Mandy: college graduate, super-sinful unwed mother, narcissist, graphic artist by day, disillusioned writer by night, also super-sinful liberal, feminist (need I mention?); mixed bag, you know.

This is an Unsolicited Parenting Advice-Free Zone. I bitch; you listen; isn't that how blogging works?!

Drinks will not be served. But wouldn't it be awesome if they were?
Blissfully Unwed

I’m calling this one: “Things You Can Do When You’re Unemployed.” In addition to afternoon drinking, obvs.

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Behold: the results of donating plasma, as seen on my right arm. This is the same arm, which, as you may recall, was abused last Thursday by an incompetent phlebotomist. Much as I’d like to give this dude a pass by assuming that Octopharma’s employees suffer from low morale due to less-than-competitive wages, resulting in work performance that looks like, you know, my arm, I’m pretty sure that’s not the problem. Given the fact that a second phlebotomist came to my rescue and drew blood from my left arm with technical proficiency that would’ve made a robot feel inferior, I’m pretty sure that the maiming of my right arm was done by an individual who is also known as as That Guy Who Definitely Smokes Something Before Work, But We Can’t Figure Out What.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s an experience I’m happy to tuck under my belt, especially since the $30 I made bought me a fat bottle of wine and several new additions to my job interview wardrobe at Goodwill (I’ll wear your granddad’s clooothes), where I also found a ribbed tank so gorious, I believe that its fibers were cured in Jesus’ tears before it was sewn together. Behold!

Donating plasma is just of the many activities that I didn’t have time to participate in before losing the extra weight of my fundie Christian boss who did stupid fundie Christian shit like never missing an opportunity to bring any actual work that might be taking place to a screeching halt in order to correct any employee who dared to shorten “Christmas” to “Xmas.”

During my time of unemployment, for instance, I have not had to turn one pair of underwear inside-out because I’d run out of clean ones for lack of laundry-doing. I’ve prepared home-cooked meals for my family. I have maintained trimmed and styled hair (you would not believe how phenomenal it looks when I actually brush it). I’ve developed an exceptionally-close bond with all the pets in the house. I have even whitened my teeth with something other than Photoshop. Best of all, though: I have the selfies to prove it. Shall we?

I am not ashamed to admit that I have also taken two of the greatest photos of my butt that have ever turned my cell phone into a liability. I wouldn’t be ashamed to post them, either, but what little propriety I possess is standing in my way. I know; I’m a little surprised, too.

It seems like the only way I can talk myself into wearing my hair down is if I braid it before I go to bed the night before. Not really because it reaches peak awesomeness levels (which it does), but more because I’m just that damn lazy. 

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It seems like the only way I can talk myself into wearing my hair down is if I braid it before I go to bed the night before. Not really because it reaches peak awesomeness levels (which it does), but more because I’m just that damn lazy. 

Nov 26th at 10AM / tagged: hair. lazy. girls. / reblog / 2 notes

I thought I’d be a nice partner and get pretty before B comes home for good tomorrow (YAY), so I decided to try out Jeran’s DIY haircut from her blog (fair disclosure: it’s adorable), and it came out awesome. I’m pretty sure a family of rats had to leave their home when I actually brushed my hair out and cut off all the split ends, but it’s looking all smooth and layered now, for free!

A pedicure was also in order, of course. I picked this minty green color because B likes it, but, Mandy being Mandy, I also had to include two glittery accent nails. Natch.

Wrangle hair into acceptable style… Check! I would say I’m going to make this weekend my bitch, but, eew, sexist language much? Let’s just say I’m going to rule this weekend… and it’s going to be a fucking despotism. 

Edit: Because I’m vain, I had to come back here and add that that’s my real eye color. Just in case anyone had any questions. 

katieaaberg:

5.1.12 on Flickr.

She’s beautiful; I could never pull of red hair and pink lipstick, but she’s flawless.

katieaaberg:

5.1.12 on Flickr.

She’s beautiful; I could never pull of red hair and pink lipstick, but she’s flawless.

This model with a pig at Betsey Johnson’s birthday party is my new fashion icon. I need to get a crimper. I also like to think that that pig was inspired by Honey Boo Boo. 

