Interview Tactics and Why I’m Most Likely Still Unemployed

I really love hippos. You know when they ask you in interviews if you could be an animal what would you be and you are supposed to say something thoughtful and profound like a tiger or a wolf or eagle or something. Well, I always say a hippo. Because I like them. They are funny looking and just chill all day in a pond with their friends and wiggle their tiny ears around. But if a big ol' mean alligator comes around, that hippo opens it's ginormous mouth and eats the gator with those stupid looking peg teeth. I wonder what goes through the interviewer's head when a person says they would be a hippo and gives no explanation other than they are funny looking and have peg teeth.

I love when they ask about your strengths and weaknesses. Everyone gives the same scripted and rehearsed answers like, my strengths are my positive attitude, my ability take on several projects at once … blah blah. Then the doozie (is that really how you spell doozie? Doosie? Doozy?) is the weakness. Everyone says the same thing. I'm a perfectionist. But if we were honest in these interviews, what would we really say?

Q: Jenn, what are your strengths?
A: Well, I am quite an amazing multitasker. I can do my work, write emails, design my MySpace page and talk on my cell phone while reading my latest Us Weekly and shopping for shoes online.

Q: Ok, well what would you say was your biggest weakness?
A: That's a good question. Very original. I'd have to say my biggest weakness is that I steal office supplies by the boat load. Not that I have a boat. I also don't think you could afford me. Is that a weakness? That I'm expensive?

Q: Um, ok, if you could be any animal what would you choose?
A: I'd be a platypus.
Q: A platypus?
A: Yeah. (snicker)
Q: Why?
A: It's fun to say. Platypus. Say it. It's funny. Plus, is it a duck? A beaver? A mammal or a bird? What is it?
Q: So you think that a platypus represents you as a person?
A: You know when you say a word over and over it doesn't sound like a word anymore? Platypus. Who thought of that? Like toilet. Toilet. Toilet toilet toilet toiiiiilett. Doesn't sound like a word anymore, huh.

Q: What can you bring to our company that none of the other candidates have?
A: Big hair. Really, my hair is naturally big. I would even say that my hair is almost it's own entity. It's like you get two people for the price of one. Actually, could you pay me extra for the hair? And I wear glasses for real. Not just to look smart in an interview. I'm blind as a bat without them. Don't even get me started on my night vision...

What the..?

I'm sitting here in my north Snottsdale abode smelling all like cat piss (Ragamuffin has a bladder infection of all things...) thinking about life and shit.

This past week I was involved in a feud. It was as if I was watching it and not actually involved in it. It's weird how shit starts all around you and you have no idea because you're holed up in your hobbit home being all anti-social. So it was all "I challenge you to a duel" and then you get smacked in the face with a big chain mail alloy steel metal knight in shining armor glove and get knocked on your ass before you can even say "I accept" and hit them with something bigger because they already pulled out the big guns. Or gloves. I’m confusing myself with my own metaphors.

The fabulous life is a lonely one...

Ok, so now that I'm officially "single" I've realized just how much boys SUCK. A lot. I mean A LOT. Like big huge donkey balls. They should lick those balls too.

First let's talk about those band boys ... they are the worst. You'd think that, hey, they are hot and in a band, couldn't they just take home any groupie slut instead of wasting a week of your time telling you how amazing you are and eating all your food? And half of those man-whores have girlfriends! Dirty DIRTY band boys.

Then there are the EX boyfriends. The ones that just won't go away. The ones that "change" after you break up. You know the ones I'm talking about. He fixes himself up all shiny and new for the next girl to come along and soak up all the sweat and tears you invested into the douche bag.

How about the boy that calls you, at work, to break up with you. When you didn't even know you were at that level of relationship of being dumped. Can you be dumped if you aren't dating? I found out I was dating BECAUSE I GOT DUMPED!!! How stupid. And I mentioned getting dumped at work. I was actually crying in the conference room. That was hot. That was just a regular Tuesday. Then Friday I got fired. Yep. Fabulous.

So being single sucks and boys suck. I'm going lesbian. Girls are hot.

Just when I think things canNOT get any worse...

