Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to call my bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough

-Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues, Bob Dylan

So I came to New York to take a little mental health break, and oddly enough, it seems to be working. Perhaps it's just my love of smuggling (see "The Heat of the Meat"), because I smuggled a sugar glider into New York in order to give up my last vestiges of responsibility in life. I'm going to have to write more about that later though, because I don't have all the proper documentation on hand at the moment.

All things considered, my life is going rather well and seems to be on the upswing. I got a job at the best company in the world, and if you knew where you would be impressed. I won $11 playing blackjack in Atlantic City and I got some new pink earrings that make me look like a whore. Really, I don't know what else a girl could ask for.

Getting a job should make this page liven up a bit. I never have any material any more. I've already told all of my interesting anecdotes, and even my mediocre ones are getting stale. So perhaps working will bring the standards around here back to comedy gold. Actually, I have a good one right now. In an interview recently, a prospective employer asked me to talk about a time I had a problem with a co-worker and employer and what I did to solve it. So of course, I bust out with the time my morbidly obese boss with a flesh eating disease (necrotizing fasciitis) called me over to his desk to tell me that he had been having dreams about me naked. The interviewer looked at me with horror, and I spent the next twenty minutes furiously trying to backpedal over the truth. But I got a job offer anyway, so I guess the flesh eating bacteria didn't scare them too much. I mean seriously though, what kind of problem with a co-worker are you supposed to talk about? When I worked at this one dot com, we had these little cards printed out with the company logo, that were called "Rock Ons" and we were supposed to give them to our fellow employees as a vehicle to tell them how much we appreciated them. To get us to actually fill it out, the company entered both the Rocker and the Rockee in a drawing to win something retarded. Anyway, one time I gave my bosses boss, Stacie, a Rock On that said "I loathe you." She cried, I think. What was so stupid about it was that I didn't even loathe her, I was just bored. But that story sure wasn't going to get me a job.

I'm in Jersey today, with some family taking care of some business. Not corpse in the river business, but the kind that allows me access to the computer and NOTHING BETTER TO DO. So dear fans, thank the state of New Jersey for this update and I will try and be a good girl and update more often.