My son almost got hit by a car tonight.

The word "almost" in the sentence should overshadow the part that says hit by a car. But it doesn't.

It was less than 2 seconds for him to run into the street. It was an eternity for me to get close enough to him.
He was holding my hand. He pulled down hard and fast, yelling tag you're it. I started screaming and running as my 2 year old darted between cars, into the middle of the street. He couldn't see the SUV, but then he turned around and the lights were in his eyes and he froze, the joy of the game still on his face. It was so dark and the lights were so bright and he was looking at me, confused but still smiling. The SUV wasn't stopping. It wasn't stopping. I reached him, I grabbed him, I pushed him as I threw myself towards the SUV hoping I could absorb any impact. I looked right into the drivers eyes. Unconsciously begging him to hit me. The SUV passed. Less than a foot. So very close. One more step and this would be a very different story for me. One less and it would have been a very different story for him. Shaking, unable to breathe with tears running down my face, I held onto that boy on the side of the road. I cried the whole way home. It keep replaying in my mind. I was paying attention, I wasn't distracted. I was holding his hand. It was so fast. And mommy felt so slow. Mommy felt so slow. And the SUV never stopped.
My baby is okay. His mommy is not.

I WANT to watch the entire VMA's, but I NEED to say that I cannot stand...

Kanye West.

That. was. a. bitch. move.

Beyonce was and is the shit... but her video wasn't the true issue. It was just a repeat of when he lost and how much buzz his obnoxious behavior got when he whined for losing before.

Whatever to stay relevant. Ahem... Amber Rose.

I needed that job. Hell. I wanted that job... Alas, they didn't want me.

Things suck. Seriously. Today won't be funny.
My personality is one that you either love or hate, simply because I am an honest and direct gal. I never stray from who I am, I never pretend to be anyone different. Okay... I lie... but fulfilling random french maid or tarzan/jane fantasies shouldn't count. and see... I was honest about that!
Job interviews are stressful. They are akin to first time blind dates. You look your best, cover your tattoos, rock a bun and pearls- and then you wing it. Sure, you can prepare and have great answers, but inevitably there will be a side eye question... one they lob at you and then watch you side eyed to see how you react and to look for flaws in your monologue... I ace these too because I have a great sense of humor. But this recent interview process has left me drained and confused... hallmarks of good sex... and boy did I get fucked.

I spent more than a month interviewing with this company. I did phone interviews, video conference interviews, in office interviews that lasted hours. At the end of every one, I walked away feeling good, and confident. BECAUSE... I had done everything they were asking for. So I was qualified and excited and ready to start. Server room heat set on hell and shorting your phone lines... no worries- I've done that. Ad-hoc projects with no tangible direction and a crazy high standard expected on completion? check! Really... for the first time in my life, I had an answer for everything. An example where needed... I sold the hell out of my ass because I was PERFECT for this job... Apparently someone decided I wasn't and their reason... Per my recruiter- they felt that my answers were too perfect and it seemed as I was answering with what they wanted to hear- not my own answer. I call bullshit. My recruiter called bullshit. Hell! Their recruiter called bullshit. But in the end it didn't matter. Someone decided a perfect fit would be too efficient and they opted to keep interviewing. For the record... I was all me, all the time.

I have a stellar resume. Tenure? Experience? Education? check, check, and check. This economy has made it very hard. The last time I was laid off, it was a bad economy but I was interviewing twice a week. It took about 4 months. This time? I am entering my 9th month of being unemployed. I can go 2 months without an interview. I have offered to be overqualified and underpaid. I decided to go back to school since I am sitting around, but then I figured out that after paying the bills I could pay, and then skipping a few that I couldn't, there wasn't any money for school. So here I sit. Perfect for the job but unemployed.

I am angry. I am sad. I am stressed to the absolute max. My credit is being ruined and all I can do and smile and nod. I feel worthless. I want so bad to be depressed or at least give in to the depression that is waiting for a crack in my strength... I would welcome the heavy sleep that my depression would bring. The weight loss too. But I have kids that need their mommy to be whole. So I shove it to the side and keep going and doing what I can. I feel like I am running in mud. I recognize that it could be worse. I have managed to keep food in my babies mouths. I have managed to keep a roof over their head. Our lights may get turned off soon if I don't think of something though. I grew up like this. I vowed I would never find myself unable to afford my kids... and I didn't have them until I was a position to provide for them. But here I am. Swimming in mud, applying for food stamps, and looking for things to do that don't require money or gas because I have neither. Investigating bugs with 98 cent store magnifying glasses, playing driveway hop scotch, duct taping holes in the pool as fast as they appear, and crying only after they are asleep. At least I am a perfect fit to them.

I WANT to love you.... but I NEED you to stop being an asshole...

For all of you (meaning the one person who knows about this) that just got comfortable and settled in for some good dirt on me and McFly- well... you are in luck because he is included.. HOWEVER this post applies to more than one person, place, or thing in my life.

Recruiters:

With the exception of one recruiter, what is the deal?!?!?!? If I apply to a post regarding a specific position... that position should exist. If my resume, credentials, references and business suit wearing ass exists, then the job should have to exist!. Don't call me in (i.e. make me put on a suit) if you have NOTHING for me. It is a waste of my time AND YOURS. Also, please do not try to jam me in a position that is not a good fit for me or the company and ask me to just hold out until you get your bonus for placing me, and then you will find me something better. Ummmm... that would be a hell to the naw. I don't have the temperment for that and I will be hard to place after stabbing an employer in the eye all because you wanted that bonus.

