Sarcasmatic

Got my mofro workin'

2010-11-13T19:04:00.003-06:00

So, I just bought tickets to a show for 1.21.11. The picture is evidence of what happened when I printed the tix. My letter to e-tix is as follows;

Hello,

I recently purchased tickets for a concert to be held on January 21st, 2011. What I received was tickets for January 21th, 2010. I was just wondering if a time machine was included in the total cost, as I am afraid I have yet to purchase one of my own. I debated on whether or not to comment on the fact that the 21st of a month should be referred to as such, but I figured you were too busy mailing out time machines to notice the error.

Please advise.

Sincerely - Me

Read more:

South Carolina Shenanigans

2010-11-09T14:21:00.002-06:00

Oh man, news stories in this state are awesome. Here's another one - I'll treat you to the lead in sentence..

A naked South Carolina man who had a mouse lodged in his rectum was arrested Saturday evening after he allegedly burglarized a home and later attacked officers responding to a call about the break-in.

Sometimes you just have to laugh to keep from crying...amirite?

Hey Look! I still exist!

2010-09-05T12:00:00.009-05:00

Wow, so it’s been a while huh? It’s been a crazy couple years or so since I’ve been here last. Shall we do the recap? When I last left off here, I was a little heartbroken and desperately seeking a replacement roommate.

I ended up finding not only a roomie, but a pretty incredible friend. Her name is Stina – she’s pretty awesome. Say Hi Stina.

Stina says “hi.”

Stina and I had many nights that looked like this…

Or this….

You get the idea. It was therapudic and since Stina was also coming off a rough breakup, it was exactly what the two of us needed.

Sometime last summer, my friend Chip decided to throw a dinner party at my apartment. This is Chip. Say Hi Chip.

Chip says hi.

Chip brought along his friend Josh, who happened to be the drummer in his band, The Emerald Lizards (now defunct). This is Josh. Say Hello Josh.

Josh says “hey.”

Josh and I ended up staying up all night drinking beers and talking about our favorite music. There was a little bit of flirting.

Josh ended up joining the usual weekend crew for a Jamie Lidell show shortly after we met and that was where we had our first kiss... a Jamie Lidell show at the Congress Theater in Chicago.

We all had some more crazy times.

Josh and I vacationed together in Mexico.
Josh went on a business trip to the Czech Republic.

This Happened.
And now we are moving to Charleston, SC with his job.

As I write this update, I am sitting on a tiny plane traveling out to the South East coast of these United States. We are going to go look for a house…with a yard…within a short drive to the ocean while still being relatively close to his job. I’m still not sure what I will do for money once we move out there, but I’m hopeful.

And I’m happy.

Rebel Yell

2009-11-06T14:25:00.002-06:00

This weekend marks my 10 year High School reunion and, boy, does that make me feel old as hell.

All in all, while I wouldn’t call High School the “best years of my life,” I had a hell of a great time and look back with mostly fond memories. Despite the warm fuzzies, my initial feelings about a reunion were mixed. With the advent of Social networking and whatnot, I really didn’t see a need to attend a reunion. Besides, as far as I can tell, ours was organized via Facebook anyway. I could find anyone that might be attending on Facebook – if I was that curious about their life.

The reunion was scheduled at a sports bar in St. Charles and two hours of well drinks and some pizza/bar apps were included in the $30/ticket package. I looked over the details and began to weigh my options…my thoughts went like this…

A. Wow…$30 seems like a lot for well drinks and bar food in the ‘burbs. I could see a concert with that money.
B. Ugh. I don’t really like that bar.
C. I don’t have any family left in St. Charles, so I would have to find somewhere to crash or get a hotel room.
D. Holy crap, is it really $30/person?
E. Meh, fuck it. Not going.

My decision was made. It would probably be fun to see some people, but overall, I was mostly uninterested. Not a biggie. Besides, I’d have to have someone watch my dog, and frankly, I figured a 15 or 20 year reunion would be more interesting anyway. It wasn’t that I disliked anyone that would be attending or organizing the event. Actually, quite the opposite. Those people are good people, it just wasn’t my thing.

Next thing I knew, I started seeing Facebook status updates and e-mails asking me if I would be attending the “Rebel Reunion.” Turns out, some other folks from my High School graduating class decided to throw their own party, on the same night, here in Chicago. One of the organizers owns and runs an art gallery and donated his space for the event. They were offering a four hour premium open bar with finger foods for half the price. My mind again weighed the options…

A. $15 is reasonable and I can bring the boyfriend for only $5 more. Nice.
B. I love art galleries.
C. OMG I can WALK there. If it’s lame I can WALK home.
D. Ohhh, I bet people will turn this into a thing.

Turns out, people did, indeed, turn this into a thing.

Pleading messages started to appear on discussion boards. “Why does it have to be the same night? Why can’t we all just get along?” I found these messages to be a bit strange. Why does it have to be the same night? Because, otherwise, it wouldn’t be an alternative reunion, it would just be another reunion…and people would still find a reason to be mad about it. While I recognized that some people might think that the Rebel Reunion was divisive, I looked at it differently. It simply provided an option for those who would not be attending the “official” reunion. Besides, I find it difficult to believe that the Rebel Reunion crew is poaching potential attendees of the official event.

In addition to the pleas for cohesiveness, I have also recently spotted status updates to the tune of “The Rebel Reunioners support Bin Ladin,” “The original reunion has better people going” or “The Rebel Reunion is for losers.” Really, people? Really? While these antics are all very amusing to watch from my desk chair, I am left to wonder how much we have really grown in the last 10 years. I’m also wondering if this sort of thing is precisely what attendees of the Rebel Reunion are trying to avoid.

I don’t think the organizers of the Rebel Reunion had the initial intention of upsetting anyone or rocking the boat. I also don’t think they planned their reunion with the intent to be disrespectful or cruel to the organizers of the other. I think they just wanted to attend a different kind of event. At the same time, I think they are smart enough folks to know that some people would take it the wrong way and the event might not be well received by everyone. I can’t speak for them, but I’d be willing to bet that they are ok with that.

As for me, I am looking at the Rebel Reunion as more of a party or gathering than a reunion & I actually think it will be pretty cool to attend a party in the owned gallery space of a fellow graduate. Besides, I can WALK home and that rules.

Don't say I never made you cry

2009-10-28T11:25:00.001-05:00

Beautiful advertising, beautiful message. Wonderful job, RP3 Agency.

This looks familiar

2009-09-21T16:52:00.001-05:00

Just sayin'

Whole Body Cleanse. Night 1

2009-09-03T20:26:00.005-05:00

Warning: This could get graphic

Tonight, I begin a journey.

Tonight, I start a cleanse.

Apparently, I have been drinking the hippy juice (Becky - pretend to look surprised) and decided that I need to detox my body. For years now, I have been filling my self with nasty, horrible, bad-for-me food. I quit smoking and took up stress eating. While I will never smoke again, I'm not sure this was a good trade. For this reason, I am back on the diet train. Choo choo baby.

I have been really thinking about making some big changes, but that's just it... it's only thinking. I need less philosophy and more action. After some thought, I decided to appraoch this new phase of dieting much the same way I approached quitting smoking back in 2007. At first, it's going to be hard. I will need to find other ways to handle the stress, other things will make me feel better when I am feeling down. I figure that maybe what I need a little jump start to this whole diet thing. This is where the cleanse comes in.

I have been hearing a lot about how amazing a cleanse can make a person feel. Apparently, the first several days are pretty terrible, but the physical payoff is amazing. Apparently, I will rid my body from a backup of years full of toxic sludge. That's right, folks. Some gross stuff is gonna come out of me.

This is what I am doing...

It's a Whole Body Cleanse!

What is "Fiber Fusion?" and What's that on the right? Does that say "Laxative Formula?!?" Holy Shit (pun intended)...what am I doing?

This should be fun.

2009-08-05T09:39:00.002-05:00

Hi Guys -

Back in 2005, my cousin Liz experienced Hurricane Katrina on duty as a nurse in a New Orleans hospital. Shortly after documenting her experiences on her blog, she had some computer failure causing her to lose all of her pictures. Recently, a friend helped her recover the pictures she had lost, and her blog has been updated accordingly. I feel like it's important to share her story - but I think that I should let her tell it. If you care to read, her entries start here. When you get to the end of the page - scroll up and hit "next."

http://auryn24.livejournal.com/298313.html

Song Thursday

2009-05-21T17:36:00.004-05:00

Reminds me of really good times and always makes me smile.

In my life, I have loved them all

2009-04-08T09:16:00.006-05:00

Everyone has their "Top Celebrities" that make them all hot, right? Well, these are mine. You might say I have a "type."

Below are my top 10 (+honorable mention)

Honorable mention to Michael Ian Black. Funny is Sexy

#10. Paul Rudd. Funny and ridiculously good looking. He borders a bit on "pretty boy," but I'll forgive him.

#9. Ron Livingston. Fuckin' A.#8. Luke Wilson. Easily the most desirable brother.

#7. Hugh Laurie. My old man crush. Yummers.

#6. Adrien Brody. I have a "thing" for big noses.

#5. Jemaine Clement. He fights Adrian Brody for my top 5 position on a regular basis. It's nice to have men fictionally fight over me.

#4. Demitri Martin. Big nose and funny - are we seeing the pattern?

#3. Jason Schwartzman. How many Jews have made my list? A lot.

#2. Jon Stewart. Love Love Love him.

#1. Johnny Depp. Step away. I will cut a bitch.

Your turn. Gimme a top 5.

Superbowl Monday

2009-02-02T10:09:00.002-06:00

I have a WICKED case of the second-day-stupids after a few too many beers on Saturday and Sunday. Either way, it was worth it. The Superbowl proved to be entirely more interesting than I could have imagined as the Cardinals managed to step it up and keep it close. I was also pleasantly surprised that Bruce wasn't as boring as I thought he would be. He even managed to tea-bag all of America during the halftime show.

While I did watch the game, being in advertising makes the commercials a bit more topical in my office on Superbowl Monday. We don't chat about the game - we analyze the commercials. I have to say, HUGE disappointment this year. My favorite ended up being one of the e-trade commercials. I hate that stupid baby and maybe it's just that I have a special little place tucked in my heart for Mr. Mister.- but this was was just too good...

I also liked this one from Monster.com...

The Doritos ad elicited a chuckle, but the crotch shot at the end was a little gratuitous and predictable.

Budweiser was shockingly disappointing. Several ads were focused on bringing back that "America Pride" bit that they have been fostering for so long. I'm a little surprised that they continue down sentimental street after all the backlash surrounding their takeover by foreign InBev. Maybe it's just me, but they just didn't resonate this year.

Even their "funny spots" didn't do much for me.

I mean...what happened to the comedy gold they brought us in the past? Remember this gem from 2006?

Pepsi did alright this year with the SNL MacGruber spoof...

But they fell flat with the Bob Dylan/Will.i.am spot. I mean, really? Will.i.am is the next Bob Dylan? Just because you set a Barack Obama speech to music and get your Celeb friends to sing along - it DOES NOT make you the voice of a generation. Also - Jack Black is NOT the new Belushi.

I think this one may have been the biggest loser of the night. What were they thinking? What kind of douchebag thinks that being insulting is the key to selling a product?

Anybody else have any faves?

Christmas Poem with bonus video

2008-12-20T15:56:00.000-06:00

The following poem is best understood knowing that my roommate, Christina, goes by "Stina." She calls me "Dizzle." Our Dogs are named Jed and Mojo and my cat's name is Karma. Please enjoy and make sure you watch the video at the end.

Merry Christmas!

A Few Nights Before Christmas By Kristin Welch

A few nights before Christmas up in the hizzle

Nobody stirred, Not Stina, Not Dizzle

The stockings were hung by the chimney with tape

As snow fell covering the cityscape

Stina and Dizzle snuggled up in their sweats,

With dreams that Santa could settle their debts

“There is too much to do and not enough money”

Dizzle declared, “It’s not even funny”

Forced snuggling commenced with Stina and Jed

As days of prosperity danced in her head

The night took the sky and the girls closed their eyes

They slept through the night, then awoke with surprise

Karma jumped off the sink, making a clatter

Jed jumped out of his skin, then ran to get at her

Mojo then joined in the chase for the kitty

The once quiet day began to get shitty

Stina and Dizzle Shouted loud and clear

“Jed, Mojo, NO – GET OVER HERE!”

Jed reluctantly obeyed his command,

While Mojo, as usual, took defiant stand.

“My dog is an asshole,” Dizzle decried

She got out of bed, feeling defied

To the computer, Dizzle then went

Her facebook was checked, and e-mails were sent

Stina awoke, made her way to the kitchen

Grabbed some coffee, and started her bitchin’

“We need to go shopping, but I don’t wanna go!”

Stina lamented, as she eyeballed the snow

“I’t nersty outside, but it has to be done,

Let’s get dressed and get on with this fun!”

Dizzle got up, and walked towards her room

The intent was to change to shopping costume

She walked through the doorway and what did she see?

From the ceiling fell liquid resembling pee.

“Oh Crap!” Dizzle screamed, then came wild laughter

What else to you do when it rains from the rafters?

Stina declared, “ we must call the landlord,”

Dizzle – grab towels to protect the floorboards.”

“My carpet is soaked, can you grab the bucket?”

“Jed,, don’t drink from the puddlle – Ah whatever – Fuck it!”

The cursing grew louder as the girls looked for answers

This was a huge problem, cracks were spreading like cancer.

The landlord arrived, A hero for sure!

If someone could fix it, he’d find a cure!

Up to the roof, with shovel in tow,

The landlord would rid the roof of it’s snow

The ceiling stopped dripping, but the room was still wet

For the weekend, this was as good as it’d get.

For Dizzle and Stina, far and away

It had already been one hell of a day

As the landlord left and drove out of sight,

Stina said, ”Merry Christmas Dizzle, let’s get drunk tonight!"

