The beautiful people ride the Clark bus.

This is from an email I received this morning:

I just wanted to inform you that tomorrow morning from 8:30 am and 10 am there is going to be a drum ceremony on the 8th floor of the building sponsored by the Dept of Management.

Such is life workin' in the Big City, I suppose.

Speaking of Big City L-i-v-i-n', the CTA has been especially rewarding lately. On Monday, Christina and I had the Memorial Day treat of riding the Clark bus north to Adam and Alissa's. We had to literally flag one down as it zoomed right by our stop (Christina is very aggressive when it comes to hailing buses), and when we got on I realized very quickly that the driver wasn't ignoring us out of spite; on the contrary: he was trying to do us a favor, as there was a very loud Asian lady shouting about a whole variety of things, including CitiBank, Korean broadcasting networks, Wrigleyville: Past and Present, and Christina's toenail polish ("Where did girls get thirty-five dollar for expensive pedicure? Steal pedicure?"). There was, of course, a home game at Wrigley, so we got to sit there for several minutes in traffic while the bus driver and the Asian lady yelled at each other ("If you don't shut up I'm going to make you get off this bus!" "OK, CTA! I got your message. You got my message and I got your message.")

And, just our luck, we happened to catch another Crazy Bus on the way home This time we sat next to a woman who was clearly celebrating Memorial Day in her own, very special way: by pushing around a walker decorated with American flags and balloons. She broke her silence about five minutes after we boarded, deciding that it was the perfect time to thank the bus driver (whom she also referred to as "CTA," because that's the universal name crazies give to our fine transit employees) for being so good to her, as opposed to the PACE bus drivers in the suburbs. After an awkward response ("...The CTA... appreciates your business..."), the woman sang a verse of "American the Beautiful" and mentioned how she asked "the man playing an accordion outside of Wrigley Field" to play "God Bless America," and, natch, the Cubs started to win. ("There must have been angels in the outfield!" she suggested.") AND THEN she started recounting how she met Bob Hope on the street and how he sent her a silver-plated Bible with one hundred and forty-eight dollars in it - "One hundred symbolizing the number of years he lived on this earth, and forty-eight signifying the year of my birth." (Obvs.) Also, Bob Hope fans will be happy to know that, according to my new friend, there's a golf course in Libertyville, Illinois (aptly named) where he drops golf balls from Heaven.

I understandably lost my shit when the Asian woman boarded the bus and sat down next to her patriotic counterpart. I was this close to convincing Christina to ride the bus four blocks further just to see how this encounter played out.

I think Charles Nelson Reilly is dropping crazy down from Heaven. God bless America.

This week in Google searches.

I've got a case of the Tuesdays.

The first day back at work after a three-day weekend is awful, much worse than a regular weekend. On Mondays, my hatred of every person, place, and thing is pretty high, but on the Tuesday after Memorial Day it's off the charts, as if I woke up this morning and wrote in my diary, "Dear Humanity: FUCK YOU."

This morning I almost tripped over the legs of a surly high school-aged girl on the train. They were outstretched into the aisle and were almost touching the feet of the woman sitting opposite of her. This is morning rush hour, my friend. Retract those legs! I ignored the girl, however, and when she stood up at Armitage and loitered in front of the seat, I patiently waited for her and her stupid book-bag covered with hilarious (I'm sure) phrases written in white-out pen to move so I could sit down. But before that happened, a surly middle-aged woman pushed me out of the way and grabbed it. I let it go, but only because she looked like a man and that must be really hard for her.

Also, Mondays are when I come out of my alcohol-induced dreamland and remember, "Oh, wait, I HATE my job!" Every Monday I sit here, contemplating calls to staffing agencies to "check in" and all that shit and UGH I'm tired of writing about how I hate my job and hate looking for a new one. So, just to get it over with, here's the real clever / depressing thing I realized this morning: I haven't even begun to pay my dues and I'm not even at ENTRY-LEVEL yet.

