Like a cool breeze, on a summer's day.
Like a cool breeze, on a summer's day.
I suck at my job. My job sucks ass. I promised myself I would never, ever do something I hated, and I've been doing it for months now. But NYC is pricey as shit and the yoga-teaching world is very competative. And I've never sucked at something that I do all day long before. but I just don't wanna sell shit. Even if it's yoga. I'll teach it, schedule it, write about it, talk about it, practice it, display it, even draw pictures of it but I don't wanna sell it. God help me.
Srsly Paris? As if I didn't think you were a greasy whore already, now you put an innocent baby chihuahua in your crotch and take a picture for Guess jeans? Eeeww...
Look at the poor baby. He's closing his eyes so as not to catch anything....
Dear Lindsay,
It's impossible to hate you Lindsay, because you are such a goddamned mess. SweetHeart, really, could you at least, like, eat? Or at least cover your skinny self up? The faux lesbian thing was super-cute and I was happy that you were happy. And eating. Srsly. Your mom is such a leach and you just need some help. Please go live with Dr. Drew. I swear he'll take you in. He makes everything better. Did you hear that he tweeted me? I mean...it's no big deal...whatever.
Love, Paula
Ever since FaceBook changed itself and went all wacky, I've been following my fave celebs on Twitter. Everyone knows Ashton Kutcher rules the shit, but many other people shoot out their wisdom and whereabouts in 140 characters or less. Including my fave - Dr. Drew. And today he wrote back to me after the 47th time I tweeted him directly about my undying love.
Here's his tweet, quoted word for word:
thank you Paula
Awesome.
Sometimes he's all that soothes the pain.
I haven't updated the ole' bloggy-blog since January. Mostly because I've been kinda miserable. I moved to NYC to find a new job, get a new lease on life, the usual, the crap that dreams are made of. But the fuckin' city is EXPENSIVE and me and my boy are po'. I've been in a job since November that I thought I'd dig because it's with a Yoga Company, but I'm now a sales girl sitting at a desk for 8 hours a day. I wanna die. I'm the gal who promised NEVER to do a job I hated. I used to trust that I'd be taken care of and I used to take risks on the Universe's behalf. I was that girl.
But I feel stuck and scared to make a move.
My mind, that noisy judgmental piece of shit inside my skull, says I've failed. It says I was fine in DC and I've made a huge mistake. I've started grad school, to get my Masters in Social Work but I'm not sure if that's the right thing. I miss teaching yoga, it's really hard to get teaching gigs in the city, there are as many yoga teachers as there are in San Francisco. I miss having the time and space to pray and meditate and write. I feel really unsure of myself and I miss myself.
I'm 33 years old and I feel like I had it all and it somehow slipped through my fingers. I'm in a lot of debt, in a job I hate, in a city that I don't really love.
Mother God help me.
This is what I did all the time when I was happy. Now I'm too busy selling yoga and sitting on my ass to practice. It makes Paula a very boring girl.
Because I'm from this beautiful place: Livermore California - Land of Wine, Rodeos and PhDs.
I mean...purse. Gross. Do the suits at Louis Vuitton think this is attractive?