Y2kk Update: God, it's so unbearably humid right now in this goddam house...

But seriously, how 'bout the humility?...

I must've looked ridiculous as hell on Monday. Because I felt ridiculous as hell, lugging an entire set of golf clubs in an oversized box from Eaton's Centre (in downtown Toronto) all the way down south to Union Station...

How long was the walk? Fifteen minutes while carrying some massive cardboard package in my hands the whole way through? And why exactly didn't I just buy a goddam golf bag to hold all my new, cheapass golf club shit in the first place? WTF?...

The thing is, this was my first ever golf set that I had just bought, some crap ass FX2 RAM set from the year 2004. It was on sale at Sportchek in Toronto for $99 CDN this week, which is ridiculously goddam low for any goddam golf set out there, beginner or not. Even still, I had hoped it would come with a goddam putter along with its twelve other included clubs, or at least I had hoped Sportchek would also throw in some crap asstastic free golf bag along with that shit. But no dice there for me though, and to top it all off? I'm now also kicking myself in the sorry ass for forgetting to try to scam them with some SPC $10 coupon printed off of the net as well. Goddammit...

Redflagdeals for the win?...

Yes, I am that damn cheap...

Sure, I had hoped to be able to hold out for more. But alas, it was the last RAM FX2 set there, and the Callaway and Vectrex clearance sets that were also there were decent, but just didn't feel as right in my hands as that old man's graphite shaft and titanium heading did. So I decided to splurge on the goddam set, if you can consider just $99 CDN as fucking splurging on a goddam golf set. Because really, new or not, is there any place on earth where you can find a fucking twelve piece set for any goddam cheaper?...

It was just ridiculous though, how I didn't even bother to buy a $35 cheapass golf bag along with my new equipment. So dumbfounded and clueless as I was, I walked with this massive cardboard box of golf clubs all the way down to Union Station first, heaved it onto the GO Train, rode my set all the way back to my suburb of Oakville 40 minutes away, and then had to lug those sons of bitches back onto that goddam bus to house. It was sure as hell not a pretty sight, and certainly not my finest moment either...

... not by a long shot...

... fuck, I can't even hit the fucking ball past 150 goddam yards...

Anyhew, I ran into an old acquaintance on that bus of mine, though I never really liked the son of a bitch very much. And truth be told, he was never really my friend in the first place (but rather a friend of that fucking bitch who talked way too much...), so I have tried to avoid him as much as fucking possible in the past. But chance had it that he would show up on this bus ride of mine that very damn day, when I was looking absolutely embarrassed at the fucking box of cheapass golf clubs I was carrying in my hour long trek back home...

Now I'm an honest man to the blunt and dagger sharp point of a degree, so I quickly admitted to him that I had just bought my entire golf set on sale for just ninety nine bloody hell dollars downtown...

And of course, cue the laughs...

He promptly pointed out to me that every single one of his own fucking golf clubs back at his place costed more than ninety-nine fucking dollars each. Apparently, his entire current set costed him a grand total of over $1600. Not only that, but he upgrades his shit every damn golf season or even sooner than that. How the fuck can one (young) man with only a decent job afford a golf set that's worth more than my entire current fucking car, I don't know. All I do know, is that while I always do enjoy a good ribbing, it just didn't seem right coming from him...

... not about golf and self worth, at least...

It's not like he was being a true pissant or anything. He was more joking about the price of his golf clubs than purely bragging about them. And I did invite it, considering of course I made due fun of the fact that my fucking golf clubs costed me just ninety-nine frickin' dollars...

I mean, golf is one of those sports where it doesn't necessarily matter how good your golf club or sets are in terms of quality and functionality. But rather, it's all about how much they're goddam worth, how much they costed, and how damn rich it makes you look on the course. It truly is a rich man's sport, and I truly do suck at seeming rich...

That's just the thing though. Normally, this kind of shit never gets me down. Since when did I ever care for money, right?...

But I dunno, I just wasn't happy with the $99 golf set that I got. I'm sure it'll do me and my piss poor skills just fine if I ever take them to a golf course this year, but it just doesn't feel right to get a goddam $99 golf set, you know? Because for this one damn sport at least, it's not the quality of the golf sets that really matter, but the smug pride you get in the ability to sport and lug around a fucking set of clubs worth more than some people's goddam mortgages are...

Is that a real shallow way of seeing things? Absolutely. But that's why golf will forever be known as the rich white man's sport...