We were all there once

2008-11-20T15:25:00.002-06:00

For me - it was Rider Strong from "Boy Meets World" or Brandon Lee form "The Crow" (thanks for the reminder Paisana)or Johnny Depp...Hell, it's STILL Johnny Depp

Who did it for you as a pre-teen?

Like bird watching - only not at all.

2008-10-01T11:53:00.006-05:00

One of the upsides to living in a large metropolitan area is People Watching. Major cities provide People Watching greatness at a level rivaled only by airports. Thing is, after living in a city for so long, you become desensitized to most of the amazing things you encounter on a daily basis. It's only when I am with people from out of town that I realize how much I ignore my surroundings. I will be power-walking my way down the street, expertly navigating the sidewalk cracks, hell-on-heels grates and unidentified piles of nasty - all while sending an e-mail and simultaneously telling my friend about the “crazy day” I just had at the office. At the crux of my titillating tale, I will inadvertently realize that I have lost my friend…to some homeless dude.

(Note to people from outside of big cities: When someone who appears as though they have not showered in a few years inquires to whether they may ask you a question – keep walking. If you are a slave to etiquette, you may politely say” no.” However, if they begin to follow you, keep walking. Do not make eye contact, do not slow down. Do not pass go, do not give the man $2. This is not because the person might hurt you (though I wouldn't rule that out), but rather, because this person is banking that they will annoy you into giving them money – more money for those of you that give him the $2. Forget your manners and keep walking…besides, if you stop to talk to Captain Crappedhispants, you will miss the best part of my awesome story.)

I don’t want to lose my friends to homeless dudes, but I also don’t want them (or me) to miss out on some prime People Watching opportunities. You just have to know how to do it right. Your first order of business is to find a good place to be. The middle of the sidewalk is not a good place to be. Think of People Watching like any other activity. It's better if you find an appropriate location. I mean, sure, I could take a crap while I walk around and stare at skyscrapers, but wouldn’t it be better (and ultimately more pleasant) if I just took the time to find proper facilities? Location is everything, baby. For People Watching, benches, grassy areas, and leaning against the side of a building are all excellent options. However, if the weather is nice, consider sidewalk seating at an outdoor café. That way, you can eat and converse about your sightings.

Next, talk about what you see. If we are People Watching and you see a group of people with no pants…you better point that out. Better yet, make a game out of your People Watching experiences. Below are some of my favorites;

1. Guess the Occupation: Just as it sounds - as people walk by, try to figure out what they do for a living. Make it fun. Is the short guy in the brown loafers a salesman or a gigolo? He may really be a sales guy, but wouldn’t it be cooler if that incoming call was from a woman desperate to pay for what’s underneath his Dockers? Nice pants, indeed.

2. Turn it into a drinking game: This obviously works best from an outdoor café or a friend’s balcony. Every time you see some douche with one of those Bluetooth headsets – drink. Drink twice if he is yelling at the person on the other end of the line. Take a shot for every cab driver that freaks out.

3. Gay or Foreign: This is one that can even be played while walking. Fashion can be tricky. Consider the following photo example and ask yourself…is that dude gay or foreign?

This is a game I often play with my gay friends. It's amazing how "Gaydar" flies right out the window once a European accent negates the fashion cues. I also especially enjoy this particular game. The same guy could be perceived many different ways depending on fashion choice. Again, consider the following photo example;

In a suit, the guy looks great. Fashionable and ready for an event. This look is very "now" and neither the guy's sexuality nor nationality are really peaking my curiosity. He may look a little too Ashton Kutcher-ish for my taste, but that's besides the point. It's not like I'd kick him out of bed or anything.

Same guy in the 70's print button up and hat? Totally foreign. I can hear the accent now. He would never dress this way at home, but he is visiting a foreign city and was mislead by window displays. Feeling as though he may not be able to attract American women in a t-shirt and jeans, this guy was lead astray by an overzealous hourly employee at a designer resale shop. With an American accent - total d-bag. But now peekture heem wiss moor oov a frawnch acceent. Kinda do-able, no?

In the third outfit - totally gay.

See how fun this can be?

Got my Mojo Workin'

2008-09-24T19:18:00.005-05:00

Been a while since I gushed about my dog, huh? Isn't he the cutest?

Credit goes to my roomie for the pictures...this is her dog Jed...

Our apartment is full of adorable.

10 Things I Learned On My Vegas Vacation

2008-09-21T21:13:00.005-05:00

1. My uncle has one of the most awesome mullets I have ever seen. I couldn't be prouder of his unashamed yet undeniable commitment to sporting one of America's most mocked hairstyles.

2. I forgot how much pain is involved in getting a tattoo...not that I got one or anything.*

3. Slot machines are evil money eating robots. Luckily, I cannot be tricked by their shiny, sparkly exteriors.**

4. Despite my intentions to get married to an Elvis Impersonator (The young, hot one) BY an Elvis Impersonator (the old, fat one), I was not successful. Next time I will set my sights on something more attainable, like getting a raging case of syphilis.

5. Cirque Du Soleil's "Love" will change your life.

6. Sometimes you just need to break away from the group and spend a day by the pool. Screw them. I'm tan now.

7. I have a much stronger appreciation for Chicago's anti-smoking laws now. Since quitting last October (Ooohh...the 1 year anniversary is close!), I have become one of those people that "stink eyes" the sidewalk smokers downtown. I recognize the hypocrisy in that I only recently was one of them, but damn...my hair still stinks!

8. Girls want to meet me! In my room! And can be there in 20 minutes! (Something to keep in mind for next time, when I try to get an STD that makes it burn when I pee!)

9. Never leave your cell phone in the rental car, turn in the rental car, get on a plane and fly home. (My dumbassedness astounds me sometimes)

10. I am no longer of the age where "clubbing" even remotely sounds like fun...and I am 100% okay with that.

Viva Las Vegas!

*yes I did.
**yes I can.

Shameless pimping

2008-08-06T14:51:00.005-05:00

A very dear friend of mine has some art up for sale on etsy. Some of it is a little on the bizarre-o side, but there is no doubting her talent. If you are into unique and original peices - I urge you to check out her stuff. Her specialized etsy page can be found here. Her stuff is super-affordable and she may add some more peices soon.

You can blame her lack of page fanciness on me. Since she doesn't have easy access to a computer - I posted her stuff for her. Because I know nothing about art...I totally did not do her justice. Regardless...check it out.

I have her stuff in my place and so should you. She made my dog(and dining room) look pretty amazing...that is for sure.

Reason #874.5 why I am an asshole

2008-08-04T15:15:00.004-05:00

A while back, I briefly dated a guy named Mike. I met him out and about at a bar in Chicago. He seemed really nice, had a good job, and sang in a band (do I always date musicians?), and frankly, he was pretty darn cute. We hit it off and he asked if he could take me out sometime. I was interested, so I obliged. He took me out for dinner and drinks and I went out to meet his friends. I even introduced him to a few of mine on the second date. All in all, so far so good.

I believe it was the third date or so when he surprised me with tickets to go see Mofro at Schuba's in Chicago. I had casually mentioned that they were one of my favorites and I was pleasantly surprised by the gift. We planned to meet up at his condo in the South 'burbs and head out to the show from there. I showed up early and excited to see a great band in a great venue. Antsy and anxious, I pressed for us to get moving quickly if we wanted to get a good vantage point for the show, but he wouldn't budge, saying that he had a "surprise" for me.

20 minutes later, there was a knock on his door and the surprise had arrived...in the form of a white stretch limousine. I suppose that most girls would find this sort of gesture incredibly romantic and thoughtful, but it freaked me out. Big time. It just seemed like waaaay too much effort for a third date, and let's face it, he was trying too hard. I'm not the kind of girl that can be "bought," and I felt like the gesture was wholly unnecessary. Nevertheless, I decided to stop being a neurotic bitch and just enjoy the evening for what it was.

We pulled up to the venue, and I have to admit, I felt a little like royalty being let out of a limo, just to see a band at a bar. I was starting to feel pretty good about the date. So what if he was trying too hard? It just meant that he thought I was worth the expense. I was sure that we were going to have a great night.

Since we didn't have to look for parking, we arrived at the perfect time to scope out a great place to stand and enjoy the show. Mike went off to grab a couple beers and I held down our place on the floor. Minutes later, Mike returned with beers and shots. I took the shot and toasted to a great night. Not wanting to get too drunk (it was only the third date), I mentioned that one shot would be my limit for the evening. Mike agreed not to buy me any more and gently squeezed my hand and smiled as the lights went down for the show. I blushed as he kissed my hand and twirled me around once to the music.

The band sounded great and Mike and I were having a really good time. He excused himself to grab a couple more beers and I stayed near the stage dancing and singing along. Several songs later, I found Mike at the bar high-fiving some guy with a line of empty shots in front of him. I asked where he had been, and he slurred the response that he was, "Schtaking some shots wisss his new friendsss." He shoved another beer in my direction and downed what I could only assume with his fifth shot within the 20 or so minutes that he had been away from my side. Annoyed, but still reeling over his sweetness only moments before - I asked if he would care to join me back on the main floor for the show. He waved me away and said he would meet up with me when he was done with his friends that knew how to "party."

Suddenly embarrassed and upset, I walked away, determined to enjoy myself with or without him. After all, I had tickets to a great show and lord knows I don't need a guy to have a good time (that's why batteries exist). I ended up running into some old friends out on the floor and made the very mature move of getting wasted in retaliation. If Mike wanted to get drunk without me, I was going to do the same.

At the end of the show, I said goodbye to my friends and found my "date." Considering that he had downed what must have been close to an entire bottle of whiskey, he was still standing upright and was actually somewhat coherent, although I can't say the same for myself. We got back in the limo (well, fell back into the limo, if I am going to be perfectly honest), where I decided to give him a piece of my mind. "How dare he just leave me all alone? I had thought we were going to have a good time together, and instead he just bellied up to the bar and ignored me. He should never have even taken me out if he was just going to drink himself stupid and blah blah blah." I was MAD...and drunk as hell.

Slurring but apologetic, Mike started to defend himself when I interrupted him by rolling down the window to vomit. Oh yes...I did. On the Interstate. Going 60+ mph. It was all over the front of my dress, in my hair, all down the side of the limo and probably on the poor car driving behind us. The world was spinning and having my head sticking out of a speeding vehicle with nothing to see but the world flashing before my eyes was not helping my condition. There were no towels to clean myself off, and there was no way to scrape my dinner or my dignity off the side of the road...and we were still a good half hour away from his place.

I won't gross you out with the details of the rest of the evening, but let's just say that I was not putting my best face forward. I still think it was a jerk move to abandon me at a concert for shots, but in the long run, I was the one who came out of the situation looking like a jerk.

Let's tally, shall we? Guy buys me concert tickets after I casually mention that I liked a band. Mike = 1, KC = O. Guy orders limo to take us to show. Mike = 2, KC = O. Mike gets shitfaced, KC gets shitfaced. Mike = 2, KC = 0. Mike apologizes, KC blows chunks out of a limousine window. Mike = 2, KC = -5.

Can you believe he asked me out on another date? I must be cute when I puke.

You make me warm and fuzzy

2008-07-25T11:40:00.005-05:00

Somehow, even though I have been a mega-lame wad and have not been posting much these days, I have been nominated for a blog award by Paisana and Ginger Magnolia. Woot!

Look at it. Isn't it pretty and shiny? I want to love it and pet it with my thumb as I walk along..

Anyhoo, somewhere in my cold dark heart, I really do appreciate that people are still hanging around and reading when I have occasionally posted. You guys are super-awesome. And I swear I still read you guys - I have just been a mega-non-commenting-jerk-face lately. But this mega-non-commenting-jerk-face loves you, mmmkay?

The award is called the Arte Y Pico award and it comes with a meme

The rules state:

1. You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award through creativity, design, interesting material, and also contributes to the blogger community, no matter of language.

2. Each award should have the name of the author with a link to their blog.

3. Award winners have to post the award with the name and link to the blog of the person who gave them the award.

4. Please include a link to the “Arte Y Pico” blog so that everyone will know where the award came from. (And so the blog can pick up a crap-load of traffic - I assume)

And Here’s How It Works:

1. Link the person(s) who tagged you
2. Mention the rules on your blog:
3. Tell about 5 unspectacular quirks of yours
4. Tag 5 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

So..ok here it is...

1. I hate squirrels. I'm not really scared of them or anything, but I don't trust them. Something about their beady eyes and that creepy chatter sound that they make. I would honestly not be sad if I never saw another squirrel again in my life.

2. One of my favorite shows to watch on television is "Clean House" on the Style network. I watch it instead of cleaning my own place.

3. Like many women, my guilty pleasure is Celebrity Gossip. And while I am definitely a feminist (*gasp), I adore some of the most misogynistic blogs like WWTDD. The guy is a jerk, but also very, very funny.

4. I am getting geared up to do the Master Cleanse detox. I was going to start yesterday, but I have to be in Phoenix for work next week. I didn't figure it would bode well for me to forgo dinner with Clients in favor of homemade lemonade. Plus, I advertise for a major brand of alcoholic beverages. We are pretty much required to drink with our clients. I know, I know life is rough. I am trying to find 14 travel-free days so I can torture myself on a diet of lemonade, saltwater and laxative tea. I am actually excited about it.

5. I am totally listening to Elvis right now in my office & it rules.

Now I am supposed to tag a bunch of people. Because I am a ~~bitch~~ rebel, I am going to skip this step. I am totally that person that deletes chain e-mails and never follows the tagging portion of meme's...and know what? I'm not sorry.

Hearts and snuggles to all of you. Awards make me warm and fuzzy - even if I do buck tradition. Besides, there are enough links in this post already.

Question

2008-07-07T18:37:00.002-05:00

Has the rat tail somehow squirmed it's way back into society or has my neighborhood experienced an influx of white trash children? Either way...it ain't right, I tell yah.

The Friday Song - Let's Go Go Go!

2008-06-20T07:44:00.003-05:00

This weekend my beloved White Sox play the Chicago srCUBs in the first Crosstown Classic series of the year.

