“Former Juror is Made to Feel Like a Pervert. Admits She Had it Coming. Apologizes for Disgusting Pun.”

Tonight I went to Adult Hipster #1’s housewarming party with Dano.

It was weird, to say the least.

Dano, under the guise of family man and burgeoning indie director, was immediately embraced by his old high school gang. Even though it wasn’t based in reality, it was still nice to see a group of people being so approving and proud of someone whom they hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. They were very welcoming of me, as well. I felt as if I had been let in into an exclusive “adult club.”

Get your mind out of the gutter. I mean adult as in “mature,” not adult as in “nudity plus.”

After a while of playing the dutiful social wife, I slipped away from the Adult Hipsters Gang and Dano to wander about the party. Mostly everyone was a few years older than me—late twenties, early thirties—but they all seemed to have a role to fulfill. There were the people starting families, the people invested in their careers, the activists championing a cause and the artists attempting to remain true to their “crafts”, among others. Everyone had “a thing” and I was just wallowing in nothing, floating from one corner of the room to next trying to figure how everyone else “adulted.”

My wandering led me to the kitchen where the booze was headquartered (as per usual). As I stooped down to pick up an ice cold beer bottle from the cooler, my head bumped into somebody else’s chin. This person immediately apologized and then offered to check to make sure his chin hadn’t made any bumps on my head.

“No thanks,” I said as I clasped the top of my head and finally looked up. My eyes met someone familiar, though I couldn’t recall who.

Familiar Stranger: “I know you from somewhere”

Me: “No you must be confusing me for someone else.”

I was just now remembering that I had a role to play and if anyone recognized me from my real life, it could end in disaster.

Familiar Stranger: “No, I’m positive, I’ve seen you before”

Me: “Well, I promise you—I don’t come here often”

Familiar Stranger: “Now, I remember you. You’re the juror with the smart mouth”

Oh yes, this was the young lawyer I had been ogling for two weeks last year during jury duty.

Me: “I’m more than just than a smart mouth, you know. If someone could just see me for my looks for once, I would be so happy!”

Pretty Young Lawyer: “There she is!” He smirks, and then continues, “I have to admit, I really enjoyed looking over your notebook. You know, the one you used to take notes during testimonies?”

Me: “I thought you weren’t supposed to see those!”

PYL: “Well, sometimes the judges will let us take them back to the office after the case has been deliberated. They can help to show us how we can improve. What we did wrong, what we did right… that kind of thing.”

Me: “How do you know which one was my notebook?”

PYL: “You can usually tell when someone’s doodling. It’s the only time they ever really seem invested in taking notes. Well, that and you were very obvious. Everyone could tell you were shading in things.”

Me: “Did you see ALL of the notes?”  Worry briefly overcame me.

PYL: “I normally don’t. It gets boring after a while”

Me: “Oh good!” Relief briefly washed over me.

PYL: “But yours were interesting. Very entertaining.”

Oh, shit!

Me: “Oh, no!”

PYL: “Oh, yes!”

There’s that smirk again.

PYL: “You’re a very talented artist. Very funny, too. I particularly enjoyed your doodle of my ass mouthing the words ‘This is my mouth piece!’”

Pretty sure I’m blushing now.

Me: “Oh, you don’t know that for certain. That could’ve been anyone’s ass!”

PYL: “Well everyone else with a law degree in that court room was twice my age, so I’m pretty sure that was my tight ass you drew in that notebook”

Me: “Well you think very highly of your ass don’t you?”

PYL: “Not necessarily. That was definitely my neck tie you drew around that ass doodle. Tell me, are my pants really that tight?”

Me: “You could stand to wear a bigger pant size”

Awkward silence ensues. Hurray.

PYL: “Sorry, have I made you uncomfortable?”

Me: “My guess is not as uncomfortable as I’ve made you”

PYL: “…Yeah.”

Me: “My sincerest apologies for objectifying you. Would you believe me if I said I did it for The Sisterhood? To kind of balance things out?”

He’s not buying it.

Me: “No? Ok, I did it because I was bored out of my mind and I’m near-sighted so yours was the only ass I could make out.”

PYL: “Yeah, I figured. So what are you doing here? Do you know Kevin and Myra?”

Oooooh, Kevin!  Adult Hipster #1’s name is Kevin but I keep thinking it’s something stupid like Pabst Blue Ribbon or Abacus.

Me: “No. Kind of. We have a friend in common. You?”

PYL: “Kevin’s our tech guy at the law firm.”

