Since the season started on January 5, Jake has been sending girls home—the ones he doesn’t want to f—k or make babies with, except for Rozyln Papa—the one ABC sent home for sleeping with one of the show’s producers. She’s coming back tonight. Perhaps she’ll spread her lips and let us in on all the hooha she had while the cameras weren’t rolling.

The camera’s however, were rolling when kitty-cute Ali Fedotowsky sent herself home. She made it sound like her employer gave her an ultimatum—Jake or your marketing job. She chose work over love. Wise move.

In the Women Tell All special, all of the lovely ladies will get a chance to confront Jake about their booted bootie before they disappear into obscurity.

If only rejected job candidates had a chance to confront prospective employers. I think we need to give job seekers that opportunity so they can improve on their deficits. After all, trial and error works for employment situations as it does for rocket science (and love).

Since rejected job seekers didn’t get The Job, it’d be great to watch them say what’s on their mind as if they were aiming their discontent at someone they had hoped to develop a relationship with.

If it were me, I’d say,

“I came here for the right reasons, and there are job candidates here that did not. I know that for a fact. You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I’m disappointed because you’re a company that I definitely could see myself joining.”

“I’m pretty competitive. I don’t like to lose. We’re all after the same job, and that’s just a cat fight waiting to happen.”

However, in the end, getting feelings off our chest will only make us feel better. They won’t change a situation that wasn’t meant to be.

But that’s okay because sometimes we need to feel better on the inside to move on on the outside.

Take, for example, a blurb in today’s Washington Post about the discovery of 200 sewing needles in the body of a 2-year-old boy. The brief failed to reveal how the needles got there or what prompted the probe that lead to their discovery.

Nonetheless, the idea of sewing needs stuck every which way in your body is bizarre. Thank God doctors said they’d be able to remove most of them.

I also can’t get over the two Northwest Airlines pilot who were completely oblivious that they had overshot the Minneapolis airport by 100 miles. What were they thinking?

How bad movies get made and bad books get published also continue to astound me as well as common sense that’s trumped by guys who can’t keep their dick in their pants. I guess I’m sounding like my mother.

But the affairs of your organs rarely become affairs of the heart that last like an eternal flame.

Then there is Time magazine’s decision to name Federal Reserve Board Chairman Ben Bernanke as “Person of the Year” for 2009.

What were they thinking?

While the lasting impact of his decisions as Fed chairman catapulted him into first place, I think that the editors should have chosen the American people as “Persons of the Year” for 2009.

Surely, the decisions of this government—and let’s not leave out the Bush administration—will have a lasting impact on the future of Americans.

While many of us will continue to work past retirement and be forced to forgo a villa for a van, you can bet Bernanke will close out his reign with publishing houses clamoring for his autobiography and speaking engagement requests filling his inbox.

But life will continue to recycle stories that teeter on  bizarre and unfairness whether we like it or not.

Ann Powers Appears on Fox Business Happy Hour to Discuss the Manifesto.

ANN’S NOTE: I decided to post the manifesto early given the outpouring of support and response I received from my appearance on the Fox Business Happy Hour yesterday. Tune in to NPR affiliate the Louisiana Radio Network at 10:45 AM EST on Labor Day to hear me speak more about it. Read the manifesto through Labor Day.

Manifesto of the Idle Workers of the World

We are more than 15 million individuals in the prime of our lives who have lost our place in the world of work. We call upon our representatives on Capitol Hill to help us directly, rather than assisting our institutions first in the hope that their recovery might also bring us along.

We declare ourselves too big to fail. But we are being pushed by circumstance from the comfortable middle-class to the terrified middle-class, and from the working poor to the hopeless poor. We have lost our savings, retirement, and, in many cases, our monthly income to sustain our lives. We fear homelessness and a loss of stability as we struggle with rebuilding our assets.

We can and will help ourselves. We take jobs for which we are over qualified. We work longer hours. We work odd jobs. We downgrade our lifestyles. We deny our children their birthday gifts and vacations. We try to educate ourselves to the options for cure and take positive steps every day.

But still our financial standing degrades, and we feel the journey of recovery will be long, and we will cry and stumble.

Despite the names chosen by officialdom to describe us, we are not displaced, dislocated, discouraged, disadvantaged, disaffected or disgruntled.

Instead, we are disappointed and disillusioned that the financial condition of our households is of secondary consideration to the economic stabilization of huge Wall Street financial firms, curiously declaring their own recovery just months after calling themselves near death.

