Boo, Motherfucker.

So I am once again unemployed. Yesterday, I didn't know whether or not to go to the new job, which is now the new old job as opposed to the old old job and the old new job. Damn, I'm dizzy. So I went and all hell broke loose and shit went down and things happened beyond my control. I didn't do anything wrong, in case you doubted me for even a second, and if you did, we're breaking up.

Anyway, now I can tell you the best part ever, since I don't work there anymore. I was working for the Boy Scouts. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHoooooooooohaaaarhgtaah...[cough]. That's it.

Now I'm going to become a recreational alcoholic.

I swear this time I'm going to drink during the day at least once, since I didn't the last time I didn't have a job. I've already picked the day and a potential accomplice, who doesn't work Mondays. Otherwise, I'll try to be more productive than I was last time. Note to self: 11 am is not an early time to wake up. NO staying up to watch Craig Ferguson, even if he is a foreigner.

That's all I got. I had too many IM conversations going on at the same time and now I can't concentrate on only one thing. blah I'm out.

One more thing, I saw an Army guy in fatigues drinking a Frappuccino and I busted out laughing. Is that as funny as I think, or am I just nuts?

Discover Wednesday!

I took Stef for a b-day drink on Wednesday and didn't get home until nearly 1 a.m. I blame the cheese board. Who knew Wednesday could be so chock-full of fun? And I only spent $6.50. Because Tyler has an expense account and everyone in the world works in advertising or media. So yay Tyler, yay Wednesday, boo Thursday morning, and boo boys who don't know to quit while they're behind. Stefanie's funny when she's done.

I laughed and laughed on Wednesday and dang if I didn't make two new friends. I went all old school and wrote my number in ink on a napkin. It pays to carry a pen and not be afraid of strangers.

Also, I love my new mascara. I can put on five coats and my lashes still don't clump. I'm going for 10 next time. So run right out and get yourself some Lash Exact; it's purple packaging and approved by Queen Latifah. It takes me about 5-7 minutes to do all my make-up besides my eyes. Eyes can take up to an hour with false eyelashes. I dig eye make-up of all kinds. You should see pictures of me at summer camp when I was 14. Out in the middle of the Hill Country with a plastic compass and a Xeroxed topographical map, and still sportin' both blue AND green mascara. My Holy Grail is purple eyeshadow. I can't find the right one. I have at least seven of them, and none of them are quite right.

You know, I didn't really want to blog today, but I did anyway and I feel better. It's been a day of freaking out for me because my new job called me up and told me not to come in today or Monday. I hate being a freelancer. The budget I made on Wednesday while I didn't have anything to do mocks me from inside my laptop bag. I can hear it telling me I'm going to be a hobo. But now that I've confessed to freaking out and then calming down, I'm freaking out again. Let's go back to talking about mascara.

I am going to Premiere Video and getting me something funny to watch tonight, after Ghost Whisperer. Now that chick knows false eye lashes. I dig all the ridiculous, cleavage revealing outfits on that show. You know the whole town talks about slutty, psycho Melinda behind her back. I would be friends with her, and not all weird about ghosts like stupid Camryn Manheim. I liked the old best friend better. Aisha Tyler, I think. She was on Friends for a while. Camryn was better when she was Plan B'ing people on that lawyer show that Dylan McDermott was also better on than that crap show he's on now. BTW, since when does every TV show in the world have to say "tranny hooker" every five minutes? I used to have to watch cable for that.

Damn, I need to do laundry. I can tell because I'm wearing panties I hate. I know, why own panties one doesn't care for? I didn't deliberately buy underwear I don't enjoy. It just happens sometimes inadvertently. Don't you judge me.

ReadBecca Blogs From Parking Lot. Film At 11.

Hey I'm parked outside Taco Diner! Bloggety blog blog blog!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO STEFANIE!

Leave a b-day comment for our fabulous girl. Have to run!

If Ozzie Is The Brie of Metal, Then Ratt Is The Spray Cheese That Bypasses Crackers And Is Dispensed Directly Into The Mouth.

