The Longest Post

My birthday was enjoyable. I met with a man wearing a safari vest. He hadn't shaved, and peered at me quietly. He was thinking about hiring me, and needed to meet with me. His first question, for some reason, stumped me:

"So, tell me about yourself."

"What? Oh, um, I don't know. I'm a good guy. Ya know? And, uh, it's my birthday."

Apparently that wasn't a good enough answer. He looked at me confused, and urged me to go on. I began to get defensive. What did he want to know? How many sexual partners I've had? My cavity count? My inner-most fears? Which one of my close friends I secretly want to hurt? Well who the hell did this guy think he was? God? My therapist? No, no, I wasn't having it.

"You can go to hell, buddy. You're not going to get another peep out of me."

I pointed at his vest firmly and stood up.

"You think I need this chicken-shit bull-shit on my b-day, bud? Well you can go to hell!"

I stormed out of the interview, forming my hand like a pistol to intimidate the receptionist.

Actually, that didn't happen. I just told the guy that I like basketball and music, or some platitude like that. It was a decent enough interview, I suppose. Later that I night I met my buds for some beers. We drank and laughed and smiled.

Last to the car, pays at the bar!

The real partying didn't start until the weekend though. I went out with some guys, as we attempted to talk, touch, flirt, smile, and smooch with some girls. I was looking quite dashing, with a brown jacket and a slick hairdo.

At one point during the night, 2 big-breasted green-eyed ladies approached me.

"Hey sexy, we noticed you from across the bar. What's your name, how much money do you make?"

I said nothing after hearing the money question. Instead, I smirked and pulled my car keys out of my pocket. They saw my PONTIAC GRAND PRIX key, and began to giggle. Their eyes lit up and they asked if they could get a ride home.

Actually I was so shocked that they asked me how much I made, that I told them the truth. Not much now, but a whole lot soon. I don't know why I didn't lie to those whores. "6 dig, toots." etc. Ah, well.

The next day my family and I volunteered at a Habitat for Humanity house. I arrived and immediately ate delicious pizza. That's the thing about volunteering...there's usually pizza. Why not take advantage and eat as much as possible? Since I'm tall, I was asked to paint the ceiling of the house. "Be our Michelangelo, Michael" they said. I channeled my inner angelo, and did an excellent job. I feel pride knowing that when the children of that house stretch their neck, they'll see my work. My ceiling. It's beautiful, isn't it?

There it is. Sorry about the inactivity, there. I'm getting adjusted to my new life, and now feel comfortable enough to blog on a regular basis. So please come back, ya hear?


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Ajax said...

Those interviews for boob-watching jobs can be tough. Did you tell them you like watching boobs? It's important to sound convincing.

House of Suz said...

Instead of showing those girls your keys you should have said "Forget how much I make, it's my birthday, buy me a drink". Bet it works!

TinaBellina said...

Once I accidentally walked into a skinhead bar in New Jersey and you know what? Free pizza.

Happy B-day.

You Wish You Worked for Me said...

We didn't hire you because of your man-boobs and because you drive a Grand Prix.

starlet said...

that tell me about yourself question is just loaded. when I interview people I never ask them that.

iamnot said...

Man...those of us driving Neons are jealous of you Grand Prix guys!