This blog will give you cancer

How did I end up in such an un-flattering color of yellow, or gold...I'm not sure which it really is. I have now worked for IKEA for 6 years. 6 years and in two different states. 6 years is one of those tough numbers. I got a swiss army watch for 5 years so that was kitchy...I'm gay so I like kitch. But what do I get at 6 years? Reverie. At 6 years old I certainly didn't have aspirations to point people toward a bathroom they will never find. I believe at that age I wanted to be a fashion designer. Actually I think that was 8 when I came to that lofty goal. For a couple of weeks I drew dresses I would make. I would show them to my mother, she would say they were good. Just good doesn't cut it though. She did however assure me that men who designed women's clothing were usually not gay. So she could really read me, yeah? One of those moments where a parent thinks they can get all subliminal and plant that, in my psyche, making me not gay. In all honesty I think I asked if most designers were gay, and she had a gentle way about her, so her response was to re-assure. So I decided soon after that I would be a landscaper. A manly way to play with plants. There were not a lot of mexicans in Oroville, so the market was ripe for the picking. A gay kid with a flair for the avant totally has a place in a town where most of the vehicles are actually parked on the lawn....making my job easier. Needless to say, I didn't pursue that dream.... I realized by watching people do it, it was sweaty and dumb. I also spent a summer working for my uncles construction business and that fucking sucked. Even as a child I would have described it the same way. The last day I worked that awesome gig, my uncle said I was "making a career out of digging a hole". I was 8. I then said I was sick and left and got mcdonalds with my aunt kunt, I mean...Kim. She's not all bad....but a little Kunty. I then spent a few years...wandering..un-decided on my future. Not unlike kerouac. Until my sophmore year of high school. I was to be an actor. It was my way out. I was let in to Theater. I didn't have to take the pre-requisite course...drama. I was so gifted. The teacher saw the fag in me and said "let him in, HE is the future". That or.. "you can audition later". A star is born? I was in theater. I did many many plays. I ended my career as the lead in the little shop of horrors. done, not through the school, but through the Oroville community theater. I was great. But I was too skinny to lift adrian into the plants mouth...so the love affair bit was a bit of a stretch. I did however have to strip my undies between scenes and my classmates had to dress me in a minute and half. Including my first boy crush Ole. A german/arabic exchange student. I wrote many a Tori Amosy poem about that one. My Senior year I left the acting world for the prestige of MacFrugals. My first real job. You know, it was big lots, and pic -n -save. Till it became all big lots. Gnarly. I remember once when I was a working a register and big samoan guy asked me if were a drag queen because of my sparkly orange glitter nail polish. I was so offended and told him no whilst thinking "ugh, you just don't GET rave culture".  I soon left that job and Oroville to move to glorious San Diego.  The big city. I was around homosexuals and I hung out at a coffee house. I was doing everything the 90's taught me to do. I was however working at Payless shoes. I would like to skip over all my Payless time....so.....2 and half years later...I was back in San Diego.  I was jobless, and living off of jack in the box tacos. I would get two for a dollar.....lunch and dinner. So I applied at IKEA. Got the job...talking about green peace and believing in their business model. I worked in Lighting. Then Frames. Then textiles. Then Activities (seasonal). And then got a job offer in Portland, OR. I came here. I made the best choice I have ever made. I met my wonderful mexi-boyfriend. I met friends that love to drink as much as I do (and they are wonderful, but lets be honest...the drinkin is a big plus). And I love my life. For the most part. I  still work a pretty much blue collar job in retail. I stagger along, above the poverty line but below what I am capable of. I subsist as an inferior to people who can't spell the sedatives they take daily. I never wanted to be blue collar-ish. I think of blue collar and I picture a man with a blonde swoop of a hairstyle and an un-attractive blue button up. Something that someone who loves calvin klein would wear. I'm sure it would be covered with something made of fleece. I wanted to work with rocks, or work with music, or take beautiful pictures of hungry models. I want to cook food for people who want to eat it. I don't want to be expected to convince people that Teflon wont give them cancer. It will, so will everything. This blog will give you cancer, and I don't have the energy to convince you otherwise. I have the capacity to make a lot of money at my job. I am however stuck in a store that has the backbone of a tadpole. So I must continue to pretend I am stupider than I am. I have to pretend that I am nicer than I am. and I have to pretend that I want to lead people out of the IKEA labryinth so that they can hobble to wallmart to buy a tinkerbell folding card table. Some day I will work for myself and the worst abuse I will have to deal with from myself is masturbation. And that is a job downfall I can deal with.