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 bratholes 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, or a writer who likes to try to be fun(ny), and I 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” a room, I’m told. “You hav an eye,” they say. And I say, “Yes, I have two.”
I can garden. I don’t anymore because of THE PTSD.
I can take a simple sock drawer and let it just be a mess of shit and just not care.
Other times I like to be super organized, like I will stop for stop signs and obey laws and file taxes on time.
But the rebellious streak in me will sometimes come out and I love to cuss and that offends some people.
A lot of people are fucking idiots. It must be said. This is where I say it in the “About Me” area. I will say it silently to myself maybe 500 times a day. FYI.
I have a tiny, TINY, group of friends. Most have turned out to be long-time “internet friends.” Real life “friends” … it’s too hard for them to commit or even answer a text. So I have none, really. There is a guy I talk to weekly who is brilliant. He’s a friend. Like I have met him face to face. And there’s a woman friend I email with regularly and have known for 20 years, she’s a friend, I used to go see her in her office. She actually gives a shit about me, which is why I call her a real life friend.
My family. Non-existent. The two are alcoholics and pill heads. I stopped all that crap 30-some years ago and never looked back. My “mother” disowned me recently because I’m not one of them. Wrote me a lovely disownment letter full of bullshit, even. I treasure it. Brother is a raging alky and it looks like right now sort of “in cahoots” with pill-pop-drunk “mother.” They are, and always have been, two peas in the pod of arrogance and put me down. I’ve had some “epiphanies” the last couple years, see? It’s been hell. Hence the name of the site, but also I just love the Dorothy Parker thing.
Oh. And my dog died too. Right before I got divorced. Which I should have done back in like, 2003. Or 2005 for sure. So, long bad marriage that just made me slowly lose who I am for a 17 year waste of my fucking time and talents. Shit, 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. Especially the moving outfit called, oh, let’s make someting up, “Four Men Who Don’t Give a Fuck.” Everything I had, not much, was damaged from not being packed properly. They told me to fuck off. So I review them here and say, “Do not use them. Half a star. Terrible. Avoid!” I have pictures and video galore and people said I should sue them. I hate them to much to bother. Very dishonest. I abhor dishonest people and don’t want anything to do with them. How do they sleep at night?
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.
I’ve been diagnosed with a sort of PTSD from the shit that went down over the last years before I “emancipated” myself, badly, from the marital situation and a truly insane HOA. From years of being dismissed and sort of “taught” (brainwashed?) that what I thought or wanted 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 whether anyone likes it or reads it. Also an editor. I love snark and that word is overused. I don’t give a goddamned fuck anymore.
Hey. If you’re a legitimate responsible 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), I’d love to be a columnist and write bullshit on your website. Make people laugh. Or at least fo “WTF did I just read?” That’s my “genre.”
Self-Diagnosis Section of Bio:
It’s my belief that with any comedic ability (I’m told I have at times been “funny” both in writing and in person especially), also comes depression. It’s certainly true for me. And it looks like it was true fo Richard Jeni and Robin Williams. And no I don’t compare myself, if you think I am, you need help with reading comprehension.
I’ve been told I must be selective — very very selective, from now on — about which people I ALLOW into MY life. This is my new thing. I meet you (whether IRL or online) and I must stop and observe and really answer this for myself: 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 love fucking cussing. I think people who don’t cuss are idiots. There’s something weird about people who get all offended by perfectly good words. Stay away from me, fuck-heads.
I am very non-PC. I like thinking critically and I won’t fall into line because others are hand-wringing and believing bullshit without researching. They sit in their beaker of “This is the answer” and right across the counter is the beaker of “Other Possibilities” and they never even realize the other beaker is there. That’s fucking stupid.
And if my 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. Think for yourself. Global warming, recycling, everything is dangerous and bad for you, OH MY! I suggest you watch the entire series “Bullshit!” with Penn & Teller and then see if you can at least realize the other beaker is in the “lab” with you.2