Filed under: the redhead
Can I direct you to the comments on this post?
TJ- YOU HAVE POSTED NOTHING ABOUT ME SINCE MY DEPARTURE. AM ENRAGED. YOU HAVE 24 HOURS TO RECTIFY THE SITUATION, OR THIS BLOG WILL EXPLODE. HUGS, THE REDHEAD
BRK: isn’t her comment the equivalent of posting about her?
TJ: she won’t see it that way
TJ: Luckily, I have draft posts for just such an occasion
BRK: you’re gonna let the terrorist win?
TJ: She’s really scary.
BRK: pretty AND scary?
TJ: Yes. She’s both.
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So, here you go – The Redhead on how to be internet successful.
The Redhead: that’s the key to blogging
The Redhead: have at least one friend who’s an attention whore
Filed under: the redhead
I haven’t mentioned this because it’s all together too painful, and because I didn’t want to traumatize all her fans, but The Redhead is taking off.
In honor of this occasion, I’m allowing her to explain herself to y’all, so that you don’t hold her absence against me.
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I guess you could call it a quarterlife crisis. I call it drawing the fucking line.
In a few hours, dear Temerity Jane readers, I’m going to walk out of my office, hop in Pablo, my ’97 Nissan, and drive until I get to sunny California, where, with any luck, I will be able to find an apartment and a job.
Why? Because I’m tired of being treated like crap at work. Because I’m tired of paying almost a grand a month for an apartment in a city I don’t even like. Because the next time I see some douchebag at a bar wearing khakis, a blazer and a congressional ID, I swear to god I am going to commit a felony. But mostly because I’m young, I’m childless, and I don’t owe it to anyone—not my parents or my employers or even TJ—to keep living my life according to some bullshit script that doesn’t make me happy.
I am absolutely sick to death of hearing these middle class, college educated white kids gripe about their lives—overworked, underappreciated, underpaid. Boo fucking hoo. Attention cubicle monkeys: If you’re willing to come in to the office every day for $25K or $35K or whatever the amount, to do work you think is beneath you, then that’s exactly what you’re worth. Surely somebody at your overpriced private college explained capitalism to you?
So that’s all to say that at some point you have to take responsibility for how you allow yourself to be treated, which is why I’m taking a huge-ass flying leap. Maybe I’ll find some sweet PR job out West. Maybe I’ll just bartend and sleep late. Maybe I’ll learn to sew. But whatever happens, I know this: Success isn’t a great job, or a sweet apartment, or anything else that your high school guidance counselor probably imagined for you. Success is living a life that makes you happy, and no one is going to set that up for you. You have to go out and find it your damn self.
******
Worry not, TJ readers, I will be back on the internets in short order. Shorter if my goddamned iBook hadn’t died at the worst. possible. moment., but in the meantime TJ can keep you occupied with tales of my biting wit and brilliant wisdom. As Nixon said, peace the fuck out, yo.
Filed under: the redhead
The Redhead: i am a borderline only child, since i was 5 when my sister was born
The Redhead: that’s apparently about the cutoff
TJ: I’m a borderline only child because I choose to behave like one, since my siblings are lesser people who were really never worth my attention.
The Redhead: hee.
The Redhead: this is why we get along
TJ: Because we’re both self-centered in a non-apologetic way?
The Redhead: not to mention cheeky and cute!
The Redhead: you haven’t posted anything to the blog in forEVER
TJ: OKAY
The Redhead: what about wednesday and thursday of your week of misbehavior??
She’s right, I could totally write about those, but tough crap. Here’s an embarassing thing that happened to me one time.
So I had gone out to Michigan to see my most recent ex-boyfriend (who wasn’t ex-y at the time). You may be familiar with his snarky comments randomly scattered throughout the entries round these parts. Anyway, I got there on a Friday, and on Saturday, his parents came up to have dinner with us and go out to karaoke (yes, he likes karaoke. He’s all right looking, so I let it slide.)
Anyway, so I travelled all day Friday, drank quite a bit, nearly got stuck in Detroit, but there’s yet another story, and by Saturday afternoon/evening, I was a bit tired, a bit residually hungover, and just not generally feeling my very best.