Pootie falls into the tub and TOTALLY redeems himself!!

I brought two tabby kittens home from the Humane Society and named them Pootie and Ragamuffin.

And after all these days of chasing them around with a squirt bottle, yelling at them to get OUT of my mattress, trying to stop them from scratching the carpet, beating them for breaking my dishes, almost killing Pootie for taking a big ol' chomp out of my new leopard print heels, scrubbing their stupid little paws with a towel after their adventure in the fireplace and then all over my white carpet, taking all my clothes that used to be in my closet off the hangers and strew them about the house, Pootie falls into the tub and made it all worth while.

I swear to god I just heard the biggest crash. OK, they just knocked over a vase full of flowers. I'm ok. Not going to get angry. I just approached the situation like any other crazy cat lady, spray bottle in hand and went to town. They were fake flowers anyway.

They say that sick people should get a furry little animal to raise their spirits. Mine are just raising my insanity level.

Calling in "Zit"

I have an entity growing on my chin and I think a foreign creature may inhabit it. And by foreign, I don't mean some French guy or something. I mean something alien. I’m talking straight up E.T. is residing in my blooming chin pustule. I'm waiting for it to 'hatch' and crack my head open. Or maybe it will take over my body and I'll be a walking pod person. Or, even worse, that it will start to grow hair and teeth and shit like a tumor.

So come Monday morning, the eruption is all scabby and red and I have no idea whatsoever how to hide the puss pocket. I try cover up. I try lots of cover up. I don't know how to cover a second head! They don't have a manual for something like that, do they? I want to call in sick to work. Can you call in because you have an alien growing underneath your chin skin? That may sound better than calling in zit.

This better just be stress acne because if I went through life feeling all lucky because at least I have decent zit-free skin only to be cursed at the age of almost 30 with Adult Acne I'm-a gonna be pissed.

Well I'm going to go put some Proactive on this alien receptacle and hope it hatches by morning. Or maybe the solicyc acid will make it shrivel up DIE DIE DIE! Think I could get it out with one of those Biore pore strips? Do they have an alien removal method?

Damn.

Bottom Floor Living...

I wanted to live on the bottom floor because I’m lazy I just don't like stairs. And I have a lot of heavy furniture that keeps getting scratched. And I have really high ceilings in my new place so I thought a repeat of fat-Britney-look-alike clog dancing upstairs and vacuuming at 2am would never happen. The couple that lives above me is pretty quiet and everything is great.

Until now. There are kids up there. And now it's all stomping and yelling and falling and running...ugh. I hope and pray that this is just a little visit or something. Kids should not be allowed to live on the top floor of an apartment building. Or tweekers for that matter since they want to vacuum at 2am. Sounds like they are doing construction up there right now! WTF. I'll just resume watching One Tree Hill very loudly and try to drown out the commotion of little half people tearing down the walls up there...

...and my fingers are now stuck together.

I just had the worst day EVER. Seriously. Some really weird shit is going on in my life. Like getting shots in my head. Not like getting shot in my head but more getting actual injections in my head. That shit hurts. I almost passed out. It was all good times and syringes at 7:30 this morning, getting shots in my face and trying so hard to make it to work at a decent hour so they don't fire my sorry sick ass. Then I get to work and they almost do fire my sorry sick ass. They asked the question of the day, "Can the doctor say how long this illness will be upsetting your life?" Hmmm ... good question, doctor, your thoughts?

The lock on my front door doesn't work. Just gets the key all stuck in it and I gotta crawl into my back patio and use that door till they fix that shit. Good thing I'm on the bottom floor. One up for me! Because scaling apartment walls and me are not mixy things.

Yeah. Now my fingers are stuck together. I thought I could fix a picture frame by myself...with Superglue. Enough said. Do you think this counts as a legitimate reason to call in sick? My fingers are stuck together. I'm typing with one finger on my left hand. (and my 'c' button is sticking). I'm over it. I'm finding out I'm not so mixxy with like ... life.

Clumsy is the word of the day

Actually it's the word of my entire existence. But to make an extremely long story short, I will tell you what has happened just since I moved into my new pad (way cute by the way! And it's only been like 2 weeks.) So the first instance happened about the 2nd day I lived here. I decided to make myself a nummy bowl of Spaghettios. Yum. Don't judge my culinary choices.

