WTF Wednesday (An update)

I think all the idiots were let loose on this here Wednesday. Seriously. I started my day with a doggy walk and running a few errands around my apartment. It’s SO nice here (86 in October- suck it cold weather!) so I decided to take my studying/plan for the day and move it outside.

I headed to up our city’s most beautiful park where I almost killed two people on the drive because they thought it was appropriate to cross the street when the big orange hand said DON’T YOU F*CKING DARE! I was so prepared and house-wifey like for my outside study sesh; I had a blanket, a towel (for the reading sweats) water (for me and pooch), and treats for her, my books, computer, appropriate writing utensils and my iPod for a musical snack. It’s the most prepared for anything I’ve ever been in my life, to be honest; except that time I climbed Mount Everest. ß whhhaatt? No, I didn’t do that.

I get to the park, lay my items out neatly and extend the dog’s leash to the end so she has room to roam around our area. For anyone who knows my dog, she’s a crazy lunatic- for real. She’s 17lbs but she will kill anyone or anything that comes close to us, so it’s always nice to have her in a park full of people, children, birds, other dogs and the like. Just as I’m getting my brain all geared up and into the text my canine companion goes ape shid over a squirrel that, in his defense, is minding his own dayum business! It takes me about 15 minutes to get her to sit down and stare at the squirrel with some occasional whining. Idiot number three is my dogder- does that make me a bad pet owner?!

 I continue to read for the majority of the afternoon when a group of six, shirtless dudes in tiny, tiny running shorts go jogging by on the path in front of me. I didn’t really pay attention because I was busy, but two minutes later they’re sprinting right by my blanket. I’m not saying this in a fun “Oh look at those hot, shirtless, runner dudes who want to run past my blanket”- NO. I’m saying it in a “WTF do you have to run so close to my blanket for? You just dropped sweat on me sicko! Really? This has to happen RIGHT here when you have an ENTIRE park?!” I was irate. So I packed up all my things, collected my dog- let her bark and chase them on their last go ‘round- and got in my car to go to Target.

Cut to me unloading my items from Target and getting in the elevator (with dog in tow) to come up to my floor. We stop on the wrong floor and out of nowhere a puppy bulldog gets into the elevator. At this point in the story, please refer to paragraph 3 and choose your own ending…just jokes. She didn’t attack the puppy, but she was barking and got in his puppy face as if she was going to snap his neck like a little black, four-legged ninja. This man appears and grabs his dog out of the elevator, doors close. We’re safe. I guess I should say that puppy is safe from the 5^th Floor Devil Dog. People need to stop being idiots and keep their dogs on a leash. I understand if your dog is friendly and trained and perfect, but mine isn’t. For your own safety and your dog’s safety lock it up and keep track of it, otherwise I’m going to let my killer baby eat your face.

Unemployed Wednesday. Ugh.

                                                                    My baby dog

                                                                   Idiot Dude Runners

                                                    Boo! Wednesday's Worst Face

                                                    (Buzz, your girlfriend...woof!)

F.A.B.

F.A.C was a big thing in my life for quite a while. For those of you who didn’t go to an awesome college, F.A.C. stands for Friday After Class. It was the best day of the week made better by super low priced drinks and awesomely cheap food. Every Friday we would prance from class (if we went) to the bar (if we’d left the night before). It was basically like a college style happy hour before happy hour was a big part of our lives. One of my besests friends, “Lewis” loved FAC, so the two of us would grace the dirtiest bars in Madison with our presence for the occasion; aka Friday.

One summer, Lewis got a job as a bank teller. No joke. And no, he’s not Asian, but he was a best friend to a little Asian teller named Dolores. She would always yell at him when he started to cry because his tiny brain would get jammed up taking in all that money. “Why you cry? Why you crying?” she would ask…and he would just sob harder. Being a bank teller is apparently very tough. Good thing I never gave it a shot, since we all know I can barely count. People would have deposited their money into my pocket and I would have put purple confetti paper in their accounts instead….so….yea….

