What a Week I'm Having

The past week, including today, has just been shit. Shit, shit, shit. Let me count the ways....

1) I did not get the job I thought I had. That's right, after waiting around whilst a certain NJ lawfirm played grab-ass for five fucking weeks, I finally learned this past Tuesday the truth. I am not going to be hired on.

Look, I understand that not every resume I send out will be received favorably. I understand not every prospective employer will hire me. Honestly, I get that. What I don't understand is why would they tell me they (a) have work; (b) need someone to do the work; (c) pay that person handsomely; and (d) inform me that I fit the bill? Is it malicious? Is it entertaining? Do they enjoy causing me to quit my bartending gig in anticipation of actually beginning my chosen career with some sense of panache?

After consulting my handy-dandy Magic 8-Ball (patented), "all answers point to YES."

So, as the faithful reader now knows, your Saintly friend has no job, and no woman. (If I had a dog, I'm sure it would've died at some point this week.)

I swear, sometimes I think my life is a Kenny Chesney song...

The intervening days passed, barely. With no job, and nothing to do, I pretty much sat around the house (where there is STILL no food) and smoked grass to pass the time away. Not a bad gig, really, but I'd much rather be working than sitting on my ass.

2) Saturday night, I ventured into NYC to see my friend's girlfriend's friend's (say THAT three times, fast, motherfucker!) dance troupe perform.

I know precisely jack shit about modern dance.

Ok, ok; I know precisely shit about the dance in general.

Still, the performance was quite good, if a bit...I don't know...angry? Apparently, our choreographer friend stamps her work with furtive, angry movements. And sensual ones. It's hard to tell what sort of emotion she's seeking to illicit. But the dance was not the problem Saturday night. Oh no, indeed! The problem was my friend, let's call him Johnny Two-Shoes.

My friend's girlfriend has another friend, who we'll call Fatima. (Why Fatima? Because I like the name.) Fatima is an attorney in NYC, and she's a hottie. Oh mai oui! Fatima and I met last August, and I was infatuated; it seemed she enjoyed my company as well.

So there we are, after the performance, enjoying some champagne and conversation (this is Fatima and me, now) and I suggest we go grab some dinner. It's eleven o'clock on a Saturday night, I'm on Seventh, suggesting a meal to a woman I hardly know. (I was very proud of me...) She's cool, so we grab the coterie; my friend, his girlfriend, J. (a cool chica from S. Africa), and Johnny Two-Shoes.

Did I mention Johnny Two-Shoes was recently appointed Cock-Blocker General by the Presidential Go-Home-Alone-You-Miserable-Loser Commission?

The six of us end up on 7th and 22nd, at some Thai place. I like Thai food; I practically lived on it in college for about a month there... Johnny Two-Shoes, meanwhile, sits down across from Fatima, who I'm hoping is gonna invite me over for breakfast, and starts acting like a complete ass. And, of course, he's not content to ruin his own image, oh no; Johnny-Boy wants to take me down with him.

All it took was one sentence: "Hey, man, you're turning 26 in August, right?"

DUMBASS MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!

See, Fatima's 31, and apparently she thought I was like 28 or 29. Apparently, she has a problem dating younger men. And, apparently, this includes inviting them for breakfast just the once, too.

So, no horizontal bunny-hop for your intrepid blogger. Again.

(I swear, I'm just going to open up a Home for the Chronically Unlayable one of these days.)

3) Today, which really puts everything else into perspective.

See, there I am, my beautiful Bonneville all packed and ready to drive back to Kentucky. I get in, start her up, and hit the road.

I made it 20.4 miles.

Apparently, I have a broken water pump, which in turn caused my engine coolant to leak all over the outside of the engine, instead of being fed into it. (For those of you who know nothing about cars, engines need coolant on the inside.) This of course, leads to my overheat (at 20.4 miles from home). How did I learn about this problem, you may ask?

Well, after waiting the obligatory two hours for AAA to arrive, I caught a tow from some guy named Joe. Joe was a good egg. Joe was not, however, from AAA; so I gave Joe $109.50 and he dropped me off six miles away. Scott, manager/owner of a friendly auto shop, informed me of the above situation, and continued to point out that, not only did I need a new water pump, but I needed a new serpentine belt and a thermostat as well. All told, I'm paying this guy $522.73.

For those of you playing along at home, driving 20.4 miles today cost me $632.23. Actually, it's $661.10; I got gas, too.

My car will hopefully be ready tomorrow morning at nine. Then, of course, I gotta figure out a way to get to it, considering it's 30 or so miles away, and I'm back in Mom and Dad's place, sitting on my ass.

Again.

Motherfucker.