  G�day mates, Here�s the deal. I�ve been thinking, harder than usual, about quitting my job, since its been sucking my soul, and boss guy is a liar. Then there�s the lice, the public, the door knocking, etc. And Boss guy is pretty keen on daily communication, and I�m really not into that. I like to leave work elsewhere, and although it is not your standard 8 hour day, it is six days a week, and I�d like for it to fuck off when I�m not doing it. Right. Also, it is depressing to sell dishes to folks who need to buy their kids beds, rather than 274 channels. My first day of work, for example, (and I know, you�ve heard it thirty times) I sold a dish to a schizophrenic lady without a TV.
And Boss told me he was proud. So I talked to my parents, and my parents had an interesting take on it. Since I don�t care to be working for him, but need to find a new job, it�s time to stop caring, have fun with it, and act as though I had nothing left to lose. If he fires me, so be it, if not, buys me more time to looking for a job I don�t feel ashamed of having.
An Ode to Chad I first met Chad at RA camp. All the people there had to toss their shoes into a pile, then the organizer separated the shoes into piles. My shoe was next to Chad�s. Clearly, we were a match made in Heaven. So we ended up in the same group, then we became partners for this annoying training game where you and your partner had to disclose embarrassing details about yourself. I learned he was sort of afraid of heights, he discovered I was dating a guy 11 years older than me. At the RA party, before the rest of the university students came, he looked at me and said �You know, sometimes, you look really sad. Sometime, I would like to know what makes you sad. If you ever need to talk, let me know.� Somewhere during that year, when I was busy cutting my hair to nil length and trying to avoid killing myself, Chad and I became friends.
We were the uncouple, going to places with real couples, going out to bars together, talking on the phone ad nauseam, and driving, on his motorcycle, his car, the bus, whatever. There was also the Tim Horton�s/French prostitute ritual, and lots of hopeless chats about how mentally ill people shouldn�t date. The next year, we got accused of having sex in Chad�s office (wrote a story about that, will post after), he wrote his thesis, and basically, hilarity ensued.
When I got engaged, he was happy for me. I am lucky, or perhaps blessed, to have a friend that can talk about how to kill people, enjoys watching superman, and plays You don�t Know Jack, even though he regularly gets his ass booted all around the place. I remember going through phases of understanding Chad. At first, I thought he was conceited. Then, I thought he wasn�t, he just pretending to be conceited to be funny. Then, I realised, he�s conceited, pretends to be not conceited, by taking his conceitedness to an extraordinary degree. Side note: He thinks it�s funny. So here�s another happy fuzzy, you big geek. Now go burn Age of Mythology for me, or black and white two. 
