1. i guess i can’t very well hire someone to write a kickass resume for me if i don’t know what i want to be when i grow up, right?

and (more importantly)

2. why is there no plain english word for a document that details one’s work experience, skills, and education?

resume is probably french? because it has two accents or something (properly anyway) and c.v. (curriculum vitae) is clearly latin…

can we make up a new word that is english? we could get all scuttle-ish and call it a foozlemunch.

or maybe we should expand the meaning of an existing word, like nutshell. as in

“copy and paste your nutshell into the body of the message – attachments WILL BE DELETED!!”

or maybe we could call it a slab, since granite/marble watermarked parchment still seems to scream MUST HIRE and watermarks are oh-so professional. as in

“wow, he must be exactly the person we want to hire for this non-paper-industry-related job, his slab is printed on the most beautifully watermarked paper ever, and i thought for a minute that it was real granite, but it is only a clever design trick!”

no… maybe we could commandeer the word pedigree from the AKC? if i said that i had a pedigree then maybe employers would just hear the “degree” part and hire me without asking me from where…

i just love it when a neurotic, delusional drama mama who cannot write or spell or punctuate tries to whip out her red pen and go all chicago manual of style on someone else who cannot write or spell or punctuate but is at least honest about it and generally a nice person.

thank goddess the probationary period is nearly over.

i dreamed that j. and l. and i were on a long trip together. and when we got there, trouble happened and somehow they broke up. and they were not trying very hard to get back together either. instead they both wanted to hang out with me. i tried desperately to explain that i’d had no intention of breaking them up and that they were perfect for one another and that i wanted to just be their friend. they seemed to have already moved past it and looking toward a romantic future, with me.

it was scary.

then i woke up and went to tell j. about my dream. and she laughed at me like always. and she assumed that it was her i was after in the dream, but i told her it was really l. that changed things and it wasn’t funny anymore.

then i woke up and went to work, debating about whether to tell j. about my dream, because would she think i was coming onto her? or would she think it was truly funny and go tell l. who would think i was coming onto j.? and is this how they broke up in my dream in the first place?

and before i knew it i was at her desk and telling her about the dream and playing it off all casually. she laughed and said that i was just coming onto her. and i asked what made her think it was her i was interested in (in the dream) and not l.? touche, she replied, and mentioned that just the other day l. said to her

who is that girl emmie that called the other day while you were out? when i answered she thought i was you and she said, hey, very casually for someone that works with you…

Right.

So in the mail this morning I got an invite to join a sorority. Probably they simply send them to every enrolled female. Anyway, I opened it and laughed, and then came the weirdness- for a second, just a second, I considered pledging.

What the fuck, right?

In that second, I had this nostalgic flash of my imaginary career: the dances with the flowy dresses, the charity work coordinated with the ace fraternity across the street, the well-worn hardwood floors, the secret cigarettes shared in freezing bathrooms with girls wearing black headbands… joining a sorority might have been ok, sixty years ago.

Today, though, Christ. These are the girls that smirked at me in high school. I don’t get french manicures, or Miss Frankenstein highlights, or take Valtrex. I own too many Joy Division cds and I’m pretty sure they’d get sick of my bewildering Buffy quotes. If they saw me, if they knew me, if they forced me to go to a bar hosting a Girls Gone Wild party, they’d know I’m not one of them.

So it’s crazy to consider this.

Right?

that last post was really waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much information. dear blog-gods, please do not let them fire me for that. i will lose my severance.

your humble servant,

i tried to call her to pick a fight. a polite, professional fight. she was away from her office.

grrr.

e-mailed instead. tomorrow z. will tell me i shouldn’t have but that he is secretly glad i did. like usual.

maybe the programming position. hopefully the design one though. there are many almost-offers on the table already…

i jsut started my period. and i love to orgasm while on the rag. it help the cramps. but i dont like to fuck really. it’s too violent when i feel very delicate.

but this boyfriend does not like to go down on me. ever, never mind while i’m bleeding. in fact i think even fucking me when bleeding freaks him out a bit.

