I'm Such A Sellout.

I'm wearing a bra today. I might as well vote Republican.

I missed the calcium focus group due to writing down the wrong address. I ended up in Deep Ellum, which is a far cry from Uptown. I can now give tours of East Dallas, except I can't decipher all the tags. I wish I had a tag. Someone tagged the dumpster at the Lakewood library with "BORED," but since I could read it, I suspect it was a middle-class white kid with not enough parental supervision.

What else is new? I dreamed my parents owned a convenience store on the banks of the Seine in Paris. It had Slurpees. I worked there occasionally but had problems scanning barcodes. If you've ever been to Paris, you'll know just how ridiculous this dream is.

I got the Final Jeopardy question right. Che Guevarra. Maybe I'm not that much of a sellout after all.

I'll Alert The Media.

Today, Mr. Rogers got a haircut. And people on Family Feud are dumb.

I'm going to use my calcium focus group money to get a haircut and tomorrow I'm going down to the prestigious El Centro College to get all registered for my nursing school prerequisites. But first I have to pay that parking ticket at A&M that I got for parking in a faculty spot during my very last final. I've owed that money since December 1998.

Who wants to be my first needle stick? If you let Jane scan your heart, then this will be like the same thing, only pokier.

I Haven't Worn A Bra In Three Days.

Mostly because I need to do laundry. I did half the laundry yesterday. I might do the rest today or I might just go braless for a week and see what happens.

What is up with France? I think rioting in the streets is just something they do for fun.

I have the worst keyboard in the library. The space bar sticks. It's difficult not to just let the words all run together. Itwouldlook likethis. No thanks. I quit for today. I'm getting really pissed at this space bar and it doesn't go with my braless vibe.

If The Pope Came To Dinner

I would make teriyaki salmon with jasmine rice and spinach salad with mandarin oranges and balsamic vinaigrette. I'm assuming he would visit in the summer and that would be a nice thing to eat when it's so hot outside you're never really that hungry anyway.

For dessert, fresh berries and whipped cream. If he wanted to say mass that would be cool. I've never been an altar girl. That was all new-fangled when I was a kid and controversial down in Corpus Christi. It would be like when my aunt and uncle had their friend the priest over and he'd say mass in the dining room. It's still my favorite way to go to church. I would totally have a private chapel on my estate if I were rich.

Wouldn't that be cool? Me and Father Benedict just hanging out, saying mass and having a nice piece of fish.

The Texas Workforce commission Thinks I'm Lazy.

The TWC has denied me two weeks of dole money A.) for filing late and B.) for having the flu. I have to send in a written appeal. I want my $700. I'm really tired of the whole jobless scene. This would be so much better if I had won the lottery.

What can I do for $25 an hour? (Insert your own dirty joke here.)

I have no skills other than editing and being generally fabulous. I wonder if the TV stations are hiring. I would make an excellent reporter.

We're going live to ReadBecca at the scene. ReadBecca, what can you tell us about today's city council meeting?

I have absolutely no idea, Rick. I was totally bored and stopped listening. City council meetings have been pretty lackluster since that time a couple years ago when that woman peed in the trash can when the council wouldn't let her continue to speak if she left the room. Reporting live from Dallas City Hall, I'm ReadBecca for Channel Eleventeen News.

Where The Eff Is ReadBecca?

Right here, kids. Regular posting is difficult these days, especially because every time I get a chance, the library computers are so sloooooooooow, I get frustrated and give up. I hate waiting.

Anyway, I survived St. Patty's in good shape. I spent seven and a half hours at The Idle Rich Pub. Thanks to the Wall Street Journal, I had free fish and chips, four beers and two girly Lemon Drop shots. Then I had three more beers served by a cute bartender who I ended up breaking up with as I was leaving. He was funny. I like boys who play along.

I do not like girls who I barely know telling me I'm going to be a cat lady. Some girl who hangs out with Matt the Miller Man decided she was the person who needed to intervene in my lonely, worthless life. I quote, "Your friends are worried about you." Like my guy friends sit around and talk about how worried they are about me. And she doesn't know the book club girls, who are actually my friends. And then she said something about sweat pants and Gray's Anatomy. If everyone who watches that show in their comfy Sunday clothes went out and bought a cat, the nation would be experiencing a run on tabbies.

Um, here's a tip. If I have never, ever called you and you have never, ever called me and we have never, ever hung out without Matt being around, and your number has never, ever been in my cell phone, and you have never, ever seen me naked, we are not friends.

I barely know this woman, and I wouldn't choose to know her if I had the choice. She's a friend of a friend, and I don't like her very much anyway. So to have a person on the fringes of my life decide to judge me, well I wanted to punch her in the face. Since violence is never the answer, I just got another beer.

They had an excellent band called The Kildares. The are a rock Celtic band. Very danceable and sort of punk too. I enjoyed them immensely. Then I got hungry and went home.

Other than that, I'm in a calcium focus group for $50 thanks to WritingGal, and I have JURY DUTY on April 3, which I cannot wait to report on. If I'm on the jury, I am sure to have stories of interest. People at jury duty are weird.

I still don't have a job.

I'm Pretty Sure My Lungs Are Filled With Jell-o.

