Professions.

I had a job interview today. And it was preceded by some of the worst days of my adult life. Not literally, but I have been way stressed out. I have smoked 3 cartons of Lucky Strikes in the past 48 hours. I don't really know where to begin, because this whole week has been a shit storm.
I guess it all started when I shaved my face. I feel like most traumatic stories should begin this way. The best way to ruin your life, is shave. I shaved on Thursday night so I wouldn't have to go through the trouble of hacking away three inch long hair at 7 am, and accidentally cut my throat then bleed out doing the least manly thing possible. I ran around showing off my mustache for a while since now that I am 22, it's finally a respectable mustache. Then I actually shaved with a razor. It was then that I saw that I had a very noticeable tan line from where my beard used to be. I also realized it's the first time my face has been beard-less since March. Needless to say; I panicked. I was trying to impress these people, and I officially looked more like a jackass than I ever have in my whole life. I didn't even look this bad when I got arrested for public urination.
So, I finally calmed myself down enough to lay in my bed and stare at my lava lamp for a few hours while the moon went down. Then got up at 7 am, and started what is now today. Last night I went to Wal-Mart and purchased myself a sweater. I wanted a sweater that looked like something that a dad would wear. Mostly cause I think it's funny. So I went and bought me a sweater that is much too big for me. Which seems like a contradiction. That would basically be a tent. Only a tent would be too big for me. My day officially started by me waking up with a One Direction song being played in my head. ONE DIRECTION. So I screamed as loud as my lungs could muster, and put on some sister raping, village burning metal to drown out the sound of 5 English butt touchers. So, After this I went to work and shotgunned a Rockstar to try and compose myself. The next few hours consisted of a constant stream of idiots making remarks about my naked face in a manner such as; "I BARELY RECOGNIZED YOUR STUPID IDIOT JERK FACE NOW THAT IT'S NAKED HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR!!" "LOOK AT YOU WITHOUT A BEARD!! IT'S LIKE SEEING A HELPLESS BABY SWIMMING IN CLOTHES THAT ARE TOO BIG FOR HIM! HAR HAR HAR HAR!!" And so on, in this manner. Well, my shift was coming to and end, and the interview was coming up. But it wasn't the end of the shit fest. This lady came into the store, and wanted me to mix some paint for her. So, I started doing so. However, she wanted a black colored paint mixed, which translates to; I want to make your life as miserable as possible. So, I begin doing it as fast as I can. However, I got a messed up can of paint, that was overfilled with the base. So, when I try to hammer on the lid, It is much too full. So, I take it outside, put a board on it, and hammer it closed and get paint all over outside. Then I take the can to a hose and begin washing it off. When I started doing so, The water came back, with paint, and sprayed me right in my stupid face. So now not only did I have a white tan line on my face, I also had paint all over it. I said some swear words really loud, washed my dumb face, and gave the lady her paint.
The interview itself wasn't that bad. I had to wait in line with a bunch of people who were much older than me, and made me feel even younger than I now looked. I officially felt like I should be playing bench for the 6th grade football team. I was actually happy to be there, because it helped me not be wound so tight. I was basically imploding for an entire week. It nearly killed me on multiple occasions.
I guess in retrospect to all of this, I have officially landed on a career. I am applying to be a stay at home dad. I am as bad as all the girls at BYU. They aren't looking to get a degree, they're looking for a husband to pay the bills. And I feel like if they can do it, I sure as shit can. When people ask me what my major is from now on, I am going to tell them "I don't have one. I am just looking to get married and start raising kids while my wife works." It sounds like a dream. Playing Lego's, beating the shit out of my kids in Nintendo and real life, watching General Hospital and drinking enough Diet Coke to shower the continent of Africa for 45 minutes a year. (Think about that. A nice Diet Coke rainfall. Sounds awful. I shouldn't be so mean to those spear chuckers..) Thus explaining further my purchase of "Dad clothes." So, if there are any takers on this, contact me directly. My ideal date includes me eating a lot, and not paying for any of it. So just plan on that. 5 nights a week.

I Shut Down Your Stupid Government.

