Okay, so none of my friends who keep weblogs have been updating their pages. What are you guys doing? Working at your jobs? Come on, I am lonely and technically umemployed. Throw me a bone here, people. :)
Technically, I am not unemployed. I am freelance. I am trying to focus on the positive, emphasizing the FREE, as in freedom, of freelance. I shouldn't complain. If none of these jobs come through-- perish the thought-- then I will be starting an internship at a newspaper that I love and believe in and adore being a part of. I know, because I interned there before, which makes me feel a teeny bit stagnant, but I am glad for the opportunity to keep shooting and getting paid for it, which is all I really want anyway. Well, I also want health benefits.
I have insurance right now through COBRA, the insurance for unemployed college graduates. You know, in all their mailings they never explain what COBRA stands for. Does anyone know? Why would you name health insurance after a deadly poisonous reptile? It should be called something comforting, like eucalyptus, or something related to medicine, like Hippocrates. (You know, the Hippocratic oath and whatnot). Then, when I went to the dentist the other day, the receptionist, who has known me since I was four, could have been like, "Do you have your new card now that you are covered through HIPPOCRATES?" and I would smile my cavity-free smile (Not one cavity yet in 22 years, no sir. AND that's without flossing, because honestly, who wants to snap a spittle and blood-soaked string in and out of their teeth? Not me. Maybe the people who thought of called health insurance for unemployed college students COBRA do) and said, "Yes, yes I do." Although the medicine symbol has a snake coiled around it, too, so perhaps they are related.
I feel like my boyfriend or some other friends who know a lot of trivia would know this.
Okay. I am going to watch the end of Trading Spaces, "the exciting new home decorating show on TLC the Learning Channel," says host Alex McLeod (pronounced McCloud). It's a rip-off of a simlarly-themed show that I watched in England about neighbors who get to secretly fix up a room any way they want, with the help of an interior decorator (although they always say "designer" on the show; my, my) in their friends' homes. The English version was wittier and better, as are most other things British. Except for freakin' cake mix. The Brits, like, refuse to believe in cake mix. Sour cream was also very hard to find. I got the urge to make my mom's famous taco dip when I was studying abroad, and it was next to impossible. I almost died.
No, I didn't. Thank God for Tesco.
Maybe my mom and Mrs. Plotner could go on Trading Spaces, and we could finally change our Very Brady Orange Kitchen. Although, sometimes the homeowners have to use power tools and sewing machines, and right now, the way our luck has been going, I am terrified that my mother would lop off her own head with a paint roller. She is feeling much better, though, which is excellent.
Okay, the show is now almost over. Must run to TV for its hypnotic, soothing goodness.