A few days ago I got a call from a real estate agent letting me know a studio apartment at a complex near my job was available.   I had been looking at this complex since 2007, primarily because it was located in the most ideal area:  close to work, right by the water and next to a gorgeous park, the surroundings were so pretty you could almost forget the urban jungle that was next door.

I made an appointment for a viewing last Saturday and drove to the apartment grounds on what turned out to be a spectacular summer day.  There was a bagel cafe across the street and the aroma of coffee filled the air.  The trees whistled and the birds sang, while in the distance a blue ocean beckoned and fed the stream that led into the park next door.  Yep, I could definitely get used to living here.

I met up with the realtor and the moment we stepped inside, the magic ended.

As the door opened, a narrow stairwell immediately presented itself which I had to walk down. Wait, this apartment is lower level??

The descent into madness begins.

The apartment was right by the bottom of the stairs, pretty convenient I guess, but also a recipe for noise, noise, noise:

A basement studio at a garden apartment? Seriously?

Is that a doorbell??

The door swung opened and I took a look inside. The studio was big, very air and roomy, and I could tell even with furniture there would still be plenty of space to maneuver around:

This is an apartment they said was practically ready for me to move into...

Can you say, doity?

The windows were simply tragic.  Not only was it blocked by slabs of concrete, but they looked ancient:

Cobwebs filled the window in the bathroom.

The main window above the sleeping alcove.

They used tape to cover the screen holes???

After I almost gagged from daring to look outside the windows, I moved on to the kitchen:

If you wanna look inside you better ask yourself: Do I feel lucky?

I kept thinking a tentacle would reach out and strangle me if I got too close.

Gas stove. Boom.

Now on to the bathroom!

Ew.

Ewwwwwww...

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Ok, that’s  quite enough now.  The realtor then showed me the laundry room, which was literally down the hall.  The apartment was next to a storage area too, so if you opened the door and looked to your right this is what you would see:

So this is where they keep all the stolen merchandise!

Right after the storage area was the coin operated laundry machines:

No hot babe washing her lingerie to be found here.

You want me to wash my stylish Old Navy shirts in THAT??

After we went back outside and I got a chance to suck in the fresh air again, the realtor informed me that the apartment was being offered for $100 less a month, that there would be no broker’s fee annnnnnnnd I would get first month’s rent free.  I get the impression that they were having a little trouble getting this unit filled.  Uh huh.

I’ve gone apartment hunting once or twice in the past, and I remember one time when I went to a place with two of my coworkers to check out a small one bedroom.  The place was filthy, but my coworkers kept walking around and going ooooooo and ahhhhhh, this is so awesome!  They thought I was being a snob because I refused to live in such a dump, especially one where the landlords were 80 something year old folks who would probably forget they were even renting it to me and call the police one night thinking I was a burglar.  That would have been awkward.

But anyway, checking out this place made me think of that time.  The studio was hands down a complete and unmitigated disaster area.  No amount of cleaning would ever make it sanitary, especially considering I had allergies too.

But was I being too snobbish?  Was I asking for too much to want to live in a nice, cozy apartment that was clean, roomy (and preferably above ground?)

It was really tragic to see such a horrific looking place in such a beautiful area.  Right now I live in a decent apartment with my folks that was clean, had carpeting, a washer/dryer, all those basic amenities that I tend to take for granted, even though it’s in a less than ideal area (as in, next to a train station and a water tower and an army of day laborers that infest our streets  like a plague.)  Regardless, an apartment like this was so hard to come by that we all breathed a collective sigh of relief in finally discovering an apartment that didn’t look like something out of Dante’s Inferno.

I don’t want a luxury apartment for crying out loud, I just want one that’s clean, but apparently just being clean enough is considered a luxury as well. 

Ah well.  I’m still glad I went to check it out at least.  I had been looking at that area for so long that it was nice to finally rule it out and focus my attention elsewhere, and maybe eventually find a place that will turn out to be even better.  And if that makes me a snob, so be it. 

Tags: apartment, appointment, bathroom, coworkers, filthy, kitchen, landlord, laundry room, living, luxury, sleeping alcove, storage, unsanitary
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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When a guy lives with his parents for so… very… agonizingly… long… he tends to take certain things for granted.

While I contributed to paying for most of the rent and bills, Mommy would always pretty much take care of the rest. All those basic necessities of life (like toilet paper) would magically replenish itself so I never had to worry about them. I never had to deal with the scum sucking landlord, or the utility bills, or even with most of the cleaning, though I still cleaned my own room and did my own laundry. Other than that (and cooking), Mommy would always take care of everything else.

