Chocolate Bunny: First You Bite Off the Ears

But what do you eat first on Jesus of Hershey?

And Stay Out!

Okay, so it was more like Clash of the Titans than David versus Goliath, but I was inordinately delighted to awaken to NPR and hear Wal-Mart threw up its hands and walked away from New York City. It's nice to know that the juggernaut was stopped

I was tickled to read this:

"H. Lee Scott Jr., the chief executive of the nation’s largest retailer, said that trying to conduct business in New York was so expensive — and exasperating — that “I don’t think it’s worth the effort.”"

Ha! They gave up because New Yorkers are just huge pains in the ass. I love that. I love that more than you can know.

Let me paraphrase Mr. Scott in our reply to why there won't be Wal Mart in New York City: "Because We ARE Better Than You and Don't Want You In Our Community."

Watching Too Much Television

Since I hate those sanctimonious pricks who walks around saying "Oh, I never watch television," (while at the same time being able to comment in a detailed fashion on what happened on "Desperate Housewives" last night), I'll confess that since losing my job I've probably watched more television than most of you have in your lives.

I've always owned up to the fact that I love watching television and have on occasion spent 10 or 12-hours on a showerless Saturday watching "The Sopranos" on HBO OnDemand. I'm talking: wake up, make coffee, turn on OnDemand, drink coffee and smoke cigarettes in pajamas, make pancakes and bacon, think about brushing teeth, watch more episodes, wash dishes, watch more episodes, eat leftovers for dinner, smoke more cigarettes, watch more episodes, wash dishes, brush dingleberries out of cat's pantaloons, smoke, think again about brushing teeth, watch more episodes, go to bed with dirty teeth.

Aside: A True Sopranos Fan will note that this post is titled after a Season 4 episode. I would have worked in the title of my favorite episode of all time, but since this is a post about TV, "Pine Barrens" just wouldn't have had the same ring.

So here are my musings on TV for the unemployed, Video Crack.

A show that I NEVER, EVER, NOT ONCE, watched while it was on during primetime, has accidentally become one of my favorite afternoon breaks. (Gotta love that TNT Primetime in the Daytime). Give it up for Charmed, ladies and gentlemen! I like it against my will. I mean come ON -- three brunettes with magical powers kicking ass for good? That's right up my alley. Though I have to admit that in the later seasons, the addition of the dipshitty Billie and her equally dipshitty sister Kristy must have been the original fans' jump-the-shark moment. Kristy is supposed to be simmering with rage or something, and all I get from her expression is vaguely frustrated constipation.

Next, there are reality TV assholes and then there are reality TV assholes. Up till recently, my very favorite reality TV asshole was Assahola, I mean, Omarosa, on the first season of The Apprentice. There were some halfway decent contenders on other shows in the intervening years, but most only reached the level of "slightly irritating" rather than "complete asshole." But two have really caught my attention recently, and I'm tickled to anoint them 2007's first great Reality TV Assholes.

First, we have Becky on The Agency, who, it appears, is chronically late, frequently and blatantly insubordinate to her boss, and quite clearly an alcoholic. This woman takes "Workplace Asshole" to new levels, and I spend the 1/2 hour of the show wishing Pink would throw her skanky Limey ass down a flight of stairs. But, I take comfort in the fact that her behavior is out there on national television and that alone might be enough to ensure that she never works in fashion again. Hi, here's my resume, right there on VH1. Watch, here's where I overslept because I was drunk and was an hour late for a meeting. Here's where I demonstrate my team-building skills by badmouthing my boss behind his back. And here's where I attack my boss for reprimanding me when I was clearly in the wrong. What Becky needs is a good spanking, and I'm not talking the good kind. I'm talking nuns with wooden paddles with holes drilled in them. Please, someone, pick me to do it.

And second, there's Renee on Cycle 8 of America's Next Top Model. She's the girl who repeatedly talks smack and stabs the other girls in the back, then cries on the phone to her husband that they aren't nice to her. She has, in her life, apparently mastered not only the art of being a sore loser, she's even a bitch when she succeeds at something. I often wonder why men put up with women like this, then I remember that she is pretty enough to be on a modeling show, and we all know, people, that for 99% of men, "Hot Piece of Tail" offsets a whooooole lot of crazy. This girl makes you want to use the C-word. Seriously.

