Man, I can’t even slack off right.

Spent the weekend doing some fun stuff with M., like going to the Berkeley Flea Market, and trying so very, very hard not to obsess on the job offer that still may or may not materialize.

Instead of my usual fear and loathing on the HR trail, I’ll strive tomorrow to send the HR chick good vibes of positive energy. Then, maybe she’ll call the people I gave as references during EAST COAST business hours, instead of when she apparently has been. (I’ll try anyway to be positive with the old vibe-sending chi, but the years of HR contempt may block the feel good vibrations.)

(As of late Friday, the recruiter was pushing for an offer contingent on acceptable references, since she had trouble reaching them. One reference emailed no message yet from her, and another that she called around 5:30-6 p.m. EST. Worry, worry, worry.)

Meanwhile, it fucking dawned on me, that I may be getting a half-way decent job very much in spite of my best intentions. I had to think about this little bit of reality and find some humor. The humor to me is I want to be a slacker; I want nothing better than to have some shitty, poor paying gig, that leaves me plenty of free brain time to do some of my own stuff.

But I couldn’t get that kind of job. The mall wouldn’t have me. I tried. Various promo jobs, like giving out water samples, they didn’t want me either. Telemarketing down the street from the mall to which I can easily bike returned silence. Part-time office work? I tried. Seriously, no one would have the faith that I truly and in all sincerity am A-OK with being downwardly mobile from my resume. I sent out a pretty honkingly large pile of emails for part-time and lower paying jobs. A lot, actually.

But, this possible position at a major reputable place could end up being mine, just because a somewhat shitty, part-time job was listed by a recruiter advertising on Craig’s List, and to that shitty, part-time job I applied. The recruiter didn’t even consider me for that job.

While all the job worries are going on, I’ve also been taking a hard, rock hard look at comedy and whether I want to continue pursuing it. Some of the crap I have participated in and my own ambivalent performing has made that look necessary. Ultimately, sitting in some shitty bar waiting for a few minutes of me time to jump on stage ain’t really me.

So, as I think about only doing select shows, avoiding crappy half-assed bad comedy fiascos and creating a marketing kit to be able to sell myself to the shows I choose, I come home to an email for a Saturday night spot at a place to which I’ve been and been impressed.

The joke is, I am inert, virtually embodying a body at rest, slacking extraordinaire. And yet with inaction, I might get a job and a good comedy show.

Jesus, with the sunlight and the fortune, I might not see New England again. No wonder Marcia Brady was so goddamn perky.