i drink, like, it's my job

Back at home now, and working for my mom's catering business, for I have no disposable income to speak of, much less dispose of. So, I'm here to make some money and help mom. Obviously she knows me well enough to know I'm an idiot, and assigns me tasks accordingly. No real cooking or office work of import for me. Some of my jobs have included taking her dog for walks, counting liquor bottles, and buying ice. Pretty boring shizzle for shizzle, but then came yesterday's activity: wine tasting.

My job was to taste all of the uncorked wine in the joint and determine which of the bottles had gone bad. Ten o'clock in the morn and I'm here tasting wine, and over fifty bottles of that biz. Sounds bitchin', but on the real, it was terrible. At least 30 of the bottles were disgusting, like maybe you think you don't have a palate sophisticated enough for such an excercise, but no, this crap tasted like arss. And then half way through I'm drunk to boot--because if you're gonna taste you might as well drink up. Waste not, want not and all that jazzamatazz.

So there I am, trying to spit the awful taste out my mouf, knocking over bottles, and yelling "ohh sweet jebus, that one tastes like pickles! ughhhhh. someone get some friggin water." The other employees were half laughing at me, half giving me weird looks and telling me I wasn't driving anywhere today. By the end I really felt like I was fixin to scream at my shoes, as dan, dropping it like it's hot, would articulate the pathos of such a situation. And that's really all I achieved that day, for serious.

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drop 'til you shop

Yesterday I left the house to go on a shopping excursion with no shopping list or idea of what I would buy.
I returned with:

One bottle of white cranberry juice
One off-white shower curtain liner
One bootleg dvd entitled "40 Year-Old Virgin/Wedding Crashers Double Pack"
One box of Golden Grahams brand cereal
One half-gallon of full milkfat milk (for the cereal) (that was all they had left)
One Pope John Paul II cylindrical religious candle

I scurried home and put all the crap away so no one could see this collection of items in one place and realize I am an idiot.

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deprecation station!

Once upon a time, I had a job interview today. Any glimmer of opportunity that that statement held this morning was quickly dashed when I realized that where I thought "job interview" I should have been thinking more along the lines of: "standardized test day in 4th fuckin grade." So there I am in the lobby of the staffing agency, laying the mack down on some delicious formal documentation. After filling out the basic stuff, I get to the point in the stack of papers where they start asking me things not commonly found in job applications where an applicant's knowledge of basic things is all but assumed. They start spittin' shit at me like:

The correct definition of "condone" is: 1. Repeat 2. Allow 3. Deep fat-fry 4. Prophylactic

and then:

Circle the incorrect portions of this sentence: "Me and Sally ain't let the dog go inside and don't like no squid? "

And then the 30 math questions, which, if I didn't already feel like a retahhd for filling this sheet out in the first place, then my inability to do them quickly or with confidence definitely did the trick.

I then spent 20 minutes taking tests measuring my abilities in Word, Excel, typing, and not stabbing myself in the temple with a ballpoint pen. The moral of the story is the actual interviewing lasted honestly two minutes and consisted mostly of me signing releases for drug tests, but oh, they are really excited about having me on the team, should any temp work for a non-comatose person arise.

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sweater? i don't even know her!

So I spent the weekend in the Hamptons at my friend Dan's grandmother's house. Enjoyable time had by all, or so I thought. Yesterday, some redikalus biznass goes down via cellaphone. Dan called me to ask me if I had stolen his grandmother's boyfriend's blue cardigan sweater. Not an unreasonable question, I thought, so I explained that I wish I had stolen it, and that if I had, I would wear it every day. Unfortunately, that did little to explain the sweater's disappearance, or quell Dan's grandmother's unbriddled rage caused by her suspicion that her grandson's friends are free-loading (true), old man sweater stealing (untrue), jerks (true). Dan said that the only thing he could think of was that maybe one of us took it while we drunk and played old man dress-up while frolicking about the yard. That sounds like my kind of party, but sadly, such a scene has only taken place in my wildest hopes and dreams.
dope-ass representaysh of my dreams. don't show this to dan.

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jobless wonder

Now I am unemployed, and so far it's been pretty depressing. Anyhoo, I went out last night to spend some of the money I don't have, so getting up today was a task. Needless to say the evening left me crunkasaurus-wrecked, and awoke with the taste of two hotdogs and three candy bars on my tongue. Of course there was a crumpled lottery ticket on my bedside table and I was laying in a sheetless bed-- it's those little things you do to lower your self-respect that really matter in the end.
Well, I'd say that technically I've only been on the job front for a day, so maybe I shouldn't beat myself up about it. Today I watched Raging Bull, made a salad with dressing, and now I'm cleaning my room. That's some productivity. Yea what did you do today? Wake up early and go to work? I'll drink to that.

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