All I gotta say is...Let's Go Go GO White Sox!! Chicago's Proud of You! If you need me - I will be glued to my TV.

White Sox Fight Song

Cooking with KC

2008-06-18T13:05:00.005-05:00

Ok...so it's not really a recipe that involves cooking. Hell, I don't even cook. This is, however, delicious.

Buy a bag of Frozen dark sweet pitted cherries from the freezer section at the grocery store. Also buy some Diet Dr. Pepper. Get out a glass. Add cherries to the glass rather than ice. Pour in Dr. Pepper. Drink. Have orgasm.

You can thank me later.

The book Meme

2008-06-15T16:31:00.004-05:00

Honeywine has tagged me for a Meme and it goes a little something like this;

Step One – pull out a book on the book shelf.

Step Two – go to page 123.

Step Three – read and write out the 5th sentence.

Step Four – tag 5 more people.

For this excersise, I have chosen class and substance in the form of The Bad Girl's Guide to the Open Road, by Cameron Tuttle. This classic treasure explores topics that are essential to road trip success including; 14 ways to open a beer bottle on your car (such sophistication), 11 things to do with condoms (blow it up for lumbar back support!), and tips to get out of a speeding ticket.

Page 123 deals with the best way to piddle when you can't find facilities. The 5th sentence reads, "On top of that, it's a great way to be united with nature and a way to give back."

I have elegant and sophisticated taste, no? I am supposed to tag people now, but being that I am so rebellious - I will tag nobody! Muah-ha-ha. However, feel free to share your favorite book or what you are currently reading in the comments section. I am always interested in new authors and would love some ideas of something new to check out. Don't be intimidated by my obvious sheik and refined tastes (Ha!), suggest away!

Thera-Flu is not helping my productivity

2008-06-09T14:02:00.003-05:00

I bought the new David Sedaris book last week and I am so excited to read it - that I could shit. Seriously, I heart him with the warmth of 1,000 suns. My love is admittedly unnatural but I am unapologetic as he is without a doubt, my favorite author. The problem is that I am in the middle of reading a different book & I steadfastly refuse to put down the book I am reading until I am finished. (Don't get on me for reading Jodi Picoult - I like her and I don't care what you elitists say. So There. Ppptttbbbbb.)

In other news, I think I contracted The Bubonic Plague this weekend - so I am hopped up on cold meds and am borderline delirious. Sigh.

Results + The Friday Song

2008-06-06T14:20:00.003-05:00

Thanks for your suggestions for a name for my scooter. Of course, I loved the highly innapropriate "Weenis" and "Bitch," but figured I should pick something a little more PG. Imagine me talking to my grandmother - telling her I was going to take "Weenis" out for a spin. Hilarious? Yes. Grandma safe? Abslutely not.

After much debate, I have decided to go with a musically influenced name for my Buddy Scooter. The final decision is "Buddy Holly." The thing already has "Buddy" written on it, so it was meant to be. Now if you don't mind, Buddy Holly and I are going to go for a ride...not fade away.

Weekend Update + Ask the Internet: Name my Scooter

2008-06-03T09:57:00.005-05:00

I spent a lot of time on the new scooter this weekend. It was beautiful in Chicago on both Saturday and Sunday, which meant I was going to be out and about as much as possible.

Saturday was primarily speant hungover and aching, but I got it together around 2:30 (I know, I know) and met up with "The Gays" for some German Beer festival action. Let me tell you, you have not experienced fun until you rate the hotness of men in Lederhosen with a few catty gay men. Though I was not drinking (I was on a scooter - I'm not stupid), it ended up being a really good time.

Sunday, I woke up early and decided to spend the day out riding and exploring. The sun rewarded me for my efforts with one the most glorious farmer's tans in the history of all farmer's tans. Thing is, instead of a tan, it's more of a burn - a very painful, very red burn. I seriously look like I am wearing a flesh colored t-shirt with red arm warmers and a scarlet neck scarf. It is truly a sight to behold.

Even with the burn, the weekend treated me pretty well. I had some emotional moments (thanks for listening Becky), but the scooter has proven to be a very nice escape. There is only one thing left to do....and I need help. I want to name my scooter. People name boats and motorcycles all the time, so now it's my turn. The scooter is Seafoam Green and is a Genuine Scooter Company Buddy Scooter (125 cc).

As I understand it, most vehicles/boats are given women's names. However, I get the distinct feeling that my scooter is of the male persuasion. Perhaps it's because the model is a "Buddy," or maybe it's just because I like the idea of a man between my legs (Snap!). However, I am open to it's sex (look at me with all my filthy innuendos), it just needs a good name. Any suggestions?

It's the little things in life

2008-05-29T15:35:00.003-05:00

Dudes...John Hiatt just played at my office. It's days like these when I really like my job. What other place can you get up from your desk, watch a living legend play 5 songs and then just go back to work? My phone is horrible for pictures, but he looks pretty good, huh?

And just in case you don't know who John Hiatt is...he sang/wrote many many songs that you know...you just never heard his name. For example;

Brokedown Palace

2008-05-29T12:32:00.007-05:00

This Link was on my Google Hompage today under "How to of the Day."

Fitting, huh?

I need some serious fun this weekend.

Picture from marriedtothesea.com

My Buddy and Me

2008-05-24T14:41:00.005-05:00

It seems as though owning my very own Stella was just not in the cards for me.

It started when I got to the dealer Saturday morning. I arrived 15 minutes before they were open and immediately began drooling over my Stella in the garage. She was beautiful. She still needed some cleaning up, but I was anxious. Before we did any paperwork, I asked to ride her to make sure that I would be able to deal with the manual transmission. I figured, I can drive stick in a car, how hard can this be? Turns out, it was really hard.

The guy began by detailing the start up process. Stella is essentially a total replica of the 1960's Vespas, and was made with all of the 1970's technology. In order to start Stella I had to;

a) Turn the key
b) Turn the Gas knob to "on"
c) Pull out the choke
d) Pull in the clutch
e) Give her gas (but not too much or too little)
f) Push the start button
g) Let her idle for a few minutes to warm up, paying close attention to the sound she makes - give her a little gas until it sounds right.

Basically, right off the bat, Stella was a temperamental little bitch. This was strike #1. Still, mesmerized by her beauty, I was convinced that I could learn to do this. I would just get used to it. She was worth it.

The guy showed me how to get her into first gear and I hopped on. I pulled in the clutch and switched her into first gear. I let up on the clutch and gave her a little gas. Stella ~~hopped~~ lurched forward about 10 feet and died. This was strike #2. I felt like an idiot, but maintained that I wanted this scooter and tried again. Again, I lurched forward, but the salesman said that was normal. "She gets moving pretty fast," he said. I was off - I headed down the road on my test drive, jerkily shifting gears and contemplating whether so much beauty was worth so much trouble. Stella was nothing like the Scooters I rode in Scooter school. Would I be able to get used to her?

I got the answer to my question at the next stop. Being new to Stella's pain in the ass mechanisms meant I was a little slow about the stop to start procedure. The driver behind me honked. Startled, I accidentally hit the foot brake (back wheel) just as I was giving Stella gas. She reared up in protest and I ended up in a position that could only be described as a pretty sweet "wheelie." I'm guessing it was a glorious sight to behold because everyone was watching me intently from their yards and homes. Panic set in and I reached for the kill switch, accidentally giving the Scooter more throttle as I tried to maintain some control. Stella lurched forward and I fell to my knees as the bike flew upwards and forwards through the intersection (it was residential) landing hard on the other side of the street. Strike #3.

I had crashed the scooter on the fucking test drive. I wish I had pictures to show you the damage, but you will just have to trust me when I tell you that I messed her up bad. I checked myself for damages first, I was fine. I scraped my knee up a bit, but it was the bike that I was concerned about. I picked Stella up off the street and got her started again. Luckily, she was still running and I took her back to the shop, embarrassed and feeling terrible about ruining a brand new scooter (a stupid bitch of a scooter, but still a brand new scooter).

Feeling horrible, I hung my head as the salesman assessed the damages I had inflicted on his beautiful merchandise. He touched the bumper (which had been re-located about 8 inches higher from where it was before I took off). First thing out of his mouth? "I have never seen anything like this before." Somehow, I managed to wreck the bike to the point where it shocked a person who has been selling and working on Scooters his whole life. This man has seen scooters after they have been hit by cars - and I managed to shock him.

When I do something stupid, apparently I do it with gusto. Need something ruined? I am available for children's birthday parties and bar mitzvahs.

The guy ended up being really great about the whole thing. He was more concerned about whether or not I was hurt than the condition of the bike and he ended up making me feel a little better about the whole incident. I offered to pay their $500 insurance deductible - and he accepted. I know I didn't have to, but it was the right thing to do. He even helped me pick out a scooter that was more my speed and let me take it on a test drive. He is a brave man.

I returned scooter #2 without incident and decided to go with a friendlier bike since Stella and I obviously just did not get along. Internet, meet my new "Buddy" Scooter.

I'm having it delivered. Somehow, I felt that I was maybe not quite ready to ride with the big boys yet. I'm going to practice near my apartment and maybe someday I can work my way up to something more temperamental. In a way, I think that the accident was a good thing. I was really determined to get the Stella and figure out how to ride her later. I was a bit over-confident and the results could have been a lot worse. The lesson may have cost me $500, but it was well worth it. Besides, the Buddy was super-affordable and even with my $500 "oops," I saved $800 overall by not getting the Stella.

By the way, I am taking applications for my Scooter gang. The accident obviously gives me extra "street cred," right? You wanna join?

For the cat people

2008-05-23T09:30:00.000-05:00

Hey Stella!

2008-05-22T13:34:00.003-05:00

I passed my Motorcycle permit test this morning and have scooter class tomorrow. It's excellent timing because...

Stella is here!!!

I just got the call from Steve at True Imports and I will be able to pick her up on Saturday! He says she is beautiful & I cannot wait!

Bet you can't guess what I will be doing this weekend!

I'm going to be screaming like Brando until Saturday at 10am.

Anticipation

2008-05-21T10:27:00.004-05:00

Me: If my new roommate has a Harley and we go riding together, am I going to look like a total lamewad on my scooter?

Friend: I don't know if "lamewad" applies so much as "Chach"

Me: What if I ride up on a motorcycle gang? Do you think they would let me join, or will I have to form my own scooter gang of hoodlums and debauchery?

Friend: I don't know if the words "Scooter" and "Debauchery" should ever be in the same sentence. Ever.

Me: Well, not until now, anyway. I'm going to single-handedly make scooters hardcore.

Friend: How is that possible? You are so not hardcore.

Me: That hurts, man. I am wicked-crazy hardcore. I mean, just last night, I totally threw caution to the wind and drank a regular Coke instead of a Diet Coke. You scared?

Friend: Trembling. How are you not in prison?

Me: I have a lot of practice running from the law. Outlaw for Life. Oooooh, I am totally putting that on the back of my Gang's leather jackets.

Friend: Do Scooter riders wear leather?

Me: Good Point. What about on the back of a windbreaker?

Friend: Or a cardigan!

Me: I could crotchet our outfits!

Friend: You are such a loser.

Me: You love it.

Sadie - The details

2008-05-15T12:28:00.003-05:00

Sadie was the kind of dog that could make you smile whether you wanted to or not. She had a ton of energy and would climb all over you, licking any bit of exposed skin that she could find. She was the happiest dog you could ever meet. She didn’t have a mean bone in her whole body.

Sadie wasn’t conventionally beautiful. She had a smooshy pug face and her tounge would hang out as if it didn’t fit in her mouth. Thing is, you didn’t have to look at her long to fall in love.

She was content when she could lay on my mother’s lap with one of her toys stuffed into her little mouth. She would look up with her big ole eyes and melt your heart in a way that no other dog could ever do.

On Monday, May 12, 2008 my Mother took Sadie in to have a surgery that was supposed to open up her air passages to make it easier for Sadie to breathe. This sort of surgery is fairly standard for pugs, and my Mother chose a specialist in her area.

On Tuesday, my Mother took the day off work to pick up her dog. When she arrived, Sadie was still really “out of it” and didn’t even act excited to see my Mother, which is highly out of character. The vet assured my mother that Sadie’s condition was normal and that she may act strange for a few days as she recovered. Taking their instruction, my Mom returned home with her dog and kept vigilant watch over her best friend.

Sadie continued to be extremely lethargic and was vomiting often. Concerned, my Mother called the Vet Clinic several times (once at 3:00 in the morning) expressing extreme concern for her dog’s condition. Tuesday night, my mother barely slept, worried that there was something wrong. The vet continued to encourage my mother to hang tight – she would pull through. They said vomiting was normal and that she should not worry about Sadie’s extreme lethargy. They told her that all of it was normal recovery for the procedure.

Leaving Sadie for the FIRST TIME since picking her up from surgery, my Mother went to a meeting at her place of employment. She was gone for 2 hours. Upon return, Sadie was dead.

My mother is devastated. She feels responsible as though if she had not gone to work, Sadie would still be alive. She feels like if she would have trusted her intuition and FORCED the clinic to look at her regardless of what they said, Sadie would still be alive. She feels like if she had never taken Sadie to get the surgery, she would still be alive. She feels like she paid $2,500 for a vet to kill her dog.

I know that none of this is my Mother’s fault, but she is understandably feeling responsible. I told her that Sadie was lucky to have her as a doggie mom and that she did everything she could do. It makes me sick that she made so many concerned calls to a clinic that ignored her pleas. If they would have told her even one time to bring Sadie in, my Mother would have been there in a second.

I blame the clinic and I am fucking furious. I will be damned if they take my Mother’s money after being so negligent. People pay good money for specialists in order to rely on their expertise. These people dropped the ball and I am so angry…and sad. My mother doesn’t deserve this. Sadie didn’t deserve this. Hell, Mojo doesn’t deserve this either ( I brought him over to keep my Mom company last night and we both bawled as he looked for Sadie).

She was a good dog. I’m going to miss her.

