Eat Your Heart Out. Or Eat My Heart Out…?

Three things. Two of only personal excitement, and one of actual post-worthy note.

1. I now have 22 page views from Russia. Score.

2. I met a child whose great enthusiasm for Harry Potter comes primarily from the “funny” (aka emotionally scarring) things that happen to Dudley and Draco. It filled me a with a certain sadistic glee.

3. Although I have increased my Russian audience, no call from either country’s space program has been received by me or my people. (I have people. Shut up.) Therefore, I am still in the mindset to expand my occupational horizons.

I am considering taking up acting.

Again, I know what you’re thinking. (I always know what you’re thinking. It’s like I have ESPN or something.) Jillian, while your performance as Nala in the third grade production of The Lion King was riveting and only a little icky since you had to hold hands with that fifth grader, and you made a very convincing Frog Footman in your middle school’s Alice in Wonderland, you are not, strictly speaking, an actress. Actually, you couldn’t act your way out of a paper bag. You can hardly even covertly buy Christmas presents for people. Please, please don’t quit your day job!

You know what? I am sick and tired of you people not believing in my dreams. Show a little faith, why don’t you? Some compassion for a starry-eyed young woman, just searching for her place on this earth. Besides, this plan is foolproof. It’s not like I’m trying to become a Chimpanzee trainer or anything…Which would be so totally cool…

Today, I found my true calling as a horror film damsel. After all, I’m small, blonde, and easily startled. I also tend to have low blood sugar, which today resulted in my roaming around work like a zombie. It was a bit dangerous, actually, since part of my work involves opening boxes. So there I stood, covered in dirt as though I had just been frantically chased through a corn field, staring into space as though an unstoppable virus was slowly transforming my brain into mush, and wielding a short, dull knife that would only achieve a prolonged and painful death due to blood loss.

Of course, with the store’s background music of Kellie Pickler assuring Santa Baby that she’s been an awfully good girl (Ewww…), it wasn’t exactly the slasher film that we’ve all come to love. And by “we,” I mean “you,” because I don’t actually watch scary movies.


So now I just need to go to the mall and be “discovered.” They will see that I am the doe-eyed counterpart to Megan Fox’s vixen vampire. (No Jeremy, you are not invited to the set to meet Megan Fox!) Then I will become more famous than Serial Killer Victim Number Three from that non-specific episode of CSI.

Then I will make lots and lots of money. Then I will become a Chimpanzee trainer.

I know that this blog has become What Jillian Wants to be When She Grows Up recently, but I promise that eventually I will find my life’s calling and this soul-searching will stop. Or I’ll just start calling myself Barak Obama and convince people that I am the President of the United States so that I can retire in four years and spend the rest of my life naming my cats. We shall see.


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