In Which I Pimp My Own Self Out For a Job and Dis Lindsay Lohan

You'll be happy to know that I am only drinking iced tea rather than whatever I was drinking when I wrote that drunken, disjointed, all-over-the-road post about several unrelated things not too long ago. I am drinking iced tea this early in the morning (read: pre-eight o'clock) because the heat in these parts is stultifying. You walk out the door and it immediately renders you witless. I, personally, turn an alarming shade of pink. Because I am sensitive. They are scrolling bullitens across the TV screen during Dr. Phil. They say something like: It is super hot out there! Beware!

Poor FurGirl. She is not cut out for this kind of weather. When I let her out for her morning pee-pees, she's gone just long enough to get relief and then she's right back on the porch fogging up the french door with her franting panting. When I let her in she gives me the,

"What were you DEAD? I've been waiting a good FIVE MINUTES for your lazy a**".

Then she drags in, collapses on the floor in a boneless heap, not sleeping mind you, but rather just staring miserably off into space martyr-style. Enduring. When I pass by, if she has the strength, she gives me the look that says: I'm too furry for this sh*t.

Myself, I've taken on a gallery project and have also begun a job search. How would YOU like to hire me?! My resume is very pretty and I am oh-so-qualified for so very many things!! E-mail me if you'd like to peruse the res. for your very own self.

I am open to almost anything, although it would be great if I could do something creative or at least something in which I could be creative sometimes. Obviously I'm a writer and I have a frightening amount of work experience in a wide variety of stuff like: event coordination, organizational challenges, human resources, organizational communication, banking, city government, performing arts, original ideas, benefit coordination, program administration, brassiere advice, OSHA, COBRA, FMLA, and plenty of other scary acronyms.

An added bonus: I am a vicious multi-tasker. For instance, at this moment, I am drinking iced tea, learning how to craft a toy wooden boat (from HGTV), writing this here blog post, periodically checking two e-mail accounts, fielding calls relating to my gallery project, and reconfiguring my Netflix queue.

So, yah, e-mail me for more information. I want to stop all this silliness and focus on you and your work related problems. All the day long. By the way, have you lost weight? Because you look fantastic.

Meanwhile, I just have to comment on the newest issue of Elle Magazine. That's it over there to the left, featuring the ever troubled La-Lohan front and center. And if you were here in person? I would immediately morph into valley girl dialect (which, by the way, I am quite good at, just another of my mad skillz) and give you this monologue:

Like, OHmygod! I am, like, SUPER depressed! Because, I am, like, totally young and, like beautiful, and rich and famous, and bitchin', and life is, like, SUPER hard! I totally have issues. I, like, need to escape from it by, like, doing really expensive blow and wearing other people's jeans and stalking them while I'm, like, totally f*cked up behind the wheel of my super nice car! Because, I am, like, completely depressed...for sure! Did I mention that? OHmygod, it is just, like, a total bummer! My shrink is, like, totally super worried about me.

How pissed have the guys at Elle got to be about her immediately returning to rehab, when they've signed on, essentially, to do her come-back cover. Ouch. In case you can't make it out, the tag line on the cover says:

Exclusive! The Lindsay Lohan Interview "I'm glad I went to rehab. I needed to get away from everyone and I didn't know how."

Poor Linds. Evidently, she evidently forgot again how to get away from everyone (I, myself, find myself forgetting how to get away from people all the time. Don't you?). Since she went back to rehab again, like, what? Yesterday? The day before?

On the other hand, is the yummy color of that dress to DIE for or what? (I'm looking at you, Jeanna.)