If only Winona Ryder around to help me through this.

Today Bex, half of The New Awesome, wrote a post about "the February Factor," which is the idea that February is just sucky, sucky, sucky (I'm paraphrasing, obvs.). I generally agree, since this February has been a rickety roller coaster ride of emotions. Sorry, I apologize for the alliteration and poor metaphor, but really, I'm too tired / uninspired to come up with something original. Which is why you're getting a depressing, whiny blog post. Happy Wednesday.

I feel like every afternoon I hit my limit with work, and I end up writing Megan the same sort of thing in our email exchange: "WHY can't I find a new job? WHY can't I convince, or at least trick, anyone that I'm capable of doing something that doesn't involve typing numbers into blank boxes?" It seems like I have some sort of existential dilemma just after lunch, or at least on the days when I eat chicken tacos (which, at this point, is about every other day). It's hard for me to not think that I'm doing something wrong. I mean, I'm online every day applying for new jobs. I'm keeping in contact with staffing agencies. I'm emailing back and forth with my old boss. I'm refreshing my CareerBuilder resume. I'm applying for jobs that I know I'm qualified for. I'm networking through MySpace, for Christ's sake. I'm actually doing shit, but nothing seems to come of it, and it's so, so frustrating. I don't know what else to do! I can't even get real, face-to-face interviews!

The February Factor, when it comes to my life, seems to be my early 20s. I know that everyone else, generally, is having a hard time right now. I know that. As I've heard repeatedly, "The early-20s are really hard." Yes, I know. But I still wish I could bypass that. I'm not saying I want to start looking at condos and pay mortgages and start families and buy cars. No. I just want to be somewhat settled. I want a real salary, and I want to be able to think, "OK, things are going to work out for the next five years." I don't want to have to keep answering the question, "Where do you see yourself in the next five years?" over the phone to HR recruiters who have absolutely no intention of hiring me. I don't even know the answer to that question yet! I don't even know what I want to be doing in the next two weeks! All I know is that I want a job that I'm comfortable in, something that I can be even remotely interested in, and something where I feel like I'm doing something productive and can actually care about my work. I haven't found it. I certainly don't care if John Smith's ACT scores are above the 23 composite score. (I don't even know that that means, frankly, since I took the SATs, and the fact that I don't really get the numbers I'm plugging into my computer frustrates me. I'd love to be more involved in this process, but right now I'm in a position that doesn't even require a degree, much less the understanding of the ACT test.)

I have a bad feeling that it's going to be February until I turn twenty eight.

My twenty dollars solidifies that all of my opinions are right.

I wasn't going to update the blog-oh until the afternoon, but then I came across a transcript with six separate SAT scores, and I figured, "Hey! Time for a break!" (Not that I haven't been spending the last twenty minutes reading Cory Kennedy's blog. NO JUDGING.)

I won twenty bucks in our Oscars pool last night. Fiiiinally, paying attention to trivial trends in this year's award show season paid off! I got seventeen picks correct out of twenty three. My major mistakes were Alan Arkin (I prefered Alan Arkin, but I was expecting Eddie Murphy, which wouldn't have been terrible, since Christina made the point that he might stop doing fat-suit movies) and Melissa Etheridge (Honestly? Is this the world we're living in?). I even picked The Lives of Others over Pan's Labyrinth, and I'm glad that the people who vote for Best Foreign have sense to reward the movies that actually make statements and shit instead of just giving the award to the most "entertaining." (See the year that Amelie lost to No Man's Land.) It still pained me to see Little Miss Sunshine win for the writing. I was generally pleased with the rest of the show.

All Of My Opinions Are Right: Oscar Edition.

I've seen a lot of movies this year, and even though I haven't seen all the movies nominated for awards, I still think I know what the hell I'm talking about. Also, I'm been looking at hundreds of transcripts from the same two North Shore high schools and I need a goddamn break. So!

Best Supporting Actress
This is pretty obvious. Jennifer Hudson is going to win. And I'm glad because I enjoyed Dreamgirls enough to say that it was a pretty good movie, and I really enjoyed Jennifer Hudson. Plus, I love how awkward it'll be when she's the only Oscar winner who will thank God. YOU KNOW SHE WILL.

