But where shall my seed find purchase?

I just read in today's edition of Common Dreams' newsletter, that if you are fat, or over 40, don't hope to get a job at Wal Mart. Well crap. That really blasted my dream outta the sky. Hey, wait a minute. I went to WalMart last Saturday, and there was no shortage of the portly and doddering in blue smocks. But then, this is Oregon, where the majority of the population is either in XXXL pants or depends, or, god help us, both. If you're not a lumber jack, or lucky enough to have Alzheimers, you work at WalMart, or some other rotton sweat shop. Oh, now I'm bitter again. But wait! I have an interview next week with the county to become...A Transfer Site Attendant! Yes, the dump beckons, and in my heart I know this is where I belong. The great outdoors, breathing free, babysitting the community servicers. Perhaps I've found my niche at last. Perhaps I'd better not show up for the interview drunk.

Being born every minute is exhausting, and hard on the sheets

Well, it seems I got a little excited over nothing. I now suspect that the comments on my screen are in reality nothing more than commericals. What a fool I've been. And yet, those fleeting moments in the sun somehow made it all worthwhile. Self delusion for fun and profit! Not to mention a radio-active tan! Life being what it is, I'll take what I can.

Where am I?

The Last Banana
Seven months is a long time, and a lot of beer has passed under the bridge. I was SO excited when I figured out how to edit my profile that I'll bet I forgot how to keep the lines out of my text. I won't know for sure 'til I see this on the page, if it gets there. Last night's entry still hasn't made it yet, and I fear it may be lost, alone and afraid in the dark. I can hear it whimpering, somewhere under my chair. Not to worry. I'm sure it'll come back to me. Like riding a bike. A bike with a really big seat and tires that scream under the pressure.

We are not alone!

Great Day in the Morning! I happened to wake up and find myself at my long forgotten blog-site only to discover that somebody had actually read this crap at some time in the last seven months! I got a comment! My existence has been validated, and I now totter between joy and performance anxiety! I'm so excited I may wear out my ! key!

Now I feel a sense of obligation to my public. Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close up! But what will I write about? Against all odds, last July, Ingram Book Company decided my (and 44 others') services were no longer needed. Great Googly Moogly, free at last! I got my final severance check Friday, and must now face the harsh realities of unemployment. As a very wise member of the Kids in the Hall once said, "The only thing worse than having a job is looking for one." But not to worry, I thrive on rejection! Surely, someone out there wants to hire a fat, semi-retarded fifty year old woman with a slight drinking problem! Hi, welcome to Wal Mart!

I'm exhausted now, and I still have to load up my beer bottles and head for the infernal recycle machines. That should brighten my day, standing in the rain, waiting for a sullen teenager to rake down the glass bin so I can raise enough money for another 12 pack of Miller High Life to get me through the night. Lachaim!

I shall close for now, but hope that this will be the start of a long, pathetic, albeit anonymous, co-dependency with my public of one! You like me! You really like me! But what if you've forgotten me?! What if it was a fluke? What if I'm just jerking off again! So it starts...