Memorial Weekend Drunk Writing Fest

My roommate had the brilliant idea of getting a bunch of creative people together with booze, laptops, notepads, and random writing prompts (if the author didn't already have a project). The following is unfinished but not bad for a timed writing in which alcohol and social chatter were a main distracting factors.
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Having a fear of the color mauve was proving highly unlucky that day. Lucy cautiously wandered the lingerie section of a downtown department store sizing up the rows of gaudy unmentionables and formulating a mental plan of attack. On her lunch breaks Lucy would soothe her nerves by reorganizing racks of clothing or make-up stock counters. Apparently mauve was "in" this summer. It reminded her of a vague sorbet dessert topped with cream and surrounded by a halo of berries.


Mauve. Ugh, it made her shudder. Ruched boy-cut booty shorts in mauve silk with a black and white lace trim. Perhaps that particular display would not be OCD-ified this afternoon. She turned the corner down a long isle and began facing brassiere hangers. One day each of these padded bras will belong to someone, she thought, and her mind wandered to the possibility of geotagging specs of DNA, and why the prospect of touching piles of undies didn't freak her out as long as they were neatly stacked with all the waistbands parallel to the floor.


"Might I help you find something?" A slim manicured store associate interrupted her meticulous zen. The sterile name tag announced his arrival: Ricardo. Ricardo's bow tie was a sleek shade of butternut squash, perfectly complimenting his moisturized olive skin. Lucy was startled but unsurprised. Helpful customer service employees are just vampires for commission, and they were always sucking at her lunch time meditations. "No thank you, just browsing." As Ricardo swished away Lucy admired the golden ratio angles of his body, the balance of his strut, and the faint trail of mathematical algorithms left in his wake.


Right hoodie pocket buzzing. A text from Cousin Lenni: Call me. Like any Cousin Lenni should be, Lenni was kinda sketchy, but calls from him were generally bizarre and always amusing. Lucy exited the store with a small knowing smile. Lucy didn't own a raincoat. The so-called Emerald City didn't see much rain in during its stretch of summer, but the nine plus months of white grey sky and mist piss drizzle wasn't much of a real threat, and raincoats did little to keep out the passive aggressiveness of the city from seeping under the skin. Also, umbrellas are for pussies, not Seattleites, so stepping directly in the wet air suited her just fine.


Piped directly into her skull, Lenni's voice didn't bother with introductions. "Hypothetical: An older woman I know wants to watch a friend and me fuck each other and is willing to pay for the show. How much should I charge?" "Depends. Please elaborate."


Lenni, "Supply/demand analysis. How much people are willing to pay, and how much people would want to get paid."


Lucy, "I'd say 500 to 700 bucks. Each. But any touching from the old lady would be extra."


"Dang. That's a lot more than the current poll average. Have you thought about this before?"


"Not necessarily, but I've been on those fancy information tubes so I maybe the median rate for voyeuristic sex acts found its way into my brain somehow? I totally thought I was low balling it."


"See, this is why I wanted your input. Your perspective is so refreshing. I'll tally the poll results and blog about it later."


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Prompt from cohorts: flamboyant, racy, obsessive-compulsive disorder, mauve

Currently: Still Unemployed

Happy anniversary to me!
Yesterday I received a letter in the mail informing me that, after May 31st, my amazingly low COBRA insurance rate will no longer be available. Thank you Mr. Stimulus Plan, you have done wonderful things for me. The end of affordable medical coverage for the pink slip army marks my 15 month anniversary of unemployment. Yowza, that's a really long time. It's like Obama himself saying to me, "Time to get a job, slacker!"

Times Are Tough These Days seems to be the mantra of the last couple years. Another unemployed friend recently lamented that out of 400 applications for a mediocre admin position, making it to the final 5 candidates didn't even warrant a rejection letter. Harsh, but come to think of it I don't think I've received any rejection letters from any of the 1-2 companies per week with whom I've interviewed. Double harsh.

My original goal was to obtain a job by the end of April, as that's when my bus pass expired. A random deadline, but a failed one nonetheless. Soon it will be time to apply for a second UI extension. Even though I've been unemployed a couple of times before (yay tech industry!) the job market jungle has never been this cut throat. Even though I'm far from a slacker, I sure do feel like one now. Dang.