May 06, 2009 00:28
I know that I'm supposed to be feeling...you know, good right now, but I'm feeling more than mortal.
I spend a wonderful evening in the company of one Angel, one Adrienne and partially, one Brit. Per the usual, good times were had. Earlier today (while at work, you naughty girl!) I had applied for a secretarial position for...the IRS. Yes, ladies and jellyspoons, my newest and latest career ambition is to become a Federal employee. The very same that I have been representing for the past give years, in all the shit they've been though while government employees. That being said, as much as I hate, despise and generally loathe greed, the price is right. I would be making an astronomical amount doing less than I do now, simply because I'd be doing it for the U.S. Treasury.
I've been fretting about the impending move of Angel. She's going off to North Jersey to pursue better living arrangements and Britten bliss. Although our hang outs are entirely too far apart, I've been thinking about how much I'm going to miss her (said as King Triton in The Little Mermaid). If I have successfully prooven my secretarial skillz, ya'll, this job would put me within minutes of my girlfriend. The position is in Iselin, New Jersey, an hour an a half commute from Collingswood. But, being as how I'd be making (as per the job description) a buttload, the commute would not bother me. Maybe in time I'll grow tired of leaving my place of residence a whole TWO HOURS EARLY, and not arriving home until 7:00pm or so, but seriously....a buttload.
I'm feeling much better. Minus a mortality shock I had on the way home. In order to make up for the less than expected birthday I had this year, I decided to re-celebrate with Angel. Three Original Sins and one downed delicious fizzy drink later, I'm thinking this may have been a poor decision. There was an accident a few blocks from my final destination. Three cars, one ambulance. A rare fact that I recently found out: Standard car airbags are made with the idea that drivers are five feet, four inches or over. Myself, being a whopping five feet, one and a half inches, would be either killed or paralyzed if severe airbag impact occurs. Talk about food for fucking thought.
Nonetheless, I arrived home safely and am currently in bed, nervously twisting my hair. Dennis is out tomorrow at a hearing and I took a vacation day on Thursday to celebrate Seany's final final. Angel called us disgustingly precious. Oh, how we are.
To bed, sleepyface. Goodnight!
sean,
mortality,
angel,
north jersey,
job,
bueno times