Convo

Person(P): Hey M, what you up to?

M: Not much.

P: How are you?

M: Meh, I'm ok.

P: What does that mean?

M: You know, fine. Not bad. Comme ci comme ca.

P: Are you working?

M: Nope.

P: Really? Why?

M: Not sure, really. I think it has something to do with taking a job I liked but took 3 years of my life and gave me a set of non-transferable skills in return. And when I didn't like the job anymore, I took those non-transferable skills and proceeded to offer them to companies who, funnily enough, replied saying "thank you for your interest. we are looking for someone about 3 years younger, with transferable skills."

P: Funny. But you're a bright guy, you must be doing something to make money?

M: Well I do play poker quite a bit.

P: So you're a professional poker player?

M: No, but I do dabble.

P: OK, then what do you do all day?

M: Well, I eat, study for about 2-3 hrs, play poker for 2 hrs, go to gym for 1.5hrs, write a stupid blog for about .75hrs, watch about 2-3 hrs of crappy T.V., read soccer and other news for about 1hr, and sleep the rest.

P: What about searching for a job?

M: Oh right, add an hour for that. And 20 mins for deleting rejection emails.

P: Don't worry, it'll happen soon.

M: That's what I've been told. Though the road to hell is paved with jobless people, as they say.

P: You mean "the road to hell is paved with good intentions"? That has nothing to do with anything.

M: Listen, smarty pants, not everyone went to "Dipshit U" like you did OK?

P: OK, I get it, sore subject. How do you pay the rent?

M: Oh I live at home.

P: Really? How old are you?

M: Old enough to kick your ass.

P: No need to get testy.

M: OK, I'm 27, but watch your step tough guy. I will not hesitate to hand you the beating of a lifetime.

P: Calm down. Any girlfriend?

M: Yes, Natalie Portman.

P: No, I mean non-imaginary.

M: You're so close to getting a furious beating, and you have no bloody clue.

P: Come on man, just curious.

M: Nope, no girlfriend.

P: When's the last time you were in love?

M: Jesus, who are you, Oprah? Let me think. OK, I remember. The year that nice young American president got shot, Johnny something.

P: JFK?

M: Yup, that's the bloke.

P: That was 1963.

M: Great year.