SO WEIRD.

i’ve never been with someone who cared or someone who didnt go down on me with glee and gusto.

i still love him. and he’s a great fuck in all other respects.

must go masturbate before he gets here.

one of my friends went to a strip club for the first time with her boyfriend recently. i was all stunned “you’ve never been to a strip club?!” *shock* “how can that be? you’re, like, old…”

but it was true.

strip clubs bore me mostly. they def. do not get me hot in anyway. i dont think.. actually i cant remember the last time i even went to one. i used to take boyfriends to the —- and fuck them or give them blowjobs in the little booths. that was dirty and fun.

oh and speaking of my sleazy past…
the other day i drove past a train station and suddenly remembered that one time i gave my boyfriend a blow job on the platform next to the bike lockers. wtf was i thinking? that no one could see? that i didnt care if they could? omg.

it was just a weird thing to suddenly remember this ridiculous event from about 10 years ago. no not 10 years that can’t be right. 8 years maybe.

i have a feeling that if i went to a strip club with my current boyfriend i might feel insecure or weird. i’m not sure.

my body image is a delicate thing. i generally like myself… but there are those moments when i pick at every little thing. i have fat arms, cellulite, bad skin and, horror of horrors, i found a stretch mark the other day. FUCK.
i’m pretty strong and i like that. in fact, i must go work on my stomach muscles right now.

when i get emails about my resume from people purporting to be employers but only giving me a link to a “turnkey business opportunity” i get annoyed. but what if a “marketing/pr firm” specializing in “popup advertisement management” and offering clients “turnkey advertising solutions” approaches you and offers you an interview? and if they are (sort of) local, not based in some other state claiming you can telecommute? and if they cc somebody else at their company on the message?

this has never happened before to me so i do not know what to do.

i went to the company’s website and it sounds like they traffic in traffic. which means they are on the bleeding edge of legal spam and popups and popunders and flash ads. they promise to help you “drive visitors where you want them to go”, which is sort of almost fascist.

i am afraid to talk to these people because if they offered me $100k a year i would be an idiot to say no and an asshole to say yes. my inbox is choked because of people like these. also now that i know the location of their office i should start some sort of militant protest group which can do things like leaving one hundred thousand loaves of spam on the doorstep of their corporate hq.

ha! that is fucking genius!

i do not think that i will call them…

so we went out and i drank and i drank and i drank a lot. because i don’t do things half-assed, you know? so if i am going to pay extra money for something with alcohol in it then it damn well better do its job. otherwise i could just have a coke or something.

he liked to take me drinking because i am fun when i am drunk. i am admittedly one of those people who calls up people in other time zones at four a.m. and uses the time difference as an excuse to pretend it is a decent hour. the conversation usually consists of me telling my friend i am drunk, which they have already figured out because of what time it is. i have good friends though; they giggle at me and agree with me a lot and tell me they really do understand how special they are to me, promise, will i get home safe? am i alone? call a cab, okay? this used to be sort of manageable when i did not have a cell phone because pay phones are hard to use well when you are smashed, but now i have one with free long distance and free nights and weekends so it really is okay to call everyone i know, isn’t it? sure.

we knew the bartender like we did in every bar we ever set foot in. i swear there were nights when we walked out with more money than we came in with, he got so many buybacks. the bartender raised his eyebrows at boy every time i asked for another drink, which i thought was cute, like he was letting me drink or something. but he was because he was the one who had to make sure i got home, and so he sat beside me, listening to me chatter and nursing his beer.

also when i drink i have this neat self-defense mechanism which ensures that i am aware enough of my surroundings to get myself home. however my memory always ends at the front door. meaning i won’t remember how i got to bed or who took off my socks or that i passed out on the bathroom floor first. also this means that any activity in which i engage (ahem) is utterly forgotten the next day. which is why i do not drink except with a boy i can totally trust. i have allegedly done some really uninhibited things in such cases. i think my first threesome was when i was smashed. and my second, and my third.

