Buy a two-scoop sundae at Baskin Robbins and get one free.

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This not finding a job is getting to me. "Outlook not so good," my Magic 8-Ball would say,

I'm applying and sending resumes to two positions per day and interviewing once a week, but so far nothing's come of anything.

It's more time consuming than I thought, sifting through multiple sites. My salary requirements drop each time, and I'm no longer picky about certain job requirements (heavy lifting? picking up dry cleaning? mopping restrooms? okay).

On Monster.com, I've stopped searching by keyword and am instead viewing all jobs in Las Vegas on a daily basis. There's surprising little, most of them crowded by spam (work at home stuffing envelopes or doing phone sex -- really) and temp companies (AppleOne).

I've been cold-called by several people who've seen my resume on Monster, mostly for sales positions. I've never done sales. One of them I interviewed with and it wasn't until the second interview when I realized what I was actually interviewing for (benefits insurance sales). These sound sketchy because of the fee and boot camp classes and certification that they require -- if they hire you, shouldn't they pay for this?

One company submitted my resume for a government contract job about an hour north from here, which I'd take in a heartbeat.

Interviewing at casinos, I notice few people dress up. Particularly the women interviewing for cocktail waitress positions. Perhaps because they don't need to? The National Committee on Pay Equity states women earn 77 percent of men's salaries. But in Vegas it's the opposite, particularly if you're attractive and have an extra X chromosome.

At Silverton's Human Resources office, there's an out-of-place mannequin wearing the skimpy outfit that the wheel of fortune girls wear, complete with perky nipples. If anyone applies for this position, HR could just point to the mannequin and tell them that's what they'd need to look like. I guess in a business suit, you can't tell if they have perky nipples.

Me, I wear the same damn thing to each interview. A mismatched jacket and slacks with feet shoehorned into dress shoes that create blisters (I don't enjoy dressing up). Sometimes I change the tie. One thing I desperately need is a new dress shirt, because I can't breathe with the top button clasped. Which means all my other button-down shirts are worthless when wearing a tie, because this shirt's neck size is a full size larger. On the other shirts, forget trying to button the top button, try the second button. Target, here I come.

Speaking of gaining weight, at Christmas dinner the first thing grammagrub said to me was: "You look heavy."

"Thanks, Grandma," I said.

She continued. "Must be all of that good food."

I had no retort.

"Good food... makes your face... all round."

Okay, I get it, jeez. I just moved on, knowing she was right, but what could I say? grammagrub's lost a lot of weight since her stroke, I could've asked how her stroke diet was going, whether it was just lack of appetite or that she could only chew half as much. Or if she's improved on her time to get from the car to the front door using her walker.

Yeah, I'm mean and bitter without an income.

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I still have this cough, probably the bird flu that everyone else has, and I'm slowly coughing up bits and pieces of my lungs that I'm arranging into a nice necklace.

While visiting grubette, we went to a housewarming party in Torrance where the hosts' dog bit me, creating two puncture wounds on either side of my hand. Blood didn't just flow, it poured out of my hand, and I watched it somewhat bemused before going to the sink to run cold water over it.

The dog, a black Lab, was pretty anxious around everyone, and she'd occasionally jump on people or playfully bite their hand (without chomping down). She would jump up toward the food, and the owners would warn her to get down.

I saw the owner in the living room sitting watching the game, eating from a plate. The dog had her paws up behind him on the ottoman. I figured I'd be helpful and went to the dog and said, "Down!"

And that's when it happened. I think the dog thought I was trying to steal the owner's food and was protecting its territory. Somewhat like Siegfried & Roy's tiger.

The wife is a nurse and she inspected my hand (while telling her husband about the dog: "She was mad, did you see her foaming at the mouth?") and bandaged me up.

They were both very apologetic and assured me the dog had all her shots. I didn't blame them. I did steer away from the dog, though.

(Since then, I've had a couple dreams of dogs attacking me. The most recent was last night, where a giant Old English Sheepdog comes bounding toward me. But so far no desire to use the living room carpet as toilet paper.)

They had excellent food, an endless potluck of Filipino, Vietnamese, salad, KFC chicken, and Papa John's pizza. We did shots of eggnog and Absolut. I was feeling a bit numb from three shots and a Corona, and wonder if I would've reacted better or felt it more.

Afterwards they dragged out the karaoke, two Leadsinger mics that hooked directly to the TV.

I don't usually sing, at least not in public and certainly not karaoke, but I was feeling a little delirious from the shots and dogbite and sang a few songs including Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline." You can probably always get me to karaoke to Neil Diamond, though.

In any event, I was coughing worse then and I secretly hoped the dog would catch whatever human illness I'd contracted. The dog may have had all its shots, but I haven't.