I didn’t even have to worry about the phone bills until recently either because I was under the family plan. Since I started making plans to move out once my debts were paid, one of the first things I did was to break off from my parents’ family plan so I could have my own account, but of course Verizon completely botched the process by charging me for two lines when I only wanted one.

After I saw my first Verizon bill and realized the error they made, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Ah well, Mommy will take care… … … … crap.”

Yep, for the first time I had to handle my own phone bill, and after numerous phone calls, emails, and talking to maybe 5 different representatives to get things straightened out, I started to realize very quickly just how BIG a buffer my mother had been for me from life’s everyday aggravations and hassles.

Independence does come with a price after all.

Not that I’m completely unprepared for it, but there are some things that I was still going to have to learn about, like say, paying the electric bill, which my Momsie tried to explain to me the other day:

“If your apartment has one you should always make sure to read the meter to pay the electric, that way you’re not overpaying.”

“Sigh.”

Ayup, it’s definitely going to be a weird experience to sit in my own apartment and wonder why the toilet paper was no longer magically replenishing itself, or why the rent wasn’t automatically being paid, or why the apartment just wouldn’t stay clean for some blasted reason, or why there was never any food in the fridge. Didn’t a group of magical elves always take care of all that? What happened to them all??!?

Tags: apartment, independence, living, mommy, parents, phone, verizon, verizon bill
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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You know, I seriously hate my job.

But before going any further, let’s run through the gamut of why I should be so grateful to have a job first, just to give the dweeb monkeys out there the satisfaction before they start berating me over why I should kiss the sky for still being gainfully employed in this craptastic economy, and if my job is something less than ideal then too bad, I should just shut the flip up and be grateful anyway.

Are we done?  Good.

You know, I seriously hate my job.

How did I end up in a career where the most critical assignment I’ve been tasked with is to shuffle papers and stare at the wall all day?  My job didn’t even require a college degree, which is why you’ll usually see me on the floor convulsing in spastic fits every I make my usual monthly payment towards my school loan.

Sigh, I remember what it was like when I was still in school and had a dream.  I was going to work for the FBI and specialize in solving computer crimes, or something.  I tailored my education toward that end too, and started networking with people already in the field to learn as much as I  could about this growing industry.  It was an industry that was in strong demand, and I knew I was in good shape to land on my feet once school ended.

And then I graduated.

There are times I wish could go back to that 19 year old boy I once was and beat the living snot out of him for coming up with the most ass backwards, uninformed career ambitions ever. I mean, really.

And now here I am, in a recession-proof job with plenty of good perks, great dental plan, decent pay….. and I’m completely miserable. It is bar none one of the most unfulfilling jobs I could have ever ended up in, with no promotional path at all and no room to maneuver. I just marked my 9th anniversary yesterday, and my title is exactly the same as it was my first day on the job.

9 years…. gees, where did it all go??

And now of course, I’m completely lost. I don’t know what I want to do anymore, except maybe win the lottery. I’d love to make a living blogging maybe, but it will never happen. Everything I tried to bring more traffic to this site failed miserably. And while I enjoy writing, but I’m not as prolific a writer as I’d like to be, especially when my muse abandons me like a cheap ho and I’m left to stare at the empty screen on my monitor because I have no idea what the flippo dinks I want to write about.

Maybe thing swill get better once I finally pay off my school loan. With that much more breathing room I’ll have more freedom to enjoy life, travel and do…. something. Anything. Put myself out there and see if I can’t finally find what I’ve been looking for.

Maybe that’s all I need.

Tags: ambitions, anniversary, blogging, career, college, dream, economy, education, fulfillment, job, life, living, work, working
Categories: In The Coal Mine
 
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That became readily evident when I got tagged with a “25 Things About Myself” meme and my mind went blank. 

Who was I really?  I was a guy who liked pizza and 80s music.  Other than that, I couldn’t really tell you anything.  I used to think I knew who I was, and who I was meant to be.   I was gonna be Batman. 

But then after college, life took all my hopes and dreams and tore them up into itty bitty bits, then sat on my head and projectile farted a stinky poo into my face.  And it’s all been downhill from there ever since.

Whatever aspirations I had died a very quick death, and I ended up coasting through life instead,  right into a dead end job and a series of circumstances that left me wondering if my existence weren’t really just one of nature’s colossal mistakes.