 Lewis’s first week at said bank we decided to grace FAC- aptly renamed FAB (Friday After Bank) with our presence as we normally did. On our way home Lewis just kept saying over and over how he couldn’t be late to work or Dolores would be so berry, berry mad. I made sure to set at least four alarms that night (two of them in my mind) and double check them, which is hard to do after you’ve knocked back a few brewskies. ß I am such a dude.

At around 8:30am I wake up to find Lewis still sleeping. It took me quick second to comprehend that he was supposed to have been at work 30 minutes ago and that he was going to be actually was berry late. What happened next is still disputed to this day…I LITERALLY woke up two seconds before Lewis did, and was looking at him when he opened his eyes. I calmly said “Lewis, don’t freak out. But you’re late for work” and of course he FREAKED out and busted ass out of my apartment for home. Later that day he called to ask me if I had been awake for hours just watching him sleep and making sure he missed all the alarms we had set (duh, of course that’s what I did). Apparently, I was so calm about the situation that it seemed like I had been awake since 4am watching him sleep like a creepy peeping Tom.

After that F.A.B incident we decided that we could no longer have Lewis work on Saturday mornings. What? Did you think I was going to say we deduced we couldn’t go out on Friday nights? Get real. Lewis told Dolores that he was unable to work Saturday mornings due to soccer practice! What a joke. I can’t believe she bought it, but she was apparently berry happy he was involved in athletics. Lewis was out of working Saturdays and FAB/FAC was back on track J

Moral of the story-  If I don’t care about my own employment, do you think I really give a sh*t about yours? xo

BIRSDAY DAY!

Today- October 6^th- is my birthday. Stop your applause- I’m not happy. I am not making jokes today because I made a joke a few days ago about Steve Jobs and possibly sending me a new Macbook…now he’s deceased (RIP Mr. Jobs, and thank you for the iPhone). I don’t even know my own power and I’m pretty positive I will just cause more harm with my “jokes” if I continue.

Another downer is that this is the year I’m supposed to be involved in a boating accident. This news was delivered to me via a little Thai fortuneteller, and so far he’s been right about everything else…so starting today- I’m scared and won’t be near any marinas any time soon. I personally think it’s going to be some crazy ‘Final Destination’ sh*t where I’m in the middle of a cornfield and a truck pulling a boat drives by me. Said boat comes detached from its hitch (<- yea I grew up on a farm, what of it?!) and crashes into my car, ipso facto I’m decapitated. There you have it….no joke. Remember? No joking today.

OR…everything was lost in translation and I’m supposed to buy a boat. The man didn’t speak English very well so it’s hard to know exactly what he meant. I do know there was, and is, a boat involved and it was in my 27^th year of life. That’s this one. But could he know that I would be unemployed at this point in my life? And if so, why didn’t that little Thai b*tch tell me, give me a heads up, even? How can I buy a boat without a j.o.b? Maybe put it on a credit card? Maybe it’ll be a birthday gift?

I’m old, unemployed and can’t tell jokes for fear of becoming the grim reaper. Whadda day.

<-------AAGGHHH!

PS- I'm having a great day, am not in a bad mood and would like to thank everyone for the birthday wishes! <3 you all!

Sweepstakes

There was a time in my life when I was a Professional Sweepstakes Enter-er (a PSE for those of you not familiar with the biz). That is totally true. I did it for a “living.” Entered sweepstakes. Some of you may wonder why I ever quit…and I like to think I really never did. Entering sweepstakes is like a crack addiction- or so I’ve been told. Give it a shot: http://contests.about.com/od/sweepstakeslistings/a/allsweepstakes.htm. 

So I really did “quit” for the more logical answer that no one was paying me to enter and I wasn’t winning anything.

