6-word memoirs

zirelda tagged me to do this post. the rules are something like this: six-word memoirs, a pic if you like, mention the tagger, pick five taggees.

and now, presenting:

my six-word memoirs

wait long enough, it will come.

people to tag: i seem to more or less tag the same people every time, so i am gonna try and tag people i have either not tagged, or people i haven't tagged in some time. that being the case, belle, jenny, dj kirby, queen vixen, and elsie button, consider yourselves tagged.

in other news, and well beyond my six-word limit, i tried on the clothes that i had intended to wear to today's job interview last night. now, i might be a punk, and for the most part, i tend to dress in t-shirts and jeans or shorts, workwear i guess you would say. but i do like to have on hand, a selection of dressier duds for the occasions when i might get to put on the clover a bit, and leave the house more nattily dressed, so to speak. i have absolutely no problem whatsoever with being the guy who "cleans up well." i do, usually, like to do it with a bit of a punk flair, so you wouldn't be likely to find your average boring gray flannel suit or whatever within the confines of my closet.

so when i heard i had an interview, i wasn't too concerned. i had cleaned out my closet quite a bit before moving (many of my thrifter suits had gotten too large for me, which is good, i guess), but i still had plenty of the proper attire.

or so i thought. to quote an old friend, dennis dancing, "you know what happened to thought? thought thought he crapped his pants and didn't." to which i would always reply, "what? what is that sposed to mean?" and he would say back, "exactly."

my wife deemed the pants i had intended to wear to the interview to be too slim-fit to wear in the presence of my potential future employers. (actually, what she said was i should wear other pants unless i intended to "wow" them.)

and none of the others were really appropriate.

now i had to dash off, last minute, to buy a pair of suitable slacks. i hate, and i mean fucking absolutely despise finding out things aren't going to work at the last minute. (so you would think i would have done my outfit-check some time prior, right? alas, i am a dim and daft motherfucker, which does, on occasion, lead to great posts.) the nearest store is tiny, and would have a small selection. if i had checked my intended threads sooner, we were out shopping earlier that day, and i would have had a plethera, a myriad, a veritable cornucopia of choices, and no doubt would've found something that would've suited both the need for diplomacy and my punk sensibilities at the same time.

as it was, i purchased a pair of plain front (pleated slacks make me look oddly proportioned, as if i had been created from cast-off parts from other people), charcoal gray haggar slacks. add to that a gray shirt (with just a hint of metallic look to it) and a black jacket, and i look goddamn-near corporate. my wife suggested i have fun with the tie.

and, o my beloved non-existant readers, i have many thrift-store ties, that are only suitable to wear when i intend to "have fun with the tie." i selected my "three stooges" tie (it doesn't have the three stooges on it, though i did for a very long time have one that did--i call it my three stooges tie because it is a 30's or 40's vintage tie, much like you see the three stooges wearing anytime they have one on in the old episodes. it is red, with yellow zeppelins on it, and a mite wide at the bottom. to wear it properly, i have to tie the knot with barely an inch of the other end hanging free, because the tie was intended to be worn at about the sternum level (these were the days when men wore some ridiculously high-rise pants!)) and the ensemble is complete.

so, here's to nailing the interview, getting the job, and telling you funny stories about the people with whom i work, right here, as always.

darth sardonic