Dude, Return of the King is five freaking years old now. Damn.
Well, so far I have my resumé and other info profiled on Monster.com, Careerbuilder.com, USAJobs.com, GetAPhotographyJob.com, and (one I just found this morning) JournalismJobs.com. Today alone I applied to at least five new positions. Now that the new year has passed, I've burst out of the starting gate. No resting on my laurels for little ol' Andy. I will find a real job, and quickly, dammit.
Ok, ok, ok.... so I'm resting exactly on my laurels as I surf these sites and apply by clicking the "Apply To This Job" or "Submit your resumé" button, but you catch my drift. :-P
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I've realized something. Having typed that post about Dark Haired Girl, I've come to realize that my main stressor at this point is simply the anticipation of the inevitable. It's like Pippin said in Return of the King: "I don't want to be in a battle. But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse."
Ok, new readers, I used to write a fair bit about sex. Yeah, I know, not really fun to hear from a chubby guy, but that's me. That's why I never use Dark Haired Girl's real name or show you any pictures of her. I even took a great snapshot of her two nights ago as she was heading out to her New Year's Eve festivities and looking H-O-T. I've a very wide-open liberal (but always gentlemanly) attitude toward sex. Anyway, last night Dark Haired Girl and I had brain-melting sex that was the proverbial "so good the neighbors had a cigarette afterward." It was so intense that for a brief moment she and I rippled the curvature of space and time.
Even back when I was with Sophie last year (well, two years ago now), as much as I really did like her, I compared every act of love we made to my previous fling Dark Haired Girl. Not even close to the passion Dark Haired Girl and I share.
I'll never find anybody like her again. She knows me and my twists and turns better than I know myself... and instead of running screaming or trying to gently "correct" my quirks, she loves me for them. She'll tell me about my little idiosyncrasies, and I'm like "Fuck, I never realized that." If I don't find a job nearby, it's going to be over when I have to move to Iowa or Timbuktu or B.F.E., and I just fucking feel like Atlas with the weight of that impending doom resting square on my shoulders. It's killing me.
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On a lighter note, I was talking to my cat tonight. She was laying on my bed, and as usual, looked up at me in a panic when I walked in the room. After more than two years of me living in this house, she's still convinced that I'm going to try to eat her or something if she lets her guard down. So I say to her, "Jesus, Cat, it's not like I'm going to... " I realized that I couldn't think of a verb form of the word 'predator'.
I mean, a collector collects things and a regulator regulates things, but a predator doesn't predate things. I call those grandma and grandpa.
Come to think of predating, an ancestor doesn't 'ancest' either. That's not even a real word, but it doesn't it sound dirty? Fun with the English language, kids!
Anyhoo, I assured Kizzy the cat that I wasn't really trying to kill her. She didn't believe me. Neurotic little cat.
Ok, ok, ok.... so I'm resting exactly on my laurels as I surf these sites and apply by clicking the "Apply To This Job" or "Submit your resumé" button, but you catch my drift. :-P
---
I've realized something. Having typed that post about Dark Haired Girl, I've come to realize that my main stressor at this point is simply the anticipation of the inevitable. It's like Pippin said in Return of the King: "I don't want to be in a battle. But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse."
Ok, new readers, I used to write a fair bit about sex. Yeah, I know, not really fun to hear from a chubby guy, but that's me. That's why I never use Dark Haired Girl's real name or show you any pictures of her. I even took a great snapshot of her two nights ago as she was heading out to her New Year's Eve festivities and looking H-O-T. I've a very wide-open liberal (but always gentlemanly) attitude toward sex. Anyway, last night Dark Haired Girl and I had brain-melting sex that was the proverbial "so good the neighbors had a cigarette afterward." It was so intense that for a brief moment she and I rippled the curvature of space and time.
Even back when I was with Sophie last year (well, two years ago now), as much as I really did like her, I compared every act of love we made to my previous fling Dark Haired Girl. Not even close to the passion Dark Haired Girl and I share.
I'll never find anybody like her again. She knows me and my twists and turns better than I know myself... and instead of running screaming or trying to gently "correct" my quirks, she loves me for them. She'll tell me about my little idiosyncrasies, and I'm like "Fuck, I never realized that." If I don't find a job nearby, it's going to be over when I have to move to Iowa or Timbuktu or B.F.E., and I just fucking feel like Atlas with the weight of that impending doom resting square on my shoulders. It's killing me.
---
On a lighter note, I was talking to my cat tonight. She was laying on my bed, and as usual, looked up at me in a panic when I walked in the room. After more than two years of me living in this house, she's still convinced that I'm going to try to eat her or something if she lets her guard down. So I say to her, "Jesus, Cat, it's not like I'm going to... " I realized that I couldn't think of a verb form of the word 'predator'.
I mean, a collector collects things and a regulator regulates things, but a predator doesn't predate things. I call those grandma and grandpa.
Come to think of predating, an ancestor doesn't 'ancest' either. That's not even a real word, but it doesn't it sound dirty? Fun with the English language, kids!
Anyhoo, I assured Kizzy the cat that I wasn't really trying to kill her. She didn't believe me. Neurotic little cat.
posted by Grover at 1/02/2008 08:22:00 PM
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