Typically narcissistic blogging.

The Job Hunt, Part IV: Oh, yeah.

The thing to remember when one has been rejected by a unicorn or Angelina Jolie—they don’t exist. Okay, I haven’t been rejected by Angie recently, so her existence doesn’t really matter one way or the other. I just had to include her out of revenge for the fact that I recently watched Salt.

Now, I recognize that being rejected by an imaginary creature is a double-edged sword:

  • On the one hand, Fuck you, unicorn! You can’t reject me, you don’t even exist!
  • On the other hand, being rejected by a creature that doesn’t exist is damning in its own special way.
  • On the third hand—and I don’t know where the hell that hand came from, or why I have it—I am sitting here looking at the pluses and minuses of being rejected by an imaginary horse-thing. Also, I just made this a triple-edged sword.


Dungeons and Dragons aside, rejection sucks. Especially with regard to a job that not only would have put me in the middle of an organization for which I have wanted to work for years, but also would have allowed me to do things like pay rent and purchase whiskey.

You know, if I had an actual third hand, I could play guitar and drink whiskey without having to put anything important down. I could keep my hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel and never once sacrifice safety to road rage while flipping off other drivers. I could hug and grope simultaneously.

If you are wondering how I am really coping with this particular rejection, well…I don’t have a third arm with which to drink it, but there’s whiskey just down the street and the two arms I do have are quite capable. Cheers.

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