Humor
In which I greatly amuse myself with satire, self-deprecation, and other nonsense.
Beloved Family Pet Toppled in Newborn Power Grab
BROOKLYN, NY -- Area couple Thom and Joy Oswald disclosed today their intention to transfer all affection and attention previously enjoyed by their eight year old terrier mix Fitz to a seven pound, four ounce human newborn with whom they share a measure of deoxyribonucleic acid. Effective immediately, sources say Fitz's cuddling privileges and fetch sessions have been suspended indefinitely, while daughter Berkeley will be showered twenty-four hours a day with kisses and tummy tickles.
"I mean, he can't complain. He's had a good run," stated Thom, who until Berkeley's arrival at St. Joseph General at 8:34 a.m. on December 7, where she obtained an Apgar score of 9 and delighted the nursing staff with her itty bitty fingers and toes, used to walk Fitz twice daily without fail. "I'm sure he understands. This is just how it goes."
Citing her infant child's complete and utter helplessness as the primary factor in the decision to henceforth all but ignore a once-treasured pet, Joy relocated Fitz's bed, bowls, and toys from the kitchen to the laundry room. "The high chair has to go somewhere," she explained. "And I don't need him underfoot when I'm cooing at Berkeley the way I used to coo at him."
Officials say Fitz plans to live out his emotional banishment curled up beside an empty water dish, dreaming of frisbee with Thom, and patiently waiting for his new sister to learn compassion.
Crop Top Unfairly Burdened With Responsibility For Woman’s Happiness
REDWOOD CITY, CA -- Unsure as to its ability to singlehandedly boost the wearer's ego to a state of self-perceived fuckability, a local crop top admitted today that it might need reinforcement. "I'm doing all I can here, I really am. But this chick is never satisfied." The crop top, a sophisticated shade of hot pink rarely seen since the Reagan administration, expressed concern that it may not be adequately providing the emotional fulfillment expected of it.
"I fear I'm just the latest in a long list of stuff failing to furnish this lady with any sense of gratification. It's almost like she doesn't want to be happy." Doubtful about its capacity to grant the sort of genuine contentment she'd been unable to find in other things including her children, marriage, several URLs, pretty light, health and relative wealth, the crop top was also worried about job security. "She'll probably toss me out in the next toy purge. Unless she finds a way to wear me backwards."
Area Couple Disagree About Best Place To Abandon Used Blender
PORTLAND, OR - Citing safety concerns, Chaplin Lofts resident Carey Marvin dryly suggested to longtime boyfriend Trent Colson that perhaps the formerly functional pile of junk with which the two once made smoothies should be placed on the trash room floor beside the recycling bin, rather than on top of it. "It's glass, " she sighed, her head tilted at an angle evoking long-suffering resignation. "It could fall and break. And those blades are sharp? Someone might cut themselves?"
Trent, however, felt confident in his initial decision to precariously perch the appliance atop the large, rolling blue bin with slightly convex lid. "No one will see it on the ground," he argued with the same conviction he'd once felt about his ability to fit an oversized carry-on into the overhead luggage compartment of a budget airline. "Somebody's gonna grab it right away, anyway. A good blender like this? They'll be thrilled!"
When asked whether the couple intended to include the instruction manual alongside their neighborly offering, Marvin rolled her eyes aggressively and muttered, "Oh yeah, like he kept that."
Fuck Yeah, Garland In Nineteen Easy Steps
Do you find yourself with extra time on your hands this holiday season? Are you casting about for things to do on these long, lazy winter evenings?
Well it's your lucky day because tonight I'm sharing my awesome Fuck Yeah, Garland tutorial, guaranteed to kill at least an hour. Two if you drink your way through it. Ready??
1. Purchase several bags of the most adorable needle felted, multicolor mini pom poms you can find. What's that? Needle felting is so 2005? Fuck you. Whimsy has no expiration date. Never mind buying in bulk online, there is nothing twee about saving money. Try to find the small, expensive bags of pom poms sold in art supply stores or interior design boutiques. Lose receipt immediately upon purchase.
