I'm working on this one intake form and it's like. you want my complete work history. my COMPLETE work history. since 2001. with contact numbers. okay... "Here's the number but good luck, he's currently on the run from the law in like two states? But perhaps you're a bad enough dude to succeed where the fbi failed, guy from middle management and Hr".
so, in further proof that I am the most spacially unaware motherfucker. "hey how big is the free tv?" "they said 48 inches wide, that's two feet I think" dear readers, that is not, in fact, two goddamn feet.
this is the... something-ish update that yes, i still live! I'm a nervous wreck about everything and my boss fired me from my apparently illegal-ish job over text, but! still alive, which is something.
so. my roomate is like fortheloveofgodmontresso... in that they feel the need to Bakekolypse. They've only just now admitted that they can't do 14 batches of cookies AND a two cakes before christmas.
Dear friends i need a friend with a truck for Reasons. ("are those reasons having to do with the medical supply company that's giving away free things on craigslist?" yes and shut up)