How I Tested Being a Bitch.

Disclaimer: This post is down right crude. It contains the full lyrics to an NWA song, and if you don't know what that means I have a feeling this post it not for you. If you're not okay with foul language, I suggest you skip this one.

If you read my last post, is was all about wondering how I could be perceived as a bitch, so, after some more mulling, I felt the need for a second opinion about this whole "Am I a Bitch?" quandary. So I thought to myself, "Who knows bitches? Like really knows bitches?" and it came to me during the middle of my Sunday cleaning ritual of listening to some old-school rap and doing the dishes. NWA. Now those guys know bitches. Let's break this down, shall we?

Blue are the lyrics, black is my... "analysis".

And this is NWA. They're straight outta Compton. Apparently you don't mess with people who are straight outta Compton. I'm straight from the Suburbs (I don't think you can be "outta" Suburbia), so I don't really know these things.

[Narrator]

Let's describe a certain female. A female with the disease of character

And attitude. If you will a snob. However in a view of NWA...

I have been told I have an "attitude" of sorts, but mostly I'm described as sassy, sometimes even charming, but let's check in with the masters on this one...

[Ice Cube]

A bitch is a bitch (bitch)

So if I'm poor or rich (word up)

I talk in the exact same pitch

Now the title bitch don't apply to all women

But all women have a little bitch in 'em (yeah)

It's like a disease that's plagues their character

Takin' the women of America (yeah) 

I'm going to have to agree with everything said so far. Not specifically for myself, but they're onto something here. We're all completely capable, of being bitches.

And it starts with a letter B

It makes a girl like that think she better than me (bitch)

See, some get mad and some just bear it

But, yo, if the shoe fits wear it (wear it)

It makes 'em go deaf in the ear

That's why when you say 'hi' she won't say 'hi'

Are you the kind that think you're too damn fly?

Bitch eat shit 'n die (ha, ha) 

Okay, gentleman, we're getting a little out of hand here. Maybe she didn't say 'hi' because she didn't want to lead you on and make you think she was interested. Maybe she's got a boyfriend. I really think that at this point in the song, you're a little miffed that you didn't get any of whatever sweet lady just walked by so you're taking your frustrations out through rhyme. Which I totally support, so continue.

Ice cube comin' at you at crazy pitch

(Why?) I think a bitch is a bitch

[A Bitch] 'Who the fuck you think you're callin' a bitch you little sorry muthafucka?

I dunno who the fuck you think you're talkin' to. Let me tell you one

Muthafuckin' thang, I'm not a...' [Eazy E] 'Bitch, shut the fuck up.' 

Good call on this one Mr. E. If you listen to the song, this girl is definitely (I can never spell "definitely" right on the first try. It drives me crazy, had to share) a bitch. I think they actually hired her to do the record right out of bitchville.  If she wasn't a bitch, and got called a bitch, she wouldn't freak out so much.

Yo, you can tell a girl that's out for the money (How?)

She look good and the bitch walk funny ----------------->Wait, what? Why?

She ain't no dummy she's rather canivin'

Yo, bitch fuck when I'm driving

See a young nigga that's striving

You're thru' without a BMW

That's why a bitch is a bitch 

 So, in accordance to NWA, A bitch is a woman who cares a lot about men who have money. Good knowledge. And not me.

I guess, or ether P-M-S 

AH HAHAHA. I love it when they knock PMS. It's one of those double standards that woman really stick to themselves. The whole: "I can excuse my shitty behavior with PMS, but you'd better not ever dare suggest  that's the reason I'm acting weird or I will flip out on your ass PMS or no!" You know, like I can call my mom a bitch my if you do I'll punch you in the mouth. Unless we're siblings. I guess. (I would never call my Mom a bitch. I'd kind of like to say that's because she'd slap me, but really, it would just really hurt her feelings, and she'd probably cry. Apple doesn't fall far on that one...)

Here, test the girl that's kinda snobby (a'ight)

And I bet you dis a nigga is her hobby

And after she finished the test

Write your date a B-I-T-C-H

And watch her get mad 'cause she know it's true (she know it)

Ah ha! So it's just like in grade school when you would say, "So-and-so likes so-and-so!" And you would know it was true if the kid started fervently denying it. Yes. Just like that.

But a nigga like me, I say 'fuck you'

Do like Ice Cube, slam her ass in a ditch (slam her ass)

'Cause a bitch is a bitch 

I'm pretty sure "Slam her ass in a ditch" is all figurative. That's how I continue to listen to the song anyway....

