I've done it. It's about time, and I've done it.
I got a job.
Where, pray tell? Well let me tell you!
Bummer, right? I know, tell me about it.
Well, it's not your ordinary deli, per se (Could you imagine ever actually working at Se Port? I think I would strangle myself from a combination of stress, testosterone suffocation, and random encounters with people whose names I don't quite remember but necessitate a hey I know you.) I work at one of those organic all natural feel good hippie delis! If you lean back, I'm sure you can smell the patchouli...
As usual, I'm exaggerating ("Every story is the truth, and some of them actually happened"). This place is sort of low key, relaxed, "greet the usuals" kind of a place. I think I'll fit in. And really, I'll only be there for about a month or so before I head off for theatrical pastures in CT, so I know I can handle it.
So, I'll do this for a while, be a bum at home for a month or two, and after getting my yearly musical theatre quota (you know I'm doing two shows in CT right?), I'm back on the boat and off to Scotland for a few months. Peace out patchouli and hand me the haggis!
I only have one fear: when in Munich, I needed to buy lederhosen after I became a certified beer drinking Bavarian. Will I come back from Scotland in a he-skirt?