R.I.P Sadie

2008-05-14T23:02:00.004-05:00

My Mother's dog passed away last night. She was the happiest, sweetest dog I have ever met and she was Mojo's best friend in the whole world.

For those of you who believe in prayer - my Mom could use some right now. Sadie was like a child to her and her loss has been really hard. I will update later - but for now, I just hope that Sadie is snorting around heaven, licking everyone's face and making people smile.

On a related note: Fuck You 2008.

Stella Blue

2008-05-13T18:42:00.004-05:00

I don't buy much for myself, in general. This birthday, however, is turning out to be a rough one. Between the breakup, my job and loneliness, I have let myself turn into a sad little hermit. In order to turn things around, I have committed to a new attitude and a fresh perspective.

To me, fresh perspective is about a new look. To facilitate my new look, I am getting my hair done tomorrow & plan to have a manicure by the end of the week. More importantly, today, I put a down payment on a sizeable gift to myself.

Meet Stella Blue (tell me I'm not the only Dead Head), isn't she beautiful?

I should get her by the end of the month! I have also enrolled in motorcycle classes to get my Class M licence. Keeping busy will have never been so fun!

Ask the Internet - Birthday Ideas

2008-05-09T10:48:00.003-05:00

So, my birthday is coming up next Saturday, May 17th. I will be 27. Ack. It's the official entry into my LATE TWENTIES and I am terrified. However, I am determined to enjoy my day and avoid feeling sorry for myself at all costs. The problem is that I have waited until a week before my birthday to actually attempt to plan anything. So what's a girl to do? Is it acceptable to throw myself a party at a bar? What do you guys do for your birthday?

Why is it called a Meme?

2008-05-08T10:34:00.003-05:00

I have been holding off on responding to my Meme tags from both Aunt Becky and Paisana (PS - Thanks for hangin' last night. It was fun). Luckily, they tagged me with the same meme, so now I can kill two birds with one stone.

Here are the rules:
1. Link back to the person who tagged you.
2. Post these rules on your blog.
3. Share six unimportant things about yourself (things/habits/quirks).
4. Name some of your favorite blogs.
5. Send an email/comment on their blog letting them know they have been tagged.

1. I don't like chocolate. It doesn't make me sick or anything, but I just prefer not to eat it. The taste doesn't do much for me unless it is in the form of white chocolate covered pretzels or a mocha latte - and even then - I could care less. Brownies repulse me though. The smell makes me cringe.

2. I hate checking my voicemail. When I get to work and the red voicemail light is lit on my phone, I become immediately agitated. This carries over to my cell phone as well. I go weeks without checking my messages because they are usually boring.

3. I can't type. I mean, I have fingers and stuff, but I never bothered to learn how to do it correctly. I think the feminist in me decided early on that typing was for secretaries (where did I get that idea?), so I refused to learn. I was going to be successful and have my minions type for me. I now realize that I am retarted. I have graduated from the hunt and peck method, but I still only use 3 fingers on each hand when I type. It's actually kind of embarrassing.

4. I am physically incapable of sitting through a meeting without doodling all over my notebook. I draw people, I write my name, anything to keep me from sitting and listening like a normal person. It's a terrible habit. I also only use sharpies (the thin point) or mechanical pencils at work. I hate pens. God, I'm weird.

5. I actually like Richard Simmons. When I see him on television, my heart is filled with glee. I consider his enthusiasm to be contagious and I admire his optimistic spirit. The fact that he is so passionate about what he does for others is inspiring to me, even if he is completely crazy.

6. I hate the smell of cigarettes. This is only notable because I was a die-hard smoker until October 2007. I have turned into a huge asshole about it and I am SOOO happy that bars and restaurants in Chicago do not have smoking sections anymore.

I am supposed to tag people, but I am going to take a cue from Aunt Becky and invite anyone reading this to share an unimportant quirk about themselves in the comments section.

Happy Thursday Bitches!

Hello, May I help you?

2008-05-01T09:26:00.004-05:00

*I am depressing myself with the posts about the breakup. It's somewhat therapeutic to write about it - but today, I need a break. I imagine you do too. Thanks for staying with me even though I have been down.*

Due to the nature of my job - I travel. Not a whole lot, but enough. I was in Boston last week, and I am headed off to St. Louis for the day tomorrow. Like most professionals, I have a corporate card - an AmEx. It's everywhere I want to be - or is that Visa? Either way, I abuse the hell out of it. At hotels, I order $30 room service breakfast followed by a Venti Starbucks latte in the lobby. When my luggage gets lost, I expense the "good makeup" from CVS to get me through the next day. I take a $45 cab ride home from the airport instead of $2 public transportation via the blue line. The way I look at it, if I have to be away from home, I am going to find small ways to enjoy myself on the company dime - ESPECIALLY if it cuts into my weekend.

Before switching to American Express, my company used Diners Club. Diners Club had it's perks (i.e. no late fees for paying the statement late - even though if I was reimbursed in a timely manner it never would have been late to begin with - thank you very much), but it also sucked because who-the-fuck takes Diners Club? Nobody, that's who. When nobody takes your card, it becomes more difficult to expense stuff, making KC very unhappy.

In addition to the trouble just using my card, I had numerous problems with customer service. If, God forbid, there were strange charges or a problem with my statement, I could forget about speaking to a rational human being. In fact, I am pretty sure that Diner's Club customer service reps are actually patients at local mental hospitals. They are shuffled into a room under the guise of "arts and crafts time" and are forced to listen to angry customer complaints about their statements while they make cotten ball bunny rabbits. An actual conversation may look like this;

Rep: Hello, Sunny Acres Mental hosp- I mean - Diner's Club - how can I help you?

Me: Hi, I have a question about my bill.

Rep: I can tell that the government has been speaking with you. It's clear you know the secrets.

Me: What? No, I just am confused about a charge on my bill. Can you help me with that?

Rep: When was the last time you spoke with the president?

Me: ....

Rep: *Whispering* Help me get out of here.

Me: What? Do you need help? What is going on?

Voice in background: What are you doing? Get back here! :::ZAP:::

Dial Tone

So - you can see why I hate calling these people. I was so excited to cancel my Diners Club Membership when I got news about our company switch to AmEx. I paid my last Diners Club bill and breathed a huge sigh of relief. After all, one less corporate card held by me might mean one less mental patient forced to complete "Arts and Crafts time." I am a freaking humanitarian - always thinking about others.

I wish I could say that my Diners Club relationship ended there.

Apparently, I over payed my bill by one cent. ONE CENT! Oh the humanity! When you overpay your bill, you get statements telling you that you overpaid. You get these statements twice a month...for 5 months.

Upon receipt of my first notice, I called ~~the crazy farm~~ customer service to inform them that I cancelled and should not be receiving statements. They recognized my cancellation and informed me that they would be sending me a check for the over payed balance. Rather than discuss the obvious idiocy of paying to send me one cent, I let it go. I figured I could keep the check with my countless $0 checks from my time as a waitress. Besides, the poor customer service people go through enough without my logic making their crazy little heads explode. See? Humanitarian.

After about 10 more statements reminding me that I was owed one freaking cent - I called again.

Me: Hi, I cancelled my card, but I keep getting statements saying that I am owed one cent.

Rep: Ok.

Me: The last guy told me a check would be coming, but I really only want to stop receiving mail from you.

Rep: But you owe us money.

Me: No, you are not listening. You owe ME money.

Rep: Oh.

Me: So how do I get you to stop sending me stuff? Can I gift you the money? I will verbally authorize you to keep my one cent as a donation.

Rep: We can't do that.

Me: Can you just send me the check for one cent, then?

Rep: We can't do that.

Me: Well, what can you do?

Rep: Can't you just throw out the statement?

Me: Sigh. No. I am sick of receiving statements. Not only is it a waste of paper, but you are spending 41 cents on postage every time you send me the statement for ONE cent. Don't you see the irony?

Rep: God I hate Arts and Crafts time, the damn Easter Bunny keeps eating all my paste.

Me: What?

Rep: I said we cannot write a check for one cent - that would be a waste of money and resources. You can disregard the statement or you can re-open your account and we will apply a credit.

Me: This is pointless. May I speak to a supervisor?

Rep: Sure

Supervisor: You are cutting into Macaroni and Popsicle stick time ma'am. What's the issue?

Me: Never mind.

Thanks Guys

2008-04-25T00:21:00.003-05:00

Just wanted to say thanks not only to my regular commenters (all 3 of you), but to my silent (as in not commenting) friends. I apologize for not calling many of you back. I am actually traveling for business right now and have taken the opportunity to clear my head a bit. I seriously appreciate everyone's concern, love and patience. Every voicemail I hear makes me so grateful that I have such amazing friends that not only care about me, but care enough to wait until I am ready to talk.

You are all amazing, and I need all of you right now. I love you guys so much and I can't begin to explain how much your suport means to me. I promise to call all of you soon - so don't worry too much. You know me, I'm a survivor. I'm just a little sad right now and I'm not used to feeling so weak.

Until then - I heart you all.

KC

Sarcasmatic Classifieds

2008-04-21T14:48:00.004-05:00

I need a roommate. Obviously, recent happenings have opened up an available room at my apartment. Looking for someone clean. non-smoker, not a psycho. I have a HUGE apartment with skyline views in a gorgeous walk-up building. Lots of natural light, fireplace/washer/dryer/dishwasher/kitchen to die for and a steam shower. I have a ton of furniture, so you would really only need a bedroom stuff for your room. Amazing place. $825/month + utilities.

I don't suck as a roomie - so if you or someone you know may be interested - lets get together for a beer and see if we could get along.

*The pictures are from before I moved in - so it's not my furniture, but you get the idea

One dollar, Bob.

2008-04-17T10:30:00.021-05:00

I was doing my typical ~~avoid work~~ blog check morning routine and landed upon a post about naming fish over at Tenth Muse (go add some suggestions). I racked my brain for a bit and submitted a couple ideas including Bob Barker & Rod Roddy - which got me thinking - I miss those guys (Especially Rod - Come on Down!!!!).

Matt and I stayed home from work together a few weeks ago and caught a little bit of the new "Price is Right" with Drew Carey. I'm not gonna lie - it was kinda creepy. Drew just doesn't fit in with that glorious 70's stage facade. His awkward approach doesn't resonate like Bob's natural charm. I didn't see the end, but I can't imagine Drew inspiring me to "Help control the pet population" by "Having my pet spayed or neutered."

It's disturbing to see childhood icons (So what if Bob Barker was a God to me? Don't judge.) grow older or pass away. I have had a lot of moments like this lately. I remember a figure from my childhood and become a bit saddened by the realization that these people won't be around for my kids (if I ever have any). I know it's part of growing up, but have you seen a picture of Bill Cosby lately? It's enough to make me want to cry. These people are timeless to me and it is almost painful to see them in such a frail state.

I know they can't live forever and that these people will live on in our hearts and minds and blah blah blah...but it still sucks ass and I don't like it. I am getting more crotchety and bitter with every year, huh? At this rate, by the time I'm 30, I will be tripping small children with a cane whilst screaming obscenities and gibberish about how Jeopardy isn't the same without Alex Trebeck.

So who is it for you? Who is that one personality whose aging/death really hits home?

Overheard on the sidewalk

2008-04-16T13:06:00.003-05:00

"I have seriously been stopped by three different blind guys today asking me for directions to the same place."

"Maybe there is a convention or something."

"Well, then they should hang up signs so these people know where to go."

Rhyme for the summertime

2008-04-08T13:27:00.006-05:00

Nice weather is finally upon us and this can only mean one thing – concert season. Ahh yes – time to pack up my picnic basket and head to Ravinia, discover my long lost hippie-ness at Deer Creek, and get my groove on lakeside at Northerly Island on Navy Pier.

Admittedly, as I have gotten older, my concert behavior tolerance has decreased and I have become what some might refer to as “crotchety.” I used to never miss a show – especially if I really liked a band. Now, it has become somewhat of an annoyance to hop a train or drive through traffic on a Wednesday only to suffer the whole next day due to lack of sleep. I am still a trooper though, and I suffer through the annoyance because nothing beats live music.

At the ripe old age of 26, my music preference has calmed a bit. I do not attend shows where I may encounter a mosh pit, I hang out in the balcony with the other “old folks” and when I consider buying concert tickets and see “ALL AGES” on the bill – I curse loudly, shake my fist into the air and remove the tickets from my virtual shopping cart. You would think that this would limit my encounters with the clueless – but you should never underestimate the public’s ability to be an asshole.

With that said, I present KC’s guide to concert-going. Feel free to print and distribute as necessary.

10. Dance Politely.

If you plan on doing the “Hippy convulsion wiggle shake dance,” make sure you have enough room to do so without disturbing those trying to enjoy the show around you. Either take it down a notch or move out of my way so that I can enjoy the show without your elbow in my tit.

Quick side note – if you would like to learn how to do the hippy dance, follow these simple rules;
a. Listen to the song being played
b. Completely disregard any melody or beat of the aforementioned song
c. Have seizure

9. Please remember to wear deodorant.
9b. Patchouli is not deodorant.

8. Do not push or shove your way up to the front of the crowd.

If you wanted to stand front and center, you should have gotten to the event earlier. If you do happen to make your way to the front of the crowd, you forfeit any right to use the restroom, get a beer or leave for any reason unless you are willing to give up your spot for the remainder of the show. This is a consequence you must pay for prime viewing.

5. Do not wear the shirt of the band you are going to see.

This should go without saying – but (and I quote from PCU) "Don't be that guy." You may be asking yourself, “But, KC, What if it’s an old concert shirt from a different tour? Can I wear that one?” The answer is no. Why? Because you look like a fuck-tard. If you bought the ticket, you are a fan. That is all you need to prove your allegiance.

6. No shoulder rides.

We all know your girlfriend is only 5 feet tall. However, when you place her atop your 6 foot frame, you have created a really tall, annoying monster that blocks everyone else behind you. Expect to have beer spilled down your pants.