So I take the steaming hot bowl and carry it into the living room so I can watch something I recorded on my DVR and eat my yummy treats. Right when I get into the living room (with the new cream colored carpet), in slow motion I throw the bowl on the floor. It was like some one was murdered in my living room; only instead of blood and guts it was marinara sauce, pasta O's and "meat" balls. One very important detail that I'm leaving out...Spaghettios all over my Johnny Depp couches. OMG. So I'm sitting in the middle of this Chef Boyardee viscera and I begin to cry. My boyfriend tries to help with, "You scoop up the big chunks and I'll follow behind with the Oxy Magic.”

Then the very VERY next day I was heating up some noodles in the micro and it was sort of a blur how the noodles got from the micro to the top of the stove, streaking down the front of the oven and all over my work pants. Fucking A. (What does the “A” in “fucking A” mean anyway? Again? Asshole? Argyle?)

Yesterday I was being a good girl and hanging up all my clothes in my new humongous closet. My headboard is leaning up against the wall until I can get the time to put the damn thing together. So I walk out of my closet and WHAM! I think I broke my baby toe. It was all bendy and shit. But I'm sort of a tough bitch so I continue to hang my clothes (after screaming and cursing and throwing things) and once again...BAM! This time it's bleeding. Like a lot. I'm hemorrhaging from my baby toe. I can see the headline now: Girl Hemorrhages to Death in Little Toe Headboard Incident. As if that isn't enough, the very next morning I WACKED! my broken bendy bloody toe again.

Yeah. I'm special. Like “I have to go limp to catch the short bus to work” special.

A case of "foot in the mouth" syndrome

Last night I started moving into my new apartment! Yay! It's super cute and big and in North Scottsdale which is about a minute from my work. So I took some friends with muscles and a truck and drove all the way out to Scratchy J to pick up my bedroom furniture. My parent's are moving this week also so it's been pretty insane.

I arrive at their house after an hour drive on the freeway and the family that have purchased my parent's house are there measuring and just being a pain in the ass. Can't they wait until we are done moving for crying out loud? I'm running around the room and this little blonde girl, had to be no more than 4 years old, is standing in the doorway and staring at me. Like creepily. I keep looking at her over my shoulder, because Jenn and kids are not so mixy. She just keeps staring, apparently too young to get the "go away" look of a grown-up.

So I turn and sit on my bed and begin staring at her. She doesn't say anything. And she's not going away. I finally ask her, "where's your mommy?" To which she replies, "My mommy's dead." Um...ok. What? Great. I just stare at her and the audacity at what I had just said. Crap! So I try to recover and ask, "Where's your grandma?" She says, "I don't have a gramma."

Sigh... I realized that this conversation was going nowhere and got up from my bed to start folding things. I step around a box on the floor and into a garbage pail. My right foot is now lodged in a pink flowery garbage pail. I shake my leg, it won't come off. I look back and Poltergeist Girl is still staring at me, not even fazed. So I reach down and push the pail off my leg and the shoe comes with it.

I want to cry at this point. I just take off the other shoe and sit back on the bed and stare at the little girl. Two can play this little game! Ha ha! (enter evil laugh here) I lost. She eventually left. I got my shoe out of the trashcan and went home to my new apartment. I made my bed and realized I didn't have dinner. I went to the store at 11pm and bought some food. I got home and discovered I don't have any bowls, plates or silverware. I went to bed hungry.

A big ol' bucket of Childres Luck

I'm looking back at the past year and I realized what a giant suck-fest it was. Let's recap, shall we?

It all started with the damn meningitis. Supposedly. I needed a doctor like House but I ended up with Old Man River's ex wife who was a hundred and seven years old and tried to kill me on a daily basis. Then there were the tattoos. They got infected and almost killed me as well.

During this time I purchased a house in Texas with all the money I had and hoped to make a little money on the side. Why, oh why. With the best of intentions. Yeah. That house just got sold by auction last week when they foreclosed on it.

