Well not really...I try to work as little as possible for the money without doing anything illegal, but that doesn't make for a very good song.
What I'm trying to say is the job search is over! And my office attire can be pajamas or my birthday suit because I scored yet another job I can do from home. I won't say exactly what it is because I've gotten into trouble mentioning job related stuff on my blog before so I don't want to go on that route again....but it is a typing job (mindless), I can pretty much set my own schedule each week, the pay is awesome, I can keep my current job but most importantly I can drop off and pick up my girl from school.
Ok, stop. You're loud.
God, I can't take you guys anywhere.
Onto other things.....
This weekend, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on life, the fate of the universe, global warming and how tonight, I was going to celebrate my love for you. But sadly, the moment was lost when a big giant droplet of sweat fell into my eye.
It's hot and summer needs to go away now.
I did not get out of the hotbox of east county El Cajon, move into a condo by the coast and pay a mortgage I can't afford only to be hotboxed again goddamn it!
And yet, here I sit, crotch a sweatin'.
The kicker is that my condos do not have air conditioning because they figure, hey bitch, you live by the coast, you get the beach breezy!! And while that's true 90 percent of the time, 10 percent of the time (usually end of August), there is NO beach breezy and our upstairs feels like the underneathy parts of John Goodman's nutsacks. I know, I know, it could be worse. I could be my friend Debi who has been melting under the Arizona 100 plus degree sun since early June. But right now, its really hard to feel grateful for the "wonderful" California weather when mine shorts are damp, for my asscrack sweateth so profuseth.
We actually went to the beach on Labor Day weekend, crowd be damned. And really, unless you were face down on the beach, it was still hot as shit. On Monday, viking hubby bought a nice sized pool for the munchkin. Well, it was SUPPOSE to be for the munchkin, but by the time ol' girl got into her bathing suit, her mom and dad were already in there doing backstrokes.
I can't tell you how much I wanna dry hump an ice block right now.
No, no, no, Mr. Van Winckle...you heard me wrong. I said nothing of humping the vanilla kind.
But you keep wearing outfits like that mister and I might change my mind.