The thing is, I had a chance to be worth more money than I am now. I had a chance at a sixty four fucking thousand dollar job, with the ability to possibly make even more money just six months later down the road...

Now, there's no doubt in my mind that I would've hated that job with a passion. But thinking back to it now, looking at how much I fucking hate my current goddam job that pays me piddly money? Then what the fuck did I really have to lose?...

Back then, I was hoping and holding out for a better job than doing fucking COBOL programming, and I still stand by that part of my decision to this day. But except for my chance at getting that Rogers job, which failed miserably mind you, have I even had any decent opportunities out there since that job offer of mine? The contract at the government would've only taken me to fucking November if I wanted out, and they would've paid me the equivalent of SIXTY FOUR FUCKING THOUSAND dollars a fucking year, which would've been ridiculous...

But more ridiculous than lugging a $99 golf club set from Toronto all the way back to my suburban home, feeling like a complete fool in the process? I dunno...

Sure, I hate to sound like the kind of bigot who only gives a damn about money, the kind of bastard who measures a person's worth by their income. But really, in the case where I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place and two fucking jobs that I absolutely can't stand? Which of the two do I take? It really becomes a no-brainer if you just look at the fucking difference in salaries...

One job offered almost $65K a year, while my current one is merely worth just above thirty fucking thousand and nothing more...

Sure, the former deals with outdated technology that would look horrible on any resume application except to a fucking mainframe bank. But then again, it's not like I'm learning any new real skills at my current job that I give a shit about either. So really, I don't think things exactly worked out for me the way I planned this goddam summer...

And yes, I know that if I had taken the COBOL government job, I probably would've been kicking and screaming in agony all the way to the goddam bank, for selling my soul for sixty four fucking thousand dollars. But it was a no-win scenario in the end, I suppose. I just wonder now, if things would've been better in the end if I had just sucked it up and worked my ass off for the cash...

But no, wait. I would never do that. Not in any damn reality right now, mind you...

Because yes, I am that lazy.

And yes, I am that damn cheap...

... because when it comes to a fucking $99 golf set?...

Sure, this is one area where a real man just can't feel proud for getting a goddam deal...

... but even so?... well, still?...

It all sounds like so much goddam fun, now doesn't it?...

... if only I can learn to play golf without knocking my goddam driver head out of the fucking ball-park, that is...

Y2kk Update: Well, I finally had my first true taste of fine dining...

... and it tasted like shit...

My sister took my brother and I out to an expensive restaurant yesterday as a gift. You know, that kind of university graduation and "oops, never got you a birthday gift" kind of dinner. It was a really nice gesture of her as far as I'm concerned, but of course she does this kind of thing with her friends all the time. I've felt left out for a long time, but it's nice to finally be in the loop, I guess...

So we went to Harbour Sixty. It's a place south of Union Station in downtown Toronto basically in the middle of nowhere, except for a fucking ugly parking lot underneath the even uglier Gardiner Express elevated highway. It wasn't a bad location, considering I walk back and forth to Union Station every day from work to take the GO trains back to suburban hell. And lucky for me I guess, on a Friday night, that there were just so many late reservations booked in the evening that my sister was forced to give in to an early dinner reservation. Which boded just fine for me, considering I was fucking starved and fucking bored as hell while waiting for her to show up at the place already in the first place...

The atmosphere of the restaurant was decent, but nothing out of this world or special or anything. It was basically a candle lit dinner, which bugged the hell out of me considering my eyes barely could see straight at my food with the lack of fucking fluorescence in the air. The seats were decent I suppose, as I sat in a booth. I felt awkward as hell though, not because I was wearing my fine etiquette $5 business shirt and pants or anything, but because I had brought my old and busted school bag with me. It just felt so strange, as my raggedy piece of shit bag took up more space in the booth than I fucking did...

Since we were newcomers (or at least, my brother and I were), the waiter gave us a short tour of the kitchen. I expected to see an actual kitchen however, and got disappointed as hell as we were basically just shown a supermarket aisle instead. He showed off to us the massive lobsters and shrimp and steaks we could order at the place. And then two minutes later, he was done. Quickest fucking tour ever, although obviously it was a nice gesture. He was obviously looking for a huge tip, the worthless ass motherfucker was...