Best Supporting Actor
I'm kind of torn on this one. I really liked Little Children, but Jackie Earl Haley is not going to win. I don't even know who he is. Plus he's phenomenally unattractive in real life, and actors only win awards for pretending to be ugly. I didn't see Blood Diamond so I can't say anything about what's his face. (I suppose I could copy and paste his name from IMDb, but, eh.) Mark Wahlberg was good in The Departed, but you kind of forget he's involved in it because he doesn't do much other than say "fuck" and "cunt" and shoot one guy. It might be a close call between Eddie Murphy and Alan Arkin. Even though I wasn't a huge fan of Little Miss Sunshine, I'd rather see Alan Arkin win. Eddie Murphy's portrayal was just a longer version of James Brown's Hot Tub.

Best Actress
This is another obvious one: Helen Mirren is going to win. I love Helen Mirren, and I loved her portrayal of Elizabeth II. The Oscars have a habit of rewarding actors who can do really good impressions for a couple of hours, so Mirren's going to get it. But really, all of the actresses in this category did great jobs this year. Penelope Cruz proved yet again that when she doesn't have to speak English she can focus on emotional range. Meryl Streep turned a supporting, "evil" character into something with depth. Judi Dench was fucking terrifying. And Kate Winslet was great and I'm sorry that Little Children went so unnoticed.

Best Actor
The one nominated movie in this category that I've seen is Half Nelson, which I loved, but Forest Whitaker is going to win. Which is fine. I'm sure he's good, and his droopy eye is endearing. I honestly don't care who wins in this category as long as it isn't Will Smith.

Best Picture
So, four out of the five movies this year are these really dour, sad epics and it kind of reflects the attitude of the world and shit right now. You've got The Departed, wherein pretty much everyone dies. There's The Queen, which is like, ew, old people with funny accents talking about stuff. There's Letters from Iwo Jima which is long, violent, and in Japanese. And then Babel, which I haven't seen, but will assume is like Crash but not directed by a Scientologist. Bummer, dudes. It's just like the '70s, but instead of stuff we'll remember in twenty years from now, we have a bunch of movies that no one will really want to watch again. (OK, I'll give The Departed some slack, but WHO is going to buy The Queen on DVD?) Luckily, there is a comedy to break up the malaise. Unfortunately, that comedy is Little Miss Sunshine, which is like National Lampoon's Vacation for people who read The New Yorker. So basically, I don't really care about what wins Best Picture. I'll root for The Departed, I guess.

And if Little Miss Sunshine wins Best Original Screenplay, I will lose my shit. Honestly. The grandfather DIES and they STEAL HIS BODY FROM THE HOSPITAL. The younger brother finds out he's COLORBLIND at SEVENTEEN. STEVE CARRELL'S CHARACTER RUNS INTO HIS EX-BOYFRIEND AND FELLOW PROUST-SCHOLAR RIVAL IN A GAS STATION IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. (Like, surprise!) (Also, Steve Carrell's character's ex-boyfriend does NOT look like a philosophy student.) I think one of the requirements for BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY should be PLAUSIBILITY.

OK, I'm done. Happy Oscars!

Friday Morning Wrap-Up: Touché, douché.

1. This morning Christina and I were both awake before seven and watching television (I didn't know stuff was on that early!). We giggled when the woman on NBC 5 said, during a segment on this weekend's new movies, "Reno 'Nine-Eleven.'" Reno 9/11! Never forget!

2. We have a new roommate moving in next month.

3. I got my hair cut last night at Art + Science and it was so worth the extra forty dollars. Go fuck yourself, Hair Cuttery!

4. I got a few visits from a Big Virginia University this week, and I happened to look at a high school classmate's AOL profile - he happened to go to this Big Virginia University - and it said, "I hate people with blogs. I don't care what you think." Ha!

5. Speaking of you not caring what I think, the Oscars are coming up on Sunday. Did you know that? Well, don't you want to know who I think will win? Stay tuned! I'll be bored again in three hours.

6. My dad asked me the other night how I felt about Osama Bin Ladin running for president. I'm afraid that I can only half-way blame the mix-up on the morphine he's taking.

7. Morgan got more press today, this time on the Washingtonian's new blog, After Hours. Notice the pictures they featured - I guess they like redheads, huh?

