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A ridiculous titleOne for Martin, two for Martin |
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| The sky is dark enough to see stars. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Cured of many things at once. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Nov. 11th, 2008 @ 04:50 pm (no subject) | |||
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Earlier today, via email: Me: Dear Blahblahblah and associates, please consider me for your copywriter position posted on Craigslist as I am quite skilled in the art of bullshit. I can bullshit a baboon, I can bullshit a pumpkin squash. I can bullshit to suit the needs of your clients. Roberto@BlahBlahBlahLLC.com: I just can't see hiring someone who doesn't proof their resume. Me: Oh yeah? Well your website has a paragraph that ends really abruptly without a period or anything! For shit people. I was depressed for hours. But seriously, snarky guy at Blahblahblah LLC did me a huge favor. Huge. I had a section on my resume where I had an entire verb tense a whole beat off. What a bastard, though. I hate receiving feedback! It is the worst. I just need to let future bosses know that I'm entirely not open to feedback. See? It's about communication. | |||
| Nov. 3rd, 2008 @ 07:58 pm (no subject) | |||
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| Today I finally ate it on the lightrail tracks, lost my glove in the grit and maculated wet leaves. Forever, as it turned out. "What are you looking for?" a group of under-housed men asked when I returned to the site in the rain slicked dark. I held up my hands, the left one looking nude as the news. My glove! My glove! "Well, let's find it for her, boys." And the three of them got up and started looking. I didn't want to fight them on this, but I was just as relieved when one of them advised (very audibly, repeatedly) to kiss that glove goodbye and tottered off. I tottered off myself and left the last bearded guy gazing into the gutter. I shouted thanks and goodnight and hoped that the glove that remained was a mate to the one left behind from my previous glove divorce last week. No such luck. That Jansport elastic just don't squeeze like she used to. Came home and i was soaked. I swear it's been years since my ass was that cold and sodden. But! I managed to keep both hands. They remain a matched pair. That optimism may be a result of using Sam-E (not Sammy, I would never use her, although she makes me quite cheerful!). Is this what I would feel like all the time if I'd gotten donuts with my brother every morning and had nicer parents? One just never knows. But I feel better I guess. Less inclined to rage when I spill beans all over the kitchen and they bounce all over the place. Things are well enough. I am very poor, but remain extremely classy except for a few minor lapses. | |||
| Sep. 28th, 2008 @ 07:23 pm THE BUTT ACNE CLOSET! | |||
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| I have a story to tell, and that is the story of butt pimples: I get them. My dad gets them. Right now, I have them REALLY REALLY BAD, oh LiveJournal readers. Can I show you one? Oh please. I've gotten them intermittently since I was about 12. These fuckers survived accutane, they survived a few courses of erythromycin, they survived Oxycution and almond oil and what-fuck-all ever. There are a few more bodily secrets that I've been holding onto, but today I would like to come out of the butt-acne closet. I have butt acne! I do! It hurts to sit down sometimes! Anyway, right now, I also have a yeast infection. And a small, itchy blister on my leg, which I'm pretty sure is impetigo. Hence, online research into the world of skin diseases...wonderful stuff! I have butt acne, impetigo, and candida albicans overwhelming my good bacteria, but did you know that I do not have flesh-eating fascitis? I do not have it. What about herpes simplex II? I may or may not have that one, but it looks like I might not express it! Anyway, after enough drifting on medical sights, it seems that I have yeasty buttocks. Oh yes indeed, folliculitis (ok, also hairy buttocks) due to Malassezia Furfur (also called Pityrosporum ovale), a yeasty motherfucking beasty! This is actually incredibly reassuring. Can I tell you how reassuring it is? I'm so stoked to know the key to my butt acne! It is also the key to: -my tendency to get athlete's foot every single year at camp! -my ability to get athlete's foot from living with a lifeguard who is not symptomatic herself! -my weird abberent sandy yeast infection last year! -my weird aberrent athletes foot in 2004 that looked like plantar's warts