Truth be told, I don't know the first thing about the government. I don't know how it was shut down. All I know is that there has been a lot of bitching going on about it. I think I have probably the worst story in eternity about the government shutting down and ruining my life.
I woke up at around ten cause I figured school was cancelled; it wasn't. Then I compose myself enough to hurry and burn some CD's and DVD's since the feds are out of a job. At around one I went to work, and I suppose that the insects thought they could just do whatever the hell they wanted since the government was shut down, and they were swarming us at work. So, I was chasing them around with a fly swatter and doing my civic duty to maintain order in the government's absence. I took a break from my post to yawn, and stretch. As I did so, a suicide bombing fly flew right into my open mouth, and tried to fly down my throat. I proceeded to cough and hack and almost puke. I lied on the floor for a time and thought about how pissed off I would be to die here at work. Drowning in my own vomit that a fly caused. I would have been cursed to haunt a vacant building. I probably would have been the most pissed off person to has ever passed on. Thanks for that one, Obama. Then when I went to get up I rolled over into a pile of loose screws, and threw out my back.
I may not know the what's and where's of the shutdown government, but, I will tell you the reason why the government shut down. See, even though it proceeded to almost kill me, it is all a ruse. I just made it seem like it was awful so I could commiserate with you idiots. Truth is, this is the beginning of the reign of King Jake. I have officially overthrown the government in order to show you peasants how desperately you need a new government. Something needs to change. And I have just the thing you need.
Actually, I don't have anything you need. But I think if I was King, I would be pretty great to everyone. Some of the things that are going to change immediately are as follows:

-No more women sports announcers.
-No more gas station food.
-No more dirty restrooms.
-All Pizza establishments will offer $5 pizzas so we don't have to keep choking down Little Cesar's.
-Fighting will be acceptable under any circumstance if the antagonist is being a jerk.
-All places of employment will allow employees to grow beards.
-No speed limits.
-No credit checks.
-No money, only barter and trading.
-College books are free of any trade value.
-Wild animals are acceptable to be domesticated.
-I get season tickets to San Francisco Giants, Denver Broncos, and Dallas Mavericks games.
-No more reality TV.
-No more idiots being famous.
-No more Miley Cyrus.
-No more One Direction/Justin Beiber/Luke Bryan/ anyone else I hate.
-Everyone will be provided with shoes and must wear them in public.
-No Rip Sticks.
-Socks. For everyone.

I have a lot of other great ideas also. But, These are the only ones effective immediately. So start doing the things on this list. Then your happiness, and everyone Else's will improve. Stand by for further instruction.

King Of Garbage

I get tired of trying to come up with valid answers for what I plan to do with my life. It seems like  "don't know" is sort of unacceptable. People just expect you to know what you plan on doing for the rest of forever, right now. I honestly think the farthest ahead I actually plan, is what I am going to have for breakfast. Damn, I love breakfast. But as far as everything else, I have no idea. I would like to think that I will be in college for a time, but, I have quickly come to the realization, that the longer I am in college, the more  feel like drug deals become appealing. Something about barely scraping by makes years in prison seem like it might not be so bad. High risk, high reward.
But I have thought about telling people I am slowly training to become a WWE wrestler. But that has become seemingly more like a lie each day. Why? Cause I have looked the same for the past 5 years. I am in no way trying to look more like John Cena at this point. So, I have since scrapped that idea. But, in an effort to come up with a feasible answer to sell to these twits, I have decided to go with a garbage man until further notice. Not even like, I am going to research how to reduce waste, or anything like that. I am going to drive  garbage truck around, wear those terribly bright colors, and look like a convict.
Nobody is going to argue with that. They might ask why, then I'll say; job security. There will always be a garbage to be taken out, man. Then slowly make him feel guilty for not appreciating the hard work the garbage men do. They do the shit that you make your kids do! It's like chores.
Slowly I Will move up in the garbage man community. In my brain, I picture the garbage man community like a weird nudist colony. Not that everyone is naked, but you have to be a garbage man to live there. And everyone is really dirty. They all have houses made out of stuff they find in the trash, but most people live in tree houses. And everyone is way nice to each other and knows who everyone is. There is rarely a dispute or harsh words spoken about anyone inside the garbage man community. However, everyone is disgruntled about how they are treated by people who aren't inside the garbage community.
Soon enough, we all get fed up with it. We all decide to start a revolution. They elect me as King of the garbage men. And I lead them into stages of rebellion. We start by not picking up anyone's trash again. So, the cities decide to hire new garbage men, and we kidnap them. And sabotage the trucks. Then, we build a place where we can take over the airwaves. And there I am, on your TV. Sitting on a pile of trash, wearing a trash crown. Eating a rotten apple. I tell the world that I am in kahoots with garbage men all over America. And if my demands are not met, I will command my me to start the take over by hostile force.
Then the story goes one of two ways, I am either elected king of America. Or, lots of blood shed and battles lead me to become King. Either way, I win. I had heretofore thought that going the civil way of becoming King was the way to go. Win over America. Then I realized it's going to be a feat to convince people that we don't need a president anymore. So, I have since decide that by force is the way I want to go. So, let me tell you something, you can either join my forces and be entitled to a hefty paycheck and light work load, or, you can join the futile forces of the neigh-sayers. And will be charged with eating all the garbage we produce. And live in a garbage tree house. It's up to you.

