Methinks herding unicorns is about as easy as hunting for a job. As I am currently involved in the latter, I know of what I speak. My Dad, the man who paid for my college education, suggested I apply to be a greeter at Walmart. While I’m sure Walmart greeting is a lovely occupation, I don’t think the blue apron thing is bulletproof and am far too snarky to smile for eight hours. Unless the salary is a $500/hour situation.
My French friend, AJ, wants me to teach conversational English. Bless her heart, she doesn’t know I have been a very bad teacher. I don’t believe instructing her to say “Hell, no!”, “Are you kidding me?”, “Get lost!” and other pleasantries will be of much help. At least she will never be bullied. Could totally teach conversational cursing but don’t think the position exists. If you’d like to take this course, it’s $500/hour.
You may wonder what my skill set includes. This would be laughing, walking my dog, reading, and eating. I know, amazing, right? Seriously, I do have experience in many areas. Just have to find that golden ticket. And I will. Maybe it’s canning cornichons, testing trampolines … the possibilities are endless. My only prerequisite is a salary.
The very best outcome would be to do what I love while helping as many people as possible. Please do not suggest customer service.
Off to jump in my bed and pull covers over my head. Because this is such a productive activity and representative of stong motivation and focus. Gah!
Apparently it’s National Friendship Week. Next week reserved for red noses. But I digress …
My Dad once said, “If you have a handful of true friends, you are lucky.” At the time, I thought he was being negative and ridiculous. Why, I had a million friends (I was young). Turns out, he was right and I was wrong. And, surprisingly, I love when I am proven wrong because I learn from it. And it’s important to me to never stop learning. I am lucky. I do have a handful of true friends, precious gifts I love and treasure.
Friendship is a sticky wicket. A delicate situation. I love my friends. I’m hard to love, so I’m lucky to have any.
And then there are the others … fabulous and not so much –
The Forever Friends – these are the wonderful people I may not see for 10 days, weeks, or years yet we pick up right where we left off – ahh, beautiful!
“I Wanna Talk About Me” Friends – we all have them; as long as they are the subject of all conversation, all is well. Try to get a word in edgewise, like “Oops, I’m bleeding to death” – impossible. Just gotta love them anyway. From a distance.
Let’s Have Lunch Friends – never happening, don’t kid yourself. They are really awesome people but chicken salad sandwiches and iced tea are not anywhere in your future.
Spill Your Guts/I Don’t Know You Friends – they appear at your door, spill their guts about a situation, situation gets fixed. Next time they see you, they look right through you. Pitiful. Don’t answer door next time.
Deep As A Pie Pan Friends – can only talk about parties, travel, clothes, and light fabulousity; requires massive quantities of NoDoz and temporary loss of short-term memory.
So now I’m thinking I really am lucky to have my handful. As for the rest, move along. In the words of my new hero, Mark Manson, “I don’t give a f*&@!”. (You are thinking this started out so nicely … SURPRISE!).
Off to work out snarkiness … maybe
P.S. Many thanks to bestie Austin Ann for intro to writing of Mark Manson
My youngest, McPaddie, is getting married! Her fiancé is an awesome man; we are all beyond excited. That means we are having a wedding! YIKES.
Fortunately, the big event is a year away. Haven’t broached subject of budget with her dad. While he is totally on board, he has no clue what weddings cost. I’m thinking he’s thinking $7. Am totally Scarlett O’Hara about having that conversation with him. Must contact EMS unit to have on hand when I grow a pair and spit it out. “Tomorrow is another day”.
Meanwhile, this mission requires MAJOR CREATIVITY. A few of the thoughts that have crossed my mind at 3:00 am every morning:
Sell a kidney (no, think that’s against the law)
Numerous bikini car washes (force future bridesmaids into slave labor)
Bake sales (one cookie = $1000)
Stand on busy street corner with sign (nope; too hot and I work every day)
Call BRAVO and ask Andy Cohen to make a reality series for us (so not happening)
Start a new trend: the drive-by wedding (just kidding)
Obviously, I need your help! If you have any ideas – puh-leeze throw them out here. Before throwing, please note: they won’t elope, we will do our best and honor what the bride wants on budget, we know it’s about the ceremony, not the flash.
*We are Southern. That means the weddings in these parts = church ceremony and reception. Reception includes buffet, mucho alcohol, and a great band so you dance your ass off. Just so you know. Oh, and photography. Just blew left side of brain.
You have your assignment. Am off to search for loose change.
I’m so peaced out, nothing gets under my skin. Except EVERYTHING. I’ll try to keep this brief.
