Today I called my TESOL instructor, Bryan, about my resume and assignments. He says they look good and we're going to start looking for a job.

Bryan also told me one of my classmates, who nailed a position in Saudi Arabia, demanded a salary of no less than $4000 a month, including room and airfare--on her resume. Holy shit! Considering she'd never taught an ESL class before, that's a massive amount of cash. But to be fair, they do pay more in the Middle East if you're qualified, and since she has her masters degree I assume she has a few debts to pay.

I'm only expecting half that much in South Korea. As long as I can contribute to my sister's schooling, eat, groom myself and buy my monthly comics, I'll be happy.

At last count, I had one pair of defunct glasses, an old electric toothbrush and three contact lenses--not three pairs of contact lenses, mind you, but three individual lenses. Yet, I dug into my savings today in order to pay for my next three months of health insurance.

My bill actually came last month, but I avoided it, hoping Blue Cross would just cut off my broke, part-time ass without calling home. But after my father had his surgery, my mom asked me to make an appointment for a check-up, and I had to tell her the truth. They freaked out, obviously.

"I exercise and eat right," my recuperating father pointed out, "and look what happened to me." It's true--he has twice the energy of men half his age. It's only those extra years that work against him.

So I pulled out my checkbook, more out of guilt than actual concern for potential mishaps headed in my direction. And I can't regret it--even if I'm not diving out of planes or climbing mountains, at least my parents feel secure.

So now my checking account is bare, and I have to make up for what I took out of savings from my next paycheck. Oh, and I'm going to a Nine Inch Nails concert in a few days. I probably wouldn't be so dirt poor if I didn't squander my earnings on, say, those five Fables trades and fancy food. But I'm under the misconception that, as a young, fit and middle class woman, I'm invulnerable to a number of diseases and accidents. And I've convinced myself that I need organic food to survive.

Well, at least I'm aware of the fact that I'm a complete tool when it comes to money and health. And knowing is half the battle.

In other news, I finally completed the work for my TESOL specialization course. Now I can get my hands dirty and gloat over miniscule achievements in my cover letters and resume. I'm ready to be deported!

Ever since our beloved bunny Hazel died, I have turned my devotion to our latest guest, the most esteemed Earl Grey. He (or she) is a rat that has supposedly eluded us for the past few months, stealing carrots, pooping in corners and seeking shelter in our garage. While he may be a wild rodent, he's actually quite pretty, with a coat so shiny you can't doubt we've been feeding him well. I've seen him leap into our rabbit's doggie dish and scale up the barbecue grill, and find his acts very admirable. Of course, my parents wish for nothing more than to see his head under a shovel. I would catch it and let it loose in an orchard, but I'm a pussy when it comes to fast things with teeth.

Last week I bought my father a book on rabbits because he misses having a pet and plans to buy another soon. He's actually reading it thoroughly, which is a surprise given the lack of research we conducted for our previous two bunnies. I have been searching the internet for animal shelters in NorCal so we can adopt. There are so many rabbits listed for euthanasia, I just want to adopt them all.

The upside to adoption is that the bunny will already have been neutered/spayed (if it's old enough) and litterbox trained. The only con is that it will still be traumatized from being abandoned by its previous owner, so it will take a while before it bonds with its new owners. Anyway, no matter what we decide to do, I'm persuading my parents to keep our next pet indoors.

I was pouring a glass of prune juice for my bedridden father when I saw that the drink was made in my hometown. We have a Sunsweet factory across from Wal*Mart, so I wasn't surprised. But for the first time, I was actually proud of this town, because in spite of the lack of things to do, at least we manufacture nutritious--if crap tasting--fluids. And the largest, classiest cities in the world can't do that for you.

As I mentioned above, my father is recovering from surgery, so any attempts to play nurse would be honorable. But now I'm mooching off a sick parent, and in my excessively analytical universe that places me in the same league as the devil.

I suppose my slacker persona is my main reason for starting this blog. It's been a couple of months since I've applied for work, and now that the bank has lessened my hours, I should start sending out resumes and cover letters again. I'll mark my progress here, and if you notice I've been neglectful, feel free to jump my ass if you come across me at Starbucks.