as i was walking down the metal, corrugated-so-people-don't-slip steps out of the office, my heel caught on the fold-up part of my pantleg and i fell. all the way down to the bottom. my knees took the brunt of it and i spilled steamed milk all over the arm of my coat. i wasn't horribly upset about the way that milk is going to smell later, the fact that i made a tremendous commotion and probably should have been embarrassed, nor the fact that my knees were all red and sore (and when you're brown, that takes more than a slight trauma). i was upset because, though i managed to keep my cup upright and save most of the drink, i have always relied on my agility and quick reflexes to keep me from actually falling down.
sigh. i must be getting old.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
things i wasn't aware of about modern-age concertgoing:
1) you need to be dressed like a stripper to fit in
2) it's not uncommon to be sitting among 8-year-olds, or 38-year-olds
3) it's a place dirty guys try and pick up teenagers dressed like hookers
4) sending text messages to a big screen can be half-hours of entertainment
5) you know you're old when you're jamming to Freestyle during intermission and kids around you have no idea what the hell kind of music it is
6) a whole bunch of cellphones aimed for pictures looks a lot like lighters back in the day
7) black-eyed peas have a lot of pep in their step
8) harajuku girls are snappy dressers, but don't get to have their own identities
9) ms. stefani likes to sing about the backseat
10) a hollaback girl isn't, in fact, something you want to be
we were so inspired by the between-act music, the girls and i went on a mission to find this dive bar in schiller park that someone said had a good oldschool dj. all i can say is that i'm blessed to know people with such a good sense of direction.
so when we finally got to Rog's, we were surprised it was so unassuming. however, it was relatively full and people were on a first-name basis with the servers. Our girl was very sweet, though she was surprised that we only had one round. the music definitely didn't disappoint. we made our way to the dancefloor, and it was good, including:
Fantasy Girl
Yolanda
Spring Love
The Percolator
however, the BEST was when my old roommate suggested i ask him to play good old Rita. the dj looked at me like, 'hello? of course.'
DANGEROUS ON THE DANCE FLOOR!
i had forgotten how dirty the lyrics were. but that rita, she's got moves.
1) you need to be dressed like a stripper to fit in
2) it's not uncommon to be sitting among 8-year-olds, or 38-year-olds
3) it's a place dirty guys try and pick up teenagers dressed like hookers
4) sending text messages to a big screen can be half-hours of entertainment
5) you know you're old when you're jamming to Freestyle during intermission and kids around you have no idea what the hell kind of music it is
6) a whole bunch of cellphones aimed for pictures looks a lot like lighters back in the day
7) black-eyed peas have a lot of pep in their step
8) harajuku girls are snappy dressers, but don't get to have their own identities
9) ms. stefani likes to sing about the backseat
10) a hollaback girl isn't, in fact, something you want to be
we were so inspired by the between-act music, the girls and i went on a mission to find this dive bar in schiller park that someone said had a good oldschool dj. all i can say is that i'm blessed to know people with such a good sense of direction.
so when we finally got to Rog's, we were surprised it was so unassuming. however, it was relatively full and people were on a first-name basis with the servers. Our girl was very sweet, though she was surprised that we only had one round. the music definitely didn't disappoint. we made our way to the dancefloor, and it was good, including:
Fantasy Girl
Yolanda
Spring Love
The Percolator
however, the BEST was when my old roommate suggested i ask him to play good old Rita. the dj looked at me like, 'hello? of course.'
DANGEROUS ON THE DANCE FLOOR!
i had forgotten how dirty the lyrics were. but that rita, she's got moves.
Friday, October 28, 2005
brought to you by the letter P
Earlier i said that i loved shopping.
i lied. i actually hate shopping. okay, sort of. i only hate it when i'm in need of something. which... is always. unless i'm shopping for somebody else. and as a social activity. with the right company. but i could really live without all the fruitless sifting.
but what i really detest more than all the rest is shopping for pants. seriously, it SUCKS. but perhaps that's why i'm forever in need of doing it. because for me, buying pants is a no-go unless you actually try them on. and let's face the truth: it's going to take something really spectacular for me to want to take my pants off.
all the searching, carrying, waiting, limiting of things you can bring in, undressing under fluorescent lighting, being surrounded by mirrors aside -- do the ends really justify the means? just take a look at some of the factors:
a really good pair of pants:
* is a good, versatile color
* isn't dry-clean only (too lazy to reliably get to the cleaners)
* isn't peek-a-boo from the back of the waist
* isn't too loose in the back end
* isn't too thin where you have to worry too much about your choice of undergarment
* won't require too much reconstructive surgery (mostly i'm just pissed that i can't figure out how to do a decent "tricky hem," as my tailor grandmother would roll over in her grave knowing i couldn't do such a simple alteration myself.)
