And I'm back, ready to blog and humiliate myself to the masses. Bring it on.
I am currently back home on Long Island (A curious note: We LIers refer to living "on" Long Island rather than "in" Long Island. I can't think of another similar example. People live in NYC, they live in Boston, they live in their mother's basement, they live in a cave. Hmm... some live on the beach, others on Martha's Vineyard, or on Cape Cod. Interesting: I think that "in" denotes a large space or seemingly large space, and "on" is something perceived as smaller... maybe. Anyway). Things have been largely sterile and unworthy of note, namely due to my current lack of income. Ergo, I need a fucking job.
Yet, even in the midst of an employment crisis, I am being too picky in my choice of future jobs. Today, I was going to apply to a local restaurant where many of us used to go back in high school... until I realized that many of us used to go there back in high school. That's just what I need: the label of "the Guy Who Never Left Home." I've left home! I swear! True, I'm not too monetarily successful. Yeah, I'm kind of in debt. But I'm a traveler! I'm a writer! Live Free, Think Hard! Feel free to make sexual advances at me!
Here's how I imagine a conversation that would take place way too often:
Hot Chick from High School who doesn't look quite so hot anymore but is still looking good (hereafter referred to as "FHC" [former hot chick]: Hey Matt! Great to see you!
Me: Oh hey ____! (too much enthusiasm, revealing my true apathy).
FHC: What are you doing here? Have you worked here long?
Me: Oh me? No, I just started here. I'm just home for a short time before I do a show in July.
FHC: WOW! You're an actor? Like Shakespeare or Ed Norton?
Me: More like Liza Minelli.
FHC: Cool. Is it in New York?
Me: Uh, no. (nervous chuckle) Rhode Island.
FHC: (her eyebrows falling back to their normal position) Oh... that's... still cool. Yeah. Great experience.
Me: Yeah, right. What are you up to these days?
FHC: Yeah, I work for a PR firm in the city and I was just back to see my little brother's lacrosse game.
Me: Oh cool! (again, betraying my complete lack of interest and struggle for a follow up. Honestly, what could I possibly ask about marketing or PR? "Is your desk cool?").
FHC: I guess I'm going to have a low carb burger with blah blah....
Me: (shoot me.)
Nah, waiting tables isn't for me. Plus, I hate touching half eaten food. Fuck, if I got a sesame seed or lentil stuck underneath my fingernails... let's not even go there.
My dad had a great idea: what about becoming a substitute teacher! On paper, great idea. Reality = loser. Just think back to those poor bastards that would sit uncomfortably while "their" class worked on dittos (a word that has not once graced my ears since 12th grade. "Yeah Bob, go ahead and copy those spreadsheets for the meeting, and if you could copy some dittos, we need to focus on homonyms this week. Thanks a bunch.") I mean, I would be abused and want to jab out my eyes when I went to turn on the DVD and couldn't figure it out. Just stamp "FAILURE" across my forehead (and above my special parts, to save future generations). Plus with today's kids, listening to rock and roll, and wearing outfits that would make Courtney Love blush... I couldn't handle it.
Well, I shall continue my vain search. Until tomorrow!