And I can't open my mouth because of TMJ. And I have 3 different dentists that have given me 3 different bite pieces that each charged me over $1000 for them. Oh, and I still have big ol' holes in my gums from getting my wisdom teeth out. And instead of the tmj specialist trying to make me better, he yelled at me for listening to the other dentist. That he sent me to. To get my wisdom teeth out. Bastard.

So I got sick again and I moved in with my parents and I was going to work part time since they live in the middle of no where and I find myself driving an hour both ways to work during rush hour. Cuz I ran out of money.

Needless to say, I have a lot of time to think now. And I was thinking about what bad luck I have! Then I remembered that on a day, not too long ago, I went with my dad to a store to return something big that he had to lift into the back of his truck. We pulled up to the store, on a Monday no less, walk up to the front door to find it locked. They were closed on Mondays. And only on Mondays. I looked up at my dad and said, "That's the Childres Luck for ya." And he laughed because he knew exactly what I was talking about. Dammit.

I got the Childres nose, the Childres good taste in vehicles, and a big gigantor truck load of Childres crap luck.

Cow Love

This past weekend I went to E-rock's mom's house for Easter. Actually, with 3 horses, 3 goats, 2 chickens, a dog that looks like it's been run over a few times and 4 cows, it's more of a ranch than a house.

Casa Grande is an interesting place. It's like an Apache Junction upgrade...not much of one, but an upgrade nonetheless. Like when you drive down the un-graded roads and you pass a neighbor you do the "AJ Wave" (as in “Apache Junction Wave”) where you don't even bother to lift your arm up and wave. You just barely lift two to four fingers up in the air and slightly nod your head.

So back to the animals, namely the cows. One in particular cow was absolutely in love with me. Seriously. He is brown and looks like a "Spanish bull" so they named him Tony Bandana (sort of like the Casa Grande version of Antonio Banderas). He's all serious and broody. As we were watching E-rock's mom and her boyfriend try to give a horse a bath (that's a story for another time), I would start to feel the coldness of a murderous stare on my back. I glanced over to see Tony and his beady cow eyes giving me "the look". Like the "undressing me with his eyes" kind of look. He wanted to have cow sex with me.

It was like a scene in a Quinten Tarantino movie. I look across a crowded square…of cows...all minding their own business and see Tony Bandana standing there, completely still, staring at me with those Latin Lover eyes. Like a stalker, or a private eye hired by a stalker, dreaming of my naked body. Tony's probably over there in Casa Grande right now cutting pictures out of those wedding magazines and gluing pictures of our heads over the heads of the happy couples. If he had hands instead of hooves. And opposable thumbs, I suppose.

Sure he's got the Ethiopian kid fly syndrome and a tiny brain...but he's only got eyes for me!

To envy a crackwhore

You know it's bad when you are watching the crazy lady on COPS barricade herself under her neighbors trailer and you think, "hmm ... she's lucky." See, she's so crazy, she doesn't know that she is crazy. She doesn't know that everyone just watched her on COPS and thinks she's crazy. She just thought that in her little crazy world, her neighbor's trailer was "SAFE!" from whatever invisible ooglies are out there chasing her. Oh blessed ignorance... of crack... nevermind.

Sex talk, Britney Spears and hair tips in a bathroom with Christina Aguilera

It all started out with me flat-ironing my hair in a bathroom at a club for some reason. Then the light burned out and I had to go to another bathroom that did have a light. On the way back I run into Christina Aguilera with her new hot body, but with the ugly black hair and instead of it being ugly, it looked hot.

So we were chatting about hair tips, the whole time my hair looking like it had recently been on fire, when ol' bald Britney walks by. Christina and I start laughing hysterically and run to the bathroom where she continues to flatiron my hair and talk about how great her sex life is with Justin Timberlake and how Britney is so fat and ugly. I kept telling her that she wasn't dating Justin but she kept insisting that she was.

I woke up feeling like we were best friends. Dreams are weird like that.

Ode to Lola

My poor little idiot kitty. She was so sweet and endearing in the way only a complete precious moron could be. I will always remember her staring at everyone with that adorable blank look in her big green eyes, her tiny head cocked to the side as if really trying to think, but not really thinking at all. Her head growing smaller by the day as her ever increasing waistline continued to get bigger and bigger. 