At that juncture in my life I lived in a house with three other people: two ladies and a lady (lady 3 = an extremely attractive gay man). We all decided to stay in that house and extend our partying into the hot, saucy summer months of Wisconsin. My three roommates had jobs and would go to work each day like the pre-adults they were. I, once again, found myself unemployed and at home all day alone. Writing this out makes it seem like am “funemployed” and alone a lot…to which I would say first to you- rude, mind your own. And secondly, yes. Yes I do, actually **insert soft weeping and pour of a morning libation here**

Each morning I would exit my shoebox of a room, that I kept at a frigid 55 degrees (I don’t do well when I overheat) and go to my roommate’s room where he had a BBDC (big, beautiful desktop computer) that was our main Internet hook up. After my morning World Wide Web time, I’d go for a run, put on my swimsuit and hit up le dock on le lake. Come 4pm I would wonder over to my girlfriend’s apartment (she also pumping the AC -godblessherheart) and we would watch Oprah. That was back in O’s hay-day and she looked FABULOUS! One day O was talking about a woman who had made her living being a professional sweepstakes enterer…does anyone else see where this is going?? You should, idiots, I already told you where it went. Pay attention! **Here is a link to said episode- www.don’tclickhereicouldn’tfindareallink.com.

This woman supposedly won vacations, cars, televisions/electronics, giant chess sets and huge bouncy castles. It was my calling- I needed a bouncy castle, and still do. I went home, got on my roommate’s computer and started filling out information for every raffle, competition and sweepstakes I could find. I was so excited I emailed everyone on my life list (yes that is a list in my address book) about my new career. When no one responded I figured it was because they were jealous of my new path and what this new profession was going to bring me. Makes sense- my friends are jealous of me often because I make SO MUCH money. Duh.

I continued to apply for and enter into random sweepstakes for about a month of summer when randomly my roommate’s computer started to get so bogged down with junk mail and annoying pop-ups that it had to be restarted on a regular five-minute schedule. I still refuse to believe it was my occupation that required him to get a new computer because, let’s be honest, there was so much porn on that thing I’m surprised it could even turn on. I did him a favor anyway -that thing was a piece of shid- get a Mac (<- Apple and Steve Jobs, I’ll be expecting my new AirBook for that plug any day now). Needless to say, I never won anything and owed my lady-roomy a new machine…or at least a clean “sweep” on the other one! Zing!

So as a wrap up, maybe it has always been my life path to create my own jobs…and ruin other people’s material goods, lives, livelihoods, etc. in the process. I think I’m making a real personal breakthrough here…and it’s only Wednesday. I deserve a drink J

TwzDay Update

Well, Tuesday turned out just like I thought it would. Stupid. Today involved a car accident, a broken taillight, a gang fight and some spilt water. Can you believe the horrors?! It’s just like I said; Tuesdays suck.

Someone was backing my car out of the parking spot and jammed it right into the back of a parked truck. I don’t want to name names here, because this blog is not about blame, but that girl is gonna. Get. It. I’m not going to go all ‘Girl Interrupted’ on anyone because I don’t operate like that…also, because it’s hard to fight yourself. Yea, yea, yea, I did it. Lucky for me the hick that lives in my apartment building drives a huge dump truck so it was unaffected by my tiny four-door, family sedan- aka, my P.O.S. I wish this car would just disappear; which ties nicely into my next event of the day; a gang fight.

I live in the ghetto and fights break out regularly at awkward times of the day and night. So, it didn't surprise me (or my "working from home" neighbor) that there was a lady gang-fight at about 3pm today. As good a time as any for calling someone a “crack whore” and telling him or her that they have “slept with every man in downtown.” The two things that strike me as odd here are that if said “hood rat” has in fact slept with every guy in downtown, then the guy I am seeing has A LOT OF ESPLAINING TO DO! And secondly, if she really is a crack whore shouldn’t she be inside some dilapidated house, or hiding from the daylight? Aren’t crack whores like vampires? Maybe I’m just white, drug-free and naive but I thought they didn’t come out during the day. AND if they are going to start coming out at times that I am out, could I work out some deal with them to “steal” my car? Maybe I should Google this.

I'm back, and it turns out if you Google "Crack whore sleep schedule" you get a link to something in Tijuana and I was scared to research further for fear of the FBI slamming through my sliding glass window at any second. Goodnight world! 

