Why Am I Not Married?????

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I have heard over the years that the older a woman becomes, the less likely she’ll EVER be able to find a suitable mate.    In fact, I was told recently that I stood a better chance of being kidnapped by a band of depressed Stalinists/Leninists and sold for cigarettes to a gang of Jewish abolitionists in the Sinai, then shipped to Key West , where I’d be imprisoned by Kelly McGillis  and forced to work as her Cabana Chick and beaten daily with pocket watch chains and sensible shoes.

Maybe.

Lately, my life has been a rag-tag tale of  not very much.   I’m still unemployed, home, alone, living almost full time in front of a computer keyboard and waiting by a phone that never rings.

 I lost my gig on Halloween last year.  Since then, I’ve sent well over 350 applications all across the country using every job board known to man and the end result?   Nothing, nada, zero, zilch, bupkis…one very big neg. 

Gee, am I depressed?   Uh, yeah!!!!!

And yes, I’ve resorted to a few behaviors that would indicate that I am.  I’m sad and lonely and junk food has become my solace.   And I should mention that yes, I’ve even delved into a vile, nasty habit that I’ve always tried to avoid like the plague……smoking.  Plus, my housekeeping habits have fallen by the wayside, somewhat. 

I hate it but my nerves are shot, I’m stressed, saddened, lonely and so unemployed that so cleaning is the last thing I want to do.  And, I’m so damn broke that I’vehad to resort to hooking, turning tricks…you know, being a whore.   On Saturdays, I traipse around the very busy intersection of Chow and Main where the other working girls ply their trade.   But they charge 20 dollars and up for their oral services.   Not me.  As someone unemp0led herself, I’m keenly aware of these recessionary times in which we currently live, so I charge accordingly.   My cost is 10  cents.   Yep, only one thin dime.

This past Saturday, I earned $6.10.   Two days later, I’m still tired, still sore and for some reason, I no longer like cheese.  I also see the futility of my tricking days.   The amount that is $6.10 isn’t enough to survive.  I can’t live on that!

I worried about my situation as I drove home from work early Sunday morning.   When I got home,  I couldn’t open my door, so I borrowed my neighbors battering ram and entered my humble apartment.

Once inside, I looked around and realized that I really needed to clean up my act. COMPLETELY!!!   My cigarette and fast food habit had taken over.   Today would begin “OPERATION SHOVEL”.

Just before I grabbed a hoe, a rake, a broom, mop and the Houston HAZ-MAT team, I decided to take photos of my apartment for before and after pictures.  You know, for posterity.

My first offering is a pic of the corner of my living room.  I spend a lot of time there.   What you’re about to see, is the result of a very panicky Friday and watching a day long marathon of the series, “Snapped”, a 30-minute program dedicated to women who have arrived at the end of their emotional and mental ropes and as a result, murdered people.    Watching that calms me down.

I sit right there and watch TV all day long, when I’m not on the computer praying to gods I don’t even in to help me land a decent job   You know, I had no idea that a cotton/linen blend couch covering was also comprised of flame retardent asbestos.   I;ve learned that it’s perfectly OK to stamp out a cigarette right on the arm!!

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If you’re a native of Southeast, Central or South Texas, you’ll recognize my love of WhataBurger large-sized drink cups.

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 Next up is a wider view of my sofa and coffee table.   Yes, as the empty bags, cups, bottle and I’ve gained a little bit of weight, but I’ve been able to  modify damage by entsifying my smoking, coupled with the occasional bout with bulemia.

 

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This is my kitchen table (I think)

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My kitchen has always been a “problem area” for me.; even in happier times.   The trouble is actually with the spatial limitations of counter space.  I’m hardly a minimalist, but as you can plainly see, there’s simply not enough counter space.  Thank God my ironing board comes in handy as an extender.

  

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This is my bathroom.    Small, but at least it’s mine and I share it with no one. 

Despite the way it appears, my toilet is still fully functional.  I just have to move a few things around to allow access, but it’s in fine working order.    The stain in front of the commode isn’t a stain at all.   That’s just where I mark all my encounters with rust colord tornadoes.  So, far I’ve on chased only one, but I intend to cover that bowl by June!!!

Also, my mother would KILL me if she knew I kept the candy box (I love mini Tootsie Rolls) in the bathroom. 

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See?  Technicolor proof that I DO work on my computer.   It’s an inarguable fact….no ifs, ands and plenty of butts.

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Lastly, my bedroom.

I  actually prefer sleeping on real box springs.

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