* doesn't have pockets that flare out like prince charles' ears
* doesn't have back pockets with big old flaps that constantly flip up
* doesn't have extraneous zippers/buttons/embellishments
* doesn't have stupid random fading/lines
* doesn't ridiculously flare at bottom
* will be compatible with shoes of different heights
* has a smooth zipper or reliable button fly (won't pop open at all times)
* doesn't create a 'p-pocket' in the crotch when you sit down -- insinuating there is something inside standing at attention
* doesn't climb up anywhere near places it shouldn't
* doesn't make noise during walking
* doesn't get shiny after being ironed even at a low setting
* doesn't wrinkle if the wind blows
* isn't a lint magnet
* has loops that fit my belt (better yet, doesn't require one)
* doesn't look too short when you cross your legs
* doesn't bunch
* doesn't itch
* doesn't shrink
* doesn't look raggedy after one washing
* will make you look svelte
* will make you look taller
* will enhance or detract from whatever you have that is lacking or abundant
* will not be useless if your body weight changes 6 ounces one way or the other
* will not be out of style tomorrow
* can not be found on the 13-year-olds standing at the bus stop
* does not have something written across the booty
* does not cost three times its value because of the name on the tag
* can go from the grocery store to the club
* makes you feel like a million bucks.
what? am i asking too much?
i lied. i actually hate shopping. okay, sort of. i only hate it when i'm in need of something. which... is always. unless i'm shopping for somebody else. and as a social activity. with the right company. but i could really live without all the fruitless sifting.
but what i really detest more than all the rest is shopping for pants. seriously, it SUCKS. but perhaps that's why i'm forever in need of doing it. because for me, buying pants is a no-go unless you actually try them on. and let's face the truth: it's going to take something really spectacular for me to want to take my pants off.
all the searching, carrying, waiting, limiting of things you can bring in, undressing under fluorescent lighting, being surrounded by mirrors aside -- do the ends really justify the means? just take a look at some of the factors:
a really good pair of pants:
* is a good, versatile color
* isn't dry-clean only (too lazy to reliably get to the cleaners)
* isn't peek-a-boo from the back of the waist
* isn't too loose in the back end
* isn't too thin where you have to worry too much about your choice of undergarment
* won't require too much reconstructive surgery (mostly i'm just pissed that i can't figure out how to do a decent "tricky hem," as my tailor grandmother would roll over in her grave knowing i couldn't do such a simple alteration myself.)
* doesn't have pockets that flare out like prince charles' ears
* doesn't have back pockets with big old flaps that constantly flip up
* doesn't have extraneous zippers/buttons/embellishments
* doesn't have stupid random fading/lines
* doesn't ridiculously flare at bottom
* will be compatible with shoes of different heights
* has a smooth zipper or reliable button fly (won't pop open at all times)
* doesn't create a 'p-pocket' in the crotch when you sit down -- insinuating there is something inside standing at attention
* doesn't climb up anywhere near places it shouldn't
* doesn't make noise during walking
* doesn't get shiny after being ironed even at a low setting
* doesn't wrinkle if the wind blows
* isn't a lint magnet
* has loops that fit my belt (better yet, doesn't require one)
* doesn't look too short when you cross your legs
* doesn't bunch
* doesn't itch
* doesn't shrink
* doesn't look raggedy after one washing
* will make you look svelte
* will make you look taller
* will enhance or detract from whatever you have that is lacking or abundant
* will not be useless if your body weight changes 6 ounces one way or the other
* will not be out of style tomorrow
* can not be found on the 13-year-olds standing at the bus stop
* does not have something written across the booty
* does not cost three times its value because of the name on the tag
* can go from the grocery store to the club
* makes you feel like a million bucks.
what? am i asking too much?
Thursday, October 27, 2005
long ride home
it's like this world series hoopla puts my office and all of its work-doing on pause. people standing around tvs, making choruses of awwws and OOOOOOOOOOOOHs. time stops for baseball, i guess.
as happy as i am for the white sox, (which i am, YAY!) world series = late nights for this dungeon girl.
late last night, as i waited at a red light at the entrance to the highway, an older homeless gentleman, who sometimes stands on the corner with a sign, came up to my car. i gently shook my head no at him, but he stopped about three feet away and motioned for me to roll down the window. i rolled it down a crack and he said, 'hey there young lady. now i just want you to know that when the white sox with the series tomorrow, it's going to be mayhem out here on the street. you'd best stay inside, and not too late.' i shook my head in agreement like a little girl and told him to take care as i drove off.