'Why I gonna be a bitch?'

'I ain't call you no bitch. If you'd listen to a goddamn song it'd tell

You what a bitch is.'

'Fuck the song 'cause I'm not no muthafuckin' bitch.'

'I didn't say you was a bitch.'

'Fuck you, punk-ass nigga!'

'Fuck you, bitch!

'Fuck you! Who the fuck you think you are?

'Fuck you! Suck my dick, bitch! 

MmHmm. See the fervent denying? Grade school. In any case, it's clear that whatever this relationship was, they no longer have respect of any kind for each other, bitches or no.

I once knew a bitch who got a slack

'Cause she played me like she was all that

A bitch can be your best friend talking behind your back (yeah)

About who's fucking who and who's getting fat 

I don't pretend to be best friends. I don't talk behind any one's back (particularly not Mr. E's.  Or Mr. C's, for that matter). I don't really talk about any one fucking or getting fat.

Look at yourself for me, (look bitch)

Now do you fall in this category?

Or you're the kind that won't blink

'Cause you don't think, your shit stinks 

...I can't say I really understand what that means exactly... I don't blink because my shit don't stink? Well I most certainly blink. Often. So I'm going to say no.

Lucky I haven't had a drink

'Cause I'd down you ass

Than I'd clown your ass 

 That sounds strangely sexual and rather undeserved, but I'm with ya.

'Cause the niggas I hang with ain't rich (I ain't rich)-------> I don't hang with any rich anybodies.

We're all saying 'Fuck you bitch!' (Word up!)

Now, what I can do with a hoe like you

Been your ass over then I'm thru'

Been? Like "been in" or like "bean" like "hit" or "tap"? Well. I think we get the point either way.

that you see Ice Cube ain't takin' no shit

(Why?) 'Cause I think a bitch is a bitch

[Narrator]

There you have it. The description of a bitch. Now ask yourself,

Are they talking about you? Are you that funky, dirty, (I shower regularly, so no) money-hungry,(No.)

Scandalous, (Not even if I tried) stuck-up, (Nope, not that I know of) hair piece (I own no hair pieces, though I have a feeling this one may be something I don't quite understand...) contact wearing (I don't wear contacts, but I was unaware that they made you a bitch. Again, I may be missing something key here.) bitch? Yep, you

Probably are. 

Mmm... I don't think I am, but I will take your criticism into consideration.

Yeah, they don't think I'm a bitch. Judging by the toughness level of this picture, they're the ones I should be most worried about. What with their affinity for ditches, as stated earlier...

Good to know. According to NWA, and a slightly less-than-objective self assessment, I am not a bitch. Everyone sets their bitch scale to this standard, right?

This has been a session of great rap music, ruined by some stupid white girl. You're welcome.

Why You Might Think I'm A Bitch. And You Might Be Right.

As it turns out, being under-employed leaves a lot of time for this whole "thinking" business. Self-reflection, pondering the universe and my role in it, what I want to do with my life, how I want to do it. I ponder how people can con through the same thing and have completely different experiences. Perspectives. Perception. Things and stuff. You know.

There have been several moments in my life when a good friend and I would be talking, having coffee, the like, and they would say something along the lines of, "God, when I first met you I though you were a total bitch. I'm really glad I gave you another chance." And I would say, "...thanks?"

So I've spent the last couple of weeks wondering how many friends that I could have had and never did, and how it is that I could be deemed with such a bitch of a first impression. Here are some possibilities that I found amusing, in bullet point form.


I Assume You Don't Remember Me. This is not unfounded, I promise you. I have met the same person (or people) a multitude of times and had to re-introduce myself. Some of my most-loved barristas at the coffee shop I frequent (no, seriously frequent, like every day) have a hard time recognizing me. If I'm in a play with my extra-special-man-friend and this dude, and we're all hanging out in a public place, people who saw the play will approach them and are usually politely reminded by either gentleman that I was also in the show. Now, perhaps said strangers are just trying to be polite because they hated my performance and think I should get the hell off the stage before I damage it anymore, but I prefer to think that they just don't recognize me. As an actor, I try to take it as a compliment. I'm horrible when it comes to talking to strangers anyway. So. If I meet you once, then see you later, I will assume you don't remember me or recognize me, and thereby not say hello. Sadly, if you are one of the few astute people who immediately recognized me and what's to chat, well, I am now to you, a bitch.

