She Who Has the Gold...

It's no secret that ever since I quit my job in the den of racist privilege back in October of 2011, Adam and I have not exactly been rolling in dough. For a long time, I relegated the household expenses to him, as he was the main breadwinner and I felt it would be inappropriate if I started making calls on how he spent his money.

In Defense of the Renaissance (Wo)Man

A few weeks ago, an old associate of my father's invited me in to his very prestigious, very successful advertising and marketing firm for a chat. I intrinsically understood that this was a casual chat, but I couldn't help but hope that a job in some form might miraculously materialize out of this meeting. I went in with high hopes in spite of myself and the downward trajectory that my job hunt and self-esteem have been on lately.

When I sat down to chat with the man, a Steve Jobsish clone in his mid-fifties who invited me to have a cup of coffee while he selected a 5-hour Energy for himself, I quickly realized that the conversation was not going to go the way I was hoping.

On the Go

I finally got a new phone. My old iPhone 4 was in shambles. I'd never updated the operating system because my computer is ancient and is too old for the newer versions of iTunes. I dropped that thing so many times that after replacement screen three, Adam patently refused to work on it again. For nearly a year, I've used a phone with a shattered screen, spotty service, and outdated software. And it worked!

On Account of Excessive Excitement

I got my 1,000,000th rejection email from one of the big, local insurance companies today. They really should have a giveaway associated with that, but seeing as they're mostly technically competitors, I can't see them going halfsies (halvsies?) on anything like that. The giveaway could be really exciting, like "Free Yugo with Your 1,000,000 Rejection!" or "Free Health Insurance for a Week with your One Millionth Rejection!" The alternative, of course, would be to just give me a fucking job, but whatever. Sweepstakes are apparently NOT FOR EVERYONE. ("Everyone" likely being all of us looking for jobs right now.)

Failure Like the Back of My Hand

If  you look at this picture, you might assume that this past weekend I got into some crazy bar fight, or I worked at the farm, or possibly slipped dramatically on my way into work today and cut my knuckles on ice or the odd stack of junk mail. None of that is the case.

On Friday night, I gesticulated wildly into an overhead hanging light fixture at a dive bar. I'm 99% sure I have hepatitis now. (No worries, I was only using my liver under the powers of evil, anyway.)