Friday, June 18, 2004

I could've left selling porn off my résumé?

Somebody please hire me. I am not Office Manager of a Small, Independently-Owned Interior Design Firm material. I realize that now. Unfortunately, this being the Bush administration, there are no obvious jobs for me to flee to, unless I want to be a telemarketer or pretend that I have 10+ years of litigation experience. I know people read this. I know some of you have jobs, and are in desperate need of acerbic co-workers. Please realize that if I don't get a better job (note: not a much better job, just a better job) soon, I will not be accountable for what I do to my supervisor.

Following are a list of "special skills" that are inappropriate to list on my résumé, but that employers have found invaluable throughout my various career attempts. At your convenience, browse through them and then put me on your payroll.

Telephone Skills - Not only do I have a pleasant speaking voice, but I have developed a number of distinct "characters" that come in handy when taking phone calls from customers, clients or creditors. These include, but are not limited to: sweet but naive new employee; polite yet aloof receptionist; thrilled-to-be-here customer service representative; dissident; and Vengeance Walks the Earth (a.k.a. "I need to speak with your manager").

Blind Loyalty - If you are providing me with a paycheck, then you have my utmost gratitude and unconditional subservience. As such, I will always take your side during arguments with co-workers, spouses or children. Additionally, I will gladly complete random tasks for you that you could've taken care of yourself, but didn't feel like doing. In the past, I have created effective online dating profiles for bosses who were "single and looking," picked up and dropped off pets for grooming and/or medical attention, and through intercepted phone calls (see Telephone Skills), creative distractions and bald-face lying, I successfully protected an employer from his psychotic, possibly homicidal ex-girlfriend.

A Sympathetic Ear and a Jaded Outlook - A lifetime of putting up with bohemians, insane family members and chemical dependents has conditioned me so that absolutely nothing freaks me out. Whatever drug of choice is hidden in your desk, whatever nekkidness you forgot to delete off your hard drive, I will not judge you. Additionally, should you need to lock me in your office and talk at length about your drug problem or porn addiction, I will listen sympathetically, and offer well-honed advice. And since you'll be my boss (see Blind Loyalty), you'll never have to worry that your dirty secrets will find their way into the secretarial pool.

Pest Control - Terrified of cockroaches? I'll kill them for you. I'm not going after anything that squeaks, but I'll take down the cockroaches, no problem.

Also, I timed myself yesterday, and it appears that I type 40 words per minute. That's good, right? Don't you want to hire me now?


Wednesday, June 02, 2004

"I'm sarong and sari." -Ellen DeGeneres

I attended a sweat lodge this weekend. It was... well, sweaty. I could go on for awhile about the personal revelations that came to me while in the lodge, but instead, I want to discuss the miracle of the sarong.

A couple of the guys who attended the sweat opted to wear sarongs as opposed to say, cheat swimwear from Wal-Mart (my personal choice). I kept looking at them and thinking, "wow, they look really comfortable." When I mentioned this to my friend Sarah the next day, she said, "Why yes, they ARE comfortable," then dug through her closet, and handed me a multi-colored swath of fabric. "I never wear this," she said. "Why don't you take it?"

That evening, while lounging about the condo, I decided to try on said multi-colored swath of fabric, and Oh. My. God. I have never been so comfortable in my life. The cloth was so breathable, no underwear to ride up and lead to embarrassing crotch-clutchy situations... it was like heaven: 100% printed cotton heaven.

I spent the next day at work picking at my khaki slacks and thinking, "oh, how I wish I were in a sarong right now," and then I whiled away the rest of the afternoon perusing sarongs, kilts and men's skirts on the Internet. Jack feels that this is the onset of me turning into a drag queen, and he's made his peace with that. However, I would like to point out that while if I were a drag queen, I'd get to wear all the skirts I wanted, I would also be forced to wear panty hose, which I'm told is not so comfy. Also I would have to wear make-up and shave more than once every two days, which, frankly, is never going to happen. So no official drag for me. Which is a kind of a shame, because I'm really good at lip-syncing.