Ladies & Gents, I Now Have A Twitter Account.

I'm getting used to it. I am, admittedly, starting to like it.

I am still trying to figure out all the lingo. I get confused by all the @s and #s and RTs and stuff. Also, many of my favorite celebrities cannot spell, and this is hard for me to take. I would like to approach many of them about doing some editing work for them. I would do it for cheap. In the case of the Kardashians, I would do it for free if they would adopt me as one of their own.

Of course, eventually the @s and #s and RTs will feel just as comfortable and natural to me as e-mail, further evidence that the internet is molding our brains.

The real kicker has been figuring out what belongs on facebook, and what should be chirped. I have a lot to say, people! I need multiple media outlets. Hear me! Tweet tweet, motherfuckers!

In other news, I am shifting my attitude. I will no longer feel sad and depressed about not having a job. I will feel relaxed. I will write a lot and clean the apartment until every last sign of dirt is abolished. (Inside, anyway. Can't get rid of the neighbors.) I will do yoga and cook meals and read for leisure.

I will also work on some freelance work that's been thrown my way, because I do have that.

It's Just More Shame

Dear Ms. Knecht:

Thank you for taking the time to interview for the position of Legal Assistant at our law offices. While we were impressed with your qualifications, regretfully, after careful consideration we have decided to pursue other options for this position at this time.

We wish you the best of luck in your continued job search and future endeavors.

Sincerely,

Bob Loblaw

Attorney at Law

Brainstorm

Things I could do to make money, some of which I may or may not be seriously considering:

1. Sell drugs. I'll start with weed and work my way up until I have achieved drug lord status, much like The Godmother you see in this clip.

2. Sell my possessions to stores that will buy them, or to other poor people who need things like tv stands, end tables, and found art.

3. Keep applying for jobs and waiting for them to call me.

4. Strip.

5. Sell plasma.

6. Donate my eggs to a needy couple, preferably a nice gay couple with good hygiene and a tasteful eye for home decor.

7. Monetize this blog.

None of these sound very good to me. Although you can get quite a sum for eggs, I hear. Like, 10 grand.

Goin' coastal

Went to the coast with my peeps. Great times.

As soon as I got back I resumed the major money freak out I've been on. I don't have any, and I don't have any way of getting any in the near future, so I spend most of my free time crying about it.

I don't even go to craigslist anymore, as it's clear to me that doing so is a total waste of time. But today I'm feeling extra desperate, and so I went to poke around. I responded to small business consultant that's hiring writers and editors. Their ad was all cutesy, wanting 200-500 words about myself instead of a resume. I wrote an equally cutesy response, cracking jokes and feigning optimism about a writing job. Then after I read it I was all like, "Bitch, get real," but I sent it to them anyway.

Remember me?

I still don't have a job. Getting one would cut into my rigid routine of smoking weed and cutting out pictures.

I have a boyfriend and he is moving in soon.

I do not want to beat your high IQ score on facebook.

It's 90 degrees out here and I want to melt into a puddle of fierce, expertly harnessed cougar power.

Most everything makes me roll my eyes.

I'll probably get a twitter account soon. (see above)

That is all.

The Window Is Getting Fixed Tomorrow.

Portland Police non-emergency line: Non-emergency.

Me: Well, I'm not sure how to put this . . .

PoPo: What is it you need?

Me: Well, there's a hobo doing something gross outside my window.

PoPo: What does "something gross" mean?

Me: Jerking off.

PoPo: Something gross?

Me: Yes. Jerking off. If I had to guess.

PoPo: Is he by himself?

Me: Probably. I only heard one voice. Ew, I hope he's alone.

PoPo: How do you know what he's doing?

Me: I don't. I mean, I didn't go down there and look. But he's grunting and yelling "Yeah! YEAH!" It sounds like jerking off. You asked.

PoPo: Name. Number. Address.

Me: I've heard it twice. It's gross. It's almost 1:00 a.m.

PoPo: (Not impressed. Obviously having to deal with shit like this all the time.) We'll send someone out.

And they did. I heard the cop talking to him (I'm actually fairly certain he knew the hobo by name), telling him to go home. Er, leave this location, as jerker-offer most likely does not have a home in which to jerk it.

But he's at it again. As I write this.

I should add that I am on the 2nd floor and have very sturdy locks. I am not concerned for my safety. Neither should you be. I just want him to shut the fuck up.

I should also add that I'm glad I have not sent this link to my mother. She would flip.

This is why the previous post is important. YOU COULD BE THIS MAN! THIS COULD BE YOUR LIFE!

You can't be mad at me.

If you have ever:

• posted an "engagement album" of you and your dude holding hands in the sand
• made public your baby's vomiting habits
• published a bible quote in the newsfeed
• repeatedly posted updates about your annoying political views
• taken six quizzes back-to-back and chosen to publish all of them

I can almost guarantee that you are hidden from my newsfeed and that unless you show up in the little list of friends on my profile, I may never look at yours again.

Of course, I'm aware that if any of the above applies to you that you are most likely not reading this. If you are, get a clue.

Rain is here now and from what I can tell, not going away.

The Butthole Surfers were amazing.

I'm really close to surpassing a pack a day.