How many different ways can you present shows about people wanting houses or wanting to remodel houses?  I get it.  People like nice shit.  People want to make their shit nicer.  Fry cooks and cab drivers have more $$$ than me.  Enough with digitally throwing it in my face already.  No lie, Suzanne Whang hosts this latest round of “You’ll Never Be Able To Afford This”.  I wish she was wong about that, but I fear she is quite right. 

I was watching some show the other night that detailed peoples’ experiences while buying their first abode.  The episode in question was about some dude who was still nesting with Daddy bird – but that alone shouldn’t make you cast asparagus in his direction.  He’s a surfer/skateboarder whose dad is shown working on a crotch rocket when they interview him about Jelly getting his own pad.  Then they show Luby Lube laying on the rack in his dad’s hacienda with his girlfriend, who looks to be every bit of 12 years old.  She’s wearing a yellow shirt with a heart and some style of “Nese” writing on it.  Translated, I think it means “I love statutory rape”.  Slippery Stick slaves somewhere on a part time basis, and yet he is looking at a $300K condo to buy.  How in the holy hell can a part-time flunky straight out of Point Break for Idiots afford such a trailer?  Speaking of trailers, he was also looking at a $300K pre-fab home.  California is great indeed.  They can take a trailer with a foundation and still sell it for over a million duckets if it’s in the vicinity of some fancy neigborhood.  Damn that’s hot!  I think one of reasons I wouldn’t buy the joint – beyond the price – is that he won’t be eligible for nature’s answer to remodeling if a tornado hits his trailerhood.

I caught another one of these shows that shall remain nameless, and it followed some lady who was scoping out pads in Savannah, GA.  At one point, I heard her say, “It’s got great natural light in here too.”  In my experiences, I’ve found that Great Natural Lite only exists on a Sunday in a dry county when the squeaky wheel falls off the wagon.  From the best I can surmise, this house had electricity; so I have no clue as to why this chick would care what the nutritional value of the light was.  If you’re relying on natural light to help coordinate your style, you’re going to come out of there looking like a schizophrenic after a shopping spree at the Goodwill when daylight savings time kicks in.  What the hell kinda light you gonna get when it is dark anyway?  If you really want to go natural, get some damn lanterns or light some torches.  Keep the outhouse clean, and remember to prime the pump at the well before gettin’ water fer ye bath.  She doesn’t like the blinds, and the electrical outlet at the bottom of the fireplace has thrown her for a loop.  I guess she fears having to plug in shit in the dark.  I could see it being a problem if Ronnie Milsap came over to charge his cellphone while Chester’s nuts were roasting on an open fire, but other than that, get over it you picky wench.  I’d also like to end by saying the term “master suite” pisses me off.  It’s a goddamn master bedroom.  It’s only considered a suite if Consuela knocks on the door once or twice a day in an attempt to clean up the place and turn down the rack.  If there is not an overpriced mini bar and an opportunity to order a $75 1/5 of Jim Beam, there’s nothing sweet about it.