I just want to thank all my countless fans for their love and support. Without you? I would be nothing. I just would be a boy who sometimes writes his thoughts and you read them and eat it up like catnip. Or like a big steak after a long hike through the vast expanses of the world core. In this hypothetical situation, yes, you are not some weird vegan. I just feel it’s time to sell out. I’ve written this for over a year without any payment so I figured now was the time to move onto a new avenue that also did not include money and comes with even more restrictions. What avenue is this you ask? Maybe you say what road are you embarking on? What new highway are you merging onto? What street will you skateboard down in the grand scheme of life? How many possible stupid questions can you ask that are redundant and just are being typed out to figure out how many types of automobile traveling road (crap, I mentioned it twice) metaphors you can think of? This blog isn’t about announcing I might be randomly writing a couple of blogs for the Crimson White on campus but more just a written account of what happened in me going to the informational meeting today. When I say it’ll be a written account I obviously mean that it’ll be an exaggerated take that either paints me in an extremely self deprecating light or I might end up running the paper. We’ll see what happens in the next couple hundred of words. As my limo driver pulled into the parking lot and opened the door for me, I walked out with my stark white tuxedo. I followed the red carpet that had been laid down for me and I greeted the woman who held open the door. I told her that I was Hank Wolf and that someone was expecting me and she told me the room number. Or she told me something and I didn’t comprehend in correctly and I just followed the person in front of me. I followed the guy into a room that was full of women who appeared to have stepped out of the Stepford Wives and upon learning that they were primarily PR majors that fact made a lot more sense. I’m still not entirely sure what that meeting I was sitting in for was for but they were impressed that I was a Social Work major. Impressed that Social Work and the agencies of public relations and advertising could all intertwine. I’ve never been one to sweat bullets, except today I noticed I was the only one who appeared to make a puddle under their folded arms on the table. I looked off into the distance and the entire meeting was sucked into a daydream where I reminisced about a friend and her telling of how her body was like a busted dam when it came to anxiety, or stress, or apparently sunlight in general. My internal temperature seemed to be rising in patterns of tens which seems very unrealistic until I started shooting steam out of my ears because apparently I was boiling. Not with anger, more just the embarrassment of the situation. It didn’t help that we were still in this daydream situation and we had to travel back through the time warp vortex where they all knew something was up. In the end, when someone asked if we had any ideas in regards to something that I wasn’t even sure what was being asked, did I have a chance to bring up that I may potentially be in the wrong place. I was in the wrong place. The manner in which they all simultaneously said “It was nice to meet you” in the exact same cadence did not ease my fears about Stepford Wives 2: Keep Stepping. Still, most likely they did mean it with actual genuine kindness and not the mocking tone I heard in my own head. Then I found my own meeting held a mere five feet away and proceeded to do that whole shindig. The fact that that meeting didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know doesn’t mean anything. That’s not what this post is about. I mainly just wanted to pretend I rode in a limo and owned a stark white tuxedo. What happened after the meeting? Hmm, well I walked back to my car and found myself almost lost inside the parking lot too. Or I looked like a person that was just learning to drive and teaching himself to drive by going through every single square inch of a parking lot. Ah! Someone also said “This guy is real ride or die with Alabama with those tats man.” Neither of those facts really add much to the story but I have problems with writing concise conclusions. Or writing concise in general. Either way, I mainly just wanted to write about this situation and my future selling out to corporate America. Something like that. So it goes.