Tag Archives: poor advice

Calling When I Say I Will

missed-call

I know I said I would call. You all but made me promise that I would. How could I say no? And it really isn’t work at all to pick up the phone and dial. I could do it while I walk home, or while I clean the dishes, or whenever. It is not a time thing. Anyone that says they don’t have time to call is either too poor to have a cell phone or completely full of shit. I just don’t want to talk to you. Sorry. I know how these things work. If I call, then invariably you will call me some other night, and I really do not want to hear about how your boss is a bitch, or how smart your cat is, or whatever else you think I would remotely care about.

And next time we run into each other, if you ask, I’ll say that it’s not you, that it’s me. This will be a lie. It is you. I just don’t want confrontation. I would rather things regress to awkwardness, than have to deal with them head on. Call me coward. Call me a caitiff. Call me a lying son-of-a-bitch. Just don’t call me. Please.

Jeff

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Checking My Credit Score

worst. jingle. ever.

My father has told me to do it. The advertisement will not stop blaring that my life depends on checking it. Even my dear old landlady has written imploring me to “stay on top of it.” But I have never checked my credit score: I simply to not care. If it’s bad, then I am already screwed, and if it is good, then I will just abuse that new found knowledge. If I took a breathalyzer before leaving a bar and it showed I had room for another beer, I would drink it – that does not make me a better driver. Same goes for my credit score: if I have room to lapse, then I’ll push it. I am driven by uncertainty, and the fact that I do not know is the motivating factor for my general financial prudence. Knowledge is power, unless you are like me. Then anxiety is preeminent.

Anyhow, I cannot fuck up my credit history as much as the rest of these schmucks in America. The average American is holding in excess $4,200 in credit card debt. That is more money than I have ever put on a card. Eleven percent of American’s are behind or past due on their mortgages. I don’t even own car. In ten years I imagine that by the shear fact that I never purchased a McMansion with nothing down, or purchased a plasma TV on installment payments only to renege six months later, will guarantee that I’m better than the vast majority of my fellow citizens.

So, even if I do make a mistake or two, I’ll be fine –America grades on a curve.

Jeff

New Year’s Resolutions

January 2nd

Dear Everyone,

Your New Year’s resolution is dumb. Please stop trying to improve yourself; it is making me nauseous. The problem isn’t that you’re unattractive (well, at least not the main problem), or stupid (though that isn’t helping), or your crippling lack self-confidence (wait, who are you again?). The problem is that you are painfully boring. Remember, it is quite possible to lead a completely upstanding life, and never live a single day.

Wake up early, jog, eat breakfast, floss, say hi, and die. Have a job, wear your seatbelt, wait until marriage, look both ways, call her back when you say you will, and die. Count calories, wash your hands, watch your manners, buy insurance, jazzercise, and die. Smoke, drink, binge, purge, snort, shoot, fuck, speed, fight, shout, spit, and live. Care less, don’t plan, close your eyes while driving, dart across eight lanes of traffic, hit back, sleep for days, don’t sleep for days, forget when you last showered, and live. Of course, the more you live the sooner you die. Oh well.

Anyhow, if you still think self-improvement is a swell idea, don’t rule out self-destruction as the best way to get there. You want a packed funeral, right?

With much love,

Jeff

P.S. If you figure out how to get washboard abs, let me know.