Awkward Moments Are (Aren't?) My Strong Suit. I have two tactics when an awkward situation arises. They happen to be the same two tactics I use when conflict arises. No, no, not fight or flight, that would make far too much sense. I either clam up entirely (preferable, in most cases. I don't like to fight, disagree, debate, create tension, people to think I'm a bitch...) or I end up spouting out a wildly inappropriate "joke" (see final bullet). Some defense mechanism. And while to me, I'm just struggling wildly in my mind to divert attention else-where (me making an ass out of myself) it usually ends up backfiring and making me look like... yeah. A bitch.


I Have Terrible Facial-Recognition Skills. I'm convinced that the first bullet point is the penance I have to pay for this. Man, I can't recognize people to save my life. Case in point: The ESMF (that's now short for "Extra-Special-Man-Friend", deal with it) and I threw a dinner party a little over a year ago. We invited many friends from both sides, probably fifteen in total and had a lovely evening, drank lots of wine, chatted until two in the morning and what-have-you. One of the guests was a woman that ESMF had worked with at a restaurant and I'd met her several times before. We chatted and laughed all night. Fast forward to roughly six months later. I was working in a restaurant and it was a very quiet night. One couple sat upstairs and I approached their table to take their drink order. The woman at the table saw me coming and her face lit up and she began asking me how I was, how my ESMF was, what kind of theater we were doing, when she could come and see our next show, etc. I had NO. IDEA. WHO. SHE. WAS. By now you've likely figured that it was the woman I had spent so many hours talking with at the dinner party, but out of context I could not make the connection. I'm sure she knew my state, though I did try to play it off elegantly. It took me three more months to finally make the connection, and boy did I feel like a bitch.

I Swear a Lot. Some people I know consider this a fabulous quality (I've actually been chastised by my mother for substituting "freak" for it's more vulgar option). However, it has recently come to my attention that outside of a fraternity party, not everyone considers a loud (my voice naturally carries, what can I say, it's a gift) string of expletives proper for civilized conversation. Needless to say, I avoid civilized conversation as often as possible.

It's a Rare Lady That I Can Really Connect With. My ratio of friends is very unbalanced. I hang out with a lot of dudes. I like dudes. All of the dude friends I have know I'm taken. They don't tell me how much they wish they could lose weight, I'm not worried that their constantly judging my clothes, manicure, or how I decided to do my make-up and hair that day (chances are, I didn't. Either of them), and they're just plain chill.

Negative Neutral Face. Let's clarify this before we get into it. You know how some people just always look angry? You know those people that you ask "What's wrong?" and they say, "Nothing." but they really mean "nothing" like it caught them off-guard that someone would even ask them that because they're having such a great day? Yeah, that's me. It's not like I walk around town frowning all the time, but we recently moved into an apartment with an elevator that has this giant mirror. I give my building-mates a (what I thought was) sweet little half-smile every time I pass them. I was about to board the elevator one day as a building-mate was getting out of it, so I half-smiled away at them, got into the elevator and caught my reflection. My "half-smile" sort of resembles a grimace. Like something smells really bad. I'm not sure if this is something one is born with or if it's something that developed out of trying to look really tough in high school (I really was a bitch in high school, not in a mean girls way, but in a "why-the-fuck-do-I-have-to-be-surrounded-by-all-these-children" sort of way... that's a post for another day). In any case, I have a sneaking suspicion that negative neutral face may be why I enjoy so many elevator rides alone...

I have this problem that I think I'm funny. Oh boy-howdy do I. To be fair, I will usually self-deprecate for a jokes sake sooner than take the focus elsewhere, but every now and then I'm convinced that I'm so charming and funny that you'll even think the "This is why you're parents are sad they had you." joke I spurt out after you miss that pool shot is hilarious. I will regret it the second it comes out of my mouth, but, as we specified earlier, the way I approach an awkward situation does not lend itself well when coupled with how funny I thought I was a second ago.

So. That's my take on it. I write this, of course knowing that I am fully capable of changing every aspect of this. I'm of the feeling lately, however, that it took me this long to start figuring out who I was that I'm not going to jump and start making changes right away because a few people may misunderstand my relatively respectable intentions in life.