Last month, six of the seven biggest financial institutions reported quarterly profits that surpassed expectations, despite deteriorating loans on many of their balance sheets. Many of us, however, teeter closer to foreclosure, find ourselves in distressed sales or evicted from our homes.

We are distressed that the $787 billion American Recovery and Reinvestment Act has money to keep us unemployed for longer but not to get us back to work. In July, one in three unemployed individuals were jobless for 27 weeks or more. And, the number of workers who have stopped looking for a job rose to 796,000, up 335,000 over the past 12 months.

We feel disrespected that our government has committed trillions of dollars to get the nation moving again. Yet, we can see no change in our own daily lives.

Has any of this $1.5 trillion bought a single Happy Meal for an unhappy family? Has it sent the creditors that hound us by telephone into silence by making a mortgage or credit card payment for us? Has it bought us groceries or paid the utility or insurance or tax bills? Has it paid for our health insurance?

On this Labor Day, we declare that we are lost, lonely and forgotten, but that we vow to become loud, united and forceful so we will claim our rightful place at the center of the political debate. The body politic is seriously diseased if those of us who have been the very backbone of U.S. prosperity can be left without direct assistance when we are facing the loss of our homes, careers and all the possessions we need to maintain a safe home for our children.

Patience is no longer the order of the day. There is a rabble to be roused, virtual signs to be made and held up, marches, petitions, visits, phone calls and every manner of communications used to say to the public authorities now it is our turn. Now you must save us.

“Expect delays…to Glenmont.” I walked to my spot and waited for my train to arrive.

And then it hit me. Delays. Life is a continual cycle of delays, involving deliveries, accidents, checkout lines, restaurants  and the like.

While delays like these are unforeseen but not unexpected, they are unwelcome. Other delays, however, are planned. We might delay marriage to finish school or delay the birth of a child.

Most delays cause us to huff and puff. But they soon become fleeting memories. After all, we’re not inconvenienced by them for very long. As parents tell their kids when there’s no more chocolate milk, “It’s no big deal.”

For other delays, such as the loss of a job, we used to expect to turnaround our unemployment status within about three months. But no one thinks that anymore, and the statistics don’t support it.

The average length of official unemployment has increased to 24.5 weeks, the longest since government began tracking this data in 1948, which was during the Truman administration. The number of long-term unemployed (i.e., for 27 weeks or more) has now jumped to 4.4 million, an all-time high.

When Americans do regain a modicum of financial footing, they will be faced with other, more daunting delays that they won’t be able to wick away.

Many will be forced to delay their retirement. They will be overburdened with debt and the loss of joy in their lives.

It’s too bad that the Obama administration didn’t get it right and that the trillions of dollars allocated to this nation’s economic recovery fed the corporate wallets of Wall Street instead of the pockets of the average American, which got the now-extinct “cash for clunkers” program.

That, my friend, is a big deal.

My exit was an orchestrated affair that humiliated and labeled me emotionally as a criminal.

I had served the organization for 3-1/2 years and even spoke at one of its conferences, earning the highest of evaluation marks from the audience.

On my D-Day, the HR person escorted me to the elevator door with whatever I could carry, and the top dog’s secretary was waiting at the curb to hail me a cab.

Not even a goodbye after I had acknowledged her in my book. I thought that was crummy and showed an office friendship as shallow as veneer.

I don’t know why the do-gooder organization I worked for chose the low road. There was nothing in my employment history that suggested I’d do something provactive, such as destroy, or steal, company property.

Why would I jeopardize future employment opportunities? I had immense monetary needs. My ex had been laidoff three weeks prior to my layoff, and I had school tuition and tutoring bills for a child I had recovered from a developmental disability.

In a relationship that ends badly, I could see a jacked response that results in malicious behavior, however. Bad breakups cause emotions to run higher than a layoff (except for a Chinese steelworker boss who was beaten to death last month by his employees over a layoff)

That’s because relationships are intimate, and that creates more emotional attachment than with a job, or at least I hope so.

My impending divorce caused my ex to commit spiteful acts. He torched my $800 wedding dress; had a big bonfire in the backyard, and he pasted in rhinestones the word “Princess” followed by “is falling” in magnetic poetry on the refrigerator door.

He taunted me in other ways: He tore off the cover of the book, Speak and Grow Rich, and pasted over the word Speak with F—k. Yes, I had met someone else, and my soon-to-be-ex at the time considered him wealthy. He was somewhat wealthy compared to many people, but he was also a cheapskate.