Me: “Oh, the law firm where yours is the only tight ass in existence?”

PYL: “Yeah, that one! Actually, my partner Bernie has the best ass in the business. I was almost offended on his behalf when you didn’t draw his instead”

Me: “Oh, Bernie has his own notebook! I just didn’t turn it in because I was too embarrassed”

PYL: “Oh, well that’s good! You seem like somebody who has a good head on her shoulders.”

Me: “Oh, I definitely do! So where’s my notebook now?”

PYL: “I think it’s in my office somewhere”

Me: “You kept it for that long?”

PYL: “Yeah, I was hoping to replace my work ID picture with your illustration but I guess I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

PYL definitely had a better sense of humor than I would expect anyone that handsome to have. I would have liked to continue to talking to him—maybe see if I could get that incriminating notebook back—but when I went to use the restroom, I saw Dano wandering around, presumably looking for me. When I returned to the kitchen, without much of an explanation, I told PYL I had to go and said goodbye.

Dano was ready to leave. Exhausted from lying, he told his old friends that it was time for us to relieve the babysitter.

The Dano that left that party was different from the Dano I had been hanging out with throughout the weeks leading up to tonight. He seemed more relaxed, more contented. New Dano hummed on the drive back. New Dano bought a happy meal just so that he could give me the toy to give to Baby Sam. New Dano talked about the possibility of going to film school as soon as he found a stable job. New Dano was hope incarnate and it made me feel as if what I had done—maybe—wasn’t so crazy after all.

When I got home, I started rummaging through my purse for lip balm when I noticed a white business card. On the front, it had printed “Attorney At Law” and on the back it had scrawled, “Should you seek reparations for the concussion I’ve probably caused you… or if you just want to get a second look at Bernie’s ass.”


“Adept Liar Worries She Suffers From Multiple Personality Disorder. Wonders If it’s Possible to Suffer From Multiple Personality Disorder If One is Aware of Each Personality.”


You know when you run to the bar during Last Call to order one last drink but as you wait for the drink to be poured you realize maybe you’ve already had one too many but you’ve already paid for the drink so you drink it anyway even though you know it might blow up in your face later? No? Was that example too specific to me to the point where it’s not relatable? Well, congratulations! You’ve made better life choices than I have! Whoopty-fucking-doo.

I’m just kidding, Baby. Come back! I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself.

Well, my whole life has been a nonstop roll of questionable decisions and most recently, I have lied my way into a second life– one where I have my own fucking family at the tender age of 22. In this second life, I have gotten married, given birth, started my own business and I have my own place. Figures. Only in a fictional version of my life would I have my shit together.

Since I found Dano busking in the street, I’ve visited him with Baby Sam a few times. Our presence fools people into thinking the three of us are a little family and, in turn, Dano gets A LOT more tips than he usually does when he’s just busking by himself. He hasn’t been able to find a job since the video store went out of business so this, along with providing transportation for strangers through an app, is his only source of income.

In return, I get to feel like a good person—and the free sandwiches and movie posters don’t hurt either. A few days ago, Dano finally made good on a The Godfather poster he promised me and we were walking back from his car to mine with Baby Sam in tow when we ran into Dano’s old high school classmates.

And that’s when our little charade went from implied to stated.

Dano’s old high school classmates, now bonafide adult hipsters, went on about all the successes they’ve had since they last saw each other at their graduation party and when it was Dano’s turn to recount what he’d been up to in the last 9 years, he had nothing.

Upon witnessing Dano’s loss for words, Adult Hipster #1 asked him if I was his wife and if that was our baby. Dano looked over to me, as helpless as a kitten up a tree, and that’s when my not-unlike- Mother-Teresa heart started to pound as I pulled the trigger and introduced myself as his wife and the mother of his child.

I slept through the first part of Girl, Interrupted but I’m pretty sure this is how it starts and if it doesn’t, then I have some suggestions.

Dano looked so relieved the minute I lied for him—slightly ashamed, but mostly relieved. At first, we both sheepishly sustained the lie but then we got too into it. We fed it like Seymour fed Audrey II. Now he’s “in movies” and I’m a small business owner. Specifically, he directs indie movies and I own an online store. Some of that sound familiar?

So why did I pull the trigger? I’ve gotten to know Dano over this past year and, honestly, the kid’s got nothing going for him which is why I felt so compelled to keep the lie alive.

