Part German, part Scottish, part Irish, part Mongolian rapist. But I'm 100% Irish today. My beer is green. Happy St. Patrick's Day. And like everyone else, I don't have a clue what I'm celebrating. I mean, was St. Patrick at least hot? Because if he wasn't, I don't see the point in my drunken belligerence tonight. I'll stay at home if he wasn't, because Willy Wonka was a good guy, too. A man of intellect. A man of prestige. A man of my dreams. I love you, Willy. You see, Willy brought us Laffy Taffy, Nerds, and all sorts of other great foods that are helping to put an end to anorexia everywhere. His contributions to society are STAGGERING.
Enough about Paddy and Willy, on to more important things, like me. I was discussing with a close friend of mine my chronological decent into "failure" just the other day. He listened. He hemmed. He hawed. He stared at me with complete disbelief (it could have been gas though, I don't know). He then flat out told me that there is no possible way I can successfully work for someone else unless I literally take over the entire company in less than a year. Normally I would have taken a little offense to that, wondering how I can "change my ways" and fit in and "do what's right". But he was dead-on, I'll never fit in. I've never fit in as far as I can remember. I've always done the "Joanne" thing, like that kid singing to themselves while building sand castles in the ditch on the side of the road or fishing for treasures in the sewer grates (that was super fun, the rest of the kids on the street later caught on to that one and then we would have competitions) or like having to be the lead astronaut and relocating the imaginary spaceship to my front steps. That was alot of work. But it had to be done. The other kids never knew where the f*** we were going, of course I'm going to be the lead astronaut!!! Idiots. Sorry S., I know you're reading this. You had a good grasp at being the co-astronaut. It was J., she just wasn't pretend astronaut material. She really wasn't. I had to replace her with her little brother, K. Of course, once we decided on using a catapult to get around a little faster, we really needed C.'s swingset and sandbox and it was J. that redeemed herself by negotiating for us.
What the hell am I talking about. Slightly losing my grasp on reality today, but I'm all good with that. I really do miss my pretend spaceship and candychocolateland (it later became fireman land when we turned 13, but that's another story). Anyways, I have a solid plan. Can't tell you about it, I'm going to keep that one to myself for a while. But I can tell you that I do have plans on being filthy stinking rich in a year or two. I think that's reasonable, don't you?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment