Corin Chellberg's online something or other

Just by writing this post, I’m probably opening myself up to having my employment terminated.  I’ll keep you posted.  I just want to quickly mention how stupid Kmart’s social media policy is.  In short, it’s an agreement new employees have to sign, which has several reasonable requirements, and a few not so reasonable requirements.  I couldn’t find this policy anywhere online, so this is from memory.  The reasonable sections basically state:

• You may not divulge confidential information about Kmart or Sears on social networks (or anywhere) – confidential being information that isn’t readily available to the general public
• You may not defame/criticize Kmart or its employees on social networks.  – Here, I’d prefer to be able to trash talk my boss if the need arose, but I understand the intent and it’s mostly reasonable.

Here’s the unreasonable bit:

• You may not use profanity on social networks.

My reaction? Fuck that shit.  I can get behind keeping company secrets off of Facebook, and I can get behind protecting managers from public defamation, but restricting what WORDS I choose to use on Facebook/Twitter merely because they offend some people, who would supposedly connect my words with Kmart and take their business elsewhere?  This, my friends, is complete and utter bullshit.  I’m not sure if this is actually unconstitutional or not, but it seems that way to me.  I know there’s a line between your right to free speech and the rights of others impacted by your speech, but my feeling is that Kmart should not be able to fire me for saying “Fuck you, Glenn Beck.”

Now then.  I’m not actually that concerned about this, because it’s next to impossible to enforce.  With my privacy settings, I’d have to be friends with someone in Kmart’s management (someone who actually gave a shit and checked Facebook often), which I am not, to get caught.  But even so, I think it’s a stupid addition to a mostly reasonable agreement.

How I hate heights, I don’t hate them in a box with a fox wearing socks or on a train or on a plane or in buildings but open space heights, where theres not jack to grab onto to keep you from falling.  My dads in a cast right now and has been for awhile now so he couldn’t get the Christmas lights and I volunteered to do it, not thinking at the time that I would have to stand on a ladder.  The second I start climbing up the ladder my legs start to shake and I’m a little worried, the second I stop climbing I lean forward and put my knees on the rungs as I use a pole to try and get the lights which in turn makes the entire ladder shake only freaking me out more, so I make the wise decision to get off the ladder and just climb onto the roof, a little better but still freaking out a bit because its a lot steeper up there than it appears from the ground.  I could go on about my day on the ladder and roof experience but I would rather just say that I hate heights and they hate me, If man was supposed to climb on the roof he would have extendo legs.

If anyone who reads this (like anyone reads this, hah) wants to ask me anonymous questions for our collective entertainment, check out my Formspring.Me page (I don’t know what the name is supposed to mean…) at http://www.formspring.me/Chellberg

Thanks. Or not, if you read this and don’t ask me questions. You jerk.

Warning: this post is merely me bitching about a lot of stuff.  I advise you not to read it.  It will also contain vast amounts of profanity.  You have been warned.

Fuck braces.  And more importantly, fuck orthodontists.  Those fucking bastards get paid hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to peer into your mouth, nod, and then advise his assistant as to the best way to cause you pain.  It’s the perfect job for sadists.  They get to go to work every day looking forward to the unnecessary pain they will be paid to inflict upon their patients.  I visited the quarterback-looking-sonofabitch-of-an-orthodontist yesterday, and after 20 seconds of inspecting my teeth and an xray, ruined my entire week.  Maybe the next 8 weeks.  I got a new bracket placed on the INSIDE of my teeth, with a hook for a rubber band.  This hook is fucking sharp.  And it has invaded the precious sanctuary where my tongue was formerly safe from the perilous minefield of metal outside.  Now, unless I surround the hook with wax, it stabs and scratches my tongue every time I speak, swallow, chew, or move my tongue for any other reason.  Thus rending my life a living hell.  But that wasn’t enough for Dr. McFuckhead, he had to upgrade me to a stiffer wire, add some sort of rubberized torsion to my top teeth, and bind my upper and lower teeth together diagonally with rubber bands.  So I can’t open my mouth more than an inch, as of right now can’t eat anything but soup and mashed potatoes, and am spending my days with an everpresent, dull, pounding agony in my mouth.  All so my teeth will look straighter.  Three words, orthodontic community.  Fuck.  That.  Shit.  I know I’m not putting my highly cultivated vocabulary to good use in this post, but long, obscure words don’t have the capacity to convey raw emotion the way those do.  Fuck.  That.  Shit.

And now for an ad hominum attack.  HEY.  ORTHODONTIST.  FUCK YOU.  Fuck your mom, fuck your dad, fuck your dead dog who got hit by a car when you were a kid, fuck your hair, fuck your stubble, fuck your fancy car, fuck the fucking orthodontic assistant you’re probably already fucking on the side, fuck your oversized diplomas from fucking orthodontic schools that are really just fucking training in how to fucking torture someone while charging them thousands of dollars for it, you greedy fuck, fuck your stupid office, fuck your cushy hours, fuck your shiny metal tools, fuck your perfect teeth, fuck your condescending lectures, fuck you and the fucking horse you fucking rode in on.  Motherfucker.

That’s all I’m going to bitch about right now.  Also, I felt like venting about my braces, and this was an entirely negative post, but I’d say on the whole my life is 97% awesome right now.  Especially now that I got that out. Goodnight then.

I’m trying to write a novel. Have been, on and off (mostly off), since I could write. I think my continued failure can be blamed on a lack of adequate planning and an excess of self-criticism. <- (See how nice that sentence is? I could definitely write a novel, right?) I just realized this month that most of my writing attempts fail because I can’t figure out what’s supposed to happen next in the story. Don’t ask me why, but I never realized that this was a result of me not planning the story ahead of time. I usually just start writing, creating the plot as I go on a whim. It can be fun in some ways, since you have the opportunity to do absolutely anything you desire with the story, but (for me) it always ends with a gridlock. I arrive at a juncture in the story where it could either go in many directions, or I write myself into a corner with no foreseeable exit. The now obvious solution is to create a detailed outline and work from it. Problem solved? Almost. I’m encountering a similar problem with creating the outline—all I’ve done is moved my story-killing moments of writer’s block to the prewriting stage. I still reach that same juncture where I have no idea what to do, I just reach it in far fewer words.

So I have a dilemma. When I reach such a juncture, do I scrap the outline and give up, or do I stare at the outline hoping to be struck by inspiration? Do I bug Laura to come up with a brilliant solution? Do I employ a tacky deux ex machina? (I’ve always wanted to use that phrase!) For right now I guess I’ll go with starting over. If I find a better solution, you will personally be the first to know. Whoever you are.