In which I have a lot of time on my hands.

One of the most overwhelming things about being unexpectedly jobless is the sheer volume of unscheduled time that's suddenly dumped in your lap. Readers, if you've ever been laid off, you know what I'm talking about. It turns out that the job you've been going to every day isn't just a source of income; it's the foundation from which you build your day-to-day, and when you take it away, everything else crumbles. The metronome stops ticking. When there's nowhere to go, every step feels purposeless. You wake up, you walk your dog, you buy a coffee, and then, realizing that there is no "and then", you go back to your apartment and stare at the wall and wonder why you got out of bed in the first place.

Yep, that's how it goes.
The first time around, I mean. This time, however -- because I am, apparently, so unlucky and/or generally untalented that I've managed to lose my job twice in the span of a year -- I knew exactly what was coming. And so, with the help of my brother, who is also currently feeling the sting of our loveless and impenetrable economy, I have taken it upon myself to fill the void with VERY IMPORTANT PROJECTS that require GREAT INTELLECTUAL STRENGTH AND STAMINA.

Like, say, gluing googly eyes onto Doritos and using them to make a video.

Yes, we did.

This blog is on 24-hour hiatus for the following epic event.

If you happen to see this handsome son of a bitch walking around today, wish him a happy 31st. And then slap his ass, 'cause he likes it.

Briefly

Today, in an effort to feel like a functional and productive human being, I decided to do all the things that functional and productive human beings do. I got up early, bought a coffee, and walked the dog.

Then, I worked until noon.

Then, I took a shower. I got dressed, threw on some shoes and a jacket, and went to the grocery store. I bought an apple and some cheese.

And then I came back, and made myself some lunch.

"Ho!" I said to myself. "Look at all I have accomplished today! I am, dare I say, productive!"

And then I took off my pants.

Because really.

A movie review, of sorts.

After spending several days with my parents, one of the things I've found most remarkable is how much I really, really like going out with my family. If you were ever a fourteen year-old girl, I'm sure you understand the weirdness, here: to my fourteen year-old self, the possibility that I might actually enjoy an evening out with my family -- that such an activity would ever have any result apart from total humiliation and the fervent wish for swift death --was so impossibly far-fetched that it would have come after "Alien Abduction" on the list of Things I Might Expect To Happen In The Next Twenty Years.

Well, I was wrong.

And so, in addition to having spent the past several days at my parents' place, I have been having a lot of fun hanging with my family -- including an outing earlier this week to see Paranormal Activity with my mom, my dad, and my brother.

And I liked it.

I liked it, that is, until I attempted to go to bed several hours after returning home from the theater, at which point I discovered that I was still scared out of my goddamn mind.

It's my fault, really. I should have guessed. I should have known that Paranormal Activity would, of course, be endowed with the same magical properties as The Blair Witch Project (another movie that scared me so badly that I had to sleep with the lights on for a week).

And it is. Oh boy, is it EVER.

There's no gore, no (visible) monster, no clear resolution in which Jack Nicholson chops his way through the bathroom door or a midget in wacky glasses comes and opens up a ghost-clearing portal in somebody's closet -- just endless tension and loooooong silences and half-seen things that encourage you, the viewer, to envision the Paranormal Entity as most horrible thing your imagination can conjure up on short notice.

Which, if you're me, is pretty goddamn horrible, and not only that, it is probably totally IN YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW.

So, for the past several days, my nighttime routine has gone something like this:

12:30 - 1:00am: Lie awake in bed, listening intently to the noises of the house. Jump and scream whenever a cat meows or a door creaks.
1:00 - 1:15am: Attempt to distract myself from meowing and creaking by reading old favorite books like "The Phantom Tollbooth".
1:16am: Suddenly realize how creepy "The Phantom Tollbooth" really is.
1:17 - 1:25am: Attempt to distract myself by thinking about Disney movies.
1:26am: Realize how creepy Disney movies really are.
1:27am: Give up.
1:28am: Turn off the light and attempt to go to sleep.
1:30am: Become convinced that there's a demon in the room.
1:31am: Get really scared.
1:32am: Want to turn on the light, but I'm too afraid to take my arm out from under the covers.
1:35am: Sack up and reach for the light.
1:36am: Fumble for the switch.
1:37am: Get totally freaked out and yank arm back under the covers.
1:38am: Panic.
1:42am: Reach for the light again. Turn the light on.
1:43am: Realize that the light only helps a little bit, because in the movie, the demon was totally messing with them even when the lights were on.
1:44 - 2:00am: Scream very quietly.
2:01am: Get out of bed; exit room in search of cat.
2:05am: Locate cat.
2:06am: Bring cat back to bed. Reason that if a demon is in the room, the cat will try to run away.
2:07am: Relax; cat is purring.
2:08am: Climb into bed. Turn off light.
2:09 - 2:15am: Pet cat.
2:16am: Fall asleep while petting cat.
2:20am: Jolt awake with realization that cat is meowing urgently by the door.
2:21am: THERE IS TOTALLY A DEMON IN HERE.
2:22am: Turn light on.
2:23 - 2:30am: Scream.
2:31am: Let cat out.
2:32 - 2:45am: Scream.
2:46am - 3:30am: Pass out from exhaustion.
3:30am: Repeat above until sunrise.