As for my own mannerisms and etiquette? Well, I don't think I did that badly. Except for my first slice of the steak, I didn't really make a mess of anything. I used my knife properly in my right hand and the fork in my left, separating the two different types of knives and forks I had properly as well of course. I did my best to chew with my mouth closed, and to actually sit up straight as I fucking ate. The only real mistake I made that embarrassed the hell out of me I guess, was the fact that I've never really bothered with being seated at a nice restaurant by myself (believe it or not). I made an absolute ass of a fool of myself by telling the fucking parking valet about my reservation plans, expecting him to lead me to my table, instead of simply noticing the fucking hot waitress with the fucking reservation book in her hand by the entrance. WTF?...

And as for the food? As for the main courses and side dishes and all that motherfucking shit?...

I don't know if this counts as really fine dining, but normally when the appetizers cost the equivalent of what a meal costs at a regular restaurant? I dunno, but $15 or $20 for those shrimp cocktails we had just didn't seem to sit right with me. Not just because of the price, but because the shrimp literally did not sit right with me. It was far too meaty, with far too much of a seafood texture to them to really melt in your mouth. Plus, the stupid hot sauce or whatever you dip shrimp cocktails into, sucked fucking ass like the bottom of the ocean as well...

The side dishes I had hope for, but they just didn't come through in the end. For $10 a sidedish, I skipped out on getting the patented french fries I normally would, and instantly regretted it after. I had Broccoli and Creamed Spinach and some sort of fucked up mushroom thingy instead, as my siblings and I shared the side dishes we ordered for ten bucks or more a pop. The thing was, the creamed spinach was so fucking thick that it almost made me hurl, the Broccoli had this weirdest aftertaste that just didn't feel right in my stomach, and the mushrooms were just too goddam fucked up for any reasonable comment here whatsoever...

The main course of the steak was good. Real good really, except for the massive piece of flubber of blubber at the tail end of the cut. Nevertheless, I was very impressed with my Rib Eye steak... except for the fucking price, of course...

Fifty freaking dollars? Fifty freaking dollars for a fucking steak that I felt like I could get for half that price at the Keg? Sure, it was a great steak, but nothing about it screamed like it was worth fifty freakin' dollars. It was a huge freakin' piece of meat and I couldn't finish the whole thing (well, I left the blubbery tough parts to the doggy bin, at least), but fifty freakin' dollars? How the fuck are you supposed to get fifty goddam dollars worth of enjoyment from just one freakin' goddam steak?...

And don't even get me started on dessert. For $10 plus, I thought I would get a decent piece of coconut cream pie. How hard could it be? But the slice they gave me, while massive, was simply too fucking massive for its own good. Because simply put, the cake sucked, as it was all 95% cream, 5% fat, and 0% decent flavour. How the fuck could a fine dining restaurant fuck up dessert is way beyond me. Either that, or McCain's bargain basement, frozen coconut cream pie here in Canada really is the best shit you can get in the fucking goddam world...

What did I have to drink? Well, you know me. I'm such a fan of fine dining and wining...

... or whining and complaining, at least...

So I had a Coke. And even that didn't taste like it was worth the money my sister shelled out for me...

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm very grateful she gave me the opportunity to test and taste the waters of fine dining for once. If anything, the steak was great, and I got to have some decent conversations with her for the first time in months...

But I estimated that I used up at least eighty fucking bucks plus tips for my fucking portion of the dinner alone. How the fuck could that be possible? I felt like I had just finished a two buck hamburger at best, and even that from McDonald's would've probably been more fulfilling. At least I wouldn't have felt as fucking loaded and bloated with all that gas as I was...

... I really hate having to wear a belt to work...

Because I had finally sampled the world of fine dining, with what I can honestly say is the only Western-style restaurant I've ever been to where it costs fifty fucking bucks for just the main course of your meal...

... and truth be told, I doubt I will ever go back...

... not if I'm paying... not by my own accord, at least...

Now, I really appreciate the gesture, and I thank my sister for the gift, but?...

... well, I'm the kind of guy who still thinks Subway and Quiznos and Tim fucking Hortons are too fucking expensive...

Walmart, save me.

Noname brands complete me.

Y2kk Update: Well, at least it ain't Friday the 13th.

... just my fucking luck...

Work has been hell for me this past week, for really no reason whatsoever but for the fact that this week above all else has felt like a goddam eternity. I mean, it's not like I'm doing much actual working at my place. It's just that, now I have that fucking sinking feeling of a reeling and hopelessness in my gut, that simply put? That this is it. That this is all I am, that I'm fucking lodged and stuck at the office where I goddam am for God knows how long, simply because I've got nowhere better to go...