5. Don’t yell out song requests.

The band has a set list determined ahead of time for continuity/lighting purposes. Sometimes a band will ask for requests – then and only then may you scream. If you absolutely cannot contain yourself (please try), DO NOT request that one song that is played on the radio every 15 minutes. They will play it, I promise.

Don't yell "Freebird." You are not funny or ironic.

4. Air Guitar – Just don’t.

For the love of all that is holy – Just. Don’t. (This rule also applies to air drums, air base and air piano)

3. This is not sing-along time, this is a concert.

Nobody minds if you quietly mouth along or sing along to yourself. It’s fun – everyone does it. However, I paid to hear the artist sing the song. I did not pay to hear you drunkenly shout it. What’s more – I certainly did not pay to hear you sing the first line and then drunkenly mumble along until you remember another word. Which you shout. In my ear.

2. Cell phones are a no-no.

Seriously, Broseph, your friend does not care that the band is doing a Bob Dylan cover. No. They cannot hear it. Cell phones are not microphones or concert recording devices and your friend will likely be annoyed that you are;

a) rubbing in the fact that they are not at the show, themselves
b) likely interrupting whatever they are doing so that they can listen to mumbled static as you drunkenly sing along

Besides, you are annoying the people around you.

1. STFU.

Seriously. I want to hear the band – not your weekend plans. If you want to talk/gossip/make business deals do it at home/at the bar/on the golf course. This especially applies to non-rock shows where people are seated. Also – do not yell shit at the band. They are not going to get naked no matter how much you tell them they are “hot” or request that they “take it off.” This is not a strip club. The band is performing. Have some respect. Save your fantasies for the bedroom.

Did I miss anything? What annoys you most when you go to see live music?

The Friday Song - To An Old Friend

2008-04-04T07:00:00.001-05:00

In honor of an old friend deciding to make a blogspot of her very own, I am dedicating this Friday song to Sleepy Jean over at I Like Cheese?

Sleepy J and I go way back. I met her in 1st grade when we both lived in West Chicago (Chicago 'burbs - if you couldn't figure that one out). We became fast friends and when she moved away, I was devistated. Though we didn't stay in touch (We were in 1st grade, dudes), I thought of her often and hoped she was happy.

Not long after Sleepy J moved away, my mother and I moved out of West Chicago to St. Charles (another Chicago 'burb). Some time in fifth grade, our class took a field trip to see a theater adaptation of "The Bridge to Terabithia." Before the play began, I was restless and scanning the theater for some sort of mischief when I spotted her. How was it that I was to see Sleepy J after several years - and here we were in the same town again!

We ended up going to Jr. High and High School together and becoming friends again. In Jr. High, we would sing Pearl Jam songs at the top of our lungs (She had a much better voice than I). My Mother even took the two of us up to Summerfest in Milwaukee when we were in 8th grade to see our favorite band. I had fan club tickets - because I was COOL - shut up. We sang along - we danced. We were shameless fans and desperately in love with Eddie Vedder.

Me and Sleepy Jean too cool for school rockin' the ring pops in front of a convenience store.
(How very Clerks of us)

She always had an amazing spirit. Through everything she had to deal with at home and through those years of teen angst and rebellion, she was there for anyone that needed her. She was an amazing talent and even more amazingly beautiful - she just never knew it. I always thought she had the most amazing deep soulful eyes and a wisdom beyond her years. We grew apart - I believe she moved again and I went off to college.

Turns out, while I was pursuing booze and other debauchery at good old NIU - she was off getting married and finding God. Through the time wasting black hole that is myspace, we found each other again. Though I haven't seen this girl (in person) in over 8 years (maybe more?), I still think of her as a great friend and all around amazing human being.

We share a love for the blues now and I hope that we are able to get together one day and screech out some Susan Tedeschi or Sam Cooke at the top of our lungs. Strike that - I will screech and she will sing with that pure, honest voice of hers. More than anything, I think I would just like to give her a hug.

I have been agonizing over what song to dedicate to my old friend. Do I choose something that resonates now? Something with some soul, something with some funk? No. To her, my old friend - could there be any other song to dedicate to her? Though the song is dark - I remember what this meant to her and what it meant to me. I remember friends laughing and crying together...and really, isn't that what it's all about?

First pee, now this?

2008-03-28T19:03:00.004-05:00

Some of you (my myspace friends) may remember when my ceiling collapsed outside of my apartment door last year. For those of you that don't know me IRL - it looked like this...

Nice, huh? My landlord had the roofers come out and check out any potential damage. They fixed the small leaky spot and gave the roof a good check to make sure that we would be all safe and sound.

Well, Either the roofers are crackheads (maybe the same crackhead that tried to pee on me this morning - scroll down), or my roof is out to get me. Here is what I came home to this afternoon...

Yes, ladies and gentleman, that is water leakage around one of the light fixtures in my bathroom.

This cannot be good. Does anyone know what this means as far as my electricity is concerned? Obviously, I won't turn on this particular light, but do I need to worry about turning anything else on in the same circuit? Seeing as how I have no idea what fixtures are on what circuit - this may be difficult, but I can probably guesstimate in the name of not blowing a fuse.

Know what else is fun? If I flip a circuit - the only access to the fuse box is in the basement - which is only accessable through the first floor apartment. So, if I do flip something, I will be at the mercy of my neighbor...or my landlord...who still has not called me back.

Fun huh?

On a brighter side, maybe this is karma's (not my cat - the other karma) way of reminding me to take part in Earth Hour Chicago. This is something that my company is backing pro bono and I encourage all of you Chicagoans to get involved. Turn off your power for one hour tomorrow at 8. Go to the website. Learn more. Make a statement. Link on your blog. Do it. More importantly, do it because you want to...not because you might flip a breaker because your bathroom light fixture is leaking water and you are scared to turn anything on.

Besides, candles smell pretty.

For the Suburbanites...

2008-03-28T11:47:00.002-05:00

I almost got peed on by a crackhead this morning on the El.

Some splashback may have landed on my shoe, but I can't be sure.

Jealous?

The Friday Song

2008-03-28T09:34:00.002-05:00

This one goes out to Stef. She knows why.

Here's to hoping you found some peace....

Down the street you can hear her scream "you're a disgrace"
As she slams the door in his drunken face,
And now he stands outside and all the neighbours start to gossip and drool.
He cries "Oh girl, you must be mad,What happened to the sweet love you and me had?"
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green.

And so castles made of sand, fall in the sea, eventually.

A little Indian brave who before he was ten,
played war games inthe woods with his Indian friends,
and he built a dream that when he grew up,
he would be a fearless warrior Indian Chief.
Many moons passed and more the dream grew strong, until tomorrow
He would sing his first war song,
And fight his first battle, but something went wrong,
Suprise attack killed him in his sleep that night

And so castles made of sand, melts into the sea eventually.

There was a young girl, whose heart was a frown,
Because she was crippled for life, and couldn't speak a sound
And she wished and prayed she would stop living, so she decided to die.
She drew her wheel chair to the edge of the shore, and to her legs she smiled
"You won't hurt me no more."
But then a sight she'd never seen made her JUMP AND SAY
"Look, a golden winged ship is passing my way"
And it really didn't have to stop...it just kept on going.

And so castles made of sand slips into the sea, Eventually

Roll away the dew

2008-03-27T09:26:00.003-05:00

Morning routines in my apartment are pretty typical. I get up before Matt, make coffee, feed Mojo and Karma, and hop in the shower. By the time I have dried off and had a cup of coffee (thus making me much more pleasant), Matt has gotten up. I get dressed and start the process of drying my hair (it takes FOREVER) while Matt gets ready to head out. Sometimes, if I actually move my ass in the morning and get the dog out, Matt and I leave at the same time and head out to work together.

Other mornings, I am lazy and as Matt is leaving, I am only just taking out the dog. Since I don't have to be at work as early as he does, it works out and Mojo and I take a leisurely walk around the block. Rather, I take a leisurely walk and Mojo frantically "checks his messages" (Read: smells other dog pee). Today was one of those lazy mornings. I walked out with Matt and saw him off towards the bus stop as Mojo and I went on our merry little walk.

We got back to the apartment and I promised Mojo his "Good Boy treat" as I reached in my pocket for my keys. Nothing. No keys. As panic set in, I prayed for my cell phone. No cell phone. Shit. Matt was already well into downtown by that point and probably wouldn't be able to turn himself around even if I could get a hold of him. I knocked at the door hoping a neighbor might hear. Nothing. Shit. Shit.

Not knowing anyone in the neighborhood, I felt uncomfortable knocking on the door of a stranger, dog in tow, asking to use a phone. Having no other option, Mojo and I headed in the direction of the coffee shop about a block away. While I was too embarrassed to ask a neighbor for help, I had no problem peeking my head into a busy local coffee shop (holding Mojo out the door with my free hand) and loudly requesting that I use their phone as I was locked out with my dog. Some people snickered, some looked at me with pity, and some just stared blankly.

Thankfully, the man behind the counter was very friendly and allowed me to use his cell phone to call my Mother (who has a spare set of keys thank-you-God). He even let me bring Mojo in to the doorway so he didn't have to stand outside in the cold. (Remind me to go order a latte tomorrow and leave the guy a HUGE tip)

My Mother answered her phone and after some well-deserved teasing about my becoming more like her everyday, she came to help me out. While we were waiting - it began to rain. Of course it couldn't just drizzle - no - it was that nasty cold snowy rain, the likes of which can only be found in Chicago and Hell. So here we were. Locked out. Wet. Cold. Miserable.

I eventually got to work, and I can only imagine what else this day is going to vomit all over me. I have a feeling that it won't be pretty.

What is Snoop up to?

2008-03-25T10:35:00.003-05:00

Just in case you were wondering.

Wham!

2008-03-25T09:19:00.004-05:00

George Michael is coming to Chicago!

The "Father Figure" will be playing at the United Center (walkable from my apartment) on July 9th and I kinda want to go. I mean, how many times in your life to you have the potential to hear "I want your sex" live? I don't think I would be able buy tickets without feeling a little dirty, but I have some hookups and might be able to get some tix for free. Who wants to go? Aunt Becky - you know you sing some "Wake me up before you go-go" pretty much every day of your life - you may be the only friend that would brave the rabid "George Michael Gays" (These are a special breed of gay) with me. Whattya say?

Who else is in?

Ask the internet

2008-03-24T12:54:00.005-05:00

Alright, internet friends, I need some help. I have very kitschy home design tastes, so admittedly, you may think I am crazy to ask for a design opinion from all of you (who are probably all classy and stuff). However, I am completely torn over a purchase.

I saw these dishes on Overstock.com and I have an itch to buy them. Yes, I have perfectly good dishes already...but these are so retro-glorious that am evaluating throwing caution to the wind in order to *gasp* buy something I don't need. This is seriously weird for me as I am very ~~cheap~~ thrifty.

So here is the question...do these new potential dishes go with the theme of my dining room better than the dishes I already have, or is it just too much?

This picture is very old - I may post an updated one when I get home - but it gives you an idea about the general design.

**Now updated Picture**

The Friday Song - To my Daddy

2008-03-21T09:46:00.000-05:00

As I navigate the world of blogging, trying to find other blogs written by people like myself, I have stumbled upon many themes. Since I am new to the whole regular-blogging thing, I thought that adopting a weekly theme might help me stay motivated to post regularly - and so the search began.

Becky introduced me to an explanation for that 45/365 theme that I see everywhere and I thought of it as very clever and cute but just not me. I have also seen blogs that post pictures on Mondays, post poems over the weekend, or write monthly letters to their children. I thought about trying one of those themes, but alas, I am not a photographer or a poet. I don't have kids to write about, unless you count Mojo, but that post would read something like;

"March 2008

Dear Mojo,

You have gained one pound since my last letter to you. I am beginning to think that your weight gain is more than just a "winter cushion" as the vet suggested. You are my little chunker, and I don't care that you snore like a grown man and drool all over the floor. You are Sexxy and all the bitches want you - fo' realz.

Love, Your Momma"

Let's face it, nobody wants to read that. In fact, a few of you probably just clicked away from this blog in disgust. It's cool. I can take it.

After quite a bit of thought (mostly in the bathroom), I decided that my weekly theme would be "The Friday Song" - wherein I dedicate a song to the person/thing/event of my choosing every Friday.

So without further ado, this week's song is dedicated to my Dad.

My parents divorced when I was two years old and I grew up with my Mother. We moved away from Southern Illinois when I was 6 years old and I saw my father once a month and then spent summers with him. When I was younger, I resented those summers because I would be away from all of my friends and have to socially "start over" every school year. I couldn't be in school plays because weekend visits interfered with time I was able to dedicate to rehearsal. I got my period for the first time while staying with my Dad, when the only person I wanted was my Mom.

As a kid, I always wanted to please my Father, but our relationship was awkward. I don't know that either of us really knew how we were supposed to develop a relationship. Only now, as an adult, do I feel a real connection to my Dad, and I wish I was able to spend more time with him. The time we do have together is still a little weird sometimes, but we have figured out a way to communicate with one another and I really appreciate who he is as a person. I don't know if there is any other thing in this world that can compare to the feeling I get when my Dad tells me he is proud of me.

Sometimes, a song has the ability to capture every feeling and every word that you mean to say, even if you don't know how to say it yourself. This is that song for me and my Dad. I can't listen to it without bawling, but in a good way.

Paul Simon - Father and Daughter

It's not easy being green

2008-03-17T11:03:00.005-05:00

When I was in college, I took a class that was popularly referred to as "the drug class," "fun with drugs," or "I wonder if the professor will give us drugs today." I don't remember the actual name of the class, but memory loss in this instance is ironically hilarious – so I refuse to actually look it up. In fact, I don't remember much about the class at all - not because I was on drugs (you guys are assholes) – but because it really wasn't that interesting.

Something that I do recall, however, is the theory that people take drugs because of an inherent desire to alter consciousness. The theory suggests that humans start this altered-state experimentation at a very young age. For example, children spin in circles to make themselves dizzy in an attempt to rework their known sensory realities. The dizziness sensation allows them to experience something outside their typical existence. Interesting concept.

