(un)employed

We were in the car on the way back from Lake Tahoe. The Guy was singing the Smurf theme song.

"Laaa laaa la la la laaa... Don't try to out-Smurf ME!" he shouted triumphantly. "I am a member of the Secret Brotherhood of the SMURF!"

A three hundred mile car ride with a man who sings the Smurf song is no laughing matter.

The wedding was a cheerful affair, in the Germanic fashion of the Austrians and Swiss. There was much incomprehensible singing, several entertaining plays, and an absolutely impenetrable skit put on by several European engineers that had at various times been sponsored in the US by the bride and groom.

It was set at scenic Camp Richardson, a resort in Lake Tahoe. Why it's Historic, I have no idea. They were married on the dock, in 20-degree weather, and we piled into a large boathouse to hold the festivities.

I wrote a fairy tale. We performed it. Shall I link it up? It'd be in Microsoft Word and some of you would regret it. If I get a request, maybe I will.

I won't spend too long on this, since we have a lot of things to cover today and I've a limited attention span of late. I will mention that I painted my fingernails at Tara's urging -- five times; I'm very bad at painting my fingernails, and thank heavens she'd brought fingernail polish remover, though I think I used almost the entire bottle -- and that I changed my clothes during the reception, it was so damn cold.

We spent the weekend in one of the cabins, a two-bedroom affair that we shared with Tara and Remington. There was a fireplace in the small sitting room, and it was one of the most relaxing weekends I've ever spent, just lolling in that warm room with our friends, painting my nails and sometimes, just sometimes, inserting a non sequitor in what passed for conversation.

Tara, who has a passion for jokes most people get off the back of cereal boxes, jokes that were old (and bad!) even when we were in kindergarten -- "Why don't cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny. Bwah hah hah!" -- was absolutely determined to tell us a joke involving a neutron, an electron, a proton, and a bar tab. Remington and I had both heard it, and we unkindly waved away her attempts at retelling with more haste than grace. I hate to admit that in this time of incredible trial, I utterly failed in my womanly duty. I sacrificed the Guy.

"He hasn't heard it yet," I told her cravenly, knowing full well that he was trapped in the kitchen sawing a coconut in half with a leatherman.

Yes, coconut. Don't ask.

Tara's eyes brightened at the thought of a new victim and she instantly bounded off to the kitchen, where we shortly heard her declaiming her joke to the resigned Guy. Every word was audible, it being a small cabin, but at least the joke wasn't being told to us.

At one point, she stopped, waiting expectantly for laughter. The Guy failed to satisfy. Like all of Tara's jokes, it wasn't high on the Richter scale of hilarity.

"That's a physics joke. You're a bit of a nerd, aren't you?" he accused.

She laughed, and started talking again, only to be cut off by the Guy's wail.

"There's MORE?!"

Remington and I exchanged grateful looks in the sitting room -- there but for the grace of a sacrificial lamb -- and failed signally to come to his rescue.

Like I told those that were notified, a lot of stuff has happened in the last week. The Tuesday interview that I was supposed to have was rescheduled to Wednesday, and on Wednesday I ripped apart my wardrobe with the classic female complaint ("I have nothing to wear!") before tripping off wearing black slacks and a beaded blouse and cardigan I got in Mauritius.

Least anybody disapprove of this choice in attire, allow me to reassure you all with the knowledge that my roommate heartily approves of this particular combination.

Expecting to be interviewed, I was therefore somewhat taken aback when I was instead told that the interviews had been cancelled as unnecessary.

They wanted to offer me the job, instead.

There are a few details to iron out, starting date, wording on contract -- intellectual copyright, folks, and check your contracts; you'd be surprised what the law constitutes as property of the company, depending on what you've signed. A lot of companies put down a variation on "...any creation developed during your period of employment..." which apparently could mean everything from code you developed at work to stuff you tinker around with on your own for fun at home, and thank God California's law is stricter than New York's on this -- questions about work hours, dress code, etcetera.

But hey, assuming all those answers are good, I'll start work on April 29, a little over two months since I started looking for a job.

I've long been convinced that my good luck professionally is tied in to Flamingo's. We both found jobs last time at approximately the same time, and now we've done it again. Well, we'll see if bad luck is tied in as well; it is a start-up I'm going to, and after all, we all know how precarious start-ups are. Hopefully though, things will go well, and we'll all live happily ever after.

I like happily ever after. It's so ... bland, isn't it?