MySpace Archive: Interlude 3

(Or, Beer, Zombies, and a Paycheck)

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

This is technically the end of The Unemployment Saga, but much like Murphy Brown or The Drew Carey Show, there was a long winding down period that was WAAAY to anticlimactic for even my low standards. By this point, I had been getting semi-regular temp work, so I wasn't flipping out every day.

[Originally Posted on Monday, November 06, 2006]

Well, I'm gainfully employed again as of Friday

Hot diggity damn, it looks like I might actually have a chance to lead a normal life again. I start a temp-to-permanent job on Friday for a property management company [A job I still have]. The place looks nice[It's not], the job looks simple[It is], and I look to actually be making enough at it to start saving and stop living paycheck to paycheck [I probably do. Damn this profligacy].

I think this week I'm going to celebrate by not doing a damn thing until Thursday (I'll have a few errands to run by then) [I didn't]. Or, at the very least, drinking beer and watching zombie movies with my dog [I did]. Well, my dog won't be drinking beer. He's not housebroken enough for that [He still isn't]. But he's totally going to have to watch Dawn of the Dead with me (the real one with the SLOW zombies and the dude who gets sliced by the chopper blade) [A scene both awesome and hilarious. Tom Savini is the man]. And maybe, just maybe, I'll actually hang up all the pictures that I keep promising I'll get to when I get a chance [That "chance" occurred roughly two months later. Because I am lazy].

Nah.

Prescient about my laziness, I see.

Next time: the beginning of My Brush With Death. Plus, GOLDEN GIRLS HOUSE!

MySpace Archive: Interlude

(Or...Heaven Knows I'm Not As Miserable Now)

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

I apologize for the three-week delay on what is essentially a copy-paste job (alreay tagging this as "Indefinite Hiatus"). But considering my readership is like 2 people and a cat, I'm sure I haven't offended anyone deeply.

The reason for my absence is that my girlfriend's grandmother succumbed to cancer recently, and my time was spent first in the hospital, then at the funeral, and finally at home, recoving from food poisoning. In any event, such deeply emotionally resonant issues seem so out of place in a blog such as this (which should really be reserved for how ugly my dog is and what I think about Ghostbusters II), so I will not be discussing them until at least 2012.

I also apologize for the fact I promised My Brush With Death started now. I totally forgot that there was a lull between Unemployment and Facing My Mortality.

Around this point in my previous blogging existance, my life stabilized and got a little better. Sort of. Until it got worse. Then better. Then a little worse again. Then better

[Originally posted on Saturday, October 28, 2006]

Well, my life is slowly stabilizing

Okay, so everything in my my life hasn't been going exactly as planned lately. But I have been doing a great deal better.

I've done a little temping this week, so though I'm still hemorrhaging cash, it's now a slow seep, not arterial spray. And I have two interviews scheduled for tomorrow. Joyous. One doesn't pay as much as I'd like, but has benefits. [The pay turned out to be wretched. They didn't hire me because they knew I would never stay there for more than a few weeks] The other? Well, another temp agency, but one that is on the higher hourly end (a "boutique" agency, apparently). [I learned at that interview that I can type 55wpm when I'm on a tear. Amazing. I was still a "hunt-and-peck" guy through my mid-20s]

If there's one thing I've consistently been able to nail, it's a job interview. I may be a twitchy, nervous bastard on a day-to-day basis, but man do I interview well. So, with any luck, I may be employed again soon. Then I can get back to bitching about how much my job sucks. [Seriously, my job fucking sucks.]

On a totally unrelated note, I'm going to a Halloween party tonight. I usually have a great time at any Halloween party where I'm not accosted by a Marine. [I actually had a great time at that one too] But, as my costume is designed to piss people off, I can't guarantee that (unless there are no Marines, but they seem to show up anywhere. Like mushrooms).

