$1,699. How many make out sessions is that?

Ok, so I'm having some money issues. I'm having a fiscal moment, if you will. The extreme delay of yesterday's post proved that I really need to man-up and find a way to get myself a new laptop. I can't operate to the best of my ability on this abacus, bless it's pre-Colonial heart. A few kind souls have suggested that I get a PayPal account and put up a donate button on the blog, but I just genuinely don't feel comfortable doing that. Let's not pretend I don't communicate with you people all day and know you like the back of my hand; you're just as broke as I am, if not more. I don't want your money. I just want your votes. That's right, I need you to vote 2birds1blog for another competition. IT'S IRRITATING AND SELF-SERVING, I KNOW! But follow my logic:

2b1b gets featured on a "Best Of" list or wins a competition —> more readers and more publicity —> odds increase that the blog will land in the lap of someone who can pay me —> money —> purchase new laptop/able to pay Comcast bill/buy Adobe Creative Suite/buy podcasting tools —> more blog posts, website upgrade, weekly podcast (2birds1podcast WILL happen this year, god damnit. It has to. Creating it was my New Year's Resolution. Oh shit, am I not supposed to say what my New Year's Resolution was? Are resolutions like birthday wishes? Did I just ruin everything? Damnit...) = YOU ARE A HAPPY LITTLE CAMPER ENTERTAINED IN YOUR CUBICLE ALL DAY! So really, your happiness is my end game here. I'm just thinking of you, baby.

So if you could be a lamb and go here (Washingtonian magazine's Best of Washington 2010), scroll down to the bottom and fill in 2birds1blog for #52: Best Blogger, I would appreciate it immensely. I swear it'll take two shakes and you'll be automatically entered to win tickets to the Best Of party and dinner for two at one of Washingtonian's 100 Very Best Restaurants. Which is actually pretty cool. It's like Washingtonian bribed you for me! That was awfully nice of them. I'll still go into the woods tomorrow and ask the Jäger Deer if we can do another giveaway Friday though. Just in case dinner and a cocktail party is too classy to get you to vote; Jäger and I got you covered.

Oh! And speaking of me and Jäger and my money woes! You know what is incredibly irritating? I got a copy of my letter of termination in the mail the other week (after I left it on my desk while trying not to pee my pants the day I got fired) and one of the official reasons I got fired was: "Working for other companies while employed by us including Jager."


That fucking gets my goat for so many reasons. Reasons that I will share with you now:

1.) That is the most bullshit reason to fire someone I have ever heard in my entire life. I mean, the entire firing was kind of bullshit, of course, but that specifically is the most bullshittiest reason of them all. I wasn't allowed to work for another company while working for them? Oh, REALLY? I don't remember signing anything. I call shenanigans. Also, do you know how many people in this world have second jobs? A shit ton. You can't fire someone for having a second job. And if you want someone to just work for you, you need to pay them more than 32 cotton swabs a year with no benefits, for Christ's sake.

2.) I never had a second job! I worked for them and only them. Granted, I didn't work very hard, but that's not what's being argued here. That was argued about two lines down.

3.) It's Jäger, not Jager. If you're going to take the time to draft an adorable little professional-looking letter of termination, at least take the time to find the umlaut. It just shows that you give a fuck. And I assume they do give a fuck or else they wouldn't have slaughtered an entire forest printing out the blog to slam on my desk for dramatic effect, fired me or threatened legal action in the first place. Insert —> Symbol —> ä. God, I even have to show them how to fire me correctly. That office must be a mess without me.

4.) Most importantly: I DON'T WORK FOR JÄGER! That's the entire fucking problem! I have worked my ass off trying to show Jäger what an asset our community would be to them and I haven't seen a single penny as a result of it. So the fact that I got fired for being on their payroll makes me want to fill a swimming pool with the resulting irony and drown myself in it. Now, I realize I could possibly solve my fiscal problems by suing them for wrongful termination, but alas—I'm not white trash and my answer to everything isn't to sue everyone. In the immortal words of Destiny's Child: "My momma taught me better than that."

So. I already work and write. I can't do freelance design because I don't have the necessary design programs on my abacus. There has to be an additional way to get $1,699 fast. Here are my ideas thus far:

- Hooking. OK, HEAR ME OUT! Blow jobs? Hand jobs? Ugh, no thank you. I barely do that for love, nevertheless money. I'd consider having sex for money. At least with sex I get something in return. But sex for money with strangers? 'Eh...it's a bit much. I'd totally make out with someone for money and maybe have sex with them if they're attractive and we get along. I'm pretty sure that's just called "hooking up with someone," but either way, I'm into it. You could just take the money you'd spend buying me drinks and hand it directly over to me in cold hard cash. And shit—if there's a connection between us, there's always the chance I might blow you! A black man is President; anything's possible! So what I'm trying to say is, option #1: become a make out hooker.

