Sloppy New Year's Eve!

Ahh, New Year’s Eve. The greatest drinking holiday. Well, behind Thanksgiving Eve, even though that’s really only for college kids. But since I still party like a college kid, I celebrate it. New Year’s, though, is definitely the best sex holiday. People of all ages have sex on New Year’s Eve (well, New Year’s Day). Starting at around 1:00 AM, legs all across the country begin to spread. And it’s a beautiful thing.

Unfortunately for me, I don’t think I’ve been laid on New Year’s in quite a while. I don’t know how it happens that way - - fuck it, yes I do. It’s because I’m a pussy. I won’t approach girls, even though most girls on this night will fuck anything that walks. They didn’t get all dressed up and shave their vaginas for nothing; they want people to see their hard work. But I’m hoping this year will be different. I’m working on some good pick-up lines; most likely ones that will result in laughter, at my expense, between the girl and her friends.

To be honest with you, I’m not even sure why I get excited for New Year’s Eve.  I put effort into finding the best place to go, and for no reason. The same thing always ends up happening: I get amped up about it, get dressed up and go out, look at girls, bitch out on talking to those girls, then just get black out drunk and wake up the next morning wondering how vomit somehow ended up on the back of my neck. There is about a 100% chance I will go through the same routine this year.

I actually don’t even know what I’m doing this year, yet. I’m a bit of a procrastinator if you can’t tell. I’ll look for the place with the longest open bar; they’re the best ones. Regardless of where I end up going, I know exactly what I’ll end up doing: drinking. I will, like I always do, get wild and out of control. I’ll make a complete dick of myself, but I won’t even care…because I won’t even remember.

Happy New Year’s, everyone. Get bombed!

I just realized this

For the last six years of my life, I have attempted to make a living as a writer. I have written multiple scripts, short stories, books (okay, just one book), as well as many stupid small things, such as this blog. Over these six years I must have written close to 300,000 words. After writing each and every one of these words, I’ve realized one thing: I haven’t earned a single penny from any of my writing. Why the fuck do I continue to do this?

On top of 300,000 words equaling zero dollars in my pocket, I have realized something else. If I go back to all of the writing I have done throughout high school and college, I have to be up near a half-million words. And even though high school was free, college wasn’t. Which means that when all is said and done, I have actually paid to write.

Almost

Merry Christmas, everyone. Or Happy Holidays. Whichever you prefer. Just don’t get pissed at the people who say the opposite of what you want to hear. That’s just sad.

The time leading up to Christmas is an exciting time. You’re doing your last minute shopping and wrapping, family members are coming to town, and you are preparing your liver for some severe drinking. Last week I was going through all of these, but I also had another event on my schedule: a phone interview. Sound exciting? Not really.

Let me rewind. Since I haven’t been able to find a job in my field (I don’t even know what that field is), I’ve been playing around with my resume. What I would write on my resume depended on each job’s requirements. This particular job is in the medical field. I majored in Sociology. I can barely spell ‘medical’.

Since this opportunity was in the medical field, my resume was going to need some severe changing. Nothing on it says anything about medicine, and there’s a good reason why: I’ve never worked in the field. Lucky for me, I have several family members who are nurses. They helped make my resume sound realistic. And that ultimately landed me this phone interview.

The interview was Monday at 11:00 AM. I was prepared. It was 10:45 and I had my phone next to me, my resume in front of me, and any and all background noises were blocked out. The phone rang at exactly 11:00; I answered.

The beginning stages of the conversation went smooth; mainly because she did all the talking, and there were no questions. It got ugly when she did start asking. Questions like, “What interested you in this position?” and “How did you become interested in the medical field?” were followed with responses like “Uh…” and “Um…”

The deciding part comes in the form of another response. At a certain point in the interview, I was asked to “describe one instance, while working, where you had trouble and what you did to solve the problem.” Well…fuck. I’ve never stepped foot in a hospital. How was I going to bullshit my way through this one? Long story short, I couldn’t. I fumbled. I couldn’t even think of anything to say. After a long period of silence, she just said, “Why don’t you take some time to think about it, and then e-mail me when you think of it.” Shit.

I did. Of course it wasn’t my story. I waited for my mom to get home and had her write it up, then I put my name on it and sent it. Plagiarism. Oh well. It doesn’t matter. I know that lady isn’t calling me back. My streak of unemployment continues…

Welcome, friends

Fuck you! Just kidding. But now that I have your attention… Welcome to my blog. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is John. I’m 26, unemployed and living on my parents’ couch. If, after learning that, you can still fathom sleeping with me, read on. I’m starting this blog because for some reason I think I’m funny (I’m not). Plus, it’s really all I have left. I’ve tried screenwriting, but failed miserably. I tried acting…failed. Tried stand-up and failed at that, too (further proof that I’m not funny). I would try modeling, but I don’t really think ‘beer gut’ is the image they’re looking for. So here I am. Hidden behind a computer screen, getting paid nothing.

Alright, here’s the deal. I plan to have a new blog posted every Tuesday; once a week, because I’m lazy. Why Tuesday? Because it’s the beginning of the week for me. Mondays are irrelevant. They’re strictly for hangovers. So hopefully you tune in each week to learn how pathetic and terrible decisions can lead to a complete lack of success.

You can follow me on Twitter at @johnfeldmanjr because I sometimes say inappropriate things. You can also get a copy of my book, How to Be Unsuccessful. Actually, no you can’t. It isn’t out, yet. When will it be? Well that all depends on me getting an agent. Keep your eyes open.