I’m with Stormy Daniels. To hell with the non-disclosure agreement.
As much as I’d like to share the details of my recent employment with you, Dear Reader, my attorney has advised against it. Seriously.
I really did sign an NDA that forbids me to describe my quixotic adventures in the employ of the wealthy political dreamer for whom I spent the last five weeks laboring. So I won’t.
I will only say that the outcome of our experiment was a disappointment. And now I need a new job.
I’ve had fun visiting the Bay Area over the last five weeks in pursuit of our thwarted dream, which involved ridding the world of the Worst President Ever. I made some new friends. I met a famous author who had also signed on to the project.
It was nice having intelligent, witty colleagues again.
Now it’s back to my couch in Seattle, and the company of my affectionate Shih Tzus, Jessie and Marley. No more human contact for me, at least not between the hours of 9 a.m. and 6 p.m., when my beloved family members return from their daily endeavors.
I’ve landed a three-month writing gig with an outfit that helps feed the hungry. And I plan to volunteer for a promising candidate in an important swing district that could help turn Congress blue next fall.
After that, perhaps I’ll pursue that enticing offer from State Farm. You will recall, Dear Reader, that the insurance giant’s agents reached out last February to let me know that I have all the right stuff to be a magnificent insurance salesman.