I should write a seriously awesome bio here about my shit and what I’m “about” and what I think is wrong with everyone else. I’m told I’m funny and intelligent. Maybe not, huh?
I’m unemployable because I know it’s from its and the hiring people don’t. They’re afraid I would take their jobs. Which I would, but you see the problem. The gatekeepers are not about to let some unemployed-for-20-years “homemaker” (NO KIDS, because I knew I didn’t want them and was right, most “parents” are failing horribly and public places are awash in untended self-centered brats running wild with the “parents” not giving a fuck; MOST of those chirrinz will be asshole adults, yay) into their world, much less pay her well. The interviewers rarely know what I know and that last guy — he didn’t know who Anne Bonny was and I was all Eyeroll City inside but held my fake pleasant jobseeker smile and thought the interview went very well.
Of course I did not get the job. I scared the fuck out of his little 30-something “boho scarf-necked” ass. Dude, you worked there two years and you know I should have taken your job. Reject me? I’m shocked.
They can all go fuck themselves. And no, I’ve never actually said that in a cover letter, much less the once-a-decade “interview” I actually get. But I say it now.
Go fuck yourselves, you illiterate Dunning-Kruger idiots.
I’m a humor writer and love making people (myself mostly) laugh. I have a long resume with extremely varied experiences and a really wide array of areas of knowledge, but I don’t know shit about plumbing, or engineering, or being a crook. I know writing, law, music (some), and I am creative in lots of weird ways. Like I can decorate. I can garden. I can take a simple sock drawer and let it just be a mess of shit and not care. Other times I like to be super organized, like stop for stop signs and obey laws and file taxes on time. But the rebellious streak in me will sometimes come out and I am likely to cuss and that offends some people. Oopsy. I have a tiny, TINY, group of friends. Okay maybe two? My family are alcoholics and pill heads and I stopped all that crap 30-some years ago and never looked back. They disowned me recently because I am not one of them and I have no one now. My dog died too. And I got divorced and it was a long bad marriage that just made me slowly lose who I am. And all my life’s savings. Sad story, sorry. This is supposed to be happy bio. Happy bio also says go fuck yourselves to those whom karma will deal with soon. I hope.
Bio About The Other Two Bios.
Nerd dork here. I can’t write a decent bio. There is too much about me to “blurb” and I’ve done some really neat shit in my life that few have done. I am fortunate in a way, but damned in other ways. Mostly I’ve been diagnosed with a sort of PTSD from the marital situation and a truly insane HOA, and from years of being dismissed and slowly taught that what I thought didn’t matter. That I couldn’t possibly KNOW anything. I was always at the kid’s table during holiday meals. So to speak. Is it any wonder that, not to sound Dr. Phil-ish, I lost myself and what made me ME, and made me an artist and cool? Musical. A forever writer and editor. And a humorista (who made up that word?).
If you’re an employer who wants a telecommuting responsible creative writer who despises the word “content” and all that other internet crap (although I know web shit fairly well), hey, I would love to be a columnist and write bullshit that make people laugh. I really do love making people “LOL” whether in person or in writing. LOVE it. I need that response. That feedback. Or I grow weary. And depressed. And then, who can be fun? Monumental effort to climb up out.
It’s my belief that with any comedic ability (if one may claim to have one) also comes depression. Ever notice that? Banana peel humor people don’t have that problem. I’m talking the other kind of humor people. No one gets it. OR them. It’s alone time.
I’ve been told I must be selective. About which people I ALLOW into MY life. That’s my new mantra. Who the fuck are YOU, and why should I let YOU hang out with me?
Because honestly, most people aren’t going to get me. No offense to them. But they aren’t. I never would have said or even dared to think such a thing until the last few years. A couple of marriage counselors telling me I’m “waaaay up there” as they point at the ceiling. And then pointing to the floor adding, “And unfortunately, 95% of the world, they are all down there. Don’t go down there. Stay up there.” The man with the Golden IQ pointing at the ceiling, telling me to stay up there. I had no counterargument.
I don’t feel like any super-genius or anything. I like being a butthead. I like cussing. I like being non-PC. But yeah, I like thinking critically and if years in media taught me anything it’s watch out for opinions/assholes. I won’t go along with bullshit that the herd goes along with. Fuck you, herd.
Whatever the two coasts, who are SO out of touch, think, well, I tend to disagree with. I’m older now and alone anyway, so fuck it, I get to rap my cane and make brash and sometimes rude pronouncements. Show some respect.
Let’s eat at Red Lobster. Ew.1