i have no idea why, but even as he was talking, tears were sliding down my face. now sometimes i tear up when i'm nervous, but the sight of that poor old guy, nose running from the cold, holding his sign under his arm with just 'meless' showing and not even asking me for any money made me incredibly sad. it is a sad situation, but what's sadder is that my time in the city has deadened me to it. i'm not sure if that's a bad thing, but from the stutter in his voice and the concern in his eyes, i'm pretty sure the guy wasn't completely mentally stable. a lot of people on the streets aren't, and they don't get the care they need.
last time he spoke to me was a few months ago when he asked, 'what is a little girl like you doing out so late?' (it was 4 a.m. when i was getting off work). i told him i was working and he told me to be careful because there are a lot of bad people out there. granted, i was very careful, knowing that he could very well be one of those bad people, but i just got the feeling that maybe he was remembering some girl in his life or his past when he was talking to me.
where is she now? why isn't she taking care of him?
by the time i got it together and made my way home, not one, but TWO animals ran into the street. the possum i managed to avoid, but i think i clipped the raccoon with the edge of my bumper because i looked and there was no body. tears again.
and then when i got home, the dvd du jour was about how the heroine finds her mother lifeless and slack-jawed on the couch, dead. the way it was shot, with no background music, really got to me.
lemme tell you, there never really is any kleenex around when you need it.
as happy as i am for the white sox, (which i am, YAY!) world series = late nights for this dungeon girl.
late last night, as i waited at a red light at the entrance to the highway, an older homeless gentleman, who sometimes stands on the corner with a sign, came up to my car. i gently shook my head no at him, but he stopped about three feet away and motioned for me to roll down the window. i rolled it down a crack and he said, 'hey there young lady. now i just want you to know that when the white sox with the series tomorrow, it's going to be mayhem out here on the street. you'd best stay inside, and not too late.' i shook my head in agreement like a little girl and told him to take care as i drove off.
i have no idea why, but even as he was talking, tears were sliding down my face. now sometimes i tear up when i'm nervous, but the sight of that poor old guy, nose running from the cold, holding his sign under his arm with just 'meless' showing and not even asking me for any money made me incredibly sad. it is a sad situation, but what's sadder is that my time in the city has deadened me to it. i'm not sure if that's a bad thing, but from the stutter in his voice and the concern in his eyes, i'm pretty sure the guy wasn't completely mentally stable. a lot of people on the streets aren't, and they don't get the care they need.
last time he spoke to me was a few months ago when he asked, 'what is a little girl like you doing out so late?' (it was 4 a.m. when i was getting off work). i told him i was working and he told me to be careful because there are a lot of bad people out there. granted, i was very careful, knowing that he could very well be one of those bad people, but i just got the feeling that maybe he was remembering some girl in his life or his past when he was talking to me.
where is she now? why isn't she taking care of him?
by the time i got it together and made my way home, not one, but TWO animals ran into the street. the possum i managed to avoid, but i think i clipped the raccoon with the edge of my bumper because i looked and there was no body. tears again.
and then when i got home, the dvd du jour was about how the heroine finds her mother lifeless and slack-jawed on the couch, dead. the way it was shot, with no background music, really got to me.
lemme tell you, there never really is any kleenex around when you need it.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
dodged a charging bull
as you may have guessed, i'm a pretty chatty girl.
one of the things about working this dungeon shift is that i start at 6 pm. and that pretty much locks me out of the free night minutes i get on my cell phone plan, because for its duration, i am a) working b) sleeping c) sad that my friends with 9-5s are all sleeping. so i end up using a good chunk of daytime minutes (though many are saved because a certain springtime diva converted us all to tmobile and we have tmobile-to-tmobile for free). however i check in with some nearly every day, like my roommates -- with whom communication otherwise is limited to post-it notes and halfasleep goodbyes -- and my brother, who broke his tmobile phone. so the minutes can add up.
normally this isn't too much of a problem, but i seem to be almost rid of the antisocial hermit virus i contracted last year around this time, so i'm near fullstrength talk mode. on monday i checked my minute usage and remarked to myself: 'self, what are the odds that you'd check at exactly 600 minutes! good thing you still have 400 daytime minutes left, because you still have a solid four days left in this month's billing cycle.'
yeah, except i didn't. i happen to only have a 600-minute plan.