2. Shove pom poms in a drawer and forget about them for 1-2 years.
3. Retrieve pom poms and place in a highly visible area of your home (for instance the key tray or your refrigerator's vegetable crisper). Avoid studiously for 2-3 weeks.
4. Empty bags onto a clean, smooth surface such as your dining table or desk, which probably has plenty of room because it isn't covered by, say, several coffee-stained pages from the manuscript of your first novel.
5. Sort by color and/or size. Whatever.
6. Stop and congratulate yourself on how fucking twee a vignette you’ve created. Instagram that shit, immediately. Go on, I'll wait.
7. Here's where it gets tricky! In order to evenly distribute the various size pom poms throughout the garland, you'll need to do some math to determine placement. Do this math.
8. Line pom poms up according to your math.
9. Find some thread somewhere. What do you mean you don't have thread? You're a grown ass woman, how you can you not even have a basic sewing kit?? No, dental floss isn't going to work . Well it probably would but Jesus Christ.
10. Run to Rite Aid for a sewing kit.
11. Now for the fun part - threading the garland!
12. Okay well first you have to thread the needle, lol.
13. Shit. Is your boyfriend or anyone with better eyesight around? No?
14. That's okay. You can do this. It's not like the ability to thread a needle is some test of your vitality or whatever, haha. If you fail it doesn't mean you're like...old...
15. Thread the needle. Oh, almost. Try again. So close! Okay well that wasn't close at all. Probably put the wine down until you're done with this step. Are you sure you don't need contacts? I mean I know you wear glasses for reading and night driving but maybe you should consider--okay okay, I'll shut up. Did you get it yet? Try cutting it and licking the end. Stop cursing. Stop cursing in French, you're not even pronouncing the words right.
16. HOLY SHIT YOU DID IT.
17. Knot one end of the thread neatly with some kind of fancy, non-fraying knot. Maybe there's a YouTube video or something.
18. Thread garland.
19. Sit back and admire your handiwork!
A Simple Formula for determining the age-appropriateness of an outfit
Y = your age
H = hem length, in inches
h = heel height, in inches
c = amount of cleavage showing, in cleavots*
s = slutshine**
b = no. of children (your own, birthed or adopted)
k = no. of children (attending the event in question)
f = no. of fucks given
SCORING
A = 3 or less: Even your mother-in-law would approve.
A = 4-7: It's iffy, but what the fuck. YOLO or something. Just don't Instagram it.
A = 10 or greater: Time to go shopping!
Retired Mommy Blogger Settling Nicely Into Nursing Home
HOLLYWOOD, FL -- In what his wife described as an "inevitable conclusion to a lifelong horror show of dysfunction", 43 year-old Turbin Tildon spent the afternoon helping his mother Dee, a retired mommy blogger, settle into Shady Acres nursing home Saturday.
"Isn't this nice, Mom?" Turbin asked, his dead-eyed smile tight with long-suppressed resentment. "You should be as comfortable here as I was living the first year of my life in your walk-in closet."
Appearing enraged and refusing to speak or make eye contact, the elderly Dee - whose blog "Oh, Dee! Lightful Days and Twinkly Nights" publicly chronicled the embarrassing misadventures of Turbin and younger sister Calliope - sat rigidly on her new single mattress while Turbin arranged framed pictures on the dresser. "I'll put the collage of me crying when I couldn't find my favorite toy truck right here. Remember when you posted that for millions strangers to laugh at? Haha, that was a popular one!"
Sources say Tildon, a successful writer whose recent autobiography "Rageview$: Recovering From a Life Online" ranked #3 on the New York Times bestseller list, is more than wealthy enough to provide in-home care for his aging mother. "All the money in the world can't buy back what he really only ever wanted from her," his wife sighed, shaking her head sadly and watching as Turbin unpacked Dee's collection of e-devices.
