Because, well, call me a sissy but when I think about "following the fear" in the situation that I've been mulling over this past weekend, I sort of want to vomit. I think I'd rather start my new base-jumping hobby.

Basically it boils down to quitting my day job to pursue a profession that I really haven't a huge interest in but will offer massive security, adequate financial reward, and a great career. All of which, I suppose, look wonderful when I look at my activities this past weekend. Basically I waited on a bunch of jerks, but the people of Ohio can also rest easy. The Bingo regulations in the upcoming Ohio Revised Code look just great thanks to my weekend page checks! Boring? What do you think? Though it somehow felt much more rewarding when completed in the comfort of my home while watching Buffy DVDs and comforting the sleeping beagle beside me.

But lets look back to the words I casually slipped in to the beginning of this entry. "Quitting My Day Job." Yeah. Scares the shit out of me. My sister, just one proponent of this scenario, almost has me convinced. I, however, will be the one to worry about rent, food, beagles, rising energy costs, aging car repairs, and health insurance. I have almost run out of "yeah, but..."s at this point and am further investigating the possibility of this bold move.

I will just need to give warning to all of my well-meaning friends who ask if I really want to go to all this trouble to work in a field that I'm not all that interested in. To them I say, with the utmost love and respect, "shut your pie hole." It has to be better than what I'm doing now, right? Reading about Bingo laws and waiting on jerks who are too lazy to go the the bathroom to grab a tissue and ask you, their server, to do it for them?

We shall see.

On a completely unrelated topic, I am taking my dogs to some sort of dog park today for a doggy date with Jeff and his brother Lee's dog. While they assure me that there is no possible way that the dogs can escape from said dog park, I am fully prepared to guard the entrance/exit against dim-witted children who may or may not open the gate without paying attention to my escape-artist beagles. Armed with a sling shot, paint-ball gun, and volumes of profanity, lets hope that I'm successful.

And on another note, I ordered take-out from one of my favorite restaurants down the street and am wondering why on earth, when ordering the hummos appetizer, any restaurant would give you a drum of hummos and four triangles of pita bread. Does that make sense to anyone?

And today, if I really am what I eat, I'm definitely a granola-hippie-backpacking-yuppy, which may explain the self-hatred.

'Til tomorrow.