Loooo-oooo-ssss-eeeerrrrrr

In the words of Ace Ventura, I feel like a loser.  I finally got a rejection follow-up but this time it was not an oompa-loompa that got the job.  I'm not really sure who it was but it must have been someone awesomer than I am who was willing to work for banana peels or tuna fish instead of actual cashola.  When an interviewer asks what salary you made in your former position and then goes into convulsions and the EMT's run in and use a D-fib on them to resurrect them before continuing the interview—probably not going to get that job.   Again, I shall reiterate.  I used to have a good job and used to make a decent salary that reflected my nerdiness in college: dean's list, top 100-sophomore, outstanding junior in my college, meritorious achievement award and scholarship senior year and the usual honor societies that brainiacs partake in while undergoing their quest for higher education.   I also did this while working and raising a kid.  I was an over-achiever.  My jobs have reflected that.  I am no longer an over-achiever.  I am now a slacker who sits forlorn at the keyboard, my fingers poised to type, wiping back yet another tear of sorrow with my shirt sleeve as I pretend that I am preparing office correspondence.  Sometimes I pretend my 8-year old** is the boss and transcribe everything he says like my life depended on it.  I am getting good with the dictation.  Unfortunately, the result of this tarded game usually looks like this:


I like ham.  I like cheese.  John Cena is the best.  When I grow up I am going to be John Cena.  Well, not BE John Cena but be cool like him and we are going to be the winners of the WWE and the Undertaker is going to cry because we are going to beat him too.  I will be the champion.  And then, I am going to beat Chuck Norris because one time Mom you said he was the best in the world and too cool to die and that is why Bruce Lee is no longer the coolest and best and so I am going to push Chuck Norris out of the way because when I am a grown-up he will be really old and I will beat him.  Can I jump on the trampoline wearing my pirate outfit?  Are there any juice boxes?  I like cheese.  Have you heard my new beatbox I made up last night in the shower?  Do I have to clean my room?  Ba-boom! (At this point he has usually stopped talking and commenced to throwing around his stuffed animals in body slams against my furniture.  He will usually stop the blabbering at me for about 10 minutes before he forgets he is bored and then will begin the verbal assault and animal battery again.)


The most amazing thing about this rejection letter is it came via email.  WOW!  Very 21st century.  I feel like Spock.  The worst part about it: I had followed up with thank you bullshit letter and even a follow-up call a week ago since I hadn't heard anything.  They never responded.  They used the robot-drone to respond a week after my call.  Jerks.  Still wish I had the job cuz then I wouldn't be unemployed anymore unless, of course, that the job really did pay in peanuts or tuna fish.  In which case I wouldn't want that job anyway as I shouldn't eat too many nuts and I am allergic to fish.

**This is the picture of my son that I drew last night to amuse him.  Mostly I did because he was annoying me and I wanted him to stop.  Not too shabby....He knew it was him right away except for the purple shirt.  That part I did to annoy him.  That is another skill I have--annoying people and fancy computer MS Pain skills (or lack there of, dare ya to do  better).