Dear Heyyy, no need to melt down, freak out. at least you have your health, mostly

Oh the joyous woes of growing up and learning lessons and trying to keep thinking that becoming an adult isn't one of the shittier things to happen to a person.

Let's see...while stuck in the transition of not making, as my father would say, "squat" as far as american currency is concerned, only so many things can make that time feel more freaky. One of those things is more bills. Huge bills. Bills that won't go away. Bills that appear almost out of nowhere but also not considering they piled up due to a silly misunderstanding between you and your landlord. But really just you. Because only you are held accountable. Oh, silly kids.

The silly missunderstanding in question has resulted in a back log of gas and electricity bills. For the last six months. "Now mama," you might be saying, "Surely this has to come as no surprise, surely you knew you would have to pay for these things when you moved in." and friends, I couldn't agree with you more. But let me say that this was the Giraffe and I's first time renting a house; rules for such dwellings are different from, say, apartments. and when our landlord quoted us a figure to pay him each month for "utilities", making no mention of needing to register for gas/electricity separately, and in fact making mention of things to the opposite effect.


So, rightfully so, we thought all was well.

UNtil our gas was shut off on a Friday afternoon in January, leaving us with no choice but to go without heat for 3 days.

Now friends, we will never make this mistake of assuming again, but the delightful little penalty for such an error is a costly neglect charge and reactivation fee, and a sumptuous bill (correction: TWO bills) for both gas and electricity for all the months we already thought we were paying for them.

We got the first of those two bills this afternoon. The Giraffe called the "people" and they put us on a payment plan. Kind of makes it more bearable, but the bills are still higher than I could have even afforded before I got my pants let out at my job. Now? Fugghet about it. as my dad would say, "ain't happnin'". Not just a pain in the ass, but now just plain not possible. Yum.

So there are these bills. I'm sure I'll get another job eventually, hopefully sooner than later, but friends, I don't have one today. Today there's a cute little melange of things wrapping up the crap ball wrapped in bacon stuffed in the Going To Fucking Come Out ahead Of It in The End Oven of my life.

Billsbillsbills. added bills.
freetimefreetimefreetime. free time with a kick of insult.
pantsthatdon'tfit. ones that haven't fit for months, but even the big-person pants I bought don't fit anymore and I am nothing if not muffin topped, and gushing over.
dogcoveredinpuke. walter barfed, and poor man did it all over his beautiful colored coat. and our couch.
beerbeerbeer. Back to beer. For a good number of months I cut way back on beer in hopes of taming the gut. But that didn't work, and I'm too poor and fed up to drink anything else now. Yum, Olympia.
burstingbustingveins. Veins are popping left and right in my legs. either busted or trying to float right out of my body, my stems look like aunt Dottie's on a cruise to Bocca Raton. I might as well wear a plastic visor and learn bridge.

But you know, friends, it's dinner time now. The Giraffe and Uncle Cousin Brother were great enough to go to the food bank up the street and cook an awesome looking dinner. So I'm going to eat it. and stop complaining.
we got each other. and food. so it's only almost February. We got eachother. IT's still anybody's game.

--mama

p.s. anybodyknowadoctorwhocanlasertheseshitsawayIwouldlovetoreturntolookinglikea20somethingagain

This Just in: Hole in Free Time Now Suddenly Blown Wide Open

Dear america,

as many of you know, for the past little while we, as a nation, have been going through what some are calling an "Economic Recession".

Many are going without jobs, many struggling to keep them, and many are just loosing them all together.

Until recently, I was one of those more fortunate. I was a worker. Granted I wasn't a full time worker, and paying the bills had become near impossible, but Gosh Darnit, I had a job.

and then, america, a beautiful kaleidoscope of events and information came whirling my way, and I was let go from said job. Well, not exactly. To be fair, what really happened was I was cut down. Cut back. Let "out". Like a beautiful pair of my pants.

What was once a part time job is now more like a financial hobby. a life infidelity. a sweet little thing I'm doing on the side. My most lucrative days of employment were taken away (temporarily maybe, maybe not), and while I do not have it in writing, I am fairly certain--nay, confident--that this action was not because of the need to save money. This action was more because I am the least competent person in my job title at my place of employment. My shortcomings were brought to my attention right after the news about the schedule shift. and america, I don't have the desire to over exaggerate this point. Whether I was surprised, confused, simultaneously not surprised, hurt, internally protestful and internally wishing those shortcomings were brought to my attention say, as they came up--doesn't matter. What matters is what they see and hear. and that person is not a very good worker. Or maybe just a "fine" worker. Who knows? We don't know these things. When we are told we need to do better and we are working less we say yes we understand and we leave.

We do not wish to inquire about undisclosed details, or make a case for why we need/want more money. Because those things, in this situation, are not necessary. and we, as an employee understand that some of our punishable actions, like tardiness, are indisputably true.

OH america, what will become of our economic crisis? What will I do with my further plunge into pooritude and gaping pockets of free times? Look for jobs, yes, that one is true. Hope my average skill set on par with every other "artsy" 20 something college graduate looking for a job is somehow viewed as "better" or "special" enough to earn me another service job? Yes, also true. Worry, stress, feel bitter at people who take their money and job security and important skill sets for granted, go back to drinking more cheap beer and assume that an ever expanding gut is now just going to be a new feature in the real life action doll that is me, try desperately to make my crafts and career important (and god willing lucrative), do more artsy shit that will never see a financial return, cry so that I look like an overgrown puffy tomato fetus that makes people ask "are you ok?", face some of them demons that don't seem so bad when you're a loser with no money, write more letters n emails n phone calls, clean probably maybe hopefully, do IT more and more (history shows that rates of sex skyrocket in troubling economic times. Free entertainment! We'll flood the streets with our fluids!!), work off some of this cellulite which--america, I fool you not--has worked it's way all the way to my calves and wrists (the gut, you see, will continue to grow but perhaps some muscle could return to the other long forgotten regions of my soft sloppy body. additionally I would wish for a hard belly, perhaps in exchange for the buoyant cottage cheese), build a home studio, spend a lot of time with the people I love (and stalking them on the interweb. I'm talking to yooooouuuuu, east coasters...), get weird, get funky, get it together, get down, get down on myself, get into some theaters, get craazy, get good, get real. THESE are all things I will do.

Let's get real, america. Let's do this together. america, we can do it. If some of you out there have free time blowing through your schedules like I do, let's get together and make some things happen. Let's cut costs. Maybe learn how to make Q-tips and moonshine and dog food and tree houses and latrines.

andifanyofyououttherehaveameshapedjobopeningpleaseohdeargodpleasehireme

Love,
Mama