Thursday, May 7, 2009

I am down. I am totally down. Mark me down.

I may have officially hit rock bottom, depending how you look at it.
Money is an issue, money has been an issue since I've graduated. My stupid 'goals' get in the way of me keeping a well-paying job, becuase every asshole in America moves to La La Land to try to 'make it' in Hollywood. As a result, jobs out here pay assistants in ground up animal bones and loose change found in couches, because ANYONE will take these jobs for a chance to break in. Whatever that means. Most of the people who work in this industry don't actually have any skill or intelligence, they just blew the right people and got drunk in the right places.

But I digress.

In my careful perusal of Craigslist classifieds yesterday, I came across an ad looking to hire a 'phone actress.' Naturally, I was intrigued. And even more naturally, I applied. How could I not be interested in a posting searching for someone to have 'EROTIC, ADULT phone conversations...must have pleasent speaking voice, a good sense of humour and be open minded.'
That's me to a TEE! My sense of humor is wicked, and I give GREAT voice. (Or so I've been told.) Finally a skill I've developed at my ass-fuck job that I can use in the real world - I'm on the phone all day, why not do it all nite for almost 3 times the money? I'm in.*

I got a very quick response from**, asking if I would be willing to send a picture and participate in a phone interview. WELL. Why the eff not?

I tried to find the sluttiest photo of me that Facebook could offer, and much to my surprise/excitement/disappointment, the best I could find was the below.
I was a sloppy mess in this picture. I'm wearing cat ears, my shirt actually says the word 'pussy' on it, and I had enough to drink that I made out with someone ELSE on the dance floor besides THAT guy I came with, and didn't find out until days later that my fit about him taking me home early was completely justified because of all of the above.
Aaaaaaand SEND.

Now here comes the best part: since I sent this photo, I have not heard back from Am I offended, or relieved? I can't decide if it's more depressing that after sending in a photo for a PHONE SEX OPERATOR (I never heard word one about this being a VIDEO phone, btw) I was totally dismissed, or if it's more depressing that I'm SORRY I was dismissed. I feel like the winning contestant on Singled Out. Where the guy just loves you when you're behind that big board, and then there's the reveal when Jenny McCarthy lets you finally meet face to face, and his sinks in disappointment at the fact that yeah, you might have a great personality, but it doesn't really matter, because you're a DOG. But he has to smile for the camera anyway.
I'm sorry Evan and I couldn't make things work. I guess I'll just have to utilize my talents elsewhere and start my own Skype-powered phone sex service, Let's just hope I don't mistake my nite job for my day job and try to talk off a client. That could be detrimental.

*The ad also stated, 'It would be a plus if you are able to role play, ie; a cheerleader, a therapist, a dominatrix etc...' Is 'therapist' the new 'babysitter' now? Wow, porn and fetishes have really changed since I first got in the game.
**Email modified for the anonymity of this perv.

Monday, May 4, 2009

No honey you're not sick! I don't love you because you're organized, I love you in spite of that.

I had a psychotic episode the other nite. Not to an extreme, Buffalo Bill degree, but the kind that reminds me I'm dangerously close to actually becoming Monica Geller.
Right as I left work I started digressing into a muted shade of funk that I couldn't quite figure out the origin of. If I were to hypothesize, I would err towards the side of I-just-ate-everything-within-reach-all-day-at-the-office-type funk, but really who's to say. Normally this type of mood would push me to go to the gym, but for some reason my only means of getting out of it steered my car in the direction of Bed Bath & Beyond on my way home.

You know those times where you drive and drive, and suddenly you are where you end up and you have no idea how you got there? This was one of those times. Except that I didn't realize I had made it into the BB&B until I already had a Magic Bullet and spaghetti measurer-thingy in my hand, and was forced to snap out of it, drop them both and back away slowly as if from a giant domestic grenade.
I did manage to get out of there with a 30-pair shoe organizer for my closet and a tray for my desk, as well as the determination to organize the shit out of my room till I felt better.

Even after placing each pair of shoesies into the piece of crap contraption (which nearly caused a mental breakdown when I tried to put it together - $30 worth of shifty cheap plastic and holes that didn't fit the poles [did this just become a porno?]) - I still had half of my shoes un-organized and homeless.
But I don't want to get rid of any of them. I might not have space for them in my life, but each pair is important in a specific way - kind of like my friends. Most are disposable, let's be honest, but there's a little bit of something-to-laugh-at or something-to-use-them-for in each of them..enough to keep them around, even if they mostly feel like clutter.

(See what I did there? You thought this was gonna be an uplifting analogy explaining how each of my friends is unique and valuable, but I pulled the ole switcheroo. I know, sometimes my cleverness and complete lack of a heart fools even ME!*)

Anyway, at the end of the day it was the cleaning up of my physical life that made the funk dissipate, and I managed to hit the hay feeling lighter and happier. Really there is no funny conclusion to this story. And I'm getting bored of writing about it, probably almost as bored as you are reading it. In fact I'm shocked you made it this far, kudos. So. In conclusion.'s THIS.
*You know I care deeply about each and every one of you, Friends.** I merely jest for the sake of jesting.
**Those of you who REALLY know me know that the above aside was just for the sensitive folk who fail to realize that I don't like them as much as they like me. But at least they feel better now. And that's really all that matters.