Bad Press = More of the Same: In the olden days (last year), employees of GIANT DELIVERY SERVICES actually brought packages to your door. Numerous news clips over the past few months indicate some employees simply use your address as a target, the package as an arrow. We won’t even talk about the condition of the contents of said package/arrow. One would think GIANT DELIVERY SERVICES would have a chat with their staff, requesting true delivery of packages as opposed to Hail Mary target practice. Not so much. My recent experience:
Car Dealership Service Departments: Maybe it’s just me, but I believe these should be renamed “Car Dealership So What Departments”. Living in a huge city, there are often numerous places to have your car “maintained”. Not mine. One dealership-from-hell. The service department is chock full of truly angry people with a collective offensive linebacker mentality when it comes to service. Slam that customer to the ground asap. Should your car need anything, it’s all your fault, not covered under warranty, and that will be 17 grillion dollars plus tax, tip, title, gratuity, and first dibs on future grandchildren to recover your vehicle. See ya never!
All I needed was an oil change 😦
So Where Do I Get My Car Serviced?: Faced with this question yesterday, I went straight to the Wizard a.k.a. Google. Spent the better part of the day doing my research online. Selected the lucky service garage (keyword “loaner car”), rang them up, made my appointment for today. This morning, I packed some supplies (food, water, phone) and headed out to the garage. Which is in another town. I did have a map but am directionally dyslexic; maps serve me as well as Car Dealership So What Departments. One hour later – complete with 456 twists and turns – I’m there! Wherever that is. Everything is going along perfecto until we get to loaner car. Apparently there are just a few from which to choose. And here it comes …. “Can you drive a stick?”.Yes, of course I can drive a stick but haven’t since I was in my teens. “No”.A little bit of hemming and hawing and a big white thing appears in the driveway. I have no idea what it is but it goes forward and backward automatically. So I’m not really ranting about the new service provider, just the fact that I have to leave town to get my car taken care of. Wackadoodledo.
Car & Pet Wash: Swear on everything, I saw this place on my way back from wherever my car is. I am so taking photos tomorrow to prove it. In the meantime, I am quite confused how this situation works. Do you multitask by attaching dog to hood of car? That’s unacceptable. Does the cat drive the car, with perfume flowing through the air vents? Have you ever heard of this?
There’s not a bucket big enough to hold all I want to do. But here are a few things I never want to do again:
Get stuck in small space with overserved man who has just inhaled a handful of chocolates: Don’t shake your head and wonder how this happened. It did. And the space was immediately filled with overwhelmingly heinous fumage. Would have fainted dead away, but space too small and I’m too polite (ha!). Had no choice but to stop, drop, and roll into a ditch. Still gagging.
Eat green peas and/or liver: More gagging. If I am on a desert island and all there is to eat are green peas and/or liver, I take this back. Note to self: no boat rides.
Register for “Do Not Call” lists: What a total waste of time. You crafty telemarketers and your “anonymous” and “private caller” handles! And for the managers of all “Do Not Call” lists, YOU’RE FIRED!
Reply to comment, “What country are you from because you don’t look like an American.”: Final answer: “I am a conehead. From France. Merde!
Work for people who are missing several teeth in the front of their mouths: If you have a “thriving” business, you can afford to go to the dentist and get some chompers. My experience with you tells me your business is anything but thriving because my paycheck bounced AND you don’t have a mirror. Basta!
To 32-year-old civil rights lawyer with really long hair: love your job, long hair is cool, dancing at event is fun but anything else, NO CAN DO! Not a fan of Harold and Maude situations. Give Demi Moore a jingle when she gets to feeling better. Caio!
To woman who asks me my name despite the fact we’ve met 346 times: none of your business, obviously. Get off the meds, you’ve lost whatever mind you had.
To the waiter from hell on his first night: bless your heart. You got a 20% tip because we felt sorry for you. Please, in the name of all diners, seek a new occupation. Art school? Banjo player in Vegas? Anything BUT waiting tables. Thank you.
To the woman who thinks she knows it all: oh no you don’t! Go to the hardware store, buy some duct tape and put it over your mouth. Then go to the compassion store and clear the shelves. Haven’t the faintest where you can get a conscience, but wouldn’t be a bad idea to look into that, either.
To my dog: yes, I love you to the moon and back. I take better care of you than I do myself. But you must stop creeping around eating God knows what in the middle of the night. Waking up to the sound of gagging does not put a festive spin on the day. Thank you.
To the woman who used to tidy up my house and empty my liquor cabinet: all is forgiven, it is a heinous job. I would get drunk, too, but alas … you drank me dry. Nevermind.
To all the nice friends we ran into at the “no one goes there” restaurant: that was not me in the baseball cap. Evil twin. Swear.
To Amazon, Kindle, Nook and other businesses selling/delivering books to iPad, etc.: stop blaming “the publishers” for the inflated book prices. You could do something about this if you wanted to, but you know how lazy we are. Stop It. While the product is convenient, it is usually riddled with weirdo spaces and funky words. STOP IT. Note to self: get up and go to the bookstore. Stop the madness. You should be ashamed of yourself. I am. Over.
To the Food Channel: I became an addict a few days after 9/11 … because your spot was all happiness and recipes and a total escape. Please lose “Fat Chef”. No disrespect meant to the plight of the obese but sad doesn’t look good on you. Make a deal with Lifetime or Bravo. Thank you.