Very un-Tamale like behaviour

Name: Tamale

Job: Job hunter/interview specialist/job hooker

Age: Too old for knee highs in public, Old enough for knee highs in the bedroom

Status: Stressed, unfulfilled spinster

Net worth: Priceless - I may not have it all the way I want it, but I still, 98% of the time, think I am the cat's meow

Yesterday, the guy who interviewed me on Monday, called me to tell me I was brilliant and I would hear from them soon. Today, the woman who interviewed me called my referee as soon as I walked out the door, and told her I was brilliant. So I guess I am brilliant but where is this brilliance taking me? Clearly not where I wanna go, but this entry is not about the potential not being achieved.

Likes: Chocolates, roses, movie nights, small, furry dogs, dinners, jewellry, cuddles, laughter, cursing idiots

Dislikes: idiots, PDAs, cats, cheap men

I have for years been on the fuck-Valentine's train and I still think it is overdone, overrated, overcommercialised, overbearing and I am so over it. But this year, when all I seem to be doing is prostituting myself to the highest bidder - the one with the best medical plan, best salary, best work/life balance (the woman today told me she had to leave her honeymoon early to get back to work and she was okay with this?. does that sound like a job anyone would want???) - I really want a Valentine. Yes. I said it. I said it! I frickin' want a Valentine this year. The loneliness has been overwhelming lately, in case you have not noticed, and I feel very weak and needy, like a brat. It's all the real world shit messing with my Xena-like strength and wrestling for my attentions, which has thrown me into a tailspin of frustration and boredom. I don't want real world right now. I want gooey goodness and kissies and huggies and a big dutty basket of flowers or chocolates and someone, besides myself, to tell me I am special. Someone to surprise me with something cute. Someone to call me and tell me I am awesome. Oh dammit...I don't want to have to kill frickin' Cupid again.

But, things look very grim especially after my Dear John letter earlier this week. I did not actually send it but that is where my mind is at and I have been sticking his voodoo doll, dunking its head in the toilet, and setting its puny penis on fire. Is it that men are just cheap that they start acting up around my birthday, Christmas and Valentine's cause somehow my "relationships" always hit a snag just before any of these events and I never feel the love. Or is it me? My God. It could be me!

Anyway, in the event none of the above happens and I am left to my own devices as usual, I have a Plan B, so don't cry for me. Cry for a hungry child somewhere. Cry for the abused, the sick, the destitute. Not for the lonely Third World spinster in front of her tv with a box of chocolates she ultimately will buy herself.

But Cupid better not play the ass with me this year! Or else...