#33 or "Hello Daddy, Hello Mom ..."

I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!
At least that's how I'm trying to be.

In between my stages of public humiliation and self-loathing, I procured employment.
I have a real job now.
All I can say is "I work in television" damn well better help me get some men.
At work, among other things, I am in charge of ordering food for clients and office supplies.
Those fuckers didn't know what they were getting themselves into.
Giving me an AmEx and a Costco membership.
In a week I have already charged over $350 in office supplies.
I wasn't kidding when I said I loved office supplies in my interview.
Luckily, the last girl was incompetent so I automatically seem much more capable than I truly am.
BLESSING.
When I'm being extra inept, I make up for it by looking super pretty.
They're also giving me free tickets to shit.
I'll have to remember this when I get yelled at later.

The moral of this story is:
I now work at a place where my coworkers don't know I'm a drunken degenerate!
... yet.

God, however, has decided to temper this good fortune by making my mother super crazy this month.
Basically, my siblings are self-centered automatons with little metal hearts that can't love.
This leaves me to save my mother, as I am (surprisingly) the only one with a soul.
I've got to tell you, this level of stress makes everything else seem minor.
By everything else I mean: shitty car, mounting debt, crumbling relationships with siblings, too much time apart from legit friends, etc.
It does not, however, make my state of perpetual singledom sting any less.

Which brings me to my next point
My skin has never been better in my fucking life.
I feel like a motherfucking princess.
Its such a relief to be able to walk out the door without makeup.
It's nice to know that people are staring at me disgustedly because of my personality instead of my face.
Still, this glowing milky complexion has not helped me garner the attention of the opposite sex.
This may be due to my wardrobe of man-repellant items like vests and slouchy shits and brogues.
I'm not really looking to be a sex symbol.
What can I say? I like to look like Annie Hall.
Hey, it worked for Diane Keeton.

I should probably remind myself that I am not in a Woody Allen movie.
But what fun is that?

My new goals for the month are:
to send pieces to lit mags,
to be a better editor,
to work out before work,
to buy/sew better clothes,
to be as blonde as possible,
to get as stoned as possible,
to get fucked as often as possible.
Also working on this thing called "filtering" where I, you know, DON'T say what crosses my mind.
It's a long shot but I'll give it a whirl.

Also, worried about mediocrity.
However, I am SAMOAN so I don't think I can succumb to the corporate patriarchy for long.
Too rebellious. Too weird.
I don't think I can survive too much longer with a visit with Dr. Gonzo.
Vegas is a little far but I think we can manage to hole up in Fort Stockton for a little bit.

#33 - When you recognize a superior at your new job from an AA meeting, introduce yourself as "a friend of that housewife whose marriage you broke up."