In A Pickle

No, not literally. That would never ever happen, because I would eat myself out of the pickle. Take that pickle. I am in a job pickle. But wait Lauren, how can that be when you have been such a success at every job you have had and you graduated law school? Well, let me explain:

I AM OVERQUALIFIED.

Yes, it is true. I am overqualified to work. At least that's what three out of four employers have told me.

Employer #1: You know after looking at your resume, your qualifications exceed the highest position I can offer you...
Me: Ummm...thanks? So, are you going to hire me?
Employer #1: I'm sorry, but you're too much of  a risk.
Me: Your outfit is too much of a risk. (I didn't really say that, but I should have. Who the hell wears jean on jean and is actually serious about it? Exactly.)

Employer #2: Wow, your resume is quite impressive.
Me: Thank you. I really tried to be a well-rounded law student.
Employer #2: Unfortunately, you just seem too qualified for this position...how do I explain it...a flight risk.
Me: Right. Yeah, someone who is unqualified for the job will probably be a better fit. Dildo. (I didn't say any of this either, but my imagination did. Imagination burn.)

Employer #3: I'm sorry but I just think we are looking for someone with less experience. But don't worry, you are a very intelligent and pretty girl and you'll find something.
Me: Are you fucking serious?

I will not write the dialogue from employer #4 because that was an Armenian nightmare. No, I am not racist. But the attorney interviewed 75 people that day and the 15 that were in my group were all Armenian. Do you even know how much my whiter than white self stuck out? Second, I could hear every single interview (I was the last one to go) "Oh, what Armenian organizations are you a part of? You speak Armenian? Perfect!) Really?! Spanish I can understand, BUT ARMENIAN?

This is my life. So, basically, if you know ANYONE who wants to hire an overqualified curmudgeon in Los Angeles, let me know.

Awkward out.

How I Will Ruin My Credit Score Beyond Repair

I am a sucker for a good deal. Or a bad deal. Or pretty much anything that makes me think I am getting something for free. For instance, it seriously takes so much strength to not take food from other peoples room service carts. C'mon, there was a whole UNTOUCHED pancake left...perfectly okay. Free pancake for a 50% chance of getting a most likely curable disease. Worth it.

Just begging me to eat it.

Another wonderful example is my arch nemesis Target, which hits me where it hurts (left boob) every time. Target has this awesome program where you get a $5 gift card when you purchase far too much of one crappy product. Today I bought 4 deoderants, 8 boxes of tampons, and 6 packages of soap, just to get $5 back. I looked like the girl who always has her period and has HORRIBLE body odor because my woman hormones are all Randy Quaid crazy. Stop giving me the stank eye Kimberly the Cashier. I do what I want.

However, I have found my kryptonite; the thing that is going to make me curl up into a ball and sing Celine Dion songs until my ears bleed. Chase Freedom. A credit card with a cash back and bonus point program. Freedom my fat dimply ass. This credit card is something that I like to call plastic death or compare to that time I thought I was buying a really awesome antique table on e-bay only to be delivered a small box with dollhouse furniture. Buries head in shame. ALL I WANT TO DO IS EARN POINTS. I am obsessed. I have researched the products that give me double, triple and quadruple points and cannot stop. My heart is palpatating just thinking about earning more points.

Picture not true to size. For reals, homeboi.

Basically, I ordered subscriptions to magazines I never heard of (did you know there are magazines about knitting?), had flowers delivered to myself and purchased MORE tampons from drugstore.com because they give me more points. Soooooooo, I spent $400 thus far just so I can earn, wait for it, waaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiit for it, 1,500 points or the equivalent of $15 dollars towards a flight.

Winner winner chicken dinner, bitches.

Are You a Snazzy Napper?

While reading another blog, the existence of, quite possibly, the best product to ever be invented was brought to my attention:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MthSUD8cMqk

Please, watch the above. Then order it. This product could create a number of possibilities, such as:

1. Getting punched in the face for making such a poor decision
2. Subjecting yourself to a voluntary strip search at the airport
3. Hiding the ugly
4. Becoming the most awesome burglar EVER

Granted, most of these possibilities are likely to result in you becoming depressed or severly injured, but, c'mon...it's so worth the risk. I will dedicate a whole blogpost to you and your pressured misfortune.

New Music, Puh-lease?

I am in desperate need of new, up beat, fast paced, running music. Okay. I'll be more serious. "Slow-walk, perhaps jogging, but I want to be running and if I wasn't such a fat ass I would be running" music.

Please. Please. Please. This is a desperate plea. I will send you cookies and my liver (if you're into that whole "black market" thing). Or, if you need a kidney in the future, I can help you find someone who wants to give you theirs. Oh. Did you think I was going to offer you my kidney for your music recommendations? No. I'm sorry. A liver is one thing. I already bar hopped with Patricia (my liver). But my Kidney? That's just being silly.

Also, try and steer clear of Rihanna. She is so yesterday according to Hill Duff.