Jennie SMASH!

Memorize this. The life you save may be your own. (I have been watching a lot of terrible TV, obviously.)

Image: Geekologie

…that my severance check arrived today and was 300 dollars less than I was expecting, due to a tax issue that none of us were aware of. Two minutes before this, my husband discovered that he wasn’t going to receive any more unemployment.

What does one do, in such embarrassingly trendy despair? Yell at travel agents, apparently and drink a bottle of champagne to toast the end of the world.

I’m on hold with Expedia right now, because their POS website doesn’t work. It wouldn’t let me add my husband’s name to our trip, which I think we can agree is a problem, because TSA tends not to take your word for it when you tell them that you meant to fill out your traveling companion’s name.

Then I got someone on the actual phone to book the trip, and while she was lovely, she clearly could not type. Because when my itinerary arrived, my name was spelled J-E-N-N-E-F-E-R.

Well. I’ve known some Jenifers in my day, and a few Gennifers. I have never, not once, met anyone named “Jennefer.” I don’t even think that name exists. What makes it worse is that she spelled it out, and I swear she spelled it right. Either that, or I was so intent on listening for the two Ns that I didn’t hear the E instead of the I.

Either way, I’m now on hold while a customer service rep is trying to get a hold of the airline so that we can go see my sister and her new baby without TSA agents deciding that we’re spies or something.

I understand that none of this is actually important. But some days it really does feel like all the little shitty things are banding together into a giant shitty thing Voltron in order to take us all down.

I suddenly realized that there’s absolutely nothing to stop me from dressing entirely in silk kimonos, or giant iridescent caftans with hula girls on them, or Victorian nightgowns. I didn’t really have a dress code at my old office, but now I really don’t. I can get a head start on becoming that awesome old woman I intend to become.

I thought of this because I was looking at all my clothes hanging up in the dressing room, which is what we call the tiny room next to our bedroom because we’re embarrassed to call it the Room Full of Boxes We’re Never Going to Unpack. Anyway, I was in this room, looking at my clothes, and I realized that I have a lot of really beautiful things in really beautiful colors. I have bright pink sweaters and grass-green dresses and a pair of tights with neon stars printed all over them.

Pictured: Awesomeness

I wore these things on my birthday or when it was probably going to be a particularly rough day at the salt mines. The rest of the time, I wore ten-dollar pants and old t-shirts and sometimes a cute, professional-ish dress or two.

I’ve spent the past two weeks hanging around the house in yoga pants, and I love them, but I think I might need to break out some of these fun clothes. It’s time for a new uniform.

Image: The Paris Review

The first thing we’ll do is devise unnecessarily long titles for everything we write.

I need the distraction right now. As anyone who reads my blog or Facebook page already knows, I’ve been pretty upbeat since the layoff. I’m still me, however, so now and then I get anxious.

The last two days in particular have been nervewracking. I had a bunch of invoices to send people, and while I’m very (very, extremely, very) grateful to have clients to bill, I’m not someone for whom paperwork is an easy thing.

I feel like paperwork wants to get lost, and so far, I’m not getting any proof that this isn’t the case. Fax machines refuse to send W9s; mail goes astray. When they unravel the genome completely, they’ll find that this is carried on the same allele that makes it impossible to find my way back out of a doctor’s office I’ve just entered, provided we’ve turned a corner and opened a door. Maybe it’s some sort of physical world problem: directional dyslexia.

As if I weren’t anxious enough, I also have a meeting on Tuesday with the lovely people down at Unemployment, and I’m not sure how to explain what I’m doing. I sort of want to show them my schedule of work, perhaps in a colorful chart-type format, and hope that it sinks in that I’m probably going to be hitting them up for about two days a week in benefits, for the shortest amount of time ever. (This is assuming that my clients don’t drop me for being unable to persuade a fax machine to work.)

The people at employment yell at you in the security line. They confiscated Adam’s money clip, which his dead grandfather had given him, and threw Madeleine’s cupcakes into the trash in front of her, and said, “Now they’re TRASH.” If they treat me this way, I will lose control of my bowels and laugh at the same time. Now we’ll who has paperwork to fill out, Jimmy.

Paperwork, ugh. It plagues me from every angle. My biggest secret shame today is that I mixed up two invoices, and sent the wrong one to the wrong person. She was very understanding, but it did not look professional. (And, OK, no: the real worst is that as soon as I typed this, I realized that I’m doomed to get about about nine comments telling me that I’m using the wrong software to organize my invoices. And that I should also get a real job.)