And don't say "Janice Dickinson" to me, because while she is often crazy, inappropriately outspoken and has a big mouth, somehow you see that under all the Botox and plastic surgery a kind heart, a loving mother, and a broken little girl. Janice, I can't help liking you!

Coming up on "Watching Too Much Television" -- why I love Tyra Banks.

It's Not Easy Avoiding Green

But somehow I managed to do it this weekend -- no easy feat in NYC on St. Patrick's Day.

Taking into consideration the fact that I hate a) crowds, b) drunken crowds, and c) drunken crowds of New Yorkers, I stayed far, far from the madness of St. Patrick's Day.

After spending Friday sloshing around in a suit AND heels on the messiest day of the winter, slogging from interview to interview, I orbed myself to Williamsburg, changed into more slog-friendly gear, and trekked to the Upper East Side to meet the Principessa.

There's only one real reason to go to the UES, and of course, it's gotta be a museum... Checked out the Gaudi exhibit and met her pals for drinks afterward on the balcony, the Met being open late on Fridays and everything. We had zingy Roz Russell-Cary Grant style conversation for a couple hours while drinking a nasty bottle of red wine (awful-awful-awful!), then trekked our way down to the Principessa's favorite hang in midtown. A snug French bistro where we had a gorgeous bottle of red to wash away the taste of the overpriced bad wine.

PS - I love-love-loved the P's friends, who were fast and funny and intelligent and witty.

In my now-standard style, of course, the third, fourth and possibly fifth glass of wine were all mistakes. I have no real recollection of getting home except I know I did it on the subway. It's official, I've turned into an old sissy. It was made even more official by the scale of the hangover I had on Saturday -- which was distinctly out of proportion to the amount of wine I drank. Given what I drank, I shoulda been upright by noon. But again, I'm old.

The P came over on Sunday afternoon and we lay around like slugs drinking coffee and gossiping about a (former?) friend who I think is starting to display signs of a serious personality disorder.

More on that later...

Feast or Famine

Just a quick-quick-quick update....

Company A has resurfaced after flaking for 2 months and assures me that they have not forgotten about me and the Creative Director will be in touch to schedule a meeting.

Company B has contacted me to come in for a 2nd interview today. They are looking for someone on a freelance to perm basis. A try before you buy.

Company C flew me to Washington DC yesterday to meet their home office folks. It went swimmingly and I got a great vibe from everyone I met. Money is not quite where I want it to be, but the benefits package is one of the best I have EVER seen. (How many companies offer their employees discounts on PET INSURANCE?) And we all know how I ended up after chasing the dollar...

Company D called me as I was in the taxi on my way home yesterday and I supposedly have an interview scheduled for tomorrow -- no confirming email yet, so this one is sorta on hold.

Had an interview with Company E on Tuesday, which I am pretty certain is not for me. The guy was kind of a dick -- he had this arrogance that just didn't sit well with me. And suffered from an ailment that so many men are afflicted with -- the "Not as Good-Looking as You Think You Are" disease. More on that later. And more on the "test" he gave me, which was more insulting to me than I think enlightening to him.

Gotta dash.

Promised a pal a coffee, muffin and NY Post (I bought it where no one knows me).

Friday Random Musings

So it's been a productive week all around. Some random stuff:

I'm still working on my little IRS project (it's a lot of years of paperwork to plow through), and let me tell you the weirdest thing: I've finally been telling my friends about it, and as I've "come out of the closet" I've been quite surprised to find out that a lot of people have one issue or another with the IRS. Seriously, there should be a support group, because as I've been telling people about it, I've seen this mixture of recognition and relief on several friends' faces. Interesting, admitting a basic financial irresponsibility or money management issue is like admitting you have a drug or alcohol problem.

As far as the job search goes, something very promising has been happening this week. I'll know more next week, so I'll be able to reveal more. I'm feeling a little superstitious and don't want to jinx it, but suffice it to say that whenever a company is willing to fly you to another city to meet more people at the home office, it can only be a good sign, right?

A Tibetan man told me that people with big foreheads are destined to have good lives. And since I'm sportin' a fivehead, I guess that means I'll be the next megaball winner or something.

My ex-boyfriend just walked by the window of the coffee shop, spotted me, and squooched his juicy pout at me. Cute.