Poison Cherry = Good Times

A rockin' Friday night was had by all. Drinks drunk and side pony tails and chicks handing out antipsychotics in the ladies room. Interesting. I also finally met Niebaum's alleged lady friend. She does, indeed, exist. I approve. (As if that matters.)

Sammy Hagar's two 18-wheelers are parked mere steps away from my front door. Ok, so it's really a couple blocks, but it's totally walkable. I love the idea that Sammy Hagar has been in my neighborhood for the past couple days. I bet I could meet him if I just hung around the parking lot after work today.

Also, they're having a screening of The Darjeeling Limited tonight followed by a Q&A with Jason Scwartzman. I can't think of any questions right now, except for maybe "After this, do you want to go get some tacos at the carwash?" I bet he'd go. I'd even buy him a 40 at the CVS next door.

But, alas, I have to go learn some more algebra. Wouldn't it be awesome if I could take both Sammy Hagar and Jason Schwartzman to class with me for show and tell? "Here are some famous people, who, as far as I know, don't have anything to do with any type of math whatsoever. I would like five points extra credit. Thank you."

I think I've found my new office arch nemesis. She's the person I sort of snapped at last Wednesday. I may just be tilting at windmills, but I swear she's taking a tone and copping a 'tude. I need a nemesis everywhere I work, or else my need to rage against The Man goes unfulfilled, and I got enough other needs currently going unfulfilled to add that one. Diane. I made copies for her for three hours this morning. I am not exaggerating. For real. I made copies for three hours this morning. When was the last time you made copies for three hours? College? Instead of just checking out the book? Yeah, I thought so.

Dang, this place smells like vanilla Plug-Ins. And I'm not even using the outlet. It's interfering with my ability to hate Diane. How can I hate when it smells like cake?

FUCK YOU, GUILLERMO.

Success! SUCCESS!

One of my favorite movies is Dangerous Liasons. I like it when Vicomte Whatshisface (J. Malkovich) runs up the stairs after he's finally bedded either Uma Thurman or Michelle Pfeiffer, I forget which, shouting "Success!" I would like to wear satin knee breeches and run up an 18th century staircase yelling "Success!" before I die.

Anyway.

I have successfully completed 28 algebra test questions with a passing percentage of 95.7 at the Dubliner, and I had nary a drop of booze in the nearly three hours I was there. First, no making fun of me for taking that long to do only 28 questions, and B.) I was IMing someone at the same time. Also, BRAVA to me for going to the Dubliner for the first time in more than eight years without drinking. It's a miracle.

Normally, a 95.7 would be a little low for my liking, but I'm trying not to be such a perfectionist with my grades and accept A's that happen to be less than 98%. I like 98%. It's fun to write. Also, it's really good to be better than 98 people, but not as good as two other people. It gives me a sense of superiority and humbles me, all in one. A nice balance, leaning slightly toward I Am Better Than You.

I am enjoying finding wifi hot spots. Chik-Fil-A invites you to stay as long as you like, so I will. Except I'm not at Chik-Fil-A. I'm next door. I have found an outlet at the combo Pizza Hut/Taco Bell (I had pizza, but now I wish I went somewhere for a salad.), and even though I'm using battery power, I am comforted by the presence of an outlet, should the need arise.

Everywhere I go, I look for outlets now. I couldn't find any yesterday, and I was disappointed. I'm sure there's a gadget that would allow me to have unlimited power or solar power or hand-cranked by a small third-world child power, but I think I got enough technology to be going on with.

A lot of old people work where I work. I don't mean just people older than me, I mean actual old people, like who could be retired somewhere or something. It's weird seeing grandparents all over the place. I always hold open the elevator.

I made a deal with the office cafeteria cashier. They use freakin' STYROFOAM cups, and I can't be using that shit, Al Gore would plotz. So we figured out that my new mug from Target holds a little more than a small, but not as much as a medium, and he's charging me I think 70 cents a cup. What a deal! I think I'll pay him on Mondays in advance and drink coffee all week without having to swipe my ATM card every time. They have a minimum purchase and I can't be going around with all these extraneous granola bars. People will talk.

