How I Spent My Summer Vacation (Part I)

or, How a Totally Alsome, Funny, Cool, Responsible, Conscientious, Trustworthy, Motivated, Brilliant, Creative, Organized, and Hip Guy with Phenomenal Editorial and Writing Skills Tried to Get a Job

A few weeks ago, I thought I would be able to take a few months off from my hectic schedule this summer. For the first time in five years, I would no longer have to worry about homework, studying for exams, or a schedule packed tighter than Pavarotti in a Speedo. I am done with my Master's degree, and my day job is pretty slow. Nothing to complain about at work means blog posts that are few and far between. My sister is still working on programming the javascript application that will run my website, so for now that project is on hold. I had no pending obligations in the evenings for the rest of the summer, or the forseeable future.

Last week, a friend e-mailed me a link to Overheard at the Beach, a new variation on a theme brought to you by the creators of Overheard in New York and Overheard in the Office. I am a huge fan of the "Overheard" sites. I have never been to New York, but am the typical office drone who submits conversations to Overheard in the Office, though my conversations with my coworkers aren't nearly as interesting as theirs. I thought to myself, "Great! I live in Florida, I can hit the beach this summer and finally send in some funny overheard conversations.

Then I saw it. A call to arms. A way to finally combine my smart-aleck sense of humor with my need for pubic validation of my creativity and get paid for it. Overheard at the Beach was looking for a part-time editor. All I had to do was send an e-mail telling the publisher why I deserved the job, my resume, and pick a dozen or so submissions from their first hundred to edit and give titles. I could do this. I can be creative on command. Nothing is more motivating to me than a deadline. In fact, I came up with my dozen titles on my lunch break at my day job. I waited until after work to proof my cover letter, then I sent in my application.

I'm sure you're asking, "What happened? Did you get the job?"

You tell me.

Note: That was the cover letter I sent with my application.
More to come...

Science Project

Q. What happens when you drop a 4 Mentos mints into a 2-liter bottle of Diet Coke?
A. A mess.

Q. What happens when 2 weird scientist-looking guys with lab coats, an affinity for the fountains at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, and waaaaaaaaay too much time on their hands drop 500 Mentos into 200 liters of Diet Coke?

A: This video:

Fin

As of 11:24 PM, Eastern Daylight Savings Time, I have completed my final assignment for my last class in my Master's degree program at Florida Gulf Coast University.

I. Am. Done.

I had been struggling with this case study since Saturday, and barely had anything written. I sat and stared at my computer screen for at least an hour, not sure how to begin or what exactly I wanted to say. Then it started all to pour out onto my keyboard and I was done in less than a half hour. Now all I have to do is show up to class on Friday and Saturday.

What a strange sense of calmness that has settled over me. It's like I flipped a switch and my stress all has instantly disappeared.

I'm going to bed.

If I Had a Million Dollars...

I would be able to blog more often, because I wouldn't be so busy with work (and school and family). Two of my coworkers have quit in the last month, one who I miss and one of whom I say good riddance to bad rubbish. The powers that be actually hired someone before either of them gave notice, but she has proved to be completely useless.

Seriously, I think I could have trained a squad of monkeys more quickly than this mental midget is catching on.

I can just imagine a bunch of monkeys running around the office, making copies, punching paper in the binding machine, packing up boxes for UPS. That would be more fun than... well... I guess we could get a barrel, too.

Just for the cliché.

But c'mon, people. How many times should you ask the same question of your coworkers before you would feel like a complete nimrod for asking it yet one more time?

Apparently for the crazy cat lady (that's what we call her-did I mention she drives around town every night feeding feral cat colonies?) that number is not 12, because she has asked us how to load the FedEx labels in the printer at least that many times.

Not to mention the fake British accent she speaks with. Ugh. And she adds an extra syllable in the middle of my name when she says it, "Jee-ake." Drives me nuts. She also has such ophidiophobia (fear of snakes) that she refuses to even speak the word... she has to spell it. If you say the word "snake," she lets out a little scream.

I was a bad little boy this afternoon. We have a box of rubber snakes and insects that are used as props in a training course, so I took one and put it on the floor next to her desk while she was at lunch. Of course the moment she returned she flipped out and made one of our coworkers pick it up and put it away. She was not satisfied until it was out of sight. I commented that it must have fallen out of the box that was unpacked yesterday.

I'm such a prick.

I'm going to hell for that, I'm sure.

I'll see you there, because I know you laughed at that, just a little.

Here we go again...

Sorry to those of you in the panhandle, but I hope this thing stays to the North.

I can't take another year of this sh!t.