In which I do not post a picture of my butt, and in which I proclaim "you can't fire me - I WORK FOR FREE."

So, you're welcome. Don't even bother hoping, I'm not gonna do it. For a number of reasons.

But the biggest reason is the lemon-sized bruise on my right ass cheek. Hawt.

I look like I have been flogged. Like I have been a very naughty girl. Like someone took a paddle to me - fraternity style.

Dude. Not cool. I think I caused permanent emotional scarring to my 5 year old, who was so horrified that she stood there frozen, in suspended animation, stunned into silence, with her mouth hanging open and one limp finger pointed in the general direction of my ass as I stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.

"Oh MOMMY" she finally breathed. "You have an OWIE."

You BETCHA I DO.

But not just on my rear end. Gentle reader, I have an owie on my heart. Because yesterday I received a terse, one paragraph email essentially firing me from a weekly writing gig - an assignment for which I received no compensation. They're changing direction, refocusing, relaunching, they appreciated my contributions and wished me the best. Seriously. They didn't want me to write (reminder: for free) anymore.

Listen universe. It's bad enough I am unemployed and feeling kind of defeated. Did you really need to take away the one thing - the one meaningful thing - I had going on? Apparently so.

And you know what? Fuck that noise. I did not go quietly into that good night. I did not accept defeat. I would not be ushered off the stage and handed a condolence prize. Hell to the no. I dug my heels in, and hung onto the curtain, and grabbed for the microphone like this crazy chick:



That's right, I got all Kanye on their ass. I was having none of it. I replied to that email with a (lengthy) request to be allowed to make the transition with the company. To change topic, to redirect and refocus, to write in a different style, using a new format. All for free.

And they said yes.

I danced around the living room in my underpants, victorious. (Because really, who needs to wear pants when you are unemployed and home alone all day? NOT ME.)

And while I was celebrating my hard-fought victory, I received another email, letting me know that one of my favorite mommy blogger websites would ALSO like me to contribute regularly. Momversation, I love you. On a day when I was feeling totally defeated and unwanted and unappreciated, you came and swept me off my feet. *mwah* It's a much nicer sensation then when I get swept off my feet at derby practice, and there is less bruising involved, too.