- Before you suggest it, stripping is out. I can barely do 30 minutes on the elliptical, I'm not physically grinding a pole all night for all the tea in China.

- Also selling my eggs is out. I looked into it. You have to do five months of daily hormone injection shots first. Uh, no thanks. Sometimes when I'm at my parents house, I'll stick one of my mom's disposable insulin pen needles in my arm to get attention and I seriously have to psych myself up for like a solid five minutes first to do it. Then once I do it my mom's never impressed because she has to do it in her stomach, so I try to stick it in my stomach and puss out every single time and then get yelled at for wasting another needle without even injecting myself with it. Oh well. At least I get the maternal attention I so desperately crave. (This isn't an adorable Meglet story, by the way. The last time I did this was in February. Yeah, I'm 25. What of it?)

- Sell my plasma. You can get $36 a trip for selling plasma x the twice a week donation cap = $72 a week x 4 weeks = $288 a month; $1,699 ÷ $288 = 5.8 months. Psh, that's actually not that good. Plus I'd have to pass a drug test which is just laughable. Sigh. I just really wish I had sperm. I'd hit up every single fertility clinic on the eastern seaboard and jizz my way to MacBook Pro victory. But plasma's a start, I guess.

- This next idea is Helena's and I think it's fucking genius: Stay at Helena's house or, ideally, house sit for someone loaded and rent out my apartment. I'm not going to lie to you, my studio is fucking sweet and I'll pimp her out to the highest bidder. I mean, hi, I was at the Cherry Blossom Festival last Friday; this town is fucking packed to it's Dockers wearing balls with tourists this time of year. Why stay at a cold, informal hotel when you can stay in someone's sweet and incredibly well decorated (if I may say so myself. My friend Jenna also once described it as a "museum of cool." HER WORDS, NOT MINE.) studio?? We're talkin' luxury bathroom, full kitchen, a bed nicknamed "Operation Max Comfort" because I have designed it specifically to be the most comfortable place on the fucking planet, fully stocked bar AND refrigerated Jäger machine, cable, DVD player, wi-fi, rooftop pool with amazing view, security and most importantly, located AN single block away from Dupont Circle and the metro. I mean, please. I don't think I'm asking for a lot when I say I want $150/night. Splitting it between four people to make it cheaper? I don't give a shit as long as I get my money. Put two in the bed, one on the couch and bring an air mattress. There, I just solved that for you. And you're welcome. (As are tips.)

The only problem with this, of course, is the moral and ethical questions it raises as this is technically my sister's apartment. Technically, meaning that she out-right owns it. 100%. But Becca knows what a wile, shifty little character I am, right? She finds it charming! Right?...RIGHT?!

- Get a development deal for my own reality show. I'm actually not sure if having your own reality show pays monetarily, but it certainly pays in product placement. People throw free shit at those reality ho-bags all the time hoping it'll show up on TV and I will gladly use anything Apple throws my way. Perhaps a new 15" MacBook Pro? Oh, hey thanks! Just what I needed! Getting a reality show can't be that hard, right? It seems like everybody has their own reality show these days. (Side note: remember when Nick Hogan was shopping around a reality show about getting out of prison and he wanted to call it Real Ality? That never fails to make me laugh-out-loud every single time I think about it. It's like Old Faithful.) Plus, nobody can seem to make a reality show about living in DC that doesn't either get canceled before it even airs (Blonde Charity Mafia—R.I.P.) or make people want to stick freshly sharpened pencils directly into their eyeballs. (Real World DC. You tried. You tried real hard.) I've got this, right?

Although Helena raised the good point of what would they show when I watch TV all day? My idea:


- Find an eccentric millionaire to fund my blog, buy me all of my technological needs and in turn become the Patron Saint of 2birds1blog. I'm over finding corporate sponsorship. OVER IT, I say. Corporations aren't hip to the fact that blogs are a good investment and nuts to them for it. Thus, I just need to find a good-old fashioned patron of the arts to keep us afloat. A patron of the boner-joke arts, true, but that's an art. Right?

Oh my god I'm so fucking screwed. This is never going to happen, is it? But like, ever. Like in the greater scheme of things. I'm so depressed. I'll be passing out fliers about my make out services in the greater Dupont/K Street area if you need me.