bilgistic

There was a mention at some point about it being one bedroom. I wondered how Chimney's cousin and Buck lived there (not at the same time) with Chimney and Maddy at one point. Buck's place is a studio with a loft bedroom. I would estimate it's no larger than 500 square feet.

I'm watching Karen's new show. My thoughts so far: 1) Karen is exhausting with her mugging to the camera and general manic energy. 2) I'm tired of her bring her tiny dog to every house they work on. It's so dangerous to have the dog underfoot in a construction zone. 3) $100K to landscape a yard? I guess I'm in the wrong business. 4) LENNY!!! What's the contraption on the back of Karen's upper right arm? I've noticed it in the last couple episodes of Good Bones. It looks like some kind of medical monitoring/dispension device.

I guess I'm the only child hater here who doesn't care at all about storylines with kids in them. I'm watching this show for the crazy plots. I'm not tuning in for The Babysitters' Club.

Lest we forget that Guy Fieri's 12 shows are on all day, every day. 😂😂😂

"Changing the game in the shirting industry."😒 It's a polo shirt, brah. And there are already polo shirts made with poly/nylon/spandex. (The presenter, not you, @DEL901.)

As did I!

My goofy girls go to the vet together and still hiss at each other. My vet's trick is to put a tiny bit of non-alcoholic vanilla extract on them to make them smell "the same" once we're home. I put one drop on my finger and thumb per cat and rub my fingers together until it's almost dry. I then give them both a thorough rubdown.😂 It usually takes another rubdown a few hours later, but it really works.

My sister had her new cat (five months old) spayed two Thursdays ago, and it took her (the cat) several days to get "back to normal". A spaying is far more intrusive than a neutering, but both are surgeries that require anesthesia. Some cats sail through surgeries, like my late female cat, but others just need more time—just like people.

"Quacking quack" has me howling!😂😂😂

Stephanie's mouth is so distracting. I yearn for the day duckbill lips fall out of fashion.

Two apartments ago, I had to put hook-and-eye latches on my lower cabinets because my late cat would open them just enough for them to slam back shut, over and over. She also chewed/slowly tore any paper I left laying around. Cats are so dramatic.

Thanks for making me watch pet grooming videos for an hour.

I had to take a break from this forum, but if anyone wondered (you didn't 😂), I still don't have a job. I last had a great virtual interview on the 17th, and a week later, the HR rep emailed me to say I was still a candidate. I emailed her again on Tuesday (another week later) to ask about the status. She hasn't bothered to reply. Take 30 seconds to tell me you hired someone else, fucking hell. See also: every recruiter ever.

This was an absolutely incredible takedown of a "righteous" man. Easily one of the best documentaries I've ever seen. I really appreciated the history of the Falwell dynasty and how they were intertwined with politics. So much for separation of church and state.

Nope. Stephen's too self-important to take a summer job as a front-desk attendant at a country club.

Ever since my wreck in January 2020 (rear-ended someone at about 45 mph), I can't get past how people on TV/movies act like they are fine after a crash. I "walked away" from my wreck but was in severe pain for a while. I had major purple bruises across my chest and stomach, and it took a good year for my chest (internal contusions) to heal from the seatbelt trauma. I couldn't work even a month later. I know it would detract from the story, but after that crash in reality, Stephen would not just be walking around like nothing was wrong.

The first episode reminded me so much of "There's Something Wrong with Aunt Diane"—similar complete denial by the family of what most likely happened. I was a high-achieving teenage girl, and I attempted suicide (pills, which didn't work, obviously). Outwardly, I appeared happy with friends, did well in school, dated, and was on the dance team. I inherited all the mental illness in both sides of my family and have always struggled to keep going. The way Tiffany's family still hasn't processed their grief at all after seven years, along with the mother's abuse screams (genetic) mental illness to me. I agree with other posters who say Tiffany's family feels extreme guilt and won't accept that she ended her life. It's natural to feel guilty because "I should've known". Instead of working toward acceptance, they continue to try to find a reason that will "absolve" them of not doing more when she was alive. One therapy session couldn't begin to fix Tiffany's and her mother's unhealthy relationship. The texts Tiffany sent/posts she made were telling. Saying she's "feeling content even though I shouldn't be" points to suicide. Often, once suicidal people make a plan, they appear at peace and may feel "better" because of a sense of control.

