Optimistifying the Blogosphere

A few weeks ago, I posted about the awesomeness of Dear Optimists, a blog that I had only recently discovered. Following several dozen comments that I posted throughout their works, the co-writer/illustrator, Nadia, drew a brilliant picture of me in a helicopter.

Because their blog is just fantastic, I naturally jumped at the chance of being a Guest Blogger, and so I emailed to them my post from the beginning of the month about my unfortunate loss of employment (but with an optimistic outlook!).

I am proud to say that it was selected for their Guest Blogger Week, so if you would like to read the exact same post that I posted here, except somewhere else, then click here and check it out!

I should mention, however, that my post got the true “Dear Optimists” overhaul, and featured some brilliant cartoons! I love ‘em.

 

Thank you, Den and Nadia! I will definitely be sharing more optimism in the future. (And if anyone else is full of diabetic-inducing optimism that you need to get out of your head, submit it, and you, too, could be a Dear Optimists Guest Blogger!)

- Love The Bad Guy

“Sleepwalking”

I couldn’t resist. Here’s another Inspiration Monday entry, this time using the prompt, sleepwalking. Other people have written some fantastic entries; click here to get involved with Be Kind Rewrite’s challenge.

Sleepwalking…

It’s normal for children to sleepwalk. Their minds are still growing and adapting; they’re much more vulnerable to small bouts of activity, like sitting up in bed or walking to the bathroom. They usually grow out of it.

     Uncle Al never grew out of it.

     That’s why he lives with us now. Mum says we have to be patient with him, that it isn’t his fault. Dad says he’s a nutcase, so we should just stay out of his way.

     Of course, it is difficult to avoid a man who comes into your room at 3am, sits on the end of your bed, and won’t leave until he has finished reading you Hairy McClary from Donaldson’s Dairy.

     I don’t really mind. He’s my uncle, and I love him. So I listen patiently when he reads me my picture books as though I’m five years old again; I gently guide him away from the oven when he has a hankering for pancakes in the middle of the night; and I defend him when Mum and Dad discuss putting him into nursing care after he is found walking down the road wearing nothing but his pyjamas.

     During the day, he is Uncle Al—a polite guest and beloved family member. But during the night, he is a danger to himself and, apparently, to us.

     No, I don’t mind Uncle Al’s sleepwalking. I just wish it wouldn’t put him in harm’s way.

* * *

     “Everybody on the ground, now!”

     In a petrol station at midnight, ‘everybody’ consists of the guy behind the counter and a young couple who are now regretting their decision of purchasing a midnight snack. However, with the click of a cocked gun, two of the everybody’s fell to the floor, while the salesperson stood frozen behind the desk, hands quivering near his ears.

     The armed man pulled nervously at the balaclava on his face, shooting fervent glances at the small black and white television in the corner; on the screen was another armed man, looking decidedly more nervous than one would expect from a robber.

     Focusing back on the salesperson, the robber lifted his gun, shifting it awkwardly into a sturdy position. “Okay, man, you’re just gonna put the money in a bag for me, and no-one’ll get hurt.”

     With a frantic nod, the man ducked down behind the counter and tried to open the safe; his hands, slippery with nervous sweat, fumbled over the lock.

     “Hurry up!” the robber snapped. The sound of shuffling footsteps startled him; he turned and shot a glare over at the two customers, but they were huddled together in a frightened cocoon by the industrial freezer. They had not moved since he had entered.

     There was a loud snort and the robber jumped as a blast of warm air hit the back of his neck. Spinning sharply and raising his gun, the man was stunned to find another customer standing directly behind him, eyes glazed and impassive.

     “You’re in the way,” the stranger droned.

     The robber blinked, stunned in the face of this stoic figure before him. This was the first he’d seen of the newcomer, which meant he had entered after the robbery had begun. What kind of man would march up to an armed robber in a petrol station and tell him that he was ‘in the way’?

