On the fateful day of the anniversary of the crash of Oceanic Flight 815 (September 22 for you non-nerds), I flew out to the land of sun and Snoop Dogg to begin my dance with Fate, who looked a lot like slimmed down version of Drew Carey. That's right, the moment of truth has arrived- will Fate accept my challenge and ask a certain Heather Jewell to "Come on down" and be the next contestant on the Price is Right so I can become a plump, paler version of a California Girl? No. But we did get this picture:
So I think that made up for the fact that I didn't get to pack up all of the stuff I've hoarded (to think it all started with me just saving one magazine...) and move across the country in the dead of winter. Or "autumn" as they like to call it in Pennsylvania. Or do I? One of my insane schemes may have sparked the attention of a certain crass blonde talk show host.... or one of her assistants...
Pictures are worth a thousand sarcastic words, so let's look, shall we?
That's right. I send Ms. Chelsea Handler a bottle of vodka with my resume and cover letter taped around it. So it might not be the classiest way to get a job, but if someone sent me a bottle of liquor in the mail, I'd probably hire them... and that's why I am stuck in retail. And for your enjoyment, a portion of the fantastic cover letter I included:
"Dear Chelsea Handler,
You might be wondering why a random girl from Pittsburgh is sending you a bottle of vodka with her resume taped to it. Or not. I know I wouldn’t question it if someone sent me a bottle of liquor. Bottom line is I’m desperate to get out of the retail hell hole that I currently work in and I figured, why not send you my resume and a little gift? OK, I’m totally sucking up, but as I said before I’m more desperate than the ugly hooker left alone on the corner...."
The rest was a variation of what I've already written on here. And somehow this sparked their attention and I have not yet received a restraining order. I got a phone call on Tuesday basically telling me this is not how you apply for a job there (obviously, people would go broke if they had to keep getting liquor to send to their future bosses), but I should apply online because my wits and wisdom are needed there and they don't know how they got along without me. OK, maybe I made some of that up, but I'm becoming a rather good liar now. It is apparently illegal/ immoral to ship alcohol (lame. Bring back the hippie movement- free love!... or almost $20 in shipping fees) so I dressed up, prepared to dish out an elaborate lie about how I work for the Consol Energy Center and this is a "Thank you snowglobe" for performing in our fair city.... unfortunately, the one girl had just gotten engaged or is having a baby or something that girls normally care about and they did not give me a chance to perform. Oh well, I guess that's one less reason why I'm going to hell.... Wait, nix that. During my layover in Dulles, I did get annoyed with people asking me if I'm "coming or going" so I settled on "I'm going... to bury my dad in California." That at least got them to shut up. Your mother always said don't talk to strangers (because you'll annoy the shit out of them) you should have heeded her warning.
The rest of the trip was a superb mixture of 113 degree weather and thunderstorms. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is... maybe I'm just to hot(t) for LA (see Price is Right picture)
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