1. Connie Cobb need to get a muthafuckin' jobbie job. This is ridiculous.
2. Maybe I'll clean out the refridgerator. Maybe I'll get the swooping ambition to buy more baking soda, get some 409, and clean that fridge until it sparkles and shines like the Texas Beauty Queen some fool dated back when she was hot & perky. That fridge will strut around the 5x5 kitchen in admiration of its thick loins - steamy in the back, cold as ice on the inside - lusty, brooding fridge! Just a little hot soapy water - sticky and sweet, and that baby will tick with all the fires of sex-ridden New Orleans. Full of vomit, piss, sin, and degradation - that fridge will own the kitchen. (I don't know why Kenmore won't hire me - I just don't get it)
3. I think I will start to read Anna Karennina. What am I saying. I'll probably reread Cintra Wilson. (Did anyone else read David Sedaris in this month's Esquire?)
4. I have to have to have to eat the leftover Speghetti before it goes bad. And I have to have to have to (sometime this week) eat the Salmon in the freezer - before it goes bad. Although, once one is unemployed, one tends to not be so discriminating in regards to how old the food is.
5. I guess I'll work out like the stuffed coquette I am.
6. Maybe I'll actually fill out applications at a place of business instead of trying (hopelessly) to do this jobhunt from my el stupido computer. This is the lazy man & shy girl's dream. Hey - speaking of "shy girl" - whatever happened to girl gang exposes (wish I had an accent for that right now)? Now it's all about suburbanites that beat each other senselessly with tiny fists of fury and whipped cream. Hm.
7. Maybe around 4pm I'll get worthlessly drunk on vodka & lemonade (I swear I won't touch your's, Schmeon) and try to watch Oprah. Then I'll pop valium and clean the living room floor in a vain attempt to embody the style of a neurotic housewife of the early 60's. By this time, Shaba will come home to find me foaming at the mouth, lying face up in a pool of dirty mop water with a pseudo-apron tied mercilessly around my neck. (Did I tell anyone that I applied to be a "cheese specialist"?)
8. I will sit around and make a list of all the new slang (pas de shins) that should be corn-fed into our boys' bottoms. We shall all use a new filthy slang word each night at dinner. The first will be "muscular forklift" and something about "spreading salty walls."
9. I should start the propaganda mission - What do we own? Nothing! Who are we? Nobody! As I told Schmeon, the posters will arrive shortly after 1am on the UNM Campus the night before fall classes start. Beauty.
10. Oh, all right - I'll sign up for email notifications for Fashionista scholarships & internships. Can't hurt.
What are you doing tomorrow/today?