I'm eighty-six pages into Atlas Shrugged because I'm desperate for some kind of affirming philosophy that will make me care less about others and how they affect my happiness. It's not really working yet, nor do I expect it to because I already know Ayn Rand is a See-You-Next-Tuesday, but it was either her or The Secret. The nice thing about Ayn Rand is that her books are pretty much like The Valley of the Dolls, only there aren't any drugs, the sex is rougher, and they have "philosophy." I love Ayn Rand because she was so delusional: Atlas Shrugged is just chock-full of rich, corporate types who want to help out the underprivileged. And they're the bad guys.

I'm in the running for Most Awkward Person: 2007.

Last week I had an interview with a woman from the other side of the office (the counseling / recruitment side) for an open admissions counselor position. It was just an informal thing, but it went really well because I could answer all of those theoretical questions with answers placed in the context of the office. Because I already work here.

That was on Wednesday. I decided this morning that I'd email her to see how the process was going and when I might hear something about a real interview.

When I have interviews for other jobs that are, you know, not in this office, I can somewhat avoid awkward encounters with potential employers. Of course, with my luck, I get to look ten kinds of crazy in front of the woman who is in charge of filling a position I want. Instead of just emailing her, I had the chance to meet her in the hall as I was on my way to fill up my bright red mug featuring a bulldog with water, and, after asking about the position, I dropped said bulldog mug on the floor and scrambled like an idiot to retrieve it. Nice.

By the way, there are three open positions, and there is no reason why I shouldn't get one of them. It's entry level and I already work here, for God's sake. And in the even that I am not selected, I'm going to have to come up with a Plan B for my life.

Charles Nelson Reilly: 1931 - 2007.

Man, my Halloweens are going to be a little bit more depressing now.

Oh dear.

I just learned a lot today.

Things I love.

I love it when you make plans to see a matinée with someone and it turns into a twenty five-hour date.

Sadly, there were no bare bear asses on State Street today.

This weekend the Palmer House Hilton on State Street is hosting International Mr. Leather, which is the annual conference for gay men who love leather and the gay men who love them want to have anonymous hotel sex with them. The best part of this festival(?) is that there are a lot of plain-clothed leather daddies walking around outside my office, which is just a block from the Hilton. Also, Hal Sparks is headlining one of the events, which tempted me to do a Google search for "Hal Sparks gay?," albeit only in my head, because I'm honestly not that concerned.

No jobs for Tylah.

It's only 9:15 but there have already been exciting things afoot in the office this morning. When Adam and I took our usual break to get muffins from the fake Starbucks, one of the unfriendly student workers who work at the front desk - our own blonde version of Princess Coldstare - asked me to hold the door open for her. This is the first time she's spoken to me since she started working here several months ago. When we came back from downstairs, we made brief eye contact and slipped out a muffled "hey." Now I'm going to have to say "hey" to this gal while avoiding her eye-contact. Great.

Also, my coworker got a five-hundred-dollar ticket last night because, apparently, switching cars on a moving El train is illegal. There were a lot of loud "motherfucker"s yelled out behind me this morning, and it was quite exciting.

I have an informal interview for a new job in my office today. It'll probably be pretty bizarre. I'll write more about that later.

I'm feeling a little better today, although my throat is still a little lumpy and I'm only hearing at three-quarters my normal capacity. My left ear is a little stopped-up, but that means that I'm really just hearing my own voice at a deeper volume and, hey, who can complain about that?

Finally, this picture pretty much killed me when I saw it this morning. CAN I RELATES?

Laundry list.

1. I did not get the great job I applied / interviewed for, making me officially unemployable. Well, not so much if you take into account that the temp agency woman (ex-retail manager who told me I don't actually need insurance because nobody gets sick in the summer) called this morning with a "long-term temp position with the 'possibility' of a full-time job."

2. I hate those goddamn bitches who work in HR. (Not you, Kristel, but only because you don't live in Chicago and haven't called me with jobs managing retail car rental companies.)