After having survived 30+ years on this planet, all I have to show for it is that I have an awesome set of disco lights to keep my bedroom/office looking like Christmas Eve every night.  But do I know who I am?  Nope.

Am I a writer?  A comedian?  A regional collections manager for a company that makes boxes?

Was I the kind of guy who could find contentment living life on the road and traveling to exotic places, or would I be happier settling down with a house and a family?

Who am I?

Tags: dreams, existence, identity, life, living, mistake
Categories: Lincoln's Personal Log
 
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I have finally arrived at the magic number of 500 posts!  

It’s hard to believe that I managed to stick it out even when there were so many times I was tempted to hang it up and stop blogging for good.  But writing is in my blood evidently, and blogging has always been a good outlet for me to express myself in a linguistic sense.  With 2009 also on the horizon and a new plan possibly in the works to really get some traffic going, who knows, I might finally be able to realize my dream of actually making some serious money off this blog.

Yet what if that were to really happen though?  What if… I were able to honestly blog for a living?  Should I give up my job for good and blog full time, and do what I’ve always been pining to do, which was to travel across America and write about my experiences?

Doing so would mean giving up a dull job that otherwise offers a lot of benefits, from being able to work only 33 hours, 4 days a week, to enjoying excellent medical and dental plans, including additional perks like longevity pay, education stipends, ample vacation/sick time, being vested in a retirement and additional medical plan, not to mention the fact that it is laid back enough that I can surf the Internet for most of the day while still getting my work done.  Heck, I don’t even have a supervisor either (at least not for a long while, since I scared them all away.)      And since it’s a government job, it offers the kind of job security that could easily survive the recession as well (as long as crime doesn’t go out of business.)

There’s also the fact that if I succeed in monetizing my blog, I would effectively have two incomes as long as I keep my current job.  In a few years I could buy a condo or even a home in another state without even taking out a mortgage.  Such a possibility had never even occurred to me until I considered what I’d be able to do if I pretended my second income didn’t exist at all, and just let it pile up in my savings account for a few years.  I could afford a home for my parents.  A real home.  I could fund their accounts so they’d no longer have to work full time and can enjoy some kind of semi-retirement lifestyle.  I could really help people, good people who are just going through a hard time and could use a little financial charity.  I’d be able to provide for a family too if I had one.

And the only sacrifice I had to make was to simply put up with my ultra-boring, soul sucking job, and God help me, the stupidest bloody coworkers that could have ever graced creation.  And of course, continue living in the worst, most disgusting leftist-riddled state in the entire union. 

You know, as much security as  my job would offer me now, there’s something to be said for being completely self-sufficient and self-employed, with an online income that doesn’t require you to be tied down to any one location.  It offers the kind of freedom most people can only dream of, and for it to even be a distinct possibility for me is a miracle unto itself.  Maybe I can somehow find a way to live the best of both worlds though.    Ultimately, it all hangs on what happens in the next year or so.

In the meantime, here’s to another 500 posts, and promises of a better future that sees this blog not only enrichening my life, but the lives of many others as well. 

Tags: blog, blogging, coworker, dream, family, financial, freedom, income, job, job security, life, living, monetizing, money, online, parents, travel, work
Categories: Blog Fog, In The Coal Mine
 
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Remember that scene from Ghostbusters?

Dr. Peter Venkman: This city is headed for a disaster of biblical proportions.
Mayor: What do you mean, “biblical”?
Dr Ray Stantz: What he means is Old Testament, Mr. Mayor, real wrath of God type stuff.
Dr. Peter Venkman: Exactly.
Dr Ray Stantz: Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling!
Dr. Egon Spengler: Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes…
Winston Zeddemore: The dead rising from the grave!
Dr. Peter Venkman: Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… mass hysteria!

Maybe it’s bravado, but strangely enough just like Venkman, I seem to be relatively ok with the fact that we’re all going to die.  No, really.  Because if this crisis is truly meant to be the beginning of we’re-all-royally-screwed-end-times judgment on America for its many sins, then I can’t think of a better way to ensure our complete and total destruction than to elect a Christ denying (yet Christ imitating) dillweed who thinks he can neutralize the threat of a nuke building Iran and a nuke ready Russia with his charm.  Really, what better way to tell God just how ridiculously irredeemable we’ve become than to elect a guy who claims to be a Christian and yet thinks a good Muslim could still make it to the pearly gates as long as he keeps the bombing of civilians to a minimum?  Hey, we’re all good people here, really(!), even if we do think having a baby is tantamount to a punishment, and if we don’t seem to be too bothered at the thought of leaving those that survived failed abortions out to die.  Not that Big-O would ever intentionally do such a thing, he just doesn’t think they merit protection of course, at least not until the kind of offensive language that dares to remotely suggest a fetus is a living thing is completely stripped from such a bill of protection.  Because you know, God forbid we should toss those whacky pro-life freaks a bone that even NARAL wouldn’t have had a problem with.  We do need to be principled here, after all.

