Here are some things I’m really good at:

-Keeping mental track of who’s currently pregnant on my facebook, and whether they are cute-happy-pregnant or gross-fat-pregnant.  (this is a real issue.  Some people look like they are radiantly growing a beautiful life inside them and some people look like they accidentally ate a large piece of couch stuffing and now they don’t know what to do about it except post pictures on the internet.)


-Using Excel to calculate how much weight I could lose by Christmas/my birthday/St. Patrick’s Day (this is a legitimate milestone in my calendar year) if I lose x pounds per week.  It is important to note here that I have never met any weight loss goal that I have set for myself, except one summer without trying, I lost 20 lbs by lying in bed from 6 pm- 6 am every day instead of ‘eating dinner’ or ‘being a productive member of society.’  Once I started eating/smiling again, though, it came right back on, so I wouldn’t recommend a depressing break-up as a mode for long-term weight loss.  I did recently adjust my 3-pronged food pyramid of cereal, pizza and sandwiches to remove most grains on most days, but the jury’s still out on whether it has made me skinnier or just more belligerent.


-Fancy penmanship, in short bursts


-Structuring my workday in such a manner where I accomplish exactly the amount of work I have to do.  If I have a lot of work to do, this is impressive, and people think I’m part-robot*.  If I only have a little work to do, however, this is less impressive, because it will take me all day to do a half hour of work.  It’s sort of like if your car knew when you needed to be somewhere and drove at the appropriate speed.  You would never be early or late, but sometimes, you would go way too fast, because you’re a putz and couldn’t get it together to leave the house on time, and sometimes, you would go way too slow, and even the slowest grandmas would give you the finger as they passed you on the road. 


-Smelling things.  Sometimes I am convinced that our dishes/kitchen/couch smells like dog-smell, but my GF can’t smell it.  In fact, dog-smell is pretty much the only thing I excel at smelling.  Either everything in my home (including the inside of the microwave) smells like a dog, or I have dog-smell permanently imprinted in my nose/brain.  Both of these outcomes are pretty bleak, actually.


-Writing emails and cover letters that sound really good to me.   I specify here that they sound really good –to me- because I haven’t been particularly lucky in my job pursuits.  I did get a new job a few months ago, but I probably should have known that something was awry because it was the only company who even wanted an interview with me out of all the applications I sent out.  At the time, I thought I had finally found a company who understood and appreciated my full potential as an important contributor to the organization, but now I think that everyone involved in the hiring process was insane.  The last 3 months have been very similar to most of my internet dating pursuits,** in that I realized almost immediately that I’d made a huge mistake and started looking around for the nearest exit.


In summation, I have very few viable job skills, and spend most of my downtime calculating theoretical weight loss, catching up on facebook, and watching reality shows en masse on whichever of my internet TV subscriptions enable me to do so.  So I figured I’d start a blog.  If for no other reason, it will force me to get out of the fetal position after work and actually feel something.  Tearing up during a Google commercial EVERY Google commercial does not count as being an emotionally functional person.


*I am part-robot, coincidentally, but it’s the ‘feelings’ part, not the ‘working’ part, so it actually makes me less likely to succeed in an office environment, not more.


**I say ‘most’ because I met my lovely girlfriend online 2 years ago and she’s actually awesome.  But let me assure you that she is in the vast minority, and that everyone who has ever approached me on a dating site has turned out to be crazy-bananas in one way or another.  I messaged E first, though, so the burden of crazyfreakitude was on me, and either I turned out to be okay, or I turned out to be a kind of crazy that meshed well with her own, so it worked out.