I'm expecting a lot more gin and tonics in the second half of 2007.

I know I said I wasn't going to blog about work, but today I found out that we get annual raises in July.

I'm expecting thirty seven cents an hour.

That's a three-percent raise. Go at it, you math geniuses.

Lunchtime Poll: Do you hate hipsters?

A few days ago Morgan and I were chatting online about how goddamn popular her blog is (it getting national press coverage and such). She had complained about getting negative comments on her posts making fun of the pictures she uploaded. (I went back and checked the post featuring my picture. No comments at all!) She said to me, "Why do people hate hipsters?"

I think there are many different level of hipsters. There are the kind who just wear clothes they find comfortable and attractive and listen to music they enjoy. And then there are the kind featured on Blue States Lose and Team Party Crash (way to go, DC brethren) who do, indeed, suck. These are the people I'm totally not interested in (even though ONCE I went to a Blue State Lose-worthy party in Wicker Park and I am NOT proud and punished myself by looking through many, many gross pictures to find this one, where at least my hair looks good. Also notice that I'm wearing pants in said picture).

Also, there are the kind of hipsters (read: rich white hipsters) who move to poor neighborhoods to escape gentrification, and then bitch five years later when their suddenly rich, white, hip neighborhoods are forcing out the poor minorities. In Chicago, see Wicker Park, Bucktown, Ukranian Village, Pilsen. New York: see Williamsburg.

Also, there's American Apparel.

So, readers, let me know your thoughts. Are you a hipster? Do you hate hipsters? Aren't, like, The Shins totes three years ago? Let me know!

Ass Wednesday.

I spent most of my morning talking on the phone with my mother, trying to figure out when I'm going home. Looks like my big spring vacation will be a trip to Montross, scheduled tentatively for the eighth through the thirteenth of March. Afterward I spent about a half-hour reading about pancreatic cancer.

I am not in a very good mood today.

I called my old temp agency's recruiter yesterday, and she told me to send her my resume and she'd start looking for permanent placement for me. I'm not holding my breath, though, since it seems that I'm generally unemployable despite a year's worth of actual work experience.

My new new year's resolution.

Because my Site Meter tells me that someone at DePaul is searching for me on Facebook and reading my blog (remember: I see everything), I've made a decision to not write about it at all.

The job hunt has gone into full effect after a debacle this afternoon. I can't wait to leave.

And then I realized we were on Belmont, and it was probably just a pack of trannies.

A huge, white SUV-limo almost hit Theo on Saturday night as we were crossing the street at Belmont and Clark, and the first thing I could think of to say was, "Do you think Vince Vaughn was in that limo?"

Is nothing sacred?

This is a real thing.

Finally! Some good news.

My thermometer told me that it was twenty one degrees this morning, but it felt like Spring. After a week of sub-zero temperatures, the low twenties feel like the upper fifties. And look at those upcoming high temperatures! It's going to feel like Spring Break pretty soon.

Events that transpired in the last eighteen hours.

1. I found out my dad has cancer.

2. I spoked eight Parliament Lights 100s.

3. I watched The Departed.

4. I got really drunk from three gin and tonics.

5. I was un-dumped.

My short-term happiness will be determined by what happens in the next twelve hours.

Alright, I'm about to have a bi-polar moment here, but just bear with me.

In twelve hours I will hopefully about to get drunk because this week will have finally ended. And I'll be happy. I'll be done with everything I had to get through. I will have heard from my parents and my dad will be fine, and I can go ahead and buy a plane ticket to Washington so I can go visit Laurie and Harrisonburg in March instead of buying one to Richmond to go home.

And I'm getting my movies back tonight, which will be awkward, because I made plans to get them thinking I was fine (I felt fine! Whatever! No big deal! I'm OVER it!) and now I think that I'll end up just being really angry and trying my best not to be an asshole. Even though I don't think I should feel guilty for being an asshole.

I've never had to do one of these picking-up-the-stuff-I-left-at-your-house things before.

But, whatever. I don't even care, because I've got more important things to think about. And once I get the inevitable (optimism, my friends, is my new ally) good news from home, I can ease into this weekend knowing that the worst is over, and that next week will be great, and so will the week after that, etc. I haven't the time or, honestly, the energy to stress over bullshit anymore, and the sooner I can get through it all, the better. So there.