When asked how often he planned to bring his young children to visit their grandmother, Turbin laughed bitterly and looked away. "I need to go speak with the director," he muttered. "They spelled my name wrong on the sign-in paperwork."
At time of press, Mrs. Tildon was inquiring staff as to the availability of wifi in her room.
Stephanie’s Standards
"Oh but he's such a catch," she said, when her friends raised their eyebrows at one another. "He's got some limbs and a mouth and a functioning brain. He speaks fluent English and has read at least three books for pleasure. He can boil water and operate a car. I'm quite certain he's never murdered anyone, and he doesn't kick my dog."
Thus enlightened, her friends had no choice but to be happy for her. Except for Stephanie, who secretly wondered what sort of fish had been thrown back.
Instagram Oversight
Dear @elliequent,
As part of our ongoing efforts to improve the Instagram community, our team is in the process of reviewing the accounts of our many valued users. In doing so, it has come to our attention that your account may not be in full compliance with the terms and regulations to which you agreed by installing and using the application.
Specifically, it appears that your currently published feed lacks a photograph of any coffee drink, in any incarnation.
Per our revised Terms of Use, the full text of which can be found at instagram.com/legal, all Instagram users are required to post at least one coffee-related picture, in order to complete the account validation process. I regret to inform you that, having failed to comply with this rule, @elliequent is therefore considered an invalid account by our legal team, and thus subject to cancellation at any time.
In order to bring your usage into compliance, please post, at your earliest convenience, an image of one of the following:
1. coffee (may be decaf), with or without cream and sugar, in a standard mug/cup (cafe au lait bowls are also acceptable)
2. any form of espresso drink, iced or hot, with or without foam, including cappuccino, cafe mocha, americano, or mochalattachinafrappanilla, in any recognizable ceramic or plastic ("to go") drinking vessel
The coffee drink may pictured on its own, or accompanied by other items such as a croissant, a cat, or an iPad. Additionally, while exact positioning of the drink is not important, our suggested placement is perched precariously on a vintage-sheeted bed, beside a pair of bare female legs and a well-worn paperback, in as generally an uncomfortable and unlikely way of sitting with a full cup of hot liquid as you can manage.
Please note that while chai tea is an acceptable substitute, black and herbal teas are not.
Once you have posted the requisite image, our staff will immediately update your account status in our records, and you will be considered a full-fledged member of the Instagram community.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact our support team at instagram.com/help.
We look forward to working with you to amend this oversight.
Sincerely,
Kevin Systrom
co-founder, Instagram
Roachmate
To my new roommate:
Welcome to loft 712! I trust you're settling in nicely, and finding your new surroundings clean, comfortable, and cozy. I'm going to assume that this isn't your first experience with co-habitation; my understanding is that your species tends to reside in large numbers, typically in sewers, subways, and the dumpsters behind C-grade restaurants. I hope you find my apartment as agreeable as those quarters!
Anyway, I'm sure you're familiar with the need to establish some basic ground rules between roommates, for the sake of both parties. Which is why I took the liberty of drawing up a short list of "roomie requests" with which I hope you won't mind complying. And please - if you have a similar list for myself, I'd be happy to look it over, though I will ask that you write as large as possible.
1. I saw when you came in that you immediately gravitated to the area underneath my dishwasher and kitchen sink. I think that's an excellent place for you; you'll have plenty of space and privacy for reading, knitting, gaming, or whatever leisure activities you engage in. I only ask that if either myself or my dog enters the kitchen, that you not come scurrying out to greet us. We startle easily, and might accidentally step on you, or try to eat you, or drop whatever encyclopedia-sized book we're carrying on you. And since you left the emergency contact section of your lease application blank, I wouldn't know how to reach your loved ones should you get hurt.
