of all those working in this construction zone, and for the safety of all those who obey traffic laws because sometimes they just make sense, something will be done to halt this reckless behavior. If you haven't noticed, I didn't mention the safety of those in violation of these traffic laws, simply because I couldn't give a shit if they wreck and die because of their actions. At least there will be one less person being a complete ass and endangering the lives of others.

I am so sick of looking for places to live.

It turns out that I now, yet again, have to find a new place to live. This time it seems to be for a good reason at least.

I just wish I hadn't used the money I had saved up to pay rent and to buya bed and stuff. Now I don't have anything saved for a deposit, and thanks to my wonderful job, I only get one paycheck for the entire month of October. That's right - just one on the 18th.

I look at my bills, which are due at various points before or by the 15th and wonder how I'm ever going to manage to pay them on time. Our original payday was going to be the 13th, so I had everything worked out for paying bills on the 13th and 14th. So much for that plan now!

To top it all off, my mom is getting married on the 21st and I'm not even sure if I'll have the money to be able to go to the wedding. Isn't that FUCKED UP?

I guess that's life. Or maybe it's just my life. Probably the later. Life makes me want to punch babies. In the face. Maybe I'll die with a tire hitting me in the face. One can only hope.

So it's been a while. And what a while it's been.

I'll be breif, as I know I tend to go on and on about the aweful things that go on in my life. This thing now - not so aweful.

Just when I thought I couldn't bear to spend one more night sleeping on a couch, I didn't have to spend one more night sleeping on a couch. Go figure.

I now have a place of residence. Complete with my own room. A bed. My computer desk. My computer. A door that closes. A solid floor. Patience has rewarded me greatly.

Heaven and Hell are where you make them. One person's hell is another person's heaven. The fact is, everyone has some place they would rather not be if they could possibly avoid it. For me, my personal hell is Virginia. The only thing to me that's worth being in Virginia for is my family, but that only gets me to want to visit.

The truth is, I was facing what I felt was going to be the biggest disaster in my life. If things couldn't work out for me here in Florida, and I had to move back to Virginia, I just knew that I would never be able to pull my life together and move on with finding my own heaven. I escaped hell. Twice. I couldn't possibly get lucky a third time if I were forced to return there.

Pessimistic view, I know. But I'm a realist at heart.

I knew I had friends here in Florida. What I didn't know was the lengths they would go so I wouldn't have to leave. Honestly, given the numerous times I've found myself in this situation this year alone, I was certain that this time was going to be the point where saying good-bye was inevitable. Now, here I sit - not willing to give up. Why should I give in to an unfavorable situation?

Fuck that.

Just as the gates of hell opened up to swallow me, I was pulled back by more people than I could have ever imagined.

I've been rescued.

Thanks to the tenacity of my friends, and the generosity of one in particular, I now have a place to stay. Indefinitely. What makes me feel even better is that she offered me a place to stay without even being asked. She heard my story and responded.

I have a place to stay. I just need to find a place to live.

Perhaps this is just the chance I need to turn my life around.

First month's rent, last month's rent, and security deposit equal to one month's rent is hard enough to come up with as it is. I've discovered something worse than an apartment complex that requires tons of money up front. The problem is, I've discovered it the hard way, when I could least afford to have something go wrong with getting a place to live.

Most places that rent have standard income requirements. No big deal. The point behind these requirements is to ensure you're able to pay your rent every month, even if something minor comes up. The standard requirement is that the amount of rent be between 30 and 40 percent of your total income.

For example:

Now imagine, if you will, an apartment complex comes under new management and new ownership. Imagine that this complex has roughly a dozen or more apartments that are available for rent. And imagine me - an easy-going, career minded guy just looking for a place to live - putting an application in for one of the apartments and providing a $100 money order to hold the apartment. The apartment I am applying for is equal to 40% of my total income. I have rental credit out the waazoo. Shouldn't I get the apartment?

I got a return call from the people at the apartment place at 2:00pm today. My application was declined. WHAT A CROCK OF SHIT! Their explanation: I don't make enough money. Let me elaborate...

My income of $1500 per month does not meet their requirements for me to rent a one bedroom apartment at $600 per month. Do they require the rent to be no more than 35 percent? No. 30 percent? Nope. The staggering 25 percent cap? Not even. Try 21 percent.
BULLSHIT!

