And now I'm blogging for the first time this fucking shit-ass year, because I'm supposed to be writing a grant proposal and I can't take it right now. Can. Not. Do it.
I'm now sorta friends with two exes, Baldy of the Red and Baldy Show, and the ugly but smart dude whose nom de guerre I can't even recall. One of them loaned me some cash to make it through the month, the other referred me for a pretty good job opening (who knows if I'll get it, but it's nice to have a personal recommendation to a VP). Elf on the Shelf is still an annoying drunk-ass fool--when he drinks too much, which is regularly. When he's approaching sober he's quite nice, if still a massive loser who's never going to amount to much. Oddly enough, my aunt's company hired his manic roommate as our SoCal sales rep. I'm counting on his coked-up ass to get out there and drum up some business for us so I can have extra income from that company while I struggle along on the peanuts I get from piecework ghosting for a grantwriter in Fort Fuckworth, my hometown.
A friend of a friend of mine (my friend lives in Chicago, his friend lives in Tucson) came to SD last weekend and brought a guy friend with her; they both met a mutual friend of theirs who now lives in Buffalo but spends her Februaries in SD. We all went out to brunch and had a grand old time. When I met the Tucson guy friend, he said, in that tone you'll know well if you too are a redhead, "Ooo! You're a ginger!." I said, "Better a Ginger than a Marianne."
Turns out he's a swinger who wants to add me to his harem. Um. No thanks. First of all, that is sooooo not my thing. Second of all, he lives in Tucson and I have such horrible allergies there, as soon as they de-pressurized the airplane cabin my eyes cloud over and my face fills, balloon-like, with snot and splotchiness. Plus, GROSS! Is he serious? Then he invited me to some Valentine's Day event at some bar in Tucson. You've got to be kidding me. There's nothing as romantic as fucking a disgusting swinger on Valentine's Day in Tucson.
Anyway. I'm discouraged, disheartened, dirt-poor, and have no idea how I'm going to pay my rent next month. I was just chatting with a friend in Germany who cannot believe my life. He says, "In Germany you get free healthcare no matter who you are, and if you don't have a job, you get assistance with your rent and food." "Ah," I remarked, "but you have to put up with all the FUCKING GERMANS!" He hasn't worked in 18 months and hasn't a care in the world. He's not even looking for a job until spring.
I have an interview Monday with Nordstrom's Lingerie department. It's commission only and I'm a horrible salesperson. But it's a good company to work for, and it's really the only thing in town that's hiring right now. I have no fucking idea what I will be able to wear to work if I do get the job. My aunt loaned me a suit for the interview, but my fucking ass is so fat these days the only thing that I can fit into is stretch pants and giant sweaters that make me look preggo instead of fat.
Kentucky Boy got a promotion today. He's never going to leave Chicago, and I'm going to be stuck with this horrible alkie pot-growing Elf out here in San Diego forever. Nothing like a nice long-term relationship that evolves out of complacency to make a girl feel good about life. And earlier in the week I almost had Kentucky Boy convinced to move out here and live with me. What can I say? I'm bummed. But not so bummed I can face the thought of dealing with the 18 feet of snow they get every year in Chicago. FUCK.
I recently informed one of the lawyers I used to work with in Fort Fuckworth that he and those other sons of bitches at the firm killed me years ago and I haven't been worth a shit since. I told him to enjoy his cushy life of medical care and cabernet. My secret revenge is that he and his equally fucked-up wifey were the unflattered subjects of a short story I wrote once.
Fort Fuckworth is full of perverts. Not in the fun sense of perversion. Perverted justice, perverted logic, perverted religion, perverted economics, perverted forestry, perverted rivers, perverted trees, perverted roads and smoke and dust. If you're still stuck there, get out before you lose yourself in the fog.
On that cheerful note, back to the grant. Which, by the way, is for the benefit of perverted Fort Fuckworthers, so kiss my ass in gratitude, won't you? Thanks.