2. My bed is completely off limits. Please do not come anywhere near it at any time of day or night, even if I am out. I cannot stress enough my need for you to respect this boundary. In fact, should you violate this very important rule, your security deposit will be immediately forfeited to help defray the cost of my subsequent therapy.
3. On those rare occasions that I have company, please please please stay completely out of sight. You seem like a really lovely arthropod, and please don't take my disinclination to socialize personally. It's just that some of my friends - while I love them! - are a little bit sanctimonious about dumb things like "sanitary living conditions" and "health codes." I wouldn't want any of them to say something in your presence that might hurt your feelings.
4. No parties allowed whatsoever. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't invite any of your friends over, ever.
5. No:
smoking
curtain climbing
swimming in the toilet
napping in my shoes
music after 10pm (NPR ok)
6. Finally, please do not download any porn onto my computer, which you are otherwise welcome to use (wifi password: NUCLEARFALLOUT).
Okay, I think that about covers it! As I said above, if you have any requests of your own, just let me know. I'm confident that, despite being such very different creatures, we can peacefully coexist until the exterminator comes on Monday indefinitely.
Warmly,
Your new flatmate, Ellie
I’m A Dime. I’m fine.
Sitting cross-legged on the rug, she tipped the oversized mason jar once used for cold brew coffee onto the floor. The sound made the dog look up briefly before dropping his head again.
An avalanche of copper. A buck or so of nickels, dull and thick in their near worthlessness. She spread the pile with her fingertips to unearth what was left of those precious glinting slivers. Dimes were always her favorite. Tidy little discs that like to hide behind pennies, surprise you in a winking flash. That pleased feeling of suddenly jumping ten cents closer to the object of one's vending machine desire.
There were no quarters. Quarters had their own special home, in the footed antique desert dish where they gathered strength in numbers before giving their lives in service of clean sheets, socks, sweats.
The indignity of the moment bit, though she re-packaged it cheerfully as frugality. Legit a week's worth of Metro rides in here! She glanced at the dog, as if to check whether he could read her true thought, which was closer to a solitary, sighing Christ. If so, he remained poker-faced about it.
A curious imposter in the jumble of coins peered up at her: a lone googly eye. Lidless. Lost. Laughing? Oh, knock it off. Don't be dramatic. No bigger than the nail of her pinky finger. Hard transparent shell protecting a flat black circle. She resisted an urge to crush it with her thumb, watch the clear plastic turn milky the way it will when bent. Cheap things give easily under pressure.
Instead she picked it up and carried it to the kitchen trash. It wouldn't help her get to work in the morning, and she doubted she'd come across its mate any time soon.
Their Boys Elroys
Dear Valued Employee,
It is with heavy hearts that we write today. Though it has been our most sincere wish to justly reward your many years of loyalty and longanimity, today we must come clean. There will be no rewards, just or otherwise. The jig is up. Your position, we regret to say, has been eliminated.
As you know, Cogswell's Cogs is a company that prides itself on innovation. It was Cogswell's that pioneered use of RUx33, permanently altering the landscape of the trade and allowing us to break into the previously inaccessible markets of gewgaws and gimcracks. And it was Cogswell's that first implemented Zimbot technology in our Aitutaki midifactory, bringing the gleaming edge of industry (if not jobs) to the shores of that untapped paradise and leading us to be named Thingmakers of The Year by Massify Magazine. And of course, you will be well aware that we remain the only cogs manufacturer to successfully restructure our internal operations to the 100-1 system (one hundred commissioned employees for every one C-suite executive), allowing us to deliver incomparable results to our shareholders.
All this considered, you no doubt understand that as an opportunity for acquisition, we have been a highly desirable target for some time. Friend, we held out as long as we could. But we have yacht payments to make and bunkers to design, and frankly, the current state of our stock isn't going to get us to Hilton Head, much less New Zealand. In disruptive times, disruptors must sometimes disrupt disruptions. This is one of those times. Effectively immediately, Cogswell's Cogs is legally dissolved and all its properties, patents, and holdings absorbed by parent company Spacely Sprockets. We appreciate all you have brought to Cogswell's and know you have a bright future in the thingmaking space.
