Happy Election Day! This will make you laugh. Enjoy. (Hat tip, Stace)

Dear Candidates of elections all across America,
Although the advertisements on television are entertaining, I have a little secret for you. We’re all over it. Your commercials are driving us nuts. We’re tired of the bickering, tired of the “he did this” or “she did that” nonsense. Tired of rebuttal commercials that “correct” the other guy’s message. We just want these elections to be over with, so we can get back to watching our pointless, mindless, television without thinking about serious issues. If we want serious issues, we’ll turn it to a news channel. There are at least 943 of those. Furthermore, no one goes in the voting booth and thinks, “Which guy was a proponent of Bush Economics?” or “Who was it that voted to not keep school prayer in schools?” We just don’t. These pricey ads are a waste of time and money, and if I ran things at the Election Commission, I’d allow you suckers $100 for advertising. If you wanted to run/win, you’d have to do it on issues and facts. Not propaganda. I kind of hope you all implode tomorrow – and don’t make that face, it serves you right.
Love,
M

I begin my new job next Monday, so I thought it was appropriate to post some things I’ve learned while jobless. In no particular order…

1. The West Wing still comes on Bravo. Hooray! New addition to our DVR list.
2. The more sleep you get, the more you want. I’m talking going to bed early, getting up late, and still napping, people.
3. Being at home makes me cook and eat more. Not good. Weight gain.
4. I thought I would have a lot of time on my hands. Turns out, I can run out of time to do everyday errands with or without a job to blame it on.
5. Barbara Walters gets on my last nerve. Seriously, she gets on it, and then tap dances around on it.
6. I’ve become more attached to my dog, Wallace. I didn’t think this was possible.
7. It’s confirmed, I still hate soap operas and have no use for them.
8. I heart Oprah.
9. Starting a cleaning business could be profitable for me. I’m like, really good at cleaning.
10.Living a life with no alarm clock is bliss. Not realistic, but bliss all the same.
11. Meeting new people and answering the question, “What do you do?” is more fun when you don’t answer, “Well, I used to ___, but now I’m unemployed.”
12.After going to my mom’s classroom, I have even more respect than I did before for teachers. They are superheros.
13.Kelly Ripa has more shoes than Carrie Bradshaw.
14.Job interviews still aren’t fun.
15.Staying at home all day sounds like fun, and it is – for about three days. If you need a break from work, I’d suggest a three day “do nothing” break. You’ll be dying to get back to work! (Unless you have children, and then you have something to keep you busier than a “typical” job.)

yay for:
dunkin’ donuts original ground coffee
getting not just any job, but a fabulous job
being sleepy from the sleepover with the girls
text messaging
the sun coming out
spending an hour on facebook
going to SSI for georgia vs. florida next week
the food network
not straightening my hair
FUZE strawberry melon
eating my mom’s cooking tonight
rock and republic jeans that make my butt appear smaller
halloween decorations

Have you seen that Chantix commercial? It’s the one where the tortoise and the hare are “racing” to quit smoking. Naturally, the tortoise wins because he takes it slow and steady with the help of the prescription drug Chantix. Being a lover of clever marketing campaigns, I saw it and thought, “What a good idea – the tortoise and the hare! Slow and steady wins the race.”

Then I heard the fast talking side effect voice at the end:
“If either you, your family, or caregiver notice agitation, depressed mood, or changes in behavior that are not typical for you, or if you develop suicidal thoughts or actions, stop taking CHANTIX and call your doctor right away.”

Yikes. I’m not a smoker, but if I were, I think I’d be upset by my choices here. Continue smoking and develop cancer, or quit (with the help of Chantix) and commit suicide. How very optimistic.

It’s no surprise to those that know me that I have a longstanding love-hate relationship with the small town I live in. Yes, I’m from one of those towns where everybody knows you, your mama and daddy, your aunts and uncles, who you dated in the tenth grade, etc. You know, one of those places where everybody remains all up in your business whether you’d like them there or not. One of those towns where political campaigns become personal and bitter, where you can’t go to the grocery store without having a 40 minute conversation with your high school math teacher, and where the local paper is published weekly and still hurts for “news.”

At times, this can be a good thing. I love the fact that small town people are the first to band together and help “one of their own” – be it with prayers, donations, or just lending a helping hand where needed. I love that small town people have an incredible amount of pride in their town’s schools, athletic events, local businesses and community festivals. Most times, you won’t find better family values or better home cookin‘ than in a small town. And, I love that small towns have a certain charm about them that big cities lack. In a small town, an abandoned building adds “character” – in a big city, it’s an eyesore.