so today when i checked my minutes, it said 802 daytime minutes used. and in a moment of clarity and panic i said to myself: 'dammit self, something just reminded me that you switched your plan from 1,000 daytime minutes to 600 daytime minutes when you got free tmob-to-tmob... which would mean you're about 200 minutes over... which would mean you're going to have to pay about $80-some bucks in charges... which probably doesn't include this last conversation you had with your mother that lasted about 30 minutes -- 18 of which you spent on hold, listening to some scraggly-voiced guy talk about adding more fruits like pluots to your diet to be healthier, like 20 times... oh shit, self, i think you're screwed.'
i looked through my old bills and found out that, indeed, last year i had downgraded to only 600 minutes a month. shit shit shit.
usually i'd have kicked myself, paid the fee and just watched my minutes next month, but something told me to call up Tmobile. (and i'm pretty sure it wasn't self.)
i talked to a real schmoozer named jamie, who hooked me up with a retroactive planchange to 1,000 minutes and i upped my free text messages (i sent about 800 of those last month, too -- it's my No. 1 form of communication to the outside world, you know) and only extended my contract for a year (which i was going to do anyway next month when it was up.) jamie (who i'm sure, as you guys had commented earlier on the ticketbi*ch post, was nicer to me than a woman would have been) made it happen and was sweet (even though he called me susan) and advised me to wait till april to upgrade my phone. thanks, dawg.
so basically, i am going to be paying about $10 extra this month (before you count however much i'll be over b/c of the extra textmessages) instead of what would probably be $100 or so extra. that was a close one!
one of the things about working this dungeon shift is that i start at 6 pm. and that pretty much locks me out of the free night minutes i get on my cell phone plan, because for its duration, i am a) working b) sleeping c) sad that my friends with 9-5s are all sleeping. so i end up using a good chunk of daytime minutes (though many are saved because a certain springtime diva converted us all to tmobile and we have tmobile-to-tmobile for free). however i check in with some nearly every day, like my roommates -- with whom communication otherwise is limited to post-it notes and halfasleep goodbyes -- and my brother, who broke his tmobile phone. so the minutes can add up.
normally this isn't too much of a problem, but i seem to be almost rid of the antisocial hermit virus i contracted last year around this time, so i'm near fullstrength talk mode. on monday i checked my minute usage and remarked to myself: 'self, what are the odds that you'd check at exactly 600 minutes! good thing you still have 400 daytime minutes left, because you still have a solid four days left in this month's billing cycle.'
yeah, except i didn't. i happen to only have a 600-minute plan.
so today when i checked my minutes, it said 802 daytime minutes used. and in a moment of clarity and panic i said to myself: 'dammit self, something just reminded me that you switched your plan from 1,000 daytime minutes to 600 daytime minutes when you got free tmob-to-tmob... which would mean you're about 200 minutes over... which would mean you're going to have to pay about $80-some bucks in charges... which probably doesn't include this last conversation you had with your mother that lasted about 30 minutes -- 18 of which you spent on hold, listening to some scraggly-voiced guy talk about adding more fruits like pluots to your diet to be healthier, like 20 times... oh shit, self, i think you're screwed.'
i looked through my old bills and found out that, indeed, last year i had downgraded to only 600 minutes a month. shit shit shit.
usually i'd have kicked myself, paid the fee and just watched my minutes next month, but something told me to call up Tmobile. (and i'm pretty sure it wasn't self.)
i talked to a real schmoozer named jamie, who hooked me up with a retroactive planchange to 1,000 minutes and i upped my free text messages (i sent about 800 of those last month, too -- it's my No. 1 form of communication to the outside world, you know) and only extended my contract for a year (which i was going to do anyway next month when it was up.) jamie (who i'm sure, as you guys had commented earlier on the ticketbi*ch post, was nicer to me than a woman would have been) made it happen and was sweet (even though he called me susan) and advised me to wait till april to upgrade my phone. thanks, dawg.
so basically, i am going to be paying about $10 extra this month (before you count however much i'll be over b/c of the extra textmessages) instead of what would probably be $100 or so extra. that was a close one!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
the incredible sinking seat
guess who's back?
well, it's not psychoblueeye, but me. back in the dungeon, baby. i'm pretty okay with it right now, but i think my attitude might change after a few days.
however today i was so annoyed because i had to choose a chair that was
s
i
n
k
i
n
g
all night.
and not even smoothly, either; it was all herky-herky about it. irritating!
by the end of the shift i was so sick of lifting myself up every two minutes, i just sort of crossed my legs under myself and sat indian-style practically to the floor, with my arms up near my head and my chin at desk level. i was hoping some bigwig would walk by, think i was pathetic and order some NEW DAMN CHAIRS!
no such luck.
well, it's not psychoblueeye, but me. back in the dungeon, baby. i'm pretty okay with it right now, but i think my attitude might change after a few days.
however today i was so annoyed because i had to choose a chair that was
s
i
n
k
i
n
g
all night.
and not even smoothly, either; it was all herky-herky about it. irritating!
by the end of the shift i was so sick of lifting myself up every two minutes, i just sort of crossed my legs under myself and sat indian-style practically to the floor, with my arms up near my head and my chin at desk level. i was hoping some bigwig would walk by, think i was pathetic and order some NEW DAMN CHAIRS!
no such luck.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
don't like the look of them
'you gotta see those players. one looks like a monkey, one looks like a guy who just killed somebody and landed in jail, one looks like a drug dealer...'
