There should be a law against drinking while on the job. Oh wait. There is.
I am truly loathe to sound as if I were complaining when I say that a large part of my job is to maintain a certain sort of sloppiness akin to my customers, and it is therefore Good Business Sense to indulge in the (cough)occasional(cough) shot or cocktail with said clients. So, yah, basically I'm bitching that my occupation requires that I get toasted. Poor me.
In more constructive news, my darling co-worker Louise is a hotsie-totsie DJ on the best radio station in the country, if not the world. (Uh, that's WWOZ of course.) When not in New Orleans, I am often found tuning in via internet feed and weeping uncontrollably because why would anyone be anywhere but New Orleans?
Anywhoozeewhatzit, I asked last night in passing how she's doing in the DJ world and the conversation eventually evolved into this: "Marquis, why don't you come to work with me this Wednesday, I'll train you on the boards, and we'll see if we can get you your own show."
My six still-functioning grey cells are whirling at the prospect.
Tune in to WWOZ this Wednesday, 2pm Central. You have your orders.
Boy, people sure like to talk about themselves! And that's okay! Unless they're not saying anything useful like divulging dark sexual fantasies or their bank card PIN's (note: often requires 20cc's sodium pentothol to elicit said info).
In the spirit of shameless solipsism that simply is the online journaling community, I offer this handy quiz. (Readers of Cosmo and like mags should be perking up at that keyword about now.)
You've seen these horrible things before, and maybe even done one yourself. But they're rarely enlightening.
I mean, c'mon, who fucking cares if you do or do not eat the stems of broccoli?
Here are some probing questions I would like to posit to you, my dear, precious only one(s):
WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
WHERE WOULD YOU RATHER LIVE?
WHERE WOULD YOU *NOT* LIVE?
WHAT READING MATERIAL IS ON YOUR TOILET?
WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY?
SIZE, OR TECHNIQUE?
WHAT BORES YOU?
WHAT DO YOU FEAR?
WHAT DO YOU DO WITH YOUR BROCCOLI STEMS? (AND IS YOUR THERAPIST AWARE OF THIS?)
NAME ONE SUBJECT YOU HAVE NEVER BROACHED WITH YOUR PARENTS:
HAVE YOU EVER HAD SEX FOR MONEY OR PRIZES?
HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR OWN MORTALITY?
WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE MUSIC?
WHAT MAKES YOU THINK ANYONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT KNOWING WHAT YOUR FAVORITE MUSIC IS?
WHAT'S YOUR CREDIT CARD NUMBER AND EXPIRATION DATE?
Thanks for playing.
Here are my answers (the above is for your cut&paste convenience).
WHERE DO YOU LIVE? Garden District, New Orleans
WHERE WOULD YOU RATHER LIVE? I chose this city after much research of living elsewhere.
WHERE WOULD YOU *NOT* LIVE? West coast.
WHAT READING MATERIAL IS ON YOUR TOILET? Book of useless Japanese inventions, Chick Tracts and the Mormon Bible because it's important to keep laughing while on the toity.
WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Early September due to a break-up that has left a gaping void in my soul, but let's not get into all that.
SIZE, OR TECHNIQUE? Well really now! Isn't that getting a little personal?
WHAT BORES YOU? Long flights.
WHAT DO YOU FEAR? Boredom.
WHAT DO YOU DO WITH YOUR BROCCOLI STEMS? (AND IS YOUR THERAPIST AWARE OF THIS?) All right, all right, YES I eat the broccoli stems! FUCK!
NAME ONE SUBJECT YOU HAVE NEVER BROACHED WITH YOUR PARENTS: Mahler 8.
HAVE YOU EVER HAD SEX FOR MONEY OR PRIZES? Yes.
HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR OWN MORTALITY? Ambivalent, though not looking forward to the actual process of dying. That seems painful and inconvenient.
WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE MUSIC? Chopin.
WHAT MAKES YOU THINK ANYONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT KNOWING WHAT YOUR FAVORITE MUSIC IS? Exactly.
WHAT'S YOUR CREDIT CARD NUMBER AND EXPIRATION DATE? Hey, *I'M* the one asking the questions here!