My costume (sssh, don't tell the guy throwing it): Morrissey. Yes. That's right. I'm gonna get all big haired, effeminate, and, hearing-aidy. I'm gonna throw on the kermit voice and start singing "Heaven Knows I'm Misreable Now," and just wait for the angry jarheads to come out of the woodwork.

At least I didn't dress as Rick Morrissey.

The interlude continues shortly. But storm clouds are gathering...

MySpace Archive: The Unemployment Saga, Part the Fifth

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

Please, feel free to start from the beginning and move forward in roughly chronological order, as I am not trying to give some sort of Pinter-esque unfolding of the plot. I'd paste the link, like I have in previous entries, but Jesus, it's not like it's from like 50 entries ago. Just scroll.

Due to the intricate interlocking nature of my carefully scripted life, the first entry also doubles as a foreshadowing of the approaching sequel to this award-avoiding time waster -- MySpace Archive II: My Brush With Death.

[Originally posted on 10/24/2006]

Well, I'm suffering from full-blown hypochondria


Anyone who knows me well knows I am a bit of a nervous person. I'm skittish. I jump at small things. Actually, I fit the standard DSM IV diagnosis for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder pretty well (specifically Criteria B1, B4, B5, C1, C2, C5, C7, D2, D3, and D5). I think I was originally going to try to say something witty here, but honestly, I'm reasonably effed-up, and looking up the DSM IV criteria didn't help me stay on topic at all...


But deep inside myself, I'm usually tranquil over health issues. I'm not one to worry too deeply about the physical well being of my body. Sure, I get frequent headaches, and I have sciatica, have a history of benign polyps, get a 2-month cold every winter, etc. But nothing has scared me deeply about my long-term viability as an organism on planet earth.


Until I started looking great.


Reread that. I'm looking as good as I've looked in years. So of course, something must be wrong, right?


When I turned 25, something happened to my body. Something that permenantly changed my self preception. I lost my metabolism. Anyone who saw me (or even has seen photographs of me before that time) knows I looked like a scarecrow. I ate and ate and never gained weight. I was 30 pounds underwieght without any effort on my part. But that all changed in the summer of '01. I gained 45 pounds in a matter of months, and gradually ended up (by this March), weighing 211 pounds. I felt like the Michelin Man.


Over the past (maybe) three months, however, I have started losing weight. Dramatically. And this weight loss has been almost entirely without provocation. I haven't significantly changed my eating patterns (I am a slave to my appetite), and I sure as hell ain't exercising. At first, I figured "Okay, I'm single, I'm eating less, etc..." But I know for a fact that I lost at least 35 pounds before the last time I've used a scale (a few weeks ago). And since then, I've needed to add yet another hole to my belt (which now extends all the way to the loop on the side). So god knows what I'm weighing now. [Good news: I've gained 10 pounds since I wrote this. Yay...]


Anywhoo, I've got a severe paranoia going on, as I've lost at least 18% of my body weight [Yes, I actually did this math] without trying. Of course, I have no insurance and no job (see almost any other blog I've posted). And the free clinic hasn't returned my calls.So to recap: fat and ugly - must be fine. Thin and attractive - terminal case. Thanks brain. You're the tops.

Stirring, huh? It only got better later that day.

Well, I'm burnt out on sending resumes

My second bitchfest of the day:

I've sent what feels like thousands of resumes out today. The actual number is probably closer to 15 or so, but I'm talking subjective feelings here. So I sit here in my friend's [To anyone new to my universe, this friend was my then future, now current girlfriend Ali. At the time I was in massive denial about the impending relationship that was fated to occur] apartment (did I mention I don't have internet access at home?) frantically checking craigslist, the chicago reader, et al in the desperate hope that one of these will click soon. I'm starving and about to take a lunch break, but of course, it doesn't matter what I eat, I will continue to lose weight until I look like an unwrapped mummy.