'for the Astros?'
'yeah. you don't believe me? just ask your father. they look weird, like they're a bunch of guys who just came out of prison like they haven't eaten any food for a long time.'
'so do you think the White Sox are going to win?'
'they just did.'
'no, i mean the whole thing.'
'definitely.'
'for the Astros?'
'yeah. you don't believe me? just ask your father. they look weird, like they're a bunch of guys who just came out of prison like they haven't eaten any food for a long time.'
'so do you think the White Sox are going to win?'
'they just did.'
'no, i mean the whole thing.'
'definitely.'
Saturday, October 22, 2005
ticketbi*ch
'hi, i'd like two tickets to the show.'
'sorry, can't do it.' [adjusts 1-800-DENTIST headset]
'you're sold out!? no way.' [kicks self for waiting so long]
'nope, don't have any pairs left. [smirks and points with pen] but i can offer you these two, in front and back of each other...'
'no no no, that's no good. are you sure you don't have two together? not even in the way back?
[snorts] 'that is the way back'
'not at all?'
'NO. not possible.'
'hold on a second.' [steps outside office to leave several phone messages. comes back.]
'fine. how about three?'
'now three i can do. how about balcony?'
'but wait, you have no pairs left? can i just get two of the three?'
'I TOLD YOU, i can't do that.'
'hang on, so you're telling me that you can't leave an empty seat hanging to give me two of the three, but you're offering me those two random seats, which obviously were left hanging from before?'
'they're not RANDOM. they're in front and back of each other.'
'argh. fine! just gimme the three, then!'
'will that be visa or mastercard?'
'sorry, can't do it.' [adjusts 1-800-DENTIST headset]
'you're sold out!? no way.' [kicks self for waiting so long]
'nope, don't have any pairs left. [smirks and points with pen] but i can offer you these two, in front and back of each other...'
'no no no, that's no good. are you sure you don't have two together? not even in the way back?
[snorts] 'that is the way back'
'not at all?'
'NO. not possible.'
'hold on a second.' [steps outside office to leave several phone messages. comes back.]
'fine. how about three?'
'now three i can do. how about balcony?'
'but wait, you have no pairs left? can i just get two of the three?'
'I TOLD YOU, i can't do that.'
'hang on, so you're telling me that you can't leave an empty seat hanging to give me two of the three, but you're offering me those two random seats, which obviously were left hanging from before?'
'they're not RANDOM. they're in front and back of each other.'
'argh. fine! just gimme the three, then!'
'will that be visa or mastercard?'
Friday, October 21, 2005
ticketbast*rd -- redemption
i feel guilty using this title again, considering, but it's the only way you guys will know what i'm referencing.
lately the ticket guy has been very kind, even making a point to come up to me at an extracurricular function to explain again how it was a mistake on the ballclub's part and how he couldn't understand it. he even brought over another coworker (who had no problems using tickets he bought from the guy) to testify for him. i guess all that time i had been giving him my skeptical look, which i'm pretty sure translates as 'bitchy' to the layperson. i was like it's okay. it's cool. whatever. he's been nice to me, and i think he genuinely felt really bad about the situation, especially since the organization hadn't gotten back to him with any answers.
until today. he comes over to my desk and says they finally responded to his calls and e-mails, blaming a new teller for the error. they have offered him two bleacher seats to any homegame except opening day next season and he in turn has offered them to me. for free. very nice of him; i was pretty happy with the offer of first pick and paying, so this is pretty sweet. in fact, my brother is thinking about contacting him about getting tickets for other games, too. so maybe i'll be having my peanuts and crackerjack (code for hotdogs and beer) afterall.
but i'm not getting excited till i actually get into the Friendly Confines.
