Long Dark Teatime of my Soul

Today is the day. The day the agency I work for is going public with certain knowledge, and therefore, the day I can write about last Thursday. Last Thursday sucked hard. Sucked like your final farthing dropped down the deepest well, sucked like a banshee catching wind after a mighty wail, sucked like profiteering Republicans crowded at the teat of human misery. And it's a suckitude that I've been sitting on for most of a week. How it has pained me to deprive the Stave It Off faithful of these events!

The biggest news: I'm being laid off. As of July 1st, I'm joining Walter's famous "ranks of the underemployed". My position is going away so that the department can hire someone with an education background. Hey, here's your chance for a steady gig Walter! (This, in itself, may not be a bad thing. But change, you know, she's a bitch.) So now I'm surfing the want ads (heads up Soapy, send me some hot leads!)

Determined to leave my troubles behind, I joined my Thursday night basketball crew for hoops and beer and sympathy. Instead, I sprained my ankle. The most heinous result of which is that I couldn't play softball last weekend. Then my car wouldn't start (so I had to leave it parked illegally outside the Boyz n' Girlz Club) and finally, I managed to piss off an old friend by making beer-addled (and apparently offensive) remarks. This resulted in threats of bodily harm against my personage. A personage I'm quite attached to and couldn't bear any more bodily harm toward. Although I'm sure you all would have enjoyed my photo-documentation of the injuries.

So, given that I recently blogged about a near miss job prospect, you're probably wondering where to file this breaking news: under ironic twists, or under hidden blessings? Truth be told, I don't know yet myself. On the positive side, I can collect unemployment if I don't find the next cobblestone quickly enough. And thank god I don't have a pregnant girlfriend or a mortgage to pay off or something. Then I'd really be freaked out.

And luckily Friday was significantly better. Good news from the mechanic: the leak in my radiator is just a crack in my overflow tank! Cheap fix. Also, there were no measurable exhaust fumes in the tank so chances are my head gasket is jus' fine. But he has no clue what's up with my electrical system. Hmmm...

While he was checking out the car, I went with Dingo to see Terry Zwigoff's Art School Confidential which rocked so much Casbah that I'm still intoxicated by its misanthropy. Jim Broadbent is my new hero, and I'll kill any man who says otherwise. Peace out y'all.