Heading to the Tattoo Parlor

I may not be officially back, but I'm back for right now. There are so many things to catch up on.

Last night, Hubby started his new seasonal job with the IRS. He's working 6:00 p.m. to 2:30 a.m. He called me around 10:00 last night to tell me that the job (data transcription) is hard. Here's a man who's got a degree from an excellent university, who's written 3 books and edited another, written articles and manuals, types 90 words per minute, but he can not do IRS data transcription. I assured him that it will become easier over time. God forbid that something should have a learning curve.

I talked with Stepson a couple of nights ago. He's afflicted with the same "can't do" attitude as his dad. Ever since he first started working, he's quit job after job because they were too hard. They both make me want to get a tattoo on my forehead that reads, "If it's fun, you pay them. You do not get paid to have fun." I'm not sure my head's big enough to fit that on it, though. I know. I'll use my neck like that guy on Project Runway. I could probably fit in lots of edifying slogans if I used my forehead and my neck.

When Stepson called the other night, I told him I was watching Anthony Bourdain on the Travel Channel. I love Anthony because he goes places tourists never go...and eats things I would never, ever, ever eat. In the meantime, he drinks like a fish and smokes a lot. I'm amazed he's lived this long--high fat food, alcohol and nicotine should have killed him long ago. When I told Stepson about Anthony's zest for alcohol, it was the single most interesting thing I've said to him in probably twenty years. He turned his television on and started excitedly searching for the program. Great.

Hubby had told me that on Monday Stepson had worked a 17 hour day. Of course, I immediately started wondering once again why Stepson won't take out a student loan and learn about whatever it is that he wants to do. It's some medical technology thing. He doesn't talk about it enough for me to remember. That's saying something. I pay close attention to what people say to me, especially when it's my stepson. When I commented about the long day, he told me they didn't do much; there was a lot of standing around. However, he wanted to try to force this company to pay him more than the agreed-upon wage until his friend talked him out of it.

Let's see. We have a 39 year old high school graduate who hasn't had a long-term (more than two weeks) job in about a decade and is now doing manual labor for a living. He has no special skills whatsoever. None. Attitude, yes, in abundance. Skills, no. Somehow I don't think that places him in a favorable position for negotiation. If I were his supervisor, I'd tell him to go find somebody who'll pay him that much and hire a young person to take his place. No, I didn't say that to him. Maybe I should have. He's 39, though. Now you see why I need all the tattoo space. It would be like a silent reminder.

I spent about an hour with Owner this morning, listening to him complain about his life. Even he knows how absurd and, frankly, insulting that is to me. He's wasted his life. He has medical issues he hasn't addressed...a lump on one of his feet, his cholesterol hasn't been checked, he hasn't had a colonoscopy. I told him to make an appointment with a doctor. Owner doesn't like being fat and weak. I told him to get up and start moving. Life has beaten Owner down. There's only so much of that I can take.

Here again, this is where the tattoo would be useful. I might need to take a little bit of neck space for one that says, "You have a privileged life. Get over yourself." I could just incline my head a little bit so that he could see it and roll my eyes suggestively to that area. I wouldn't ever have to say anything.

There's plenty more to say, but I have to get back to my really hard job and my wasted life that's beaten me down so much I can't manage to get my cholesterol checked.