Do Not Read This

Feel like making a big deal out of nothing.

I missed my training today because I thought that it was at 4:30 instead of 10:30, which was the correct time. The restaurant did not call me, however after looking at the notebook that I wrote down the correct times in I was absolultely shocked and pummeled. I called Patricia immediately and she told me that it wasn't a big deal and for me to just show up at 4:30 anyway and pretend that I had no idea, however at 4:00 she called me and told me that one of the managers told me just not to come in at all because there weren't enough trainers working. I was quite upset and distressed.

I called the restaurant and faked that I had no idea that I was supposed to be in at 10:30 and apologized repeatedly. They weren't mean, but they weren't comforting either. I am supposed to go in at 4:30 tomorrow. I am worried.

I'm drunk.

I don't think I even told that story correctly.

I should delete this blog.

It has gone downhill.

As if it was ever uphill. If it was, it was only a slight 10 degree incline that quickly diminished into absolute patheticism.

I am too lazy to write long posts now. There is no need. Did I MENTION THAT IW AS DRUNK? That capitalization is absolutely obnoxious, however I am too lazy to go back and make it lowercase.

The restaurant must think that I am an irresponsible inconsiderate piece of shit. I am a piece of shit, but I usually am not irresponsible. In fact, I am always on time. If I weren't such a douche bag I would have looked at my notebook where I wrote the correct training times down the night before my training day. However, I am such a douche bag and I cannot turn back time and reverse my levels of douche bagism.

I'm really tired.

I should wash my face. I have an unattractive zit underneath my lip. I should also put on benzaclyn peroxide to bleach away all that is imperfect about my skin.

Lazy. Unmotivated. Lost. Boring. Rancid. Heinous. Piece. Of. Shit. Did I mention that I was boring? Or a douche bag?

Or crazy?

Didn't think so.

Lack of Results

I just ran a mile. I've been doing that a lot lately, and now I've gotten to the point in my workout routine where I can do this without feeling like I'm going to die afterwards. In fact, today I actually felt like I could run a little more than just one mile. I also practiced my serve at the tennis courts. I should do some crunches, but I don't really feel like it right now. Sadly, the efforts I have been putting forth to actually work out have been moot as I now just have a smaller 160 lb version of my previous physique. Still, I'm not ready to go to the gym.

Tonight is my first night actually training at my new job. I will be following around another server for the entire night, and hopefully the managers will allow my friend Patricia to do this. Prior to training, I had to take two very difficult exams on the contents of the menu. I still have one left today, however I do not feel at all like studying for it. I might just masturbate instead. Or maybe I'll do a few crunches. Or maybe both.

Just did some crunches. I'm not sure if I'll have time for masturbation.

Stay tuned.

Whitney Houston Is Bomb

I fucking love Whitney Houston.

There is nothing left to say.

Overwhelmed By Heinousness

I have come to the conclusion that I hate or can find something to dislike about practically every single thing that exists in the world. Heinousness is everywhere, and I am engulfed with it.

Off to work in about 20 minutes. I want a salad or something, but I'm too lazy to make one. I'll probably just eat some Wheat Thins. I'm not even sure if I'm on the schedule to work tonight. If I'm not, I'm running the fuck out of that place.

Training for my new job starts tomorrow. I have a classroom on appetizers. I'm sure that it will be invigorating.

I haven't done anything in two days with the exception of leaving my house to work for 3 hours each day and practicing my serve at the tennis courts today.

I. Am. So. Boring. And. Bitter.

Jobs Are Evil. Unemployment Is The Answer.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Okay?

I have my orientation at my new job as a waiter today. Unlike my previous job (which I will be quitting tomorrow), I can receive tips and do not have to completely succumb to the ridiculous demands of a large national corporation. Being a waiter is a heinous job that bears some slight resemblance to slavery, however, so I cannot get too excited.

My summer has began. School is over. Words more precious than this have never been uttered. I may start reading some more. My mom bought all of the Twilight books and has been reading them semi-compulsively for the past few months, so maybe I'll give them a chance. I may also finally finish the Augusten Burroughs book that I've been borrowing from Lisa's sister for months now. The best part about my summer break, however, is that I am now able to lay outside in my backyard and burn off all of my acne. Yay!

