After watching a provocative commercial during an episode of Judge Mathis, I am now contemplating a career in Medical and Insurance Billing. According to the real-life testimonial, the pay is decent, I can live the life I want and I will be joining the fast-paced world of health care. Advanced data entry rules! Stay tuned tomorrow when I will be debating a career in the fast-growing field of Aircraft and Aerospace Technical Maintenance.
Bob Arno makes a living studying pickpockets. A pickpocketing career would be a good move for an unemployed deviant like myself. If you invite me over for a barbecue and I squirt mustard all over you shirt and gank your wallet please don’t get angry with me. I am just doing my job, baby.
- The sex trade is booming in post-Katrina New Orleans.
- Patricia Arquette spilling out of assorted items of dress.
- Wikipedia for the Battle of the Trebia, the first major battle of the Second Punic War.
- A teacher who worked in the public school system for two decades after she was caught kissing and groping a 13 year-old student at an middle school dance, became pregnant by a sophomore in high school who she married upon his graduation in 1985 and invited her teenage son’s 15 year-old friend to move in with her and then seduced him.
- Map of US Fatalities in Iraq (by home of record).
After two days of throwing myself into the much-needed redesign of Broz Design, I ventured outside this morning to greet the garbage man with my trash. I did not set the trash cans out last night because of strong winds that would have knocked the trashcans over and strewn a weeks worth of dead soldiers, junk mail and steak gristle about the common area. That, and the sweet old woman across the alley turns into the garbage Nazi if you leave your trashcans out for more than a day or do not secure the lids to your refuse containers. I like Eleanor and do not wish to get into a fistfight with her so I respect her unwritten rules regarding the trash. The garbage man is a genial Hispanic fellow who speaks broken English and wanted to chat about the unit that burned down.
“See that burnt place over there?”
“Hard to back up garbage truck in there now.”
“Because of all the charred debris and temporary police fence and shit?”
The fact that I am posting this inane drivel only reinforces that fact that I really need a job.
I heard back from both companies I interviewed with last week. Company #1, located in Downtown Denver, gave me the “I just want to be friends” routine via email. Classy move. Maybe you should hire my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named, Company #1. Like you, she is a cold-hearted bitch with no regard for social etiquette and would thrive within your corporate culture. Company #2, located near the Governors Mansion, offered me the position and I turned it down. Sure, it would be nice to start working again and sock away my severance booty towards a Mexican holiday with the wife, but something told me to stay away from that place. Perhaps it was the HR lady wearing sneakers, the invasive personal questions regarding my values or the “We do not use Macs” line that turned me off. All I know is that I ignored my instincts far too long while languishing at the data slaughterhouse and I refuse to ever do that again. In more interesting news, a neighboring town home burned down a few days ago. It appears as if the firewall did its job and kept the whole unit from succumbing to the flames. Good times.
Last night I watched the Avs home opener from a luxury suite at the Pepsi Center (the boys lost to the Stars 2-3 in OT). The old man, Jake, Nels and Aaron were also in attendance. My pops was responsible for the hook up as he procured the tickets through assorted work connections. The suite came equipped with a private bathroom, assorted domestic beers, food platters, period-by-period stat sheets and a computer with internet connection. Our luxurious time was surrounded by famous radio personalities with fake cans (Clear Channel suite next door), one drunk fan trying to start an “AVS RULE!” cheer (seats below us) and silver bucket of ice, Coors products and sunshine. The life of an unemployed artist is glamorous and fulfilling.
My day of interviews was enjoyable and seemingly successful. In between trips in the car and long, boring dissertations on design and inspiration, I got the feeling both places seemed mildly interested in my abilities. It is also just as likely that the interviewers tuned me out upon my first mention of “color schemes” and “corporate identity” and thought about the bills they had to pay and the puppies they had to strangle later. I feel really good about one of the companies that was not in Governors Park and hope they hire me before I have to turn my attractive new wife out for groceries.
My third week of unemployment will include two web design job interviews; one in the heart of downtown Denver which is a block off the 16th Street Mall and the city’s main bus depot (I’m all about the public transportation) and one a few blocks away from Govnr’s Park which has amazing happy hour beers and a Slider Basket that would make Wimpy cry (the Won Ton Juans are equally as glorious). Keep your fingers crossed that one of these interviews will pan out before my severance runs dry and we will be subsisting only on a meager public school teacher’s income. The wife has yet to wear tattered clothing and babble incomprehensible phrases while standing over a barrel fire, but I can assure you that that time is nigh, my friends. Onto an unemployed artist’s browser history:
Today I reached the “30 Resumes Sent” benchmark and I plan on celebrating by taking a nap immediately after posting this. Thus far I have heard back on six resumes and have a phone interview this afternoon with a company who’s identity I will protect until I either get a job offer or am denied employment based on my affinity for the movie Road House. (On a related note, I ordered Road House 2: Last Call through Netflix and it will be arriving via mail tomorrow. I am hoping it has much of the same goodness as the first installment: mullets, fighting, boobs and a human throat being violently torn out with somebody’s bare hands. I will be sure to keep you posted). All things considered, a 20% contact rate on my resumes is not bad. Granted, 80% of the 20% are “I just want to be friends” rejection emails (which hearkens me back to my freshman year of college) but that is not important right now. What is important is that I do not have to shave for a phone interview. The time is nigh for an unemployment nap. Have fun at work, suckers.
Today I am 31 years old and will be celebrating another year of life by watching Judge Judy, sending off ten resumes, having a lunch plate of spaghetti with my mom and entertaining numerous offers for well paying and exciting design jobs. The wife has some big plans for me tonight. She still feels guilt over last year’s birthday when she was sick and fell asleep on the couch early in the evening while I drowned the passing of my third decade in cheap, domestic beer at the local watering hole with a jackass named Tyler.