And, here I was worried that he’d take a pair of scissors and slice up my underwear, which he later told me he had considered doing.

While getting back at a company is never a good idea, getting back at your ex girl- or boyfriend is often enough of an emotional release to move on, because you sure won’t be moving back, unless, of course, you’re on the brink like me.

I knew it when I read his online profile, but I was seduced by the thought of exploring a relationship with a man who shared my passion for sailing. He could have had another passion as long as he wouldn’t take mine away.

When I finally confronted him and he admitted the ruse, I felt as misled and betrayed as I did in my former job.

On my last day of work, my boss emailed me to set up an appointment in her office to discuss an analysis I had written about an online service the company was thinking of using. She had never called me in her office before. Then, an hour later, the company’s top dog delivered the news of my layoff.

My ex portrayed himself as Hank at the Helm and didn’t include any pictures until I called him on that. You can’t do the online dating thing without pictures. Even without the pictures, I recognized his writing style. That happens after you’ve been with someone for a while—you discover their “voice” in words. But I kept playing along.

For the next few days, he emailed me several times, revealing more of his backstory, which had a striking resemblance to mine. He told me he had a 9-year-old daughter named Halle. I had a 9-year-old son (now 10), and my mother wanted to name me Halle.

He also said he was a divorced lawyer living in a big house in Potomac.

Three other tip-offs that made me suspicious. He began to discuss his fantasies with me online (so inappropriate) and refused to give me his phone number when I said I had to talk to him first before meeting him at a restaurant. I played along for a few more emails. He also described himself as Christian when his picture showed features more aligned with being Jewish.

I asked him about his sailboat, thinking I’d trip him up, but he’s a smart rascal and did some research to describe his boat as a Hans Christian sloop (one mast). He at least could have chosen a world-class boat. The tête-à-tête ended when he fessed up after I continued to confront him.

The ruse gave him a fantasy that pleased him, just like the fake meeting with my boss filled me with the expectation that I had pleased her. At  least my ex had the balls to deal with me in person when I asked him if he was Hank, while my boss did the sheepish thing when I got laid-off. She hid in her office.

Mr. King, please come back to life: I have a dream. Get us out of this mess!

With two smart black men in the White House (President Obama would find something for you to do if you came back), I’m confident they can fix the mess my white brethrens put us in.

Since my advice is worth two cents, give me the mike. Mr. President, you’d score a lot of points with the American public if you renamed your stimulus package “Pay What You Can (and I’ll Forget the Rest).”  Let the DC Improv Comedy Club’s “Pay What You Can Night” serve as your model.

Like the comedy club’s plan, your plan could also be first-come, first-served. I’m so confident that this plan would work to prevent foreclosures that millions of Americans would descend upon the Capitol to stand in line to be forgiven and drop a few pennies in your tin cup.

To save money and in the interests of crowd control, you could use the same security plan as the Department of Homeland Security set up at your inauguration. You could also close down streets, make the masses funnel through color-coded security gates, and let loose air patrols and sharpshooters. But I’d do something to avoid another Purple Tunnel of Doom fiasco, where thousands of your followers got trapped in a tunnel because the security lines moved too slowly for them to get out in time to see you take the oath of office.

I don’t think you’ll have to worry about any of us arriving on or buying corporate jets, however. We learned a good lesson when you scolded Citicorp for buying a $50 million, 12 seater, French-made corporate jet after we paid them $45 billion from our taxes in the guise of bailout money. We’re glad Citi airheads decided to ditch the purchase after all the bad press.

But tell me, if the working poor gets caught cheating on their unemployment compensation, you wouldn’t put them in lockup, would you? You’d forgive them, right?  Just like other presidents forgave former commodities trader and tax evader Marc Rich and Illinois Congressman Dan Rostenkowski, who kept “ghost” employees on his payroll, used Congressional funds to buy gifts and traded in officially purchased stamps for cash at the House post office.

We’re not talking Staples-office-style desk and chair, or best offer. This CEO is selling velvet curtains a la Gone with the Wind ($28,000); an antique area rug, which the ad says is a bit worn from pacing but easily covered up with furniture ($87,000); a sofa that has been slept on a few times but still comfortable ($15,000); and an off-white parchment waste can, described as “perfect for shredded documents” ($1,400).

The anonymous poster had the audacity to list a $37,000 chandelier that “still sparkles despite the current economic environment.”  Other items in the $1.22 million non-negotiable lot included a mahogany pedestal, silver-framed mirror and a rarely used George IV desk.

