On Tuesday, I sent off a query to an editor about a content writing gig I found while poking around online.  I wasn’t really qualified, based on the description, but I figured “What the fuck…” and sent off an email.

As expected, that editor didn’t think I was the best dude for his need, but he passed over my info to another editor with his company who, as it turned out, was desperately looking for someone like me.  W00t!

I spoke with Editor B yesterday morning and we chatted for a little while about what he needed.  Wasn’t exactly my dream writing gig, but hey, clips are clips and money’s money, right?  And since this thing pretty much fell into my lap I thought I’d be stupid not to give it a whirl.

He asked me to send him another sample, which I did, and he replied a few minutes later with this:

Wow, this is very well written. I like your style!

Would you like to setup a meeting time sometime soon?

Color me stupid, but that seemed pretty damn encouraging to me.  I immediately emailed him back and we set something up.  In his words (typo and all):

Tomorrow morning would be find – how about 9 AM Eastern?

“Tomorrow” would now be “today.”  Sure, that’s 6am Justin Time, but my alarm typically goes off at 5:30am anyway.  Meant that I wouldn’t be able to bike in this morning or hit the snooze alarm more than twice, and that I’d have to rearrange my normal morning routine.  Slight inconvenience, but I was willing to deal with that.

So I sprung out of bed at the ass-crack of morning, rushed through my shower, and called him precisely on time.

And got his voicemail.

No problem, I thought.  Just leave him a message.  Probably got caught on another call.  Or step out for some coffee.  Or had to take a leak.  Whatever.  He’ll call back, right?

Wrong.

It’s now several hours later and there’s no word.  And I’m pissed.  Again, not that I was doing backflips over this particular gig, but it’s still irritating to get stood up.

And the thing is, this is the second editor in a row to do this to me.

It’s fine and dandy to get smacked down immediately.  That’s cool.  I can dig it.  We didn’t jive, I’ll get over it.  But when their initial response is all optimistic and it sounds like we’re gonna get down and boogie, it really pisses me off when they just drop all communication and leave me hanging.

That, and The Team Who Until Today Was Known As The Sonics is officially moving to Oklahoma City. (Piss off, Clay Bennett and David Stern.  I hear they’re working on tenth Circle of Hell just for you two bastards.)

And and AND…

Because of the new headset/cell phone law that went into effect in Washington state this week, I found one of these waiting on my desk yesterday afternoon:

I don’t want to be Bluetooth Headset Guy.  They’re dorks.  I’m more than dorky enough without one of these things.  Unless you can pull off the black tights and miniskirt look, you shouldn’t wear one of these, either.

Yes, folks, the Gays have found our neighborhood. And you know what? We couldn’t be happier.

After all, they’ve moved into the house that previously brought us such memorable moments as ‘Drunken Meth Addict Resists Arrest’, ‘Honey, the Ambulance Is Across the Street Again’, and ‘Is It Your Turn to Call 911 or Mine?’ Oh, and let’s not forget ‘Night of the Half Dozen Police Cruisers’*, commemorated here:

We’re thrilled that the Gays have moved in, knowing our property value will double in the next few months as a result. It’s a proven fact. That one episode of Will and Grace thoroughly established what happens when the Gays move into a neighborhood, and we all know that TV wouldn’t lie.

There is one little hitch. The house they moved into? It’s been split into 54 different apartments and, as far as we know, there’s only one openly gay couple living there. I don’t think that’s a gay enough proportion to do much good. Maybe some of the rest of them will catch the Gay and help make the place fabulous. We can only hope.

Still, though, we’re encouraged. While the rest of the drunks and junkies in that place were passed out (shirtless) in their lawn chairs this weekend, the Gays were out (God, I wish I’d intended that pun…) fixing up the place, scraping off the trim (again, totally not intended…) and throwing down a new coat of paint. Nice to see that some of the people living in that shit-hole take some pride in their living conditions.

And on the same weekend as Portland Pride. Appropriate, no?

*Couldn’t fit them all in the shot. Likewise, you can’t see the junkie in cuffs on the porch.