When I was in Asia I got more than a little excited in the pirated DVD shops. I know, it’s wrong. I know, it’s stealing. I know, I probably should have just walked right by those terrorism-funding-law-breaking-tourist-trap-stores. But I didn’t.
And so, it was only appropriate that my purchases there were DVD sets of probably some of the trashier shows television has ever seen. After completing Desperate Housewives last week, today I started in on Entourage and I realized I have a problem.
When I watch television shows I actually want to be the characters. After my LOST kick earlier this year, I kind of fantasized about one of our flights over the Pacific ending up on some random time warped island. The whole time I was watching Desperate Housewives I wanted to be, well, a housewife. Or at least a housewife that looked like Eva Longoria.
Now, I’m two episodes into Entourage (I started in season two because I’d already watched season one) and I want to be a movie star. That’s right. I know I sound like a six-year-old, but I want to be a movie star who hangs out with my best friends all day long, parties anytime I want and buys ridiculously extravagant gifts.
I think I should probably look into purchasing the DVD set of 7th Heaven or something of that nature next in hopes of not becoming a totally shallow person.
In the last several weeks that I’ve been home I’ve gone to two different dry cleaners in Shelby. At the first dry cleaners, as they were handing me back my clothes, after I had paid the full price, they pointed out that they had not been able to remove one of the stains from one of the skirts.
"Yeah, that one just wouldn’t come out, but don’t worry, no one will notice," the lady said, hoisting the pile of clothes into my arms. That’s why I didn’t go back to that dry cleaners.
Today, when I went to pick up my clothes from a different cleaning place, they handed them back to me saying “Yeah, there’s still a stain on this skirt, but you and I will be the only ones who even know it’s there.”
I think I must be missing something here in how cleaning services work. Aren’t they supposed to, well, clean? If the stains were easy to get out, I wouldn’t be paying a professional.
I feel like as an editor/writer, the equivalent would be me handing in an article and saying “Yeah, there are like four periods missing, but don’t worry, no one will notice” or “I didn’t actually spell the words right in this one, but you and I will be the only ones who even know that.”
I mean, how do they think it works that we will be the only two who know it’s there? I do actually have plans to wear the skirt out of my bedroom.
On another note, it’s probably a good indication of how exciting my life is that I just wrote an entire post on my issues with dry cleaners.
I am too poor (read: unemployed) to actually purchase this magazine, but this article has me so intrigued that I may actually buy it the next time I’m in a book store that carries such things. Which will be awhile because I live in the middle of nowhere.
Everett just got home from his hunting class. Apparently he thinks that he is going to kill things and needs to take a class to do it.
My favorite part about his participation in the class is his wardrobe. Everett seems to think that every where he goes in Shelby is actually a theme party and the theme is redneck. Yesterday he left for the class wearing an “Old South BBQ” t-shirt and camo hat. Today he came home wearing a shirt that says “Roadkill Cafe- You Kill it We Grill it!”
I don’t even know where he gets this stuff. I wish there was another day of the class just so I could see what else he pulls out of his closet.