There are other times, however, when living in a small town can be, well, different. You have to be cautious about what you say (and who you say it to) in a little town. You could be five minutes into a conversation and realize that the person you are talking to is kin to the person you are talking about. Awkward. You can run into the post office, drug store, wherever, looking like death and run into everyone you haven’t seen in a year. If you avoid them, you’re stuck up. If you talk to them, you’re more than likely going to be the topic of a phone conversation that goes a little something like, “Hey ___. You will never believe who I saw at the drug store today. And, she looked terrible. Yeah, she must be going through a rough time right now.”

Which brings me to the gossip. Oh, the gossip. If you lose weight, you’re stressed. Maybe you just started exercising? If you gain weight, you’re pregnant. Maybe you just like to eat? If you’re married without children, you must have marital problems. Maybe you aren’t ready financially, emotionally, or just don’t plan to have kids? Most times, the gossip is both pointless and harmless, but it exists almost daily nonetheless.

Like everything else in life, there are positives and negatives to leading a small town life. A few Sundays ago, I rode to the grocery store and smiled to myself as I saw people walking in town, kids playing outside at a church and people sitting on their front porch swings. At that moment, I thought how nice it was to live in a place where Sunday evenings are slow and peaceful. Then, as I got out of my car to go inside the store for one item (a trip that should take me from my door to the store and back in 10 minutes), I saw someone I hadn’t seen in a while. I got home an hour later.

Confession: My favorite month is October, and I kind of act like a little kid about it. I love everything about it. I even like the word October. Sad? Maybe. Anyway, last week, I decked the house with all things fall, and got a little carried away with the pumpkins. (There may or may not be 4 outside and 5 inside.) I also put a scarecrow and some hay bales in our yard, and I’m still not used to that sucker. Every time I catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, I gasp.

Prior to losing the ‘ole j-o-b, I already had an unhealthy obsession with television (and more specifically reality television), and now it’s only gotten worse. I love anything reality, and will defend any show I watch, no matter how many people tell me it will turn my brain to mush.

Enter: The Rachel Zoe Project. Seriously, this show makes me less intelligent by the second – but I can’t stop watching it. If you don’t know who Rachel Zoe is, well, I have a problem with you right off the bat, but, she’s a (and some would argue the) stylist to the stars in Hollywood. She picks out their red carpet outfits, everyday outfits, etc. She’s pretty much like a designer closet that can talk. Anyhow, someone over there at Bravo gave her a television show, and I’m hooked.

Rachel Zoe is a ridiculous person who dresses ridiculously (most of the time), and says ridiculous things. Her favorite catch phrase seem to be, “I die” – like, “Oh my God, this vintage dress is incredible. I die.” Or, “She looks amazing. I die.” I kind of wish she would croak, so I could stop watching her be ridiculous.

Until then, I’ll be watching her on Tuesday nights…and secretly crushing on her gay assistant, Brad, and loving her other bitchy assistant, Taylor. I hate myself.

While not nearly as glamorous as Gabrielle, as clumsy as Susan, as nifty in the kitchen as Bree, and certainly not managing a household of children a la Lynette…I, too, am now a Desperate Housewife.

Say it isn’t so, right? That is what I said when I work up today – and indeed it was. Yesterday I joined the ranks of Americans who are unemployed. Yep, I’m a statistic.

It happened around 4:30 when our office manager told me our boss wanted to see me in his office. I thought to myself, “Uh oh. Busted for getting on Facebook at work.” No, that wasn’t it. Instead, he had a serious look on his face and said, “This is not a comfortable conversation to have.” Damn.

By 4:45 I was no longer an employee there. By 6:00 I had packed up my things, cleaned out my desk, written a few goodbye emails, hugged the remaining employees (I wasn’t the only one sent packing), and walked to my car. I’m an emotional gal, so there were a few tears shed while saying goodbye to my work family – and a few more when I got home and saw my real family.

Today, though, I’m determined. This economy will not get me down! No sir. I will find a job, I will find a job, I will find a job. And in the meantime, I’ll be a housewife – not a closet is safe with me home all day. Heck, I might even try some new recipes. Take the doggie for three walks instead of two. Volunteer in my mom’s classroom. Watch Regis and Kelly. Oh, and look for a j-o-b, of course. Because homegirl likes to shop. And I married for love, like an idiot, so I’ll be sending out resumes like a mo-fo for sure.

Be thankful for your job, whatever it may be. And if you have any luck with the man upstairs – put in a good word for me, will ya? I’m gonna need it.

“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”