This is what I know so far about his life since he graduated high school:

  1. He dropped out of community college to tour with his now defunct band.
  2. Car broke down in Arizona before they could complete their tour. At this point, they had been clashing too much and decided to disband. The rest of the band took the Greyhound back home to California while Dano stayed in Arizona to get a job and fix his car.
  3. He ended up staying in Arizona for the next five years, working as a handy man during the day and as a bartender at night. He occasionally appeared at open mics.
  4. He met a girl. He had a serious relationship with her that spanned most of his time in Arizona. Girl got pregnant. He found out the kid wasn’t his three weeks after she gave birth.
  5. He moved back to Southern California where he found work as a video store clerk at his uncle’s store until the store went out of business. He rents a room at his uncle’s house.
  6. He’s now actively looking for jobs and busking in public spaces to see if he can make money doing the one thing he likes. Also, he now has trouble making each month’s rent as a result of his lack of employment.

SEE?! If I wasn’t going to throw him a bone, who would?!

Anyway, we both lied our asses off so well we managed to come off as “charming” and “quirky” instead of “dysfunctional” and “sad.” We won the Adult Hipsters Gang over with our lies and managed to get invited to a housewarming party along the way.

The worst stupid part: We agreed to go.

I feel very weird about this. We kept building on each other’s lies like professional improvisers. Reflecting on it now, it was like we were both in full character—just ready to jump at the opportunity of being somebody with a life—even if that somebody was 100% fictional.

Is that fucked up? If Tabby were here, she would’ve talked me out of it two busks ago.

Is this an IRL version of catfishing? I mean, no different from how people deceptively portray themselves on social media, right? We’re all liars. We just use different means.

“New Aunt Exploits Baby Nephew for the Financial Gain of Mere Acquaintance. Only Asks for Sandwich in Return, Proving Once and For All That She Truly Does Have Low Standards.”

In the time that has transpired since my last post I have been passed up for 4 jobs.

UGH. Why can’t I find a job that’ll treat me right and accept me for who I am already?! It’s been over a year since I graduated and I’m turning 23 soon.  I’m having a serious case of the “What-the-fuck-am-I-doing-with-my-life?-Who-am-I? Blues”.

Despite the resultant failure, I’m actually kind of proud of myself because I made it through to the second round of interviews for all 4 of these jobs. Unfortunately, I was “not experienced enough” for half of those jobs. As for the other half, they’ve both decided to go in “another direction at this time”.

Cool. Thanks for ignoring the first gander you took at my resume and expecting me to magically obtain years of experience in between the first and second round of interviews. Also thanks for wasting my time. Sure I’m unemployed and I have nothing better to do but you don’t know that for certain. You don’t know if, in my spare time, I’m a brilliant freelance scientist who’s on the brink of curing cancer!

As for you other two companies that didn’t like my personality enough to hire me because apparently you lack friends in real life and take advantage of your company’s hiring process accordingly: UP YOURS. YOU’RE NOT THAT GREAT EITHER.

And that is exactly the kind of maturity employers everywhere are missing out on.

In other, less depressing news, my kickass nephew “Baby Sam” was born. For those of you wondering, YES, he IS named after me and the fact that his mother’s father, Samuel, passed away exactly two years prior to the day of his birth had no bearing on this matter. As such, I am now an Aunt/ Baby Sitter in addition to being a part-time temp, a part-time Etsy store assistant and a full-time doesn’t-know-what-she’s-doing-with-her-life loser.

I like to take Baby Sam on strolls around the city and the other day I ran into my old video store clerk, Dano, during a stroll. He was busking and we wasted no time making excuses for ourselves with each other.

Me: “Its not my kid!”

Dano: “I swear I’m not homeless!”

Turns out Dano is quite the baby expert because when Baby Sam started crying and I didn’t know what to do, Dano wasted no time in lulling him to sleep.

Me: “You do that like a pro”

Dano: “My sisters have a lot of kids”

Me: “I see. So they do it like pros… Sorry.”

Dano: “No, it’s fine.  They say it takes a village, but nobody ever clarified to my sisters that they didn’t have to be the ones to make the village”

This kind of witty banter putting down Dano’s sisters’ reproductive prowesses went on until an old couple walking by stopped and mistook us for a family.

“Your baby is precious,” the old woman told us, smiling as her husband stooped down to drop a crisp $50 in Dano’s guitar case.

Dano looked guilty and he seemed like he was about to say something but I—already in possession of a first-class, one way ticket to Hell—saw a business opportunity. Feeling generous with my newly minted nephew I quickly responded : “You should see the other one we have at home!”