We lovingly dubbed her "Pie Face" and "Lola Stretch Pants" (because if she did wear pants, they would have to be stretchy for said expanding waistline). All Lola ever wanted from anyone was just to be fed. To eat and eat some more was her favorite past time. She would eat and eat no matter how many times you fed her. (Granted, she didn't have the brainpower to even know if she was full or not). "Little" Lola will remain in our hearts as one of the sweetest and retarded pets we ever had. And that evil bloodthirsty coyote that ate her will pay. Oh yes, that bastard will pay.

I was thinking a nice coyote fur hat would complement an already insane wardrobe I possess. But the coyotes are all mangy looking. Don’t want a mangy, matted sickly coyote hat. And all I can picture is one of those silly Daniel Boone raccoon hats with the tail hanging down. How silly would that look with a coyote tail hanging down. And maybe the legs could be attached still too, all floppy and swinging around as I turn my head from side to side.

I am sitting here trying to convince myself that Lola ran away and has a new family getting happier, and fatter, by the day. This will be cat #3 that has either A) run away to a new home or B) died horribly.

Sniff.

To all the 'special' people working as airport security in Oakland...

omg. OH MY GOD!! Seriously, I am having a hard time finding the words to describe my airport security experience. But have no fear, I will try.

Tammi won a trip to Napa with her work for being like Realtor Extraordinaire and I got to reap the benefits of her recent break-up with the BF and got to go along for the ride. Flew to Napa, and other than learning that Tammi is physically incapable of having her picture taken with her eyes open, we had a great time and got smashed on wine and cheese and muscle relaxers.

But then the trip home almost proved to be our undoing. Let me start at the beginning with Check-In. Now, we were flying out of Oakland, which is where MOST people visiting Napa fly out of. So, being in Napa, I purchased a little bit of wine. Ok, quite a bit of wine, but whatever, that's beside the point.

We received special packaging from the winery, full of Styrofoam and all that good stuff. We get up to the counter and put our open boxes of wine up for the Check-In Girl to, you know, check. She didn’t even look in the box at all. She grabbed it and put it on the conveyer behind her. We asked her to grab it back so we can tape it up. We then asked, "Should we tape that up?" She said, "If you want to."

Now, she works at this airport. I'm sure there is a SHIT LOAD of wine going out of there. So, we said, "You know, we've never shipped wine before, and I'm quite sure you have. What do you suggest we do?" So she handed us a roll of tape. I don't have a very good track record with tape in general, but I grabbed it and wrapped it around the box. Then I stood there and stared at her. "Scissors, maybe?" I asked. She had to search around for scissors. Because I'm sure no one has ever shipped wine before.

Fast forward to Security. Let me list for you what I decided to carry onto the plane. 1. A carry-on bag with all my hair and make-up stuff. 2. My purse with all the normal purse stuff in it. 3. A really scary big pointy sharp terrorist looking umbrella. It was leopard print though, so it was way cute. So I piled all my stuff into one bin, took off my extra-pointy death stilettos and proceeded through the metal detector. Tammi followed behind me. "BAG CHECK!" Great.

I took this carry-on onto the plane from Phoenix to Oakland with no problem at all. None. So the douche behind the plastic table began to take every single little tube of something out of my bag. Everything. Please come with me down the road to insanity:

Jenn: What's the problem?
Airport Security Douche: These liquids over 3 oz. need to be in a bag
J: They are in a bag
ASD: They need to be in a clear bag
J: They are in a clear bag. (My make-up bag was clear)
ASD: They need to be in a sealable clear bag
J: They are in a sealable clear bag
ASD: You need to go get one of our bags
J: Fine, where do I get that?
ASD: You need to get one
J: Where do I get a bag?
ASD: Yes, you need a bag
J: WHERE DO I GET A FUCKING BAG??
ASD: Outside of security.