Thankfully, my dad is mailing me a check to cover my rent. I'd like to point out that I would rather scoop my nipples out with a melon baller [rejected in draft format: "eat my own genitals with a knife and fork"] than ask my dad for rent money. He's an adjunct college professor who just lost 50% of his courseload this semester (because some freshly minted PhD with no real world experience is obviously going to be better at teaching business and management than a man with a Masters degree and over 30 years of industry experience both firsthand and consulting). He doesn't have the kind of money to toss to his 30 year old unemployed son. But he does it anyway, bacause he's my dad. Of course, I told him I got my hours drastically cut, not that I don't have a job. Because why be honest with your family? [So, my dad later discovered my MySpace blog (soon to be archived here). He hasn't mentioned this yet. Yet.]

But enough about that guilt-filled cul-de-sac. I'm mainly just writing to say that I have been extensively applying for jobs online all day (with a few 5-minute breaks here and there), and I am burnt out.

Somebody better hire me soon. I need a rest from job hunting. It's far more tiring than just working myself to death ever could be.

From the clarity that only gainful employment can bring, I can honestly say I'm not sure that's true.

The Unemployment Saga concludes here, as I managed to secure some temping
jobs. My Brush With Death begins in earnest next post. You lucky devils.

MySpace Archive: The Unemployment Saga, Part the Fourth

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

It occurs to me I probably should have labelled these all as "Fits," a la "The Hunting of the Snark." Fit the First, Fit the Second, etc.

Nah. In retrospect, that's super queer.

Well, if you want to start from the beginning, I recommend going to the pretentiously named Part the First.

[Originally posted on 10/20/2006]

Well, I'm feeling artistic, yet inert

Current mood: Artistic, yet inert (God, I'm clever)

As with most previous times in my life, the nearer I get to rock bottom, the more likely I am to actually do something artistic in my life. Right now I'm actually feeling damn creative. The only problem is, I really need to be looking for work (on account of I'm still roughly 550 bucks away from having a home next month [Don't worry - I made it. Sorry if that killed the suspense]).

Actually, that's not my only problem. I also happen to be having a glut of ideas at present, and conflicting desires about what to focus on. I have a full length play that is so damn close to being finished (it damn well better be after hanging around my neck like a two-act albatross for the last 5 years), another full length that just needs a bit of focus to be kick-started into existence, a tremendous idea for a comic (GRAPHIC NOVEL, DAMMIT - no, wait, I actually prefer the term comic) that needs to be explored, a pretty good idea for a particularly cathartic "comic" story that I should probably write and illustrate just to clear my head, and about 10-20 throwaway ideas that I could probably develop further if I could sit and think about them.

Basically, I'm so overloaded with ideas and projects that "could be," that I'm having intense problems making one of them be the one that is (say that 3 times fast).

So instead, I dick around on the internet. Huzzah.

In the interest of full disclosure, I added a period at the end of that lusty "Huzzah."

In the fuller interest of further disclosure: I never accomplished any of the things I listed there. But I've got a whole new list of things I ain't never done did yet to tackle at this point.

Still make plenty of time for dicking around on the internet, though.

The nearly illegible artwork on this entry (click to actually see it - apologize for the shitty color job - it was rushed, and my trial period on photoshop expired) has absolutely nothing to do with any of the projects listed in any way shape or form, and is only up to confuse people. You're welcome.

MySpace Archive: The Unemployment Saga, Part the Third

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

This is the third (well fourth, but I'm not picky) post from the dark days of my own personal unemployment hell. Not to be confused with my own current personal employment hell. It includes a naked and blatant appeal for cash - something I do less of than one might think. It also includes a naked and blatant Chihuahua-esque creature - my hideous little dog Sparky . I think it's also his first appearance of many in the Wolter-related blogosphere, but I'm too lazy to double-check that.

[Originally Posted on 10/18/06]

Well, I'm about to interview (Save MY house, not Screech's)

At a temping agency. How great is my life?

I need some money real fast. November is right around the corner, and I have precisely Jack + Squat to give the landlord. Which could put me and my delightful little dog-like animal buddy Sparky out on the mean streets of Lincoln Square.