We ask that you now please Slack your coworkers goodbye, collect your Yeti mugs, and depart the premises. People and Culture will reach out separately with information regarding your severance package.
Sumus Optimus,
Team Cogswell
Get The Red Out
The salon I have chosen for my first Chicago hair cut is four blocks from my apartment. It's on Dearborn, a street name that dings the little Midwestern memory bell in my head--the one that hasn't stopped ringing since I got here. My dad traveled to Dearborn, Michigan often for work. I grew up hearing the word without ever thinking how curious a compound it really is. Dearborn. A sobriquet for another time.
It's on Dearborn, but in a direction I haven't walked yet on that particular street. I have so barely scratched the surface here. The first thing I notice is there's no doormat. Not in the tiny anteroom, nor at the salon's entrance. It's 9am and they've just opened. I'm the first appointment of the day, rescheduled by them last minute from a later slot. "Do you mind coming in earlier? We have a huge gap, it would really help us out." Of course I say yes, but I do so quelling a tinge of annoyance that I'll have to wake up early on my day off.
However, my days off are Saturday and Sunday, every single week. That is a triumph I can lean on, if I am a little sleepy.
I step into the space and lightly stamp my boots to shake off the snow. A man enters from the salon's back room and begins readying one of the stations for the day. He smiles my way, but remains quiet. I feel the need to say something. "There's no doormat!" I exclaim, trying to excuse the puddle of water I'm creating. He smiles bigger and walks toward me. He doesn't introduce himself, but it's clear from his dress and comportment that this is his salon. When he takes my coat I take in coffee-black eyes and a deep sense of mansuetude. A calmness that matches the empty salon and the blanketed sidewalks outside.
"I'm not used to the snow," I continue, ridiculously. "I just moved here from LA." Where is this non-sequitur coming from? What am I doing?
"Ah," he says softly. "That explains it." Explains what? I suddenly feel sharply self-conscious in my hoodie and jeans. Have my clothes given me away? Is it that obvious I'm an invasive species?
Once situated in the seat furthest from the door, I announce I'm going to be his easiest client ever. While I enumerate my very short list of very basic desires, he gently plays with my hair. I want the same two things I ever want: cut what you have to so it's healthy and try to get the red out without darkening it. This second item is my long-running fantasy. I have been assured by anyone licensed to bear scissors that red is my destiny. Something about the undertones in my hair, I don't know. But I was born a redhead and I am doomed to die one, apparently. Ash-less to ash-less, dust to dust.
Mish (whose name I learn from the girl that steps in to apply my color) tells me he can get me to the cooler shade I want. "I'll use ash to tone down the red. We'll see how it comes out today, but within another visit or so you should be good." The assured way he says this gives me hope. Also: I'm on a program! A program to de-redify my hair!
My color is applied by a girl whose expertly waved, cascading locks remind me how boring a client I must be. As she paints on chemicals that make my scalp itch furiously, I stare at her light blue Converse. She definitely changes shoes at work, like me. Her perfectly worn in sneakers are nowhere near as try hard as my squeaky new boots. I feel devastatingly uncool.
Color girl and I talk about my recent move. She has a friend who just came back to Chicago from LA, and we compare notes. Her friend has told her that Los Angeles is nothing like it's portrayed in the movies. I confirm this, and many of her friend's other criticisms. Yes, it really is that dirty. Yes, it really is that crowded. Yes, it really is that hot. She wants to know if people in LA really are all narcissists. Here I tread lightly. "No..." I start without conviction. "But it's influencer central out there. And it's not a really good place to be, unless you have a lot of money. Or you're in the industry. But most people that think they're in the industry are just extras, or comedians, or, like, used up actors who eventually give up and get real jobs, but they stay because their friends are there. It's a weird place." She nods, absorbing.
