Caterwauling

Another friend quit the Alligator Ranch today.

So now, in addition to the job posting I already have out there to find a Mini Me, I have two other openings folks have sent my way to, “Hey, you know everybody. Can you share the gospel?”

I’ve got my posting on the major sites but if you want to know about the others, you know where to reach me.

The thing is, if you’ve read even one or two of my blogs, tweets or Facebook musings, you probably would choose unemployment rather than replying to one of my job postings.

And that’s OK. We are a special brand of crazy. Think you can out-crazy us? We’d like to see you try!

(Seriously, please try. My inbox is as empty as my heart.)

Like right now I’m waiting on copy that was due three days ago. And a lunch date that never materialized and don’t get me started on why I never managed to leave the house today.

Anyway, regarding the deadline missed, I’d sooner put money on receiving a winged pony and a tooth fairy who pays in hundred-dollar bills.

Who WOULDN’T want to be a part of this glamorous life, I ask you?

Excuse me while I write an article on how the missing author was turned from a rooster to a hen today with just one shot. (Homage to Dolly Parton in “9 to 5.”) Now, wouldn’t YOU want to read that newsletter?

Apply within, folks. I can’t keep all this madness to myself …

I think one of my boys got the hint. Rather, he’s always gotten it, but it seems he’s finally taken it.

I often act like an ass — or myself, depending on who’s telling the story — during the “getting to know you” phase. And I know that it takes just one wrong thing out of your mouth … “wrong” by someone else’s definition than yours … and they immediately blacklist you.

You go over it in your head. What did I say, how could I have said it better, or can I rewind time and have someone chloroform me so no one hears that.

More often, you agonize over conversations seven squillion ways to Sunday, and you still don’t know what you did to repel someone. It could be that your hair fell in your eyes and they thought of an ex. Or you chew your food like his mom does. Or it’s a full moon with Mercury in retrograde.

These are the things that can eat us alive, if we let them.

Anyway, if this one guy ever asks what repelled me … and I have a long list where he’s concerned, but let me tell you a big one.

I drive tiny, shitty Matchbox cars. Just because I floor it, doesn’t mean I’ll go anywhere. Merging in traffic is a nightmare, from the lack of power in the car to not being able to see because I sit so low.

And I hate hate HATE people in big monster trucks who feel the need to ride my ass. And down here, I notice people like to do that on purpose. A lot. Like, you can move out of the way and they will follow you … and be deathly close.

I have many a panic attack in the car because of these assholes. God is familiar with my, “Please don’t let him hurt me” mantra, followed by the deep breathing and crystal-rubbing.

So this one joker tells me, I assume not knowing what I drive, that he’s got a big truck and, for kicks, he enjoys following tiny little sports cars and intimidating them.

He was serious.

Can we say dealbreaker?

I mean, leave my anxiety out of it for a while. What kind of asshole derives joy from terrorizing others at high speeds?

Not any kind of bully I want in my life. That’s for sure.

Anyway, I think I may be rid of this one finally. I can tell he doesn’t know what he did wrong but he does know I can’t even fake it long enough to get through a hi-how-are-you exchange.

Now to get rid of the marrieds who GOD I HOPE stay that way, and I’ll be free I tell you FREE.