| Now |

WHY

23 February 2015, 15:17

Yeah. Still unemployed. Still sending out resumes. Still getting “We’ve filled this position”, “You DO know we are two hours away from you” and a new one “In GOD’S name, we’ve received your resume 4 times, will you stop already?”.

Yeah. Still hard at work, toiling ‘til I’m stinky on the tready. Still cleaning. Still feeling uncomfortable that I’m not working.

WHY THE PURPLE FUCK CAN’T I JUST ENJOY SOME OF THIS DOWNTIME? What the hell is wrong with me? You would think, with how lazy I am, I would love this. You really need to give me some hints on how I can let myself just enjoy this.

Yuck. My wet shirt is sticking to me.

I’m probably one of the only women on the interwebber that will post a REALLY unattractive picture of herself. Red and sweaty. So sexy. Also. NO, I’m not picking my nose. I do need to change this shirt however. It’s like I swam the english channel in it. This is probably the only really productive thing I do, is trudge in place for an hour, and then eat ice cream. I do clean, but being a housemaid is really depressing, unfulfilling and futile. If I do it right, it just still gets freaking dirty again. Some people (Doug) thinks I sleep and watch TV all day. A) No I don’t. and WTF-B) Some of us (Doug) pretty much did that when they were unemployed, so some of us (Doug) needs to stop joking about crap like that.

I spend a good deal of time doing the tready and cleaning. I talk to noone but dogs. I interact with noone but dogs. I might be getting involved in the dog world a little too much to the point of borderline crazy-dog-lady level. But, anyway, back to the dogs. So, I’ve observed the dogs getting weird. Yeah, they’ve always been weird, but now I think they gotten more weird and I have developed theories as to why the dogs are weird, of which I think has increased since Doug’s been back to working. I have a brown dog (Easley) that will continually sit there and stare at me, sometimes whining. She doesn’t want food, or potty or anything. I think its attention but, good god, its constant. Never use to be like that. I’m thinking of strapping the cat to her back to fulfill that need she has of being in contact with a living thing. Maybe I’ll get her a thundershirt. Or Prozac.

The black one is just happy, goofy and I think doesn’t give a shit. She plays with the others, but that’s when it gets creepy, cause she turns into a monster. She chases them down, and literally attacks them, dragging them to the ground by any mouthful of flesh she can get a hold of, and she is relentless about it. She doesn’t quit. I have a 65 pound pitbull that is constantly running to me for protection from Sophie. She has ran his fat ass down and rolled him more than once. I need to get video of this, its unreal. I think I’ve raised a Ted Bundy dog. She’s all sweet and lovely until she starts “playing”. It gets pretty bad, when she just won’t leave poor fathead alone, I’ll have to whack her bottom with a stick. Hurley outweighs her by about 15 pounds and yet getting “mauled” by the black one. And when she starts in on him, Easley just piles on. Easley is an asshole. A needy asshole. Hurley is a poor beleaguered dog who could just kick some serious ass if he wanted to, but I think just wants his tummy rubbed most of the time. He’s confused at the treadmill, mad at the vacuum, loves the kitten, and bullied by the girls. Though, this is close to what I feel all men should be, he needs to bite the shit out of Sophie, so she respects him a little more and will quit trying to drag him to the dirt by his throat. It seems like a scary Lord of the Flies situation, only with dogs, but they get along most of the time and sleep a lot of the time when they are not bugging the shit out of me.

Yes. I talk about dogs a lot. HELL. There’s not another human within 15 miles that I’d WANT to talk to – and there’s not a lot of things I do all day anyway. I could freelance, but that involves a lot of salesmanship on my part and I’m too afraid of not getting paid and not being able to do anything about it. Freelance scares me, with its lack of security, and those of you who can do it, GOD bless ya. You are a braver man than I, Gunga Din. If I could get a situation where I had one big client that had a history of not screwing me over, that would be aces. It’s the going out to find that client and taking a chance that is the hurdle for me.

I’m still in the running for the really good job two hours away from here. Mixed feelings about that. I would have to spend the main part of the week up there, all by my lonesome, until we could move. I would have no doggies, dougie, tready – nothing. POOP. Plus, who knows what sort of evil lurks in the small back water of South Carolina, waiting to abduct me from a parking lot. But GOD is it a good job. And the people are nice and not all rapey and not committing fraud every other day. I know if I keep at it, a great job will come along, within an acceptable commute. I just get antsy when there are lulls in the job action.

Speaking of rapey-fraudy fraught workplaces, all I can say right now, is, one particular place I know has been discovering Karma is a bitch. I can see right now, what problems their designer is going to have. From her background and experience, I can just about guarantee three or four major problems she is going to have and not have the faintest clue on how to deal with. And all the other stuff that is biting them in the ass are consequences they were inevitably going to face. It’s vindictive and petty, but, I can only HAHA and LOL at all of it. I try not to, because maybe that pisses Karma off to the point where she looks at me and say “Oh yeah??!!” and I end up working at Burger King or grow a tail as penance for being a dick.

So in conclusion:

Not working, trying to work.
World is dog oriented.
Let’s not piss Karma off.
Exercise sucks.

Also, would like a new computer and a mouse that doesn’t act possessed.

Hopefully, I’ll have something different to write about here in a while. It’s getting repetitive with all the dog talk, job woes and general exercise suckitude that makes up my little world.