So, similarly, when adults desire to feel that altered state, spinning around in circles just isn't enough anymore and they turn to more sophisticated, manufactured instruments of euphoria.

What is your opinion on the topic? Do you think the theory has merit?

I remember when I was a kid...I was convinced that if I jumped at just the right angle and with just enough momentum, that I could actually fly. I am serious. I recall running around in the yard jumping all over the place. Perhaps after running around like a lunatic and hurling myself upwards, I may have caused myself to get lightheaded, thus allowing me the illusion of flight. I also thoroughly enjoyed making myself dizzy.

As I write this, I found my self wondering if I seek out mind-altering experiences any differently now that I am an adult. Will spinning until I fall down allow me the same joy at 26 as it did when I was 6? If not...will I seek other avenues to adjust my senses?

Nah.

I don't know about you guys…but all this spinning around in circles has made me very thirsty. I'm gonna go get a beer...or 12.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Bravoholic

2008-03-13T09:44:00.003-05:00

I have a serious problem. I am obsessed with Bravo programming. I was addicted to Project Runway and now that the season has ended, I have adopted Top Chef as my Wednesday night "must see TV." Next to Chef Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares on BBC America, Top Chef has got to be my favorite show EVER. (Are we sensing a food trend here?)

Last night was the Top Chef season premiere. It's a bit too early for me to pick a favorite, but I think that there may be some interesting surprises this year and I am super-pumped.

One thing that may be funny (if not annoying) is contestant Andrew's uncanny similarities to McLovin from Superbad. (The link takes you to an interview on Bravo's website - but you will see what I mean if you watch the show). I will be rooting for him just so I can quote the movie every Wednesday.

Keep the following clip handy for next Wednesday (or re-runs).

Office Commandments Neurosis

2008-03-10T12:43:00.004-05:00

This post began as "When using the office restroom, thou shalt not use an open stall next to a stall in use" - then I thought...this has got to be just me.

I have a whole set of bathroom neurosis, including (but not limited to) the fact that I cannot "perform" when surrounded. This particular issue only applies at the office, as I have no problem going to the bathroom at concerts, baseball games (Go Go White Sox) or other public functions. Hell, I drop trou and pee mid conversation with friends whilst on the phone. I pee with Matt in the same room brushing his teeth (sorry baby). It is only at work where I suddenly feel claustrophobic and get stage fright. In my world, urinal rules apply whilst at the office.

That said, I hereby present "KC's bathroom issues" in no particular order;

* I have a favorite stall at places I frequent and at work. This is typically the first stall in the row. I feel put off and more than a little annoyed when someone else occupies "my" stall.

* I spare no expense on toilet paper. Only the best for these buns. In college, I bought my own because I couldn't stand the tree bark they tried to pass off as TP.

* If, upon entering "my stall," I find that the previous occupant did not flush, I will grudgingly move onto the next stall rather than flush before use. If, in the same situation, the toilet is flushed but there are "mystery drops" on the seat, I will wipe them away with a "glove of TP" and proceed to use the stall. How does this even begin to make sense?

* I always wash my hands after using public restrooms and become agitated if I have to open the door inward to get out of the bathroom. If I just washed my hands, the last thing I want to do is touch the door handle. (I usually use a paper towel)

* I rarely wash my hands after using the toilet at home. (I do wash them before I handle food)

* Just the thought of port-a-pottys make me gag, yet I frequent outdoor concerts and festivals with alarming regularity.

* Dried up boy pee on that inner lip of the toilet is one of the nastiest things to clean. This is why I ask Matt to clean our bathroom on cleaning days. Thank God he does this without complaint.

* Similarly, Man whiskers aka beard shavings in the bathroom sink are also a point of contention. Meanwhile, I shed long hair all over the apartment like it's my job.

* Mystery moisture in restrooms is the thing of nightmares. People that put carpet in their bathrooms should be immediately institutionalized.

* Padded toilet seats terrify me, but not as much as fuzzy toilet lid carpets.

It's not easy being nuts.

Meme, youyou

2008-03-06T22:09:00.004-06:00

I was tagged for my very first meme (I'm new to the blogosphere - what?) by Aunt Becky.

Directions: Pick up the closest book. Open the book, turn to page 123, count down to the fifth sentence on that page, and then post the next three sentences.

The book is "The Tipping Point" by Malcolm Gladwell.

But Sesame Street just somehow never took that idea and ran with it. They knew that kids did this some of the time, but they never tried to build a show around that idea. Nickelodeon did some pilot shows before Blue's Clues where kids would be explicitly asked to participate, and lo and behold, there was a lot of evidence that they would.

Now that I have typed someone else's words into this space - what am I to do? I'm not sure if what I read is supposed to have some sort of existential meaning. Perhaps I am supposed to reflect upon this passage and determine it's place in the greater scheme of things and this discuss it at length in this post. Luckily, I am just not that deep when it comes to my reading material (or life in general, really) - so you shall be spared the boredom.

I believe I am supposed to tag some more people now. I think only about 5 people read my blog, so I shall tag you all. Special taggage goes out to the Other Lovely Becky for being my only regular commenter that I don't know IRL. Yay for my virtual posse of 1. You are truly a pioneer.

Office Commandments (Part 2)

2008-03-06T15:28:00.008-06:00

When exiting the elevator, thou shall move thou fat ass as people exit to make room for thou co-workers.

Amen.

The bonus illustrated version.......

Cast of Characters

Bubble #1: Guy that looks familiar - but I just can't place him

Bubble #2: My old boss

Bubble #3: The HR admin - she smells like cigarettes

Bubble #4: The Girl on 6 that always looks like she is going to the club instead of work

Bubble #5: The skank with the burnt popcorn yesterday

Bubble #6: Some skinny chick

Bubble #7: Me - trying to get to the 10th floor

Bubble #8: Fat Guy from the 17th floor

Bubble #9: Intern

We enter at the lobby, filling the elevator to it's 9(ish) person capacity. We smile dimly at first and then avoid eye contact at all costs.

Several riders exit at their respective floors. Notice how I get pinned in the corner (I am bubble #7 - pay attention!) between fatty #8 and Club-wear chick #4. Smokey the Admin (#3) stays put and Burnt Popcorn (#5) move forward to give Fatty a little breathing room. Meanwhile, Clubwear is texting her bff whilst I attempt to burn holes in the back of her tube top with my eyes.

At my floor, I have to physically move Clubwear out of my way as she has now answered a call on her cell and is ignoring my polite "excuse me." I am met with a dirty look as I stumble out of the elevator after tripping over Fatty's lunch bag. Burnt Popcorn says "Good Morning" as she turns toward her cube carrying a big box of Orville Redenbacher. Smokey in HR coughs and the Elevator door closes.

fin.

Office Commandments (part 1)

2008-03-05T15:48:00.002-06:00

Thou shalt not make microwave popcorn during the hours between 8am and 6pm. He who makes popcorn in spite of the commandment shall be shunned and silently cursed by his co-workers.

He who foresaketh the aforementioned commandment and burns microwave popcorn in the office between 8am and 6pm shall be immediately shot. The assasin shall be promoted immediately.

Amen.

Rant in the name of dog

2008-03-02T15:13:00.006-06:00

It has been a beautiful day in Chicago - probably around 50-something degrees (It has been a horrible winter so 50 feels like 80 right now). Like every other Chicagoan, I grabbed the dog and took the opportunity to go outside today - sans gloves, scarf and hat - to get some fresh air. As it was the first nice day we have had in months, I dressed Mojo in a cute (yet badass) skull and crossbones scarf. After all, special weather begs for sassy style.

We walked about a half mile up to the nearest dog park, where I was hoping to see at least a few small dogs. No such luck. I spotted a Pitbull mix, a Lab, a bulldog and a couple other larger mix breeds. I decided to be cautiously optimistic, hoping that the other dogs would be gentile. Mojo plays very well with big dogs, but in the absence of dogs his size, he will usually keep to himself. Besides, I thought, why would someone bring their dog to be off-leash in a public area if their dog is aggressive? I have always had good luck at dog parks, and did not expect today to be an exception.

We entered the park and I let Mojo off his leash. The Pit approached quickly, getting a running start to jump up at my chest - splattering the entire front of my jacket, pants, shirt and hair with mud. I yelled at the dog to "Get Down!" but the dog had other ideas. It jumped up at me again - and then went after Mojo - knocking him down and rolling him over...in the mud. Meanwhile, the Pit's owners sat chatting, either oblivious or perhaps unwilling to accept responsibility for their dog's behavior.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't wearing my Sunday best or anything. In fact, I fully expect to get a few paw prints on my clothes at the dog park. It happens. I'm cool with it. It does, however, piss me off that the owners didn't even try to get their dog to play nice. Nor did they apologize for the result of their negligence. Fucktards.

Not to be defeated, I shoved the dog away and led Mojo over to a quiet area where he could sniff around by himself. Meanwhile, the Pit picked a fight with the Lab. When the Lab's owner could no longer control the aggression against his dog, he left the park and the Pit set it's sights on Mojo. Again. I ended up having to carry my muddy dog out of the park as the Pit jumped up at me - desperate to catch a taste of my little pup. The Pit's owner lit a cigarette.

The situation pissed me off for two reasons;

1. These type of dog owners are the reason Pits get a bad rep. Pits can be amazing dogs, when owners take the time to be owners. These are the same type of people that raise asshole children - the kind that run screaming through restaurants and grocery stores. It's just too bad that children are not held to the same legal standard as dogs - quarantined or put to sleep for biting and other undesirable behavior. I kid, I kid.

2. My little dog should be able to play in public dog parks without worry of decapitation. Sure, little dogs can be assholes too, but if a maltese bites my pug, Mojo can shake it off and live to pee another day. Now if it's a German Shephard that decides to play a little rough - that owner is going to feel pretty bad when Fido maims or kills someone else's furry friend.

So what is the solution? Personally, I think that public dog parks should be sectioned off into a main run and a smaller section for little dogs (under 35 lbs). It would be like the kiddie pool at a park district. The little dogs could still hang in the main area, but there would be a safer option for the little guys to excersize and play. As far as I know, there is nothing like this in the City of Chicago. Evanston has Pooch Park (which sounds like heaven), I would even be willing to pay the fee, but the drive leaves something to be desired.

Days like this make me wish I had the $ to make my ideas come to life. I would even pay a per day entry fee for a clean place for my dog to run and play with other dogs his size. Whose to say that others wouldn't feel the same?

*And yes, I realize that this is the second post in a row about my dog. As much as I don't wanna be that guy (or girl) ...I totally am. Just to prove it - here is another picture of my dog making his sexy face at Grandma's house. You like it. Don't lie.

Great balls of fire

2008-02-22T19:17:00.015-06:00

Back when Matt and I first started dating, he was a salesman for a popular energy drink. As part of his position, he drove around to stores all over the Chicago-land area. It was during this drive time that Matt came to notice a trend in some of the more rural areas - a trend which I still have not seen with my own eyes (though I desperately want to). It was described to me over the phone...

Matt: "So I was just in this store and - whoa! - that is the second pair of truck balls I have seen today"

Me: "um...huh?"

Matt: "You know, truck balls"

Me: "um...no?"

Matt: "Well, there isn't much to know - they are balls that hang off a truck's bumper"

Me: "Like beach balls?"

Matt: "If by beach balls you mean 'gigantic nutsack' - then yes."

Having never seen these "truck balls" with my own eyes, I did not believe Matt at all. Of course he was lying - how could that even be legal? I argued with him for a bit, but he was so persistent, I caved. I googled "truck balls."

What I found induced fits of laughter so strong - I couldn't speak. I was shocked!

Me: "People actually put these on their cars?"

Matt: "I am looking at a big 'ole brass pair right now"

More laughter - I was then to the point of tears. Seriously, didn't this violate some sort of indecent exposure law somewhere? Since I have still never seen these with my own eyes - a google image search lead me to this;

I was torn between disgust, awe, and jealousy - I kind of wanted a pair...just for kicks. My curiosity got the best of me, and I continued my search. I was hooked. Hell, I could be a Truck Ball Saleslady!

There were so many to choose from...

For that realistic flare, you can get flesh colored truck balls. I find it funny that the flesh color is of the Caucasian persuasion - I don't think any self respecting black man would put these NEAR his car.

There are also Camouflage truck balls for those occasions when you gotta show your junk, but don't want to scare off the critters.

For the patriotic American (pronounced Amur'cun by the Truck Ball owner), what better way to show your support for this USA than sportin' a pair of these puppies...Oh say can you see, baby.

Some may want to invest in a pair of truck balls, but are concerned for their safety. After all, what motorist could take their eyes off such glory? It could be dangerous. Well, never fear cautious 'nard enthusiast - these balls house break lights. Your loyal followers won't even have to take their eyes off your nuts to know when to slow down!

Some potential truck ballers may want to ease their way into truck ball showmanship. Why not start with your lawn mower, just to get a feel for all that extra awesomeness?

The balls make for great photo-ops...I mean, just looking at this set makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The only thing that could make this picture better is a power-mullet or a rat tail. Consider gathering the family around the yuletide truck nuts for your next Christmas card!

What about the ladies, you ask? How about her very own pink truck ball key chain? She will never forget the special day she receives this gift from her special someone. Every Kiss begins with Kay? No, my friends, every kiss begins with hot pink plastic testicles.

Wanna know what happens when the lady in the trailer next door gets some nice testes for Valentines day - and you don't get any for your old lady? Blue balls. That's right.

Have you seen these in your hometown?

If you were going to get a set of truck balls, what color would you get?

Not. Fierce.

2008-02-21T18:56:00.003-06:00

Really, Bravo TV fans? Christian? Really?

Everything about the kid annoys me. Sure, I admit he is a talented little booger, but fan favorite? I was a little shocked.

I will still be cheering for Chris and his bold, trannylicious style. Go Chris!