so apparently when i drink i am more amazing in bed than usual since it allows me to dispense with coquetries and get to the point of the thing. and drunk emmie absolutely insists upon giving blowjobs, which are enjoyable enough when sober, but for which i am ravenous when inebriated. more careless too about taking too much too fast, which leads us to where this is going.

i remember him moaning, loudly enough to make me giggle perversely, for the neighbors would surely hear. i remember that i suddenly seemed capable of swallowing him whole, which is the holy grail of sexual performance in my little mind, and something for which i have long striven. i remember being intensely pleased with myself for such accomplishment, and i remember losing my focus.

then i remember triggering my gag reflex. not uncommon and certainly easily camouflaged under most circumstances – but it had never happened when i was drunk before, or else i was more drunk than usual. because it actually made me vomit.

boy was so concerned about my health and not at all offended and it was very cute, enough to make me go back to bed with him after i had washed out my mouth in horror. i fortunately still possessed the wherewithal to swallow it, so there was no evidence except the stinging in my throat and nose, which toothpaste could not soothe. i was absolutely mortified and wanted to crawl under a rock and die. instead boy gave me an incredible, earth-shattering orgasm, and another. then we passed out together.

i crept out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning and didn’t answer my phone when he called.

Hey guys and girls in the bag readers, what’s up? I am Jane and here are a quick ten things to get to know me better:

1. I used to blog but it’s been a while since I’ve written so please allow me to get warmed up before I start showing you my vagina. Don’t think of me as the protagonist’s sassy diva sister brought in mid-season to spice shit up. Think of me, rather, as the younger sister whom you’ve always kinda had your eye on and is now grown up enough to come out and play.

2. I am not perfect. To wit: yesterday I was so incredibly bloated that my zipper slid all the way down. Luckily I was only at Wal-Mart, so I was still the cutest person in the store. Seriously, everyone there looks like absolute death and I swear I’m never going back every time, but Godddamn I need my Rimmel make-up fix.

3. I am 23, I live at home, and I go to school. Yes, still. I dropped out of my Ivy League bullshit after freshman year and have since been taking classes here and there locally until I figure shit out.

4. How did Emmie know I love Tuesdays? It is my favorite day to skip work/school and walk around drinking coffee, buying music, and watching people.

5. I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, although I have a crush on this cashier girl at Whole Foods. How can some people be so hot without make-up and I need three layers of foundation to cover all my blemishes and why am I breaking out suddenly? Should I get Proactive or is that a huge scam? Suggestions?

6. I ordered my first book of erotica last week. I guess lately I’ve gotten curious about the whole genre. Maybe I’ll review it when I’m done.

7. I’ve been having dreams about fucking animals recently. Mostly wolves and lions. New fetish developing? or maybe it’s just a portend that Dracula is coming to town.

8. I have wild things in my head that I want to do, like have parking lot sex with random passers-by, but I suspect I don’t own the right shoes for that sort of endeavor.

9. I’ve decided to be Good. Yes rather than Evil, yes rather than Complacent. My first act entails giving my hair away to make a girlcancer wig. I have about 4 inches to go before it gets chopped off.

10. I like ending things on a happy note. Big thanks to Ellie and Emmie for letting me join. Maybe there’ll be a sexy initiation? I’ll let you guys know. Finally, here is a nice, girlsinthebaggy haiku:

Four then two now three
Smart, sexy, and amazing
Rock your world, daily

we toyed with the idea of an open call. but we didn’t have time enough to give such an undertaking the attention it deserved. we considered recruiting, but that also requires significant investment of time. oh well, we thought, maybe someone will just fall into our lap (but probably not)…

but she did. please welcome the newest girlinthebag, jane. she is worthy of your praise and respect and small burnt offerings every other tuesday.