3. I'm sick, still. I'm missing work, again. I woke up this morning with my entire body hurting and I want to die, just to get it over with.

4. I had a rather shitty weekend. The mediocrity almost cancels out the fact that I saw The Arcade Fire last night and they were amazing, one of the best shows I've ever seen in my life.

5. I'm listening to a show on NPR right now discussing the upcoming cicada invasion that's about to start tomorrow. I'm listening to two guys digging in the dirt and finding a cicada. Seriously. Riveting radio. The segment started with a parody of the "Jaws 2" sketch from Saturday Night Live, except instead of a land shark there was a cicada at the door announcing itself as a candygram. And you all wonder why I hate NPR.

6. This:

(Whatever. She knows what she did.)

Falling to pieces.

My computer is broken. Literally.

I took the day off because I'm owed a comp day from working a Saturday back in the fall, so I'd been spending all morning in bed. Finally I was like, "Must. Get. Out. Of Bed." I walked to Argo, which is the preferred location for Spending All Day On My Computer In A Public Place When I Could Be Doing It At Home And Not Spending Five Dollars On A Small Cup Of Tea.

When I pulled my laptop out of my bag and opened it, I noticed that the bottom of the screen looked funny. I investigated, and realized that it's started to detach from the plastic casing.

This is the second physical ailment my computer is suffering from. When I took it to be repaired a month ago, they didn't attach the panel on the side (where the USB and Firewire ports are) all the way, and the plastic has now cracked.

I think I'm due for a trip to my favorite place.

This is really just a test to see if she checks this again.

I remember watching this documentary about John Waters where he said something about his parents not being allowed to watch his movies. He also said that Divine's parents were also banned from seeing them, and that after Divine's death Waters reminded them that they were still not supposed to see them. I think it's amazing that their parents had such self-control, although I suppose one wouldn't particularly want to watch their son dress in drag and eat dog shit.

Yesterday the Chicago Reader posted the picture of my cat reading Lolita on the homepage and, because I was so excited, I emailed my mother. Of course, the website included a link to this blog, and of course my mother CLICKED ON IT, thereby breaking our unspoken agreement that such an invasion of privacy is off limits. It's not only because I don't want her reading what I have to say; it's also for her benefit. She doesn't really want to know what I'm doing with my life either. I bet she wasn't pleased to know that I use "fuck" regularly in my vocabulary, and not just when I'm fighting with her. (For the record, the f-word slips out only in extreme cases, and don't think I'm the only one to use it.)

Anyway, I received an email this morning with the subject line reading, "blog," and immediately after I saw it in my inbox, I thought, "Hmm, I'm not going to be happy in twenty seconds." Luckily, it was short and to the point, and she basically said, "I can't believe the personal stuff you put in your blog. Now don't go write about my saying that." (Sorry.)

My response was that my blog isn't THAT personal, as I keep my heroin abuse secret, and I also sent her links to a few blogs I read that are incredibly and irresponsibly personal, just so she'd see the difference. I think, though, that she's more upset that I called her gay.

Happy Birthday, C. B.!

Today is my roommate / BFF C. "WHY DON'T I HAVE A BOYFRIEND?!" B.'s birthday.

I was told not to use her full name in case someone she knows Googles her name and finds a bad picture of her face. So, I'll keep it to the initials.

Also, you can just read last year's post.

According to Jim is finally canceled.

Jerry Falwell is finally dead.

Just one more week of Rory Gilmore's butt-chin!

