on your television tonight

Okay, on my television tonight. Tomato, tomahto, cucumber.

I realize I am going to type all this out and it will amuse no one but me--and it's already amused me so very very much--because most of the joke would need to be explained if you aren't me. Nevertheless, onward we plow.

First up, new episode of Hoarders. One of the stories is a lady who has had no plumbing in her house for three years. With predictable results. Well, predictable if you've ever watched Hoarders. Think a house chock full of bottles o' pee and piles of human poop. (No, that's not the funny part.) The woman is very glib in being able to attribute her dysfunction to all the trauma in her life, including being raped twelve times. Or maybe it was seventeen. (No, that's not the funny part either, but it does make my bullshit antenna go up.***) The part which made.me.die. is the little reveal at the end where the crew has made a new room for her to meditate in and she is shown chanting at her new altar. Remember when M2 took me to the Buddhist chanting and I found it a wee bit cult-like and not for me? Um, yeah. That's exactly the chanting poop lady was doing. I cannot wait till M2 sees this episode. She will.also.die.

Then Intervention comes on. I don't watch Intervention ever, but since it's not time for me to take my clothes out of the dryer, I catch the first few minutes. The apparent subject is showing off a room in her house to the camera crew. "This is our wine room," she says slurrily, pointing to some mostly empty racks. "As you can see, there's not much wine in it. I drank it all." Oh, the lulz. Oh, the fucking lulz. Then my clothes were done.

In totally non-television-related news, I've been hearing this loud beep in my house on and off for like 3 days and I thought I was going insane because I couldn't figure out what it is. Until now. It's my FIOS setup in the garage, telling me the battery in the battery backup needs to be replaced. Damn you, Verizon.

xoxo

***When Our Lil MILF came by a couple months ago and was telling us stories about her new job with the Commonwealth, one of them concerned one of her clients calling to tell her that her landlord had raped her. Understandably concerned but also puzzled why the woman was calling her, not, say, THE POLICE, she ran it by a co-worker. Co-worker rolled her eyes. "Again? She gets raped every three months. Ask her how many months behind in the rent she is." Answer: a few. But it's totally justified because the light is out in her hallway!