play nice.

what? oh we weren’t speaking of porn? well we are now damnit.

i need some good pron. does anyone have any suggestions?

i am not even sure what kind of porn i like. i kind of like gay male pron. i’m not sure why. it is just so unabashdly sleazey and in a way violent. but sleazy and violent in a victimless way. unlike straight porn. maybe it’s because the victim wields his own weapon and will give as good as he gets later on in the film in that scene where they are in the back alley and like 12 guys are all fucking each other. daisy chain style.

i kind of like animated porn too.

but seriously. who’s got some porn recommendations?

getting old is disturbing. i find myself doing things that i never wanted to do.
“well, when you get older you’ll understand”.

okay not really. i never said that to anyone. that would be totally ridiculous. it would mean that i thought that the experiences i’ve had over the years had brought me knowledge or wisdom. when really i am just as retarded as i used to be. i just have more money now.

i love throwing money at things. i got that from my dad. fuck this shit just pay whatever it takes to get out as quickly and quietly as possible. the less hassle the better and the more money you wave around the less hassle there is. i just dont care to have to deal with anything ever. parking tickets? just fucking pay them. once you pay them you never have to think about it again.

i have a friend who has not managed to get more money as he got older. but he did manage to get even stupider. everything is a crisis and panic and drama when you are poor. it is really depressing. and i often find myself thinking “i didnt drag myself out of the gutter by selling my body and other things just so that i could now send your sorry ass money” i mean really. it’s not like he doesnt work hard when he has work… but he never has work so… and when he does have work he complains and is such a huge assface that everyone ends up hating hima dn he can never figure out why. jeez.

but i also find myself doing other disturbing thing. so one thing that i always hated about couples and especially married people. the woman always seemd to do this horrible pandering type behavior towards the husband. like this fakey sort of paying attention to him. almost all females in a couple do this. i cant explain it properly. but it is fuck irritating. my sibling does it in a really hideous hideous way. hoy shit.

i always thought that this had something to do with making up for lack of sex or something.

my boyfriend likes attention. and i find that i want to give it to him. and i want other people to fully recognize his genius the way i do. i pay attention to him sometimes at the expense of what i am doing. and i find that i dont mind so much.

yeah so i always hated that but now i do it. sad but true.

ok i always liked to watch the gymnastics and the figure skating. but that has been about all. i once knew a girl who trained with bela karolyi (sp?) and i was all like, who the hell is that? she got hurt in sixth grade and her career was dead in the water.

boy likes olympics. and so i must endure them much like i endure sci-fi channel (though i have come to not mind stargate sg-1) and all those educational channels (he did turn me on to ancient warriors series). it goes like this:

[heinous disgusting close-up of freakish insect with googly eyes]
narrator: and so the red ants can carry eighty times their body weight…
boy (seriously): wow, nature is so amazing.
me: yeah but eighty times zero is zero. so not really…
boy (glaring): …
me: can we watch something else?
boy: why?
me (glaring): …

of course porn is always a favorite… so it’s pretty much either i fuck him or i let him watch what he wants. then i go off and call my best friend or play around in photoshop or god forbid do some work and then we have to have THE discussion. you know the one about how i don’t spend time with him and i am not interested in things that are important to him and could i please stop obsessing over my job and bringing work home!!

i argue same things back to him. to which he replies that sometimes he sits down and watches sex and the city with me. i say, yes, but i didn’t make you. in other words, i had the tv first. when you are done doing whatever you were doing, in the other room, the backyard, down the street, at the store – you are welcome to join me in what i am already doing.

but the aforementioned happens when we decide to watch tv together. not when i am out of the house and come home and he is already planted and into jaws. cannot win though. so i adapt.

so olympics send me into self-deprecation mode. as in, i am thirtiesh and i do not have a master’s degree or a fabulous career or a vacation house or or or. this girl is fifteen and she has millions of dollars worth of endorsement deals and has won thirty-four gold medals. where the hell is MY work ethic?

then i feel all mean and i nitpick their two-step dismounts, their losses of balance, the deductions of tenths of a point. i’m right in there with the commentators calling their performance catastrophic.