I went out for a drink with Racer X the other day, and sitting at the bar was a brunette. Cute, youngish, and kind of perky. Then she started talking. Bloody hands of Jesus! Twenty minutes into telling us a story about her cat, I felt my eyes glaze over and all I could think was, "Wow, this girl never wants to have sex EVER again." Found out later that her "kind of perky" is generally fueled by cocaine. Not surprising, considering that this corner of 2nd Avenue and 5th Street IS the Portal To Hell, and the steps apparently are paved with coke. Yuk. What a loathsome drug. I can't help but feel superior to people who do coke.

Then again, I'm positive there are people who feel the same way about me because I am sleeping with a married guy. Dan Savage on cheating:

"The pros? Sex, excitement, variety. The cons? Discovery, breakup, hellfire. Every idiot knows those pros and cons, including you. But here's a pro that's rarely acknowledged: Sometimes cheating can save a long-term relationship. Sometimes only cheating makes it possible for a sexually rejected partner to stay in a relationship that's worth preserving for other good, valid reasons—like kids, for instance. And sometimes only cheating makes it possible for a person whose partner has a chronic, debilitating illness to stay put and stay sane. In these cases, cheating isn't just the right thing to do; it's the decent and honorable thing to do. Some fuckwits, of course, piously insist that Cheating Is Always Wrong. To the CIAW crowd, I say this: Fuck you, you self-righteous Pollyanna fucktards. I am so sick of CIAW types insisting with one breath that sex and sexual exclusivity are hugely important. Even the contemplation of an affair, to say nothing of its consummation, represents an unforgivable betrayal. And then in the very next breath, CIAWers insist that sex is so unimportant, so colossally trivial, that a person should be able to go without—forever! —if their mate is unwilling or incapable.You can't have it both ways, CIAWers. If sex is hugely important, then people can't be faulted for wanting some; if it's unimportant, then it shouldn't be seen as a huge betrayal when some poor fuckers, under duress, are forced to get their needs met elsewhere." So there.

Why do people who are married or in a couple keep insisting that I must be unhappy because I am not married or in a couple? Or that deep down, I really want children? Nyet! Nyet! Nyet! They shake their heads sadly when I mention that I have a married sex-buddy and say things like "You deserve more." Ummm, folks? I don't WANT more. In fact, I'm perfectly content to have a guy who comes over for two hours, pleasures me in ways that leave me weak, then goes back to New Jersey where he belongs. Though I do admit, other than his oral dexterity, he is quite tall and I can get him to change the lightbulb in my kitchen fixture that I can't reach.

Quick, Kill it Before it Grows!

Yesterday I heard someone use a word on television. It was spoken by an otherwise intelligent-seeming human being (that is actually arguable, as it was someone on television) who appeared to have half a grasp of the English language. And yet, it is just so wrong, so awful, that I rank it right up there with "irregardless" and "uncomfortability."

I would have written it off as mere individual ignorance, but this was about the third time I've heard it, which tells me that it's seeping into everyday use.

Someone said, "agreeance."

As in, "So, are we all in agreeance about this?"

Are you kidding me?

As my friends know, I'm all for the evolution of language, but I deplore the ghetto-ization of it.

It's not a word! We need to kill it as quickly as possible! Possibly as quickly as we need to kill the candidacy of Rudolph Giuliani.

Who is doing this to our language? Is it the same people who think that putting an "o" at the end of a word makes it Spanish?

Are we the Land of the Stupid?

Agggh.

A Little More Perspective

Okay.

I got fired on December 26th and have been living the Unemployed and Searching for a Job life ever since.

My nearly 80-year-0ld dad went into the hospital with some sort of kidney failure again last week.

Two days later, my 56-year-old brother went into the same hospital with congestive heart failure. Both are still there, leaving my other two brothers and one of my sisters to take turns taking care of my elderly and demented mother.

I'm dealing with a huge -- and I mean HUGE -- issue with the IRS after a few years of not dealing with it.

So given all of these crappy things happening around me, how's come I don't feel so bad?

It's a puzzlement.

It could very well be that I have finally taken my own advice, which I have given to many many of my friends. Here's how it goes:

When you don't what to do next, just do the next thing.

Think about it.