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.”
You know what I’m talkin’ bout. Inevitably, every day, a FWD pops into your inbox. If this doesn’t happen to you, I want to be you. If so, you have a mom, mother-in-law and a couple of friends like I do (God love ’em).
It’s a girl! Julie and Russell have kept themselves (and the rest of us) in suspense for 9 months, but they had a baby girl yesterday. They named her Georgia, which I’m obviously a fan of. She’s destined for greatness.
The following is an excerpt from a Google chat conversation with a friend of mine, whose identity I must protect so said friend isn’t “outed” for Google chatting during what may or may not have been work hours.
So, I’m not really sure how this got started, but a while back (um, like 7 years ago) my friends and I began saying “Is that bad?” after we made a questionable statement/insult/revelation. Usually the answer is “yes” – but just for kicks, we ask it anyway.
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