At this point I proceeded, barefoot, back through security and got yelled at by every single mentally challenged security officer. YOU CAN'T GO THROUGH HERE! Ok. So I went back to Airport Security Douche-Bag and continued to ask him where to get a DIFFERENT clear bag than what I had. He told me that I had to stand there until he was finished going through it. I casually mentioned that we do have a flight to catch and that we were already running late. I suggested he put everything back in the bag and I would just check it and if he thought it would make it on the flight. He said that maybe it would if I hurried, as he sloooowwwlly put my After Party back into the make-up bag.

So I grabbed the bag and shoved everything back inside as he grabbed it back from me and said he would do it and escort me back out of security. Ok, so I suppose I can see why my anti-frizz gel could be dangerous. Much much more dangerous than earlier mentioned pointy sharp terrorist umbrella, which no one had said anything about yet.

I ran my ass down to the Check-In area again, with Tammi in tow and walked right up to the retard that didn't know how to ship wine. She recognized us because she asked what happened. We told her and asked if the bag would make it on the flight to which she replied, in all her glory, "What flight?"

Let's fast forward again to Security for Round 2...

Tammi and I had put all of our stuff on the same x-ray machine as before. Same people, same line, same Airport Security Douche. Once again..."BAG CHECK!" Oh. My. God. This time they needed to search my purse. They already looked in my purse before. This is what was in my purse: Chapstick, phone, camera, business card holder. That was it.

And they searched Tammi’s purse too, which had already been through as well. They continued to pull out every single tube of lip gloss out of her bag and started in with the bag conversation–again:

Female Airport Security Douche: Youah needa ah bahg fo dese
Tammi: Where do I get a bag?
FASD: Outah dere
T: Can you get one for me?
FASD: No
T: Do you remember we were just here?
FASD: No. Youah needa ah bahg fo dese
T: Where do I get a fucking bag?
FASD: Iya weel escowt youah outa.
T: Um, what? I have a flight to catch. We are so late.
FASD: Wheh doo youah bowd?
T: What?
FASD: Youah needa ah bahg...
Jenn: Oh my god! Can I get her a bag??
FASD: Yooah cahn't geta bahg
T: Then where do I go?
FASD: Geeve yow tings to hewr and yow fowwow mee
T: What? Give everything to her and go with you?

Tammi piled her bags on top of me and followed the FASD outside of security as I wobbled up to the gate to try stop the plane from boarding without us. The FASD took Tammi to purchase a little plastic baggy for an entire dollar and then escorted her back to the same line and made her take off her shoes and put all her stuff back on the belt, went behind the machine to 'man her position', looked at Tammi and said, in all HER glory, "Sahrwy, we ah closed."

We finally made it onto the plane, sweaty, pissed off, starving, with all of our scary lip gloss in protective sealable plastic bags and carrying a very deadly, pointy, scary terrorist umbrella, and stabby stilettos no questions asked. We popped a couple valium and tried to order some liquor for a pleasantly uneventful flight home.

Stay tuned for my next blog about all the boys in Napa. It will be called: All the boys in Napa "Own Wineries"

My decent into Haterville

I was watching the Real World Denver the other night and I have to comment on a few of the cast members. First of all, all the skanks in this house are really annoying and they all give off an STD vibe. They all just seem really icky. The dirtiest, slutiest girls that showed up for the casting call MTV chose to inhabit the house. One of the bitches has mono, another already slept with the guy cast member that Mono Girl liked!

Then there is Brooke. I HATE Brooke. She complains about everything and has this really annoying voice and she is FUGLY. Ugly with an F. As in fucking ugly. Fugly supposedly sprained her ankle so she wouldn't have to go hiking/camping (it's their job, they work at Outward Bound) and so she is hobbling around with this temporary cast thingy on her foot. She actually walks around with HIGH HEELS on under the cast to go get a pedicure! wtf? WTF?!

I HATE her so much. I wanted to punch her in her fugly face. I don't know why I have so much animosity towards her. Maybe because she makes it so painful to watch one of my favorite shows. She’s not even the kind of girl that I love to hate. I just plain hate her.