When I started university five years ago, is this really where I thought I'd end up at my first summer out of school?...

It's been about two bloody hell weeks since I called up Rogers and got turned down from a pathetic little QA half-ass job that I should've been able to get with my goddam eyes closed. I can always hope that I was rejected simply because I was too fucking ambitious and over-qualified for the position in the eyes of that manager bitch who interviewed me, but that wouldn't be the truth. Because truth be told, I had my contacts and references personally checked by her, and either the manager bitch found out something about me that she didn't particularly like? Or I was simply flat out beaten to the job by either a better candidate or the fucking luck of the draw of politics...

I've just got this bad feeling that I got screwed over in the references and contacts part of the process, not only because obviously I fibbed and lied through my gnashing teeth like hell during my interview, but because my old manager at the government never really did give a shit about what we programmers were doing for the branch back when I was working there...

I used him as my contact simply because he was my manager for almost a year, I left on decent terms, and I had assumed he would have nothing but praise for how I conducted all my efforts while working under his wing. But now I'm not so sure, considering he still hasn't offered to bring me back to the fucking office place. And because for some goddam reason, I haven't been able to even get another fucking job interview at any goddam government branch since I last turned down that job for sixty four fucking thousand dollars...

I do wish I had gotten that Rogers job all those weeks ago, but I didn't really deserve it. I mean, I only got the interview in the first place thanks to a referral from my friend who I hopefully would've been able to work with. Sadly, my resume did indeed show that I had absolutely none of the requisite years of experience of QA for the job at hand, as the fucking manager bitch prominently pointed out and pulled out of her ass the very goddam minute I sat down for the interview. What a fucking bitch...

Then again, maybe she did me a favour? At first thought, it's always great to work with a friend. But then what happens when things don't go your way? Or even worse, things do start going your way in the office place, but not for the friend who got you there in the first place?...

My referral, now he's a cool guy. He's been my buddy since fucking first year, and he's been a loyal one at that. But the extent of our connections and conversations pretty much deal with sports and school and fucking pornography at best, so how the fuck would I have managed to stay professional with him at the workplace? It would've been a fragile process and a delicate balance to maintain, to always make sure that we stay close friends while never damaging his reputation and future in the workplace, and making sure that I myself make a proper home there as well...

The last thing I would have ever wanted would be to screw over his corporate endeavours of climbing up the company ladder. But I guess I don't have to worry about that problem anymore, now do I? I just have my own damn mediocrity to deal with, thank you very much...

Instead, thanks to the fact that I haven't gotten a single other interview since that fucking Rogers one (no matter how many resumes I send out), I now know that I'll be stuck at my fucking tiny little current company for the rest of the goddam summer at the very least. And it churns my gut every single waking morning of the week to know that I'm working at a place that I absolutely hate...

And I love it.

... or I love the fact that I hate it, at least...

I love being hated. I love it when my managers despise me with all their black hearts. It makes me feel special and all smug and warm inside, to know that somebody out there just can't stand the very thought of being in your goddam line of sight. Don't you?...

My supervisor at my current workplace must think I'm a goddam retard or something. Every single week he asks me to do some shit for him, but because I'm a summer student making barely any cash whatsoever, half the time I just tell him that I can't or don't know how to do what the fuck he wants. It infuriates him to no end every fucking time I say this, knowing full well that he himself had hired a lazy son of a bitch like me, a guy who obviously doesn't give a damn about the summer job position whatsoever...

And he honestly tries to avoid me every fucking chance he gets...

The other week, I really had no current projects left to do but to maintain the ones that I had already completed the week before. My supervisor then comes up to us summer students to ask us to start on a new project, and it was obvious that he only wanted to entrust it to the couple of star pupil students who were getting the job done when it came to his other previous assignments of shit. The thing was though, those star suck-up students were already busy with all of his fucking previous said shit, so I candidly pointed out to him that I was the only one free enough on time to do what he was now proposing...

I had overheard the fact that it was an important demo for a huge corporate client. I just had to chime in on my own two cents and then generously offer my services, now didn't I?...

He tried to get out of it, tried to weasel out of assigning me the work by claiming I must still be too busy with so and so other shit and stuff to bother with the latest. But I simply shrugged my shoulders and said that I was free enough to do whatever the fuck he wanted me to do. And what choice did he have then? Since his fucking favourite worker bees were already overloaded with other actually important work to do, I was given his newest and shiniest grunt task that was due for client eyes only this very week...

