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.

Trust me, I have more to say about the debate tomorrow, but, right now, I just have to tell you that I GOT A NEW PHONE SQUEEEEE!
Seriously, though, I haven’t rocked a phone with up-to-date technology since I was using a SLVR to stay in touch with my ex-husband. I’ve never gone out for a cellphone that does anything more than send texts and take grainy, awful boob pics, but, today, I don’t know, maybe my mind was saying, “TREAT YO’SELF!”
Am I a grown-up now?

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Trust me, I have more to say about the debate tomorrow, but, right now, I just have to tell you that I GOT A NEW PHONE SQUEEEEE!

Seriously, though, I haven’t rocked a phone with up-to-date technology since I was using a SLVR to stay in touch with my ex-husband. I’ve never gone out for a cellphone that does anything more than send texts and take grainy, awful boob pics, but, today, I don’t know, maybe my mind was saying, “TREAT YO’SELF!”

Am I a grown-up now?