I Can Count Idaho's Redeeming Qualities On No Hands.

Due to the graphic nature of the things I witnessed this weekend, this entry should not be read if; you have a preexisting heart condition, are pregnant or may become pregnant, have a history of epilepsy in your family, are under the age of 17, or have back issues.

I am going to start by paying my dues to my family and friends that are stuck in the horrible place that is called Idaho. This is in no Way a personal attack upon you or your heritage. I just forwardly apologize for your bad luck.

I will openly admit that I have had a vendetta towards Idaho to begin with. Everyone from Idaho thinks they are so great. And that Idaho is so great. Yet, they have to drive their sorry asses to Utah to participate in events that involve people. Concerts, fairs, basically anything that is fun in  life; it doesn't happen in Idaho. So, when the news trickled through that our family reunion would be held in Idaho at Lava Hot Springs, I was admittedly miffed. I have had fun at Lava Hot Springs in years prior. But, I was also young and stupid. So, I was packing my bag for the weekend trying to come up with a good excuse to not go aside from dismemberment. But, in the end, I couldn't come up with anything.

After the longest drive to Idaho I have ever experienced, I was happy to at least be able to lie in a bed for a minute, and dry the sweat off my back. When we pulled up to the motel, it looked more like something out of a horror movie than real life. People with limps were sauntering about. There was an orange cooler that was full of homemade moonshine and people standing around it talking in broken English. I knew that I may as well sacrifice any sleep I was hoping to get this weekend, Cause I was going to be staying up all night waring off drunks and meth addicts.

When we approached the front desk, a woman wearing a blood stained apron and missing teeth was happy to welcome us to Murder Mystery Motel. She issued us our room keys and offered us the password to the wifi. Which I accepted, but didn't use. I figured it was probably some sort of honing device used to shut off our phones so we cant call for help when the rape clan slinks into our room that night.

We went to our rooms, and it took us about 5 minutes to figure out how to open the door. The keys just didn't quite do the trick. There was some jiggling and jostling involved so as to stall any authorities you call. Which was all the more alarming to me. When we did finally get into our rooms, we we're unpleasantly surprised. One queen size bed, and three single beds were placed in a room that was roughly the size of my bedroom. The only thing that separated the bathroom from the rest of the room, was a shower curtain. So, this room was meant for really tight knit families who like to hear and smell whatever business is going on in the bathroom. I claimed my bed closest to the window and air conditioning unit, so as to drown out the screams of our neighbors being murdered. My bed wasn't even placed on an actual bed frame. It was some 2x4's and plywood nailed together in a makeshift box form. My sheets didn't match and looked like something that was at one point on my grandma's bed when she was 10 years old. 70 years ago. I was most excited to try and explain to everyone how I got pubic lice, but that I am still a virgin.

