DVR Drama by Lisa

Before I "shmoved" to Chicago, I lived alone for a really, really, really long time.

Did I mention it was a long time?

Well, when you're the only one under your own roof, you take certain things for granted. Like...

• When you get home at the end of the day, the last half of your cheesecake is exactly where you left it.

• Your clean clothes can sit in piles on your bedroom floor for as. long. as. you. want.

• The DVR records all of YOUR favorite programs WITHOUT FAIL.

Well, let's just say #1 & #2 I can live with but #3, well, that's not negotiable. Because to put it mildly...

Momma needs her f***ing TV!

Back home in Cali, my DVR was a well-oiled machine, like a fine wine--aged to perfection. I'd spent a painstaking amount of time and energy getting it just right. From prioritizing my programs to making sure there was padding at the beginning and end of my favorite shows "just in case" there was a supersized episode-I'd done it all. I never missed a show. Not even a Jersey Housewives reunion. Until...

I cohabitated.

And since I shmoved in with my beloved future hubby, my DVR situation has become

one. hot. mess.

So far, I've missed..

• The season premiere of Brothers & Sisters (Sally Field is like a mother to me!)

• The premiere of Grey's Anatomy (Yeah, I'm one of the six people who still watch!)

• Several episodes of Project Runway! (Life just isn't whole without a weekly trip to Mood!)

The reasons for this DVR dilemma?

• The definition of "important" television is a debate in our house. (I say anything that ends with a cliffhanger. He says anything that ends with ball.)

• Before my time, the most action Matt's DVR had seen was the time it accidentally recorded Wizards of Waverly Place.

• We have a pretty majuh problem that I like to call Saturday, Sunday and Monday Night Football.

So cut to this past Sunday night.

All was right in the world. The kids were in bed, the refrigerator was cleaned out (don't ask!) and I was sitting comfortably on the couch ready to immerse myself in my own, little television world. A world where...

• I see Matt's lips moving, but there is no sound.

• My biggest stress is whether or not it will be an elimination round on the The Amazing Race.

• I have complete control of the remote.

Not so much.

Matt wanted to watch the Chargers game.

And my beloved future hubby's eyes glazed over when I tried to explain why he couldn't just switch over to channel 187. I had two programs recording at the same time! But wanting to be a good wifey-to-be, I dumped Melrose (I only wanted to find out if Ashley was a better actress than lip syncher anyway) so he could watch his ballgame. After, the TV karma gods would be looking out for me and all would be right in the world as I watched my shows, right?

Not so much.

When I turned on The Amazing Race, Instead of Phil Keoghan, I saw Andy Rooney!

WTF?

According to Matt, who very patiently tried to explain this injustice as I cradled my head in my hands, the end of 60 Minutes had recorded so that meant I wouldn't get the entire episode of The Amazing Race!

But how would I know if those professional poker beeyotches made it through?

Matt slowly explained that this could be an ongoing problem because The Amazing Race may never fully record.

What???

Because of the Central Time Zone. Because of football. And because of 60 Minutes. Long story short, football almost always runs late. 60 Minutes must run in its entirety.

No. Matter. What.

Or, as Matt put it, a bunch of blue hairs (and him) would revolt. So, even if I add padding to the end of The Amazing Race, if a football game goes into OT, I could be screwed. And forced to watch the show, the next day or online. Or worse...

in. real. time.

Gag. And screw you Andy Rooney for ruining my life!

But this is all part of saying, I do, right? Learning to be flexible and to deal with new situations. And learning to, er, compromise.

Um, not so much.

Well, at least not for now.

Not when it comes to my precious TV.

So in the meantime, while I come to grips with reality, I'm going to propose my form of a compromise.

A second DVR.

xoxo

Study Guide by Liz

Get a colonoscopy. Listen to Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears discuss world politics.

Be a contestant on Survivor.

*rings buzzer* What are "Things Liz would rather do than study?"

DING DING DING DING DING!  YOU ARE CORRECT!

I've never been the "studious" type.  In fact, and I've never really been a "details" type of girl and well, quite frankly, cramming really cramps my style.

So you may find it funny that I pursued a career in an industry where constant learning in essential and testing your knowledge is a common occurence.  But somehow, I always found a way to make it work...Until I had kids.

I had always thought it was a myth that you can't remember shit after having children. Um, yeah. I couldn't have been more wrong.  Since giving birth to mine, I can barely remember where my keys are each day, let alone memorize the statistical analysis of seven clinical trials.  In fact, I spent twenty minutes frantically searching for my bluetooth last week, only to find it...on my ear. And the only thing I seem to be able to remember these day is who won last week's elimination challenge on Top Chef and the plotline for Grey's Anatomy.

Not to mention the fact that all this haphazard studying makes me feel like I've boarded a time machine and traveled to...1994. Like I'm pulling an all-nighter in the Cal Poly library so I can flirt with that cute boy from Communication 101 (Because really, is there any other reason to pull an all-nighter?) and attempting in vain to figure out how the f*ck to work the Lexis Nexis. Yeah, you heard me right, Lexis Nexis.  I've just officially  admitted that I attended college before internet was available.  Back then, we were so looking forward to seeing what that "Information Superhighway" was all about.  And the only way to research a paper was to actually open a book. *insert dinosaur jokes here*

Back then, my biggest worry was what I would wear to that night's sorority mixer or what drink wouldn't make me throw up on the way home in Marty Mazda .  So, because  I just can't  get Whatta Man by Salt N Pepa out of my head, I've decided to take a break from memorizing P values and take a leisurely stroll down memory lane...Care to join me?

