So long, Coach. I love you, but I love my sanity more.

My dreams of an October TV date with the Taylors have been smashed. I was recently delighted to order DirecTV, until my dealings with six different customer service representatives convinced me that everyone at that company is on the crack. Each new person I spoke to contradicted what the last had told me and sometimes even themselves, culminating in a conversation in which I asked the same question five times in a row, was ignored or given false answers, and was forced to ask the customer service rep, “Am I not speaking ENGLISH right now?” When I asked her to cancel my order, I very politely told her I would need an email confirmation because I couldn’t believe a word she had told me. Or, you know, as politely as you can insinuate a person is a big honking liar. But! Two days later, no email confirmation. So, ha!

What an appalling experience.

So, I was very upset about my satellite TV options, which is one of the stupidest things in life that a person could be upset about. And the universe has driven that point home. Yesterday I heard a radio program about a woman dealing with an infestation of bedbugs, received an email from a guy who does not know how to properly use an apostrophe, and saw a girl go out in public in an extremely unfortunate hot pink polyester mini-dress that was 100 percent wrong for her figure. Clearly other people have bigger problems than I, so I need to just check out the Dish Network and shut up.

Also, I remembered that Uncle Jimmy has DirecTV, and a DVR that he said I could use any time. So maybe I will be having dinner with the Taylors in October after all.