It’s Time to Lie Down

Hey all you cool cats and kittens. Yikes. Hated that for me. Came off a
little “chuegy” as the youths call it, bur I couldn’t think of an
opener so I decided to throw it back to the golden age of quarantine because I
hear that there is a Tiger King Part 2 coming out on Netflix. I haven’t
bothered to actually watch the trailer, but I hear Joe Exotic has remained on
brand in the fact that he’s blaming his life’s demise on Carole Baskin so
that’s a nice bit of continuity in my life which has otherwise collapsed into chaos.
For those of you who are unaware, I have served essentially as a publicist for
the City under the current Mayor’s cabinet for the past 7ish months. As is true
with all political organizations, when one administration comes in, the former
administration goes out.

Here’s my issue. When I initially took this job, I only took it after
convincing myself that the current Mayor would certainly not get reelected and
I could stick it out for a few months and have it on my resume in the case that
my lofty creative aspirations failed. Flash forward a few months and one
apartment later and guess what? I’m not yet ready to depart with the
comfortable salary and flexible hours of city government. I have pitbulls to
feed. Anyhoo, I have reached out to the incoming administration via several
contacts I have at my disposal and have yet to hear from a response which is
not a good sign. As Queen Heather Dubrow from the Real Housewives of Orange
County once said, if everyone says you’re dead, it’s time to lie down.

To that end, I have found myself in the place that I was earlier this year,
shifting uncomfortably in my all too familiar seat at rock fucking bottom,
scrolling Indeed for staff writer jobs that pay $15 an hour. That, combined
with the fact that it is now pitch officially pitch black outside at 4:30 p.m.
is enough for me to catapult myself off my balcony face first. (Lolz but srsly
if someone, anyone out there has any job ideas for me throw them my fucking

Anyway, I was going to do yet another Dr. Rachel segment but I’ve decided to
put that on hold for the moment because I’m feeling particularly unhinged so
let’s just bounce around and see where we land. Yet another thing adding to my
perpetual state of despair is something which I’m sure that any other grown
adult can relate to but has taken me by complete surprise: cleaning an
apartment is hard. It’s more than hard, it’s devastating. First things first:
the seemingly never ending amount of dishes that pile up on a daily basis.

And what am I supposed to do with them? I thought I could take the easy way out
by putting them in the dishwasher and literally/figuratively washing my hands
of the situation, but I’m going to give you all a little peak behind the
curtain here. I don’t know how to use a dishwasher. Besides the fact that I’m
pretty sure mine is broken (when I open the door thing the whole machine falls
out of the socket and hangs at a 90 degree angle) I literally just don’t know how
to turn it on. And then, when I do figure out how to turn it on, I end up
having to run it for several cycles because nothing ever comes out clean. Maybe
the organic dishwasher soap from Trader Joes just isn’t cutting the mustard?
Also, what. is. the. mildewy. shit. that. keeps. forming. around. my. bath.tub.
IS IT BLACK MOLD? ABESTOS? And what do I do about it? Because as of now washing
it away with my tears isn’t seeming to do the trick.

Well, I’m tired, it’s late, and my wine supply is dwindling. I’ll follow this up tomorrow if I can find the strength to get out of bed. But, and I’ll leave you all with this image, if I see another one of your weddings I’m going to blow my head off.  When is enough enough? Space it out a little, give some of your friends/ former classmates some time to shine. Doesn’t it deplete the purpose of your special most important day of your life if someone elses special most important day of their life falls within a 12 hour window?

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