Anyway, my point is that I am somewhat anxious. But still way less anxious than I was on my best day in an office. Also, weirdly, way more productive. I bet I’ll even get the hang of invoicing someday. Anything is possible, people!

Here I am, with my army of lady robots.

Jennie Smash: DENNIS!

Coworker Dennis: JEN!

Coworker Dennis: How are you?

Jennie Smash: I’m swell! How are you?

Coworker Dennis: Devastated by the announcement of Kim Kardashian’s divorce.

Jennie Smash: OMG, how hilarious?

Jennie Smash: I laughed so hard.

Coworker Dennis: She dressed as sexy Poison Ivy out of sadness, I guess.

Jennie Smash: As should we all.

Jennie Smash: In mourning for their fake relationship.

Coworker Dennis: I really just don’t want to watch the Kardashians act out sadness.

Coworker Dennis: And say things like “we were growing apart” on camera.

Jennie Smash: I don’t want to watch them do anything.

Jennie Smash: But I hope they say that.

Jennie Smash: Because I love the idea of growing apart over 72 days.

Jennie Smash: Also, I love that Kris is now dragging Nicole Brown Simpson into all of this.

Coworker Dennis: Oh, I know.

Coworker Dennis: She regrets not saving her life — by going to lunch with her.

Coworker Dennis: I’m not sure that prevents people from stabbing other people to death.

Jennie Smash: Salad. Salad solves everything.

Coworker Dennis: And then your husband defends the [alleged] killer and you’re just irked?

Jennie Smash: So ANNOYING.

Jennie Smash: I really think that whole family is the worst bunch of people ever, from any given direction.

Coworker Dennis: They’re all really awful. I can’t believe they’re famous.

Jennie Smash: They were the first thing that made me believe the world was going to end in 2012.

Coworker Dennis: Keeping Up With Harold Camping. I would watch that show.

"I'm the worst."

Image: http://lovekardashian.tumblr.com/

Getting laid off is turning out to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, just below meeting Adam and moving to New York. Don’t believe me? Check out the shiz that’s happened since I lost my job.

1. I remembered what I actually liked about my job in the first place, or I should say, my vocation: Writing and editing. Now that I’m freelance, that’s all I do and it’s amazingly satisfying, like gardening or chopping wood.
2. My blood pressure went down 20-30 points. As of my doctor’s appointment this morning, it was a Chris Traeger-like 90/60. My personal nursing student/husband tells me that this is actually on the low side. Anyway, I feel great.
3. I feel great, period. I’m so happy that my friends are commenting on it. I can’t really even muster up much concern about money, even thought I really should, as I hear they will not give you cheese at the supermarket without it. Ditto beer, although that is sometimes flexible depending on how cute you are.
4. I have lost six pounds and am contemplating exercising on a regular basis.
5. I have rediscovered how wonderful my friends are. I’m amazed at how many people reached out to me right after the layoffs to offer connections or freelance assignments or beer. Ooh, that’s another way in which a person can get free beer. I’ll have to remember that. Also, my husband is pretty rad, but I hadn’t forgotten that, so I don’t know if it counts.

…depends largely on the day. But today, you perverts apparently found me by Googling:

your pussy looks like a front butt
her pussy her face her ass
bat boy wikipedia
smurfs towel

The third and fourth search strings ring a bell. The others must’ve disappointed the hell out of all of you when you rolled up on my blog.

It’s been 11 years since the last time I was laid off, and here’s what I’ve learned: Hangovers are way easier at 24.

I’ve decided to freelance, instead of looking for another job, because being a grownup is for the birds. When people ask me what I’m doing now, I tell them I’ve decided to become a pirate.

Other job opportunities beckon, however. For example, just now, I was getting dinner with Sgt. Lucky at the pub downstairs, and when I pulled out a wad of ones with which to pay the bill, he looked aghast.

“My God,” he said. “You’ve been so busy. How have you had the time to start stripping?”

“It’s been tough,” I said modestly. “But I’ve always been good at managing my time.”

“And you’ve been up late. Where are you stripping that’s open all night?”

“A terrible place,” I whispered. “And now I have … body lice.”

Yo ho ho.

Image: Time Machine to the Twenties