Well.

Res. Life the sitcom is completed and up on MTVU’s website for viewing.  You can rate it once you watch it.  I don’t know if a higher ranking will help it come to television, or if it will come to television anyway.  But you can watch it here.

Here are my thoughts on the whole thing:

1.  A brief recap of this sitcom saga for the new readers (hello people from Tabula Rasa!  Good to see you!):  A friend and I wrote a script for a sitcom pilot for a competition at school.  It won.  Said friend claimed the story was 90 percent him and the script was 100 percent him.  He kept the prize money.  On the credits it says, “written by *name of friend*” and “story by *name of friend and Adrienne*.” About a year later, the friend called to make sure there was “no bad blood” between us.  He did not apologize or admit he was wrong.  He just didn’t want to feel badly about it any more.  I forgave him.  Because I think Jesus said that was what I should do.  I am still irritated at Jesus for this, but life has proven to me that he is always more correct about everything.

2.  The program is funny.  Really funny, actually.  But there is no way you can watch it, knowing me at all, and I think that I did not have a hand in it.  That joke at the beginning about the goat?  All me.  Classic me.  Actually, classic Garfield cartoon I saw once in fourth grade.  I have thought jokes about goats were comic gold ever since then.  I had to argue to get it in the original script.  Such behavior later became co-writer’s argument that I was “difficult to work with” and that was why he “wrote the entire script himself.” And then there is the Senior RA character, Becca.  When we wrote her, we wrote her based on the Senior RA I am in my own head.  The one I try to repress from the world.  The one I most aspire to be.  And her Facebook speech?  The idea was mine.  The content came from a POWERPOINT PRESENTATION I DO AT TRAINING.  Literally, hundreds of people have seen my presentation.  Like, I brought it to an RA conference at another school, I like it so much.  Because I am insane.  Because I have been an RA for 10 years.  You can keep the money and all the acclaim that comes from Res. Life the sitcom, man.  At least I have that PowerPoint to keep me warm.

3.  The show characterizes RAs as people who do it for the housing and people who are, pretty much, crazy.  I am not in a position to confirm or deny the latter, but the former is generally not true.  Because the job will break you if you just do it for the money.  So, the characters became parodies of the ones I was trying to write.  Which is unfortunate.  But the situations they are put in?  The ice breakers?  The simulations?  So true.  So, so true.  Maybe we all just appear as parodies of people.  Because most of the populace just isn’t subjected to this kind of thing.

4.  So watch the show.  Seriously.  Do it for me.  You can rank it if you want--go with your heart.  The story is pretty much mine.  The writing, well, a lot of it was changed.  Except for that bit about the goat.  Give it five stars, give it one.  Leave a comment saying, “Hey, yeah, way to credit both writers,” or “This should air!  Wooooo Res. Life!” or even, “Hey, I know the girl who had to argue to keep the name of this show simple and talked her co-writer into something like ‘Residence Life’ and not ‘A boy’s journey to dormhood,’” or something.  It’s up to you.

And maybe I will put my PowerPoint up there and see how it would rank. 

I volunteer at a hospital.  One where there is many children.  Mostly children.  I don’t think I’m supposed to name the place specifically.  So I won’t.  But you get the point.

I mention this for two reasons.  One is to give context to the stories here. The second is to point out that when I die I want the words, “Here lies Adrienne--she was able to get cranky infants to sleep” carved on my tombstone.  In Garamond 48 pt font.

Yesterday I was sent in to an eight-month-old’s room with the instructions, “Here’s the baby, Adrienne!” chirped from the relentlessly energetic child-life specialist.  I looked at the baby.  The baby looked at me and thought I was the funniest thing she had ever seen. 

I have this effect on babies.  I could seriously be an apprentice on Super Nanny, I am so good.  I do not say this to brag. Some people can fix cars.  Some people can play the piano.  I can’t do either of those, but I can make other people’s children happy. 

I wish I had known this was my one, true, God-given talent in life before I spend 11 years studying theology.  I have a much harder time making theology students happy (unless they have babies).

Anyway, after an hour at laughing at me (Breathing!  So Funny!  Moving around!  Comic Gold!), the baby got really tired out and, thus, cranky.  So after asking her “sitter” (whom I believe was a nurse’s assistant) if I could pick the baby up, I proceeded to squat-press 22 pounds of wiggling eight-month old for the next 74 minutes.  As my arms were going numb and my ears deaf from the crankiness, I finally gave up and started invoking the deity.  “Please GOD let the CHILD just FALL asleep, I mean would it BOTHER you JESUS to HELP just a . . .”

Just then the resident walked in.  Now, this particular hospital where I volunteer might have a teaching affiliation with a certain school that might be an ivy league.  Maybe.  And the resident may have attended said institution.  Perhaps this should have impressed me.  But the resident smirked and said, “Resorting to prayer?  No need.  Here, hand her to me.  I’ll show you how they taught us to do it at Harvard.” So I gave him her mistress-of-crank and I think everyone on the floor was impressed by the power of her vocal chords.  The resident’s face melted, the windows shattered and the television turned itself on and off 14 times.  He handed the baby back to me.

“I’ll come back later,” he said.