You can only watch so much daytime TV before your sanity starts to slip...

I need a job. For reals.

I apply for at least 5 jobs every day, both on actual job sites, and the asshole of the internet known as Craigslist.  I think two out of three jobs I send my resume to on Craigslist respond to me, and every time I see a subject line in my inbox that's in reply to a job, my heart skips a beat. Trembling, I guide my cursor to the email, double click, and hold my breath as the page loads.  And then the rage and disappointment set in when every single fucking one reads something like this:

Dear Applicant:
Thank you for your interest, and after reviewing your resume, we've decided that you're the greatest candidate we've ever seen and we want to pay you twice what the average salary for this job is!! Just as soon as you visit our website and give us all of your personal information, social security number, bank account number, and first born child.  Also, we'll probably load your computer up with trojans and viruses and shit.  Basically we just tricked your ass. Good fucking luck with the job hunt.


Regards,
Not a Real Human Being

 At which point I begin yelling obscenities at my email and my husband becomes concerned for my health and safety.

Does anyone want to pay me to look at pictures of cats and shop on the internet all day? I'll throw in a good solid 3 hours a day doing craft projects at no extra charge!!!  No takers?  How about if I sweeten the pot with watching Kathie Lee and Hoda, and then Food Network? Anyone? Anyone? Please?


Damn. I may have to start actually applying for jobs in person soon, and that usually involves wearing not sweatpants. 

Are you sure you don't need an internet/television/shopping/sweatpants expert? 

"Titles" looks like "Titties" at a glance.

We just moved to the base by the beach, and it's fucking fantastic. (Wow, I made it 11 words on my blog before I said fuck. Way cleaner than speaking.)  Being from the midwest where it's already shitting snow this time of year, I'm insanely happy to be on the beach, and my friends and family are happy for me. I think. If they are, they express it in the most passive aggressive ways possible. 

"The weather was miserable here today, in the forties and sleeting."
"Oh, that's terrible."
"It really is. How's the weather down there?"
"Really great! In the 80's and sunny. We went to the beach."
"Oh, that sounds amazing. You're so lucky you stupid fucking cunt."
"Um...I'm sorry?"
"It's okay! Can't wait to visit! Love you!"

Okay, so maybe mom didn't call me a cunt out loud, but I know that bitch was thinking it.  I do have a friend who is genuinely happy for me, so when she comes to visit, I'll take her to the parts of the beach not infested with jellyfish.  Who's the cunt now?!  Probably still me I guess. Well at least it's a warranted insult now.

In other news, other military wives drive me nuts. I've received no less than 6 Facebook invites to various wife groups in the 3 weeks I've been here, and I decline them all. Why? Because on every fucking page there's inevitably some woman hawking Pampered Chef, or thirtyone,  or Scentsy, or Pure Romance (especially Pure Romance...not that I'm prudish, per se, but I don't need to play games with sex toys in front of my family members). It's not that I have an issue with those products, I love me some Pampered Chef, but I hate the notion of the "parties" that accompany them.  To me, a party is when my friends come over, we get trashed, play board games that we convert into drinking games, someone pisses on my patio, and they stumble home.  No one ever tries to sell anyone anything.  If I want a sales pitch, I'll go to the AT&T store. I don't need a $20 vegetable peeler, and I really don't need your shame face when I tell you as much. 

Aside from the parties-that-aren't-really-parties, I still tend to avoid large groups of women with enough idle time to devote to these groups. Book club? Can we read I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell? Oh...you're reading A Walk To Remember for the 18th time? Maybe I should go.... Another bone of contention is kids.  We're childless by choice. We have dogs and that's enough. It's really better for us and the rest of the world if we never reproduce. Our spawn would probably take over the world after immediately murdering us both upon its birth. And when people ask me if I have kids, my typical answer is "No, we like kids, but they just aren't for us." I usually get one of two responses: a sympathetic smile and a small nod as if to say "I know you're just hiding your pain at your secret infertility", or I get the "Oh, you're so young, I just know you'll change your mind soon and have a herd of small humans!"  The first response doesn't bother me so much. Those people tend to be super nice to me from then on, and never bring it up again. Maybe it's based on a lie, but that works for me. And, hey, maybe they'll make me cookies or something since they think I'm silently suffering. I have no shame about accepting fake-infertility baked goods.

The second response though....those people I want to set on fire.

Inevitably they have kids of their own, which is wonderful for them, but just because you have something, doesn't mean everyone else needs it too. Like herpes. (Did I just compare children to herpes? Well, you get them from banging, and you can never get rid of them, and they tend to flare up when you're stressed. Am I talking about the kids or the herpes? Exactly.)  And not only that, but you've just met me, and I've explained to you that I'm childless by choice, but you suddenly know me well enough to predict that I'm going to change my personal values and life plan to make mini people? Yes, I recognize most women my age are making babies like the world is ending, but that's not the kind of kool aid I want to drink. I'd like the kool aid with vodka in it please.

Also, in 15 years or so, I will laugh at them from atop my pile of money that I didn't spend on having kids. 'Cause spoiling other people's kids is way cheaper than having your own.