I've been having a very bi-polar day, where I've been feeling either anxiously great or anxiously shitty. Well, not exactly "shitty;" rather, just bummed. I'm not sure if it has something to do with the weather (it's beautiful outside, but also eighty-something degrees, which means I'll have to suck it up and take off my hoodie this afternoon when I go home, and it's way too early to deal with the arm issues in such a head-on way (I usually give in to the short-sleeves in July.)) or the fact that I've been watching the current (and last) season of Gilmore Girls online for the past three days at work, and it's very stressful because Rory's graduating from college and freaking out because she doesn't have a job and I'm like, "I know! It's so hard!" but then I think, "Hey, I've been out for TWO years. And I didn't go to Yale. Fuck you, Rory Gilmore. (But thanks for not marrying Logan. That only took THREE YEARS TO FIGURE OUT. Too bad Jess is on Heroes now.)" (Also, Gilmore Girls? Why has this season sucked? I know Amy Sherman-Palladino left the writing staff, but seriously, do you expect me to take this year's storyline seriously? So, it takes five years for Luke and Lorelai to start dating, and then Lorelai decides it's over one day and then SEVEN EPISODES LATER is married to Chris and then breaks that off after five episodes. And now we've got one left to see tomorrow night and I'm SURE Luke is going to ask Lorelai to go on his little boat trip because his daughter canceled RIGHT AFTER he made those hotel reservations (per Lorelai's suggestion - convenient!). Look, people: I like it when my TV shows don't seem like I already wrote them in my head. Let's have some surprises here, and ones that aren't the far-fetched ones that surprisingly come to fruition. Also, there is no way that Lane carried twins to full term. Have you met anyone who had twins?)

Uhm. I didn't mean to write a whole post about Gilmore Girls. I apologize. But also, let it be known that even though I'm watching it at work I'm not shirking all of my duties. I've actually been more productive than I've been in weeks, clearing out my queue of mail and blowing through the audits I've been assigned. (I wish I could add that to my resume somehow.)

Anyway, I've still been in a good mood because I had a pretty good weekend. Christina and I saw Hot Fuzz yesterday and it was funny, and we also looked at a great apartment in Edgewater (the application for which I have sitting on my desk right now). It's nice to know that you can find such a great space for a reasonable amount of money, and I'm kind of excited to move out of Lakeview, since I've lived there for two years and am kind of ready to explore another part of the city. Also, as Katy and Justin (new neighbors!) said, the benefit of moving farther north is that you'll always get a seat on the El in the morning.

I have my big, big interview tomorrow. I've started preparing by reading over the website very thoroughly. I feel like this is my big chance and I'm really excited about it, but surprisingly not nervous at all. I've been very optimistic and just assume I'm going to get the job. I've even thought that I should think of my good spirits as a possible jinx, but I don't. It's weird to suddenly feel like an optimist, but things have been going pretty well lately, so I'm just going with it. I must be owed back-Karma and am finally starting to get the checks in the mail.

Oh, and I bought a ticket to see Janeane Garofalo at the Lakeshore Theater, which is about three blocks away from my house. I'm so goddamn excited; I was quite obsessed with her 1997 HBO stand-up comedy special in high school and I feel like seeing her live will change my life all over again.

And ALSO: it's dollar burger night at Big Chicks. Srsly, it's like the best day.

I've never wanted something so much in my whole life.

I finally understood why those inner-city school districts started making high school students wear uniforms. On Saturday, as I was walking north on Broadway (to get my Saturday afternoon Chipotle), I was behind a guy wearing an Equus t-shirt, and it was the first time I ever wanted to kick someone's ass for an article of their clothing.

My mother might be a gay man.

I called my mother yesterday and she said, "Guess what I found on YouTube last night?! Torvill and Dean ice-skating to Bolero!"

"Uh, excuse me?"

She explained that in the 80s, the figure skating couple Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean performed a routine to "Bolero" and apparently the world was forever changed. And I thought it might be the best thing I'd heard all day: my mother was taking advantage of YouTube to watch vintage figure skating videos.

So, in honor of my mom on this mother's day, I present TORVILL AND DEAN.




And if you don't want to watch a boring-assed figure skating video, watch Mommy Time:

On nicknames, and etc.

(Idea stolen, sort of, from J. Klaus. (I hope that one is okay!))

