And I Shall Call Him Tater
I just applied to adopt a dog! I think about 4,703 (roughly) other people applied for him, too, so I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much, but look:
I mean, how cute is he? Seriously? He just assaults you with his cuteness.
I wrote a damned tome for my application letter. I yammered on and on about the size of our yard, and how dog-friendly our neighborhood is, and how we live on a park and would take him for walks in the park twice (or thrice!) daily. I even attached pictures of our yard and house. I told them about the dog park being built in our neighborhood.
Hopefully, if they don't think I'm insane, they'll consider us for this puppy. Keep your fingers crossed for me, y'all.
In other news, I applied to be a part of random focus groups for a local research company (ahem, Emmarae, you might be familiar with them?). They've called me twice, and both times, after I've spent about ten minutes answering random questions (and getting more and more excited about the prospect of making sixty bucks), they'll ask me my age. When I tell them (twenty-five), they'll say, "Oh, well, you're much too young."
Pardon moi, I know I am but a simple library worker, and I may not be familiar with the intricacies of market research, but I know that I might sort some data by age if that were a major criterion. Right? Can't you just not call people under 30 or whatever? I don't understand? Why must you toy with me that way? Can I still have sixty dollars?