no idea what i'm talking about? catch up:
ticketbast*rd
ticketbast*rd: update
ticketbast*rd: update on the update
ticketbast*rd: reformed
lately the ticket guy has been very kind, even making a point to come up to me at an extracurricular function to explain again how it was a mistake on the ballclub's part and how he couldn't understand it. he even brought over another coworker (who had no problems using tickets he bought from the guy) to testify for him. i guess all that time i had been giving him my skeptical look, which i'm pretty sure translates as 'bitchy' to the layperson. i was like it's okay. it's cool. whatever. he's been nice to me, and i think he genuinely felt really bad about the situation, especially since the organization hadn't gotten back to him with any answers.
until today. he comes over to my desk and says they finally responded to his calls and e-mails, blaming a new teller for the error. they have offered him two bleacher seats to any homegame except opening day next season and he in turn has offered them to me. for free. very nice of him; i was pretty happy with the offer of first pick and paying, so this is pretty sweet. in fact, my brother is thinking about contacting him about getting tickets for other games, too. so maybe i'll be having my peanuts and crackerjack (code for hotdogs and beer) afterall.
but i'm not getting excited till i actually get into the Friendly Confines.
no idea what i'm talking about? catch up:
ticketbast*rd
ticketbast*rd: update
ticketbast*rd: update on the update
ticketbast*rd: reformed
Thursday, October 20, 2005
are you ready for some ramble?
psst -- for those of you who are sick of the snippety posts as of late, good news: i'm back on dungeon duty into the unforseeable future, starting monday. be prepared for blathering, bitching and angst.
oh and by the way, i'm taking requests.
oh and by the way, i'm taking requests.
step off, i'm the red-orange power ranger
I'm a sucker for these things. Naturally, when i saw it over at Ale's, i had to give it a whirl. normally that'd be it, but considering a couple conversations i've had lately, it was pretty on target so i thought i'd share -- besides, it's much better than one of those fortune cookie messages that isn't even a prediction.
that's right; you'd better watch it, suckers. because if you disrespect a power ranger, she'll have to throw down.
| Your Power Color Is Red-Orange |
 At Your Highest: You are warm, sensitive, and focused on your personal growth. At Your Lowest: You become defensive and critical if you feel attacked. In Love: You are loyal - but you demand the respect you deserve. How You're Attractive: You are very affectionate and inspire trust. Your Eternal Question: "Am I Respected?" |
that's right; you'd better watch it, suckers. because if you disrespect a power ranger, she'll have to throw down.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
why i love sportsfans
my brother is a man of few words. and despite his 24hour internet access, he isn't big on e-mail. so recently when his phone broke, i was surprised to get a note from him, until i saw it Sunday:
'pissed off Notre dame lost'
and then:
'now to top it off the f*cking white sox are in the worldseries'
(he's a cubs fan)
sportsfans. they care enough to send the very best.
'pissed off Notre dame lost'
and then:
'now to top it off the f*cking white sox are in the worldseries'
(he's a cubs fan)
sportsfans. they care enough to send the very best.
Monday, October 17, 2005
stylish gamble
a couple of years ago, someone who came to illinois for business and wanted to take a sidetrip to chicago told me he bid 40 dollars a night for a room at the Raphael and got it. on priceline.com, i guess. tell me internet, is that really possible?
Friday, October 14, 2005
day off
what i did on my vacation day:
*wake up even earlier than usual
*get out of bed even later
*talk on the phone, IM, chat on e-mail with three people at work and try and watch a movie. simultaneously
*put off getting out of my pajamas till nearly dinner
*have breakfast at 4 p.m.
*glance at piles of laundry but avoid actually doing any
*decline going to a party because i'm just that tired
*watch the people's court
yeah, i'm bushed. i think i need another day off to recover.
*wake up even earlier than usual
*get out of bed even later
*talk on the phone, IM, chat on e-mail with three people at work and try and watch a movie. simultaneously
*put off getting out of my pajamas till nearly dinner
*have breakfast at 4 p.m.
*glance at piles of laundry but avoid actually doing any
*decline going to a party because i'm just that tired
*watch the people's court
yeah, i'm bushed. i think i need another day off to recover.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
back to rita and her big 'ol butt
i just want it be known, for the record, that at least one person a day -- and usually more -- stumble onto this site searching for the lyrics to 'dangerous on the dance floor.' i obviously am not the only one.
STEP IT UP, INTERNET.