Who could possibly live by themselves at that requirement? At $600 per month, the applicant would have to make $2860 per month ($715 per week) just to qualify! $715 per week!!!

I know what you're thinking... I've obviously applied to a ritzy gated community with raquetball courts and luscious golf greens, where the average yearly income of all residents is an easy-breezy $100,000 per year.

How about no. This apartment complex is less than appealing to look at, with it's multi-color graffiti and tornado-struck exterior (even though there were no tornados). The reputation of the complex is nothing short of that of a crack den or hazardous medical waste site. But, at least to me, it was better than a shitty trailer in a shit hole trailer park.

So now you may be asking, "Why did these people want such a high income level?" My only guess is this:

It's happened. Again. The question is: How many more times must it happen before I take the hint? I guess the answer depends on my mental resiliency. My personal fortitude. My will to continue with the way things have been going.

Have you ever been homeless? Even for a day? Locked out of or held away from a place to lay your head? Where suddenly everything you thought you had or were capable of having is ripped right from under your feet. Or from over your head - as shelter goes.

I spent 26 days out of this past February living in my truck. My home, my privacy, my life, removed from my grasp overnight. Someone decided I wasn't worth the time I would need to find a new place to live, and I was tossed out on the street like yesterday's garbage. For 26 days, I showered from a sink, only ate food that could be microwaved and would fit in a personal micro-fridge, slept sitting up, scrounged for or bought new clothes just to have clean ones, and I searched for a place I could call home. The end of the 26th day was a tremendous relief as I was ushered under a new roof and accepted as a roommate in an apartment with a room that I could call my own.

But, with as good as things were, they couldn't have possibly lasted forever. One month, 3 weeks, and 5 days later, I was approached by one of my two roommates and told that I had just under 2 weeks to find a new place to live. Someone else was going to be moving in. I was on the brink of living nowhere once again. At least this time, I had a head start on finding a place. If you can call 10 days a head start.

So, I searched. And searched. Phone call after phone call delivered the same ghastly news. First, last, and security equal to one month's rent.

My budget was a simple one. As long as I didn't live too far from work, it should only cost me less than $100 for gas every month. Food was a smaller sample of my budget at only $75 per month. After the credit card, cell phone bill, and car insurance premiums, I was left with a paltry $600 per month for rent and electricity. This shouldn't really be an issue. After all, I'm only one person, and I don't need anything more than a studio apartment for just me. My current savings - what was left over from April's bills, plus my current paycheck at the end of the month - totalled a whopping $930. Herein lies the problem. Every place I had called was a minimum of $500 per month for rent. This meant that even at it's cheapest, I needed to come up with $1500 just to move in. I was left $570 short of having my own place.<

When was it decided that paying first month's rent and providing a security deposit equal to a month's rent was not enough money to front before one could sign a lease for an apartment? Now I have to come up with another month's rent just to move in? To have a roof over my head? I was still $70 short of what I was expecting to need, but I also have friends that I know I could count on if I was ever short on cash.

Eight days after my hunt began, the hunt that was less than fruitful and all so discouraging, the idea was presented for me to move in with a friend of a friend. More information on how that situation has worked can be found on my previous blog. As for current affairs, here's how things stand...

The person I call "D" from the previous blog - the friend of a friend - doesn't pay rent for the trailer because he's the maintenance guy for the trailer park. Presumably, if he were to lose his job, he would have no place to live. So I would have no place to live. And, of course, he lost his job. He was fired yesterday. I now, once again, have 2 weeks to find a new place to live or I'm faced with my difficult decision once more.

Do I quit my job and move back to VA, with my mom, and face the brick wall of unemployment that would surround me? Or, do I try to find a new place to live, face one potential disappointment after another, and in the event of failure revert to my prior homelessness?

It's not something that I really mention all that often, simply because there's nothing to really mention most of the time. I live in a trailer in a shit hole trailer park. For now. One of the unfortunate results of some really poor decisions I've made over the course of this past year. I'm not going to go into the details of how I managed to repeatedly set myself up for one fall after another - we'll save that for another time. For now, let's get back to the subject at hand.