I'm pretty hesitant about people giving me nicknames until I've reached a certain level of intimacy with them. For example, in high school a girl I knew called me "Ty-Ty" and I hated it, but now I'm less freaked out about that one, but only if I actually like the person who is calling me that.

Anyway. Here's a list.


Names that I'll allow only people I really, really like to call me:

- Ty-Ty.
- Ty.
- Co-ah-tez.
- Professor Co-ah-tez.
- Tyco.


Names that people have tried calling me that I will never - ever - be okay with:

- John Tyler.
- John.
- Mr. C0ates.
- Coatesy.
- DQT (short for Dirty Q-Tip, given to me by my high school friend Eileen (EILEEN GRANT: GOOGLE YOURSELF) because I was tall, skinny, and have a q-tip shaped head and red hair).
- Little Bitch (my friend Jannette's sister called me this, which I eventually started using to taunt my little brother for an entire summer).


Basically, the moral of this post is that if you call me Coatesy, I'll cut you. And also, if you infer that I look like something you clean your ears with, I'll probably lose touch with you for years and then resort to relying on your possible ego and curiosity about what people are saying about you on the Internet.

In other news, the end of my week is going amazingly well. Awesome job interview on Tuesday and I really, really hope I get it / don't jinx it. Also, I've been watching at least six episodes of the last season of Gilmore Girls at work, and it's not as bad as I expected, although in the last episode I watched Rory throw a "2002" party for her friend's twenty-first birthday, and one of the songs from the playlist was "Video" by India.Arie, which is NOT from 2002, it's from 2001, and I know this because I bought that CD my senior year of high school. (Also, has ANYONE else noticed that Indie.Arie totally stole the musical arrangement from Akinyele's "Put It In Your Mouth"? IT'S THE SAME SONG.)

Finally, the Chicago Reader used one of my pictures on their website. And the truth comes out: Megan told me this morning that the idea of a cat reading Lolita makes her nervous because she can't get the whole "little girl / sex kitten" idea out of her head. She also admitted this morning that she can't pronounce "Anheuser Busch," so I think she has just a handful of issues.

Oh God.

David, I really hope this was you checking my blog from my old high school.

This week in Googling.

It's time that we (specifically, me) grow old and do some shit.

I saw Peter, Bjorn and John last night at the Empty Bottle which was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, the Empty Bottle is in Ukrainian Village, which is really far from my apartment in the land where there cabs stop cruising at noon, and the show was at 10:30. I expected to get home around two, but lucked out and caught a cab and got home around 1:15. Adam took today off, so I knew I had to actually get up this morning and come to work, but I remembered that in college I'd drive to DC to see shows in the middle of the week all the time and get home at three in the morning after driving two hours home and still manage to wake up in time for my morning classes, so a few hours of sleep and waking up to go to work at eight wouldn't be a problem, right? I'd totally have time to wash the Empty Bottle out of my hair and everything.

Ha. Who are we kidding? I woke up at seven and said, "Fuck this shit!" and called my manager and told her I'd be late. At this point, I could care less, since showing up is pretty much the only expectation I have to meet.

I get more and more frustrated with this job search thing every day, especially since I keep applying for the same shitty jobs that, really, shouldn't require MUCH experience. Yet, I "don't have administrative experience," which is something I don't accept because what have I done for the last year? Just because I haven't made travel plans for someone doesn't mean I can't. I have a college degree, for Christ's sake. This reminds me (and I'm sorry, I hate doing this, but please, it's fitting) of the scene in Reality Bites where Lelaina goes to her parents for a loan after she is unsuccessful at finding a job. Her mother says, "Why don't you get a job at BurgerRama? They'll hire you! Just the other day I was watching the TV and they had this little retarded boy working the cash register!" Lelaina replies, "Because I'm not retarded, Mom." I feel like that's what I'm thinking every time I check in with a staffing recruiter. "Why don't you take this job at a car rental company?" "Because I'm not retarded, Mom."

