i'm hungry. i need to go to the supermarket. i despise grocery shopping, especially right now. i'm a little disgruntled with the whole chubby kids thing - my weigh in yesterday didn't go as well as i would have liked. three weeks in and i'm already cursing the program. that's not a good sign, is it? but it's my own willpower, or lack of, that's the issue - it's not necessarily chubby kids. i went to a center here in dsm, i didn't go all the way back home because i didn't feel like driving all that way just so i could drive back last night. and the people were nice but it just wasn't the same. i missed nigel and her crazy sister and all the werido local people that i've seen for the last couple weeks and the chubby kids nazi with the orthopedic shoes that we tease merclilessly over text message. it's just not the same when i'm all by myself with a group of people i don't know.
the bee is going to therapy with me next week. it didn't take any pleading or prodding; i just mentioned that my therapist thought it could be a good idea for us and he said he'd go next week. i about fell off the bed when i got that text message, i was so shocked. so when i left my appointment yesterday, she gave me our "homework" for next week. we have to evaluate our needs on 10 or 12 topics such as affection, admiration, conversation, honesty, sexual fullfilment, financial dedication, family dedication and so on and so forth. and then we have to rate how our partner meets our needs in each of those categories. the bee seems to think that this will be little more than the basis for a good argument. i liken it to a good honest (mediated) conversation. i guess we'll find out next week. if we end up in opposite corners of the room wearing boxing gloves, maybe therapy wasn't such a good idea... but i don't see that happening. i hope not, anyway.
my interview was this morning. i think it went well; it all hinges on a background check and then i guess i get to start work on april 7. it was kind of funny, i walked into a little conference room with a supervisor and we sat down and he said to me, "i'm supposed to ask you all these questions but i can see from your resume and from looking at you that you can do this job. you're overqualified for it, actually. you've been in the car business, so i'm going to be frank: the pay fucking sucks, the job is shit. but stick it out for a year and we'll get you transferred into something you actually want to do."
i cracked up.
i think he asked me about 25 percent of the questions on his list; the rest he made up the answers to as he went along. we drafted an offer of employment, which we both signed, which like i said, i think means i've been offered a job. and he's right, the pay sucks and the job does too, but it's a big company with lots of opportunity for growth and he seems cool. it's the same place that my little brother's crazy girlfriend works, so i already know someone and she said she'd split the referral bonus with me if i list her on the paperwork.
rock.
and like the therapist said, a job is a job until a better job comes along.
indeed. plus, it's laid back (i can wear jeans), it's easy work (dude, who's better at getting pissy than i am?), and it's dollars (as opposed to the less popular and more difficult to spend rupee). and dollars are dollars are dollars. plus (and this is one of the cooler benefits) i have the chance of winning a wii, if i do well. effin-a-right, cotton. fuck yes. i will get a wii. and i won't pay for it. i'm not talking all coastal mart style. but i will get me a damn wii. assuming i pass the background check. which means that i'm crossing my fingers that they don't discover the six months i spent in chico for selling mexican bam-bam to unsuspecting touristas in guadalajara.
that's a joke.
i can't get anyone to go to mexico with me. (and now that you know what i want to do when i get there, you can clearly see why...) and i don't even really know where chico is. i mean, i know where chico is, but is that where the prison is? i have no idea. i don't even really know what bam-bam is. i'd google it but then federal agents would prolly bust through the doors of the panera that i'm sitting in at the moment and then i'd have to explain what the fuck i'm doing googling bam-bam in the middle of panera on merle hay road in the smack dab center of white bread america and it'd turn out that they've been watching me for awhile now because i once checked out that charles manson book in like the 7th grade and i watch a lot of csi: miami and i recently figured out what m.o. means and how to stop the bleeding on an open wound with super glue. i'm obviously a threat to society and i'm well aware of it. i'd get hauled out of here in handcuffs, ala reese bobby in talladega nights but i don't have a cool car to climb into through the window, nor do i have a classroom of fifth graders to impress by screaming, "if you're not first you're last" so i'd have to knock over a trashcan or break a window on the way out with my foot or something and when it was all said and done and i'd done my time at the local women's prison and made everyone i know a dozen hand-crocheted hot pads and was spending my days on parole, wearing knock-off shoelace free white keds and being banned from the internet and all things technical, like that kid in the movie hackers, i'd have to pay fucking panera some resistution for their fucking trashcan or their dumbass window which i probably cut my foot on anyway.
which i could have stopped from bleeding and getting infected if they'd just have given me a tube of g.d. superglue.
fuck. don't they watch csi?
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