“There are other items as well,” the ad read. “Please contact for more information.” I would have, just to expose the schmuck, but the ad had expired along with the poster’s email address. The non-disclosure agreement that the poster required the buyer to sign wouldn’t have stopped me. What would the seller do? Sue me?

I’d pay $19.99 to know which CEO is receiving the proceeds.  Or will the money slip into someone else’s hands other than taxpayers, who probably bought the furniture in the first place with fees collected from late payments, overdrawn accounts and other promotional gimmicks to protect accounts against fraud? You receive those promotions in the mail, don’t you? It’s always for an amount under $10 a month. When will Wall Street wake up and realize that it’s not business as usual.

Getting fired made me as so angry. You want to stomp your feet and swear your heart out. But I’ve got to agree with more traditional career-advice columnists: You don’t want to do that, especially not online or on Facebook.

The digital breadcrumbs you leave behind your bitching live for what seems to be forever on the Internet. Call your mom, dad, girlfriend, boyfriend, anybody. The point is: Use the telephone for dissing, with one exception. You can post anonymous reviews about companies you’ve worked for on glassdoor.com.  The site promises not to divulge your personal information when you sign up for an account, which amounts to an email address. And it’s cathartic.

You can set up an extra one of those using Google gmail, which is one of the easiest free email services available. Once you submit a review, an actual human being reviews it before it’s posted live to the site.

Before my firing, I hadn’t realized how much a job becomes part of your existence and identity. It can either bring you a sense of pride and self-worth or leave you feeling as valueless as a broken zipper. Mine left me feeling unimportant, disrespected and unchallenged while I was there, and then left me high and dry. I have a family to help support.

Working for others also teaches you lessons. You should heed them on your next job. To wit, here are my 9 Commandments for Starting a New Job.

ONE: You shall keep up your network contacts, even when you land a new job.

TWO: You shall keep your office spartan, though any likeness of your children and significant other is permissible.

THREE: You shall not use company email for personal reasons.

FOUR: Remember the weekend; it is your time off.

FIVE: You shall use a flash drive for any personal computer files.

SIX: You shall not get too friendly with the HR director.

SEVEN: You shall ask the office manager to give you back your change when you lose it in the vending machine.

SEVEN: You shall you use all of your vacation time before the end of the year.

EIGHT: You shall take advantage of every possible employee benefit.

NINE: You shall keep your small-talk high level. Stick with the weather.

Hey, if you can think of one more I’ll add it in. Email me at girlonthebrink@gmail.com

The HR director was waiting in my office to escort me to the door, and a secretary was waiting by the curb, to hail a cab to send me home. My arms cradled an overflow of personal belongings, and I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.

What surprised me the most was being treated like a criminal when I didn’t deserve it. The HR director had acted as if the building was on fire and given me barely a minute to gather my belongings. She promised that I could come back for the rest. The only bright moment in all this is she didn’t know that I didn’t have much more to retrieve. Secret: I had cleaned out my office in anticipation of this day—months ago.

But my hasty exit still seemed so surreal, even though I had thought about the day I would be let go and had somewhat prepared for it. In a worst-case scenario, I’d imagined that I would have two weeks to finish assignments, much as you’d get if you’d quit voluntarily.

Still, I’d known our company had lost a major account and was facing a budget shortfall. I thought my department might fall victim, so I backed up my email, deleted the “sent” mail, cleaned out my drawers and kept a very “green” office—meaning I sorted through my paper files, removed anything personal and kept an electronic document archive of company material.

Three months earlier, I’d also removed some big, framed pictures and put up posters that could easily be rolled up on my D-Day. I’d brought home some pottery and other decorative items. All of my personal files were already on a flash drive, so I didn’t have to worry about deleting anything I wouldn’t want others to see. I’d begun the process of taking a little big home every day, much like the fictional prisoner Andy Dufresne did in the movie “The Shawshank Redemption” when he tunneled walls with a rock hammer over the years for his eventual escape.

I didn’t take any office “secrets,” because I didn’t know any that I thought would be valuable. Even if there had been, I’m not that kind of person to steal. Sure, I used the office copier and postage machine for personal use on a few occasions, and maybe a long-distance phone call or two. But I don’t think that’s uncommon, and I didn’t abuse that perk. I wished, however, that I would have deleted more personal email and backed up my email one last time. I kept thinking about doing that but always thought I’d do it the next day. But when tomorrow became today it was no longer possible.

Nonetheless, the unreality of losing your job comes down to the reality of how your life changes, and mine was about to be transformed in ways I’d never imagined.