Pumpkin Ball

I've started to refer to basketball as Pumpkin Ball. And, not to bury the lead, let's face it, I hate Pumpkin Ball. Who wants a pumpkin thrown at them anyways? It's scary.

That being said, I've created a list of reasons why I hate basketball. Did you know that my boyfriend's family is in love with basketball? I only bring this up because one, blogging is my only outlet for what should remain unspoken irritations, and two, I will be meeting them again next week. We will probably even go to a pumpkin ball game, too. Not that I have a problem cheering, it's just that high school games don't serve beer, then again it is Montana, so here's hoping.

Reason # 1. The squeaking shoes. Nuff' said.

Reason # 2. The technicalities. So many rules! I always scream at the tv when watching football (Screw you, Favre, but go Vikings). because the reffs won't let them play the game. Basketball is like ballerinas tossing a pumpkin around while doing quantum physics. White board? Seriously?

Reason # 3. It simply isn't violent enough. Basketball was the first sport I played, and I was always sitting out because I fouled out for decking people. I still find myself asking, why can't you knock someone over for the pumpkin?

Reason # 4. Pumpkin Ball lacks any real-life skills or application. At least in football or hockey you learn how to fight? How the hell is putting a pumpkin in a net going to perpetuate humanity? At least throwing and swinging a bat are forms of self-defense.

Reason # 5. Although I respect the athletes and their ability to perform pumpkin ballet or whatever, I do not respect the basketball groupies. They're just annoying. Especially girls who figured they should like a sport, so they chose basketball. Trying to impress boys with specific team allegiance morphed into romanticizing 6'7 basketball players and thus eventually naming pets after their favorite player, i.e., "this is my toy poodle, Colby." Hmm, Colby, isn't that a cheese?

Hating The Process

"Let's see, white, check, female, check, no, I'm not a felon, but if this simple automated application lasts any longer I might just become a felon... diabled? not yet..."

Yes, I just wasted another two hours of my life filling out an, "easy automated job application." And by wasted, I mean that the company will probably never even e-mail much less call me or, hell, even read my damn application. Automated, my ass.

Maybe it's because I use a big-fancy iMac, but every time I try to upload my awesome CV or resume' I receive a, "failed to load" page. No, your server is not too busy, I will not check back later—I'm just too awesome for your server. That's right. I checked that self-confidence box on your "assessment" (which took another 43 minutes and 19 second of my life.

That's ok, though, I'm sure it was precious time I would've spent working for people who do not wish to work. Well, I do wish to work, world.

I want to have the pre-work dread. Then I can yell at myself to be grateful for employment. But, alas, I'm a slave to the automated process...

I'd like to think that most people find me charming and likable, but, it is difficult to see that on a stupid application.
if they won't interview me, how will they become susceptible to my thrall and irresistibility?