Lunchtime Poll Results: Midwesterners are easy.

Before I get to the results of yesterday's very scientific poll, I thought I'd mention that I was really happy people visited and commented. I should have at least one lunchtime poll a week. They're a lot of fun, and you'll learn something new about your Internet peers - and you might learn a thing or two about yourself. Any burning issues you need resolved? Let me know.

So, it seems like the consensus was similar to what I already thought. "Hooking up" seems to define different behavior depending on where you're from. There were a couple of comments from Midwesterners saying that they don't think the term necessarily has to define actual sex, which makes much more sense, in my opinion. If you're telling someone that you "hooked up," you're most likely using the term to be purposefully vague. If you wanted the person to know you had sex, you'd probably just say it.

And as for the second portion of the poll, I discovered that, generally, everyone enjoys making out, even Midwesterners. The two Midwesterners who have told me that they didn't like the activity clearly have some issues.

Lunchtime Poll: Do you like to hook up, y/n?

Kristin and I have discovered (really it was Kristin and someone else who brought this to my attention, but this is my blog and I'm the one taking an informal Internet poll here), being so East Coast and all, that people in the Midwest seem to have a different definition of "hooking up." When I was in college, "hooking up" could mean a variety of things ranging from "making out on her roommate's pile of laundry" to "I sure hope JMU doesn't stop handing out the emergency contraceptive pill because I might be preggers." Turns out that people from the Midwest (well, the two that we asked) claim that hooking up means sex. Doing it. Going all the way. Hand jobs don't count as hooking up in Illinois, apparently.

So, here's what I'm asking from everyone who reads this: please leave a comment and tell me what you think hooking up means. Can it just mean fondling? Does it have to define actual sex? (I assume some sort of penetration is the definition of sex. We can discuss that at a later date.) (Oh, God, my brother reads my blog and he's going to see that I used the word "penetration.") And, in your comment, let me know where you're from: the East Coast, the Midwest, Pacific Northwest, Texas, etc. I won't even get offended if you leave anonymous comments. I'm just very curious.

Also, if you're from the Midwest and you enjoy making out, please let me know. I'm not going to proposition you or anything (although I was Make Out King my senior year of college. I have a plaque to prove it); it seems like the two Midwesterners we "polled" were also not fans of making out, which is something that Kristin and I just DON'T GET.

You did it!

I'd like to dedicate this congratulatory post to my roommate Christina "WHY DON'T I HAVE A BOYFRIEND?" Boucher, who managed to make it to Valentine's Day before I could come up with one hundred reasons why she didn't have a boyfriend.

I could only think of ninety.

I'm giving the people what they want.

My work ethic is pretty low right now, so I'm going to post as many times today as possible. Which might end up being, like, four times (and that's an optimistic goal), since I'll most likely run out of things to say.

So, someone found my blog this morning by searching for this:

Here you go:

I don't "do" full screen.

Last night I rented The Departed from the Hollywood Video down the street from my apartment. When I got to Kristin's I realized I had accidentally picked up a FULL SCREEN copy, and I was really upset and said that we couldn't watch it. On my walk home from her apartment - after I had had a half bottle of cheap red wine (it was $6.99 at The Market Place, and, considering their price inflation, it was really about $4.99 at Normal Grocery Store) - I went back to Hollywood and told them I had to exchange the DVD. I felt bad for about five minutes - I even said, "I'm sorry, I feel really snobby about this, but I just can't watch a full screen DVD. Ha ha!" But then I realized I was talking to a grown man with a poorly-groomed goatee who had so much product in his hair that it was all standing on its end, and I immediately stopped caring.

Sweating the small stuff, etc.

I'm only bitter because it's Valentine's Day on principle. I've never really cared very much about it, either way, probably because I've never been in a relationship ON Valentine's Day. The only time I really had a memorable holiday was junior year when Megan and I watched Morvern Collar, which was really bad so we were like, "Let's make out." I doubt I'll have the same luck tonight.

