So, as far as sucky weekends go, this one's going down on an aroused horse.
Not only did I suffer my first defeats in Backyard Baseball, but I squandered the perfect opportunity to beat Eric's ass in Fantasy Football. And, to top it all off, it's looking like I'm gonna win "The Steven A. Taylor 'It Happens to Lots of Guys' Award for Impotency" in our weekly NFL Pick 'Em for winning the least amount of games. I liked it a lot better when it was called the "Colin A. Olivers Award for Futility."
Plus, you know, the homemade chili my dad made had too much salt in it and had to be thrown out.
So, I shaved my head down to a quarter inch again. Now, it's matching my beard length. The beard stays until I get a job!!! It's my protest and it shall continue. Hopefully, the search ends today as I have lunch with my mom and her two bosses. Now, they SAID they wanted me to do some writing job for them, but then again, lots of other places have SAID they wanted me for their employee.
Now, if I get screwed again, I don't know how much more I'm gonna have to say in this thing. It's kinda hard to type when your wrists are slashed in two.
No, no, mussn't get my hopes up. I've gotta hold out for the Beastie Boys concert next Sunday. The Beastie Boys concert I can ill afford to pay for at the moment.
My plight kinda reminds me of a quote from the film "The Ref" with Denis Leary and Kevin Spacey.
{You think every morning I wake up, look in the mirror, and say, "Gee, I'm glad I'm me! And not some 19-year-old billionaire rockstar with the body of an athelete and a 24-hour erection!" Well, I don't! So just excuse the shit out of me!}
Current Mood: See if there's a waste of fucking life named Steven
Current Music: Stevie Wonder - Maybe Your Baby