<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992</id><updated>2012-02-16T08:36:03.119-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hot Sandwich</title><subtitle type='html'>My life between two slices of bread</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-5886091435532838049</id><published>2011-12-20T06:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-02T21:30:39.679-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Paths of Glory (Holes)</title><content type='html'>Monday night, the tail end of a four day Holidaze weekend. Tomorrow I start back at the Old Job. Computer Support Tech for a large moving and storage company I will henceforth refer to as "You Hall".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quit this job exactly a year ago, and now I'm going back. Back to lower pay, higher call volume, and shittier insurance. Why would I do this, you ask? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good question :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To quote Sheriff Ed Tom Bell in "No Country for Old Men", I feel over matched. Or I guess I felt over matched. I was talking to all of these high level corporate A-holes all day, every day, listening to their demands and not meeting them. I didn't even understand what I was supposed to be doing, and thus I felt, well...Stupid, frankly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You'd think I'd be used to that feeling by now, but alas, not yet! I still hold out hope that one day I'll be a Real Boy!!! (and therefore, "smart", apparently)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also hoping, somewhat desperately perhaps, that I can finagle a "work-remotely-from-home" scenario out of this job which would allow me to drag my talentless corpse to LA where I can spend the remainder of my pathetic excuse for adulthood banging my head against the wall of would-be Hollywood fame. Hooray!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the newly appointed age of 33, I am still holding on to boyhood dreams. And speaking of wet dreams...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Check out my Love Life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked someone out on a date this past weekend, well I asked her to dinner, anyway. But what else, pray tell, would you call that? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night"? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, heavens, yes"!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would that--COULD that--be construed as two buddies paling around a moderately expensive Italian restaurant in a "Friendly" type of way and nothing more???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose it could, but...Really? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come on, that's a date. I've asked people on dates before, and that's pretty much exactly how it went. Anyway, after a protracted and awkward good-bye in the parking lot, I leaned in for some good-night vertical CPR, only to be rebuked with the ol' turn-the-other-cheek defense, turning my pre-French open mouthed intentions into a good-bye peck on your Aunties cheek after Thanksgiving dinner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cold shit, brah. Cold...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, not being able to let bygones lie (what?) I sent a text DEMANDING an explanation. I'm filled with good ideas, it seems :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gave me the "it's not you it's me" line. Seriously. Verbatim. It's-not-you-it's-me. In this day and age, as if we all didn't know what that really means. You're-fat-and-unattractive-and-I-can-do-better. I'd almost prefer the latter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...almost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Online dating didn't work out either. She let me fuck her, but my heart wasn't in it (though other parts were) and we quickly began mutually ignoring each other into relationship oblivion. Now it's just me and my girl The Internet, again. Wackin' it to tranny porn while eating cheeze-its on the love seat. Don't sit on my love seat, by the way. Ever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same old job. Same old singlehood. And yet I still go on, like a soldier in battle, running into the enemy trenches because the only thing behind me is the deserter's firing squad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in the Game, though, right? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ALL IN THE GAME...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-5886091435532838049?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/5886091435532838049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/12/paths-of-glory-holes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/5886091435532838049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/5886091435532838049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/12/paths-of-glory-holes.html' title='Paths of Glory (Holes)'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-5771557250469280332</id><published>2011-10-31T17:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T18:10:16.994-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Monday Madness</title><content type='html'>Monday night, first day at work sans Garrett. It feels weird but also, for some reason, I think it's for the best. I'm sure I'll concentrate more, work harder, get shit accomplished. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'll see. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My week of pseudo-vegetarianism has apparently come to an ignoble end. I went to Bashas after work and bought four pieces of fried chicken, extra greasy, and a pound of mac &amp; cheese. I just had this amazing craving for fried chicken, like a pregnant woman, I couldn't make logical sense of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God I'm fat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-5771557250469280332?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/5771557250469280332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/10/monday-madness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/5771557250469280332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/5771557250469280332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/10/monday-madness.html' title='Monday Madness'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-3037540046140349379</id><published>2011-09-11T08:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-11T12:34:43.534-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Old People, Strudel, and Beer</title><content type='html'>Last night I drove 36 miles to east Mesa to go to a German restaurant with my grandparents, uncle, my uncle's girlfriend and my mom's boyfriend (my mom is in Florida right now helping my sister with the new baby). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The occasion? My grandparents have been married 66 years! If that's not effing insane I don't know what is! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the food was good, but rich and heavy (as Germans themselves are) and I could only eat a small portion of my mammoth sized dinner, the remainder is in my fridge where it will remain indefinitely. After dinner we all split an enormous home-made strudel with custard and whip cream, it was quite amazing. I should mention that my grandparent's anniversary is also my grandfather's birthday. 89th birthday in this case. They are both healthier than than half the people I know. They're in better shape than me, for Pete's sake! (Well, so is almost anyone, but still...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After dinner we all went back to my G-rent's house, talked politics, conspiracy theories, and the failing U.S. economy for awhile, then my uncle and his g.f. left and I was going to leave but it started raining hard and I wanted to wait it out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grandpa is a talker, and like many elderly people, he tends to tell the same stories over and over again as if I had never heard them. I was distracted, thinking about this upcoming biz trip I'm taking, and worrying about my job. I don't like to worry my family with stuff like that so I had been keeping it to myself, then as the night wore on and the rain kept falling, I figured, what the hell, this old man can't remember what he had for breakfast, let alone what I tell him tonight. So I confided my worries to him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He listened calmly, didn't even seem surprised, I forget sometimes that my grandfather occupied an extremely high level position in a huge aero-space company and managed multi-billion dollar government contracts for most of his adult life. All without a college degree. The son of Italian immigrants who grew up in a tenement in Brooklyn with 7 siblings. Not bad! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He listened patiently as I expressed my concerns and then offered some extremely straightforward, simple advice for dealing with the stress I'm feeling. I felt better immediately, though I'm still conscious of the fact that I don't belong in this world. My grandfather wanted to be in business, and he thrived in the high pressure atmosphere, but I do not. In fact, I thrive in low pressure atmospheres, like my own apartment, alone, with a cup of coffee and a laptop. Everything outside of that is incredibly challenging. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess there are two types of people in this world, those who like being at work, and those who don't. Either way we all have to go, we all gotta pay the rent, buy groceries, keep clothes on our backs, etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So...make the best of it, right? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it's always inspiring to see how long-lived and (relatively) happy my grandparents are, I wonder if I'll make it to 89...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hahahahaahahahaha.....Oh, that's a GOOD one, Scotty Boy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See you in the heart attack ward!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-3037540046140349379?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/3037540046140349379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/09/old-people-strudel-and-beer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/3037540046140349379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/3037540046140349379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/09/old-people-strudel-and-beer.html' title='Old People, Strudel, and Beer'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-1714543928464483800</id><published>2011-09-10T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T11:20:06.547-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Travails</title><content type='html'>I'm going to D.C. on Monday, I'll be there for about 3 days, then I come back and go to Denver. My family is really proud of me. Making good in "The Business World". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The truth is I have no friggin' idea what I'm doing, and I suspect my boss has figured that out, I seem to be on his permanent shit list, which would upset me more if I thought there were no good reason for it, but honestly, I don't think I'm cut out for this shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a liberal arts-minded guy working in the corporate world, and doing a lousy job of it. So, I guess I'll try and enjoy the free travel as much as possible before I get axed or finally quit and go back to school or move to L.A. or become a wandering mendicant in India. Either way is good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to disappoint mi familia but they don't have to live my life, only I do, and lately it's been pretty fucking hairy. When I was living in Chicago, working as a tour guide and putting on sketch comedy shows for 9 people in dive bars in the middle of February, I thought it was shit, you know? I was like, "Man, this is no kind of life. I want to BE somebody!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now, looking back, I understand the nostalgia for the simple life, the exuberance of youth, the nobility of work performed not for money, but for pleasure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We live in an imperfect world, there's no particular life-style or profession I can choose that will make me permanently happy, or solve all of my problems, I accept that. But I can certainly choose to leave a mark on the world that is greater (in my opinion) than the number of zeros on my last pay stub. And working to perfect an artistic ideal versus working to achieve the business goals of a morally questionable industry is a no-brainer. I choose the former, even at the expense of "My Future", which will happen or not happen regardless of job/status/bank account. We live until we die, and what's left over are the memories we imprint on those around us. That's what counts. That's what matters, I think. I don't know. I'm just some dude the same as the next, but that's my best guess, anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're reading this and you have a suggestion or an idea worth sharing, chime in. Otherwise...see you out there, and good-luck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scott&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-1714543928464483800?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/1714543928464483800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/09/travails.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/1714543928464483800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/1714543928464483800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/09/travails.html' title='Travails'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-2892821415383556123</id><published>2011-08-17T19:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-17T19:34:03.990-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Geeza Louisa</title><content type='html'>Wednesday. Day of the Humps. Or is it just hump? Either way ain't nobody humped this guy in many a moon. Gettin' a little...backed up, if you know what I'm sayin...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work this week has been exceptionally boring, not enough to do, which during the busy times I'm sure I will miss, but while it's happening, or not happening I guess, it sucks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It remains true that I am not a great, or even good, technical support specialist. I know more about fixing cars than I know about software, and as we all know, cars run on unicorn tears and magical beans. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I don't really know anything about anything. Which is a problem, if you plan on not being independently wealthy. I have to work, but I'm not very good at it. I'm also not very good at dieting, apparently. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been trying to reduce my overall carb intake, in a (so far futile) effort to shed the extraneous belly fat which has grown out of my torso at a staggeringly successful rate in the last 4 years. I blame Arizona. Before I moved here I lived in Chicago, didn't have a car, used to walk everywhere. You know how much weight you lose carrying groceries 9 blocks back to your apartment in a -7 degree windchill?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me neither! But it's significant. That's all I'm saying. Now I drive to the fuckin' mailbox, for Christs' sake. Of course I could join a gym, but nothing fills me with more disgust for modern society than the invention of gymnasiums. We've built an entire industry out of the human hamster wheel. Paying money to run on a machine that takes you nowhere. Lifting heavy objects repeatedly only to put them back in the exact spot you got them. Ludicrous. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should be working the fields, tending a flock of goats, or spear fishing on a coral beach. That's how our ancestors kept fit! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically, I'm lazy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me back to my life as a technical support specialist. When people call me with problems, I don't really feel the burning desire to assist them. It's more of a strenuous emotional resistance to hear anything they're saying to me. I've hung up on people, only to have them call back and blame it on the VOIP system. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not at my current job, mind you! I'm VERY productive and helpful in my CURRENT job! All smiles!!! :) ;) :0&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FML...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came home today and cooked up some hamburger meat mixed in that pre-packaged taco seasoning shit. But I only had one taco shell, so I ate the one taco, then just spoon-fed myself ground beef with shredded cheese on top until I was sickly full. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I have a problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But hey, at least I'm not an alcoholic, huh? Right? AM I RIGHT?!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck yeah!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the most successful person ever! Continue to read my blog!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-McNooch&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-2892821415383556123?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/2892821415383556123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/08/geeza-louisa.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/2892821415383556123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/2892821415383556123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2011/08/geeza-louisa.html' title='Geeza Louisa'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-4780263247710581132</id><published>2010-11-09T20:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-09T20:21:03.505-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Delightfully Behind the Times</title><content type='html'>I purchased a used Playstation 2 today. I found it on craigslist, some guy in Mesa was selling it with 13 games for $50. Not bad. Took me forever to drive out there, the traffic going eastbound after 4 is INSANE, I never realized that. Anyway, after all that trouble and money I realized within 10 minutes of hooking it up that I really didn't need this thing. I mean, I don't like video games. I'm TERRIBLE at them, and they frustrate me. But oh well, what's done is done. Maybe I'll get better at it. Or maybe I'll just get fatter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably both.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If nothing else I now have a dvd player for my tv. I was, up until now, watching all my movies on my laptop, which was pretty annoying. I am at this moment watching The Royal Tenenbaums on the PS2 while typing away with speed and vigor on my laptop, lounging on my new bed! I don't have much, but what I have is mine, and it took me a long time to get, so excuse my foolish pride!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man, my neck is sweaty. WTF?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend I'm taking Saturday off (normally a work day for me) and participating in the Phoenix 48 Hour Film Challenge. I'm really excited, but also nervous, apart from the cinematographer I've never worked with or even met any of these people, I hope I don't let them down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-4780263247710581132?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/4780263247710581132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/delightfully-behind-times.