THEN i think to myself, once again i am thirtiesh and i do not even have one eighth of the talent to get asked to even try out to maybe compete in the olympics much less take home one gold or ten gold medals. i will never be on a wheaties box.

interesting things this year though. high drama. too-tall russian girl who is also very skinny, like starving, wins the silver in the women’s all-around gymnastics. watching her on the beam was like waiting for a dry stick to snap in half. it hurt. she sucks in her cheeks all the time and i think she smiled like once.

the americans are cute and perky per usual. one of them with an outrageous potentially career-ending injury. she did a PERFECT(!!) floor routine which was fucked up only by her stepping her big toe outside the white line. robbed!!

the other thing i noticed is that they are using pictures of the male swimmers (presumably because they all look the same with those caps and goggles on) which are straight from the dmv. i swear. they all had dumbo ears and zits and crooked noses. when they got done swimming and you could see their faces without the goggles, most of them were cute or better. the americans were both pretty hot. couldn’t decide. they did not do dmv pics for the girl swimmers, i wonder why?

i slept with a swimmer once. but it was psychologically challenging because of his utter lack of body hair. he waxed everything(!) and my brain was like looking for boobs because it was clearly a female i was snuggling with. then the flatness and the hardness and hey wait a second, my brain put on the brakes. big time. so we didn’t actually fuck. but i did fall asleep, so that sort of counts?

big news. for us anyway. she said yes!

we think you’ll like it.

er. ha!

but i did manage to have a fight with my boyfriend this weekend. but then i got him drunk. i like to get him a bit drunk and then fuck him. he lasts a little longer… and he gets nastier. like he’ll hold my head and jack off in my face and stuff. it’s kinda cute that he’s shy a little when not on some substance.

would it be better if he wasnt i sometimes wonder? and i think not. i mean otherwise what would the point of getting drunk be?

in other news i have gained 5 pounds. and i dont like it. the pants i wore to work today were tight in the thighs when i sat down. i gain weight right in the ass and thighs. mostly i am proportioned pretty well. but that extra 5 pounds is really pissing me off.

speaking of pissing…
i sense my boyfriend might want to piss on me as some sort of sex play. i dont have any desire to be pissed on really. i pissed on a guy in high school once. he deserved it. like really deserved it. he loved to licked my ass, he said it tasted like a peach. and i would think, “duh you idiot, i just got out of the shower. now feed me a burrito and THEN get down there.”

anyway where was i?

oh yeah, feeding the dog.

i’m so busy lately i have had to start combining tasks. more than usual.

so like now, when i wake up and take my morning shit i sit there on the pot with my laptop answering work emails and brushing my teeth at the same time.
i have the new guy laminate the tps reports and i read them in the shower. i do my make-up in the car while talking to my mother on the phone. my boyfriend comes to my owrk every other day and we have lunch and then fuck in the upstairs little used bathroom. when i get home i cook dinner, feed my dog and then as i am eating my dinner i take him for a walk. i masturbate in the shower at night while listening to an audio book. this week it is michael moore’s stupid white men…

it isnt pretty let me tell you.

i was cleaning out my mailbox and i have run across some really interesting questions. from link exchanges (if you are a porn blog or any kind of retailer, no thanks) to questions about the status of our relationships (no we are not polyamorous lesbians) to where we are from (dubuque, iowa?), we have heard it all. okay, not all, but a lot of it anyway.

those of you who wonder why we do not have an “about” page should know that it is mostly because the things that we want you to know about us are evident through our outbursts. it does not matter in the least to us that you know where we were born or what our signs are or what we look like. if you read this site regularly, chances are you know a hell of a lot more about us than most of the world, and that’s dangerous enough for our taste.