His parents arrived, he was cooking dinner (yet another reason why I let the karaoke slide) and I talked with them for a bit. I believe my first words to his father were “I don’t have to take this crap from you!” and at some point I got in a bit of a tensely polite argument with his mother over whether or not said boyfriend needed to lose any weight (I didn’t think so – and don’t think that’s because I’m not shallow, and beauty is on the inside. I’m totally shallow. I just like big dudes).
So anyway, boyfriend is cooking dinner, boyfriend’s mother is playing Tetris, boyfriend’s father is engrossed with Google Earth, and I took the time to slip away to the bedroom to lay down for a few minutes.
After some time, boyfriend’s mother, being the concerned and excellent parent she is, came in to check on me. I sat up, we chatted for a few minutes, talking about how exhausting the trip was, about the bed boyfriend had made for himself that I practically needed to be picked up and thrown into, and the little carebear I had given him that was sitting on his nightstand, and we both went out to the living room for dinner.
After finishing eating and starting to think about getting going out to the bar, I was leaning against the boyfriend, looking tired, and boyfriend’s father made a comment on it. Boyfriend’s mother said “Maybe someone shouldn’t be keeping her up all night,” and winked at me. Something she had been doing, along with making curious little comments, all through dinner. I was starting to become a bit puzzled.
The parents left to go check into a hotel and meet us over at the bar in a little bit, and I talked briefly with the boyfriend about how strange his mother had been acting. He wasn’t sure what it was about either, so I tried to remember if, in my exhaustion, I had said something strange, or acting funny, and I started to go over what had happened since they arrived.
“Well, she came into your room and rubbed my back for a second, we talked about the trip… Oh, and I showed her the carebear… which was… right next to the open box of condoms.”
Sweet.
Filed under: the redhead
The Redhead: for real, that girl is batty
TJ: she’s not very… well thought out.
TJ: but she’s nice!
The Redhead: kind of like the opposite of me
… then right about here would be a post about how I am drunk, and isn’t that awesome!!
Except I’m not 20, and while I was drunk, I did not post about it, but drunkenly played WoW instead.
Sort of.
Well, see, I had a headache? Because the Redhead is moving away and as we all know, that calls for two bottles of rum to be vanished away over 5 or 7 hours, in the sun. On an empty stomach. Which also calls for a lot of tylenol. Except sometimes you can only find Tylenol PM. And then you’re really not aware of things for a long while after that. And then your phone rings at 4am and you’re so confused and you have NO idea who you’re talking to, and your head is pounding and they just won’t. get. off. the. phone. and even in your pre-hangover hangoverness, you’re way too polite to tell the person you’re not even sure if you know to fuck the fucking fuck off, can’t you hear I’m at death’s door here? And while you’re trying to figure out a polite way to tell someone to go to hell, you look to your left and your monitor is still on and you realize you only ATTEMPTED to play WoW, as apparently you were incapable of typing in your password, and then you quickly look at all your open MSN/AIM windows to make sure you haven’t embarassed yourself and also at the same time become aware of a lump on the back of your head and a burn on your hand and an overwhelming desire for water that is just WAY too far away, and you finally get whoeverthehellitis off the phone with some vague promise to call the next day, and then? Miracle of miracles, I mean seriously, someone call the Pope? You wake up some more hours later feeling perfectly fine.
Really, who called me?
When I demanded she stop being funny, as she is taking over my webpage,
The Redhead: ha.
The Redhead: my cleverness is like a virus.
The Redhead: and you
The Redhead: missy
The Redhead: are INFECTED
Sorry, Internet. I didn’t realize.
Also, just so that I appear well-rounded, I am not merely a bitch on the internet, but occasionally flex my bitch-muscles at co-workers as well, via inter-office instant messaging.
Co-worker: would u like to accompany me for a cig?
TJ: Just went, plus you smell.
Co-worker: can i come down and borrow ur lighter
TJ: NO WAY
Co-worker: jerkface
Co-worker: im coming
TJ: I’ll have you arrested.
Co-worker: and ill give u a hug
TJ: I’ll throw up on your shoes and THEN have you arrested.
Co-worker: hahahaha
Co-worker: IM COMING
Co-worker: and u better give it to me
Co-worker: or else i WILL hug u
As you can see, there’s about to be a throw down at the TJ Desk.