No, I just don’t see why God would want to rain fire and brimstone on us darling cherubs of light… except for possibly giving our rich folks far too many tax breaks.

When I think about it, it’s not even Obama that I can’t stand so much.  I don’t even hate on the heathens for supporting him either, since such a godless sort devoid of any sense of morality will obviously go for the Barry-O show.  I can respect that.

No, it’s the self professing Christians who hang on every word he speaks, and who teach their children to sing musical praises of Hopey-O-Change that make me want to stomp their faces in with something rusty and spiky.

It’s no secret that I intensely dislike what passes for American Christianity today, whether we’re dealing with dimwits sipping Starbucks while they fawn over girlie boy Rick Warren’s latest perfume scented books, or Calvinist snotheads who think knowing two words in Greek makes them the most brilliant scholars in recorded history, or charismatics who scream and flail their arms in revival meetings because they think they’re “on fire” and they’re about ready to projectile vomit out a stomach’s worth of 24 karat gold.

Yet nothing makes me want to go out and start bouncing people’s heads off the cement more than those ever devout Christians drooling puppy love over that Obamanation of nature otherwise known as Barack Hussein Obama.  I am absolutely convinced that this very same flock of fluffy sheep will also someday jump at the chance to stand in line for an opportunity to lick the hairy hindquarters of the Antichrist, thinking it will taste just like rainbows.

These to me represent the most darkened, clueless minds in all of creation, and because of their depraved stupidity I may end up witnessing the one thing I never wanted to see in my lifetime: the death of my country.  Thank you so, SO much for that, my brothers and sisters in the Lord.

I don’t get it.  I really don’t.  You hate Bush?  Fine.  You think he’s a war mongering, oil happy, half brained cowboy who caters to the rich?  Fine.  I can understand that.  I even dig the pacifism thing.

Explain the abortion thing to me then.  Explain to me how the violence involved in ripping fetuses to shreds doesn’t somehow repulse your pacifist side the way “Bush’s war” does.  Because when I see people looking to extend human rights to red assed baboons or wail whenever a dolphin is caught in a net, but scream at the top of their lungs for the right to twirl up a fetus into itty bitty bits that would have otherwise become a full fledged human being, then I see only the kind of deranged, twisted up minds that no medicine on earth could ever possibly cure.

And yet somehow, you’re all ok with it.  You can relate to a guy who can’t even get the basic tenets of Christianity right, (though I admit, it would have been more palatable to me if you merely agreed with him on some points and decided only to vote for him while holding your nose at the polls.)  But no, your attitude is one of complete adoration for a morally compromised Chicago politician as if he had come from the very throne of heaven itself.  It exhibits the same kind of mentality that the Antichrist will no doubt someday feed on: unabashed adoration and unquestionable loyalty, despite the transparent seedy and evil character of your so called hero.

It almost makes me want to see the Obamanation become President, if for no other reason than to see the collective look of your ashen faces when you realize with horror that “the one” turned out to be the second coming of JC after all: JC as in Jimmy Carter that is.  Mr. Malaise has finally come back to finish the job.

You know what really frosts my Chips Ahoy cookies about all this though?  It’s the fact that I’ll have to endure the travesty that will soon come upon us, alone.  There will be no honey bunny snuggles to share my misery with while we watch our beloved country commit suicide.  No cuddly bunchikins to hold and share a sweet, tender moment with while our cities riot and burn.  Every dark day that lies ahead of me I will have to face completely and utterly alone, all because not a single one of you hateful, despicable, vile women could manage to find it in your hearts to wubs me.

Fine then.  Don’t come crying to me when the world ends and you desperately need a manly shoulder to cry on.   I won’t be there.

Well maybe I will.  I am desperate and all so who knows, perhaps I can learn to forgive and forget. 

Tags: abortion, alone, america, barack hussein obama, christian, christianity, Christians, country, death, ghostbusters, God, heathens, jimmy carter, judgment, life, living, loneliness, misery, nation, Obamanation, people, president, rick warren, single, stupidity, violence, women, women suck, world
Categories: Christians Gone Wild, Politics and Poker
 
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