Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: babyruthinmd

Today has been one of those difficult-to-focus types of days. I have a million little things to do and follow up on, and so I flit from item to item on my list and don’t accomplish much of anything, except thinking about everything a little, and that’s a kind of progress, no?

While washing a portion of my dishes, I noted that this is, in fact, one of the strange benefits of being unemployed/working from home.

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Imagine my surprise when—after a Union-Square-based meeting to discuss a potential job opportunity, the requisite trip to Barnes and Noble, a visit to Lululemon for workout gear, and a stop by Sephora for a replacement compact—I arrived in the vicinity of home, looked up, and found myself face-to-face with this display of fall foliage.

Only moments before, I’d also come upon a fruit market and procured three giant, juicy apples.

This all drives home the point that it’s only a week til Thanksgiving, as I was reminded earlier today. And yet, I feel so YOUNG! How the time flies.

POP QUIZ: Can you answer the following about the picture?

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photo credit: 77krc

Today I continue my experimental work week by venturing into the copy division of a food magazine—one that houses actual water-bubbler-encased water, gratis coffee and tea, and a variety of kinda-sorta fancy lotions in the bathroom.

Ah, the signs of profit! Indeed, there’s even a coconut cake here, free for the nibbling, which i hear is worth the calories (though I’m still mortified enough by Nacho Cheesegate 09 to abstain).

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photo credit: Carly & Art

I’ve been bad. The sleep-creep has started up again. Remember my 4 am-1 pm sleep sched back in the summer of neverending consequence? Ah yes, well, it’s back with a bit of a vengeance.

I blame this in part on some really good books I’ve been reading at night. The kind of books that keep you up until 1 am and when you look at your clock and find you’re not tired (the books are that good/exciting/compelling/insomnia-inducing), you just keep reading.

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photo credit: ZarrSadus

Happy Friday, y’all! Please read this fascinating exploration of what’s happening to some poor former Conde Nast staffers here. (I know, they did work at a bridal mag. But now is not a time to harbor prejudice.)

In other news, YUD has finally done some housekeeping that was in drastic need of being kept. In this past week, she finally:

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Ah, tis good to be home after my week of flagrant vacationing.
Yes, I had views like these.

© Tisha Clifford

© Tisha Clifford

But now I have views like these:

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photo credit: robot glue

What is this? Scratchy throat, red tonsils, swollen glands, achy hip sockets, general feeling of malaise, and … most frighteningly, lack of desire to drink?

Oh dear. I think I may have come down with something.

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photo credit: Todd Mecklem

Hey guys!

Remember that old Unemployment Quiz, the one that I begged and pleaded with you to answer? Yeah, it was a while ago. At any rate, two of you have seen fit to respond, and I hate to punish two good test-takers just because the rest of you are out on the Vineyard or strung out on Quaker Chewy Bars or just too “busy” or whatever.

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What if, instead of a not-very-good Sex and the City episode (the one where Carrie freelances at This Old House instead of Vogue and dates Mr. Bigelow instead of Mr. Big), or a media tell-all (The Devil Wears Chico’s), or the even-worse sequel to a very bad middle-agers’ rom-com (Must Love Cats), or a Lifetime drama (33 and Not Even Close to Pregnant), YUD’s life were the plot of a horror movie?

Generally horror is not something I seek out. I have enough tension in real life that I like my entertainment simple: ’50s-era, black and white, good winning out over bad—or, at least innocuous and perhaps even puerile (America’s Next Top Model, Real Housewives, Frasier).

In fact, I have not even seen many scary movies in my lifetime. My very first introduction to the genre was some dreadful bad seed type of TV movie that I stayed up watching with a babysitter (all I remember is the main character electrocuting a relative by dropping a hair dryer in the bathtub, which was about all I could take before running to my room. I had nightmares for the next 3 weeks).

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photo credit: theXenon

I have a strange confession. One of my favorite parts of going into the office these past three freelance weeks has been my my commute. In particular, taking the bus up 1st Avenue to the UN, and then walking to 3rd from there, often stopping on the way for an iced coffee from the Amish establishment that is not Amish at all (it’s run by Turks, fyi, but “Amish sounded better,” according to a certain cab driver. How’s that for branding?).

Some of you may have read Adam Gopnik’s piece on riding the bus, how he adopted it after ignoring it for years in favor of the subway and, in fact, finds it a highly soothing pursuit for a variety of reasons. (If you haven’t, read it, it’s good stuff.)

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