My drunk accounting face looks sad...

So, I went for an interview at this company that works with rigid plastic sheeting and apparently got the job. Rigid plastic sheeting sounds boring but I was so desperate for employment I literally read up everything there is to know about things like polyprophalyne and how to use plastic roofing to let natural light in through your ceiling and had a long, animated discussion with the interviewer about it but then he stopped me short by asking me about Kanji.

PS. I had forgotten I put "speaks basic Japanese" on my resume.
PPS. It's true.
PPPS. Well, it used to be true. In addition to forgetting I had put it on my resume, I had forgotten how to speak it. Damn.
PPPPS. Then I realized that the interviewer doesn't speak any Japanese so I just made up a lot of bullshit to impress him. I apologize to the Japanese people for misrepresenting your culture, etc. If you are Japanese and feel raw about it, call me and I'll take you out for sushi. You guys like that, right?

Anywayyyyy, I took Dave out for a beer cause it was hot and he was my begrudging navigator ("So where exactly is your interview?" "Um...I dunno." "What's the company called?" "Um...Plastic...Something?") and then the recruitment agent called me all excited and told me that the job was 99,9% mine and the guy loved me. 99.9% is good odds so we decided to get 99.9% drunk and celebratory.

Eventually I got home but I spent the entire night yacking up my celebratory liquid diet and only got to sleep at 4 am. Dave was not impressed. ("Are you asleep?" "I was. It's 3 am" "I need you to drive me to the hospital" "You are FINE! You're just drunk!" "I never get drunk. This is serious. I probably have cancer!" "GO TO SLEEP" "FINE! BUT YOU WILL BE SORRY WHEN YOU ROLL MY DEAD CORPSE OUT OF BED TOMORROW!")

Side note: Dave was right. I was just drunk. Who would have thought.

Anyway, I got woken up at 8 am by my prospective employer, who said that in order to secure the remaining 0.01% needed to secure the job, all I had to do was prepare a report on the accounting theory of constraints. As in, now.

Drunk accounting at 8 am

Full of bravado at having mastered the plastic industry in under 24 hours, I immediately responded with "That's no problem. There is literally nothing I don't know about the Theory of Constraints."

Looking back, this was not an accurate representation of what I remember about the theory of constraints (nothing).

But I managed to do it. And now know more about costing and management accounting drunk than most people do sober. If that doesn't impress prospective employers, I don't know what will.

Visit Dave's site. Or he'll shoot you.

SuperDave has started up his own blog - http://www.camelmandave.blogspot.com/. It's a blog for butch manly men who like manly pursuits. Like driving around in nature in a big Landrover. And log-throwing. I don't know. But you should read it. Your man card points automatically increase by 5 if you do.

Weedie died

SuperDave killed my cat Sweeney's best friend.
It sounds bad, but it isn't, considering that Sweeney's best friend is a weed growing in our porch. (Yes, even my cat is a loser.)

He did it to avenge our new leather couch, which Sweeney maliciously destroyed for NO GODDAMN APPARENT REASON. But later he felt bad and replanted it.

You know you are treating a pet like a real, human child when you feed him, cuddle him, buy him his own toys and when he grows up - you take his weed away.

This post is long but I am unemployed and have nothing else to write about except daytime TV and crippling depression. Trust me, this is better

Recently I've been watching this show called Army wives. It's a bunch of bull. The dialogue is completely unrealistic. It's just normal people that wear camo gear and talk about their feelings. In real life, it's very different. For example: Whatever minute crummy thing happens to me, has already happened to SuperDave twice...but with Nazis shooting at him. Not to mention living with his overwhelming COMPETENCE at 8 am when I am still sitting on the foot of my bed surveying the room with bleary eyes trying to gather up enough willpower to drag the slippers closer with my big toe and he’s already jogged 20 km and saved his second busload of orphans teetering over the edge of a cliff. Or something similar - I wouldn't know, I never get up before 10 am.

