sursly

So a few months ago Megan signed us up for Netflix, also known as simply as “homewrecker.” We had experienced the ups and downs of this “service” during the Jonah’s pregnancy and his first few weeks on Earth because 1) it was to hot at night to sleep (in Maine?!) and 2) Megan couldn’t sleep anyway. So we found ourself getting a flick in the mail, watching it, and returning it the next day (or 2) and having another one come a day later. That was then. Life was good.

The first sign that this second attempt would be disastrous both for our nightlife (or lack-of) and our emotional well-being came when we found that it took a day or two or four to sit and WATCH the movie and about the same amount of time to return it. Not good. Yes it means we’re not in front of the tube, but still, not good.

The second sign that our retry is already shot to hell (and a pretty substantial one) comes from the fact that we haven’t logged in to update our queue since we signed up. Megan added some junk to the queue when we first signed up and let me add some not junk to it as well. And then we forgot about it.

So we’d get another one of those anxiety inducing red envelopes in the mail, not knowing what is inside- surprise, another Steve Guttenberg romp! – end up all pissed off because we’re stuck with another movie one of us is morally opposed to, wait a week to watch it (or not), and return it cursing at the other person, NetHell, the cat, anything.

So a few days ago: we log in to check our queue.

No Guttenberg on the radar, but an abundance of other stuff that one of us will kick and scream through. Delete this, reorder that, bump those to the bottom. Done.

Finally. The future looks good. That doesn’t mean we’ll watch this documentary that has been sitting in our house for eight days. But it does mean that if and when we do, we’ll be knee deep in Jack Black and more depressing documentaries.

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