Woo spring allergy season! I have this totally awesome cough. It's got a pattern. I cough twice. Cough cough. Then about five or ten minutes later I have to really cough. COUGH! It's terrific. I feel like I can hear liquid sloshing around in my lungs. I want to stick a tube in there and vacuum it all out. Wouldn't that be great? I could finally get a deep breath.

I gave ReadBecca's address to a couple guys I used to work with. Now I can never go back. I hang my head in mock shame.

If ReadBecca doesn't re-enter the corporate world, what should she do? Sacking groceries is my plan B. What do you suggest? What would be the ultimate out-of-the-fast-lane job? Remember Office Space? He worked construction. What would you do? What do you think ReadBecca should do? Discuss.

OK, So Apparently My Love Knows Some Bounds.

I set my alarm so I'd have plenty of time for pancakes before the debauchery of Greenville Avenue. And I thought "Eh." So I didn't go. I just didn't feel like it. I didn't feel like just going and making friends with strangers and hoping I ran into someone I knew. I mean, it's really hard to find your friends in a crowd of 15,000 (according to Channel 11). So I bailed. For the first time since I moved to Dallas. I even went last year after Jacquie's baby shower when we had booze in the glove compartment. It's the end of an era I suppose.

But there's a chance to make up for it. The REAL St. Patty's is Friday. And I don't have a job. I think I'll be at Idle Rich about 3 pm. Maybe earlier. Y'all call me and let me know if you would like to meet me. Jason, this means you.

I still wore my green shoes yesterday.

Interview Numero Tres: Now That's What I'm Talkin' About

I went to Aquent today to see if I could get some gigs freelancing. They gave me an orange coffee mug and a calendar. I could cuddle with them right now.

I told them I would consider myself a freelancing sucess if I could get 30 hours a week. I'll take more, but to me, that's the benchmark to being able to live on freelancing money. So we'll see how that all turns out. Art Squad and The Creative Group have made nary an overture. I suppose I can call their non-communicative asses up in the morning and say "What gives?"

Other than that, I'm looking to partake of a happy hour situation. And I need something green to wear on Saturday. Something green and mucho flattering. I may have pancakes alone on Saturday morning, but I don't intend for there to be solo pancakes on Sunday morning, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Nudge. Nudge. Wink. Wink. Say no more, say no more.

I wonder where I could score a green velvet ladies' tuxedo.

My Love For St. Patrick's Day Knows No Bounds.

I love St. Patrick's Day. I love the cheezy plastic crap every beer company hands out. I love the weird hats. I love wearing green. I love pinching people. I love it when it's a nice day and I love it when it's crap weather. I love drinking early in the day and I love that I run out of money and somehow manage to keep scoring drinks. I love it when Michele buys Jell-o shots to go. I love it when Stefanie wears her straw hat and her Vanity Fair flip-flops. I love it when Sebastien can't stand up straight. I love talking to strangers. I love playing Spot The Foreigner. I love having to walk home because I spent all my cab fare. I love being the first to arrive and among the last ones standing, except for that time I had a migraine and went to sleep in Jacquie's driveway. I love ruining whatever shoes I wear that year. I love being absolutely covered in spilled beer at the end of the day. I love watching the mounted police clearing the street. I love watching people get arrested. I love bumming pizza off strangers. I love going home in a complete shambles every year. I love looking at the pictures and not remembering being in any of them. I love all of it. Every last alcohol-soaked minute of the day.

I do not love the port-a-johns. It's a personal badge of honor how long I can wait before I have no choice.

So join me if you will. It is DisRespecca's biggest appearance of the year. You might even call it her birthday, her bat mitzvah, her sweet 16, her Golden Anniversary, her raison d'etre.

This Saturday. Greenville Avenue. As early as possible. I think I'll have pancakes at IHOP around 10 and then head to The Dubliner.

It's possible I may act inappropriately and loudly. I will tell you I love you. I will probably spit when I talk. I will boldly go where lots of people are also going. I will revel in my abandon, Tom Petty-style.

Go on. I double dirty dog dare you to come with. And bring extra money. I'm so going to make you buy me drinks.

Interview Numero Dos: Much Better

It's hard to care about jobs. The one I interviewed for today sounds like it involves staying late a lot. Yeah, I don't want to do that.

Aquent called me today. We'll see about the freelancing. I have to go take another test on Wednesday. But I don't care. Today is such a nice day, what I really want to do is go drink beer on patio somewhere and watch the wheels go round and round. I just love to watch them roll.

Ah, Spring! My favorite season! And next weekend is the St. Patty's Parade. Which means it's me and Not Having Sex's anniversary. We're registered at Condom Sense.

New York: I Don't Think I'd Make It There.

New York is fast. You can't just stroll around gawking at stuff. I hate feeling rushed all the time. I amble. I perambulate. I lollygag. They don't have time for that in New York. Maybe I should try Brooklyn.

I have an interview on Monday for a job I don't think I want. I think I'd rather bag groceries at Central Market. But I'm going. And I promise I won't show up drunk this time.

We met the drunkest Scots in the history of drunken Scots in New York. Shout out to Ann, Jake and Campbell, who lurved him some Stefanie. Who wouldn't? She's a knockout.