I'm going out tomorrow for Stef's bday so I promise to do something stupid so I can exaggerate the experience for you after. Kidding. Every word I write here is 100% certified truish.

So Long, Suckers!

Today was Day Two of my new job. I'm still freelancing for the same outfit but they got me out of the hell hole job and into a new one. These are the things I've encountered in two days that sound like porn, but aren't:

Water sports
Stroking from a T-position
Wood

It's good to have new stimuli.

This new gig looks promising, but it's still early days. I have my own cube, but the coffee sucks even worse than the old office coffee. I figure no office has good coffee, so I won't count off for that. At least I won't have to charge my groceries to a credit card anymore.

I don't think I'll have an Ashley in this new joint. I'll save my heart of darkness for you folks. Ashley says she already misses me going to the dark place. For instance, during my last week, someone was taping up some boxes or something to mail, and they were making a lot of tape-gun racket in the hallway. Ashley says, "It reminds me of Christmas!"

And I said, "It sounds like a kidnapping."

Love and sunshiney kisses from your...

!!!!!!!!!!READBECCA!!!!!!!!

OH HELL TO THE YEAH!

I can't express how happy I am at this moment. This is huge. Only naked Orlando Bloom holding my winning lottery ticket in his teeth could make me happier.

Guess, go on guess, where I am and what I am doing. Yes, I am having beers and doing algebra homework, which I now declare to be ALEgebra, at my favorite place ever. It's like Disneyland for alcoholics. I am sitting at the bar at my bar.

Sweet mother of all that is holy, The Dubliner has wifi.

I may never leave.

I am keeping an eye on my battery level. My next task is to scope out all the outlets. I don't care that the damn Cowboys game is blaring on the speakers instead of such awesome tunes as "Lust For Life." I have an amazing ability to ignore things. It all sounds like white noise in the end. If I start being able to hear individual voices, I'm fucked, but right now, the only voice that's coming in clearly is Tara's. She's the bartender. We love her. You should too. Give her big tips. Immediately.

I am so stunned with the news that I can blog and do homework from my absolute favorite place in the world beside my own bed that I can hardly think what to say. This will totally get me laid.

This is so much cooler than sitting next to that guy at Starbuck's who is writing his book longhand and wears tweed even in the summer. He seems like he has an idea in his head of what a serious, eccentric writer should look like. I say deliberate eccentricity is called a costume. Me, I prefer occasionally wearing my pajamas in public and covering it up with a big shawl from India. No one can tell I'm wearing my jammies. Not right now. I look relatively normal for a Sunday. For any day.

Remind me to put my calculator away. Watch this. I'm going to spell BOOBLESS on it and show Stef. She would have laughed harder if she wasn't reading this over my shoulder. I am so going to die in this bar. I have a beer on my left, a glass of champagne on my right, and my laptop in the middle. Dang, I'm going to be famous. I wonder what Oprah will be like.

Let's see. What is the flaw in this plan? NO flaws. No cons. Everybody wins. This guy is pissed at the Cowboys. He said, "For fuck's sake!" I love that statement. I have no interest in football whatsoever. At least I will over hear interesting things.

TOUCHDOWN!

I had to look up when everyone was cheering. Losing battery power...must publish...and...shut down...stay tuned...for more....posts...from...the...Dublinerrrrrrrrrrrr...

ARGHERK C OE I Can't IM And Post Simultaneously

Dang, I am unable to multitask. My head hurts too. I don't know if they're related. Ashley agrees with me that calling the clitoris a miniature penis is insulting and wrong. She says the penis is "a hugely deformed clit." This is what I talk about with Ashley. She's all trying to work and code stuff or program stuff or whatever she does to the website of our employer, and then I start talking about the female prostate. Then she tells me about her pet shrimp Bubba's immaculate conception. I am not making this up.

I think I'm clenching my jaw or something. My neck ain't been right since the foreigner pulled my hair too hard. I miss Dr. Mary. I need the creepy crawly electrode treatment and a good cracking. And a nap. And a snack. And some fruit punch. Maybe a grilled cheese. Sangwich...mmmm....

I gotta go.