This prompted the old lady to nudge her husband, who in turn placed another crisp $50 into Dano’s guitar case.

I know, I’m a lying asshole BUT Dano lost his job at the video rental store (The store closed down a few months ago. A video rental store going out of business during the Age of Netflix– whodathunk, right?) and those nice old geezers were probably going to waste their money on butterscotch candies that their grandkids only pretend to like, anyway.

I told Dano that I would visit him next week with Baby Sam and pretend to be his young family in an attempt to guilt people into giving him more money. Dano seemed hesitant at first but I insisted on it and I told him he could pay me back with movie posters and a fancy sandwich from the café across the park.

So glad I’m finally putting that Business Administration minor to good use. Does the return on investment feel small to you, too? Hey, I never said I aced my business classes.

I’ll admit, it feels incredibly creepy to be playing the baby momma of a person I hardly know and, also, a baby momma in general but the world is a stage and I have yet to snag any real roles. This can’t get any weirder, right? I’d hate to admit to you what I would pretend to be for my own personal chocolate bundt cake.

“Future Aunt Considers Blowing Future Nephew’s College Fund on Pizza. Concludes Financial Hardship will Decrease Likelihood of Nephew Growing up to be a Douchebag.”

In case anyone is keeping score, it’s been nearly 9 months since I graduated from college and I have yet to nab the elusive “full-time job”.

It’s the oldest story in the book: Girl meets Potential Job online. Girl puts herself out there and Potential Job expresses interest in getting to know her. Girl gets excited— she even practices answers to would-be questions in the mirror the night before their first IRL meeting. The day they’re set to meet, Girl gets all dolled up and the anticipation builds. Potential Job and Girl finally meet. They exchange pleasantries and get to know one another. Girl thinks it’s going well. Potential Job offers a promising future and seems to appreciate Girl’s willingness to do “anything.” Potential Job agrees to stay in touch. Girl feels butterflies in her stomach (She thinks this might be the one!).

A few days later, Girl finds out Potential Job just isn’t that into her. Potential Job had other people on rotation all along and Girl just didn’t make the cut. Girl nurses her wounds over beer or ice cream— and sometimes even beer ice cream.

So what has Girl been doing, assuming Girl is not a trust fund baby and has not been enlisting the aid of a sugar daddy? Certainly not developing an abominable habit of speaking about herself in third person!

I’ve been taking the odd temp job here and there and supplementing that source of income by helping my sister-in-law with her Etsy shop for a few extra bucks at the end of the day. She’s a bajillion months pregnant and so she can’t get around to running errands for her shop as easily as before. Her shop specializes in hand-crafted wedding details and I also help her make them.

Still, I feel weird taking money from a pregnant woman so I always save up half of what she gives me and I place it in an old pickle jar. I have every intention to give the pickle jar money back to my sister-in-law so that it can be used for the benefit of my unborn nephew but I’ve already had a few run-ins with Drunk Me.

Drunk Me has tried to use that money many times to order pizza but, fortunately, always fails to unscrew the lid and just gives up altogether.

I don’t foresee my brother and his wife asking me to sign on as the baby’s legal guardian should anything happen to them anytime soon.

“Friendless Woman Learns Strangers are not New Friends Waiting to be Met the Hard Way. Hopes to be Able to Purchase Friendship in Lieu of Sex.”

Since my best friend moved across the country a month and a half ago, I’ve been looking for replacements and I am having a DIFFICULT time finding one because, as it turns out, I am not a socially graceful person.

And, that—for lack of any interest of getting into embarrassing details—is how I came to be on a first name basis with Video Clerk Guy, whose real name is actually Dano.

Dano is a few years older than me but he’s working a younger man’s job as a video clerk because his uncle owns the place and he can’t land a job which makes me feel like less of a loser at my age. Hey—its only fucked up if I say it to his face and I feel like there’s a very slim chance he’ll ever come across this blog since he claims to have a distaste for social media and the like because “they tout distorted versions of people and half the fun is getting to know what people are really like.” When he told me this I responded with, “You may not have a Facebook or an Instagram but deep down you’re still a self-important asshole like the rest of us” and that made him laugh so I think we’re still friends—if I can call him that to begin with.

I asked Tabs how she planned on making new friends in New York and she said she had already bribed a lot of her coworkers into liking her by inviting them out and buying them drinks. She admitted it was hard for her to round up all of her coworkers for after-work drinks so she sometimes invites some of them for a one-on-one hang. I told her she might be misleading them and that I foresaw her breaking a lot of hearts in the near future.