Hopefully I won't hate my new job. I will be working with Patricia, so it will be nice to have a friend there who will understand my levels of nervousness and bizarrity and also my levels of hatred for working in general. In case no one has already noticed, I am a very lazy and unmotivated person who is unlikely to succeed in this rancidity-driven, blind, corrupted world which emphasizes the importance of both good work ethics and also of pretending that one's job is tolerable when in actuality it is absolutely evil. I cannot live in denial, I am far too aware. Painfully aware.

I watched Slumdog Millionaire with Patricia this week as well. It is a movie that I knew would be very good, however I was hesitant to watch it as I don't usually feel like watching movies that require a great deal of cognitive involvement. Watching the movie seriously made me grateful to live in America, however condescending and ignorant that may sound. I mean, the scene where Jamal jumps into the pool of shit to get that guy's autograph (sorry, didn't mean to spoil that for you) was enough to instill feelings of patriotism in and of itself.

As I progress through the rest of summer, I am going to try to find a way for me to get through life without ever having to work a job 9-5. If this means that I will have to accept a position as a bartender for the rest of my life (which, by the way, is a more respectable and far less evil job than most), then I will. I just suspect that in order to work in coporate America and climb the ever so treacherous corporate ladder, people are required to do their best to either convince their superiors that they have sold their soul to the company or that they are willing to completely abide by all of the company's rules and regulations no matter how ridiculous and belittling and in spite of all knowledge about basic human rights. Those who are willing to sell their soul, however, always make more money. I know that I'm talking out of my ass right now and don't even have any knowledge of what it is like to work in corporate America (except for that one week I spent working 9-5 last summer until I was fired for writing about it in this blog), however this is what I envision. Is it really that far from the truth?

Good riddance.

This Entry is an Embarrassment

Every time I seem to write on this blog I am in a state of either depression or painful uncertainty. This may give off the impression that I am on the cusp of being ordered to enter a mental institution. Maybe I should. However, when I am not writing on here, I am not so overtly negative all the time about my personality and overall life situation. Sometimes, I even border on confident and socially inept. I just wanted to clarify that before I continue.

Oh, and by the way, this March marks one full year of the existence of Lowering My Expectations. I don’t know if I should consider that a milestone or a pathetic waste of time.

I started reading Dry today by Augusten Burroughs. Since reading Running with Scissors this summer I have continued to be intrigued by him. His life almost requires that he write a memoir. For many reasons, I feel that my life does too. However, I fear that no one will read it. Just like no one reads this blog. Anyway, the other day Fran and I were chatting about my pathetic love life situation and how I basically completely ignore it. It is very easy to ignore for the fact that I do have a fairly large amount of good friends who are able to fill the void that a significant other normally would. Also, since I have never had the experience of being ever so slightly romantically involved with anyone, I really have no idea what exactly I’m missing out on. Still, when Fran said (I know this may sound completely bitchy, but honestly I can understand where she’s coming from) that she never thought I would be in a relationship and that if I really wanted to be in one I would have already, it sort of struck a nerve.

This nerve is one that I never knew existed. Though I have no intentions of involving myself in the gay community in the near future, I still assume that eventually things will just fall into place and that I will meet someone who will completely change my bizarre aversion to “dating”. This prospect is really starting to seem completely unrealistic, and I think that within the next year I really need to either make an effort to put myself out there or accept a life of solitude. I know that it won’t be long before my friends are getting married, having children. I also know that we will drift apart as a result of these things. Fucking obviously. This is a very scary thing to me. I could of course become extremely invested in my career, make shitloads of money (even though I’m incredibly lazy), become a socialite. But, Fran’s comment makes me realize that I really do want a relationship someday, and I can almost picture what life would be like if I were in a relationship in my head. It’s completely different, and it would require a drastic change in my overall demeanor, but I do like it.

