Tonight was the night. The night that I was

Tonight was the night. The night that I was going to meet my idol, Jake Bugg. I was so excited and anxious at the same time. I put on my red converse and headed downstairs.

Quaffing a quick brew to steady my nerves, I reviewed my interview questions for the 30th time though I knew I knew them by heart. Jake Bugg! Oh my god, this was it! I drove to the

cliff and threw my study materials over the precipice. I didn't want this job, or any other job. I wanted to sit in a wheelchair, quilt folded neatly over my legs, and observe the

people who lived next door. If I situated my wheelchair just so, I could watch them through their bedroom window. I knew all their tricks, their secrets. Way better than TV!

From my wheelchair I pointed my giant camera out the window. The telescopic lends afforded me extreme voyeuristic access to the building across the way. I watched a sensual blonde

being really sensual. I felt something below my waist stir for the first time in many years. I rose (so to speak). I wanted to shout. To thank the sensuous blonde in my telescopic

viewfinder, I sent a message via space-shuttle: Hey Blondie, thanks for the "lift". Hope I can return the favor someday. I signed and sent it off with a flourish. Then I waited.

Would she reply back? Did she think I was as great as I did? Or better yet, did she see the awesomeness of me that still has not yet been mined? As I stared out in to the pitch bla

ck I heard a deafening sound. Alas, my ring tone was too loud again. She had replied: "I think you're great! AND I think there is an awesomeness in you that has not yet been mined.

"Thank you!" I yelled over the suddenly ear deafening tone "what?" She replied "THANK YOU!!!" I yelled, but she still could not hear me. "I have to answer my phone now!" I yelled