It’s been almost a month since I lost my job, and I’ve not found anything to replace it. Well, not anything job-wise. Otherwise, I am quite content! But when the money runs out, I won’t be.
I have applied for countless jobs, and not even one call for an interview. I’ve wrestled with the state of Florida’s new, $64 million Web site to get a measly $212 per week, and it was delayed by three weeks and I only got it today. That was after calling the state several times and eventually breaking down and cussing someone out. My favorite curse word is the C word. Do you think less of me? Just remember, in England it’s a unisex term!
Clearly, I have to stop rewatching Sexy Beast. Which I did during the last four weeks. I put on Bottle Rocket, too. My comfort films. I have also caught up on the last two years’ worth of Oscar viewing (as I mentioned previously). Oh laws, I watched Les Mis. I have never been so fergacking bored in my life. I’ll say no more….
“I dreamed a dream of motherfucking lacefronts!”
Okay, I said that. Also, Hugh Jackman certainly gives until it hurts. But oh, it hurt so very badly.
But then, I watched a musical that I actually liked. Oh, it was campy and bad and sparkly and probably ranks up there with Mariah’s Glitter on the shit–o-meter, but screw it. I watched Burlesque. Cher, dammit! Come ON. Cher is our national treasure, and should be treated as such.
I’ve listened to a lot of records. Yes, I said records. I still have a turntable. There is something so satisfying about putting the vinyl on, and then TURNING IT OVER. You are actively involved. You have to pay attention. It doesn’t take 75 minutes to listen to it. Unless it’s a double album. I have some of those, never fear. Right now, I have the Blow Monkeys on. Admit it. You are not surprised.
Today I sat on the couch (after running errands – I may be poor but mama needed a new colander) and succumbed to the non-dulcet tones of the daytime talk shows for a few minutes. Just a few. With The Talk and then Queen Latifah. I couldn’t take much. But I knit furiously and then Ringo came to visit me and gave me kitty kisses, and I was happy. Until Ali Larter (?!) came on to talk about her new cookbook. Yikes. Bitch, please. You ain’t special. You were on Heroes. And putting fennel on a cheesesteak does not make you Mario Battali.
Tomorrow I get my hair cut, and I’m so happy I could die. A $20 haircut has become a luxury, but I will take it. And maybe a little time with my hairdresser of more than 20 years, who is like a second mother to me. I am lucky, in so many ways. Today a friend I’ve never met on Ravelry offered to buy a ton of my yarn. And I’m going to sell it to her. Large quantities I’ve had for years that I was going to make something for myself from, but never did. It’s time for it to go. I’ve become an accessories person, anyway.
Today I also treated myself to lunch at Nature’s Way Cafe. I did it about two weeks ago, too. And as I sat there, in my shorts and Fountains of Wayne T-shirt, my hair in a braid and tiny spoon earrings in my ears I watched and listened to the ladies and girls who were there on their lunch hours. I looked at their Executive Barbie Realness clothes. Watch out for the phramaceutical sales reps; they’re the worst. It’s like a Tory Burch store threw up on them and their Bumpit hair.
I listened in on their conversations and wondered what they are all about. Usually it’s office gossip or health talk. Yawn. I DON’T wonder why I don’t want to be one of them anymore, but in the end I really have no choice. I dread the thought of another office job like I dread strep throat, but know I’ll have to cave eventually.
Their conversations are always so boring, anyway. But maybe that’s just me…..And then, with the young ones, there’s the vocal fry. The scourge of our nation, people. The scourge.