STEP IT UP, INTERNET.
j.w.
when i was young, my parents thought they were doing me a favor by moving during summer vacation so i wouldn't have to miss any school. i didn't know anyone on the first day of fourth grade.
this snotty girl was supposed to show me around. she had a perm and some fake-tooth/denture/metal retainer thing because she was missing the incisors up front. you'd think this'd make her uncool, but everyone thought it was rad how she could take her teeth out like a grandma. i guess this girl felt sacrificing ten minutes out of her day to show me the school was akin to having the rest of her rotting teeth yanked, so basically she pointed in the direction of the bathroom and went off to flash her new hardware at people. bitch.
i was pretty lost. everyone was busy catching up with friends they hadn't seen in three months, so it was easy to get lost in the shuffle. i sat down and doodled in my snoopy spiral notebook. by the end of the day, i realized the kid sitting next to me was rolling his eyes at the same things i was and got through the spelling exercises early, too. he complimented me on my drawings and later showed me where the library was. i had a good feeling about him.
we spent a lot of class time talking. sometimes too much -- once i was forced to suffer the humilation of being moved to a carrel desk that had walls. he was softspoken and much more sly than i was, and kept leaning over and making faces at me, getting me in even more trouble. but i couldn't be mad. even at age 9, the kid had those sparkly kind of eyes that sort of crinkled when he smiled. that's what i remember liking the most. the crinkliness.
i happened to get partnered with him again many years later in high school chemistry class. it's weird, but even though we ran in completely different circles, i still caught him rolling his eyes at the teacher and it went right back to how it was back in the day, especially when we were supposed to be conducting scientific-quality experiments. we were also in the same Spanish class. every day i'd eat my lunch during ejercicios and the senora let it slide because i tutored during lunch. i carried my food in a blue Aladdin lunchbox. i know it's juvenile, but it was convenient and i love that movie. besides, obviously i wasn't that weird, because one day someone stole it. and i was pissed because they had stopped selling them by then.
right before winter vacations, the senora had us do a Secret Santa gift exchange. i can't tell you whose name i picked or what i gave them, but i do have to say that when i opened my present and saw a brand new Aladdin lunchbox, i knew that i had received the best gift in the whole class, both in quality and quantity (it probably exceeded the price cap). but it was perfect. when i asked him where he found it, he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled, crinkling his eyes.
now, this is where the story gets sad.
after high school, he and i happened to go to the same university. granted, with 36,000 people on campus, i didn't really think i'd ever see him. come to think of it, i don't think i even knew he had gone there. so imagine my surprise when, on the first day of final exams after i spent the whole night pointlessly trying to learn the entire textbook, i pull on some jeans over my pajamas along with crooked, outdated glasses and a baseball cap with barely enough time to brush my teeth (i was just going to go home and sleep after the test anyway), i run into him.
'cadiz! i didn't know you went here! how are you?'
'uh, er, i'm good. you?'
'pretty good. i just had an anthropology final, but it wasn't too bad. how about you? what's new?'
'uh, well, yeah, i have spanish final. like now. gotta go. bye.'
'um, nice seeing you...?'
'yeah, later.'
ugh, how embarassing. on any other day i would have stopped and chatted with him for a good 15 minutes, but i was at the pinnacle of my hideousness and just mortified to be recognized by anyone, let alone old crinklyeyes himself. it was a dumb move. and costly. because at the end of college, i was walking down Green street and happened to look up into those eyes again. except this time they weren't so crinkly. he didn't smile. we walked right past each other, averting our eyes and hiding recognition.
this snotty girl was supposed to show me around. she had a perm and some fake-tooth/denture/metal retainer thing because she was missing the incisors up front. you'd think this'd make her uncool, but everyone thought it was rad how she could take her teeth out like a grandma. i guess this girl felt sacrificing ten minutes out of her day to show me the school was akin to having the rest of her rotting teeth yanked, so basically she pointed in the direction of the bathroom and went off to flash her new hardware at people. bitch.
i was pretty lost. everyone was busy catching up with friends they hadn't seen in three months, so it was easy to get lost in the shuffle. i sat down and doodled in my snoopy spiral notebook. by the end of the day, i realized the kid sitting next to me was rolling his eyes at the same things i was and got through the spelling exercises early, too. he complimented me on my drawings and later showed me where the library was. i had a good feeling about him.
we spent a lot of class time talking. sometimes too much -- once i was forced to suffer the humilation of being moved to a carrel desk that had walls. he was softspoken and much more sly than i was, and kept leaning over and making faces at me, getting me in even more trouble. but i couldn't be mad. even at age 9, the kid had those sparkly kind of eyes that sort of crinkled when he smiled. that's what i remember liking the most. the crinkliness.
i happened to get partnered with him again many years later in high school chemistry class. it's weird, but even though we ran in completely different circles, i still caught him rolling his eyes at the teacher and it went right back to how it was back in the day, especially when we were supposed to be conducting scientific-quality experiments. we were also in the same Spanish class. every day i'd eat my lunch during ejercicios and the senora let it slide because i tutored during lunch. i carried my food in a blue Aladdin lunchbox. i know it's juvenile, but it was convenient and i love that movie. besides, obviously i wasn't that weird, because one day someone stole it. and i was pissed because they had stopped selling them by then.