Tabitha: “Am not! I think that’s a bit of a reach, Sam.”

Me: “You would know a lot about reaching out too much—wouldn’t you, you white-collar pimp?!”

Tabitha: “You would know a lot about pimps—wouldn’t you, you blue-collar whore?!”

Me: “Whores are hard-working women that are just trying to hustle for their nugget so I choose to take that as a compliment.”

Tabitha: “And pimps are businessmen with indomitable entrepreneurial spir… NOPE. I’ve seen too many documentaries—most of them, if not all of them, are horrible”

Me: “Yeah, sorry, I could’ve given you something better to work with”

Seriously though, how do we live in a world where sex is sold on corners but not friendship? Screw the Johns (no pun intended)! What about the Janices of the world that just want someone to eat burritos with and talk about who got fat from high school? What about us, World?!

“Little Bitch Too Scared to Stand Up for Herself. Not Too Pleased About Nickname But Still Too Much of a Little Bitch to do Anything About it.”

Tabby is leaving me! She broke the news to me last night when we went out for drinks and I’ve been crying on the inside and maybe on the outside (ssshhh— don’t tell!) ever since. She’s moving to New York and she decided to break the news to me over our third Jack and Coke. I had to get up to go the bathroom after she told me because I wanted to use the walk from my bar stool to the bathroom to gauge how drunk I was. I was really hoping that I was just so drunk that I had misheard her and made the whole thing up.

As I excused myself and got up from my seat, the woman next to me got up simultaneously. It was a crowded bar and there was no way we weren’t going to bump into each other. I didn’t think an apology was necessary from either of us since we both bumped into each other so I brushed it off and was about to head to the bathroom when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me!” exclaimed the angry 7-foot behemoth as she towered over me. Momentarily, I felt outraged. After all, she had bumped into me just as much as I had bumped into her. Did she feel disrespected just because my shoulder had lightly brushed hers in a crowded bar? In which case, didn’t I have the same right to feel disrespected? It had obviously been an accident. What business did I have pushing someone a lot bigger than me on purpose?

I stared at her in disbelief that she felt I owed her an apology. As I scanned her face I discovered two filled-in teardrop tattoos below her left eye. I did not feel like having my existence reduced to another filled-in teardrop tattoo on an angry woman’s cheek— and a sad third-string teardrop, at that— so I conjured up the most earnest looking Bambi eyes that I possibly could and exclaimed “I’m SO sorry!” with a repentant hand over my chest.

Maybe I had been sobered up by that near-death experience or maybe I had just been that unintoxicated to begin with (watered down drinks are a fool’s gold), but on my walk from the bar stool to the bathroom I realized that I wasn’t making it up. My best friend, the one constant in my life for the last 14 years and the only person in the world I never don’t want to talk to, is moving thousands of miles away, possibly for good. Tabby Cat and I have been best friends since 3rd grade except for one time in 7th grade when we both fought over a boy. He ended up choosing her over me and we didn’t speak for two months. Given the fact that Tabitha now exclusively dates women and the boy we fought over now exclusively dates men, I’d say I lost that battle on multiple fronts.

During this time I made up a rumor that she had a tail, which a surprising amount of 13 year-olds believed. We eventually got called into the office because our feud was  “disrupting our learning environment, as well as that of our peers.” It was at this time that they brought in the on-campus peer mediation club to help us resolve our differences. The club tried to get us to talk out our feelings and partake in lame trust exercises. We had to make “I” statements (I feel… when you… because) and we could only talk if we had the “talking stick,” which was really just a dodgeball because someone had stolen their real talking stick the week before. We were both incredibly uncooperative, admittedly mean and just ended up making fun of the club the entire time which led to Tabitha and I spouting gems directed towards them including: “No one wants to touch your ball, Steve!” and “I feel disturbed when you breathe so heavily through your nose because it makes you sound like a predator.” Poor Steve.

Ironically, mocking the club was what led us to patch things up and resume our friendship. We resolved nothing that lunchtime with the peer mediation club but we decided to skip 6th period and hide out in the girl’s locker room to talk things out. Making fun of the peer mediation club reminded us of the fun we used to have together and made us realize how much we missed each other. Tabby apologized for pursuing a guy she knew I had liked in the first place and I apologized for not being more understanding about the fact that, in any case, Tabby was the person the boy liked and there was no reason for them not to be together other than to spare my pride. I also apologized about the tail rumor but we both agreed that no one should have believed that in the first place. We resumed our friendship and Tabby dated the boy for another month until he broke up with her citing “irreconcilable differences.” I’ll say.