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/4780263247710581132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/4780263247710581132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/delightfully-behind-times.html' title='Delightfully Behind the Times'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-6025295953146352165</id><published>2010-11-08T16:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T16:22:37.552-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How this?</title><content type='html'>How is the weekend over? Shit, really? It's really 5:18 pm on a Monday? Fuuuuuck. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a nice day at school, my acting on camera class was pretty damn fun today, and I am reminded once again of how cool some of those students are. Some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What should we do with the few remaining hours of our "free" time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Laundry?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Clean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Telly?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Blog? (ok, that's a given)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Drink?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last thing you write down is always the best. I'll go to Carly's.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-6025295953146352165?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/6025295953146352165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-this.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/6025295953146352165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/6025295953146352165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-this.html' title='How this?'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-2394052422096604671</id><published>2010-11-08T09:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-08T09:28:55.682-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Monday</title><content type='html'>Typically, I don't work Mondays. Today is no exception, that's why I'm sitting up in bed typing on my laptop at 10:10 in the morning instead of answering calls from technologically confused self-storage owners. What a life I lead!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have my "acting on camera" class today at noon. It's alright, oddly enough we haven't done that much acting. On camera. Or anywhere else for that matter. The teacher is a cool guy, but he's so relaxed it's almost as if he's just having lunch with friends twice a week for 2 hours, rather than teaching a class. But he's cool, so I can't rag on him too much. Bastard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, today we're actually supposed to be doing a mock film audition, he's going to hand us film sides when we come in, we have to wait in the hallway, then he's going to call us in and pretend he doesn't know us. While we pretend to be someone we're not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my life, at 31. Weird, huh? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Very strange. Even to me. You know, when I was a kid, like between 10 and 14, I was pretty lonely, didn't have too many friends, my parents were divorced, and I didn't like any of the kids in my school, so I hung out a lot in the local library. They had one small shelf of YA fiction, which I read in the course of one summer, than I started just reading random books, mostly whatever I could find on Chinese philosophy, Taoism and Buddhism. I have no idea where that interest came about, but I felt drawn to those ideas, or ideals, I guess, more so than anything presented to me in my weekly dose of Catholic Mass. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I would go back to school on Monday, everyone, teachers and students, just seemed so incomprehensibly dumb to me, I couldn't believe it. And I still can't. Most of the world is dumb. That's basically the point of this blog post, FYI. I somehow felt, I KNEW, that I had to escape that kind of ignorance, that I had to grow up and live some place where people were interested in the things that MATTERED. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I ever found such a place. I'm not sure that any such place exists. You find groups, small clumps of people in whatever city/town/suburb you're in to help you get through, though. People who make sense out of the universe in a similar way as yourself, and that's the best I think all of us can do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But still, I wonder...Is there a place out there, somewhere, where I would feel more at home? More comfortable with myself and my surroundings? I feel like, to a certain extent, I am always "faking it" with people. I know if I walked around expressing how I really felt about most people I would make a lot of enemies and my life would become even more difficult, so I put on a happy face and pretend to care about your bullshit existence. It's a chore, a drag, but what the fuck else are you gonna do?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-2394052422096604671?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/2394052422096604671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/monday.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/2394052422096604671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/2394052422096604671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/monday.html' title='The Monday'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-7177640842030038862</id><published>2010-11-07T21:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-07T21:34:38.844-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Better...</title><content type='html'>Man I feel 100% better than I did this morning, my video shoot went really well, and I'm feeling happy and grateful that I get to do things I enjoy doing with people I enjoy working with, even if there is no financial gain. Life ain't all about dolla dolla bills, ya'll. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mur-DAH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so "high" after the shoot I was talking a mile a minute for the next 3 hours, it's always a positive rush when I'm doing something creative, and if nothing else, I know that about myself. Somehow, it's enough to go on living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suck it, Life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;H. Sammich&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-7177640842030038862?