     The stranger snorted again. “You gonna move, pal?”

     The robber swallowed nervously; his gun nearly slipped from his hand as he tried to adjust its height. “Back off and hit the floor, a’ight? I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

     The stranger stared at him without a glimmer of fear. He took a step forward and, instinctively, the robber stepped back. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. Get in; get the money; get out. It had seemed so simple! But now, the salesperson had stood and was staring hopefully at the newcomer, while the safe sat securely locked by his feet. The stranger was still advancing, cool as you please in the face of death.

     “Move out of the way, would ya? I need to pay.”

     ‘Pay for what?’ the robber thought frantically.

     The next ten seconds happened faster than he could comprehend. The stranger stepped forward and reached our a hand; the robber, startled, stepped back and collided painfully with the counter; his gun slipped from his hand and landed neatly in the stranger’s palm. The man smiled oddly and said something like, “How ‘bout I just pay for you?”

     The last thing the robber heeded was the young man by the freezer leaping forward in a mighty tackle. His head hit the floor and he surrendered to the mercy of sleep.

            * * *

     The robber was safely seated in the back of the police car as the salesperson and the two customers stood before the interviewing officer.

     “I’m sorry,” the police woman interrupted. “But which of you entered after the robbery had begun?” She looked between the three of them, but each shook their head.

     “We told you, it was the old guy,” the salesperson repeated.

     “And he left?” she confirmed, frowning at her notepad.

     “Yes.”

     “And when exactly did he leave? Can you take me through the final moments again?”

     The young man volunteered for the explanation. “I saw the guy was distracted, so I pushed him to the floor. We were all freaking out a bit, and then we saw the old guy was just walking away with a packet of instant pancake mix. We called out to him, and he just said, ‘It’s okay, I put the money on the counter’ and he left.”

     The police woman nodded, as if this made perfect sense, and scribbled into her notepad. “Could you describe him to me? This guy sounds like a hero; it would be great to track him down.”

     The threesome glanced at one another. “He was pretty average looking,” the salesperson shrugged. “Around my height, grey-brown hair and a beard…” He trailed off.

     “And?” the woman encouraged.

     The salesperson turned to his companions, seeking confirmation, before adding, “Well, it was the strangest thing, He was wearing pyjamas and slippers, and—I’m not sure—but I could’ve sworn he was holding a Hairy McClary picture book…”

- Love The Bad Guy

“In Your Comfortable Cages”

Here is another entry for Inspiration Monday over at Be Kind Rewrite. Haven’t tried it? Well then, get the heck over there and check it out! This one was written with the prompt, “comfortable cage”. Hope you enjoy!

We put the alien in a cage.

     It was perfectly comfortable. Its smooth, steel bars circled around a floor of soft bedding, and we provided both water and a selection of different foods (we were unsure of what exactly it fed on, and so tried to accommodate for all tastes). But despite our efforts, the poor creature wailed anxiously and endlessly.

     It spoke in a language unknown to us, a garbled stream of harsh sounds that it screeched whenever its captives came near. In the first hours following its entrapment, the alien had demonstrated a range of different emotions—or so we interpreted. Its retched noises changed from mournful whines, as if it were entreating us for its freedom, to short, sharp yelps as it threw itself wildly against the bars.

     We were prepared to sedate it, for its own wellbeing, but it tired itself out before long, gasping frantically as its lungs struggled to adapt to the different atmosphere that surrounded it.

     Despite its hostility, we grew to care deeply for this small, pitiful creature. Over time, we taught ourselves the best ways to care for it, help it to grow and keep it comfortable.

     We succeeded in the first two endeavours, but it never seemed truly comfortable in its cage.         

     Nevertheless, our alien was highly educational for us. Several years after its capture, we began searching for more, and found them in large, plentiful groups. Screeching their awful, unintelligible language, we lowered them into their comfortable cages and raised them as best we could. We were certain that, from what little we’d seen of their violent and rotting home planet, we were taking them to a better place.