Anyone out there feel the need to just mail random checks to a guy in Chicago? Or hell, I could get a paypal account, if that's easier. Actually, I already have a paypal account...I think...I should check on that.

You don't want poor little Sparky out on the streets. He's at least 3/4 chihuahua, and is balding, twitchy, and irritable as is. If he's cold as well, I'm going to be nursing ankle scars for the rest of my life.

And unlike Screech, if you save my house, I promise you DON'T have to hear my crappy stand-up.

Remember that "Screech House" debacle? That sure dates this piece. Man, if Dustin Diamond were beaten to death with a tire iron, would the world be a better place? Probably not by much. But, it's worth a try.

By the way, I actually got an offer from an "online friend" of mine in Germany of a little financial assistance. I actually turned it down, but I was touched to know that, barring some unpleasantness c. 1933-1945, there are some mightly decent folk in the Fatherland.

It turns out I do have an active Paypal account, so if anyone still wants to send me money for no reason (really, I'm fine now - I have a job that makes decent money), feel free to let me know.

The Jobless Insanity continues soon!

MySpace Archive: The Unemployment Saga, Part the Second

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

We continue with the pulse-pounding excitement that readers may have waited literally minutes to enjoy (assuming they somehow staggered over here from an incredibly misleading porn search).

I strongly recommend viewing this heart-throbbingly turgid epic from the beginning. Which can be found by scrolling down, or if you're hugely lazy, clicking here.

[Originally Posted on 10/16/2006]

Well, I suppose I just moved from "Quit" to "Fired"

Current mood: aggravated [Okay, I guess I'll leave this in - it's a pointless MySpace thing that puts an inappropriate symbol next to a term that it in no way relates to. I forgot to copy the symbol, but it was probably pretty lame]

I was told not to come in today by phone yesterday. So, instead of allowing me an official two weeks of paid work while I look for another job, I was fired.

Is that even legal?

Ack. I swear, I have never met a worse manager in my life. And my life has been a near endless succession of either cruel, incompetent, or completely bollocking crazy managers.

Hungry for more? Good news! I actually posted twice that day!

Well, the high point of my day is getting a mattress

Current mood: optimistic [Optimism apparently makes one's eyes orbit erratically in their sockets. While having jaundice]

Yeah, that's right. A mattress.

No more sleeping on the floor for the Jonmonster. After almost 2 months, I finally gathered the wherewithal and money to sleep on an honest to god, sort of bed.

Okay, it's still just a futon, but it's a NICE futon. And nothing can take that from me. Unless the dog uses it for a bathroom.

I'm going to try not to think about that.

I never fully succeeded in not thinking about that, by the way.

Update: I still think that manager was a fucking moron.

Tune in next week for more [insert appropriate body part, hyphen, adverb combo later] adventures of Wolter in Unemployment Land!

And, of course, "next week" could mean in five minutes or five months.

MySpace Archive: The Unemployment Saga, Part the First

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

We begin with the thrilling and spine-tingling adventures of Wolter as he leaves his incredibly crappy job to brave the waters of unemployment.

[Originally posted on 10/15/2006]

Well, I quit my job yesterday

I don't want to go into too much detail; suffice to say I am not apologizing for being pissed about losing a shift because I was five minutes late due to Chicago traffic.

So, the upshot of this is I have moved (all through conscious decisions of my own) from being fat, complacent, employed, and engaged, and living in a spacious one bedroom apartment a block south of Wrigley field to being nervous, jittery, unemployed and single in a studio in Lincoln Square that is roughly the size of the Elvis commemorative stamp (sorry Fat Elvis - I rooted for you all the way). That I have no idea how to pay for next month.

At least I've lost 30 pounds.

There. That was fun, wasn't it? By the way, that apartment was a colossal shithole--even by my standards. The best I can say about it is that at no point when I lived there did a swarm of locusts devour my wardrobe. That's saying something, I guess.

Tune in very, very soon to find out how this soul-searingly important part of my life ends up!