Today is Tuesday October 28th, a scant four days before Halloween. Our roommate Katie came home this evening and pointed out that Halloween is a popular, or at least logical, time for pranks that are more unpleasant than whimsical. As such, we've decided to keep the cats inside for a few days; one spooky, spectral (violent) white cat and one black-and-orange cat would be a great find for some Halloween enthusiasts, and I'm not particularly sure I want that.
But I can tell you that as dearly as I love our feline friends and value their safety, this is not going to be fun. Killer sat at the door making strange Martian gagging meowing noises well outside the realm of normal for twenty minutes or so while I tried to do a puzzle in the living room. I resisted. Bella ran hopefully for the other door when I came back to the bedroom, and gave it and me her two most sweet, pleading, pathetic looks. I resisted.
I have the fortitude of an ox, the iron will of a mule, and a rather nasty gouge on my hand where Bella calmly and rationally expressed her displeasure with this new Policy of Insideness. We had an excellent dialogue on the subject, which really cleared the air and established the direction in which future dealings on this matter will go.
Straight to hell, I'm afraid. Ow.
No jobs are yet in sight, thanks to the failures of my various potential employers to, respectively, answer my applications, answer my phone calls, perform the interviews they requested with me, hire me after a stunningly great interview, have correct and findable contact information, and actually have the job openings they were alleged to have. I heap shame and opprobrium upon them. Disclaimer: Any failures on my part are not to be considered the business of Snoqualmie to verify or report.
Today my thoughts have turned to a new line of work-related fantasy, which is: bartending. To be specific, my brilliant plan is to become employed as a bartender at one of the Bay Area's many lesbian bars and rake in the money while spending my working hours ogling and intoxicating attractive women (or, possibly, ogling intoxicatingly attractive women). From where I'm standing I see no possible way for this to have anything other than a wonderful outcome-- in fact I can see nothing at all except a sea of spiked hair, tattoos, and wife-beater tank tops. And I can hear nothing at all, because I'm desperately plugging my ears to block out the sound of the voice of Jacobian reason. It's standing behind me speaking in doleful tones about the regrettable lack of expertise and bartending-school-tuition with which I am revealed to be plagued.
Curses.
Enter Snoqualmie, the most dynamic and promising player on the scene this year.
Translation: I have a new weblog. We, meaning I, are, meaning am, in the process of figuring out how to work it.