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/7177640842030038862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/better.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/7177640842030038862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/7177640842030038862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/better.html' title='Better...'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-4127260796384293213</id><published>2010-11-07T08:28:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-07T08:35:39.886-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bor-ing!</title><content type='html'>That's what my life is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so tired of poverty and loneliness, that is 90% of my existence, those two situations. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's Sunday and I'm supposed to work on some video magic with my comedy buddy, G-Dog, but everything just feels empty and useless. Nice, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched "The Comedians of Comedy" last night, a documentary of a 2004 comedy tour featuring Patton Oswalt, Zach Galifinakis and Maria Bamford, who I LOVE! I realized I can never be this good, these guys are all Way Too Good at this shit. What am I even doing, pretending to compete in this game? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also spent last night- Which was Saturday Night, btw -sitting on my couch eating Cheeze-It Party Snacks out of the box and drinking ice water, because that was the only food I had in the house. Awesome. Way to succeed, man. At SUCKING!!!! What?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to finish my iced coffee, take a shower, and call G-Dog, (not his actual name) and get this shit started. Hopefully I feel better once I'm doing something productive. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and I might masturbate, too. Aim high, that's my motto :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sandwich, out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-4127260796384293213?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/4127260796384293213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/bor-ing.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/4127260796384293213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/4127260796384293213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/bor-ing.html' title='Bor-ing!'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-3810700315695364578</id><published>2010-11-02T16:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-02T22:49:08.623-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Balls</title><content type='html'>Wow, that did not go well...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As my new friend/casual acquaintance, Brian Gross, says "Don't go backwards."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No...Effin...Shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called to apologize, and got my emotional ass handed to me. My own fault, I don't blame her, I'm just mad at myself for kicking a bees nest when all I had do was leave it alone. What a D bag I am, sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought cigarettes tonight. I don't smoke. I can't inhale. The smoke hurts my eyes, too. I'm a girl. But I bought cigs, anyway. Just needed to do something unhealthy to myself, and I'm trying to not drink at all this month. It's only the 2nd, so we'll see how that goes...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-3810700315695364578?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/3810700315695364578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/balls.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/3810700315695364578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/3810700315695364578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/balls.html' title='Balls'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825632869068725992.post-2483277805489430234</id><published>2010-11-02T16:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-02T16:46:07.140-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Das Billz!!!</title><content type='html'>I officially have to start repaying my student loan on Nov. 25th. I dropped out of 3 of the 4 classes I signed up for. Money well spent!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work sucked today, not for any particular reason, it just sucks to got to work. On any given day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm meeting with my ex, "Maria", in a couple of hours. We haven't spoken since I broke up with her - for the 3rd for 4th time, by email - about two months ago. I can't believe she even agreed to see me. I'm a fucking tool shed, sometimes. She's a sweet girl, I really like her still, things just didn't work between us, and I took the cowards way out. I'm trying to retro-actively correct that now. We'll see how it goes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not well, I'm assuming. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have 10 grand or so in debt right now, give or take a g. Not sure what to do about it. My credit is virtually non-existent, so that makes life tough when things go wrong, like cars breaking down and people getting married and asking you to be their best man. That sort of thing. I haven't been told as yet, but I'm guessing there is a tuxedo rental in my future. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I knew what I wanted to do, and could take the necessary steps to do it, but alas, I am always at least 84% paralyzed when it comes to taking action, any action, that would positively benefit my life situation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope I get things straightened out, some day...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6825632869068725992-2483277805489430234?l=hotsandwich.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/feeds/2483277805489430234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/das-billz.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/2483277805489430234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6825632869068725992/posts/default/2483277805489430234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hotsandwich.blogspot.com/2010/11/das-billz.html' title='Das Billz!!!'/><author><name>The Hot Sandwich</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08308748393853670523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uEybnAh3JIg/TmxPCSv6aOI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/Hl86ckYAP3k/s1600/woodchuck_trapping1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