     We explored their technologies, so different from our own, and attempted to decipher their language and learn how best to care for them. Strangely, in the course of our studies, we discovered that they had always been aware of our existence, but had never sought to locate us as we did them. Perhaps they had feared us, but they had no reason to do so. We wanted only to ensure their wellbeing.

     The decades that followed were prosperous for our aliens. We began to breed them, and guided their offspring, who we found to be more docile and agreeable, to work in a wide range of different areas. They were easy to train—eager and strong and highly intelligent.

     Our first-generation aliens began to show signs of aging; following years of captivity, we were finally able to integrate them into social life as our pets, obedient and gentle.

     Except for the First.

     I admit that our initial finding had always intrigued me more than the others. I was so involved in its upbringing that, when I was told it was being retired, I offered to take it into my own household. My wife was displeased, but I could not bear to have my alien sent away from my watchful eye.

     I had hoped that, like the others who had been domesticated, I would be able to release it and rely on its obedience to keep it at my side. But it wasn’t to be—despite its age, my beloved little alien was as ferocious and wild as the day we’d captured it. And so I kept it in its cage, comfortable and cared for until the day it died.

     I hadn’t been expecting its passing; after all, for all we knew about the aliens, their exact lifespan was still unknown to us. I rose one day to find it dead and cold on the floor of its enclosure, with a look of peace upon its weathered face.

     Despite her distaste for the creatures, my wife was sympathetic to my grief. After a few months had passed, she gently asked if it would please me to take a new alien into our home.

     One day, I think I will. But for now, my grief is too raw. So I will continue with my work to ensure that we locate more of this new race and take them into our care, learning as much about them as we can to ensure their longevity.

     There is so much we do not know about these aliens, but of one thing I am certain:

     These fragile creatures, these precious humans, need our care, and we shall give it to them.

     Comfortable in their cages, we shall keep them safe.

- Love The Bad Guy

I’d like to thank the evil people…

“And the winner is… Love The Bad Guy!”

<insert APPLAUSE here>

I am blushing like a school-girl, folks, because I have been granted the endearing, encouraging, exciting award, The Versatile Blogger.

The lovely Stef from over at Dodging Commas passed it on to me and a handful of others, and we shall now do the same (even if I am doing so several weeks after she gave it to me… My bad, you guys). During my travels through the world of blogging, I have seen that glorious green logo pass through numerous hands with grateful words and triumphant posts. To have it now sitting prettily in my own little slice of the Internet fills me with more pride than you can imagine.

I would fall upon the old cliché that ”I’d like to thank the little people”, but at my height, they don’t get much smaller. Besides, the bad guys are who I write about, so, heck with it, I’ll thank the evil people.

Now, down to business…

• Post a link to the person who gave you the award.
• Tell your readers seven random things about yourself.
• Award up to 15 newly discovered blogs.
• Send them a note letting them know you nominated them.

So you wanna know seven things about me? (…No? Tough, I’m telling you anyway.)

