I'd Rather be Playing Snood

It seems like I can't have a good thing for very long without some complications. I finally got situated in my new house, and then I get this job offer in the town I moved from that I couldn't refuse, so now I have to start thinking about moving back. Wouldn't you know it?! My boss walked out the other day, and as a result, I'm interviewing for his job next Tues.

In other news, I've attracted some drama of the female variety, but I'll wait to elaborate until I have something to elaborate on. Suffice to say that there's another guy causing trouble, and we'll have to lay down some Law.

On a serious note, one of my best friends from college got kicked out of the university at the end of last semester, and his parents have demanded that he discontinue living with us, and come home. I had been really looking forward to having him as a housemate, so it's been a little sadder there lately.

Lastly, I'd like to give big ups to my mother, who leaves for the hinterlands this week. I can't wait to hear about all the maritime happenings, and in addition to my expected weekly recon reports, there had better be a scathingly witty blog entry every so often. Love you Ma.

Church/Contents of my Trash Can

Perhaps God is mad at me, so I went to church this morning to sort things out. My phone broke a little while ago, my car broke on Friday, my house was broken when I got there, and I still haven't gotten the mud off of my new Nikes. Yes, I'm practically Job at this point. Regardless, I'm sure it's nothing that a little P&P can't fix.

Going to church always does put a little of that "Go get 'em!" optomistic flair in you, and it certainly helps you count your blessings. Like the blessing of not being tone-deaf, a blessing the woman next to me this morning was not so fortuante to have recieved. Not you Mom, the one on my left.

There are other blessings but none seem blogworthy.

I moved this weekend, and I think it's worth it to commemorate some of the things I'm not taking with me. If I had my own prime-time spot I'd play "You had a Bad Day" and create a sappy, yet nostalgic montage to go along with this blog, but sadly I'm not Mark Burnett, and do not own TV.

First I'll say goodbye to my nightstand. I'm sorry I painted you that heinous seafoam, but I promise it was only to cover up the Nickelodeon stickers I covered you with all those years ago. You were always there when I needed a place for my lint-covered pocket change, and for that you will be remembered.

Next, I'll bid farewell to my sophomore health class textbook, which was accidentally stolen by me in my haste to get the hell out of school. I'll never forget the tasteless drawings inscribed by your former owners, and most importantly you taught me what the Gooch really is.

And finally I feel I must make special mention of my little black book of girls #'s. Ever since cell phones had phone books, you've been obsolete, but it's the simple fact of your existence that counts. Even by Little Black Book standards, you sure were little.

MMmmmm... Bananas...

I got paid today, and received approximately 2x as much as last paycheck. SWWWEEEEETT!


My boss also told me that within a year I could very possibly be a Training Manager, which would mean I'd stay here, but be making around 34K a year. This would effectively lower me from a 7 to an attractive looking 3 on the stress-O-meter. Or possibly I'd be doing what we call "Guerrilla Marketing."





This is a pretty awesome sounding job, which would involve me traveling around the country taking steps to insure the downfall of rival companies, and our rise to supreme domination.

Seriously.



There's also a driver who, despite the fact that we've worked together for over 2 months, still doesn't know my name. I'm his BOSS half the time, but he still calls me "Phil" or "Hey You" most of the time. Sometimes he just calls me "BJ" but I'm not entirely sure where this comes from, and frankly I find it too funny to correct him. He's not the brightest, and it was hard enough trying to explain that when customers give him money, he has to give it to us. I'm afraid telling him that my name isn't what he thought is was might make his brain explode.
I already had to clean up after a drunk guy blew chunks (beer chunks) all over my lobby (he then went to the bathroom, came out later without his shirt, and went next door to buy more beer), and I don't want to deal with the potential mess involved.

So I guess I'll be BJ for a while.