I find myself exhausted. It's not that I don't have time to sleep, but rather there are things that prevent sleep from happening whenever I lie down. I'm 100% sure that if I were living somewhere else other than a trailer and I had a different set of roommates, I'd be able to sleep. Unfortunately, that window of opportunity has not yet presented itself to me, so for now I'm stuck here. Here's what's going on...

Because of the situation I was in, I was forced to make a decision: either quit my job and move back home to VA, or move in with someone I didn't know until I was able to get back out on my own. Since moving back to VA would have been bad - only because I wouldn't be able to find a job there and I wouldn't be able to pay my bills - I made the decision to move in with a friend of a friend. The arrangement was that I would move in and pay a minimal rent, since he didn't pay rent for his trailer anyway, and in return I'd have a roof over my head and a place to sleep. No big deal, or so I thought.

This friend of a friend, whom I will call "D", has a nephew, now refereed to as "J", who wasn't supposed to be living with D anymore. J was in jail - or maybe it was all a lie - and was supposed to be in jail for a while. Once J was released from jail, he was going to be forced to move back north because of some supposed warrants out against him. As it turns out, J got out of jail - supposedly - and didn't actually have to move back north, so he stayed living with D. That posed a problem. Two bedroom trailer - three people living in it. A compromise was reached. J would keep his room, I would take the second room, and D would stay out in the living room because he was usually always out there anyway. Whatever. As long as I have a place to sleep, some consideration, and a little privacy. That shouldn't be too much to ask. Apparently, it is.

So, I move my stuff in - and by stuff I mean my suitcase with my clothes in it and my computer - and set myself up in my room. I'm given the grand tour of the trailer and I suddenly realize, I'd rather live in my truck. The bathroom sink doesn't work. Minor issue - I can wash my hands in the kitchen sink. The shower doesn't work. Ok - I'll just go back to showering at work. The washer doesn't work. Fine - laundr-o-mat it is. My bedroom floor has rotten out boards in it that may collapse if I walk on them. WTF? Ok - don't walk on that side of the room. The bedroom door doesn't fit the doorway so there's a gap all the way around it, except for the 2 parts where it scrapes against the door so much you have to force the door shut with all your strength. Well, so much for privacy. Wait... Isn't the bathroom door the same way? Note to self: only shit at work. Sadly, these are only the minor issues plaguing my current residence.

FUCK.

After the tour, I thought about what adjustments I was going to have to make. It was going to be hell, but whatever. At least I had a place to live.

---

Week 1
The first week was alright. D had a habit of turning his TV up quite loud, but my headphones would easily drown out whatever show he was watching so I didn't have to hear it. So far, so good.

Week 2
J's girlfriend seems to be spending a lot of time here. Mostly nights. Nothing really bothersome, but they get kind of loud sometimes - headphones take care of that. D has a huge problem with it because they keep him awake at night so he begins a 3 night yelling match with them in an effort to get them to "Shut the FUCK UP!!!" Given the fact that 3 consecutive nights go by with this shouting match, you can guess that D is on the losing side of the fight. The headphones still help, but when the shouting is going on right beside my fucked up door, only being deaf could fix my ability to hear them clearly. Sleeping is starting to become a rare commodity. Sleep is over-rated anyway, right?

Week 3
D decides that since my rent is an extra bit of income for him, he can afford to get a 60-inch DLP television. With surround sound. The TV get's louder, only now I can feel the TV through the walls and floor. This is getting fucking ridiculous. I've given up on headphones.

Week 3.5
It's Friday, and as is normal for a Friday night, D is out of the trailer and won't be back until Saturday morning sometime. J has his girlfriend over for what is probably like the 9th night in a row, only this night is different. D isn't home so, without any consideration for me, J and his GF get a little frisky. Fucking ensues. Loud fucking. I'm sorry to say that even as a male, I was thoroughly disgusted to hear the grunts and moans of two people bumping uglies. I figured it's only 2:00 a.m. and they probably wouldn't be at it for too long, so I should still be able to get some sleep before I have to go to work Saturday. 6 HOURS LATER... They're finally done fucking. Someone comes and picks her up so she's gone before D gets home. Maybe I'll take a nap. Or not. D gets home at just before 10:00 a.m. and TURNS THE FUCKING TV ON!!! Now my bed is shaking more than J's bed was just a few hours earlier. Fuck it, I'll just go to work.