1. I hate Vegemite. That’s right – I am an Australian, but I am not a happy little vegemite. Seriously, it’s derived from beer, it smells awful and tastes like feet. I don’t know how I know it tastes like feet, but I am about 97% certain that it does.
2. I’ve never left the country. In fact, I barely travel at all, though not for lack of trying. Unfortunately, when one wishes to travel, one requires this bothersome thing called money. And I have none of it. One day, I would love to go to the “big ones” – London, Paris, Rome… Especially Rome. Most beautiful city in the world, or so my Italian instructor keeps telling me.
3. I have a ridiculously large DVD collection. You see, I never rent movies. I simply buy them for myself, relying on the basis that I will surely want to watch them more than once. And don’t get me started on my “TV-on-DVD” collection! I almost have a television show for every letter of the alphabet! (Speaking of alphabet… All my DVDs are in alphabetical order. ‘Cause that’s just the way I roll…)
4. I am a cat person. (i.e. the type of person who doesn’t mind cat fur. All. Over. Everything.) I’ve owned many cats over my lifetime; I’ve had to say goodbye to many of them, too. But there is just something absolutely perfect about sitting in a warm chair with a sweet cup of tea, a good book, and a purring cat on your lap. Haven’t tried it? You don’t know what you’re missing. (Bonus fact: My current baby’s name is Charlie, and he is just awesome.)
5. Never been kissed. Yes, that is a statement about my life and not a reference to the movie. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed”? Phhttt. I got that beat. My theory is: I’ve waited this long, so surely my first will seem all the more romantic. (Call me an optimist!)
6. I can say the alphabet backwards. And I mean fluently. I’m always hoping that a cop will pull me over and jokingly request that I do so, and then BAM! I do exactly that in ten seconds flat. (Bonus fact II: I have never been pulled over by a cop. I assume they see me coming and think, “Huh. That chick wears glasses. She must be smart, she wouldn’t be drinking and driving.” And away I go…)
7. I collect Garfields. If any of my readers are thinking to themselves right now, What’s a Garfield?, then you should know that somewhere, somehow, a small piece of me just died. I adore Garfield, and have done so ever since I was a child. And this isn’t your regular run-of-the-mill fascination. This is full-blown, undeniable, move-out-of-my-way-and-put-down-the-Garfield-toy-or-I-will-destroy-you obsession.

Want some proof? Here’s a picture of just one corner of my bedroom:

Yeah. I kinda sorta love that cartoon cat.

Moving on to the Versatile Blogger Award nominees:

I have only been present in the blogosphere for a short time, and while I have discovered quite a few blogs that I adore, most of them are either incredibly popular and were discovered some time ago, or have already received the Versy Award. That is why my list is rather pitifully small. Only 33% of what it could have been, for you maths buffs. Nevertheless, these guys are awesome, so congrats! You deserve it.

Go spread the love.

• The (Writer’s) Waiting Room
• The Rhyming Med Student
• Mike’s Short Stories
• The Write Project
• Chris White Writes

 - Love The [Flattered] Bad Guy

“Fiancé”

Here is yet another story in response to Be Kind Rewrite’s wonderful prompt challenge, Inspiration Monday. If you’d like to see my previous two InMon entries (I’m a newbie!) click here and here. This time round, I used the prompt: he was the only one smiling. Enjoy!

“I’m getting married.”

Nicky’s eyes, eager and bright, flitted between Jan and Lance during the silence that followed this announcement. Delighted remarks, joyful tears, heartfelt hugs—those were the reaction that had been expected. Instead, there was only this tense and altogether uncomfortable silence. Nicky was the only one smiling.

“Mum? Dad? Say something, please.”

Jan cleared her throat, glancing at her husband in the hope that he would intercede. Lance only blinked at her, looking lost and confused as he rubbed his hands back and forth across the fabric on his knees.

“Well…” Jan started, but then didn’t continue.

“Well?” Nicky encouraged softly.

“This is… a surprise,” Lance offered weakly. “What, uh… When did…”

Nicky sighed and generously came to his rescue. “Allan proposed at dinner last night. It was the six year anniversary of our first date. Not that I’d expect you to remember that,” Nicky added spitefully. “You’ve never liked Allan.”

“Nick, you know that isn’t true!” Jan protested. “We were only concerned that other people might criticise your decisions. This can be a very judgemental neighbourhood, after all.”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, Mum. I love Allan, and he loves me. Isn’t that what matters?”

Jan and Lance turned to each other and saw the hardness melt from each other’s eyes. “Yes,” Lance agreed, taking Jan’s weathered hand in his own. “That’s what matters.”

Nicky jumped up eagerly at the chime of the doorbell. “That’s him! I was hoping we could enjoy a nice family dinner… to celebrate our engagement?”