So basically. if you don't mind never being able to sleep again, I highly recommend that you see Paranormal Activity.

Also, I am now accepting donations of sleeping pills.

A postcard from Coxsackie

Since losing my job is, apparently, a yearly tradition around here, I have chosen to make the best of it in the aftermath -- by taking part in the now-also-apparently-yearly tradition of bailing on adult life entirely, heading upstate, and mooching off my parents for a few days. Yes, you heard it here first: The "Flee Your Problems" approach to unemployment makes the entire ordeal feel less like failure and more like an impromptu vacation. Albeit a vacation in which you are somewhat depressed, listless, and unable to buy anything. I went to WalMart two days ago, purchased a five-pair-pack of necessary socks, and realized as I threw them on the checkout conveyer that my far-too-brief period of respite from relentless worry about money had just come to a very, very unwelcome end.

At this point, I also briefly considered weeping. But I didn't. Because losing your job is one thing, but losing your job and then crying about it in a WalMart is quite another.

But cheap socks and superstores aside, I will say this: If I had to pick a time of year at which I'd like to lose my job and be left with nothing to do but traipse through the woods...

...or around my hometown neighborhood...

...or through the backyard...

...this would be it. Isn't it pretty?

So, this is my life for the next few days, while I figure things out. I sit on the couch with the dog, I contemplate my future from afar, I eat all the cheese in my mom's fridge, and the sudden loss of my professional livelihood doesn't seem so bad.

If only the dog would stop farting.

Ow, my scrotum of destiny.

Last week, as I was sitting at my desk and staring out at the dismal landscape of eastern Queens, I found myself fretting over this blog. After years of posting with semi-regularity -- years in which I almost never suffered for a lack of subject material -- I suddenly found that the well had run dry. Life had become staid. My marriage, my dog, my job -- none were providing me with anything approaching a blog-worthy event, and not only that, the vast majority of our office had gone off for an extended stay in China, leaving me with not even the possibility of a maddening encounter with Fuckface Ravioli to supply a few cheap laughs.

Damnit, I thought to myself, if only something interesting would happen!

So I only have myself to blame, really, for the fact that Fuckface Ravioli returned from China yesterday and immediately called me into his office.

"Soooo," he said, folding his hands in front of him gravely, "as you know, I spent a couple weeks in China with Company Honchos Number One and Two."

"Right," I said.

"Aaaaand," he continued, "the company is having some trouble, and Company Honchos Number One and Two have decided to make a few cutbacks."

"I see," I said.

Fuckface Ravioli looked like he was about to cry.
"And they, er, want to eliminate your position."

At this point, my response was more like a series of grunts than actual words.

"I'm sorry!" Fuckface Ravioli said. "I'm doing everything I can to get them to reconsider! I really like working with you! And this place is just so--"

"Excuse me," I said. "Sorry, but they want to eliminate the position? So that would be happening..."

"Oh," said Fuckface Ravioli, and this time, I started to think he might actually cry. "Yeah, that would be... um, on Friday."

At which point, I realized that:

1. Considering that he's been fighting to keep me employed, I should probably stop calling this guy Fuckface Ravioli.
2. Wistfully wishing that something "interesting" would happen to you is the same basic equivalent as begging Fate to bite you in the scrotum.
3. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Also:
"God damnit!" I shouted, as I collapsed back into my desk chair several minutes later. "Am I going to just lose my job every time I take a vacation from now on?!"



So, yeah, that happened. (As always, anyone who needs a writer, or knows someone who does, is welcome to email me. That little link in the sidebar will take you to a [newly-updated!] website with samples of my work.) Meanwhile, I'd continue in this vein, but I have more important things to do. Like, say, drinking all the beer in my fridge and shouting a lot.

Elsewhere and over there.

As most of you are probably aware, I have been freelancing for Barnes & Noble's SparkNotes site since the beginning of this year. It is, by far, my favorite writing gig of all time, and I post there three to four times a week about high school-related topics like prom, the SAT, staying awake in class, etc.

But on Fridays -- and this is where things get really exciting-- I get to change it up a bit... when I put on my advice-giving helmet and dole out hard-earned wisdom to bewildered, befuddled, and otherwise angst-ridden teenagers as the infinitely wise guru of all things, Auntie SparkNotes.

And oh my GOD it is SO FUN.

Anyway, I don't often devote blog posts specifically to my work over on SparkNotes (although there is a permalink to my posts in the sidebar, if you ever feel like visiting), but today... well, today, I wrote something that I like so much, I just had to share it with the wider world.

Off with you.