They won't have me to kick around anymore... fuckers.
I didn't mean you. You are lovely and not a fucker. Not at all. I love you man. No the fine folks at Large Corporation are the fuckers. You are marvelous. And looking fantastic by the way - have you lost weight? Well, whatever you're doing, keep it up, I'm serious, you look great.
Anyhoo... my last day at Large Corporation is Friday and I have mixed feelings about it. OK. Not really. My feelings are not mixed. I'm feeling pretty solidly shitty about it from all angles. I've been furiously looking for another job and have had a couple of interviews recently, but at the moment I'm in that place where I really hate to be - in suspense.
The world has gone all topsy-turvey, I'm at sea and have no idea what my future holds. It's frightening. The only thing I know for certain is that I cannot work for Large Corporation anymore. Fuckers. Not you.
Meanwhile I'm trying to make the best of a sorry situation and have been socializing like crazy and exchanging digits (in case my elderly uncle Dan is reading this - Uncle Dan I'm referring to phone numbers and email addresses, not fingertips, calm down old man) with my fellow contractors and we have been meeting for drinks after work on an almost weekly basis. Drinking is fun!
Also fun, last Wednesday instead of going out for drinks after work my fellow contractor friend, and soon to be married lady, Ladette and I threw back a couple of margaritas at my place and I gave her a cooking lesson. Under my careful tutelage she made baked rigatoni and a gorgeous Caesar salad. Overall it was a win-win situation. She got to learn 2 easy recipes that she will be able to use the rest of her life from the short-cut master (Rachel Ray and her 30 Minute Meals can suck my balls) and I got to pompously bluster on and on about how smart and great I am and showcase all of my excellent kitchen gadgetry.
In other news - I need to make an announcement to some folks who are contributing to news stories about the economy, I think I know who you are, and it goes a little something like this:
Please stop claiming that every kind of sales industry is a barometer by which we can measure economic recovery. So far I've heard stories about how monitoring the heightening or declining sales of heavy equipment, lipstick, home furnishings, and now the last straw - today I heard a story about how the sales of men's underpants is an economic barometer. It's not. I promise you it's not. At least not more than the sales of anything else.
When the the news story referred to the MUI, a.k.a. the Men's Underwear Index I swear that my head burst into flames. Stop it all of you.
Now that I've got that off my chest, and thank you for listening, I can tell you about Yeast Pilot.
Well, actually I can't tell you very much about Yeast Pilot except that I have no idea what it means, but it was written in dry erase marker on the schedule board of the woman who sits in the cube next to me and I must have walked by and read it about 100 times last week.
Intriguing no? Say it with me... Yeast Pilot.
Most likely it's some new kind of nutritional supplement that Large Corporation is planning to produce and market to whoever they market that stupid shit to.
I however have decided that it is a terrific new slang insult.
Douchbag? So passe.
Say it with me again - Yeast Pilot.
All the cool kids will be saying it.