“That sound lovely,” Jan smiled. Shoulders slumped in relief, Nicky left to answer the door, grinning brightly the entire way.

Allan was shuffling nervously on the welcome mat when Nicky opened the door. As soon as he was inside, he whispered nervously, “How did they react?”

“Shocked; uncertain,” Nicky admitted. “But they’re happy for us. I told you they would be.”

Allan chuckled. “And you’re always right.”

“Damn straight,” Nicky snorted. Taking his fiancé’s hand, he murmured, “I love you.”

Allan squeezed his hand in return. “I love you more, Nicholas.”

Peeking around the doorway, Jan and Lance shared a smile as they watched their son and his fiancé share a kiss in the shadows.

Happy, together and in love—the world be damned.

- Love The Bad Guy

“Hungry”

     Robert gripped the fragile paper bag with eager fingers as he hurried along the street. It had been so long since he had eaten a burger; he would tear into it with great enthusiasm as soon as he was home.

     The parcel was warm in his hands, a welcome heat for his ungloved fingers, chilled as they were from the winter air. The sweet, enticing scent of the tender meat and toasted bread wafted through the icy wind, making Robert’s mouth water. The temptation was strong to rip open the paper and devour his meal in a single bite, but he imagined the pretentious looks of the passer-bys if he should do so, and so he contented himself with simply inhaling the delicious aroma as he quickened his step.

     It was the coughing he noticed first.

     Had it not been for those dry, weak gasps, Robert could have easily passed the girl by without noticing her, like many other pedestrians were doing. But he could see her now, and found he was unable to look away.

     She was a young girl, probably not much older than sixteen. It wasn’t uncommon to see kids on the streets, but it still broke Robert’s heart. She was curled up in a doorway with a hoodie over her head and her arms tightly folded against winter’s wrath. Robert could see her shivering as he slowly walked towards her; the unhealthy hollows of her cheeks made it clear that she wasn’t new to the homeless life.

     Robert’s fingers flexed uncertainly around his highly-anticipated burger parcel, but, as another cough wrenched itself from the girl’s chest, his grip loosened.

     He approached her quietly, knowing that she would be likely to run if she realised he was there—these streets weren’t exactly a safe place for young, defenceless girls. He was beside her when she finally looked up, sunken brown eyes wide with terror, but Robert raised a pacifying hand and took a step back. Slowly, carefully, he knelt down and placed the burger beside her.

     “Looks like you could use this more than me,” he said softly. A dry cough rasped past her lips, but she managed a small smile, weak but grateful.

     Robert turned towards home, chuckling at the sounds of paper being eagerly ripped away. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to ignore his own grumbling stomach.

     Snow had begun to fall by the time Robert turned into the alley. A painful cough escaped his own chest as he dropped to his knees and crawled inside the pitiful shelter of his cardboard box.

     Home, sweet home.

Happy Blog Action Day, everybody! Today, all around the world, bloggers are posting to the theme of food. Did you join the phenomenon?

It is sad but true – nearly 925 million people go hungry every single day. Blog Action Day is all about making people stop and think about some of these crucial global issues.

So even if you aren’t registered for Blog Action Day, why not blog a quick post that simply draws people’s attention to this fantastic cause? Remember: use the tag #BAD11  to join the world in talking about food.

Thanks for reading.

- Love The BAD11 Guy

OM NOM NOM!

Food.

We love it.

We hate it.

We devour it with noises of “OM NOM NOM” like some kind of strange, blue, cookie-destroying monster.

"C" is for Cookie, and that's good enough for him.

We all know food, which is why it is such a great choice for Blog Action Day 2011.

Blog Action Day is all about getting bloggers from around the world to post about the same thing on the same day. They’ve looked at the environment, poverty, climate change and other crucial topics, but this year, on October 16, bloggers will unite to post about food.

This year, Blog Action Day is coinciding with World Food Day, so what better topic could there be to talk about?

