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5:30 a.m. - 2001-06-13



Okay ... life was perfect until about nine hours ago.

And that's when I stumbled into Wendigo's Diary.

Okay...for those of you who haven't figured it out yet ... this new job that I'm pursuing would be working for Wendigo's company and working for Wendigo.

Which is one of the reasons I want this job so bad. Wendi is the shits. She's awesome to work, laid back and helpful.

So NOWWWWW...she says A)her boss is frantic to see my resume and B)me getting hired is not so cut and dry as we first thought since the bosses want a say-so in the hiring procedure.

Y'see ... I thought I was just gonna waltz into this new job, set up shop and start kicking ass in the writing department.

Now ... I have to pass "The Test" of impressing people first.

Impressing people with a resume.

A resume that sucks.

Y'see...up until about two weeks ago, I didn't think I needed a resume. I was content in my job, wasn't looking for anything new and didn't HAVE a resume.

That's "Rehz-ooo-may". Not "Ree-zume". For those of you who keep thinking "Why does Uncle Bob need a reezume? What is it that he's reezuming?"

Sooo...instantly, I turn to my mother-in-law who did my last resume ... about 12 years ago.

She said she had all the old stuff and just needed to update the resume.


I gave her a basic job description of the last two jobs that I had and sent that to her.

Over a week ago.

She had to drive out to Texas to see her "precious little grandchildren" (that was dripping with sarcasm...I'm talking about the knee-humping nephews here) and she got back late Monday night.

I called her yesterday and asked how the resume was coming along.

She said she hadn't gotten around to doing it yet.

I almost blew a gasket. I knew that Wendi was waiting on it and I promised it to her before today.

So I TRIED TO BE NICE and told my mother-in-law to get her 67 year-old ass in gear and crank me out a motherfucking resume before I get directions to her house, come over there and fuck her shit up but good!

She said she would work on it yesterday.

She called me up at 10 p.m. and told me it was finished.

One problem.

She no longer had ANY of my previous resume stuff on file.


Sooooo...this resume makes it look like I started working in ....ohhhh....1990 or so.

Totally skipping the first 12 years of employment.

Which is okay I guess, because it's crap that had nothing to do with writing.

So I get off the phone with mom in law and tell Susie about it.

"Well, it's just a rough draft," she says.

"No," I say. "Wendi wants that resume yesterday. I HAVE to turn it in just like it is."

"You can't do that," she says.

"I HAVE to do that," I say.

We go back and forth like this for about two minutes before I adjourn to the computer room and see Wendi's frantic message about needing my resume in her diary.


Dammit all to hell.

So nowwwwwww...I'm in total freak-out mode. And what do I do about it???

I go to bed.

...Where I proceed to dream the worst nightmares ever about a job interview that I really, really want with a resume that's no better than a hunk of cow shit.

The first nightmare had me showing up for the interview with no shirt on. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and put a shirt on, but the only one I have is a t-shirt with tons of holes in it.

Every time I leave the bathroom to go back to the interview, my shirt has magically disappeared.

It takes me an hour to get back to the interview and by then, Wendi's bosses have already found someone else for the job.

That was Nightmare #1.

Nightmare #2 had me showing up for the interview in drag.


They were definitely NOT equal opportunity employers, because they had a problem hiring ugly transvestites.

Meanwhile, I felt pretty as a picture until they shot me down.

Nightmare #3 was kinda hooked to #2, except I was no longer in drag, but the people conducting the interview wanted me standing outside the office the whole time they interviewed me.

And it wasn't really an "interview". They were on the phone and I just stood outside their door and realized I wasn't getting the job.

Nightmare #4 was the best dream of them all, because it was a young girl interviewing me and we were sitting in plush, overstuffed chairs, but I couldn't get comfortable in mine. And all she wanted to talk about were the previous nightmares...why did I show up in drag? Why did I come in without a shirt on? Blah, blah, blah.

So it was still a nightmare as I had to defend myself.

So Wendi...listen to KNOW I want the job. My resume sucks donkey wang. DON'T hold it against me. I'll do a great job...I promise.


This has REALLY got me all frazzled. other freakin' news...

I've got my meeting with the Music Fest lady this morning.

I just composed the list of bands and names, including everyone that you guys suggested on my Message Board.

(Thanks again for that, by the way. You RAWK!)

I hope she lets me explain some of the names on the list, rather than take it out of my hand and then slam the door on me.

We'll see. She's not my biggest fan and I'm not hers. We tolerate each other with fake smiles and giggles.

At least they're fake on my end.

I then have lunch with the state's district attorney to talk about some kinda new kid law thing.

I guess I need to find out what it's about before I show up.

Lunch is in the City Club which is by far the swankiest restaurant in town. It's on top of a tower downtown and overlooks the entire city.

I hate places like this. It's for older, richer folks.

People who have money and drive fancy cars.

People who make sure their socks match before they leave the house.

People who don't eat with their elbows on the table.

People who tip waiters.

THOSE types of people.

I hate 'em.


I guess what I REALLY hate is that I still have a zit scar on my cheek from last week.

It's small now. But I know it's there. And I just feel like when I go to my job interview, when I go to meet with the almighty music fest lady, when I go to lunch with the district attorney ....

They'll all be staring at my zit scar.


Most likely.

But still ... I just want this day to be over with.

I want this new job and I don't want to be judged by my senile mother-in-law's attempt at a resume.

I want the music fest lady to take me seriously and get Weezer and Barenaked Ladies for next year's fest.

I want the district attorney to say "I've been a lesbian for several years...but I could definitely go straight for you!"

...Without following it up with "...If you didn't have that hideous zit scar..."

Speaking of Weezer ... in that song "Hash Pipe" (which I think is the greatest single out there right now) ... does he sing "I've got my ass wiped, you've got your big cheese, I've got my hash pipe"???

Does he really sing "I've got my ass wiped?"




Alright...that's it. I've got a ton of things to do today to prepare myself for the inevitable letdown.

Wendi...I want this damned job.

Work with me here.

Oh yeah...if you get the chance...go wish Weetabix a Happy Birthday today. She's got an amusing diary there and she wants EVERYONE to sign her guestbook and wish her happy b-day. So your duties as a member of the Army is to go sign that guestbook of hers and wish her well. That's an order, soldier.

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