Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: hankblue

Yep, I’m that bad a moviegoer. If you don’t believe me, let me assure you that the movie I saw prior to the aforementioned was New Moon. And before that? I don’t even remember! Julie and Julia, perhaps?

Of course, if we expand my movie-watching to include films viewed at home as well as en theater, we can add such goodies as, um, Julie and Julia again (yeah, it was on Movies on Demand and I demanded it!), Breakfast at Tiffany’s (on FREE Movies on Demand, which I love), and Mad Men Season 2. I know, I know, that’s not a movie. You people are sticklers!

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photo credit: milena mihaylova

Confession: I watched Baby Boom again last night (for, like, the at least fifth time in my life, thank you Lifetime) and, um, I cried. Fortunately I still had tissues left.

Not because of the baby part, even though that baby is damn cute, and, remarkably, only cries like once in the whole movie … and even though the part at the end where she turns around and says “Mama!” is obviously voiced-over, it’s still touching in a cloying sort of way. Anyway, I’m not so middle-aged that I have to cry at that. Yet.

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Today I have so little concentration that my to-do list (which has 4 items on it, only 2 of them priority) has not even one thing crossed off.

When my electronic prescription refill failed to go through, I hung up rather than actually speak to a “pharmaceutical representative.” I didn’t answer my hair salon when they called to confirm my Saturday appointment and now I have to call them back, too, but have made no progress in that.

I tried to read this article about how breakups are sooooo hard in today’s era of Facebook and digital blah-blah-blah and then I just stopped. And now all I can think about is lunch.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I did manage to make it to the office and am sitting here ostensibly ready to tackle anything that comes my way, but really, focus is about nil until I’m actually presented with something.

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photo credit: arthus.erea
I have a rather gruesome confession: I am a serial computer killer. Drowning seems to be my favored method of execution, followed by electrocution, and then forcible trauma via a blunt instrument (or floor). Sometimes I intoxicate my victims; sometimes not. It depends what I have in the house.

The thing is, I love computers. Especially my own. I use it daily, even hourly, except when I’m sleeping, and sometimes even then, in my dreams, or if I wake.

So what is this sickness about? Why, every other year or so, must I destroy another innocent machine? Why, oh why, must two things so essential to YUD’s life (liquid sustenance and laptops) be so absolutely terrible for one another?

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photo credit: hubertk

I’m having a little trouble with my Halloween costume this year. See, I want it to be creative, and not something everyone else is wearing—a getup that will make sophisticated peoples look at me and chuckle a bit upon realizing what I represent, and how truly genius my concept is. Their minds would say, “Why didn’t I think of that?” and “I knew she was smart, but now I realize, she’s brilliant!” and “I would like to buy that ___________ a drink.”

And also, of course, it should be cute or sexy, and, more importantly, include a mouth hole for drinking access. And, given these economic times, free, or at least, built largely from my own closet/office supplies.

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photo credit: Paris Frog

Heeeyyyyyy, Captains of Industry…

I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I became a staunch defender of capitalism. I actually believe that people who bring in money should make more money, and that governments should allow the principals of supply and demand to work themselves out, and not cap salaries or get too involved with regulation.

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photo credit: SabrinaDan Photo

I’ve hit an all new high, or low, depending on how you view it. I actually shaved someone’s face last night, and NOT FOR MONEY. Oy vey. Pardon my Yiddish, but …

It’s the kind of thing every girl must grow up to do, yes?

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photo credit: crumj

I’ve been having weird dreams about my past. In one of them, I was about to marry the boy who lived across the street from me when I was in 5th grade.

In real life, he was notable for the trampoline in his backyard, and, in middle school, after he and his family moved from our block to another block that was still in my school district but less alcohol-friendly—presumably retaining the trampoline—for performing “Nothin But a Good Time” with his buddies to an audience of admiring 7th graders.

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photo credit: smlp.co.uk

Before YUD became an unemployed media professional or, as some say, a “freelancer,” she was an employed media professional. And before that, waaaayyyy before that, when she was a very young person living in New York City on a very small salary and in a very small 3-bedroom apartment which she shared with 2 other girls, she worked at an advertising agency.

In those days, she was scrappy. Life had not cushioned her to the extent that she could afford $300 shoes, and then taken it all away again. Her rent was about half of her monthly take-home pay, and the other half did not go very far. She got by, largely, on off-brand macaroni and cheese (it was $.33 per box, she recalls, $1 for 3), free drinks and canapes at work events, and the change that would fall out of her date’s pocket when he would fall asleep on the couch.

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