How I've Been Spending My Sundays

Our internet is finally working again after a battle with the internet company and I have many posts planned for you, namely gloating about the serious level of awesome that is our new apartment, but for now, this:

I made this. (It's yarn. For my non-knitterly friends)

Probably should have washed it before photographing, but I really couldn't resist.

So. I'm spinning again. And that, my friends, is a mere twenty eight yards of bulky merino top. Nom.

Pictures of the new place still to come, along with musing on bitchy-ness and (around Dec. 26th) everything I knit for Christmas. Oh yes. There's a few things...

Being Full of Thanks (and food)

I don't usually indulge in the cheeseyness that often accompanies the holidays, but I feel the need to acknowledge positive things in my life with great gusto these days, (and I love making lists. Rarely complete them, or even remember to take them to the store with me, but I love making them). So! Here we go; with GUSTO!

Things For Which I Am Thankful
(in no particular order)

My job(s). Though lacking in hours, they really do each have their own particular brand of rewarding-ness. The yarn store is a bit self-indulgent, sure, but I love helping people with their knitting and reminding the occasional re-born knitter how to cast on. The kids I teach are loud, annoying, and, well, kids. They're pretty incredible though, they pick up on things quickly, are really creative and clearly, very interested in the subject matter. Then there's my third job (!!!!) the cast of Shakespearience Macbeth was notified last week, and I was one of the lucky members. That's right kids, that's full-time employment for myself starting January 4th 2012, and it's pretty much one of the coolest jobs ever. More on the description of this job later... Much more, actually a whole new blog devoted to it, so keep your eyes peeled.

Yarn. I could ramble on about the loveliness of this stuff for years, but I won't burden my non-knitterly readers with that... YET.

My bed. Try to sell me any fancy thing you like, but my bed is awesome. I've been rockin' the super classy mattress on the floor for over a year now and there is still no bed like one's own bed. Although, thanks to a super awesome friend (see later on the list) I will soon have a bed, a box spring, a frame AND a headboard, for free! Yay!

Showers. I should really be more environmentally conscious on this front, but I love a good, long, hot shower.

Pie.

My family. All in good health? Check. All a little weird? Check. All in one place for Thanksgiving? Check. New members in production? Check. Myself not involved in new-member-production? Double-check!

Wine.

Holiday travel. I can complain about it all I want but I really do enjoy traveling. I feel glamorous and important, even if it's stressful and tiring...and with a less-than-glamorous-looking-me.

My Silly Cat.

My friends. Inspiring. Nice-smelling. Positive. Intelligent. Talented. Generous. Attractive. Thoughtful. Funny. Supportive. Amazing. Make me feel like one lucky mo-fo.

My best friend.

My Extra-Special-Man-Friend.

Being lucky enough to call the last two on the list the same person.

There is, indeed, much, much more that I am neglecting to mention. So just to be safe. Let's make a shout-out to miscellaneous thanks! Thanks... things! And.... Stuff! (Think autumn colors, strangers smiling in a non-creepy-way, nice smells, you know).

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

It is Now November...

I would like to take this opportunity to try fewer words and more heart. So Here:

I snapped this several years ago. There's a severe light leak in this camera but there's something about this photo that can't help but make me smile. Doesn't it just look like that flower wants to hug you? Who doesn't want a hug from a flower? And yes, it was indeed roughly two feet taller than me. Glorious.

Happy fall, everyone.

Charles (isn't) in Charge

Disclaimer: I've never actually seen Charles in Charge. I don't know anything about it. I'm assuming a guy named Charles is in there somewhere. I do however, like to throw around references I've heard about but don't know about to see what kind of awkward situations I get into.

A couple weeks ago now I set out on a "Get Hired or Die" mission. I went to two interviews. Well, actually I went to one institution to try to set up an interview because I was unable to attend the glorious "mass interview" process that is the introduction to the corporate retail world. Tragic, I know.

So, I got all kinds of "hire me!"-ed up and confidently breezed into the store with a demure smile that no one could refuse. Knowing me, I also probably had a clump of toilet paper stuck to my shoe, but some people find that endearing. Here's what ensued:

Me: Hi! I wanted to see if I could talk to a hiring manager?

Super Sweet Sales Associate (who I had bothered with this issue on several occasions and is still very polite): Of course! Let me grab her for you.

Me: Thank you. (Stares at a ridiculously beautiful store display)

SSSA: This is _____. She's our hiring manager.

Hiring Manager: I'm so glad you came in! You know we're having a mass interview tomorrow?