Anyway, this is just a shitty day that just happens to also be Valentine's Day, and frankly, I have other stuff to deal with. Like, for example, how my new boss told me yesterday that, no, he's not actually going to move me under a new manager and give me an office like he told he was last week. (I'm beginning to see a pattern here with the way I'm delivered my news.) This is fine, because this plot was just a way to butter me up and make me stay, since he freaked out slightly when he found out I was looking for a new job (why else would he offer me AN OFFICE?).

This weekend we're showing the apartment to get a new roommate, which I'm not particularly excited about, but it has to be done. At this point, I'm no longer nervous about living with a stranger, because I've done it and it sucks but I'm just going to have to deal with it.

And more importantly, my father is having the first of two surgeries today, and he's going to be in the hospital in Richmond for the next two weeks. All of this is really sudden and scary, especially since there are tests to be done after the second surgery that affects what happens after this week, and I'm really upset that I'm not home right now. I'm trying to stay positive because my parents are doing a pretty good job at being optimistic (at least they seem like it over the phone). And I'm so self-aware of my own frustrations that seem to be piling up on top of each other all at once, and I realize that I tend to freak out when faced with all of this bullshit.

So I've got to keep positive and be excited about little things, like how I'm hanging out with friends tonight, and how maybe we can find a roommate that's really cool and turns out to be a new friend, and how both Andrew Bird and The Arcade Fire announced tour dates that include Chicago. And hey, at least I don't look like this anymore:
Woof.

Pity, party of one?

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and, since I live in Chicago, there's a 40% chance of snow. And since I'm not dating anyone, there's a 100% chance I'll be spending my holiday with Kristin, cooking a chicken recipe my friend Morgan sent me in the mail, eating said dinner on the kitchen floor (as Kristin does not have a table, or any furniture, yet, for that matter), drinking a bottle of wine, and hopefully watching a movie where a lot of people get shot (my pick is The Departed).

For those of you who have plans with a special someone tomorrow night, congratulations. I mean no ill will. I just hope you don't screw it up by telling your boyfriend/girlfriend that you love them two weeks before breaking up with them because you're "just not compatible in the long run." I don't know about you, but I think that's just slightly incongruous.

Still trying to lose the awkward teenage blues.

Christina affirmed her status as my Number One BFF again tonight. After I was dumped, essentially, at Chipotle (note to self: never agree to having "a talk" at Chipotle ever again), received not-so-great medical news from home, and was in a general malaise because the dining cart suddenly detached from the Normalcy Express and headed down the fast track to Nutzville, Christina knew that the only way to cheer me up was to make me lay in Heaven (which is what she calls my bed. We have a completely normal, healthy, platonic living arrangement) and close my eyes. Then she played "Night Moves" and scratched my head, and I realized that no matter what happens, I'll always have at least one friend who fully understands the healing powers of Bob Seger.

I have a penchant for being cryptic when I'm bitter and can't sleep.

Well, the one good thing I can say about today is that it's suddenly warmer, with the temperature hitting a steaming twenty seven degrees. I didn't have to wear my gloves today, and I only had four layers on (instead of my usual five).

This week, however, doesn't seem to be improving on last week. I'm holding out for good news from the homefront and trying to stay positive. And since my money's pretty tight, I'll most likely be eating a lot of peanut butter sandwiches for lunch instead of splurging on chicken tacos. And work is about to get much more stressful and weirder.

Gah, it's only just past midnight on Monday morning and I'm ready to throw in the towel.

A few more random thoughts:

I saw The Shins on Saturday night and was incredibly bored.

The Magnetic Fields have become much more relevant in the last eight hours.

I'm hoping the new Andrew Bird album can keep me sane until Friday.

Who needs PBS? I'm learning everything I need to know on my own.

I've been suffering from blogger apathy lately. Nothing really interesting has been happening of late, and when I do try to write blog posts based on my opinions (which are always right) I end up getting bored because the Internet is fickle and not as accepting of my opinions as it should be. (This little guy and I have a lot in common.) Also, I know that if I wrote a blog post defending Dreamgirls as a relatively good movie musical (definitely not Best Picture quality but far superior to Chicago) based on my film studies background (I took film genres once and we focused on musicals), some a-hole (I'm talking to you, my Google Reader-using frenemy) would leave a d-bag comment about it. Also, it's time I get "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" out of my head.

