707.47

Well I should be ashamed of myself. No really, I should. I have sacrificed my job (my blog) for my job(which no longer exists). After three months of complete agony and being yelled at constantly for making administrative computation errors I "have been laid off." My apologies to my readeriship, but I am back. Less than successful as ever as now I am not even a temp.

I know my readership was counting on me. After a year of looking for a job and finally finding one, it seems rather absurd that their champion should lose the opprotunity. Well, let me be frank. I never claimed to be good at what I intended to do, lawyer. The only reason I am here in the first place is because M&M forced me to go to law school to meet a husband. Now, I am not creative enough to rediscover a new career. Truth be told, this was 100% not my fault. I was disliked entirely. I am well aware of my charms and my virtues, however, I never claimed to be able to get along with a group of women. Look, I am not one of those girls who imagines that they inspire jealousy in other women and thus have only male friends. I am however one of those girls who has a dirty mouth, is quite crass and is able to mingle better with the less proper sex. While I seemingly will remain single for life, I most certainly will always have a group of male friends scattered with a few females who share my taste for being absolutely disgusting.

Regardless, after much debate, I realize that there was not much at stake here. I was a debt collector who made 707.47 per week. It is true, that this rare breed of shithole also represented a strip club across the street which I would have been happy to represent. However, something about me read debt collector. Perhaps it was the garbagely stench that I exuded. Regardless, I have come up with a plan inspired by dipshit. I am going to apply for a job at the strip club where the firm's holiday party takes place. Come Christmas time, I am going to straddle one of the partners and offer a lap dance. When they ask how much, I will reply "707.47."

I am Okay With Nine Digits

Last week, M&M told me that if I am not married within two years, they are done with me. At first, I thought to myself, good riddance. I am so sick and tired of the weekend phone calls wherein I am told I am pathetic and disgusting because I am single. However, after much consideration, I did decide there was a problem with having no M&M contact. Mainly, who the F is going to support me when I am still making 1.00 a day like a lawyer in Somalia with a distended stomach?

Anyhow, so I came up with a plan. I am going to marry my friend M, Jr. Ladies, he is not exactly a keeper. Sure, we make great companions, but for the love of Christ he is sluttier than I am, is entirely incapable of remaining faithful and quite frankly, I am not going to ask him to remain faithful. I condone him cheating on me because I hope to God that he will still set me up with all of his friends and really I can't be left with just him. A bloody nightmare, I tell you. M, Jr. is entirely okay with this plan provided M&M buy us an apartment, a wedding ring and he is free to sit around and live his life as he has grown accustomed to, as a lazy sack of shit. Of course when I called M&M with the good news and the parameters of this deal, they had no problems in essentially buying M, Jr. as their daughter's husband.

Okay, so just when I started adjusting to the fact that this i my fate, I started feeling this tingling sensation in my left ring finger. This sensation has progressed to a sorta numbness and I started thinking about that commercial on MTV "I lost all my fingers because I smoked too many cigarettes." However, then I started really thinking about it and decided my fiance smokes way more cigarettes, even smokes when he is unconscious, and has all of his fingers. Ultimately, I believe these are the higher powers telling me that this finger is absolutely useless. I can no longer feel it because I do not need it.