The Modern Day Cover Letter

Zeke's Portable Toilets
326 York Street
Bellingham, Washington

To Whom it May Concern:

I am applying for the receptionist position I discovered upon calling your office this afternoon. While I should probably offer that my life's dream has been to work in close proximity to portable sewage boxes, let's just be honest. You're the last company listed in my phone book that I haven't yet applied to..

So let's get to the meat of it; what makes me an attractive candidate for this position? I need a paycheck. This can also be read as "loyal" or "a woman with long-term plans to work her way up in the company." I like scrapbook stores and occasional consignment store shopping sprees, so my desperation for steady money means bending to you every whim. As far as skills, I can read, write, and speak English. I'm able to breathe in and out, generally without having to remind myself, and I'm able to use a computer, at least to the extent that I know how to find help on the internet, or send facebook messages to my smart friends and family members. I'm also post-it friendly, so receiving and relaying messages shouldn't be a problem (maybe I could even relay them to you via facebook).

I'd greatly appreciate an opportunity to meet with you to discuss my resume, but we both know that won't happen. Somewhere in the midst of carrying the 400 applications you've received for this position from one desk to another, mine will slip out, miraculously show up in your trash bin in a wad, or I'll get the automated message that, despite the fact the job description listed "human with conversational knowledge of life outside the cave" as the only requirement, I don't qualify. Either way I've fulfilled my unemployment requirements, and will happily grunt and drag my club behind me all the way to the bank.

Halfheartedly,
Nicole Ebert

Well, um, hello.
This is awkward.
It has been awhile. I'm so sorry that I've been distracted by facebook and it's evil talons of status updates and PathWord games. I hope you can forgive me.
Please?
What if I promise to drone on about something completely irrelevant, right now?
Thank you for your kindness.

I was at Costco today, about 20 minutes before they opened, just sitting in my car. There were already quite a few cars in the parking lot. About 10 minutes prior to show time at least 30 people lined up at the liftgate with carts in hand. Is Meatloaf signing autographs today? Are they afraid that Costco is going to run out of the five-pound box of Special K cereal? The store deals in massive amounts of everything. I guarantee you won't have problems finding that two-story container of taco seasoning if you don't make it in until 10:30.

In other news, I never thought I would say this, but I'm glad the American Idol finale is two hours tonight. My poor, sad husband was home sick today. In attempts to be a good wife, I brought him food, let him snore the roof of our house when he fell asleep and, finally, gave him full control of the television. ALL. DAY. We went from golf, to baseball, to horse racing, to ping-pong. TO PING-PONG! American Idol means two hours free of incessant, mundane commentary or non-stop yelling about nothing in particular.

Wait....

Tulip Festival!!

Though it was the one day this week that the sun didn't find its way out, we braved the weather for the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival, and I think it was worth it...

Our Big Kid Date

Last night we went downtown to Mount Baker Theatre to see Ain't Misbehavin' with American Idol's own Ruben Studdard. It was pretty fun. The theatre was pretty neat. It was first built to show silent movies, and now it catches some one-night-only performances of touring Broadway shows. We're going to see the Drowsy Chaperone next month. Before the play we went to our local Cliff House and, I've gotta say, it was a pretty swell night.

In the Midst of Greatness

We were waiting for Derrel's golf clubs at SeaTac Airport when we saw the following:

I thought it was an oversized flag, and Derrel thought it was vaulting poles. Well, he was right. We overheard some airport folks talking and it turns out their vaulting poles for the Olympics. I took a quick look at the baggage tag: L.L. Kelvin. A Google search of his name takes you to a UK shopping website. He may be a "Did you mean to type L.L. Cool J?" now, but look out for him during the next Summer Games!

Look How Hip We Are: Volume 2

Derrel and I decided that, because Bellingham has so many hole-in-the-wall restaurants, that every time we want to eat out, we'll try a new place. So before the second round of late night hotdogness (see Volume 1), we headed into Historic Fairhaven to try Flat's Tapas Bar. I had been to Tapa the World in Sacramento a couple of times, so this didn't intimidate me too much, and Derrel was sport enough to go along.



We sit down and start to look over the menu and, despite the vegetable-heavy descriptions (which usually mean 'CODE RED' for Derrel and me), we decided to stick around anyway. Derrel found his olive branch in something he saw at another table heavy with ham and sausage, and I found rest in a macaroni dish packed with cheeses I'd never heard of (half in English and half in squiggly).



And, despite being put off at first by the portions (Is this like the Coldstone try-a-flavor size?), Flat's Tapas Bar was a success (as were the various rounds of hangman and tic-tac-toe).

And yes, the Eberts prefer the Coldstone system of measurement to any metric or standard systems.

Look How Hip We Are: Volume 1

We were having our typical Friday night. Peeling myself off the couch from two hours of TV watching, I tried to convince Derrel, again, that 10 o' clock is an acceptable time to go to bed, even if it is Friday.

That's when Derrel suggested going downtown to the late-night hot dog stand.

When in Rome...



And, in classic Ebert fashion, we went to hang with the hipsters...in our flannel pajamas. One step at a time.

Then, to add insult to Polish dog injury, we did it again on Saturday night, only this time, I opted to try some frozen yogurt from Red Berry instead. It tasted...a little different. A little...nasty, actually.
Derrel: "What is that taste?"
Nicole: "I don't know, organic?"
Derrel: "Yeah, that's disgusting."

Look here, hippies, you keep your earth-kissing, tree-embracing fare away from us. We'll take our food processed please (and if you could stuff it in a casing and only sell it late at night, that'd be great).