So instead of giving you a top ten list of my favorite movie musicals (with commentary - you're really missing it, you guys!) (1. Fiddler on the Roof, 2. Singin' in the Rain, 3. All That Jazz, 4. Little Shop of Horrors, 5. The Music Man, 6. Top Hat, 7. Jesus Christ Superstar, 8. Camp, 9. Dancer in the Dark, 10. Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory SORRY I COULDN'T HELP IT) and my least-favorites (1. The Sound of Music, 2. The Sound of Music, 3. The Sound of Music, 4. The Sound of Music, 5. The Sound of Music, 6. The Sound of Music, 7. The Sound of Music, 8. The Sound of Music, 9. The Sound of Music, 10. The Sound of Music), I'll give you a list of lessons I learned this week. These are important ones, folks.

1. If I buy sweaters at H&M every week, I will most likely overdraw my account.

2. Having multiple strangers compliment me on said sweaters only encourages the overdrawing of my account.

3. The Puppy Bowl is still more exciting than the Super Bowl, although the Bissell Kitten Half Time Show paled in comparison to Prince and "Purple Rain".

4. I am completely nuts and will get mad and loved ones in my head even though it's really just ME who is in a bad mood. This will escalate into me thinking that I'm legitimately mad at people, when it's just me being crazy. Morgan gave me these wise words: "When I feel that way, I just say to myself, 'Morgan, not all of your feelings are valid.'" This will be my new mantra: "You're opinions may be completely on-target, but your feelings are on the fast track to Crazytown."

5. [Redacted]

6. The death of Anna Nicole Smith is the only reason I would purposely watch Nancy Grace. What an entertaining episode that was last night.

7. I'm becoming addicted to Law and Order: SVU against my best intentions. I hate it. I love it. I hate it! I love it! I hate it and I love it! It's something about my pedophiliaphilia combined with completely unrealistic story lines involving big corporations poisoning people or the Indian (dots) Zach Braff (or is he the Indian Ryan Reynolds? discuss amongst yourselves).

8. I learned that I love (and slightly hate) Sarah Vowell, as I am currently reading Assassination Vacation.

9. I only ever want to see Carl and the Passions perform improv. They are the. best. group. ever.

10. Despite its closing a few weeks ago for health code violations, I will still patronize the McDonald's down the street from my office.

To my new reader in Bradenton, Florida:

I sure hope you found what you were looking for.

And I think I love you.

Change is gonna do me good.

I'm taking a "Me" day today, partly because Chicago is depressed as hell because of the Super Bowl (I'm telling you, people, that if you saw that puggle last night on the Puppy Bowl, you'd be all smiles!), partly because Chicago is still really, really, really fucking cold, and also because I had an awkward phone interview scheduled for noon and I figured I'd be two-percent less awkward if I did it in my living room instead of surrounded by college students marching off to their accounting classes. But mostly because it's cold.

Now I'm going to go vacuum my living room and finally change my sheets. (It's been too long since I've done either of those things.) Also, I'll probably be singing "Honky Cat," which I will have in my head for the rest of the week because of this:



Thank you for being, Julie Klausner.

Holy (frozen) balls, it's so goddamn cold.

It's two degrees right now.

I went outside earlier and walked to the bank. I had a check for thirteen dollars and ten cents and that's how much I need money. Of course, the ATM vestibule was closed and I had to deposit my check at the drive-up ATM. I waited in line behind a red Buick that too foreeevvveeerrr. Then I walked six blocks home. I felt like I had Botox injections because my face would not move.

Friday Morning Wrap-Up.

Man, it's been a rough week for work. I came in late four of the five days. That wasn't a good move, but considering morale, motivation, and uhh, I can't think of another thing but it doesn't matter because no one cares and I usually get here at like, 7:30, so a week of coming in at 8:10 isn't going to kill anyone. (Plus, I've been staying until five and getting paid not-overtime, which is just like overtime (since I've technically working more than I'm supposed to - which is thirty-five hours - and have to get permission to do so) except that I don't get paid extra for it. I LOVE MY JOB.) Also, the office is crazy right now because it's Wear Your Bears Jersey Day, and also because about five or six people are moving to another building, which means all week I've been listening to a few coworkers bitch about boxing up their stuff and reminiscing about all of the good times here in our building. I'm not really too torn up about losing people; it'll be really quiet in my part of the office, which will be weird. But to fill the void of our precious co-workers, we're getting free pizza for lunch. And I've already had two Krispy Kreme doughnuts with blue and orange sprinkles.