I got an email this morning from one of the counselors, announcing that she'll be out on maternity leave starting Monday. I'm not really torn up about it, since she's one of the group that actually have salaried positions and therefore don't speak to me because they assume I'm as dumb as the rest of the people I work with (in other words, retarded by association). (I take it back; she spoke to me once when I was accused of fucking something up, and I had to march into her office and show her that, no, it was one of her salaried counterparts that Anyway, fine: go and have a baby before your "hot mom" status can be revoked. But let me tell you one thing: if I'm here when she comes back from maternity leave, I'm going to kill myself. Srsly.

It's kind of funny, but this stupid job thing is taken over most of my neuroses recently, which is a nice change from constantly thinking that I'll never date anyone or be in a relationship. I've realized lately that it was silly for me to think that I'd be alone for the rest of my life (which I kind of decided in high school), because I am, apparently, attractive and can attract others, so at least I'm doing okay in that department. I don't even have to resort to organizing a "hipster consortium" to find someone. Thank God.

I don't understand anything anymore.

Will someone please explain to me the rationale behind a staffing agency calling me and telling me that - congratulations! - I did very well on all of those office skills tests (95th percentile on the proofreading! huzzah!), and then thirty seconds later offering me a management trainee position at an Enterprise Rent-a-Car? Does this make sense?

I'm going to go stress-eat a McDonald's hamburger now. But first, this picture:

It's a blurry-eyed Monday morning.

The interview at the staffing agency on Friday was pretty pointless, since the woman (dressed in jeans, by the way, and who also admitted that she just got into HR "after being in retail for five years") told me that I had no admin experience and had to go back to temping to find an entry-level position. As if the last year of my life was completely pointless? Also, when I said that temping again was scary because of the lack of insurance, she said, "Well, it's summer. No one gets sick in the summer!" Oh, I do hope she calls me back.

I have another interview today at an agency (number seven!) and later one at an insurance agency.

Luckily, Friday's run-in with HR bitchery did not put a damper on my weekend, which was so fantastic. On Friday night, Christina and I went to Adam and Alissa's for more burgers and beer. (I was a big fattie and had TWO burgers and THEN grilled chicken, which is pretty much enough protein to last me for the week, right?)

Saturday night was the big Steppenwolf Cotillion, and it was awesome. I drank a lot (a lot a lot), danced a lot, and saw a few celebrities actors that I recognize, including Jeff Perry (one of the founding ensemble members), Tracy Letts (who also wrote the play - and screenplay - Bug), and Jim True-Frost (when he walked in, Christina yell-whispered, "HE KNOWS MY NAME!"). I also made eye contact with Lois Smith, which was a hot moment. Also, Anne Frank was there, alive and dancing to Bobby Brown. (I texted Justin throughout the night, giving him updates, and he was glad Anne Frank was alive, but told me to tell her not to be too loud.)

I still feel hungover, but it's a nice one because despite my dehydration, etc., I know it was worth it.

This week is less busy, thankfully. I'm absolutely broke and have to make it through the week on peanut butter sandwiches and spaghetti. Maybe I'll get a job this week. That'd be nice.

In other news: If you haven't already noticed, I started a third (!) blog called Make-Out Party. It's music-related, meaning I'm just going to mostly post YouTube videos I like. But anyway, check it out.

Oh, and today marks my two year anniversary of being a Bachelor of Arts in English. To recap, in the last two years I have...
1. ...moved to Chicago.
2. ...been unemployed for five months.
3. ...sent out hundreds of resumes.
4. ...had seven different roommates.
5. ...written in five blogs.
6. ...overdrawn my account five times.
7. ...had one serious relationship.
8. ...made $12.37 an hour (which is, ironically, the most money I've ever made).
9. ...drank countless bottles of wine.
10. ...made many great new friends.

You put me in the magic position.

