New. Super.

There are a lot of common misconceptions about September.  I'm not sure, but I have a feeling that's why they're called "common" misconceptions.  Some examples I just made up:

1) See You in September is a thinly veiled metaphor for LSD-induced time travel. 
2) The term "September call-ups" refers to how lots of people are having babies, getting married, and dying in September, then phoning their friends to talk about it.^
3) In leap years, September has 77 days. 
4) Al Qaeda prepared for the 9/11 attacks* by piloting small canoes at high speeds around and around in circles in the Dead Sea, then looking at pictures of virgins. 
5) It was originally called "Acceptember" before the world became less tolerant (circa 522 BCE)

And one I didn't make up:

1) September 1 is the beginning of fall.

No.  No.  No.  We still have 23 days of summer, and I want 'em.  All of 'em.  In fact, if it even thinks about getting cold, or if any leaves start turning even a little yellow, brown, or red, I'll scream.  I'll scream, I tell you.

. . .

That said, let's admit it.  Change is in the air.  And, like with everything else, I am at the center.

I'm in a new apartment.  (Sorry, stalkers.)  I just got another new job.  I have a new bed.  (If any of those three things are a surprise to you, you haven't been spending any time on craigslist.)

I even got a new phone call from an old flame.  It went down like this. 

I had just finished watching my fellow soon-to-be-famous friend perform tonight when my cell phone rang.  Who was on the other end?  None other than the Talent Coordinator for Chicago Chocolate Tours.  Remember them?  (This is another test of your dedication to my blog.)

I asked if I could call her back in a matter of minutes.  She agreed.

I told my friend who was calling.  We speculated together.  What could this mean?

I returned the call, and after 3 or 4 minutes of awkward small talk and nervous laughter from the other end of the line (What's up?  Is she trying to ask me out or something?  Why does she keep telling me I'm super?) . . . I found out.  "This" had nothing to with Chicago Chocolate Tours.  "This" was something new.  "This" had a lot more to do with what the Talent Coordinator for Chicago Chocolate Tours (oops) and her husband do as an "entrepreneurial venture." 

She asked if she could email me some information on their business model, then call me in a matter of hours to talk more about it.  That didn't work for me.  "What's your day like tomorrow," she asks.  She reminds me what a cool guy I am, how "super" I seemed during the Chocolate Tour interviews.  (I already know I'm super.  I have a blog about how super I am.  Why does she keep bringing it up?  She doesn't even "like" me.)

When I get home, an email with this link awaits.  (It's safe to click on, and the password is "mindset.") 

How new do the people at Chicago Chocolate Tours think I am?

I don't care if this had "nothing to do with Chicago Chocolate Tours."  Where did she meet me?  How did she get my contact information?  As far as I'm concerned, Chicago Chocolate Tours and Amway are the same thing now. 

I don't care if I'm making that up, or if I make up stuff about September, or if I test your allegiance to my blog.  Apparently, that's how people get rich these days, in this NEW American Century (oops.)  . . . by being disingenuous, dishonest, and manipulative.

. . .

Super.


* And now . . . the FBI . . . is reading my blog.  They can at least have the decency to "like" me first. 

^ Yes, even the people who die later call their friends to tell them about it.