right before winter vacations, the senora had us do a Secret Santa gift exchange. i can't tell you whose name i picked or what i gave them, but i do have to say that when i opened my present and saw a brand new Aladdin lunchbox, i knew that i had received the best gift in the whole class, both in quality and quantity (it probably exceeded the price cap). but it was perfect. when i asked him where he found it, he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled, crinkling his eyes.
now, this is where the story gets sad.
after high school, he and i happened to go to the same university. granted, with 36,000 people on campus, i didn't really think i'd ever see him. come to think of it, i don't think i even knew he had gone there. so imagine my surprise when, on the first day of final exams after i spent the whole night pointlessly trying to learn the entire textbook, i pull on some jeans over my pajamas along with crooked, outdated glasses and a baseball cap with barely enough time to brush my teeth (i was just going to go home and sleep after the test anyway), i run into him.
'cadiz! i didn't know you went here! how are you?'
'uh, er, i'm good. you?'
'pretty good. i just had an anthropology final, but it wasn't too bad. how about you? what's new?'
'uh, well, yeah, i have spanish final. like now. gotta go. bye.'
'um, nice seeing you...?'
'yeah, later.'
ugh, how embarassing. on any other day i would have stopped and chatted with him for a good 15 minutes, but i was at the pinnacle of my hideousness and just mortified to be recognized by anyone, let alone old crinklyeyes himself. it was a dumb move. and costly. because at the end of college, i was walking down Green street and happened to look up into those eyes again. except this time they weren't so crinkly. he didn't smile. we walked right past each other, averting our eyes and hiding recognition.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
hot Rod
'so exactly how fast were you going?'
'pretty fast. i had to drive all the way across Indiana, it was flat and straight and boring. i wanted to see how far i could push my little car.'
'how'd it do?'
'125.'
'man. what's your governor?'
'um... blagojevich?'
'pretty fast. i had to drive all the way across Indiana, it was flat and straight and boring. i wanted to see how far i could push my little car.'
'how'd it do?'
'125.'
'man. what's your governor?'
'um... blagojevich?'
Monday, October 10, 2005
the problem with parking -- vol. 8
the problem with parking is that the city uses only the finest of glue to affix tickets to your windshield. not only do you have two furry lines from the ticket you just got, but they are perfectly aligned with the two lines of goo still stuck there from the ticket you got back in April. it's so obtrusive that when you go back home, your father feels compelled to warn you multiple times about the perils of parking in the city, not once forgetting to mention that the big yellow thing they're sure to clamp onto your car is called a 'Denver Boot,' as if you had blocked out the previous 10,000,000 times he's ignored the fact that you pay your fines to lecture you about it.
the problem with parking -- vol. 7
the problem with parking is when you change up the routine and aren't used to moving your car in the middle of your shift but then do that again after a long time, it's possible to simultaneously give yourself a stroke and a broken ankle when you get off work in the middle of the night and realize you left the car at a meter paid up only till 5 p.m., and there's no one around to even take you to the ATM and the pound to get it out if it's been towed. And then when you miraculously find the car still on the street, you realize that had you been one spot farther back, the ticket you got would have been 20$ cheaper.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
call me clark
i was walking off the shuttle with this guy who works on a different floor. i have met this guy on at least five occasions, the first of which was a meetandgreet at a conference where i talked to him for about fifteen minutes about his job and myself. today, after a few comments about the weather, he turns to me, sticks out his hand and says, 'i'm chris, by the way.'
i shook it and told him my name and where i worked. but it felt so fake because i've formally met this guy so many times already and he comes by and talks to the guy i sit by on occasion, too. however, i'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt, because a) you meet a lot of people at conferences, b) he might want to play it safe and not come off like he equates all little brown girls as being the same and c) i was wearing my glasses that day, so maybe i looked like a totally different person.
yeah, so i'm going to go with the glasses thing.
okay, okay. it's not just to give him the benefit of the doubt, it's because i secretly believe i have superpowers.
i shook it and told him my name and where i worked. but it felt so fake because i've formally met this guy so many times already and he comes by and talks to the guy i sit by on occasion, too. however, i'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt, because a) you meet a lot of people at conferences, b) he might want to play it safe and not come off like he equates all little brown girls as being the same and c) i was wearing my glasses that day, so maybe i looked like a totally different person.
yeah, so i'm going to go with the glasses thing.
okay, okay. it's not just to give him the benefit of the doubt, it's because i secretly believe i have superpowers.