I think we were compromised for our black and white TV by having curtains made of fleece blankets, as the rest of the motel rooms had towels for their curtains. I looked under my bed to check for any dead people, and booby traps, and it seemed like the last time they actually cleaned under there was about the time that World War 2 ended. There was old confetti and socks that didn't even have a brand name on them. I felt it necessary to take a little walk and get some Idaho air in my lungs that didn't taste like a moldy house.

I walked out of our room and would lazily glance at all the windows to notice if anyone else had the fleece blanket upgrade, or they were all towels. As I walked past one room, the curtains were drawn. And I was so sorry that I looked in that window. There, sitting in a chair, was an older gentleman. He had a neck brace on, and was in some sort of assisted chair, and his pants and underwear were around his ankles, and he was sound asleep. How you could have the window open at such a time is still something I can't gather. I ran like hell back to my room to try and repent for seeing some other old mans funny parts. I knew then and there that I wanted to go back to Utah. If I woke up and someone stabbed me several times, I would walk outside, fill my wounds with dirt and sticks, and I would walk to Utah. Then I would take out my makeshift blood clots and bleed out happily on Utah soil. I refuse to die in Idaho.

This story is 100% true and unexxagerated. And I feel like this is a healthy reflection of what goes on in Idaho. Naked old men and murder motels. I usually think that everywhere has some sort of attraction that would make the trip worth it. However, I feel that Idaho is a strong exception to that rule.

(Online) Dating Scares Me.

I always wonder what the people that go online dating look like in real life. Mostly because in my mind, the people that date online, never leave the house. They have their own cave in which they have resided for years. Like Hitler, or Osama Bin Laden, but less murder-y. If you were to break in with a swat team, they would have red eyes, and scream this scream that shatters glass/ear drums. Then start lighting pizza boxes on fire with their mouths and throwing them at you. And finally you take them down after a really bloody battle. I don't know why this is what I picture, but its what I do. Cause I am sure that they don't use real life pictures in their online dating profile. I am sure that they are harmless, and don't light things on fire with their mouths. I just like to think the very worst possible things that could happen.
Maybe it's me, but I just really hope that my life never slums to the point that I have to sign up for chemistry.com or something. Cause I feel like I would make my profile one huge lie to make people think I am so great. I would make The Terminator my profile picture and talk about how I am looking for a wife by the name of Sarah Connor. And I will stop at nothing to get her. And you know what the funny thing would be? Some Idiot out there with a page named Sarah Connor would believe that I was being serious. And ring me up. Because you know what? You can't put lies on the internet. It's like a proven fact.
I just feel like I have enough going for me, that I could still make things awkward at a social gathering for some girl, and not have to resort to online dating, yet. I would walk up with a drink spilled all over me and say, "So, do you... Uh... Like... stuff?" and make a smile that resembles Michael Keaton from Beetle Juice. I'm not really saying I am above online dating; in all reality, I should be online dating. The only difference between me and people that online date, is that I stare at girls in real life, while they stare at them on a computer screen. Neither of us take action to talk to them, or ask them out. We just stare. If I were to pick up online dating, Then I wouldn't be making a complete ass of myself all the time. I always end up screwing up good pickup lines my friends tell me to use, such as:
Dang girl, did you fall from heaven? Cause it looks like you landed on your face!
Is your dad a baker? Cause you have tons of rolls.
I like my women like I like my coffee. Ground up and in the freezer.
In a lot of respects, I look at the shit I do and say, I wonder if I am even in any condition to date. But, then again, Is anyone? Everyone out there has their own respective problems. You just have to find someone who can deal with your problem as well as you can deal with theirs.
I touched on how you put on the ruse online that you are someone you are not. But, it's not that much different in real life. You always put on a ruse in real life; That you are smarter, richer, and better off than you really are. Nobody is going to off the bat tell you that they have daddy issues. Or anger problems. Or suffer from depression. Or dyslexia. Or whatever it is. But, there is something amiss with everyone. At least, that's what I tell myself to feel better about me.
So, in a round about way, we are all online dating under the name of The Terminator. And we are all searching for a Sarah Connor. And some idiot out there by the name of Sarah Connor is going to ring you up one day. You just have to keep checking your pager.