Anyhoo, this is how I would re-write the dialogue to make it more realistic:

ARMY WIFE: “So what was the army like?”
ARMY GUY: “That’s classified.”

ARMY WIFE: “I’m having a problem with my friend. She’s being mean.”
ARMY GUY: “Someone in my unit was mean to me once. I shot him.”

ARMY WIFE: “Got you a Colonel Burger.”
ARMY GUY: “That burger is at the very best a sergeant-major.”

ARMY WIFE: “You don’t know what it’s like being stabbed in the back...”
ARMY GUY: “Yes I do. With a bayonet. See, I have the scar RIGHT here. But no, your friend telling everyone at the party that you were the one who threw up over the rosebushes...that’s awful.”

ARMY WIFE: “Have you ever travelled abroad?”
ARMY GUY: “The official statement I am required to give is...no."

ARMY WIFE: “I cut my finger!”
ARMY GUY: “I once had 10 pieces of shrapnel in my legs while I was carrying two legless men through a minefield...then I floated above my own body towards the blinding white light. You have a papercut. Stop whining.”

ARMY WIFE: “Oh, no, thank you, I don’t eat pork.”
ARMY GUY: “I once had to eat my own foot to survive. But you’re right. Pork sucks.”

ARMY WIFE: “My trip sucked. It rained all weekend.”
ARMY GUY: “Yes, I went to that country once. Killer ninjas fired at me, and put bamboo shoots up my fingernails. But no, I’m sorry the hotel overcooked your eggs in the morning. That’s MUCH worse.”

ARMY GUY: “What are you doing?
ARMY WIFE: “Blogging.”
ARMY GUY: “Stop putting classified information on the Internet!”
ARMY WIFE: “Well, all the GOOD stuff is classified.”

(Ok, that last one was a direct quote from SuperDave.) Kudos, Army friends.

Oh let them eat cake...(and by "them", I mean "me"!)

I am still grievously unemployed. Apparently no one is yet ready to behold the marketing glory that is me. Let me summarize the extremely frustrating interview experiences thus far.

EMPLOYER: "This job only pays R6000 per month...it says here you've already earned more than that?"

ESSIE: "Yes, that's right. I am willing to work for less."

EMPLOYER: "I am sorry, we cannot accept your application."

ESSIE: "Why not?"

EMPLOYER: "You want too little money."

ESSIE (long pause): "Um...isn't that my problem?"

EMPLOYER: "If we hire you, you will leave us to earn more money. You should just find a job that pays a salary closer to what you are used to."

ESSIE: "The whole reason I am APPLYING for your shitty low-paying job is because I can't find ANY form of work that pays what I'm used to."

EMPLOYER: "We do offer wonderful unpaid internships."

ESSIE: "How is NO money better than a little bit of money?"

EMPLOYER: "If you accept this wonderful unpaid internship, you will work with us 5 days a week plus overtime and will learn a lot with the possibility of advancement to management. Eventually."

ESSIE: "I don't want to be a wonderful unpaid intern. I want to pay my rent."

EMPLOYER: "It is a wonderful growth opportunity."

ESSIE: "If you want someone who will work hard for free, you should have changed your ad from "Marketing Assistant, 3-5 yrs experience wanted" to "Gullible idiots who believe they will actually be promoted and given real grownup money soon apply here"."

EMPLOYER: "We cannot hire you. You look prone to violence. Please leave."

The good news is, I have virtually no standards left and will literally take any job I am offered. My unique skill set includes yoghurt making, cat grooming, garden gnome sculpting and the ability to destroy virtually any electronic device I am given, much like a human EMP. Oh, and 5 years' worth of marketing and PR experience and a degree from a substandard university. Let me know!

Once again yeast infection medication makes me laugh

I was in the bathroom at the Paarl Mall this morning and noticed this piece of advertising brilliance: Yeast Infection? Don't beat around the Bush...

I wish I had become a vagina medicine marketer. I would have such...POTENTIAL for greatness.