Tabitha got a job offer in New York and she’s taking it. It’s not only a great opportunity for her career-wise but it would also allow her to be closer to her long-distance girlfriend, who started grad school there last year. She starts her new job in March but she wants to get in a few weeks early to settle in. She’ll be staying with her girlfriend until she can find a place of her own. She encourages me to feel free to visit her as often as I’d like but, at this rate, soon I won’t even be able to afford to visit the next town over. I’m already mourning her loss. We went to the same college together and we moved back home at the same time after graduation. I have other friends but none of them compare to Tabby. As a career woman she’s an inspiration to me—she’s like the Melanie Griffith to my Joan Cusack—and as a friend she always knows exactly how to react to everything. She’s always been there. She’s like one of my limbs!

After we left the bar, Tabby Cat and I went to get food. We ended our night eating burritos and imagining our futures as we sat on a walkway bridge with our feet dangling over the railroad below— the exact same way we ended our night nearly 5 years ago after a disastrous prom.

“3-Year-Old, Not Content With Being the Center of Attention at Her Own Birthday Party, Steals Spotlight During Unemployed Woman’s Job Interview. Unemployed Woman Probably Staying Unemployed.”

Guess which future productive member of society had an interview today.

Yeah, there’s only one person you and I “know”—that we’re sure of—and it’s me. I don’t know why I didn’t just make a straightforward statement in the first place. Well, anyway:


I want to print out the e-mail confirmation of my job interview, frame it and nail it to the ceiling area over my bed so that I can wake up to it everyday and remind myself that I, too, have what it takes to be a desirable job candidate. For every 20 jobs that I apply to, I’m lucky if I even get one response these days. I haven’t had a job interview since early November, so even if I don’t get the job, I really needed this pick me-up. Thanks for throwing me a bone powers that be.

I want to shout this good news from the rooftops and I want everyone from the high heavens to the depths of hell to hear it. I want St. Peter to stop in the middle of checking his VIP list at the pearly gates, put up a hand, halt the line with an “Oh, hold up,” listen to my cries of unbridled enthusiasm, wink at me from above and yell “Good for you girl!” As for the other end of the spectrum, I’d rather Satan not find out about this— people always come out of the woodwork when you start making money and where was he when I was willing to do questionable things on the regular in exchange for full-time employment? NOT IN MY CORNER.

This is the part where I rave about how well my job interview went, but if I did that I would be lying. Well, Momma didn’t raise no liar. No, instead she raised an asocial, albeit charming young woman whom, at worst, steals worthless knickknacks from bars when she’s really drunk and has a strong unwillingness towards asking people if they want a piece of what she’s eating.

The interview didn’t go too well but not because I hadn’t prepared. I got the feeling that maybe they already had a few people in mind that somebody in the company already knew and that they were only bringing in people to interview as a formality. It was clear to me that the hiring manager hadn’t read my resume in a long time and might have even forgotten that she scheduled an interview with me. When she saw me waiting in the lobby she raised her eyebrows and partially opened her mouth in way that said “Oh fuck, I forgot.” I am very familiar with this expression because it’s an expression my own face has honed over the years.

She’s a busy lady and she’s probably interviewing several people—really, I get it— but she didn’t even give me a chance. She would glance over my resume, ask me questions and with out missing a beat or giving me any chance whatsoever to answer, she would immediately answer her own questions by reading portions of my resume out loud. Then she went on a tangent about how she had been busy planning a birthday party for her three year old. I tried to get the interview back on track but failed miserably. Finally, I gave up and just ended up going with it. The interview ended with me plugging pinterest for decoration ideas and suggesting bouncy houses.

Well, at least I made it out of the house before 2pm today. Again, I retreated to my sanctuary: the video rental place.

I think the Video Clerk and I are on speaking terms now.

Video Clerk: “Hot date?”

Me: “What?”

Video Clerk:  “You look different. You’re all dressed up.”

Me: “Oh, this! No, I just had a job interview today. “ pause  “Wait, you think I’d wear a pantsuit to a date?”

Video Clerk: “I think you should wear whatever you want on a date. Why not? A power suit would probably weed out the intimidated losers”

Me: Narrowly avoids melting into a puddle of feminist dribble but regains composure when she realizes that the video clerk has gotten “too comfortable”.

