Hiroshima to my heart

As in many situations in life, there is a certain level of conflict one feels about one's current arrangement. A kind of borderline-greatness, if you will. Example: October. The holidays are approaching, the leaves will shortly be changing, and I can begin to unbox my sweaters and jackets for fall prep. Except I CAN'T. Mainly because it's still Hades heartland right now and I get over-heated just wearing a cardi. But I also can't lovingly hang my fall wear because I live in a shoebox, not a room. You think I exaggerate? Come over sometime and I'll show you.



Don't get me wrong - I love having a cook/laundress. Who wouldn't want a maid? And I love hanging out with the sibs. (Usually). But besides the feelings of complete failure and insipidity that comes with moving back in with mom and dad, there are two MAJOR problems with living back at home:



1. ZERO space. Half of my wardrobe has to be folded and stacked! Yes, that includes dresses. Oh the horror. AND I have to toss my shoes into baskets at the bottom of my closet. I mean, really. How would you feel to be cast off like, ahem, an old shoe? Tragic. They deserve better than that.



That is bad enough, but then compound it with this:



2. NO TV! The parents cut the cable a few years ago, but I am just now feeling the horrible effects. I don't know when it happened (though my suspicion is that it came from living with Laquina), but I turned into a TV lover. Before college I didn't care to watch anything, but now I NEED my shows. They have become an addiction, nay - a necessity; like air, like water, like chocolate/peanut butter Golden Spoon. How did this happen? Who knows and who cares. What I do know is that I heart Netflix and the internet now more than ever. Without them I couldn't watch the staples: Gossip Girl, Sunny in Philadelphia, Mad Men, Pushing Daisies, Fringe, Heroes, 30 Rock, The Extras, and my highly anticipated Absolutely Fabulous which is a bit old school and I can't wait to get it in the mail.



Really though, can you blame me for such guilty pleasures? I imagine not, because I have a sneaking suspicion that you, female or male, wants a piece of that Bass (Chuck, obviously).

YUM. Remember the days when I was innocent and sweet and wanted a blend of Mr.Knightly/Capt. Winters/Curly-from-Oklahoma/Mr. Darcy? Yeah, well those days are over. I want me some of that womanizing sketchiness that is CB.

I suppose the solution to my dilemmas would be to find a new job and move out and gain my self-respect back. So if you have any offers of British Parliament externships or London house-sitting opportunities, you know where to find me: on the couch.