And heh... you should've seen his goddam face when this week, while working on this pet project of his?...

... I told him that I couldn't finish it... or at least, not like he or the client wanted...

And I didn't give a damn about it one goddam bit. Sure, I was pretty much telling the truth at the time since his timeframe was a bit unreasonable (although yesterday, a couple of days late, I did finally finish the task at hand). But even so, I spent most of my days either browsing the net instead or fucking goddam peeling the flesh off of my goddam sunburn from three bloody hell weeks ago, simply because I'm bored as fucking hell with my irrelevent summer position. I had more important things to do than actual work on the job, afterall...

I'm getting too old for this shit.

... unless I actually get paid good money for this shit, at least...

A week ago, while on a boat cruise for the branding of my company's latest and greatest and first and only goddam product? My manager actually came up to all of us students as a collective bunch, and asked us individually if we were all ready and willing to become either full time or part time workers at the company starting in the fall. He claimed that he was lobbying long and hard to get all of us on the permanent payroll, and that there would be a seat saved at the company table if any of us will be willing to take their extended hand and job offer at the end of our goddam summer tenures...

Now, I know that he actually meant what he was saying to those two fucking suck ups of students by my side...

But to me?...

... excuse me as a I simultaneously laugh and puke...

Because yeah, fucking right...

Seriously, that was a worse lie than even the ones I made during my fucking goddam interview at Rogers.

... what a fucking joke...

Because it all sounds like so much goddam fun, now doesn't it?...

Well, until August 31st at least, when I'm finally free once again...

... to spread my wings and fail once more...

Y2kk Update: Happy Canada Day, eh?...

Well, maybe not so much for me.

Obviously, it was getting suspicious why I hadn't gotten a call from fucking Rogers after my friend told me they were hiring a U of T young graduate. I was hoping it would be me, but when the phone never rang, I just knew that somehow my references had fucked me over in the long haul of a process...

I do believe my friends at my former work place when they say that they covered for me and all that shit when the manager's call rang. I'm just starting to believe that my former manager sold me out and perhaps only told the truth to them, or even worse, made me sound unimportant as hell (since in his aging mind, all programmers essentially aren't real workers). Of course, my own lies probably did me in as well, as there's only so much exaggerating and goddam fibbing you can do in an interview before you get caught for having you hand in the fucking cookie jar...

I called the Rogers manager the other day to solemnly ask if she's made her decision yet. And yeah, the thing was, she was as curt and pissed off at me as ever, possibly even moreso this time around if she had conclusively figured out I was bullshitting her in the interview. She barely spoke a word to me, and she wouldn't even tell me why I wasn't selected for the job when asked. In a matter of seconds, she told me she "knows who I am", angrily revealed to me that I was not the candidate of choosing, and then basically hung up the phone...

... sigh... guess she hasn't changed much from the interview then, I gather...

I called my friend up later that day, and he confirmed for me that he just learned that some graduate "bitch" was hired in my stead. Which means to me that unless quotas were involved or this girl was really damn honest and innocent in the interview, that I was simply passed over for goddam politics in the end. Not like that's any real surprise to me, but still....

Like I said, this Rogers manager was only a fill-in for the other manager who was now on maternity leave, and obviously every ambitious contract worker wants to pad their resume with promotions or at least good contacts wherever she goes. She probably made the "safe" pick of this 2006 Rogers Draft, selecting a girl she thought would be hard working and stay with the company branch for a long time to make her look good whenever she's forced to leave. Of course, I could be wrong as perhaps this new graduate bitch really was the BWA (best worker available), but my gut feeling just tells me that the bitch of a manager just wanted to make sure she didn't fuck up her chance to move up somewhere in the company when the time comes. It's not like she really loses anything at least in the short run if her new hiree ain't talented one damn bit whatsoever, afterall...

So as for me, on my Canada Day? I'm not really doing anything, except getting yelled and screamed out by an angry uncle at a goddam party (not worth discussing really, since I just laughed it all off at how ridiculous it all was). I watched the World Cup, got bored, fell asleep in the sunlight, probably aggravated my sun burns even more, and then watched some more loser World Cup...

... and then watched a commercial for Tim Hortons...

Yay?...

And yeah, that about it. That was about my Canada Day...

Sure, I was hoping for a long time that I could be cherishing this moment with a full time job in a company that I actually wanted to work for. But apparently, all good things must come to an end...

Because it all sounds like so much goddam fun, now doesn't it?...

Well, Canada Day always is...