Great. Once you start talking to people that work at your stomping grounds there’s no going back. I used to frequent a 7-eleven a lot until one day the cashier went “Heeeey, it’s YOU!” What the fuck, man. Can’t you just pretend I don’t come here a solid four times a week to buy unhealthy snacks? That was also the day he started examining the labels and grimacing at my snack choices as he was scanning my items. TOO COMFORTABLE.

Now I’m going to have to feign interest in whether or not it was a “long day”.  What if he starts commenting on my movie choices out loud? It’s none of your goddamn business if I just rented Working Girl for a third time this week! It’s an inspirational story about an ambitious, hard-working and intelligent woman trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents and that it only ever gets reduced to the romantic comedy genre is a damn shame! Also, Han Solo’s the leading man in the movie (and in my dreams).

“Hungry Woman Nearly Fashions Shiv Out of Fork. Decides Against Doing Anything Because Three-Strikes Law is ‘Too Real'”

I went to dinner with a friend today and it took everything inside of me not to stab her with my fork.

I’m going begin this entry by admitting that— maybe— I didn’t wake up until around 5:00 pm today. Don’t judge me. It’s a Saturday, I’m not a student anymore, I live with my parents and I don’t have a job. I’m not exactly in a place where I can be a paragon of productivity here.

Because I woke up so late, I only had enough time before my dinner plans to get ready and fool my parents into thinking that I had gotten up a lot earlier than I had.

Mother: “You missed the sun today.”

Me: “No, I didn’t. I’ve just been in my room all day.”

Father: “Really? Why?”

Me: Searches head for reasons that’ll abort the conversation immediately. “Cramps.”

Father: Blushes and dissipates into the air only to reappear in a parallel universe where he never brought up his daughter’s menstrual cycle.  

By the time my friend picked me up, I was starving. To make matters worse, the restaurant was packed so we had to wait for a table and even after we were seated, it took a long time for our food to be ready.

This friend is a Chatty Cathy and she usually dominates the conversation. My friend Tabitha and I went out to a bar with her once and made a drinking game of this. We took swigs out of our drinks every time Chatty hijacked the conversation to make it about herself. Eventually, by process of elimination, Chatty had to be our designated driver and once we were thoroughly sloshed, we persuaded her to take us to get food. That night, I slapped a man’s hand with my foil wrapped burrito thinking he was trying to take Tabby’s nachos only to find out that she never ordered nachos in the first place. My bad.

I’m sure hanging out with Chatty sounds like a drag but it’s really not that bad. I’m lazy and I appreciate it any time I don’t have to put any effort into something— like a conversation. Plus, for once, it’s nice not having to say “Oh, I don’t have a job right now” or “No, I’m not studying anywhere.” Sure, it’s because she doesn’t care to ask me what I’m doing but even though I know that I’m in a transitional period right now and that the reason why I’m not studying is that I’ve already graduated, making those two statements out loud always makes me feel like a loser.

Well, guess whose New Year’s resolution it was to become a better listener.

Oh, Chatty was being her regular chatty self in the car on the way to the restaurant, while we were waiting outside on a bench for a table to open up, and while we were waiting for our food but the minute we were served something unexpected happened: it was MY turn to talk.

Suddenly, she wanted to know everything about me. She was bombarding me with so many questions that after about half an hour, the fork still hadn’t reached my lips. Keep in mind that I hadn’t had anything to eat all day. When I was finally able to quickly shove some pasta in my mouth, I didn’t even get the chance to chew my food because she was asking another very specific question requiring another tediously long answer.

I haven’t wanted to cry so badly since I forgot to save my philosophy paper junior year. I had to box most of my plate up and wait to get home to finally eat properly.

In a masochistic turn of events, I prolonged my reunion with not-hunger by making  a stop to rent a movie to watch because you know who keeps you entertained during dinner but doesn’t ask you questions while you’re eating? Movie characters.

I’ve decided to end my imaginary feud with the very employed but very undeserving-of-my wrath video clerk. He keeps to himself and he never asks me “Hows it going?” which means that I never have to engage in small talk with him. This is all I’ve ever wanted from another person.

I could marry him. We could decorate our home with all the sweet free movie posters he gets and not talk some more. Sure, I’ll leave him  the minute he leaves his job as a video clerk but we’ll always have the memories and let’s be real— I can’t ride the coattails of someone who leaves such a sweet gig to go to medical school and “become the best version of [himself] for [me] and the kids.” Pfft, who does that?! Everyone knows nightclub promoting is where the real prestige is at.

