Why daytime TV sucks

When you're home all day looking for jobs, you've often got the TV on in the background. I don't know about you, but I never really paid attention to the types of shows on during the day, until now.

These programs are realllly catering to the "I'm home during the day because I'm unemployed, broke and desperate" crowd.

This is what I feel like the episode descriptions should say...


Cheaters
Hey, you. Yeah, you, the one sitting at home alone with your thoughts. Where's your significant other right now? Work? That's what you think. He's staying late tonight too, you say? That's what this wife thought too, until our PI caught him with ANOTHER WOMAN. Yep, your spouse is totally cheating on you. Think about it. Not like you've got much else to do...

Deal or No Deal
Free money! Now THAT'S a job. Why aren't you getting in on this??

A Baby Story
You're at home right now, lounging by the pool, taking naps, playing with nail polish, eating Pringles, browsing the Interwebs. Know what you could be doing? Vomiting, peeing every two seconds and battling contractions. Isn't it time you started thinking about having a baby?

Judge Judy/Alex/Joe Brown
You're just one bounced check away from landing on one of these shows. Don't fight it.

Sacrifices

When you're unemployed, your full-time job is finding a job... and maybe drinking.

You have a celebratory drink for the new, exciting possibilities. You have a depressed drink for not having a steady income. You have an optimistic drink for the economy. You have a terrified drink for not being able to pay your rent. You have a "calm the fuck down" drink to keep the panic at bay. You have an encouraging drink because you KNOW that you're amazing at your job.

You just drink.

Of course, the Catch-22 here is that drinking costs money. Jobs make money, but you don't have one of those. So it's time for sacrifices.

You quietly switch out your Ketel One for Silver Dragon. You stop going out to bars in favor of a cheaper night in with an even cheaper six-pack of beer. And you actually consider buying BOXED WINE.

*Shudder.*

Alcohol isn't the only area where you have to make some adjustments.

• You realize you'll probably have to settle for a one-bedroom when you move instead of the two-bedroom you've been banking on.

• You start buying Pantene instead of the John Frieda collection.

• You kiss your Dior eye cream goodbye.

• You start wondering if it's really worth it for the $50/month birth control pill that you forget to take half the time anyway.

• You consider jobs that start with "h" and end in "ooker."

• And, this one might be the hardest to swallow, you can't spend irresponsible amounts of money on shoes and clothes.

That's right, folks. It's time for some sacrifices. But there is one sacrifice I will not make:

I will NOT refer to Hilarious Co-Worker as anything but Hilarious Co-Worker.

We may not work together anymore, but some people are too funny to be bothered with literal meanings. So, HC, come hang out sometime. I'll supply the Ramen, you bring the booze.

Domestic crossroads

My brother is moving to Chicago in 2 days. 2 days!

You know what this means?

I am finally getting rid of the shitty futon that's been offending my living room.

This ugly thing has been such an eyesore and I've complained about it endlessly. It doesn't match anything, it's old and faded, it takes up too much room in my tiny living space and it's too low to the ground to really be comfortable. Better for my brother to have it, I say.

But for all this bitching, I'm actually a little sad to lose the extra seating -- as old, gross and cumbersome as it may be.

My apartment isn't really big enough for social events or dinner parties (um, plus I don't have a dining room or even a kitchen table to eat on), so it's not like I holding any substantial gatherings over here. But all I have besides the futon is a couch and chair. That sits, what, 4 people, max?

So, with my brother's arrival and the futon's departure, I'm at a crossroads. I'd like to buy some storage ottomans to compensate for the lack of seating, but my inner indulgence is pushing me to just buy a whole other couch once we move to a bigger place in November.

Not sure what I'll do, so in the meantime, I'll just come over to YOUR house.

(J, I'm looking at you.)

I'm back

...With freckles.

Family vacation time

I'm here right now:

Running away from these fuckers:

Hanging out with these fuckers:

And generally enjoying myself for the next two days.

See you (too) soon!

He's cute, but broken

This is Moe:

This is Moe's ramp:
that my brother built

Poor little Moe is a gimp!

It started when he was having trouble jumping up on the bed a while back. Instead of darting into the bedroom and hurling his 55 pounds up there like some sort of out-of-control missile, he would instead walk into the room and stand with just his front paws on the bed, staring at my mom. My mom would then reach over and hoist him up.

Not like him at all. He's too much of a spaz to be considered that lazy.

So, even though Moe was still running around in the yard and being a general menace, the fam took him to the vet to get checked out.

The vet's diagnosis?

Torn ACL.

In BOTH knees.

This little maniac has been sprinting, jumping and acting wild while he's got torn ACLs. We have no idea when it happened, which makes my mom look like the worst dog parent EVER.

Well, it turns out the running can only last so long when both of your ACLs are essentially disintegrated. As of last weekend, Moe aggravated one of his legs, so now he's gimping around on just 3. Another trip to the vet had him scheduled for surgery in early August, but until then, he needs a ramp to actually go down the 2 steps to get outside.

Brave or stupid? We'll never know.

How about a little chemistry talk on Friday?

One of my hilarious coworkers (the same one who came up with this genius idea) sent me a meeting invite this week and gave it this title:

"Contact of elements whose power of hydrogen is greater than seven"

So, of course, I turn to Dave.


Me: What does this mean: Contact of elements whose power of hydrogen is greater than seven

Dave: No idea.

Me: Seriously?


I tell Hilarious Coworker that Dave is clueless, so HC explains.


HC, to me: Power of hydrogen = pH. Ask him what has a pH > 7.

Dave, to me: Things that are basic.
Dave, to me: Soaps.

HC, to me: Yes, so "bases."
HC, to me: And contact = touch.


Ahhh, touch base. Got it. I smile. I ask Dave if he gets it.


Dave: Touch bases?
Dave: Baseball?
Dave: Either that or the meeting is in the bathroom.
Dave: Where the soap is.


HC, to me: Yeah, tell him I scheduled a meeting so you and I can play baseball in the bathroom with soaps.


The master becomes the student.