eat drink and what?

I can't drink.

Does that not suck?

No, really. I'm allergic. Thanks.

No, I mean it. No. No wine. No vodka. No gin and tonic. Well, maybe the tonic, but definitely not the gin. No tequila, no rum, no whiskey, and definitely no beer.

Well, okay, I could maybe drink the beer, but I'd rather not because it tastes like dog piss.

Yes, damn you, I know perfectly well what dog piss tastes like, and that's beer, right there, that's beer, I had a dog when I was three years old and who the hell can explain what goes through the mind of a three-year old? Just don't shove that beer in my face. I don't know for sure if I actually drank dog piss, but I might've, and all I'm saying is, beer tastes like dog piss.

No. No schnapps. Why? Because my heart stops, that's why. Yeah, go ahead, laugh it up you stupid fraggle monkey, just wait 'til the police arrest you gaping at my cold, lifeless corpse. I can drink a glass -- or maybe half a glass, I'm not sure about exact measurements -- and then all of my limbs go numb, my chest starts to seize up, I get black spots in front of my eyes, stop being able to breathe, and start to panic. It gets ugly.

Yes, it sucks. You know why it sucks? Because I can't drink. When everybody else is getting drunk and having fun, me, I'm sitting in the corner being all inhibited and repressed, cradling a tonic (or maybe a diet coke if I'm feeling wild, sugar high, woo hoo!) and watching jealously while everybody else cuts loose and rides the ethanol roller-coaster.

My genes have made me the designated driver.

For eternity.

Bet I invented wine in a box in a past life. This is my punishment. Who says God don't have a sense of humor?

Second interview today, for which I uncovered -- huzzah! -- a suit of purple and black velvet, one that went quite well with the sensible shoes I love so much. The interview went from 2:00 pm to 3:30, and over the course of the time I met three other people at the company: two executives and an engineer. Did it go well? I'm not sure. I felt comfortable with two; less comfortable with the first, though that was perhaps inevitable considering it was the first of the three interviews.

Ironically enough, it was also the most important of the three interviews. Well, we'll see what we'll see.

In the meantime, I've five more jobs to apply to in order to make California Unemployment's Department happy for the week. It's not the applying so much as it is the finding. It can't be helped.

Last Sunday was Easter.

How does one figure out when Easter is? It's a Catholic thing. I have no idea. (Or a Christian thing. Are the two distinct? Educate me, beloveds; I'm pagan, by your standards.) As per tradition, said tradition being all of three years old, I went to Tara and Remington's for Easter dinner.

It was yummy. Tara cooks good. I've mentioned this before. She cooks real good.

In the meantime, back in the real world completely apart from my rapidly ballooning stomach, the Guy attempted to reward me for my first interview by purchasing the new Sims expansion pack at Best Buy. As it turned out, I had a gift card that covered all but about a dollar-and-change of it; excited for us both, he popped it into my computer and discovered that my hard drive is running out of room.

Add a new hard drive to the list of things I have to get eventually.

In the meantime, Sims Vacation is running a little slowly but well. It's a spiffy little attachment, with lots of fun items. It works much like the Hot Date expansion did, except now there're games that can be played, and a strange fellow dressed up in a shark costume waddling around the screen.

My hope is that the next pack the Sims come out with will involve animals in a more interactive part than mere "Pet-Feed-Clean." I'd like to see them come up with a dog or a cat that actually wanders around the house, a domesticated pet that has to be potty trained, fed, played with, and groomed. Not to mention neutered, else it get a little happy with the neighbor's li'l pal Mister Tinkles and drop a litter of fuzzy baby Sims.

Too much time on my hands. I'm going to go study something. The ingredients on a Coke can or something . . .