“There is so much to say about food.

We use food to mark times of celebration and sorrow. Lack of access to food causes devastating famines, whilst too much is causing a generation of new health problems.  It can cost the world, or be too cheap for farmers to make a living.

The way we companies produce  food and drinks can provide  important jobs for communities or be completely  destructive to habitats and local food producers.  Food can  give us energy to get through the day or contain ingredients that gives us allergic reactions.

Food can cooked by highly skilled chefs with inventive flair, or mass produced and delivered with speed at the side of road. It can be incredibly healthy or complete junk and bad for your health. It can taste delicious or be a locals only delicacy.

Food is important to our culture, identity and daily sustenance and the team at Blog Action invite you to join us to talk about food.”

blogactionday.org – ‘Why Food?’

To my fellow bloggers, you have less than two days to register if you wish to participate in the global phenomenon of Blog Action Day. You can write about anything, so long as it is mildly food related, and uses the tag #BAD11.

 

So until October 16th, my dear reader: OM NOM NOM!

- Love The Bad Guy

 Pictures taken from here and here.

“No Tomorrow”

Inspiration Monday is back over at Be Kind Rewrite - five prompts, endless possibilities. This is only my second posting for InMon, but I must say, I believe I am already addicted to the challenge! I highly encourage you all to check it out; it’s amazing how many different stories can arise from a single prompt.

This week, I used the prompt no tomorrow. Hope you enjoy! As always, comments and criticisms will be happily taken on board.

 

     “You gotta live like there’s no tomorrow.”

     Marcus blinked idly as he forced his gaze away from the lazy trail of bubbles within his beer glass. He turned his head a fraction to the right; sure enough, the newcomer at the bar was looking at him. “I’m sorry?” Marcus enquired, trying not to slur his words.

     “I said you have to live life to the full. No fear; no tomorrow. You get me?” The older man gestured for a drink, oblivious to Marcus’s bemusement.  He took a long drag from the glass, downing half the beer in one swallow. He sighed contently and smacked his lips. “That hits the spot. So, you come here often?”

      Marcus shrugged one shoulder, turning back to his beer. “Nah, not too often.”

     “Not often enough, eh?” the man chuckled. He offered his hand with a crooked grin. “I’m William, but you can call me Bill.”

     Marcus inhaled deeply and forced a tight smile. “Marcus. Nice to meet you.”

     “You too, mate, you too.”

     Marcus was silent, hoping that Bill would continue on his way and leave him in peace to drown himself in alcohol. His beer was chill and light. If you’re gonna drown, this would be the way to do it…

     “If you don’t mind me sayin’,” Bill continued, despite Marcus’s hunched shoulders and blankly uninviting gaze, “You look like you’re having some troubles.”

     “Aren’t we all?” Marcus muttered noncommittally. He drained the dregs of his drink and called for another, despite the slight frown that the barwoman offered him as she sat it before him.

     “That we do, lad … But I’m a good listener.” Bill turned away with that comment, tapping his foot lightly to the bluesy rhythm of the jukebox.

     Like a rat to cheese, Marcus could not resist the gently-laid bait.

     “It’s just …” he trailed off as Bill turned wise blue eyes towards him. Marcus rocked his beer back and forth, watching as the soft white head dripped onto the counter and spread like spilt blood.

     “Have you ever done something bad, Bill? I’m not talking about flipping the bird to some jerk on the road, or nothin’. I mean really bad. Something so bad that it eats away at you for days, for weeks …” Marcus turned imploringly to his unwanted drinking companion.

     “Well, I dare say we all end our lives having done something bad,” Bill said softly. “And in my experience, those bad things stay with us forever, Marcus. Not for days or weeks—forever. It’s just the same as when something bad is done to us. We never forget, do we?”

     Marcus again lifted his shoulder up in a helpless shrug. Bill finished his own beer, sighing heavily as he lowered the glass. His entire, elderly frame seemed to quake with the effort.