I'm in a really great mood today. I woke up EARLY, shaved for the first time in over a week, fixed my hair all up, and wore real work clothes for my interview (which I'm going to at lunch, and hopefully no one will notice I'm gone for over an hour). I don't want to sound vain or anything (too late, right?), but when I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I thought, "Man, I am CUTE today."

I think a Friday morning after an evening splitting a pitcher of Blue Moon is just what I needed this week.

After revisiting the website for the ad agency that called me yesterday (this time with SOUND, because I didn't realize that the website has music), I decided that there's no way I can fake my way through that interview, so I'm going to call today and tell "Jared" that I found a job. I also have my SEVENTH staffing agency interview on Monday, which is just down the street from my office.

And I'm SO EXCITED about this weekend. Burgs tonight at Adam and Alissa's, where I'll probably drink the leftover Corona Lights from last weekend because no one else, apparently, likes Corona Light. And then tomorrow I'm wearing a pink tie and getting drunk with theater people, which is pretty much my dream night.

Finally (I've got to wrap this shit up somehow!), I've literally listened to this song ten times this morning. I don't have it on my iPod so I've been replaying the video on YouTube. It's wonderful. The video's kinda dumb, but the dancing saves it.

An excerpt from a GChat conversation.

me: i have an interview on monday with an ad agency
[I send her a link to the company’s website.]
me: i don't know how i feel about it
Christina: is this shutterbugs? i don't get it
Christina: and their website reminds me of playing where in the world is carmen sandiago back in ‘97
me: i know
me: i'm kinda nervous
me: the guy was like, "if no one's at the front desk, just wait in the lobby. we usually have espn playing and stuff."
Christina: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Christina: you are going to hate that interview
me: hahaha, i know.
Christina: good luck with the small talk
me: i better read the sports section of the red eye that morning
Christina: ahaha
Christina: cut it out and tape it to the inside of your sleeve
Christina: and then you can be like, "oh yeah can you believe the cardinals won. 4 -0."
Christina: "and also the yankees, won 8-3."
Christina: "wow."
me: that sounds like a terrible plan.
Christina: DO IT
Christina: well that sounds like a place where terrible plans are necessary
me: i just realized i should buy some axe body spray this weekend.

Whoop whoop.

I applied to sixteen jobs yesterday. One was for an HR assistant and the staffing agency that is working on it called me today. So I have an interview on Friday with another staffing agency. That brings the total number of staffing agency interviews to six. Yay?

Also, my "real" staffing agency called me today, asking if I was interested in a temp-to-hire underwriter / tech services position at an insurance company. Why, yes, Jennifer! It sounds like a dream come true.

I've only applied for three jobs today. I'm not very motivated today.

I've started to hate my job so much that I feel sick and miserable while I'm here, and feel fine, like, as soon as I step out of the building. I've really reached my limit.

In other news, I'm glad that Blogger finally came up with an easier way to customize the blog. I like the new look, even if Adam said it looks like I have the decapitated head of Erik Estrada. Duh, that's what I was going for.

Also, I watched some of Return to Oz last night for the first time (FINALLY, Katy and Justin), and I also watched an interview with Fairuza Balk. She's surprisingly not bat-shit crazy, although I still want to put a binding spell on her for good measure.

This is how my day is going.

My baby panda buzz has faded.

I finished season one of 30Rock and the other shows on NBC.com aren't as appealing. Heroes or Passions?

I'm refreshing the job search page on CareerBuilder.

I'm getting an expensive haircut tonight because I have a coupon. I'll probably have to go back to Hair Cuttery next time.

I think if it were possible to think in a font, my coworkers would think in Comic Sans.

The new Feist album is cheering me up. Slowly.

As is the following analogy that Christina came up with a couple of weeks ago. I can't stop thinking about it: If Danny DeVito's Philoctetes is the Mickey Goldmill to Tate Donovan's Hercules, does that make Danny DeVito and Burgess Meredith the same person? Clearly. Because they both played The Penguin. Think about it.