do we girls all know each other the way you think we do? maybe. or not. the way that you know us? definitely. do we live/eat/sleep/work together? don’t we all, on some level?

can you have a picture? sure, of my middle finger. (it is prettily painted with my favorite ‘las vegas’ bronzish enamel this week.)

if you have reasonably intelligent questions which do not require a 500-word answer, please send to ME and i will distribute for review. no promises though. because some questions are stupid and some are just too difficult.

and to you who asked: my IQ is 140 and my bra size is none of your business.

it is amazing what mind-blowing sex can do for your general disposition even when you are newly laid off.

being laid off doesn’t matter, it’s being laid that counts?

heh.

i hate my body. my thighs are too thick, my calves look funny, i am too pale, and my legs are too short. trying on clothes is the nightmare of my existence. i always fall for it too, i think i will go buy myself something pretty to wear and it just doesn’t ever work out that way.

also. for reference. a juniors size 11 is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay smaller than a misses size 10. which sucks because i do not want to be a misses. i want to be a junior. this is not only an aging complex but an image complex – misses wear knit and pique and pointelle and shit like that. juniors get to wear lycra and denim and lame’ and georgette and plain old cotton. and good colors too, not just ugly floral patterns.

this is mostly why i wear tshirts and jeans. and my self-loathing keeps me from wearing cool and funky clothes like ellie does.

somehow i got on the mailing list for all these fucking catalogs even though i do NOT buy clothes by mail…

so i got this lane bryant catalog. which is for sizes 14w and up. i am not size 14w or up. i am a size 10. but looking through this catalog i can tell you that there was not one model in there who was size 14w or up. i am fatter than most of them in fact. so they were probably like a size 6 or something and looked really really stupid in these tenty dresses that are supposed to hide your fat while making you look stylish and charming.

they had some nice clothes that i wished were available in my size though. but i am not going to gain weight just so i can wear them. they were not that cute.

the shoes were cool however. and there is probably(?) no difference between a big girl’s size 8 and my size 8 right? ballet slippers, so adorable!! although that is why i do not buy clothes by mail, particularly shoes. i have to try them on first. i actually bought my sneakers by going to a store and trying on some skechers to figure out my size in their stuff. then i ordered them online where there is a bigger selection. memo to emmie: buy more shoes to remedy the shoe ennui situation…

what i am saying is that i think it is fucking criminal for them to sell big girls’ clothes by showing them on skinny models. one of them i saw in a spiegel catalog for gods sake. she is nearly anorexic. the rest of them have that “slim, commercial” look. meanwhile i hear great things about these big girl models like emme (who is beautiful). why is she not in this catalog???

i wonder if i wrote to lane bryant what they would have to say for themselves…

holy fuck and i thought it could not get much worse.

but it did!

please take all the work i have done and shit on it by giving it entirely to idiots who are not even qualified to THINK about it much less do it. that would rule. oh and could you also please lay me off while you are at it

THANKS!

don’t you dare ask me to train those idiots though.

i cannot fathom how they do not understand the emotional attachment that comes with a job! when i am working i feel good about myself because i am competent, and my work proves it.

he says: work is not everything in your life
he says: you are just like my father
he says: get a hobby

a hobby??

he says: did you ever try pottery

throw rocks at them.

my day went from bad to suck to utterly irritating to emotionally scary to

oh. my. god. now what?

serious trust issues abound. the urge to give everyone the finger and do it all by myself, all the time is impossible to ignore sometimes. what i think i know and what i know and what i don’t want to know.

scared.
embarrassed.
vulnerable.
angry.
hurt.
frightened.

i reached out today and it wasn’t entirely terrible. then i smacked myself but good. of course it is terrible. i would like some salt with my foot, thanks for asking…

did he? didn’t he? misunderstanding? mistake? wrong place, wrong time?

do i lie for him?

at times like this i wish i had a therapist.