that didn't respond to wart medication! -my dandruff! (which has strangely cleared in the last few years) -while I'm at it, everytime I was annoying or irrational or spilled coffee in your car, that was probably yeast-related too! I'm just incredibly succeptible to mycotic infections! I'm so happy. Please bake me a cake and write that in blue frosting on top. Here's to 13 years of gentically-predisposed mycotic hypersensitivity! AND, and, most of the research distinguishing pityrosporum folliculits from acne vulgaris (also have that; thanks again, pops) has only come about in the last ten years. AND, most of it responds well to homeopathic(1) medicines(2) like aloe and meadowsweet and eucalyptus. Although just to be safe I took a few mgs of fluconazole I had lying around. I think I want to shadow an herbalist for awhile. I think I should maybe watch my sugar intake. I think I am excited not to have red bumps on my ass. | |||
| Sep. 21st, 2008 @ 01:44 pm "No no no no no!" "Yes yes yes yes yes, Bill." | |||
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Heeheeheheee. Call me a cookie, you lyin' sack. | |||
| Jun. 24th, 2008 @ 07:14 am (no subject) | |||
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| Ah. I just finished my last set of online columns. For the past four months, a good 60% of whatever weekend I had (and sometimes this was split, thanks Wildberries) was spent researching and writing seven articles every week. My shit went up on the internet, every day, for four months. That was cool. What wasn't cool was that I wasn't really writing about stuff that interested me all that much ("green" couture? plz.), and the fact that after working for free and getting heaps o' praise, I wasn't offered employment, although this may have something to do with my not infrequently missed deadlines (see above note about rarely having a consistent weekend...and...and the fact that I procrastinate too much). Still, I worked my ass off for these, sometimes staying up all night and going to work the next morning if I had only one day to work on them, and that's kind of a good thing. It definitely got my mind off my silly breakup (or got me over the hump, anyway). Once again, the lessons of interning: -have a defined internship period. I always make this mistake, feeling like it's rude to have parameters on something I'm actually doing for them, for free. Much like I don't ask what I'm getting paid in a job until I actually get the paycheck. I made the mistake of not having time parameters and was left feeling a little undervalued by the time month four rolled around. Where...is...this...going? So I ended it, partially because I had paralegal school, and partially because...because I was sick of it. In retrospect, establishing a four month parameter might have put both me and my editor in mind about what would happen at the end of that period. -put 100% into it daily, or at least 80%. My problem, as always, is wanting to put 100% of it in the last 5% of the allotted time. The bare fact is I rarely wanted to work on this throughout the week. After eight hours of heavy lifting/customer service, I mostly wanted to listen to music, jog interminably, and eat. Not pretend to care about hippy yuppy shit. So, I am Andrea's decaying finger joints at 7:23 in the morning, having just pulled another all-nighter. -establish a rapport with your editor, or boss, or whatever. I did pretty well with this, this time. I even requested a phone power lunch to talk about stuff, which felt like some sort of adultish responsible thing to do. (This was going to be the conversation where I talked about the internship's terminus...but...I lacked the nards...c'est stupide!) -have a body of work to show after your internship, preferably with your name all over it. I didn't do this with Internews (where I was a semi-glorified spam filterer), but wiredberries.com's gonna feature my shit for the concievable future. -Get a letter of recommendation. I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE asking for this. I'd rather shoot a hole in the back of my throat. At Internews, I was offered one by the company's second in command, but I actually never took her up on it because (and this is stupid, again) I felt like a monkey could have done my job, so what could she really recommend me for? In spite of my crappy deadline managing, I think my editrix Laurie really did like me, and this time, I'm gonna get one. In a few days. Maybe I'll even go the formal route and send her a self-addressed stamped envelope, whole nine. Paralegal crapola aside, I'm stoked to have a weekend again, instead of my write-for-sixteen-hours-straight-pay-bil | |||