When I learn she has an hour commute I turn in the chair to face her. "You must love working here," I say, amazed. She laughs. Further to my amazement (and delight): she doesn't drive. It's an hour train ride. Public transportation in Chicago really is all that. Confirmed. I sit up straighter, gloating to myself. I knew it. I remember something Costa said about cheaper rents, further out from downtown. I wonder just how cheap it would be if I was willing to take on a twenty, thirty minute commute...
By the time I am handed back to Mish I have narrowed my Pinterest haircut selections down to one favorite. The model has fine reddish hair, like me. A side part, like me. Her hair dusts the tops of her shoulders, mostly one length, in a wave so slight it looks accidental. Bed head, but a really lucky bout of bed head. "Ignore her color," I say unnecessarily, "but the cut and style. That would work, right?" I peer up at the man I have already decided I will entrust my hair to, for however long I remain in Chicago. He's perfect. Relaxed, soft-spoken, a countervail to my awkward energy. Studying the picture, he asks several questions to further clarify exactly what I want. I appreciate and respect this thoroughness very much. Measure twice, cut once indeed.
And for the next thirty minutes I am treated to the gentlest hair cut and styling of my life. No one, not even my best friend, has even been so delicate with my (delicate) strands. Hair stylists have schedules to keep like everyone else; not their problem my fine hair will beak easily under their hurried combs.
But not Mish. Mish tenderly separates the tiniest sections of my hair, using his hands more than the rough bristled brush. I sit quietly and still as can be. Mish on the other hand grows talkative as he twists soft spirals in my hair. Telling me how much I'm going to love Chicago. Telling me to just wait until Spring. And then Summer. And oh, Fall. He looks at me in the mirror and makes promises of Chicago's beauty and wonder. And I believe all of them.
It feels less like a treatment than a ceremony. He is so exquisitely gentle I never once feel the tug of his brush on my scalp. And my hair, which has been drying this whole time in a victoriously cool shade of light brown, responds with shine and bounce. I am ecstatic. The woman in the mirror smiles back at me, from under her mask. She beams at the man whose dark eyes flash in mirth at her obvious delight. He told me he could get the red out. Did I not believe him?
I did, of course. Never doubted him.
Paid up and with a pledge to return, I shimmy back into my coat. In my excitement, I forget to put my gloves on before getting outside. That's a big no no; the cold will lock into my fingers and not let go. But today I don't notice it. My squeaky new boots crunch the snow underneath and the wind whips delicious smelling hair all around my face. I'm buoyed by the successful new connection.
Life can change. One of my newest, most powerful mantras floats up, like a snowflake falling in reverse. Life can change. In with the new and out with the red--I mean old.