LIZ'S MUST LIST...FROM 1994

1. Brown-braided belt with polo shirt with penny loafers

Why Lisa and I felt the need to deny any and all sex appeal in order to channel our inner-male with this ensemble will always baffle me.  And I think we actually put a penny in our loafers.  Gag!  To this day, I still can't shake my aversion for collared shirts.  NEVUH AGAIN, I SAY!

2. The soundtrack to The Bodyguard

I don't want to call anyone out(Lisa) but someone(Lisa) REALLY liked this soundtrack.  And that someone would sing it very loudly, as if they were channeling Whitney Houston herself.  ALOT.  Okay, okay, maybe I sang with her.  Sometimes.

3.  Gas for $1.09 and homes for $119,000

Do you think they'll let me fill up my time machine before I head home?  Or just stay and make an offer on that place I've had my eye on?  Because I'd be willing to tolerate scrunchies and the rise of the Spice Girls again if it meant I could have affordable housing!

4. Bobby McGee's

If you needed to find me on any given Thursday, Friday or Saturday, I'd be here in my shortest skort doing the poor-man's electric slide or shaking my ass to the Macarena.  And I used to wonder why I was single?

5.  The "Rachel" haircut

Oh, how I wanted this haircut.  In fact, "The Rachel" is the whole reason I got off my ass and learned how to straighten my hair.  Because although the 80's were kind to those of us who were follically challenged, the nineties had no such patience. Unfortunately, I never did quite perfect my "Rachel", prompting others to refer to it as the "Rochelle", her slightly frizzy second cousin.

What was your Must List in the nineties?

xoxo, Liz

FACEBOOK REJECTION CONFESSION BY LIZ

I was laughing last week as Lisa came out of the closet, proclaiming herself a Facebook whore.  Was it only three months ago that I was begging her to join? I fondly remember my first few days on Facebook last July.  The randomness of  being able to friend your mom, your boss, the guy who took your virginity all at the same time held a lot of appeal to me.

At first I was a bit shy.  I would troll around in cyberspace for hours, wishing my exes didn't have such common names so they'd be easier to find.  Why hadn't I dated less Smiths and Jones?

But once I did find these people, I was happy to see that they were  just as curious to find out what I'd been up to for the past 10-20 years.  They were probably dying to know if I'd finally figured out how to use a tweezers and a straightening iron. (FYI, I did, but only after a intervention by my friend Heather.)

As my friend list grew, I became drunk with the power of finding every ghost of my past.  I began to friend with abandon, adding everyone from from my  high school nemesis to a fellow mom at my kid's preschool. I was unstoppable!

Until I found Gappy McGapperson.(Not his real name, obviously.)

I met Gappy my junior year of college.  Let me make one thing clear, just in case his name doesn't do him justice. He was not cute. At all.  He was a  Kurt Cobain wannabe with a huge gap between his front teeth and helmet hair.

But he'd transferred in from another school and immediately started dating a very cute girl. So everyone thought he was hotter than he really was. Then he dogged that cute girl. Real bad.  And the rest is history.  I had to have this gap-toothed asshole for my own.

Like a lot of us, I had a secret fantasy that I would one day tame a "bad boy".  That although no other woman had been able to break him of his drunken, tardy(I'm so anal about time that I consider this bad boy behavior), dogging ways before me.  I had visions of people toasting about it at our wedding...I would become a legend to insecure woman with daddy issues all around the world!

And this secret fantasy led me to date the biggest jackasses on earth until I finally realized that it's okay to let yourself love a nice guy.  They make great husbands!

Anyway, I digress.  So long story short, I dated Gappy for a New York minute.  We had big plans to attend my sorority formal the week after spring break.  Formal was the place I was going to show him that I was the girl that would change his life forever! But my dreams were crushed when he proceeded to mack on at least ten other girls in Mexico on Spring Break.  In front of all my friends.  With some of my friends!

Needless to say, that was the end for Gappy and me.  The toast at our wedding just wasn't in the cards now, even if he did beg for me back and  pledge his undying love.  I was hurt, humiliated and frustrated with myself for letting the fact that he was a "bad boy" make me forget how gross he was.

Fast forward to last month.  I'm cruising Facebook while watching Grey's Anatomy and decide I have time to peruse the millions of  pages from my college graduating class.  It had been a while since I'd made a great Facebook "find" and I was anxious to discover someone interesting from my past.

And there he was!  Gappy McGapperson.

Okay, so I know what you're all thinking.  OF COURSE I want him to take a look at my profile and feel regret that he let me slip away.  That if  he had just been patient and pointed me in the direction of Weight Watchers and a good hair stylist, we could've really had something.  I wanted him to see my incredibly tall, handsome husband,(Gappy wasn't too tall and I think we've established he had a dog-face.) and beautiful children and say, "Damn! She could've been mine!"

So, without having tasted Facebook rejection yet, I confidently hit the "Add Friend" button and wrote a short note. Something like. "OMG, hey Gappy!  It's Liz!  How the hell are you!"

And then I waited.

And waited.

AND WAITED SOME MORE...

After a couple of weeks, I dropped back in on Gappy to see what was going on and saw that I had been REJECTED!  That's right.  The friend request was gone, I had been ignored.

Basically, Facebook's version of the middle finger.

Really Gappy? Really?  You're not even a wee bit curious what I've been up to?  If you would just add me as a friend you would see that the tables are turned. Now I'm too good for you!

And I'm not gonna lie.  The rejection stung.  All of a sudden it was 1995 all over again when my roommates sat me down and detailed Gappy's extracurricular activities in San Felipe.  And then all the scrambling I had to do the next week to find a formal date that hadn't publicly humiliated me. (Much harder to do than you might think!)

So I've been a bit shy on the Facebook trigger since then.  I've found another "bad boy" from the past but I'm just going to have to wait it out for him to friend me and discover I was the best thing that almost happened to him.

*big sigh*