Lame Title Denoting The Beginning Of A Blog

    I work in retail. More specifically, (but still vague because "the views expressed in the commentary section of this DVD are not necessarily those of the company" blah blah blah, you get the picture) I work in a small store that is in a smallish city, that gets enough business to not get harangued constantly by higher ups, but not enough to keep me completely occupied for entire shifts. Add to that lunch breaks, and you can see how I might start to get bored. Simply put, I have a lot of time to think, especially considering I've been at the job over four years and could do it all in my sleep. I've amused myself by posting things on facebook, silly rants that probably sound more angry than I actually am, about things that happen in my daily work life. Whether it's whining about a woman's insufficiently covered hairy bosom, or decrying the decline of civilization and grammar, no subject goes un-barbed by my barbie-like wit. Wait, that didn't come out right. At any rate, my rantings seem to have drawn a small crowd, like a street performer on Santa Monica Boulevard, and people tell me they would read my blog. Well, here it is.

   I believe words and actions are important. They say a lot about someone. The slump in a construction worker's shoulders as he grabs milk, eggs and diapers tells you he would like nothing more to be home catching the end of the game, but his wife called and asked him to grab a few things on the way home. Don't worry, I'm not going to wax poetic about the common man's struggles against the mountain of honey-dos and file-this. I'm more of a life critic, who takes specific, slightly unusual events and over-analyzes the crap out of em. I used the phrase "life critic" specifically to invoke the idea of a movie critic, or music critic, someone who uses a lot of words, some would argue more than is necessary, to say that they liked or didn't like something. A movie critic will drone on endlessly about the cinematography and the scene direction, things which a lot of people are barely aware of and may not care about until it's pointed out to them, but when they put it into words and go into detail, you realize that part of why you love that movie is because it was shot so well, and the actors had chemistry, or any number of things that "you don't notice, but your brain does." (Plinkett) So I may drone on a little too long when I see someone reacting strongly to a story in a tabloid and compare all of society to the human immune system; just think of me as a longwinded life critic.

    I also believe grammar is important, so I try to use it well. Not because I think I'm superior to you, or anyone, but because that's all I got. I've thrown exactly one punch in my life, and it was in defense of my glasses. Anyone who grew up wearing glasses knows that "Don't you dare break these, you take care of these, we can't afford new ones, if you break these I will kill you and send you to your room with no dessert, possibly not even in that order!" Anyway, the punch was not followed through on well, was not aimed well (I hit something, but in the heat of the moment I couldn't tell you what) and the fight was subsequently immediately interrupted by my mother. Oh and it was a girl. Sorry ladies, I was (I think?) thirteen at the time and she had my glasses! I have a clean record since then, I swear I haven't even illegally downloaded a Chris Brown album! Tangent aside, I use words as my weapon against the annoyances of life, and I feel that using good grammar and flavorful language adds a lot to what would otherwise be a pretty stupid complaint. I mean some of the crap I say boils down to "omg sum stupid b!tch came 2 my stor 2day and her tits were totally hairy & gross plus she was wearin this tiny shirt wtf" Oof, that physically hurt to type like that, you see the sacrifices I make to entertain you?

    So enjoy my blog crammed with six dollar words and three dollar opinions! I hope my big words and large blocks of text, containing more references than Dennis Miller commentating a chess match spectated by a Mensa convention, will convince you, not of my intelligence, but that "boy, he sure does talk a lot!" (oh god I hope this wasn't boring I'm better when I get mad at stupid things you're losing them already you idiot)