Index of Selected Life Experiences as Reflected in Songs I Love
A
aging
solidarity in, via friendship…….………….……….…..……All My Friends, LCD Soundsystem
sting of.………………………………………………………………Family Friend, The Vaccines
Losing My Edge, LCD Soundsystem
alienation, constant sense of……………………………………Everybody’s Changing, Keane
ambition, pointlessness of……………………………………….Tougher Than It Is, Cake
attachment, pointlessness of……………………………………Arc of Time, Bright Eyes
B
breakups
contentious…………………………………………………….. Already Forgot Everything You Said, The Dig
inconclusive……………………………………………………..If You Wanna, The Vaccines
overdue…………………………………………………..……….Someday, The Strokes
painful……………………………………………………………..Careful, Gunster
bridges, amicably burned………….…………………………..Landlocked Blues, Bright Eyes
C
childhood
adverse experiences………………………………………….When Will I Belong, Geographer
positive selective memory of…………………………..…The Unicorn, The Irish Rovers
casual sex
advantages of…………………………………….………….…I Want A Lover I Don’t Have to Love, Bright Eyes
age gap in……………….………………………………….……Your Love, The Outfield
Take it Easy (Love Nothing), Bright Eyes
with unavailable men………………………………….……Curtain Calls, Old 97s
codependence
romantic…………………………………………………………Crane Your Neck, Lady Lamb
post-romantic………………………………………………… Just a Memory, ODESZA
cohabitation………………………………………………………..Wheels, Cake
communication, difficulty in…………………………..……Say What You Feel, Jagwar Ma
D
depression
relief from, as provided by friends…………..…….…..Geraldine, Glasvegas
respite from, idiopathic origin………………………….There Goes the Fear, The Doves
disillusion
general…………………………………………………………...Road to Joy, Bright Eyes
romantic…………………………………………………..…… Someday, The Strokes
with society…………………………………………………….At The Bottom of Everything, Bright Eyes
F
friendship
excellence in……………………………………………………Simple Song, The Shins
A Glorious Day, Embrace
life-saving shared experience of…………………………All My Friends, LCD Soundsystem
loss of & pain caused thereof…………………………….All My Friends, LCD Soundsystem
G
grief, survival of…………………………………………...………Hold On, Alabama Shakes
I
infatuation
healthy…………………………………………………………..We Belong, ODESZA
Fresh Feeling, Eels
unhealthy……………………………………………………….South America, Shout Out Louds
Waiting for That Day, George Michael
L
loss
romantic..………………………………………………..…...It’s Only, ODESZA
familial…………………………………………………………Sloom, Of Monsters and Men
love
current idealized vision of…………………….…………Oh Baby, LCD Soundsystem
post-apocalyptic vision of.………………….…..………Buick City Complex, Old 97’s
practical application of………..………….………….…..Let Me Go, Cake
secretly held vision of……..………………....………..…Save The Last Dance for Me, The Drifters
M
mental illness
acceptance of, in romantic partners…………………….My Beloved Monster and Me, Eels
Let Go, RAC
optimism about………………………………………….……..Blinking Lights for Me, Eels
N
nostalgia
unmerited, romantic……………..…………………………You Used to Be My Baby, Mike Del Rio
unmerited, other………………………………………………Sedona, Houndmouth
P
psychedelics
enjoyed with partners……………..………………...…Inside Out, Spoon
enjoyed solo ………….……..……………………………..Good For Me, Above & Beyond, Alpha 9 Remix
R
revenge, fantasies of…………………………………..….….Rush of Blood to the Head, Coldplay
resilience, hard won……………………………….…….…..Always Alright, Alabama Shakes
The Wind, Cat Stevens
Dime, Cake
S
self-perception, romanticized…………………………….English Girls Approximately, Ryan Adams
Science of Silence, Richard Ashcroft
sex, excellence in………………………………………………..Your Sex is a Dream, Trevor Something
suicide, heretofore aversion to…………………………….End of The Movie, Cake
T
toxic boy moms…………………………………………………Indefinitely, Old 97’s
W
writing, finding purpose in……………………………….Closer to Fine, Indigo Girls
The Twitter Bird’s glassdoor review
Pros
Patio had excellent snacks.
Cons
Once Space Balls bought us, work life balance went to seed. Expected to be an early bird AND a late owl. PTO policy sucks. Asked for but was denied a week off to fly south for winter. Like, really?? You didn’t notice anything when you hired me?? So much for reasonable accommodation.
No one was interested in my legitimate 30,000 foot view, and the lack of support meant I was always winging it. Forever walking on egg shells around the CEO—dude is a bigger cuckoo than my batshit uncle Sonny.
Terminated with no warning whatsoever. Was offered a role at Boring monitoring carbon monoxide but honestly I would rather fly directly into the engine of a Spirit 747 than work for that dodo again.
NO FOMO
I wrote an SNL commercial, because why not. Featuring Andy Samberg, Pete Davidson, and Bill Hader as the announcer.