Apartment Manager to the left of my humble abode:

Dude. You seemed like a nice guy. You rode in on your wheelchair ready to do a crackhead sweep. I will never forget the day I watched you jump out of the wheelchair to let the crackhead know it was all a ruse and you would whoop his crackheaded crack. I don't know how you could be so comfortable so close to open sores, but you let him know that you were willing to haz-mat yourself and show him who was running that bitch. When it turned out the smokers had swooped in and hooked your girl, you put her to the curb and kept it wheeling. I was PROUD of you. We had a few convos and you told me to let you know if there were ANY issues with your tenants. You put out the worst.. and then you let some more move in! What the hell. It was then that I noticed after the conversation with me, you were having conversations with yourself. Who cusses out the ice cream man when he isn't around. It's like the faintest Mr. Softee jingle gives you tourettes. Side note: Mr. Ice Cream Man: the WHOLE neighborhood knows you are selling weed out of the truck. Watch yourself.

hmmm- on to family...

Mama: For the first time ever... you need to save your own life. I can't do it. I'm not going to do it. and if you don't want to do it, why the hell should I? Them shakes ain't the shivers. Nuff said.

McFly: You sir.... need to stop waking me up in the middle of the night because something about the way I am snoring and drooling on my pillow, has got you feelin some type of way. I have NEVER been a wake me up in the middle of the night type of girl. I am game pretty much anytime except when I am asleep. And to top it off you don't even have the courtesy to come right and proper with your moves because middle of the night sex is like saturday late night after club hours food. You just want it warm, fast, and you don't care what it tastes like. I call bullshit. If you can't sleep, take your ass to Jack in the box. Keep your jack out my box.

And last but not least...

Dell: If my hands are nowhere near the mousepad, then my cursor should not move. I have resorted to typing with my hands curled over the keyboard and my elbows out. I could totally break into that move they do in the thriller video with way my hands are held. I can't even adress it further because typing this on your suck ass BRAND NEW bullshit self has flared my damn carpal tunnel up. Fucker.

Someone get me a coke...

P.S.: To my girl.... you can do it. Grab those boards by the throat and make them your bitch.

I NEED to lose weight... But I WANT coke dammit!!!! Why must Coca~Cola be my crack.

I mean at least the real coke would help me lose weight. This one just teases me with it's ice cold can and sugary goodness. I am a slave to it, I tell you! Everytime I open the fridge, I hear Calle Ocho by Pitbull.. "you know want me..." (there is more to that sentece, but it's reggaeton and I have to make it up because seriously, I don't think that is even spanish).

I had heard that your metabolism drops as you get older. Like a fuckin rock. and it's tryin to take my ass and boohbahs right along with it... So what is a girl who forged a dr.s note through four years of high school to avoid PE to do? Join a gym, of course.

Insert fiasco here.

I HATE hate HATE the gym. Despise the smell, the look, the people. It's like the goodwill to me, I shudder when I go in... (there is nothing wrong with the goodwill per se, it just gives me bad childhood memories- that goodwill smell causes flashbacks)

Soooo. I don't know how to operate the weight machines, I don't have enough stamina to run on the treadmill- I mean I could, but I always end up looking like a fish out of water gasping for air and flopping around.

What's a girl to do.... Group Fitness! Zumba! Surely I can ZUMBA. You Tube it- embedding video is way past beginner blogger skills. I used to dance. DANCE. Dance. I can ZUMBA, dammit!

I can't Zumba.

Someone get me a coke.

I WANT to keep everything here titled in the Needs vs. Wants format- however I NEED and WANT to share random conversations with my 3 year old.

Conversations with my 3 year old, or with my two year old will be a regular feature. Hopefully, it will be the only time I ever break from the wants vs. needs. Everyone Needs a gimmick....

For security purposes, we shall call them princess (3yr old), and prince (2yr old), unless it is a combined effort from them and then I shall just refer to them as Crash Test Dummies.

Mommy: Princess, why are you getting on my nerves? Prince isn't getting on mommy's nerves.

Princess: Well mommy, me and prince are taking turns.

I WANT to get some sleep, but I NEED you to get the hell off of me first.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to my blog. It's about sex and unemployment. For unemployment see below- for sex stay right here. Please note- it's not porn, it's a complaint form.

I appreciate the effort you have put forth recently. It's good, better than it has been in a minute. We been rollin together for 11 years- it happens. I must admit when you came ambling over smelling of beer, I figured I was in for the usual Saturday night special- and as you know- I was none to excited at the prospect. I believe my first comment was " you have a hangnail". But alas, it was not to be- I must have been looking extra fine in my heather gray old navy nightie- you know the one- it screams comfort with a tad bit o'lace trim to say I am not completely sloppy.... because you put forth a mighty effort baby- and I love you for it.

However-

After ____ times, a lady gets tired and sore. No fun no more. After a while, it doesn't matter what circus acts you are puttin on, I'm good. Again, please don't think I am knocking the extra special shake you put in your shimmy, mama was just done. P.s. Nice way to use the shadows. Yeah, I saw that.

Unemployed sex is nice. You don't have to get up in the morning.