Tina Fey

So I'm unemployed.  Goin' on two months.  Kinda starting to get me down.

So I'm looking at the job postings, as I do twelve hudred times a day, every day.

There's a posting to be a receptionist at The Athletic Club.  I think: "Hey, that would be just like when Tina Fey worked at the front desk at the YMCA."

This is:
a) a sign of an unhealthy obsession with Tina Fey.
b) a really weird attempt to pretend that she and I have anything in common.
c) the worst justification for considering a job EVER.
d) all of the above.

Anecdote of the day:

Sitting in the back of the van at Mackie's, door open, havin' a car picnic because the place was packed. The conversation turns to bodily functions, as it OFTEN does in our family.  E declares loudly--

"We're not buying dried apricots for this guy again!  (jerking her thumb in the direction of Pop)  They make his farts smell horrible!"

--just as a young family walked by the van.  The best part was that the wife tried to politely ignore the conversation, but I saw the husband smile knowingly.