Who are you. Who who, who who?
FYI, I was out sick from work yesterday. And yesterday, I was tempted to write about the more fascinating details of my illness here. But then something quickly dawned on me, and no, it wasn't that my illness would be no treat for anyone to read about. I realized I've never written about my day job here. Not once.
Suddenly this fact began to loom larger than my piddly sickness. As far as my blog readers know, I make my money via magic beans and the occasional comedy road gig.
So I asked myself... why haven't I mentioned my work here? And before I answered that I realized for the first time that someone or more than someone from work has probably happened upon my blog through the magic of Google. I realized that upon happening upon my blog, someone from work would think, "Ah ha! I have found her super secret blog! Now I shall learn what she really thinks of us!" They might also think, "Stray Pride? Ah ha! She is gay, maybe? Oh wonderful, now I shall not only learn about what she thinks of us, I will get juicy lesbian dirt and forward it to everyone in the office!"
And then I felt bad for that hypothetical co-worker person, for they would most definitely leave this blog sorely disappointed.
So what do you do, Susie?
Right. OK, here's the deal... after freelancing for years and proudly scraping my bucks together as a writer and performer, for the past year I have been on staff at a basic cable network. A whole year! What do I do? I write stuff. I edit stuff. And sometimes, I do some other stuff.
That's all I'm prepared to say about my job and there are many reasons why. A very good reason is that even if I am telling you about good and wonderful things at the cable network that shall remain nameless, it doesn't feel right to talk about it. No one in my office thinks what they are doing is out there for public scrutiny, and so reporting on it seems wrong even if I'm just telling you that everyone at this network writes their name on their food in the office fridge, except me. My "Just 2 Good" blue cheese salad dressing has not been Sharpie'd with my mark and this, my devil may care office fridge attitude, gives me a thrill, makes me feel like I live on the edge.*
Plus, I simply don't want to be dooced. I think it's a credit to my incredibly large brain that I sensed it was quite possible that writing about work could get me dooced long before I had ever heard of the word dooced.
So, I hope you have enjoyed getting a (incredibly vague) description of what I do. I hope you are not disappointed that I won't be telling you anymore about it. I also hope that you are not disappointed to find there are no descriptions of hot lesbian sex here, my bizarre blog title notwithstanding. In any case, if you would like descriptions of hot sex, may I recommend you leave that in the capable hands of a professional? OK I will recommend that.
ttyl lovely blog readers,
* There, you've gotten one extremely juicy detail about my workplace... happy now?**
** I should note that everyone writes their names on their food even though no food has been poached, and futhermore, no one here seems to be the type to poach another person's food. But they write their names on stuff anyway as insurance against food being snarfed by a greedy co-worker who currently doesn't exist, but it seems like paltry insurance. If you are terrified of someone eating your food, why not do something to really ward them off like draw a skull and crossbones or tape a recent picture of David Gest to it? Just a thought.