i am officially hunting for another job. i am the loin-clothed, leaves-covering-up-nipples she-predator in the dangerous forest of unspecified salaries and vague questions about ambitions. what am i cut out to do? i don't like selling things. i don't like numbers. i prefer not to wake up before nine. i don't enjoy commutes over ten minutes. i want to be the boss, but i don't like bossing other people around. i dislike wearing pants. i especially dislike wearing skirts. where can i go that will allow me to wear a robe?

i am spiraling into a depression filled with reality t.v. shows, cigarette smoke, daytime beers, and the kind of stress that makes me feel like i have lockjaw. which makes it especially hard to consume those daytime beers. i'm ready to go back to school now, but i'm not ready to pay. i don't really have the money, which is funny since i spent over a hundred dollars yesterday on getting my hair done. i guess i'm just trying to make up for all those beauty college cuts and stain-the-bathroom-tile-pink d.i.y. dye jobs. i have a hundred dollars for highlights. i don't have thirty for an application fee.

if you live in the chicagoland area and want to hire me to sit around, tell jokes, and eat mars bars, please contact immediately. i can contribute lots to your company; i'll even participate in a car pool as long as my other passengers don't mind sitting in garbage while i blare bad music and knock over construction cones. why is everything under construction these days? i feel like my own construction project: i'm trying to widen from one lane to three with an expected completion date of never