"...then we get the khakis. Then we get the chicks."

This will not be a happy blog. I'll try to sneak in a laugh or two, but no promises.

Let me start by saying this...

I am a happy person. I love Jesus, all the people close to me, and the Chicago Cubs. In that order. Unless the game's on TV--then flip-flop numbers two and three.

I almost always have a chipper anecdote to supply to anyone who'll listen. Most of you know what I'm good at: making people laugh, spelling stuff real good-like, and hitting the occasional jumper.

But ... I have a talent many people are unaware of--hiding it when something's wrong. I usually put on a good front, feign a smile and brush things off with ease. Well, I'm not very fond of that talent at the moment, so I'm here to vent, in a way. Bear with me. Here goes nothing...

It's been a hard [expletive] year--to say the least...

Work--or lack thereof.
362 days ago, I quit my job. Regardless of what has transpired since, I don't regret it.

My reasons:
A. I don't regret things. Ever--solves nothing.
B. It was a sales gig that I hated (and sucked at); I would've been let go soon, anyway.

From November-June, I subsequently applied at 57 different establishments--yes, I kept track. Three interviews. One second interview. No real inklings. The phrase "over-qualified" is something I will never understand.

More of the same since I was forced to move back home.

I've since been called a "bum" by someone who doesn't even know the first thing about me. Not to sound cliche, but if you're one of those kinds of people--keep my name out of your mouth, period.

"Loser" has been bandied about.

Today, I was called "lazy" by someone who's a good friend, yet seems to have developed a propensity for hurting my feelings.

Don't do that. Call it "Truth-Hurts-Syndrome," if you want. But I mean, c'mon. Regardless of your opinion, who talks to people that way? The moral? There's almost always more to a situation than what you know--so watch the way you speak to people.

I do have an idea for (hopefully) next year--teaching/coaching out-of-state--but I need to save up some money in the meantime before that even becomes a legit plan. So far, no go.

Girls--or lack thereof.
136 days ago, she said she still loved me.
Less than 94 days later, she was engaged to someone else. Awesome.

I recently moved on from an ex-girlfriend who...let's face it...didn't treat me very well. There, I said it. No qualms about it anymore--things happen. While I can honestly say I don't miss her (hooray, me), the situation itself took a toll on me. You know, leaving doubts and such. Not the "all girls are the same" kind of doubts. Those kinds of baseless stereotypes irritate me, and I'm not ignorant enough to buy in. Just the impatient, "when's it my turn?" kind of doubts--you know.

Plus, I'm picky. Very picky. To any who don't know me, it might seem pompous. Shoot, maybe it is. It seems to take a lot for me to find a girl I really like. When I finally do, there's always a pretty substantial roadblock. Specifically, she's either got a boyfriend (who's generally an idiot), or is simply ridiculously unattainable. And yes, I have specific--and very recent examples for each.

Regardless of the circumstances, it just never seems to matter. Especially over the last year. It's been a strain, without a doubt.

I'm almost 25 years old. I have no job, no money, no girlfriend--no life. And no excuse. When it rains, it pours. And I haven't seen the sun in months.

I know, I know...
In my own words...Boo frickety hoo, right? I'm done now.

Chin up, have faith, it can only get better, keep trying--all that fortune cookie mumbo-jumbo. Got it. Just had to get this out. And now I have.

Finally, come to think of it--maybe some of this is partially linked together.
Maybe Coop from BASEketball had it right all along...


"I'm telling you it's jobs. We gotta get jobs. Then we get the khakis. Then we get the chicks." - Joseph R. Cooper [BASEketball]

Bright side: I already own khakis. See, told you--glass half full kind of fellow.

Do the right thing,
Derrick