Holy lawd, entertaining myself is damn expensive

You know that part in "Being Malkovich," when John Malkovich himself does into the hole in the wall, and all he sees is people in a restaurant that look like him, and all they can say is "Malkovich?" That's my life, 24-7-365.

My master plan to get another part of this ongoing story bailed out, thanks in no small part to my massive amount of undone paperwork. Which, I'd like to point out, I'm not going to bitch about too much, since I'm convinced that the majority of blogging that goes on in the interweb is either goth in nature, or people wallowing in self-pity more abundant than the reserves of gasoline that the government is hiding from us, in an effort to bring its citizens financially to their knees.

Right now, though, I need to get my own financial situation in order. Part of that involves picking up my tax return sometime this week. Part of it also involves balancing my spending a little bit more effectively. And of course, one thing that will help me gain more money is ... ugh, going back on the on-call schedule. Which is just dandy. Did I mention I'm hoping to hear from another job, maybe this week? Well, here's hoping; and nothing more will be said of it for the rest of this week, other than an update, if I should hear something.

Oh, and a new look hits Southernfried Wednesday. Can't let myself forget that. Since it's a poor man's advertisement for SGM and all. Some people can bitch about stupid local wrestling, but can't be bothered with responding to a few emails with their busy schedules.