Me: Yes. Unfortunately I have a prior commitment which will make me unable to attend the interview tomorrow, so I wanted to see if I could set up a separate interview. (Big Girl language like this is key, but not everything).

Hiring Manager: Okay! Let me just grab you an application and if you could bring in a resume...

Me: I've actually already dropped off my resume and application.

Hiring Manager: Oh! Great! I can't believe we haven't called you yet. What's your availability like?

Me: After Thanksgiving it opens up considerably, but as of now I can't work Tuesday days, Thursdays from noon-3p or Saturday days and I'm doing a play that rehearsals and shows start at 7p. Other than that I'm pretty open though.

(awkward silence, me with a hopeful, naive stare and HM with a pretty blank one.)

HM: Um, well, I really can't use you then. That's probably why we haven't called you.

Me: Okay! Thank you for your time.

HM: Of course! Let me know if anything changes. Or you lose one of those jobs or... something.

This poor woman really didn't know what to say. For the sake of my own self-esteem I'm going to take all of this as they really did want to hire me but really couldn't justify hiring someone with such limited availability. Fair enough.

I would like to note now that working for corporations is something that I'm not usually super excited about. I really enjoy working for locally owned businesses, but in this case I'm a little desperate and just needed to get on the market. I don't have anything earth shatteringly, protest-worthy against corporations, I just generally hate the way the staff is required to operate (anyone that's ever worked at a Hooters can open your eyes on this one).

Who wouldn't want to work at a place that makes old electrical set-ups look this good?

In any case, the next place I went was actually a mass interview and a sister store of the previous location. It was packed full of mostly high school students or freshman in college. I honestly can't tell anymore. I filled out the application, handed it in with my super-sexy looking resume and sat in the store for a good hour and half waiting for my turn to go in the back with my group of children. About forty-five minutes into my wait I smelled something. Something very distinct, something that kicked in a strange craving and made me want to throw up at the same time. I smelled McDonalds. I looked up from the clothing article I was fondling and there he was. Still in his Mickey D's regalia, there was Charles.

Now, anyone who shows up to an interview in their uniform from another job is pretty ballsy, or just a little dumb. I'm guessing Charles is both. I'm pretty sure he was the only one in the building older than me, but it was by at least three decades. I couldn't help but wonder what this fifty-something was doing in this breeding ground for corporate hipsters, so sincerely looking for a job.

When it came time for six of use to squeeze into the little back supply room, Charles was in my group. I have to say that the two of us answered the generic questions the best. We better have, anyone who answers the question, "Why do you want to work here?" With "Um, well, like, this would like, be like, my first job! And like, that's like, awesome!" or the question, "What's your dream job?" with, "Well, I like, really want to be a veterinarian when I like, grow up, so like, I know that doesn't like, have like, anything to do with like, clothes, but like, yeah." (Yes, those were two different interviewees and if I see them working there I will thank my lucky stars I didn't get hired).

Going through the interview process with Charles was a little reality slap in the mouth. It's funny to be how hitting a patch-o-poverty can really force me to realize how lucky I actually am. Good work-ethic was instilled in me from a young age, but sometimes I feel like my pride gets in the way of actually accessing it. I should by applying for a job at McDonalds. I could likely get hired, but the idea of working somewhere that I have so little respect for (that's not really a corporate thing, it's more of a humanity thing) is a little soul-sucking. I've been a bit of a spoiled brat over the last six years with where I've been able to work. A collection of really fabulous local institutions that all reflect the downtown of where I live so wonderfully. Surrounded by lovely people who are constantly finding a release for their creativity through side projects (actually, their job is usually their side project, their work is usually, appropriately, their life).

And so, week three on unemployment embarrassingly continues, and I would like to thank Charles for the much-needed does of perspective. Not to mention the specials I've been watching on Syria lately. I've got a pretty good thing going.

In other news, I've been eating an oddly large amount of apples and bananas lately.

Keeping on the Fuckin' Sunny Side.

Okay, first off let me say knowingly that my attempt to do two posts a week for National Blog Month (what does that even mean?!) has been a miserable failure even though it is only November 7th. Secondly, in hopeless defense, I did try to make this post three days ago, but my iPad battery ran out and blogger failed to auto save the entry I had partially written. My fault, of course, but I do love mesome shoddy excuses.

