The name's Johnson. Tom Johnson.

Okay, so the job search ain't going too well. I've sent out hundreds, nay, thousands, of emails to ads on Craiglist,  and not more than one measly interview. Rather depressing. I must be doing something wrong, I figured. So I decided to evaluate myself.

Well, I don't dress like a 20-year-old, for one. I don't paint my nails, I don't wear earrings and I'm not a fan of lipstick. So I went out and bought some lipstick and nail polish (I already have earrings, I just don't wear them lol).

Next, I showed my friend a resume, and he helped me give a complete make-over. Seriously. Like a Holy-Shit-I-Can-Tell-you-Went-To-Jenny-Craig-Cuz-I-Didn't-Recognize-You Makeover.

And now, I am confident.

Unfortunately, I received one of these, which lowered my happiness, just a bit, until I sought my revenge:

Seems legit.

Which seemed oddly familiar to something I'd received before:

Steve Gold. Seriously.

Which was similar to a message I had received before that:

Hmm.. I think something's FISHY.

I've been applying for receptionist jobs, not fucking personal assistant while you're in ButtFuck Egypt jobs. Today, when I received my third one (the one at the top) I sent back this:

Eight six seven five three oh nineeeeee

And, in a surprising turn of events, Mr. Harrison Cole himself sent me back this reply:

Oh Harrison, you knucklehead.

So, according to this email (which seems legit btw) I have a job. Can't wait for my first assignment as a seventy-five year old sexually confused individual named Tom Johnson.

Well, I'm going to end this post before I have to look my boyfriend in the face and tell him I haven't cleaned this room because I've been blogging. 

Peaceeeee!