She so isn't the boss of me anymore!!!!

I just got word that my Christmas present from my mother arrived at my house this afternoon. She said I couldn’t open it until Christmas, but she is 1,500 miles away, and besides I’ve been working on coming to terms with the fact she isn’t the boss of me. I am going to drive home and open it. But she can be scary so please don’t tell her.

-Lauren

I prefer my realtors in tapered jeans and loafers with no socks... but doesn't everyone?

I know for a while there I was super posty posty girl, but the long hours of retirement have taken their toll on me and I am far too busy drinking at noon, not showering and reading other peoples blogs.

In all seriousness I have been rather busy. I have decided that retirement at 26 is simply not for me, or more so my checking account went ahead and made that decision, only after briefly consulting me, to learn that no, in fact I was not planning on making anymore deposits.

So I haven spent the majority of my days applying for jobs I am either under, or over qualified for. All of this in an effort to earn some good old fashion benjamin’s, or at least stop spending them on booze at noon. The problem being the things I want to do I am far from qualified for, and when an opportunity does present it self I freeze and turn into a self deprecating freak.

I have also spent great amounts of time with realtors which has made me finally realize why most news papers are written at a fifth grade level, and that there is still a market for tapered jeans. All of this meaning however that our house in Colorado did sell, and hopefully I will not be living in the soon to be mother-in-law’s basement for much longer.

I did as well finally grow a pair of balls (yes insert your stupid comments here) and go to an open mike night to read some of my reading. After waiting two hours to get my turn, I walked up to the stage, almost vomited, and then read. I actually did much better than expected. It’s amazing that a room full of old people found it funny when I referred to myself, once as a bitch, twice as a hooker, and even through out a few F’bombs. It was all quite liberating.

The rest of my time has been spent trying to figure out of I could ever turn this writing thing into a career. Most of the positions I have found require years of experience, and writing samples. The second providing even more frustration than the first. I don’t think a potential employer would enjoy hearing me refer to myself as a hooker, nearly as much as the old people at open mike night. Not to mention the majority of my writing is personal narratives, and no one wants writing samples about me.

" So Write a fucking article” you say.

I am trying! It’s just not working. I need deadlines, or someone forcing ideas at me, I can’t just write an article to write an article.

And all of that is precisely why I drink at noon, and need a job!

*Lauren

Go Lauren! Go Lauren

Sometimes when I am sitting in a sports bar under a big screen, and people start cheering, I want to take a bow and pretend I did something super cool and they are cheering me on.