Bruises on the fruit/ Tender Age in Bloom

Freelance died last week.

All in one day:

- I found out a recent assignment was not paid per "piece" but per "lump of pieces", meaning I got a third of what I'd anticipated.

- I found out I wasn't going to get a freelance copywriting project at the yoga organization I used to work for, which even though I didn't want, I needed and considered myself a shoo-in for.

- The editor at my main freelance bread and butter announced that assignments are going to be less not more ("tough economy and all"). And I still haven't seen the last check they owe me.

It was just an exhausting day of disappointment.

So... I did what any normal person would do when confronted with the significant loss of income. I popped a Xanax and flipped on a marathon of Snapped.

Have we talked about "Snapped" yet? Because we should. For an hour or twelve. Lately it has been brought to my attention that when I'm out a-boozin' I tend to talk at length about how this is the best show in the history of shows, and how people need to add this show immediately in to their DVR queue. (This includes you. We're having this conversation right now.)

To put it quite simply, these are true stories of bitches doin' murder. Mostly it's greedy hos who off their husbands for their money, but sometimes it gets wild. Like a teenage girl who shot her parents in their sleep because they didn't like her cholo boyfriend. One crazy lady made her fifteen-year-old daughter shoot her husband telling her that she would love her if she did. These bitches are stone cold. It is all true, and these hos got CAUGHT. It's often like a what-not-to-do if you want your spouse dead. I promise you will also become entranced and watch it and say things out loud like, "Really, ho? You thought you could fake that 911 call? You thought you could scrub the blood stains out that duvet cover. Hell no, trick! BLOOD NEVER DISAPPEARS."

It is no secret that I find television to be a tremendous boon to the world, and that I watch it at length and with shameless adoration. Mostly for reality television, because I like shows best when someone gets eliminated at the end, but now it all seems so tame. Rock of Love used to be so shocking. Now those hos seem so weak. They threw a tequila shot at someone? Snoozey times.

Is there a deaf lesbian love triangle where someone got hacked up and put in a barrel in a storage unit?? Yeah, didn't think so, skanks. Step yer game up.

But really. Unless you threw your husband into the Chesapeake Bay in a suitcase for his life insurance policy, I'm kind of unimpressed. Wake me up when there's arsenic kool-aid involved.

So on Monday when I was done with weekend boozing and satisfied that there are way worse off bitches than myself out there, I decided to get back on the Real Job Hunt. Now I spend hours laboriously drafting professional cover letters and submitting impressive samples of Clover writing published in periodicals to get jobs I know I wouldn't even like, if only to have the comfort of a W-2 and a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

But when I saw a job I really wanted and felt would actually be something I would be interested in and enthusiastic about going to on a daily basis, I just couldn't do the professional bullshit dance. I dropped a quick note linking to this blog and name-dropping Mark Rivers. (And yeah, I attached my resume. I'm not an idiot, people.)

And this was clearly the way to go. Within a day, it was ON. We have plans to try it all on for size next week and I'm aglow.

Lesson learned: If you want a job, link to my blog and talk about Mark Rivers. EMPLOYMENT GOLD.

So yeah, it looks like Clovesy gots a JOB. Where I leave the house and interact with individuals in a paid environment. Dazzling. And next week I'm meeting someone about another writing project which would be temporary, but an interesting source of much needed extra income.

AND my new friend Alice (whose toilet I puked coconut oil into and whom I've since met and become terribly fond of) has started a TOP SECRET comedy project with me that is making me very very excited. (It involves the Banksy-inspired vlog, P. Hold tight.)

So basically, Cloverland is looking rosy again and I'm sorry I can't share more, it's just that when your life starts to look how you wanted it to look all along, it freaks you out a little bit. So I'm quietly crushing on my new life and hoping that it likes me back. When we're going steady, I'll gush.

Me and my new life making out in an otherwordly, cosmic way.

In the meantime pouty hipster pics soon. Most likely with PBR and girls in bathrooms. Apparently you people are not impressed easily.

It will be like this. But with less dignity.