I work all day Saturday, tired, stay out a little later than I should, and got home sometime in the early A.M. Sunday morning. I admit that was my fault and I deserved to be tired Sunday when I had to go back to work for a double. Wait... Double? Dammit! I made plans for Sunday night to go get hammered and hang out with a friend. As I prepared for the inevitable "canceling of the plans" temper-tantrum, the idea was presented to have someone just come in a bit later in the night and take over for me so I could still keep my plans. And it worked. My later part of the second shift gets covered and I head out to get fucked up. Well, maybe I'll just have a few drinks and not get drunk since someone who was supposed to join us was unable to make it. I had a blast. I decided that around 1:30 a.m. that it was time for me to head home and try to get some sleep. Besides, I didn't have to work the next day, so I could sleep in. A great night followed by a well deserved day off that starts with sleeping in for as long as I could manage to stay asleep.

I got home and went online to check my email. I watched a movie, played around on the internet, and decided that 4:00 a.m. was the perfect bedtime. Didn't really matter anyway, since I had no work until Tuesday. So I slept.

Until, abruptly, I was ripped from my slumber by the sound of the FUCKING TV AGAIN!!! I just can't win. Here I am now, Monday. It's the first day of Week 4 and I'm already off to a horrible start. Would you guess that it gets worse before the day ends?

D goes to work around 9:00 a.m. The TV is turned off. I lie back down and try to go back to sleep. An hour later, J's GF shows up and is loud enough to wake me up as she made her way to J's room. The door closes, and everything is quiet again. For about an hour. D comes back home - on a lawnmower - and parks outside my window. I'm now awake again. I guess it was lunch time, so D turns the TV back on - volume up as always - and makes some kitchen noises. Whatever... He only has an hour for lunch, so I should be able to get a little more sleep before he comes home for the evening and the TV comes back on. 12:20 p.m. and D heads back out to work on his lawnmower. I lie back down, again, and close my eyes in another atempt to sleep. But what's that moaning noise?

WTF!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes. What the FUCK! An afternoon fuck, that's what. This is not what I had planned for my Monday off. I hope this doesn't turn out like another Friday night. Finally, 2 hours later, they're done. And not a moment too soon.

---

I'll tell you, if I heard her scream, "Fuck me harder!!!" one more time... God DAMMIT! Just fuck that bitch harder, already!! I thought I was going to have to go in there and show him how it's done. By that point, I was pissed enough to begin writing this post so I could share with everyone exactly what the definition of "horrible roommate" actually is.

Hopefully, at least something I've said today has taught someone that everyone deserves some consideration from their roommates. I leave you all with a tip. If you have a roommate, your boyfriend or girlfriend is over, and you're feeling a little horny:

You know what would make me feel better? Money. Lots and lots of money. So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to find the most tragic incident in the short history of our United States and make a Hollywood movie about it!

Wait...

Someone beat me to it?
Who else could think of such a fiendish scheme?

Some asshole. Well, assholes to be precise.

It seems the major trend this year in movies is to put out some side story heartbreaker wrapped around the tragedy that was September 11, 2001. As a projection manager for a movie theatre, I'm kept in the loop on several upcoming features as well as detailed information on these features. I must say, I'm not pleased with the slew of upcoming movies that contain references and/or are about anything that happened on September 11^th.

The Hollywood chain of command is an easy one to understand. Some people in Hollywood have money. Lots of money. They are always looking for a sure investment to make their hill of money into a mountain of money. They are the "producers" for a movie. They fund or get funding for a movie written and presented to them in such a way as to say, "I'm a sure thing! Make this movie and I'll double your money!" In many cases, the script is even presented by the person interested in making the movie because they want to direct it and be part of the pyramid of money. Money, money, money. More money. The movie is signed-off on by a higher-up of a production studio. Disney, Paramount, Fox, MGM, Lions Gate - all movie studios with a lot to lose and more to gain if they pick up the next blockbuster. Money, money, and more money.

Notice a trend yet?

