So what does an unemployed college graduate with years of work experience and desire to write professionally do when it's 75 and sunny? Just what you'd expect...
5:50 a.m. -- Temp X's dog (Dog X) wakes him up as he does every day at this time. [Notable exception: The day after Daylight Savings Time ends, when he wakes Temp X up an hour earlier.]
5:50:01 a.m. -- Temp X instructs Dog X to go back to sleep. After a combination of coercion and good, old-fashion denial, it works.
6:45 a.m. -- Dog X wakes up again. In a blur, Temp X gets out of bed, feeds Dog X, goes to the john, takes Dog X to the john and wonders how Indiana Jones 4 made any money this weekend.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKQ-cAowOzIEe5yveG4CU-0Ub4UrmRODPcpHTnFdg9X0M2E1B52Krz0fDyCRWvOf10C-jtzX7hUP2lB80uKx9v42pBtvIvx2f3tMeCAY19l1k1DhE6HgmU_1nGe7M9QGsXssaYG3Uf9g/s200/tim_russert_lo.jpg)
7:05 a.m. -- Meredith Viera nods politely (having understood nothing) and throws it over to Al Roker who is live at Uni Studios discussing the fire. Roker tells us nothing new.
8:00 a.m. -- Temp X stares at the phone. His Pimp still has not called. Unless things change, it's gonna be UTO (Uninteded Time Off).
9:16 a.m. -- Temp X gives up on the prospect of a gig today. Shower? Nap? Regis & Kelly? Ok, shower. Guilt sucks.
9:30 a.m. -- Temp X screws around with the official Facebook page. It looks pretty much the same afterwards.
Noon -- Temp X goes to his favorite donut shop to work on his cutting edge-break-the-mold-but-still-appeals-to-mass-audience-and-I-can- change-it-if-you-want-to-buy-it pilot. [Note to agents: I've already got a couple other ones done. Lemme know if you want to see them.] He orders an apple fritter and a decaf with lots of sugar.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8k25chBza_Ug3THaabZftVK9ceVT1yRH9_hqbFoLhtdYOBRaJ4PVfs3e2PuRcd3dHLSNGXlafFnr62IyQAe7PDza81YAWn1ItoQM7RlH4PKn_EHXgIyn26yFqFRHAjy0nMOIAUSSdfas/s200/fritter1.jpg)
3 p.m. - Sugar rush turns into sugar crash and Temp X goes home and takes a nap.
4:30 p.m. -- Temp X awakens to find drool on his pillow (his own) and no calls about work tomorrow. He struggles to come up with an idea for the blog.
5:14 p.m. -- Temp X farts.
5:14:04 p.m. -- Temp X turns on the fan.
5:15 p.m. -- Temp X checks email. He finds out a script called "Mr. Break Up" is circulating. The logline: "It's about a guy who helps people break up." [Insert your own joke here. It's really easy.]
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBuwctaS32l0OjW3EQux_jeP-3JvePWVNV_pMVSdqFnlvyMNZKtVrqefDquvZckGbS6bzzE8BHtJlporVB9RY5hzkBC6fWXCaFvvCKRFcckMyP6wh_WyC36CeMivOqslMRhD8ygADOgI/s200/xanax.jpg)
6:00 p.m. -- Quittin' time. Temp X is not sure what he's actually quitting, but whatever it is, it's time.
And you thought your day was fun.
1 comment:
this is my day to the t. let's get married so we can do it together.
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