Candy and Tom Masters

Happy Tuesday kids. Tuesday is like sophomore year of high school, or your 26^th birthday- it doesn’t matter. Tuesday is the worst. It’s not the first day of the week, so you shouldn’t be all hung-over and tired, but it’s also not close enough to see Friday. So…it sucks. The only good thing about Tuesday is that I get stories from my friend, “Candy’s” (not her real name, but the one she uses at work while on stage) Monday night speech class. Candy can D.A.N.C.E (and drank) but the girl can’t speak to save her life. Not like she has a mental retardation, it’s more as soon as she realizes people are listening to her story her brain jams up and all that comes out is the punch line. It’s sort of like this- picture, if you will, Candy sitting with a group of people. All the sudden she wants to tell a joke:

Candy: “Hey guys, today one of my johns said something really funny.”

Group: “oh yea, tell us tell us!”

Candy: “He said, he was like, well ok- it started at around 2pm when he said…it was more like he was moving his hand…it was…and then he goes “to get to the other side!!” BAHAHAH get it?”

*Insert scratch on a record and dead silence

Group: “Um…wiggity what was that Candy Masters?”

So, Candy signed up for a Toastmaster group. This is her first “group” that isn’t court ordered so we’re all very proud of her. She goes every Monday and sweats in the back row just thinking about publicly speaking, while trying to get yours truly a date with everyone in her class. Candy’s husband started to get a little suspicious after multiple Mondays in a row that his lady-wife was arriving home after sunset and there was no dinner for him. They’re a very traditional “barefoot and pregnant, make me dinner woman” type couple. So he starts checking her emails, text messages and listening in on her conversations with the other…um…er…”dancers” at her work. One night he hears her mention that she’s been going to Tom Master’s every Monday. He doesn’t realize that her public speaking and stage presence has really improved, but he does notice that she’s exponentially happier on Monday evenings, giddy even.

I tell you this story because I may be unemployed, but there is ZERO lack of communication in that. I literally have no job and no one wants to give me one. That relationship, as far as communication goes, is like Swiss cheese- full of holes! Just to recap for all you slow-readers out there; Candy’s husband thinks she’s having an affair with a man named Tom Masters, when in reality she’s trying to better herself at a class called Toastmasters; you can see where the breakdown is, I’m sure.

Some of you may be asking yourselves why I haven’t stepped in since I am the sole person who knows where the trouble is….well, I’ll tell you why. I don’t like to get involved, no ma’am. I’ve got ma own issues to deal with and most of those revolve around figuring out how to turn down jobs without letting the State of California catch on to my plan and how to make myself get out of bed in the morning.

So, Candy, girl….get it. Getchu some Tom Masters and enjoy your Monday night J

What is the matter with you?!

This may come as a surprise to some of you (but it shouldn’t so I’m mad at you if you are surprised right now) but I’m NOT an idiot. I’m not. I’m a fairly smart human being who has made some good monetary decisions while I had a regular amount of money coming in to me. Now, by no means does that mean you should ask me for financial advice. Just don’t. But I’m doing ok for myself with my savings. That being said, I do think it’s funny when people ask me about the job search and my unemployment situation, all the while just wondering if I’m nearing a mental breakdown about expenses and being poor. It usually goes something like this:

Person: “How’s the job search going?”

Me: “Oh, you know…stupid.”

Person: “Haha, well that savings is probably running low by now huh?”

Me: *Probably should mind your own business- “Ha- yea well it’s doing ok. And I’m getting unemployment, so…you know. That’s helpful”

Person: “Yea, but it’s not very much is it? How much is it? I mean is it, can you... are you hungry?”

Me: *Again, something that isn’t your biz-NASS. “It’s about $9 million dollars a year I think when I do all the math, so it’s livable thanksforasking”

End scene.

I mean really people? Would you walk up to someone and ask them what their salary is, how much they weigh and how old they are? You would if you were an idiot with no manors. So, my advice to people is to continue to ask me how the job search is going because each day I hear that question it just brings me closer to going postal and punching you right in the throat. I’m not kidding. Dare you. Try it. Ask me. Dare. You.

Below is a drarwing of my rant and just in case you were interested, I applied to five new jobs today. Want to know how many interviews I got called for? Shud up.