     “I’ve had bad things happen,” Bill murmured. “In fact, just last month, my daughter died.”

     “I’m sorry, mate,” Marcus offered quickly.

     “S’not your fault,” Bill said, then laughed weakly. “Don’t you hate it when people say that? ‘Not your fault’. It’s empathy, not guilt that causes us to say ‘I’m sorry’.” The older man turned in his chair until he was facing Marcus directly. “Unless, of course, it truly is your fault.”

     “I’m sorry?” Marcus repeated, this time with an undertone of confusion.

     Bill raised his eyes to the heavens for a moment, then simply closed them. “We’ve all done bad things, Marcus. And we have to live with them. Unfortunately, my daughter did a bad thing, too.” He opened his eyes—icy blue stones of disgust. “She did you, didn’t she, Marcus? But she didn’t get to live with that mistake. She didn’t get to live at all.”

     Marcus rose quickly. “Man, I don’t know what you …”

     “You know exactly what I mean,” Bill said calmly. He, too, stood up from his stool with a cold air of determination.

     “We all do bad things at some point in our lives. We gotta live with them,” he reminded Marcus. With a stiff, weathered hand, he drew a gun from his waistband and cocked it with a final click.

     “No tomorrow.”

- Love The Bad Guy

Come Fly With Me…

Good evening, all!

Over the past few days, I have been spreading my reach throughout the big wide blogosphere, discovering new ideas, getting to know new bloggers, and reading some fantastic stuff. I’ve found many different blogs along my travels - some were funny, some were ho-hum, but then, dear readers, then there was Dear Optimists.

This is a delightful little blog written by Den and Nadia, who write a short entry every weekday that simply points out some of the more amusing and wonderful aspects of life. And they draw adorable pictures.

I stumbled upon their blog and simply couldn’t stop looking. By the time I had browsed through every single post, I realised that I had probably inundated their email accounts with notifications of my mindless comments. My bad, you guys…

Nevertheless, those wonderful bloggers appreciated my kind words, and so, in response to my comment on the posting “I Wish, I Wish” that I had always wanted a helicopter, Nadia kindly presented me with a drawing of that very thing.

When one is faced with something as epic as this, one clearly needs to share it with their kindly blog-followers. Bow your heads in humble admiration for the awesomeness of my cartoon helicopter:

Thank you very much, Nadia and Den! I love my helicopter, and I’m looking forward to some more optimisim in the future. God knows we could all use a few more smiles.

- Love The Bad Guy

Bugger, eh?

Shit happens.

I hate to burst the happy bubbles that some of my readers may be living in, but ’tis a fact of life: Shit. Happens.

My shit for the day?

I just lost my job.

Those of you who’ve popped by my “About” page will know that I was working at a motel, both as a receptionist and as a waitress in its restaurant. Tonight, I went in to start my shift and was faced with the harsh reality that I was now unemployed.

Okay, “harsh” isn’t the right word. In a nutshell, the situation was that my boss’ son, having suffered an injury that was preventing him from returning to work, was to be given my job. He is available 24/7; I am a humble university student who shall always put my studies first. Ergo: Jobless Jess.

My co-workers weren’t exactly happy with the news and were saddened to see me go; I had to reassure my boss that there were no hard feelings, as she seemed near tears; oh yes, you could taste the devastation in the air.

But you know what? Shit happens. And sometimes when shit happens, all you can do is say, “Bugger, eh?” and get on with it. Because every cloud has a silver lining. It’s always darkest before the dawn. Everything happens for a reason. [Error: Cliché 4.0 Not Found.]

It is official — I have no job. Bugger, eh?

But I’ve had my whinge, and I feel better. Anybody else want to rant about their “Bugger, eh?” moments? It is rather cathartic.

On another note…

…Anybody looking to hire?

- Love The [Unemployed] Bad Guy