Advertising or Gynecology?
I was originally just going to post this to tell you about the show we have coming up this Friday night at 9pm at Respectable's in downtown West Palm Beach with Wilderness of Tekoa and Mike Dunn and The Kings of New England, but then I realized I had a couple of other things to get off of my heavily-externally-fortified chest. Man, I feel like a woman. Shut up.
There's a special time in every young woman's life when she has to make choices for herself, and live with the repercussions of her choices, as a real live grown-up-type person. I've recently been struggling with such a situation myself, which has led to a mental tug-of-war with regard to my career - if this whole "music" or "bacon conoissour" thing doesn't work out - of course. Here are my choices:
Advertising is an non-stop thrill ride of pressure, failure, cow-towing to the wealthy and ignorant, and selling yourself (and humanity) out in order to pay for that lease you got duped into at the Hummer dealership when that lady cut in line in front of you and your kid at the playground. Get your girl on? Get your girl on, indeed, my friend...all the way to your coke dealer/babysitter/numerologist/Lindsay Lohan.
Gynecology, on the other hand, is a non-stop thrill ride of vaginas with problems.
You can see why I'm so conflicted, but a few minutes ago, the clouds parted and the rays of sunlight shone down on the perfect solution, not surprisingly, in this week's National Enquirer. I can't tell you how many times that publication has saved me a headache or two, not to mention that time it raced into that burning building and carried me to warm, strong arms of that guy who played the biker with the eye patch in the bar scene in Pee Wee's Big Adventure.
That being said, I'm going to go into business selling ad space on Britney Spears's vagina. I'm going to call them "Vagin-ads". I figure it combines both of my fall-back career choices, and might even help me to overcome my fascination with Paris Hilton's penis.
Thank you for being a friend...National Enquirer.
Maggie
There's a special time in every young woman's life when she has to make choices for herself, and live with the repercussions of her choices, as a real live grown-up-type person. I've recently been struggling with such a situation myself, which has led to a mental tug-of-war with regard to my career - if this whole "music" or "bacon conoissour" thing doesn't work out - of course. Here are my choices:
Advertising is an non-stop thrill ride of pressure, failure, cow-towing to the wealthy and ignorant, and selling yourself (and humanity) out in order to pay for that lease you got duped into at the Hummer dealership when that lady cut in line in front of you and your kid at the playground. Get your girl on? Get your girl on, indeed, my friend...all the way to your coke dealer/babysitter/numerologist/Lindsay Lohan.
Gynecology, on the other hand, is a non-stop thrill ride of vaginas with problems.
You can see why I'm so conflicted, but a few minutes ago, the clouds parted and the rays of sunlight shone down on the perfect solution, not surprisingly, in this week's National Enquirer. I can't tell you how many times that publication has saved me a headache or two, not to mention that time it raced into that burning building and carried me to warm, strong arms of that guy who played the biker with the eye patch in the bar scene in Pee Wee's Big Adventure.
That being said, I'm going to go into business selling ad space on Britney Spears's vagina. I'm going to call them "Vagin-ads". I figure it combines both of my fall-back career choices, and might even help me to overcome my fascination with Paris Hilton's penis.
Thank you for being a friend...National Enquirer.
Maggie
posted by the freakin hott at Tuesday, December 12, 2006
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