I've had plenty of people sending me emails, trying to hire me for this job or for that. I'm making the great leap to assume that they have some wizzy zippy program that scans the net looking for people's resumes, then compiles them a list of emails to SPAM. The program's probably called "Search: Bullshit." Another great leap, that.
I'm waiting, of course, for the magical moment that I get the "knight in shining armor on a brilliant steed" job offer. Of course, most of what I've been getting have been "drunkard in rags on stinking cardboard" offers.
Oh, by the way, I made the assumption about "Search: Bullshit" because it's kind of hard for me to believe that people read this site and say to themselves, "Gee, I want to represent this guy to my clients." Heck, I could be wrong. These guys could be looking for a career change (kinda like setting your house on fire to collect the insurance, only forgetting to wake up your wife).
(I'm normal. This is a healthy outlet. I'm somewhat employable.) Just don't f*cking look at me.
OK, she didn't, but she may as well have.
Pop quiz: what's the AMA? Bzzzzt. The American Medical Association. Thanks for playing.
My New World
I've moved in with my lovely girlfriend. We live in San Francisco, and we're doing all that fun domestic stuff, generally having a great time.
So I've noticed a trend in my life to reacquire my masculinity. This entails such things as rediscovering mountain biking, golfing a whole lot, the Monday Night Football ritual, and following baseball again. Oh, and scratching myself.
A lot.
I'm proud to say I've honed my vices lately. Fans will recall that they were:
I've added on "Martinis," "Cigars," and "Strip Clubs."
Hell, it's the 90's.
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The Sexual Weather Report It's time for the Sexual Weather Report for Snack #6. Man, it's hot out there.
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