If there’s anything that catching up on the past few seasons of Nip/Tuck has taught me it’s that I have REALLY expensive taste. Well, that and I’m glad I didn’t continue to pursue a career in medicine. I’m gagging just thinking about the excessive liposuctions, facelifts and sex change operations I’ve been exposed to. Bleh.

I’ve spent the last couple of nights staying awake until the wee hours of the morning (the wee hours being 5 and 6 am. Don’t judge me. It’s the summer and my job starts at 6:30 pm) shopping on the various websites that supply the cars, the clothes, the shades, the suits, the bling and the blang that the 40 somethings sport on the daily. And TRUST me, the Louis’ and the Versace’s and the Chanel’s and the BMW’s of the world feel so faaaar from me at the moment. Why are they so far? I’ll tell you why. One word:

Pinkberry.

That’s it. Plain and simple. Go ahead and laugh, or keep laughing while you ask yourself, “why the eff am I reading this piece of craptasticness?” The only problem I’m having right now is the fact that Pinkberry is so popular that everyone and their moms, cousins and dogs applied to the store opening in Davis alongside myself within the first 30 minutes they began accepting applicants. I was there with the rest of the stereotypes: the high school girls applying for their first job asking their friends if they could use their own moms as a reference, the overly prepared, business suit clad older, creepy men, the mexicans with tons of experience in fast food, the passerby who applied on a whim and will probably get hired anyway. And there I as, the tall, half black man with tattoos who only wanted a job so he could go shopping for the first time in seven months…and to pay rent of course.

Fortunately for me, Pinkberry prides themselves on hiring attractive people regardless of their experience. Think about it: the store IS branched out of LA and they pride themselves on sleekness and the appeal of beauty. It’s serves as the Fro-Yo joint born out of the “Hills” era meant to cater to the LC’s and Speidi’s of the world attempting to be seen eating the latest fashion accessory…who am I kidding, they don’t eat. They want to be seen CARRYING the poor man’s Coach purse. That’s the appeal of the place and everyone flocks to it. Me too of course, but I actually LOVE the shit and can’t get enough! It’s like crack!

And that’s what I want! No, not to be carrying the poor man’s Coach purse but to be carrying the ACTUAL purse…and by purse I mean the rolex and keys to my new Benz, of course.

Is it so hard to want nice things? Is it so hard to ask for a job so I can pay my rent and have leftover dough for clothes? Or to save enough money so when I move to the Hills I can be the new LC and not the knockoff version (Lo, I’m talking to you!)? 

Am I rambling? I think I’m rambling.

Don’t worry. One day when I finally get a dream job and I’m sitting pretty and comfortable, I’ll laugh at the thought that all I wanted to do when I was 22 was the chance to say “Hi, welcome to Pinkberry. Original, mango or green tea?”

Stay tuned…