My quest for a new cruelty-free career (sort of)

I need a new job. Career even. Sure, I like to think this blog will someday turn into an actual book that makes me money. At least enough money for a year’s supply of Kraft macaroni & cheese. (I don’t do ramen noodles. I have an intolerance for hot liquids, but that’s a weird food quirk for another blog post.) More importantly, I will need to make enough money to keep me stocked with cheap boxed pinot noir. (At least I didn’t say merlot. I’m not drinking any fucking merlot!)

I quite possibly have the worst job history in the legal field in American history. There was the boss with the Vicodin habit and in need of anger management program. Think “House” without the sense of humor. I went from that to another bipolar boss who thankfully traded me for 2 draft picks and a bag of hockey pucks to a team with greater need. My current situation involves a temp with seriously deficient personal hygiene to the point I keep a can of Lysol on my desk and will risk getting fired for using it like pepper spray and blinding her in the eyes when she gets within 40 feet of my cubicle. The fact I am a lawyer (condescendingly referred to as a “personal assistant” by my boss) working in a cubicle which at one point had no walls is enough to make me suicidal, were it not for the giant wine store I can escape to for “tastings” at lunchtime. They also deliver.

Still, I don’t make enough money for this torture, and not enough to afford the fancy French boxed wine so I can drink enough to forget my day job but not wake up with a blinding cheap wine hangover. I need out.

I don’t know what other non-lawyer jobs I am cut out for though. I would like to be paid to not think so much, but I am too old to be a Hooters girl. I don’t really want to work around people I am forced to tolerate. I’d rather not have to deal with the public or answer phone calls. What can a trained lawyer do, that doesn’t address any of these things?

I have only come up with one career alternative, but that could just be my writer’s block overflowing to listmaking. Dominatrix.

There was a time, shortly after my divorce, when I toyed with the idea of going into family law. It isn’t really lucrative. It wouldn’t make the world a better place. But I kind of liked the idea of eviscerating cheating husbands. Sure, there are a lot of pain in the ass things about divorce law, like clients complaining that their soon-to-be-ex-husband burned her collection of Michael Bolton CDs (hypothetically speaking), or bought his mistress a sportscar with their kid’s tuition fund. That could get annoying. Still, I think I would kick ass as a divorce lawyer. Couldn’t you see it now?

11419870_10153159811871903_1539484756_n (artwork courtesy of my friend Doug)

But really I’m sick of law. I understand why people hate lawyers. They are despicable hypocrites who grow to become jaded and hate their pond scum sucking existence. And they pass that pleasant disposition on to everyone they encounter in the office.

The truth is I am desperate. I can’t imagine spending another month in the place I affectionately call the “black vortex of negative energy and demonic souls so evil that even Satan wanted to get rid of them.”

So I’m going to start a Gofundme page to raise funds to send me to dominatrix camp. I will also require funds to buy me a new wardrobe of pleather catsuits (because I’m all about being cruelty-free unless you’re human) and whips, masks and things. I hope they make catsuits in my size. Perhaps a pleather dom muu-muu. So skip that Starbucks pumpkin spice latte (which is artificial poison in a cup anyway) and donate. Just think of all the future blog posts!

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