OK, so there’s nothing like a mid-morning flogging on seek.com.au to instigate my much-belated return to blogging. Many of you may be forgiven for assuming that my months-long silence has come as the result of a triumphant return to Sydney, and my subsequent engagement in a whole manner of debauched partying, glamorous scenstering and lucrative full-time employment opportunities.
Alas, the real reasons for my silence are as follows:
a) Apathy – self explanatory
b) Temperature – I live in Quakers Hill. When the mercury climbs to 35 degrees in “Sydney”, it climbs to 45 degrees in Quakers Hill, and subsequently climbs to 55 degrees upstairs in my un-insulated, un-airconditioned two-story townhouse. To simply sit at my computer entails that I be attached to a drip to avoid fatal dehydration. I shit you not. During summer I sweat more just SITTING at my computer, than the combined fluid loss of the twelve fat, sweaty contestants on the Australian version of The Biggest Loser. And that INCLUDES all the self-pitying tears those big fucking nancies shed every episode.
c) Creative inertia – Selling sausages does little to fire the synapses. Brain dead job = brain dead blog. Be thankful I have spared you all the agony.
So I’m making a tentative attempt to come back to blogging, if only to cast my recent failures in a humorous light for the sake of my own sanity. And to feel like I still have something to contribute to humanity, society, eternity. Even if it’s just gratuitous obscenity.
A brief summary of the last five or six months would go as follows:
Moved home, working retail, dogs destroying house, family bbqs, dog number one has an expensive series of serious allergic reactions to the fucking grass in Quakers Hill, working retail, dog number two has a massive anaphylactic reaction to bee sting, looking for a job, working retail, not getting any interviews, working retail, discovering that my mobile phone number was wrong on all my cover letters, furious cussing, working retail, we start dog training after dogs number one and two eat a hobbit-size hole in the kitchen wall, dog number two contracts kennel cough as the result of a kennel cough vaccination, new hair cut, dogs currently going mental and loudly smacking their stupid heads on my bookcase as the opening bars of “Been Caught Stealing” by Jane’s Addiction – complete with recording of someone else’s dogs barking - begins to play on iTunes.
And that about covers it.
The lack of decent job thing is starting to shit me. My open-hearted attempts at honesty as it pertains to job applications have thus far gotten me nowhere. So it’s time to get “creative”. IT’S TIME TO FUCKING LIE, BABY.
In order to play the “fucking hire me (or at least freakin’ interview me)” game, I have now dumbed down my resume to the extent where a six month tenure in a sheltered workshop sticking address labels on envelopes wouldn’t look amiss. I have also “tweaked” various details so that I don’t come across as the old, overeducated, underachieving, western suburban bogan that I am.
* I've now included the CORRECT mobile phone number on all documents
* The word “manager” has been replaced by the word “coordinator” in previous job-titles
* I've removed my date of birth to hide my age (fuuuuuuckkkkk!!!)
* My educational qualifications have been entirely deleted to conceal the fact that I have a bachelor degree
* I've included a false address (inhabited by an ex-flatmate) to hide the fact that I now live in Quakers Hill
* Plus I’ve deleted my home phone number to outsmart any smarty-pants potential employer who may be alerted to the fact that the phone prefix places me snugly up the stinky rectal cavity of the Western Suburbs, and not in the funky “Inner West” suburb my false address implies
So all I need to do now is actually send the fuckers out. And keep slinging snags in the meantime.
Postscript: I know, it’s not exactly the inspired return I was hoping for….. Consider the creative blockage cleared, at least.