But then, maybe I'm well on my way to getting over my Real World obsession. This season sucks ass. So does Road Rules. They already kicked off that bitch Veronica, so what's the point of watching? At least Abe got into a fight this week. I think reality TV is coming to an end in my life. The only shows I can tolerate are Top Chef, Project Runway and America's Next Top Model (and Tyra is making even that show hard to watch).

On a side note, for those of you that watch The Hills, how hard did you laugh when Lauren's boss at Teen Vogue said she would always be known as the girl who didn't go to Paris!! Ha ha! I'm dying. Then she asked how things worked out with her boyfriend (totally knowing how it turned out). Oh the look on Lauren's face...priceless!! I love it. I LOVE IT!! Stupid rich bitches...

I think there's something wrong with me...

What the hell, shopping isn't fun anymore! It's like, work, or something. Maybe it’s because I don't have any money yet. Maybe it’s because I get really tired like an old lady halfway through the mall. I don't KNOW!! Maybe if I used a walker or bought a one of those Rascals (which would be way better than walking) then I wouldn’t become a victim of Shopping Fatigue so quickly.

I also hate doing my hair and putting on make-up. I'm not a girl anymore!! If it wasn't for the boobs that I just grew last year.... I've turned into a hater. I hate EVERYTHING. I hate getting up. I hate taking a shower. I hate picking out something to wear. I hate the lighting in my "guest house". I hate my "guest house". I hate the way my adopted dog smells (correction: STINKS) like hot garbage whenever she opens her mouth. I made my boyfriend give the dog a bath and brush her teeth last night. He used my toothbrush.

I hate my boyfriend.

What JT does to my loins...

I went to the Justin Timberlake concert last night and let me tell you...whew! That boy...what was Britney thinking when she dumped him?!? Tammi and I dressed up in our best boob-revealing outfits and were total cougars. As in the old chicks amongst all the teenagers. At least we didn't LOOK that old.

And as much self respect as I claim to have for myself, every single time Justin made his way over to our side of the stage and wiggled his groin I had to physically stop myself from pulling off my clothes just to get his attention. God he's hot. If only we had been about 5 seats over we would have been within his sights. I wonder if he picks chicks from the audience and sends out his bodyguards and invites them backstage.

Once we heard JT and Miss Diaz were on the fritz we changed outfits several times and desperately tried to get the greasy clumps of fondue out of Tammi’s hair before heading off to the concert.

He was so close...yet just out of our little cougar hands. He's probably lucky. What we could have done to that boy... :)

Colliers to the rescue!!

Whew! And just in time before I crossed over to the "sitting around my ghetto room in my pj's all day feeling sorry for myself" phase forever. I went in for an interview and ended up staying for like 4 hours. Meetings. pbpbpbp. I wonder if I get paid for that. I even contributed to the meeting. You know, as much shit as I talked about being a design monkey and working in an office with a steady paycheck and benefits, I have to think, what was I thinking?? What is soooo bad about a steady paycheck and benefits. Ummmm...nothing.

They asked me if it would be a "creative enough" environment for me and all I kept thinking was about the "creative" language Mel uses and the very "creative" times we will be having over IM. I remember back in the For Rent days that we used to play Literari all day or watch Cracky spin around on the floor like a beach ball at work cuz we were so bored.

I think the best part about going to this interview was talking to people. How sad is that?? I mean people that don't live with me or are in my head. I was going crazy and I didn't even know it! Oh also, if, no SINCE i got this job (right, Mel?? RIGHT???) I need to go buy an entire new wardrobe. YES. I'm transferring money over from my ING account right now! Woo hoo! I'm broke but it's ok cuz I'm gonna get a paycheck someday! YAAAAYYYYY!

New Year's Resolutions...

are bunk. Don't make them. Don't you daaaare make them. You know that shit ain't happening...especially when you say it all out loud and that shit. Way to jinx it. Just keep it to yourself that way, if it doesn't work out, no one will know your inevitable failure. Believe me, I should know...my resolution failed ON new year's. What a bunch of crap! Couldn't even have waited 6 months or so that I can start to believe the fucking delusion for at least a little while.

Dammit all to hell.

On a side note, my Dugly pad is turning into quite the cute little studio. You'd have never thought there'd have been a guy snorting cocaine off another dude's speed-o in here at all!