Well, for Kang, I reckon. Nope, NO idea who this individual is or what he's running for. Or if I can, in fact, cast my ballot his way whenever whatever election he's running in takes place. Or if he is, in fact, a he. Come to think of it, a chick named Kang would kinda rock, would she not? Long story somewhat less so, I see his campaign poster, no pic, just a name; no recollection regarding given name, on my way to the den of sorrows in which I toil my 60 (yes, that's right..60!!!!!) hour workweek. And it's obviously stuck with me. Which is odd, having only 3 fully functioning brain cells the way I do. Which means that I'm likely not wearing any pants....Nope. Which means I'll make me some new friends. Yay, me!
Until I decided to draft me up one of them resume things, I had no earthly idea of how empty my CV truly is. However, most job listings are goodly enough to provide all sorts of adjectives by which one can pad one's resume just a little bit. Now I just have to figure out how to hook up my (oh, let's say 4 years old) printer which still remains in the box in which the 'rents brung it.
Needless to say, all of the friends I've lost touch with lo the past 7+ months I've wasted my life and health and relationships at my job can expect to hear from me very soon, do you know anyone that's hiring?-wise. Poor bastards.
Hey, maybe YOU know somebody?
And I'm still quite tempted to lie on my resume and say that I've simply been incarcerated the past 17 years, hoping that someone will take a chance on an ex-con with a Calvinist work ethic and a Liberal Arts degree. Especially since the Magic 8-Ball told me last night that my prospects of getting a sideways transfer within the company (so's not to surrender my salary, benefits and Vacation time) are not especially sunny.
And no, that's not just the negative attitude I always seem to be accused of talking. It's funny how constantly beating one's head against the wall to the point where one physically dreads going to work (I'm throwing up again whilst getting ready to leave for work) kinda tends to dampen one's enthusiasm toward one's gig. Or maybe it's just me. I mean, everyfuckingbody throws up before they go to work. And only before they go to work. Do they not?
I'm not sure if the soon-to-be-ex GF wants someone else, someone better, or simply thinks I am or am not something I, in fact, am or am not. Or maybe she's no longer quite of accepting of my faux marriage as she once was. Chicks.
My boy Jay has suggested I look into a divorce or annulment or some such. Or conversely, seeing if I can use being married to a U.S. citizen to score me a green card. You know, the way my monster-in-law always though I intended. What with the oppressive regime ruling here in Canada and all.
I know why you left. I can't blame you myself. Must be hard living with ghost in such an empty shell. I tried to warn you, been a mess since you've known me. I can't promise forever, but I'm working on it.
It's just been too long since I've quoted me some Kelly Clarkson.
I was pleasantly surprised to discover that We Are Marshall, which I've been meaning to check, was on Movie Central this a.m. Not so pleasantly surprised to find myself weeping like a little bitch during said program. I do believe we have us another Brian's Song or Han Solo's death scene on our hands here, gentlemen.
Nope, not ashamed to admit I have me the occasional emotion. What can I say? The last couple of weeks have been fairly trying. I also had me the usual I'm wasting my life here-type Epiphany. Which means I'm likely well past on the verge of doing something stupid (may the bridges I burn light the way, n'est pas?) and irreversible. Stay tuned, kiddies, it's pins and needles time again.
Happy to report that I narrowly avoided making a trade for Yao Ming in one of my basketball pools in the wee smalls of this a.m., before the news broke of his shutting things down for the duration. Big ups to my prospective trading partner for not checking his e-mails. Whew. Close one. How long do you think it'll be afore Tracy McGrady calls it a season, too?
I did, however, trade for Marian Hossa a spell back. Can't wait until Mr. Crosby returns to feed him passes. At least during the regular season. After that, they can both fall of the face of the earth, I'm a New Jersey Devils fan.
I've had (Song of the Day:) Taylor Swift's Teardrops On My Guitar going through my pretty little head of late. Ever since I first heard it on the Muzak at work. I know, I'm such a chick. What can I say? It's catchy. Especially since I had no idea of the song or artist until, again, the wee smalls of this a.m. I've since added Ms. Swift to the ILike portion of my Facebook page and added the video itself. At least temporarily. Until I decide to return 4Ever by the Veronicas to its rightful place once again. Hell, upon discovering that Ms. Swift (ain't there a porn star with the same handle? see what I mean? too much time at work, too little time for the important things) is coming to my neck of the woods on tour next month, I even looked up the prospects of procuring me a ducat for said show.
Sadly, disappointment reigned on all fronts as she's touring with Rascal fucking Flatts (um, Life is a Highway sucked in the 90's; why re-subject tout le monde to such horrors? write your own shit...more on that later). The best seat I could find (single ticket means I can go to more shows, or could if I had any free time) was not exactly what one might call a good seat. Conversely, even the cheapest seats are $69.50. So, I won't be going. I did, however, download her CD to console myself. I do miss the days when you could sit in the nosebleed section of a concert for like 10 bucks. The way I did when Michael Bolton came to town. Celine Dion was supposed to open but, thankfully, didn't. Although that would've been a great story to tell all the saps what shelled $200+ USD to see Ms. Dion in Las Vegas, would it not? Y'all fucking KNOW that's the way I roll. I may, however, catch Cher's gig in the Dion Colosseum (or whatever it's called) at Caesar's Palace Someday. Again, NO concern about what others might think of my taste in music. If it has a catchy hook and a chorus I can do horrible in-car karaoke too, I'm sold.
And yes, I fully, FIRMLY realize that Taylor Swift is nowhere near legal. Again, it's more than okay to look at such things. But never, EVER, touch.
Well, I'm off to do me the ever-popular something I can't undo. Enjoy your NHL Trading Deadline Day, y'all. I may be back tomorrow, to mull the implications and ramifications of faking my own Death. Or not. Whatever.
Regardless, there's a more current pic of me that I posted yesterday on My Humble Photoblog. Link along the side somewhere. Nope, I had NO idea how much weight I've actually lost and how poorly my clothes really fit me.