I Have Little to Offer

I don't know if you've checked your calendar lately, but there's a big whoop-de-doo this weekend at my apartment. Being the jittery monkey I am, I am already revved to go. The bad part, unfortunately, is that I have to go to work tomorrow. Even worse, I have to lead an interview session for a new candidate. I just know my thirst for revelry is going to leak into the interview, and I'll end up asking questions like, "In your opinion, what's the best way to get puke out of someone's hair?" and "You don't buy into this light beer bullshit, do you?" Yeah, not much focus here.

And tonight's a big night, anyway. My beloved Dallas Mavericks are going to swap out the girls' team for their cadre of superstars, hopefully, and bring me back from the precipice of suicide. I swear, if they lose the game tonight, I'm storming the next court at the next one. I'll grab the ball, dunk it in Yao Ming's face, and announce to the team, "That's how you do it, ladies." And knowing Mark Cuban's propensity to pay untalented white people billions of dollars (see Shaun Bradley), I'll then get a contract big enough to buy my cat a pet human.

What I'm getting at is that I just don't have the goods tonight. I've got bigger fish to fry. This fish is called merriment, and I go after it like Santiago in the Old Man and the Sea. So, this weekend, woohoo. I'll see all of you on the other side, hopefully.