An Job Application of Sorts

As I happened to mention in my previous post, I am now gainfully unemployed.  Yes, gainfully.  I am nothing if not optimistic.  I am currently looking for a job.  Clearly.  So I thought I’d start my job search on line.  After all, what could be aiming any lower than being unemployed?

Dear Aiming Low,

It’s been four months exactly, since I sent an email asking to join the Staff at Aiming Low.  I can only assume, given the influx of new talent as of late, that my email got lost in the shuffle or you haven’t gotten to it yet.  That’s ok.  I’m sending a new one.

See, in my first email, I suggested that maybe attaching a picture of my boobs would help with the application process.  That was four months ago.  I have since lost some weight, and my boobs?  Just like the old grey mare, they ain’t what they used to be.  BUT! Do not despair.  I have an amazing friend who said she would do anything in her power for me.  Bury bodies, provide alibis, oh wait those don’t sound like selling points.  Never mind. Anyway my friend Laci has some amazing fully paid for boobs.  Yes, I’ve seen them, up close and in a women’s bathroom.  At work. (no, she is not the reason I don’t have a job. Neither are her boobs) She would send a picture of *her* boobs (which are way better than mine anyway).

If you’re looking for references, let me offer two you already have on staff. Miss Britt, and Jessica Bern. I have worked with Britt, at Buy-Her.  Of course, now that she’s on The Great American Road Trip, she doesn’t write at Buy-Her much anymore.  Neither do I, to be honest.  I was really great right out of the gate, but I kinda tapered off because of the drama in my life, and lack of medication.  Rest assured, I am well medicated and I don’t care about the drama any more.

If you go to my blog, you might not want to read the most recent posts, you know, because the source of most of my drama was being a total douchenozzle and I was exercising my inner demons on line.  But now that he’s gone, I’ll be bringing funny back much like Justin Timberlake brought Sexy Back. (a gratuitous JT mention goes a long way)

Also on your staff, Jessica Bern. Back in April, I left a comment on Jessica’s blog Bern This, about how I absolutely loved her vlogs and while I never watched videos at work (hello!? At work!) I watched hers because she was so fucking hilarious how could I not.  I told her, “I could very well get fired for watching your vlogs at work, or having to replace my monitors too many times from coffee spit on them.  So, in the event I get fired, can I come work with you?”  “(Hello, Jessica? Yeah, HI! Unemployed!  You kinda owe me this.  Yeah, not unemployed b/c of your videos though, does that make a difference?)

As for any kind of compensation for my work, if you read my blog, you will find that clearly I am cheap.  After all, I sold my soul for a mere $20 pair of stilettos. I am willing to work for cheap (read free) because the street cred alone is worth way more.  In fact, I’m sure if I put “Contributing author at Aiming Low” on my resume’ I could probably have a job by Wednesday.

I will forward a copy of my resume upon request, but I don’t see how that will make much of a difference.  I truly believe that my writing speaks for itself.  I will be sitting by my laptop most of the day today if you need me for an interview.

(Hint: To get the full level of funny, hover over the links… that’s where the comedy gold is.)

Sincerely,

Rigteously Indignant, yup, that's me.

It's the only picture I could find besides a book I didn't want to promote.

Wikipedia defines Righteous Indignation as follows: Righteous indignation is typically a reactive emotion of anger over perceived mistreatment, insult, or malice.

Last night, I swear Rod Serling was writing the screenplay of my life.  I mean, let’s be honest here.  My life has had more than it’s fair share of the bizzaro. (please hover over that link so you can see what I’m talking about if you’re not going to click it and go read it.)

People, some of my best writing is in the notes when you hover over a link.  Please, to get the maximum enjoyment from my blog, hover over the links. (and if it doesn’t work.. let me know. I’ll cut a bitch.)

So, last night.

I was supposed to go to The Lake after dropping the girls off with their dad for the week.  Ok, I *did* go to The Lake after dropping the girls off for the week.

And when I got there, I stepped out of my car and smack dab in the middle of Bizzaro World.

I’m not going to throw anyone under the bus here.  There is a whole lot of stuff going on that I don’t even know. (Like basically everything).  In a sentence, due to everything going on, I was told I had to leave.  Whether it was or was not my fault hasn’t been determined to my satisfaction.  Ok. It’s not my FAULT, but the drama centered around me, and I don’t know why or how, or what started it, or what the hell is going on.  I just know, that everything I thought I knew going into the weekend came into question last night.

Ok.

This morning, I get up (after driving home at midnight last night) and I’m pissed.  Not at anyone specifically, just at the situation in general.  And at not having any clear cut answers.  Which is the very definition of irony coming from me.  So, I send a few text messages, trying to figure out what is going on, where things stand, blah blah blah.

And basically getting my panties in a wad.

Righteously indignant.

I set about writing a blog post screaming at the top of my lungs (ok, posting in a very loud voice) how effing fabulous I am, and how I am awesome with eleventy billion sides of awesome sauce (inflated ego much?  I know, I can barely walk into my own house.) I was all like, Look dude, I got plans, I got dreams, I got a life I want to live, and I ain’t got time to wait around for you to get your shit together and notice how fucking fabulous I am.  (ok, maybe it was a smidge nicer than that, but clearly not much.  Once I get all wadded panties and shit, I go way over the top.  Yes, really.  Have you met me?)

And just as I’m about to hit publish, and just after I sent him a text that said “Your reservation in my life expires at midnight, either confirm it or lose me forever.”

He texts.

And I feel like a total asshat.

 

Best. Picture. Ever.

So, I saved the blog post to my drafts folder.  I scrambled like eggs to look like less of an ass via text message.  In other words, his simple text took me down a few necessary notches.

Sure I’m fucking Fabulous, and all kinds of awesome, but you know what?  I’m not the end all be all of someone else’s life.  Everyone else is busy living their life, dealing with their drama, their issues, their problems.  It’s not all about me.  While I’m on my soapbox preaching “I’ve got dreams! I’ve got plans!  I’ve got a life and I don’t have time for you to figure out if you want to be in it!” he’s living his life, dealing with his drama, navigating the potholes in the road of his own damn fucking journey.

I had to sit down and think about that long and hard… not all about me.  Since fucking when?

I took a step back and looked at this whole thing and thought “Who the fuck do I think I am?” and if I had gotten that text message from him? I’d have said  ci vediamo più tardi  (Italian for see ya later)  or even baciare il mio culo (kiss my ass).

 

Let’s be honest, I suck at relationships.  I’m the perfect girlfriend… on paper.  It’s that real life face to face shit that gets me all jacked up.  On paper, behind a computer screen, I’m awesome.  I can also hide the crazy.  In real life?  not so much.

I have no real ending for this blog post.  Yes, I know, I suck at endings anyway.  Basically there is no ending because there are no answers yet.  It’s just “it’s up to you.  You know what’s going on there, I don’t.  I’ll wait to hear from you.” kind of thing.