Here's the point to all this... A lot of money is spent by these studios and producers in the creation of a film. The plan for this "investment" is to yield a higher return than what was paid out. This is called turning a profit. Once a movie is scripted, produced, bought by a studio, and marketed, the only thing left to do is balance the books. Once the books break even - when enough people have spent their money seeing these movies to make up for what was spent in creating the movie - everything that comes in is divided up percentage-wise according to who put how much money into creating the movie. Generally, the producers see most of this money, and the studios take their cut accordingly. Occasionally, in the case of true stories, biographical films, or any film that is created with the permission of the people involved in the events depicted in the movie, a percentage is set aside as a donation. This donation usually has a cap set by the executive producer or the studio. They have the most to lose from this percentage, so by capping the amount that this side-fund can reach, they can be sure that any movie that becomes overly-successful will make them that much richer. It's always about more money.

The bottom line becomes this: If something tragic happens, someone's going to write about it. Most of the time, they write solely for the intent of making some kind of profit from it. There's no way to avoid this. Some yahoo writes a script and gets it into the hands of someone who tells them it's going to make them a ton of money. Negotiation after negotiation finds this script at the front line of a major Hollywood production. The movie is released. Factions of people go to see this movie - those who see it because the money goes to a good cause, people who want to see what all the fuss is about, idiots who see movies without knowing anything about them before they buy their tickets, and people who just don't care what they watch as long as they are entertained.

That brings us back to September 11^th. I've seen the release of United 93 and the upcoming Paramount film World Trade Center is starting its ad saturation. Minimal production budgets, high risk (as with all Hollywood films), and the potential to break the bank all leads to one thing. Money. Both of these films were given the go-ahead by the studios after extensive permission-seeking from the families closest to the WTC tragedy. Here's the kicker though... The whole premise for the movie being made and released, for the purpose of gaining permission, was that "part" of the money would be donated to the victim's families and various other charities. Turns out that "part" of the profit for World Trade Center is a whopping $1.5 Million. I say that sarcastically. What if this film breaks even, makes the needed $1.5 Million for the donation, and goes on to make an additional $20 Million. This $20 Million is divided amongst all the producers, the studio and its distributors, and all the underlings who bought in to the investment.

Profit. Money. More money. Even more money.

Over 3000 families, a few charities, and dozens of various companies all in need of a little "green help" to aid in straightening out their lives, companies, and futures so they can more easily move forward into tomorrow. $1.5 Million. Doesn't really compare to the 17 executives and underlings at the studio, 4 major producers, 2 underling producers / directors, a dozen or so individual investors, and 5 executives in charge of distribution and marketing of the movie all splitting the profit of $20 Million.

If you can't tell, this subject really pisses me off. I just needed to get some things off my chest, but I hope that maybe it has enlightened you or at least inspired you to look deeper into what you do and the reasons you do them. Going to see one of these movies just furthers the agenda of these greedy pigs, and perpetuates the problem. Think about it this way... If these movie companies were really interested in helping out the families impacted by 9/11, why don't they just take the money they would use to produce the movies and donate that? The truth is that donations don't line rich people's pockets. They need to sell you something. Are you buying?

P.S.: If the turn out for films with stories based on 9/11 is as tremendous as predicted, I'm sure we can all look forward to the highest grossing movie of 2007. Katrina

One thing I cannot stand is the instigation and perpetuation of chain mail in the form of letters, messages, instant messages, and others of the like. Anyone who creates and initiates these abominations of superstitious fervor created with the do-or-die attitude forcing doubt and insecurity into the minds of those unsure of the existence of luck should be given a real life do-or-die situation involving their very health and well-being as the targets in the event of failure. Failure to resend these poorly written and ill-conceived chain letters promise negative reaction in whatever aspect of a person’s life the writer has chosen to target. These negative effects kick start the self-preservation instinct in all humans, causing doubt and insecurity in the mind of the reader. By perpetrating this doubt, the writer has in fact become the violator of the reader’s personal space and mind, thus making the writer a criminal. By violating more than one person, sending a chain letter can indeed be considered a crime spree. Anyone who forwards and perpetuates this violation has gone from a victim to an accomplice, and thus has become a criminal himself or herself.

Those who choose to prey on the insecurities of many people deserve to be MIND FUCKED THEMSELVES!

Think about that the next time you receive chain mail and even remotely consider resending it in hopes of good luck and fortune (and in fear of rejection and dissolution of your well-being), and know that I’ll be in the back of your mind – as you hit that send button – telling you to go fuck yourself...

And this ends my rant regarding chain mail...