Zilla, Pabst, and Jose

If you’re new here, you might want to meet my alter-ego before proceeding.

Channeling her inner Houdini, she managed to escape some time ago.

Evidently, she roamed all over God’s creation with a supply of Pabst, a friend of hers, and my temperamental time machine.

They also stole a bottle of champagne, but at this point, that is neither here nor there.

She’s been in my ear all morning attempting to explain herself.  Twiggy arms flapping in excitement, stomping her tail to provide the occasional soundtrack, miming the actions of what is either an ancient tribal ritual or a story about being trapped in the middle of an Hermes sale (I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually)-regardless, she’s got a long way to go in describing her whereabouts these past months.

She wore herself out in the middle of a tale about Jose (the buddy of hers I mentioned), and so in an effort to get her to quiet down a bit, I asked her to write you all a note about how this adventure got started in the first place.

As you can see, the handwritten explanations leave much to the imagination.

Just thought you should all know that I have verified the expiration date of her rickshaw license.  Early 16th century, though it looks like she could have extended if she hadn’t missed the deadline.

She’s slowly piecing it together for me, but I’m sure I’ve just hit the tip of the iceberg.  I’m debating giving her access to my password on here, so if you see an occasional drawing sans explanation, rest assured, it’s Zilla.

Rawr.

Zilla’s life-plan

Garlic bread crumbs cover my shirt, my dog is asleep on my legs, and there’s a near-empty box of ibuprofen on the coffee table.  I’ve been contemplating making popcorn for the past hour, and so far today I’ve gone through two buckets of green tea and a considerable amount of chocolate chip cookies.  If procrastination of life-planning was an art, I’d have lost an ear by now.

So must get started.  Must tie on cape, inflate muscles, slap this curvy figure into a spandex super-hero costume, and figure out what to do with my life.  Here I go…

(insert blank stare, sigh, nose crinkle, sip of coffee, spill coffee on the part of cape hanging over shoulders, yawn, another sigh-and now we’ve returned to the blank stare)

Did I mention that my super-hero costume has spikes down the back?

Cause it does.

Maybe I should wear it to job interviews.  Talk about making a first impression, those folks won’t know what hit em.  It kind of reminds me of the inflatable dinosaur I used to keep in my car in high-school.  Except that was Spike, and he was red.  The costume is slightly different, because of course-it is Ryzilla.  Not a dino, but a distant cousin.  Who doesn’t want to hire the distant cousin of a dinosaur?

Course first I gotta figure out what jobs to apply for…..

Focus Zilla, focus.

(stifle yawn, tiny growl, shift dog off legs onto couch, sit up straight, one firm nod of the head-and presto-focused face on)

Well I have a double Bachelors degree and two Masters degrees so that should help-not as much as the costume, but good as a foundation of my qualifications.  A foundation of awesomeness, if you will.

Plus I like to write, take pictures AND make movies.  Insert the basement of my split-level home of qualifications.

Now how to get up the stairs….

(popcorn urge taking over, requiring giant glass of water, butter stains appearing on costume, eating faster as contemplation increases, brow-furrowed, feeling bloated, can’t stop-too tasty,  share some kernels with dog, get up to wash hands, return to computer, ready for it to reveal answers)

Computer screen still as blank as before….

Well, at least I’ve got the costume.

Any employment ideas for the well-educated, artistic, mildly-delusional distant-cousin of a dinosaur?

All suggestions to be taken into account.