In any case! Times is tough, kids. Pretty tough. I should relate to you that times is not tough in an Irish Potato famine sort of way, nor in a "I have three kids to feed and no job and can't afford to pay for electricity" way (I don't have kids for that very reason. Well, okay, that's like reason 184). It's hard to pay the bills, sure. But the "tough" I'm talking about is very much a sort of romantisized, struggling to create my art while maintaining a balance to feed both my artistic soul and my physical body.

Yech. I just made myself throw up a bit. You?

Someone posted this on facebook recently. I think it's even better now that NPH actually is married (but still awesome, I should hope).

I fully realize that I could, indeed be making all the money I want, were I not committed to a show which demands much of my free time (and there's been a lot of it these days, trust me), though I will say, even before I was involved with the show, it was pretty darn difficult to get anyone to even look at my (awesome) resume, never mind hand me an application. BUT! I am exceedingly lucky. I have a warm (and pretty awesome) place to sleep. I'm not in debt (except to myself, really). I'm not starving. And I'm surrounded by (mostly) people of uncalibrated awesomeness (more on that later).

Let's be honest, though, this (by "this" I mean the whole white suburban-raised girl struggling artist thing) would all be a lot easier if the art I was creating was... well... Good awesome. That being said, I have been extremely spoiled over the last few years regarding who I've gotten to work with in this very small theater community. Again, I count myself lucky that I'm even in a show at this time of year in this little community.

Somehow it makes it easier and harder at the same time to know that many people around me (not to mention the world) are in the midst of a similar predicament.

Easier because, well, at least I'm not alone. I'm surrounded by people who are just as broke and down trodden as I am.

Harder because... I don't know if you know this, but I'm lucky enough to be surrounded by some of the coolest, smartest, most attractive and talented mother fuckers you've ever seen. My friends are amazing.
And smell nice to boot.

However, I've just passed the mark of two months (under)employed. Fifty bucks a week doesn't take you too far, sometimes just far enough, but it is just enough to start wearing on my wallet, and unexpectedly, my heart.

SO. I did something that many people would find logical for someone in m situation. Something thousands of people do when they get laid-off due to no fault of their own. And something I-nor you-my darling reader(s?), will never tell my mother.

I filed for unemployment.

Honestly, I should have done it a month ago. I have work lined up if January (Full time, most awesome bestest coolest job anyone could ever want), I'm not an alcoholic, I'm not a drug addict, I'm the freaking poster child for unemployment. Seriously, I should be on a poster. Not that anyone's trying to sell the idea of unemployment, but it would be cool to be on a poster.

In a word- I'm an actor. Unemployment LOVES actors. Why? Because we're basically contract workers. We have short-term contracts and when we file for unemployment it's usually because we have another job lined up that prevents us from getting hired at some "real job".

"Why can't you tell your mother?" You may be asking. Well, I would love to answer! But first, I feel that it is very important to give you a brief intro to: My mom. First and foremost. I love my mom. She's a super awesome independent artist, and exceedingly supportive of all my seemingly ridiculous endeavors, she was a single Mom putting herself through grad school while Regan was president (I still don't really know what this means, but when I tell people that, they always seem impressed) and is all-around pretty freaking cool. She also hasn't entered the job market since 1986.

My how things do change.

From discussions we've had recently, the view I think my mother has of unemployment is similar to how need-based scholarships work. For example, were I to apply for unemployment and receive it, that means that someone else who maybe needs it more, wouldn't get it. After a bit of research, that's not how it works at all, but I guess I understand her sentiment. I could argue with her, prove her wrong, etc. but why would I want to start some shit if I didn't need to? My mom is also delightfully stubborn. It's best she just doesn't know, I think it would worry her for my welfare anyway. She also seems to think that future employers check the see if you've been on unemployment and are likely not to hire you if you have been. I'm not sure where that idea comes from, but I think it would be a cute short story.

All that being said, I can't help but feeling horribly, disgustingly ashamed. I'm in my mid-twenties, I have a college degree, I'm able-bodied, I'm qualified to do many things in this world. Like awesomeness. Know anyone hiring for awesomeness?

This too shall pass. I have less than two months to get through and then my life will change entirely, again. Which reminds me, stay tuned for a new blog I'll be starting, hopefully near the end of December. About what, you may ask? Well, I'll give you a hint: English majors everywhere are either about to love me or hate me.

Cat, mentioned previously, but needed another picture. Proving that I'm NOT a crazy cat lady... right...?