My Life

I’ve been trying to get a job recently, and it hasn’t been nearly as successful as I hoped.  I was doing alright stemming my negative cash flow until this month.  Dinner theater was my expected main source of income for November, but I only acted the one time.  This may or may not be because my casting director may or may not be holding a grudge against me for something I may or may not be vague about, because she may or may not read my blog.  All I know is I haven’t gotten the Christmas script for two weeks now, so I may or may not be working there anymore.  I have no idea.  Ah, the life of an actor!

I’ve decided this is going to be a bitter sarcastic post.  I’m usually quite upbeat, but the job market has got me down.  I figured my neuroscience degree would be worth something, and I was right:  when I tell people I’m a comic, it’s worth a good laugh.   Then there’s the past employment.  “Shaw’s Janitor” doesn’t exactly jump off the old resume, so I spiced it up.  I was the only one stupid enough to take the position, so I call myself the Head Maintenance Technician, where I occasionally helped with customer service (directing people to the Bush’s Baked Beans) and engaged in grocery transport facilitation (bagging).  If only there was a job were I could bullshit and condescend to people.  On second thought, I don’t like politics.  Although I did apply to be a mental health worker for the government, a job I’m overqualified for according to their requirements.  Haven’t heard from them.  I’ve applied to numerous Administrative Assistant positions, but apparently neuro kids are too stupid to do office work.  Maybe they’re right, for a solid six weeks I was too stupid to be a food server at a sports bar.  I finally got the hang of it though.  All this rejection is making me stress eat.  Which is ironic, because I have an interview for a nutrition and wellness coaching position tomorrow.  I also applied for an apprentice personal trainer position, but again, the combination of neuroscience, working three years in a college training room, and a life of athletic experience has yet to help me.  Thanksgiving was awesome.

Anyway, I’m making progress towards my next 6 minutes of stand up.  I’m trying to create jokes that are more meaningful to me than my bicycle interfering with my sex life, if that’s possible.  It’s hard though.  I tried to do a series of jokes of how Cosmo magazine was ruining orgasms for women, with stories like “Cosmo Total Body Sex: How to make your man quvier from head to toe” and “What he’s thinking when he sees your o-face.”  These are the types of articles that make women self-conscious in bed, making it harder to orgasm.  I tried to convey the rediculousness of these stories, but it wasn’t funny until I made a joke implying my dick was one fifth of my body weight.  The best joke told by any comedian that night was when this gay Iranian guy described, in minute detail, the state of a showering man’s uneven balls.  Bill Hicks was right, people love dick jokes.  Now, Bostonians are not dolts, despite what they try to make people think, so I’m hoping to improve to the point where I can make meaningful concepts funny.  I’ve only been doing this for 10 weeks, so I’ll get there.  Rant complete.

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