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Can’t think of a title

My job is winding down. They’ve already started laying off people. No idea when it’ll be my turn. So, I return to job hunting. I really should’ve been doing it all this time, but it had been a exhausting and depressing experience before this job and I’m not excited about returning to it. But we do what we must. Maybe I’ll post here more often. Or I’ll get into a deep funk and hide from the world. We shall see.

For those of you who don’t know, a blogger that goes by the name of The Beautiful Kind was recently fired from a newly acquired job after a technical glitch revealed her online identity to her employers. It’s enough to make people nervous and angry. And cautious. I know I’m taking a risk. If what happened to TBK happened to me I would fight like hell. But I do not have the money or the resources. If I were found out, I would delete my blog and Twitter account. I need a job more than I need a blog. Her situation is more than a blog (she’s a sex surrogate as well), though, and it’s not as simple as deleting traces of her private self online.

There’s something about sex blogging and sex toy reviewing that inflates the ego of some people to ridiculous proportions. It’s hilarious and pathetic. Some of you reading this know what I’m talking about. A lot of you don’t. No, I won’t go into it.

I’ve come to loathe the term “sex-positive.” I have no problem with the original intent, but it’s gotten out of hand in the hands of over-zealous dipshits. You know, like feminism. If you don’t agree with me, you’re a bigot. No, wait–that’s their line.

You know how there are names for groups of things, like a gaggle of geese or a murder of crows? I’ve created a new one: a clique of cunts. Nice, eh?

I have conquered my mangy minge and I plan on keeping it smooth. Pubic hair can be so damn annoying. In other shaving news, I can no longer wear deodorant immediately after shaving my underarms. It burns and a rash develops. Never had a problem before. I thought maybe it was because I had bought a new brand of deodorant, but experiments proved it happens with all brands. My skin has just decided to become super sensitive there. Since I refuse to go to work sans deodorant, I’ve taken to shaving only during the weekend. I don’t mind running errands deodorant-less.

Had a nice fuck with T last night. Unfortunately, I was/am on my period so it looked like I had murdered someone afterward. It was worth it, though. He was tired before we fucked, so he fell asleep while we were “snuggling”. Very cute.

I got the shirts I mentioned in my last post. Sorry, but I haven’t taken any pictures. One shirt has to be returned because the art is peeling off! Argh!

In sobering news: While working Thursday night, I saw a woman bolt for a door saying, “Oh, my god!” I don’t remember what I saw of her; it was a blur. But I can clearly remember the inflection in her words: fear. Most people stopped working to watch, then shrugged and continued working. There was nothing we could do but go back to work. At the end of my shift, my co worker friend told me that the distressed woman was in the section next to hers, and that the managers had made an announcement due to employee concern: The woman’s newborn daughter had stopped breathing and subsequently passed away. My friend said she was going to go home and love on her young daughter. Can’t say I blame her.

When a tragedy hits close to home for me, even if it’s just at my job, it puts things into sharp perspective, especially shit like internet drama. All things considered, those petty disputes mean absolutely fuck all. Sure, it means something to the people involved and it doesn’t just get resolved under the veil of goodwill toward your fellow man, but it takes it down several notches.

And that’s my lot for now.

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