Misadventures in the Workforce:

“I love you.”
“You can do it.”
“This isn’t the first pair of pants I’ve ruined.”

This newfangled cellular technology has given all new meaning to, “waiting by the phone.”

Since you last heard from me I’ve been working.  Not on photo essays, or research, or scripts, or stop motion videos.  Just working.

I make minimum wage.  My company could afford to pay me at least $3 an hour more, but instead they pay that money to a temp agency to keep a bullpen full of freshly drug tested, desperate, and marginally employable 20 somethings warmed up for when I kill myself (or leave in the middle of a shift and never look back.)

I get paid every Friday, but not before my bank closes for the weekend.  No problem. I just do what every other hard working American does.  I line up at WalMart, cash my check at customer service and spend the little money I make the only way I know how to spend such a small amount of money.

The little time I have left is spent getting drunk, hanging out with my incredibly patient girlfriend, searching for shreds of hope and economic indicators that I may soon be able to move out of my parents’ house, and cookie shopping. 

New things on the horizon. Better things. Hopefully by the end of this week.  We shall see.

I graduated from college, I lost my job because I wasn’t in college anymore, I met a girl who somehow managed to infect me with her radiant positivity and generally sunny disposition, and I got some really weird search engine hits on my blog.

Here are the top 5 strangest search engine hits I received here at alexmpeters.com last year:

1. “pictures of slightly overweight women getting fucked”
2. “how to write cleaning notice for toilet”
3. “stealing other peoples domain names”
4. “i never take wrong alexander”
5. “ive cut my hand on glass will i need a tetanus?”

Despite the fact that I never actually talked about any of these things, it seems my demographic has found me.

In other news I’m still unemployed, I’m still living at home with my parents and I want to kill myself.

And now for 21 seconds of stop motion.