When I picture myself in moments of intimacy, however, I have absolutely no idea how I would act. I more than likely would be consumed by nervousness and would have absolutely no idea what to do. It’s no secret that I love masturbating, so clearly I have some sexual desires. Still, however, I find the very idea of sex to be embarrassing. I apologize, by the way, if this is at all coming off as though I am Carrie Bradshaw. That is not my intention, and I could never write about relationships and sex the way she does because I don’t have it (although, Carrie really looks like she sucks in bed). Also, she is a fictional character, so maybe I should pull my head out of the ass of pop culture and think in terms of reality. That’s another thing about me; I am not comfortable with being completely honest and open for long periods of time without integrating at least a few attempts of sarcasm.

I have no idea where the fuck I’m going with this topic. I just hope that one day I am able to embrace the changes I need to make in my life in order to be capable of being in a romantic relationship.

These past few days have been up and down. Little things that I say or other people say just bother me for far longer than they do the average person. For example, at work the other night the kitchen manager told me that “all side orders need to go through the expediter”, referring to himself after I asked another kitchen staff member for a side order of green beans or some shit. His tone was unnecessarily hard and I took his comments personally. And I still remember what he said. It was fucking four days ago. He ruined that whole day for me. That same night, I went out with Lisa and her sister and her sister’s fiancé to their friend’s house. I drank Smirnoff with tonic and lime juice (coincidentally also Augusten Burroughs’ drink of choice in Dry), and it tasted like fucking soap. On top of this, I drove and I knew that I had to get home at a decent hour, not because my mother is strict necessarily, but because I know that she worries about me and I like to be considerate. With an aftertaste of soap and the clock ticking in the back of my mind, I came off as somewhat antisocial and as though I was annoyed by the drunken antics of the people I normally consider to be my closest friends. After nights like these, I notice an immediate shift within the next few days in my relationships with the people who were involved. The next night at Lisa’s sister’s house, I was just a little uneasy around Lisa & Co. because I knew that they noticed I was not fully myself at the party. Though my over-analyzing of the situation is likely the culprit, this nonetheless further worsened my mental state for the week.

There is a hint of anger lingering in the back of my mind. Anger about work, anger about my relationships with my friends, and all of those components seem to have me in common. Therefore, I suppose I am angry with myself. That realization could be considered a breakthrough, but I think that term is too fancy. I mean, I’m not fucking retarded. I know what my emotions are, and I am perfectly capable of expressing them. Still, however, I need some help with learning how to move on with things. I’m not a noticeably emotional person and I sometimes wish that I was because at least those people immediately know that they have feelings about a certain situation. I often find that writing in this blog helps me with handling my insecurities, and I have so many thoughts that have built up over the past few months that I have written an entry that no person in their right fucking mind would ever read because it so obnoxiously long and self-indulgent.

I’ve been practicing my serve at the tennis courts lately. It’s been about a year since I’ve seriously considered playing tennis regularly, and now I think that I’m finally ready. I’m bored all the time (when I’m not doing school work, which has become quite minimal since switching my major to Communications) and I dread doing the Biggest Loser workouts on On Demand, so playing tennis sounds like a great way for me to lose some extra pounds, have some fun (when I’m winning), and occupy myself. Yes, it does. Will I actually sign up on the USTA web site, however? Probably not. I’ve been saying I wanted to for months, but that means shit. At least I know it, though. I am very aware. Always, always so completely and agonizingly aware.

This entry is reaching two full Microsoft Word pages. Single spaced. That’s like writing a four page paper. Except instead of it actually being graded, it’s completely pointless and will never be read. Waste. Of. Time. But I feel at least a little bit better about things, so I guess it hasn’t been. I guess this blog hasn’t been a waste of a year’s worth of writing.

… I guess.

Maybe? Probably? Definitely.

Happy New Year.

I'm going to work in less than a half hour.

I need to start working out. Last night I did calf raises, squats, lunges, crunches, and pushups in my room. They probably won't do anything, but at least it's an effort.

I don't think I can complete the Biggest Loser Cardio Max ON DEMAND workout. I did it once, but I almost passed out after. It is 20 minutes long.

This year I will get a new job as a waiter at an actual restaurant and learn to deal with the long hours and shitty people because of the generous compensation.

I'm basically just writing this entry to remind myself that I'm still alive. Maybe I will write an actual entry later on this week.

Maybe not.

Probably not.

Definitely not.