...and "I can't get used to saying 'fiancee'!"😒

I would've loved a "front-desk job" when I was in college instead of having people throw broken electronics at my head at the exchange and returns desk at Best Buy for $6.75 an hour. (I'm old.) I hate everyone on this show.

The Sharks are super inconsistent with that. Someone will say, "We manufacture here in the U.S.A., and Mark will whoop while raising a fist as the rest of the Sharks cheer. Then in the next segment, they're praising the presenter that manufactures in China, so they sell for 1000% markup. It's preposterous.

I just can't get behind $400 for a giant dog bed for people when I could buy a decent mattress instead. I get the novelty of it, but the price is crazy. Also, I would sweat my ass off in that thing.

Since it's "spooky season," I thought I'd revisit this forum with a few personal tales. For years since my aforementioned (three posts upthread) late grandfather passed, I would have this repetitive dream in which the whole family was at my grandparents' old house just as, in real life, we all gathered every Christmas Eve. In my dream, the house is busy and loud with the family, but the sounds are kind of drowned out as my late grandfather and I would stand and talk, always in their living room. In the dream, as in real life, I knew he had passed on. No one but me could see or hear him, and I'd tell him he "wasn't supposed to be here," and I'd wake up. I had this dream over and over throughout the years. After my grandmother passed last summer, I had a dream in which we were all at the church we attended when I was growing up. Both of my grandparents were there together, sitting on the front pew (in reality, their pew was the third one back) looking on as I was on the floor playing with some children. The feeling I had from my grandparents, a feeling that seemed to emanate from them toward me and the kids, was one of complete love and comfort. Since my grandmother's passing, I haven't had another dream of my grandfather "stuck" in their old house. I've had one or two more of them together, and they are always so warm and comforting. The children might have been the representation of my oldest niece and first cousin, once removed. They were both young when my grandfather passed (I was 26 in 2000 when he passed, so the kids were a generation younger than me), and he adored them both. Perhaps it's also a representation of the children in the family born since my grandfather passed—two more of my nieces and another two cousins, once removed, all of whom are my grandparents' great-grandchildren. My aforementioned sister keeps finding pennies (as in "Pennies from Heaven") in odd places at work and home. Her restaurant doesn't deal with coins at all; they don't even have a cash drawer as each server keeps their own tips. Among others, she's "found" at work a singular penny in a large mixing bowl that had been washed and another on the restaurant kitchen floor. She found one in the very corner of her room last week when she was cleaning and another stuck in the passenger seat. I had one show up a while back in the middle of the small section of vinyl flooring in front of the door to my and my boyfriend's apartment. We almost never carry cash and coins. About a month ago, one of the weirdest things to ever happen to me occurred one night when my boyfriend and I were settled in to watch TV, as we do nightly. My cats (a mother and daughter bonded pair) both locked onto something in the air and flew off the cat tree across our small living room toward whatever it was, at about chest height. They watched it in the air for another second or two, and then the daughter cat jumped up on the couch over my right shoulder and stared at the wall for a few seconds. They both eventually settled back down, as my boyfriend and I stared at each other in disbelief. We never heard or saw a bug as logic would dictate they chased, though my girls are great "huntresses," as I call them. I adopted them five years ago but had never seen them both tear off across the room after something like that. There was also nothing behind me on the couch atop which I have laying, folded longways, my great-great-grandmother's tattered quilt—one that my grandmother had with her in the nursing home during the last six months of her life. I felt no threat by whatever the cats saw. I felt more amazement and certainty that something kind had visited us. I believe the quilt is perhaps a conduit of sorts, but not in a negative way at all. My younger cat lays on it sometimes. They also both love to lay on the two chairs that my grandmother refurbished many, many years ago, one on which I have my grandfather's afghan that used to lay over the back of his chair in their old house. Similarly, my sister "inherited" our grandmother's kitchen table and old church pew that she used for seating for one long side of the table. This is the same pew on which my family and I crammed in together to sit on for dinner every Christmas Eve. My sister's cats sleep on the pew regularly. We both love how our collective cats have found comfort with the treasured belongings of our beloved grandparents.

Also, those plastic frames that Karen spray-painted doo-doo brown were not great, Bob.

Considering that his frequent co-writer is Gwyneth Paltrow's husband, I'm going to say no.