Month: March 2014

Since turning 30 last year, it’s been one long barrel of suck with some very brief highs before landing back on Shit Street. I probably should have known this when, going to my birthday dinner put on by her family, my mom decided to drag along her current boyfriend, who I regard as a bit of a twit after her widow’s pension. On the way to dinner, the tire popped off its rim, and AAA had to be called.

I probably should have taken this as a sign to just put myself in a medically induced coma for a year, but I was too busy waiting for the AAA guy to work his magic on the tire and get us on the way to the Chinese buffet we were heading to.

The next few months of job hunting after my birthday turned up absolutely nothing.

Zilch.

Nothing but emails saying “Thanks but we’re looking at someone else” or “The position has been filled” from my birthday until early November.

Being poor didn’t help matters much as well. They say not having money leaves you without food and you lose weight, but in actuality, you don’t truly starve. You just reach for the cheapest things off the store racks and eat them, despite being loaded with fat, sodium, cholesterol, etc. As a result, the weight loss I had the year prior was erased and then some. Despite a comeback during the holidays, I’m at 293 lbs. at present. At 6’2″, that isn’t anywhere near healthy. I don’t even want to know what my cholesterol is.

Eventually, I found ways to keep myself busy. My podcast over here as well as a couple events I organized for them helped keep me from going stir-crazy. Also, Amazon’s Mechanical Turk thingummy helped to give me some semblance of pocket money.

Family’s starting to help as well. Caring for my mother became unbelievably difficult the past year due to her emotional and mental issues, coupled with health issues that are causing her to hit the prescription coverage gap. Fortunately, my older sister is around now to help out. She’s got her humors and health issues, but she’s a lot less of a stone-cold psycho bitch than my mom. Her husband’s okay so long as he doesn’t go off on a rant about how Obama fucked him over.

In conclusion, being 30 sucked ass, despite the few lone highlights, I hope you lot who read this will join me in getting thoroughly soused to forget this monstrosity tomorrow.

(Tl;dr: 30 SUCKED ASS!)

P.S.: This is also my first actual post (not counting Twitter weekly feed digests) crossposted to Google+. Welcome Google viewers.