The fever makes me ramble on and on

2008-02-21T16:45:00.005-06:00

Few people know that I was a woman's studies minor in college. My involvement in the program started as a conversation with my mother one afternoon over the phone.

Mom: "When are you going to choose a minor to compliment your ~~worthless~~ awesome Communications Degree?"

Me: "I have been great, thanks for asking! A little low on groceries, and the laundry is piling up, but that's why they make Ramen and Febreeze, right?"

Mom: "Ha,ha smartass. I am not going to keep helping you with grocery money and the like if you don't pick a minor. Why don't you minor in Marketing or something?"

Me: "Yes, mom, things are going very well with the roommate. We plan on having a kegger this weekend where I hope to pass out in a pool of my own vomit - wanna come?"

Mom: "Girl, you better LISTEN to me if you want to stay alive, much less stay in school"

Anyhoo, I promised to consider choosing a minor even though it completely ruined my plan of supplementing required courses with Phys Ed classes like "Relaxation 101" (Note: Relaxation was a real class but only offered at 7am - there is nothing relaxing about 7am when in college). I poured over the course books scouring my options for a chosen minor. After about 10 minutes of half-assed interest, I didn't see anything that tickled my fancy, so I gave up. A month later, when my mother called and threatened to murder me, I got a bit more serious.

I wanted to take a variety of classes thus ruling out a marketing minor (plus I would have to take more math - blech). I wanted to piss off my mother while at the same time doing exactly what she told me to do - and so I landed on Women's Studies. I only had to take a couple required courses (Women's History) and then I had my choice of many other disciplines. I could learn a little about a lot and confuse the hell out of my mother at the same time for added bonus.

I ended up taking a myriad of Psyc and Sociology classes along with a couple gems like "Growing Up Female" (no joke). For the most part, I really enjoyed my time in the courses and met a lot of really great ladies. I actually came to love the word "feminist" and I am not afraid to identify myself with the movement. No matter how much I call my friends "bitch," "slut," or "Ho," I say it with love and affection (you bitches know I'm talkin' bout you).

Long story boring, I told you the above to add something more personal to back up my disgust with this website. (At the top click on portfolio - then click on each thumbnail pic to enlarge. Mouse over the pic to see the "before") Anyone else repulsed? I know that this sort of thing happens all the time, but it doesn't take away the stench that this site expels. I also think that most of the subjects look better "before." What is so wrong with freckles? Also - check out how they completely eliminated the muscle tone out of Julia Stiles' arm. WTF?

Another feminist fun fact: Did you know that when I was searching for a job, I got 75% more calls on my resume and online applications after taking my Women's Studies minor off my resume? Kinda effed up, huh?

When it rains it pours

2008-02-18T15:01:00.003-06:00

I am ridiculously sick - and have been all weekend. Even as I write this, I can barely breathe as my nose is so stuffy. My body hurts, my head hurts, my throat is swollen and I have 100 degree temp. The doctor confirmed that I have the nasty disgusting virus that has been going around so yee-haw- there is nothing I can do to make it better. I just have to let it run it's course.

Meanwhile, my apartment gets dirtier, my agitation rises and I become extremely unpleasant. It's not enough that I had to attend the funeral of an old friend, or that NIU (where I received my undergrad) was shot up by a maniac, I have to be sick on top of it all.

Wish me better - I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I just want to feel better. I know it could be worse, I am just tired and crabby.

I wish she wasn't right

2008-02-14T09:11:00.003-06:00

I was talking to my Mother this morning about the services tomorrow. I told her how some friends and I felt really guilty about not reaching out to Steph more before she died. My Mother's response - "You should feel guilty - we all could have done more."

My first reaction was, "What the Fuck! Don't you realize that we were trying to put out a message of 'tough love'?" or "We would have hung out with her more if she was mentally more stable."

Then, as I thought more about what she said, I realized she was right. We absolutely should have done more and we didn't because it was hard. It is hard to look at someone in their early to mid 20's and realize that they have a problem. It is hard to push that person towards more positive influences. It's hard to realize that it may have been difficult for her to reach out to us because we didn't reach out to her. This realization makes me sick to my stomach, but it's true. How many of us look the other way when we have the power to do something?

I am not insinuating that we should help everyone we meet, but we should try to do more for the people we love. We should do more and we should do it often. I know that I did not do everything I could for my friend. It hurts, and now I do not have a chance to make it better. All I can do is remember her fondly and take this hard lesson to heart.

My Grandpa says to give until it hurts and then give some more. I wish I would have listened to him.

The world is missing something incredible

2008-02-11T13:37:00.000-06:00

I met her in High School through some mutual friends. She was so outgoing and outspoken and beautiful. She was beautiful in a way that would have made Barbie jealous – and she didn’t even know it.

She was the type of person where you didn’t even have to know her to love her. Just a moment in her presence was enough to know that she had something powerful inside of her – something much bigger than this world.

When I think about my times with her, I remember her infectious laugh or the 10 minute giggle-fits brought on by her sarcastic sense of humor. She was amazingly funny, and the type of friend that would call you out for a reality check when you got out of line. She was stubborn and sassy and fiercely loyal – and I adored her for all of it.

Life had been difficult for her the past few years, and she fought so hard. Though the outcome was not what anyone could have expected, she was brave. She sought help when many would have run from reality. She wanted better things for herself and her kids – and she tried to get well.

Her kids will never know the girl I knew, but she leaves behind a piece of herself in her children. We will hear her voice through her children’s laughter, and feel her touch through their embrace. She was so proud of them – and I don’t think she would have fought so hard if it wasn’t for their love.

I am going to miss her terribly, but I am so lucky to have known her while she was here. I can honestly say that I am a better human being because I knew this girl.

Get some rest, friend. You are gonna need that energy when Aunt Becky and I join you - we will have so much to catch up. Do they serve coffee in heaven?

*More reflection courtesy of Becky here and here

The Potty Patrol

2008-02-08T10:51:00.000-06:00

When I first met Matt, one of the things that impressed me about him was the fact that he would always clean the bathroom at his apartment before I came over (It's the little things - right ladies?). So many men do not understand the importance of a clean bathroom. I have been over to male-inhabited apartments where, after using the restroom, I felt like I needed to soak myself in bleach and scrub off the nasty with some steel wool....and the smell...oh Sweet-Jesus, the smell. I shudder just to think about it.

Women, on the other hand, are anal (pun intended) about the cleanliness and smell of their home restrooms. We use plug-in air fresheners and reed diffusers for the illusion that our ass smells like cucumber-melon-apple-mango-pumpkin-spice. We put fluffy brightly colored rugs on the floor that match our meticulously hand-picked shower curtain. The soap dish matches the toothbrush holder which, in turn, matches the brightly colored rug. We buy designer soaps that are for show rather than use and we hide any deodorant, ointments, douche or tampons because we would rather die than for someone to see that we actually use such products.

We display our 15 bottles of lotion from Bath and Body works like trophies. Never mind that we got every bottle as a gift and that 3/4 of the bottles have never even been opened. Hell, we may not even like the smell of some of the lotions, but we will still exhibit our collection with pride. We buy the softest, most expensive towels for both display (to match the shower curtain, duh) and to dry our wet bodies after a long shower. After use of the towels, we gently fold them and drape them over the towel rack next to the sink.

We do all of these things, and yet, women's public restrooms are some of the most disgusting and vile places on earth. Is it because we keep our home restrooms so pristine?

I honestly cannot comprehend why a woman would wipe feces or snot on a restroom stall wall when the same woman would crucify her husband for leaving beard shavings in the sink at home. Even more disturbing is the fact that people behave this way at work. It boggles my mind why someone would use the restroom at their place of employment, urinate on the toilet seat, drop any and all used tp on the floor, not flush, leave the stall, wash their hands and return to their desk as though nothing ever happened. Do people get a rush out of being repulsive?

I don't like "away games" any more than the next gal, but if I have to make some #2 at the office, I do so as quickly and discreetly as possible while attempting to leave the least amount of trace evidence possible. I do this not only for my fellow employee, but also for myself. I just don't want to be around the nastiness the next time I have to go.

Ladies, we keep our restrooms at home so nice that we could eat off the toilet seat and sleep on the rug - our towels are nicer than hotel comforters. Can we join together and make a pact to keep our public restrooms at least clean enough to keep our gag reflex suppressed? We deserve to keep our bare asses free from mystery seat moisture! It's a Restroom Revolution! Who is with me?

Nerd Glasses

2008-02-07T17:50:00.000-06:00

My new glasses are wicked-awesome. That is all.

Yes. We. Can.

2008-02-05T13:45:00.000-06:00

After much turmoil...I think I have decided where to place my vote on this Super Tuesday. I have been torn....but have made my decision.

I will be headed to the polls after work. Make sure you vote.

It's Raining Cats and Dogs

2008-02-05T10:10:00.001-06:00

With the exception of my job situation, things are actually going pretty well in Casa De KC. Since Matt has moved in, we have been getting along pretty well considering that neither one of us have done the “living in sin” thing before. We are definitely still figuring each other out but we really have not fought badly – which is a great sign.

While Matt and I are doing well, Matt and the other inhabitants of my apartment are still developing a working relationship. The dog is easy. Mojo is pretty chill and when he does something annoying, his smooshy little face and his big bug eyes have enough emotion to melt even the coldest of hearts.

(Ppppttthhhhbbbbbb!)

Karma, on the other hand is a bit of a challenge (and by “challenge,” I mean she is the devil incarnate and will rip your eyes out of their sockets while you sleep if you so much as look at her sideways). I once had a friend come to visit from out of state. She brought her boyfriend over and Karma jumped up on his lap and lay down. Cute, right? Not so much when kitty responds to touch with growling and the patent-pending Power-Hiss. (It is powerful both in sound and smell as she has the worst breath I have ever smelled on another creature. Ever.) When he tried to push her off his lap, she scratched at him. My friend and I, of course, responded to his cries for help with laughter and ridicule because we are sensitive and caring like that.

(Note the distain in her eyes...and the half Hiltler mustache...as she blocks me from my bills)

Not only is Karma a raging bitch to most guests, but she hates Matt with a passion. Lucky him. For now, they ignore one another as best they can – and I can only hope that they are able to continue their indifference-based relationship. After all, Matt would look funny with his eyes scratched out – and I don’t think Karma would fare so well after being thrown out a window.

How Could I not?

2008-02-04T13:34:00.000-06:00

Despite my beloved Chicago Bears taking a turn for the suckage this year, I was actually excited to watch the Superbowl. I was rooting for the Giants - and they delivered! It was a great game and exciting down to the last minute - everything you could want in a Superbowl game. I even enjoyed Tom Petty's performance! There was really only one thing missing - good commercials.

Being in the ad industry, I actually watch the spots - and the Superbowl is supposed to be a time when everyone else does too. I have to say, though, that the last 2 years have been very disappointing when it comes to quality advertising. There were a couple mildly humorous spots last night - but nothing spectacular.

Whatever happened to the clever ads that had everyone talking the next day? Anyone else miss spots like this one?

Just for fun - here is the Miller High Life Guy (Wendall) talking about last night's commercials. Happy Freakin' Monday.

I am totally "That Guy"

2008-02-04T10:01:00.000-06:00

For those of you that a)know me IRL and b)know about this blog - you know that I love going to see live music. Going to concerts has been a favorite pasttime since Jr. High when my mother took me and a few friends to go see Collective Soul at the Hard Rock Cafe in Chicago. (Oh like you had great taste in music in Jr. High - I heard you snicker)

No matter what kind of music I was into - I went to all the shows. In Jr. High, I rocked out to Collective Soul, Candlebox, Offspring, Pearl Jam, Violent Femmes and even Bob Dylan. (Ecclectic!) In High School, I saw Soundgarden and countless Ska shows before my tastes changed and I was drawn towards the Jam Band Scene. It was at this point that I began to get bitter and annoyed with other fans. You see, despite the fact that my musical tastes were of the neo-hippy variety - I have always been far too much of a bitch to embrace the "I love everyone" mentality. I don't love everyone. In fact, most people are assholes, myself included. Besides, it is far more entertaining to mock the hippy dance (video example below) than to hug a tree.

While I still loves me some Grateful Dead, Phish, Widespread Panic and Gov't Mule, I find that their fans piss me off to no end. I have been to the shows where everyone camps for the weekend. To me, camping with good friends after a good concert should be the recipe for a fantastic time...until you add in all the neo-hippy-moochers. I have literally been offered 3 crayons and a shoelace in exchange for a Heinekin. I have also had a girl stop and openly weep over my portable grill as I flipped my "death burger." Seriously, hippies, wtf?

I understand that "sharing" is part of the culture at these shows, and I have (on more than one occasion) wanted to "share" my deoderant with some of these people. I do not, however, care to share my beer, tent, money, food or blankets with other campers in exchange for anything other than money. I didn't buy my sandwich with good karma, dammit. I bought it with money I worked for and earned. I cannot subscribe to the ideology that because I decide to go to a show, I now must share everything that I paid for with idiots on drugs. I'm not gonna lie, I have been to shows on drugs (in my younger days), but never, ever, did I wander up to someone else's car and ask for a free beer.

I must be a glutton for punishment, because I continue to go to shows on a regular basis. I will continue to get mad at the flailing hippy and his cracked out arm that inevitably hits me in the boob. I will always be the one to death stare at the Trixie behind me that just has to call her friend in the middle of a song to scream (more in my ear than into her phone) about what a great time she is having.

I want to start a revolution! I dream of one day going to shows where the crowd is actually there to listen to the music being played - a crowd that is respectful of others that paid good money to see an artist perform - a crowed that picks up after itself and doesn't smell like a combination of BO and foot. I dream of...of...Ravinia. Shit...I am old.