(Source: ps.papermag.com)

It’s Tuesday, y’all.

Ahem. I just want to point out the voter registration form that I’ve embedded into my blog. Scroll down to the bottom of the page, then scroll back up because you want to finish reading this witty, laugh-out-loud hilarious, touching and very informative post.* The form comes courtesy of President Obama, natch. Funny how his campaign encourages Americans to get out and vote, while the The Right keeps trying to pass legislation that will make it harder for us to vote. Seriously: even the GOP knows that its platform is unattractive and totally out-of-step with the beliefs of the rest of the country. 

Here’s your Paul Ryan lie of the day“‘Simply put, the Jimmy Carter years look like the good old days compared to where we are right now,’ Paul Ryan quipped to a crowd at East Carolina University on Sunday night. As ABC News has found, some of the data Ryan invoked to support this conclusion is just wrong. Ryan said in 1980, 330,000 businesses filed for bankruptcy; it was more like 44,000. He said that 1.4 million businesses filed for bankruptcy in 2011; it was about 48,000. The numbers Ryan used were personal bankruptcy figures, which he passed off as business bankruptcies.” AND "Carter’s term actually saw the economic situation deteriorate, whereas Obama’s has seen it improve." 

Is it sad that I’m seriously considering making this a daily feature on my mommy blog that keeps turning into a liberal soapbox because REALLY, REPUBLICANS? REALLY?! 

Also, please enjoy yesterday’s Borowitz Report"The Republican Vice-Presidential nominee painted a portrait of a Paul Ryan few know, a man who trained for missions with SEAL Team Six while somehow finding time to cut key provisions of Medicare.”  Teehee!

And here’s a photo of what I would look like today at work, if I had pink and blue hair. Take a good look, because, unless you’re looking at pre-baby photos of me, there’s a pretty good chance this will be the only time you see my hair down. 

*Adjectives used in this blog may or may not be gross exaggeration of the for-real state of things; We learned this trick from Paul Ryan. 

Every time I start to feel lame for not going into the field I majored in, I remind myself that most graduates with a BA in English go on to be, like, teachers. There are very, very few screaming children in the graphic design world, and that is most definitely a good thing.
Plus, had I not become a graphic artist, I would probably never have learned how to change my hair color in photoshop. 
What color IS my real hair? You might just not ever know. 

Every time I start to feel lame for not going into the field I majored in, I remind myself that most graduates with a BA in English go on to be, like, teachers. There are very, very few screaming children in the graphic design world, and that is most definitely a good thing.

Plus, had I not become a graphic artist, I would probably never have learned how to change my hair color in photoshop. 

What color IS my real hair? You might just not ever know. 

I wouldn’t typically encourage anyone to get married, but, if the only thing stopping you from legalizing your unholy union is your [totally understandable] fear of in-laws, by all means, take the plunge. Because here’s the sad truth, friends: living-in-sinlaws are just like regular in-laws. Which, sadly, means that they are exactly 0% more likely than traditional in-laws to accept “YOLO!” as a response to every talking point of their morning grousing regarding your totally. Completely. Absolutely. No one could ever possibly beg to differ. Unsatisfactory parenting methods.
Additionally, trying to style one’s hair during said grousing could result in hair that looks… like…
This.
Actually, this isn’t so bad. Maybe I should focus on blaming my probably-too-sheer-for-work shirt on someone else, instead. 

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I wouldn’t typically encourage anyone to get married, but, if the only thing stopping you from legalizing your unholy union is your [totally understandable] fear of in-laws, by all means, take the plunge. Because here’s the sad truth, friends: living-in-sinlaws are just like regular in-laws. Which, sadly, means that they are exactly 0% more likely than traditional in-laws to accept “YOLO!” as a response to every talking point of their morning grousing regarding your totally. Completely. Absolutely. No one could ever possibly beg to differ. Unsatisfactory parenting methods.

Additionally, trying to style one’s hair during said grousing could result in hair that looks… like…

This.

Actually, this isn’t so bad. Maybe I should focus on blaming my probably-too-sheer-for-work shirt on someone else, instead.