On Wednesday night I went out with Kristin to dinner at Sopo, where we had our usual waitress who hates us. I used to feel sorry for her because we'd only go on Monday nights because they'd have two- dollar burgers and three-dollar pints, so we'd get sufficiently fed and tipsy for about twelve dollars. The waitress was always pretty bitchy, and I always felt guilty and gave her a bigger tip than usual. On Wednesday she was typically bitchy, and she even brought us our check really early, saying, "Hey, do you guys mind closing out? I'm really hungover and just ready to go home THANKS." I hope she wasn't surprised when Kristin gave her $3.78 tip on our thirty-three dollar check.

After Sopo we went to see Inland Empire at the Music Box. Now, Kristin had never seen a David Lynch movie, and I was surprised that she agreed to see this one with me. When I brought it up, she told me she saw the trailer for it and it looked really good. I didn't mention that she did the same thing with Blue Velvet and only watched twenty minutes of it. I was nice enough to mention that Inland Empire is three hours long, but she was up for it. And she was a good sport about it, and I don't think she completely hated it. But let me tell you this: it's pretty nutz. Like, ten times more nutz than any other Lynch movie I've ever seen. But I liked it a lot, especially now that I've had a few days to think about it and have gotten "Sinnerman" out of my head. (I'm not going to give any details about the movie, because that'd take about eight blog posts and I just don't feel like it.)

For Sunday's festivities, I'm going to see a play at Steppenwolf with Christina and then going to Steve and Lisa's to "watch the Super Bowl," which really means "watch the Puppy Bowl." I know I live in Chicago and everyone's supposed to give two shits about the Bears, but I don't. Now, I will gladly brave the cold on Sunday if they win, since I'm sure everyone is going to go absolutely crazy on the streets, and that'd be pretty entertaining.

Finally, I'd like to wish everyone a happy Groundhog Day. And it's also Nicole's birthday! I wish I shared my birthday with this classy lady; I got Oliver Stone, instead.

I'm still an idiot.

I posted my resume on Monster without any expectations other than to receive calls from mumbled "HR representatives" in strange area codes (603 is a popular one) offering me positions selling insurance. Imagine my surprise, then, when I got an email from an HR rep from a large Chicago company requesting I put in an application for an administrative assistant position. (It was legit - it's a real company and the HR lady didn't have a Yahoo mail address.) So I did, and I immediately got an email from the woman requesting a phone interview. It also mentioned that I would have to take a short prescreening assessment test online, and that it had to be completed before my interview.

No sweat!

When I came back from lunch and had about two minutes before I really had to get back to work, I opened the test. When I read "assessment," I was expecting the test with questions like, "How well do you work in a group?" Or: "Do you set deadlines for yourself?" You know, the type of questions that do have a correct answer and encourage you to lie. "Why, yes! I work very well under pressure!"

Then I start the test and realize I have to know math. Like, percentages. What? What? Fuck. Shit. Analogies? Okay, that's not so bad. Put this sentence in order and determine if it's a true statement? I can do that! FRACTIONS?! WHAT?! FUCK.

And the PHONE was ringing (no one ever calls me!) and I couldn't pause and I wasted a good minute and a half on someone from the phone center asking about a transcript when I could have been doing long division and SHIT it was scary. I wasn't prepared! I couldn't believe it! I finished it with twenty seconds to spare, but still! I just took an SAT pre-test that determines if I really get an interview.

When I closed the window for the Scary Test, my GMail account was open and I saw that the email from the testing site had the following instructions:

Please allow approximately 15 minutes to complete the assessment process. Once the test begins, you cannot return to complete it at a later time. Before beginning the assessment process, make sure that you are by yourself in a quiet environment that will allow you to focus on each question.
Have scratch paper and a pencil handy.

I am so. Stupid. I'm going to go stress-eat an entire bag of cinnamon hearts now.



UPDATE: Nevermind. I got the phone interview.