Nominees for the worst dressed list

2008-02-01T13:56:00.000-06:00

Some might say that I have a mild to moderate obsession with Bravo's Project Runway. I fell in love with the show after watching the first episode of the first season. Though I have no fashion sense whatsoever, I was immediately aching to be Jay McCarroll's "fag hag." I wanted to go hang out in the work room at Parson's School for Design and make catty remarks about inferior design talent. I became the fashion critic equivalent of a backseat driver as I watched and commented on the "lay of the fabric" or the color campatability of the whatchoomacallit with the light reflection against the whosawhats. I had NO idea what I was talking about - and I didn't care. I was hooked.

Many people love the show, so my adoration may not be such a big deal were it not for my complete lack of fashion sense. I wish I was kidding, but I literally have no idea how to dress myself. I have no sense of style, and the thought of shopping often makes me nauseous. Part of my current fashion retardation stems from the fact that i have gained some weight (especially since not smoking has given me the urge to eat constantly) and don't particularly revel in the thought of buying clothes in my current size. That said, I get home from work on Wednesdays - put on fleece sweatpants & a t-shirt, whip my hair into a ponytail and proceed to become the most vicious couch critic in the history of fashion.

"That hem is atrocious!," I might say or "I can't believe he would send THAT down the runway!"

Of course, if any of the budding designers on the show were able to see me and my standard uniform of jeans, tank top and a cardigan, they would probably scream little girly screams whilst scratching at their eyes in order to avoid having such bad fashion permanently burned into their retinas. Someone that willingly buys clothes from Old Navy or *gasp* Target (such as myself) are probably a creature from their worst nightmare.

Thing is, even if I had the money to spend on designer duds, I would have no idea what to buy. Knowing me, if someone were to actually give me money and tell me to go buy something "fashion forward" - I would end up looking like this

rather than this.

Where do I seek help for this complete and total style stupidity? Can trend be learned?

My screen is dirty...

2008-01-11T17:36:00.000-06:00

...so I am having it cleaned

(Update: Link fixed)

You gotta have faith

2008-01-10T13:52:00.000-06:00

When I first entered the world of advertising, I landed on a desk that fed my need to work in a creative environment. The client was fantastic and I was SO happy in my position. I mean, sure, there were frustrating and stressful days (I do work in advertising, folks - this shit is crazy), but for the most part, I left for work with a smile on my face. After a period of time, I rotated to new responsibilities. It was more of a lateral move than a promotion, but the gears switched and I have since been working with a different kind of client - focused on tedius task-master type projects rather than creative strategy. I'm sure some people would thrive in my position. The daily tasks are clear and free of ambiguity - things are pretty cut and dry.

I, however, have been extremely unhappy. I went from loving my job to dreading most every day. I head to the same building as I did 6 months ago. I make the same amount of money (actually a little more), but I am miserable. I stay because I adore my co-workers, I love the company, and lets face it - I just don't want the hassle of going somewhere else. I can't lie, though, there have been days when I have left work at 7:30pm and headed to the El close to tears.

Thankfully, the days my career depression overwhelm me are few and far between. Nevertheless, every time I am having a horrible day...I see the same guy...a street musician with a beautiful voice.

I don't know his name, but I have come to the point where I know his sound before I even make it down the stairs. I have seen him on good days, but I always see him on the days where I have surrendered any hope of a positive attitude. For this, I am so thankful. He lifts my spirits and helps me put things in perspective. It's not even the songs he sings, but the way he sings them.

One of my favorite songs is Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come" - a song that carries a certain sadness, but brings a feeling of hope. My Subway Savior sings the song a bit more up-tempo, but with the same amazing soul and conviction that I love about the original. When he sings it as I wait - it touches my heart and allows me a moment of peace to reflect. It's almost as though just hearing him sing lifts the weight of my day off my shoulders. All of the noise and unpleasantries of the CTA disappear, and a sense of serenity overwhelms me when he is present.

I know there will be a day when I am feeling particularly down, and he will not be there on the subway platform, and that's ok. I may only know him as the man with the sweet voice and a guitar, but he has taken permanent residence in my memories - and when I think about the sincerety of the music he plays - I know it will make me smile.

Just because.....here is Sam Cooke...

The Bus Witch

2008-01-09T09:40:00.000-06:00

Every morning, I catch a bus and take it almost a mile to the nearest subway stop - which I then take to work. Nearly every morning, I end up on the same bus and train as one of my favorite "Auxiliary characters" in the movie of my life.

I call her "The Bus Witch" (TBW) because she has strange growths all over her face and arms - similar to what comes to mind when you think of the wart on a witch's nose. They may be all over her body, I just haven't had the displeasure of seeing that much detail with my own eyes. Either way, I see her almost every day. She is an older woman, perhaps in her mid 50's. She has greying dark hair, which she pulls back with a barrette. She also has some of the most stunning facial hair I have ever seen on a woman. I'm not just talking a few stray dark hairs here and there...I am talking cop mustache. She does occasionally wax or shave, but I think she could pull off a convincing Burt Reynolds if she chose to do so. It appears as though she has a uniform of mom jeans, short sleeved muted Hawaiian shirts, and Keds. To recap: Warty growths, long grey hair, cop 'stache, tourist outfit (without fanny pack).

There are a lot of odd looking people on Chicago's public transit, but it is TBW's sense of urgency and panic that cause me to find her particularly interesting. If you know anything about Chicago buses during the morning rush hour, you know that they are ridiculously packed full of people. To liken my morning commute to being in a can of sardines is more telling than you will ever know unless you experience it first-hand. The smell is even similar. By the time the bus reaches my stop, I am lucky to get on. TBW gets on at the stop after me, so the bus is already filled to the gills (I am on a roll with the fish references). While many will try to squeeze on in an effort to get to work on time, TBW takes it to the next level.

She will cut in front of children, the elderly, hell- she would knock over a pregnant woman if that's what it took to make sure that she could get on the bus. It is extremely entertaining to watch from afar - though not as funny when you happen to be in her path of destruction. The woman shoves her way onto the bus, but it is not enough that she gets on...oh no. That would be too easy. Once she gains entrance, her main objective is to shove her way to the back exit. If she is not able to immediately take residence next to the back door, she becomes increasingly agitated with each stop closer to the subway.

Now, keep in mind that approximately 70% of the riders will exit the bus at the subway stop so there is little to no chance that a person would be unable to get off - even considering the crowd. I don't think that the concept registers with TBW. The woman will start to grunt and pace anxiously as she shoves anyone who proves to be an obstacle. If someone dare mention that everyone in front of them will also be exiting at the subway, she will shout "You don't know that!" "- and she will continue to heave herself towards the exit. I have watched her take down grown men in quest for the coveted standing position near the door.

I heart TBW because she is relentless in her pursuits, however bizarre they may be. She symbolizes so much more than than a nutball on a mission. She accomplishes her goal on a daily basis, and those that try to impede are left bruised and battered in her wake. I dig that kind of determination - but only because I know to get the hell out of her way.

It's Hip to be square

2007-10-25T18:05:00.000-05:00

So, I did it. I finally quit smoking. It's funny because I was always the girl at the bar with the cigarette hanging out of her mouth. I would drunkenly lament on how disgusting my habit was, while lighting up another menthol. I would even go so far as to chastise my friends with good enough sense to quit long before I ever would. I loved to smoke – but I hated the hold that it had taken over my life.

I had been talking for months about quitting. First, I stopped smoking in my apartment (besides the occasional cigarette-out-the-window) and liked that it helped me cut back. Then, about 3 weeks ago, I got sick. I spent a Sunday so hungover that I could barely move, followed by a Monday-Thursday of severe cold and sinus symptoms. It sucked, but I didn't smoke because of my sore throat.

After the fourth day of being sick and surviving my days in a haze of Thera-Flu and Day-Quil induced idiocy, I wanted a cigarette. I felt that craving crawl up my toes and through my fingers as I reached towards my purse for the familiar green box. I couldn't wait to feel the cool mentholated smoke curl around my tongue and vacuum its way into my lungs.

And then I stopped myself.

I found myself thinking, What if? It had been 4 days. What if I didn't have one? What could possibly happen? So I put down the box and curled up on the couch with my dog.

It felt good.

I am only on my 3rd week of not smoking, but I already feel like one of those non-smokers that I hated. I cringe at the smell of smoke on the sidewalk as I walk to my office from the El in the morning. I find myself thinking about how happy I am that it is no longer me stinking up a crowded elevator with the smell of stale cigarettes. I love that my hair doesn't stink. I like that I will no longer have to worry about paying 8 freaking dollars a pack in Chicago when I would inevitably run out of my suburban-purchased cartons.

I am not going to lie, there are days I miss my cigarettes immensely. When I leave work, I think about how it would be so calming to light one up. But then again, would it really calm me down? No. It's just a lie that we, as smokers, tell ourselves in order to rationalize our commitment to the addiction.

The weird thing is – quitting really isn't as hard as I thought it would be. It's only been 3 weeks and I feel better already. I feel liberated and proud that I could accomplish a task I feared for so long. The best part of it is – I know I can do this. It's done. No more smoking.

So long smoking buddies – no longer will I huddle with you shamed in the cold. No longer will I scour my purse for a lighter, cursing as I realize that I left it in my other coat pocket. I will meet you inside where it's warm – and I look forward to seeing you there.

Happy Monday To Me

2006-05-09T14:42:00.000-05:00

Well, friendly readers of my blog, I have lived in Chicago for over a year now. As you know, I love it. I am so much happier here than I was out in STC. And I believe I have talked about how great my neighborhood is in this very blog. You know...people actually say "hello" on my street and know eachother by name. I knew very few people at my townhouse in STC. Those I did know, didn't like me because of my determination to fight with the homeowners association. (THAT, my friends, is another long story)

Since my move, I , like many Chicagoans, have experienced my fair share of the homeless and sometimes mentally unstable people wandering the streets. Sometimes it's not so bad and other times a creepy guy follows you down the street demanding money in a not-so-friendly tone. I take the latter encounters with a grain of salt and a finger or two on the pepper spray.

Don't get me wrong, the homeless, in general, do not frighten me. Hell, even the obvious schizophrenics don't scare me. Most of the time, people ask me for money. Most of the time, I say no. In fact, I have a strict policy regarding "street charity." I will give you money if you provide a service. Plain and simple. You rockin' out on the street with a bucket and a stick? If I stop to listen and enjoy...you have entertained me. I'll throw you some $$. You hangin' outside the Walgreens while I walk my dog? You watch my dog for me while I run in and grab something, you have done me a huge favor. I will pay for that. You sit on a stoop and TELL me to give you money? Nah, I won't do it. You follow me into a store, YELLING at me? You better believe that you aren't getting anything but a nice healthy spray in the eyes. These type of encounters become a part of everyday life when you live in Chicago, I am fine with that.

It's actually kind of fun to have a little bit of nutty and smelly in your daily routine. Keeps you humble. In fact, several months ago, I encountered a homeless guy that made me smile. I was exiting off Lake Shore Drive at Wilson, and there was a guy on the ramp (go figure, right?) with a sign. Traffic was backed up, so I had plenty of time to check out this guy's schtick. He was smiling real wide (actaully beaming), and holding a cardboard sign, like many do. I couldn't see anything on the sign, and because of his enthusiasm, I was really curious to see what he had written. As I got a little closer, I noticed that there was nothing written at all. "Maybe he is confused and has his clever pitch written on the other side," I told my passenger. As we passed, I turned my head to look...and nope. Nothing on the other side of the cardboard either. He was SO happy, though. So proud of his sign that said nothing. I liked that guy.

Now, readers, I told you all of the above, basically to tell you about the experience I had yesterday. For those of you who don't know, I am a regular user of the Chicago CTA system. I like to mix it up with my route to work. Sometimes I take the bus, sometimes the red line, sometimes the brown line. Yesterday morning, I opted for the red line. Let me set it up for you;

If you are not familiar, here is what the red line looks like on the inside...

It was about 8:15 am when I boarded the train. I took a seat as I normally would, (Illustrated below)

and the train started moving. I started to read the Monday edition of the "Red Eye," when I heard the unmistakeable sound of "crazy old guy ranting." Oh, goody. Monday morning entertainment on the red line...again.

I looked up to see what I expected....well almost. It was a crazy old guy yelling, alright, but he was naked. Yep naked. Now, when I say naked, I don't mean wearing-a-trenchcoat-and-flashing-people-naked. I mean NAKED. Thankfully, he was on the oppsite end of the train car from me. (illustration below)

He began by telling passengers to "suck it" which was utterly repulsive. Some of the male passengers on the car snuck past him to push the "alert" button to get him off the car. At that point the train stopped and he sat down. At first, I was happy that he had sat and stopped yelling because it meant that for the time being, he wouldn't be coming (no pun intended) anywhere near me. But then, after quick reflection, I remembered that if one crazy naked old guy was sitting on the other side of the train, who was to say that another crazy naked old guy hadn't shared my seat. Eeew. (I usually try to avoid germy thoughts on the CTA, but it was kind of forced this time)

As the train started moving, crazy naked old guy got up again. He began yelling about how if we all wanted his money, we could take it. He then began to rip dollar bills in half and throw them at nearby passengers. (Where did he keep the dollar bills?) I averted my gaze to the floor at that time and did so for two reasons. 1. I didn't want to make accidental eye contact and possibly set him off further. 2. I had already seen enough old man nuts and berries. After he was done with that tangent, he told everyone that we we were assholes because we were from Chicago. He warned that if we were to go to Milwaukee, we would be decapitated. I took notes.
Milwaukee...decapitated...right. Thanks crazy naked old guy!

We finally stopped at a station platform and some passengers ushered crazy naked old guy off the train. I didn't see if he had anything with him. Seems like he would have. Best I can figure, he boarded the train with clothes on and de-robed mid-ride. Otherwise, why would other morning commuters have sat anywhere near him? Again, where would he have kept the money he tore up or his CTA card? I'm not sure if he was able to gather any belongings he may have had as he was lead off the train. I'm not sure what happened to him once he was standing naked on the platform. All I know is that I felt bad for the people standing out there with him, I felt relieved that he was no longer on the train with me, and I wondered silently about who would be the one to pick up the torn dollar bills.

I'm going to go wash my hands now. Again.