“Human Female Reluctantly Visits Gym. Meets Goddesses That Defy Science. Proceeds to ‘Get Over it’ at McDonald’s.”

One of my “resolutions” this year is to begin exercising more regularly. I use “quotes” because I readily acknowledge that I’m not 100% committed to this idea.

Just keepin’ it real in 2015, y’all.

As a half-hearted attempt to at least be able to say “I went… once” in anticipation of someone asking me how often I’m going to the gym upon discovering my “resolution,” I used a guest pass and agreed to accompany my friend to her gym today.

I learned two things during this trip to the gym.

The first thing is that McDonald’s is a relentless temptress and she doesn’t give a fuck about your New Year’s resolutions.

McDonald’s: “Oh, were you trying to get in shape? Here, let me situate myself right next door to the gym you’ll be frequenting all year.”

McDonald’s again: “Why are you using that entrance? Are you trying to avoid making eye contact with me? It’s fine.  You can just stare at my bodacious golden arches for an hour through the windows while you’re using the stair master on the second floor. Your lips say ‘no,’ but your heart says ‘fries.’”

Well, joke’s on you McDonald’s—I’m not coming back to this gym which means you won’t even get the chance to have your way with me.

The second thing is that sweat are tears secreted by my body, imploring me to stop being active. Other girls about my age came in to the gym at the same time my friend and I arrived and they looked WAY better than I did after working out for an hour.  I looked blotchy; like my face was melting and my spirit was broken. These majestic creatures—and I can testify that they were putting in work at the gym—looked like they had barely broken a sweat. On the contrary, their faces were glowing and they looked revitalized as if they had just woken up from a peaceful slumber.

How is this possible?!

Is it just good genes? Do they regularly sacrifice lambs to the Prince of Darkness?

I might never know.

“Sasquatch Steps Out for 1st Time in 4 Days. Rents 7th Season of Law & Order: SVU.”

So, I stepped out of the house for the first time in 4 days today.

The sun is usually disgusting but it’s been raining lately so I didn’t need to bring my parasol and silk fan out for once.

I walked over to the plaza on the corner to buy a few pairs of new underwear. Not that I’m lacking in the underwear department but I am lacking in the “will-to-wash” department, as well as in the “will-to-walk-over-to-the-garage-where-the-washer-is-located-and-risk-having-to-talk-to-my-parents-about-how-the-job-hunt-is-going” department . I used to buy new underwear all the time in college when I got too lazy to wash my clothes and it’s a nice little tradition that’s carried over– even now– 6 months after I’ve graduated from college. I don’t have to do it as much anymore because, well, I’ve accumulated a lot of underwear over the years.

This princess lifestyle should probably stop soon. I’m running out of jury duty money and I don’t know how much longer it’s going to take for me to find a job. It took my friend Tabitha 16 months to find a full-time job.  She could’ve had two premies in that time.

Tabitha had an unpaid internship which ended up turning into a lucrative entry level job after those 16 months. I’m using the word lucrative very loosely–  I’ve been unemployed for so long that my dad gave me a $20 the other day and my eyes welled up a little.

Full disclosure: I may’ve been pms’ing.

Follow-up full disclosure: I’m lying.  I wasn’t actually pms’ing. I’m just incredibly grateful for any Jeffersons thrown my way. I almost bent down to shine his shoes afterwards.

I wish I could just fast forward to the part where I have a job and I start receiving checks.

I’ve been applying to really lame admin jobs but I rarely get any responses. I’m starting to get really desperate, so much so that I’m even starting to feel pangs of jealousy towards people with jobs involving dealing with customers which makes no sense because I hate people.

The other day I went to my video rental place and I stared down the guy working behind the counter. One minute I was reading the back of a DVD case and the next I was staring down the video clerk as he was signing a couple up for a membership. I was watching him in his work place wearing his work uniform doing his work in a very “time-to-get-to-work” manner when I felt a wave of anger come over me. I wanted to storm up to the counter and yell, “HEY. You’re not better than me!”  I think I must’ve been staring for a while because he definitely noticed and we made very awkward eye contact for a brief moment. He looked like a frightened baby deer.

Because I have nothing going on, I go to the video rental place very often so I hope the video clerk quits soon. I’ve been a patron of that video rental place since I was 12 and I’m not going tostop going, damn it. Sure, I still don’t have my own membership account because I keep using my parents’ but technically I have SENIORITY over him. What does he have? An employment contract? Lame.