i have had a long withstanding love affair with pink eye.
needless to say, i was not entirely shocked when i awoke friday morning with one eye sealed shut with the oh-so-familiar crust of conjunctivitis. "oh, no you didn't," i sassed, hobbling to the bathroom with a perpetual wink like a bear at the twink store.
"oh, yes you did," i exhaled, seeing the seemingly welded yellow line from duct to... ... word meaning outside corner of my eye... flecks of infection were caught in the eyelashes; a larger dollop of gunk had dried below the tear duct, looking like the yolk of a spoiled egg against the purplish hue of my ever-present, under-eye circles. i went into the routine. warm washcloths, obsessive hand washing, an inordinate amount of eye drops, lots of fluids, more obsessive hand washing, and plenty of vitamins.
yes, i have a routine for pink eye. in grand sum, i believe i had the affliction some odd dozen times in college, alone. the doctor at the university medical center actually asked me if i was into water sports, as he couldn't quite understand my predilection for the conji. "is someone peeing on you on a regular basis?"
as a child, i was a prissy, little bitch. hard to fathom, i know. regardless, i was. i was so clean i sparkled. my parents were both jocks in high school and throughout most of my early childhood, which meant that this tidy tyke spent more time at baseball diamonds and soccer fields than tea parties and open houses at the barbie dream house. it was hell. dirt, bugs, disgusting cuisine, other children, and the inability to properly plan wardrobe due to a number of factors including but not limited to: temperature drops after dark, sun exposure, mosquito protection (my mother strictly forbid us from using off), potential for rain, comfort during travel to and from current sporting event, ever-shifting formality (wardrobe at a tournament should be dramatically different from that at an exhibition game/match).
i survived this hell, though. i managed to somehow maintain my next-to-godliness despite so much of that environment working against me. the game would end, i would give my knees a few brushes, repack my satchel of game-time entertainment (usually the most current issue of highlights magazine, whatever book of fairy tales i was reading at the time, and a penney's catalog), and be ready to go. meanwhile, countless other mothers hosed down their grubby offspring in nearby water fountains, the children shrieking as the frigid water beat their filthy skin and pulled away a skin of mud to reveal children who, now, did not look much different than me... sparkly.
except, i probably had pink eye. even in childhood, i was hounded, no, plagued by this devil. despite my o.c.d.-esque attempts to remain pristine, the conji marred my otherwise perfect exterior. i was not a nose-picker, a wee-wee player, or butt-scratcher. the cause of my curse was elusive, mysterious, and yet to this day it finds me on occasion... sleeping ever-so-soundly, my eyes in the perfect season for picking, rather pinking, like clueless ingénues with snow white skin ready to be tinged by our love's first... or 34th... blush.
"it's definitely one of the better things you can wipe off your ass... especially in front of someone else."i seem to be rebounding quite nicely. spoons and i are in negotiation to be "friends". i think things will work out there.the date with... fuck, now, i have to think of another god-damned nickname... let's call him buckets. so the date with buckets went well. he was charming, funny, and intelligent. yes, intelligence is definitely one thing this boy has going for him. he went to harvard. now, he's in the mba program at northwestern. he already has a pretty kick-ass job waiting for him in september. i was intimidated at first, but then i had a few dollar drinks. when i'm drunk, i'm a genius, or at least, i think i am. he must have seen something he likes because we're in the works for some repeat action.i wasted all day, today, at work moving all my old posts from xanga to here, and then what happens... it fucks up the timestamps. that's gonna bother me to no end. otherwise, i kinda like it here. the posting interface is a little more user-friendly, and the comments system is less exclusive. i do not enjoy having to use html to make links, but it's certainly roomier and brighter here.good lord, the posts have kinda sucked lately... i apologize. i'll get to working on that pronto.i.f.o.t.d. - i hate those sections of sidewalk that are just grates over some seemingly-bottomless pit. i just know i'm going to fall into one someday.
never one to stay down long, i live by the maxim: when they push you down, arch your back.
now that i sound like a power bottom, let's talk about dumping. yes, i'm single again. mmmhm, spoons dumped me yesterday. yep, yesterday was our one-month anniversary. a small tidbit of relationship trivia i think he overlooked. i will admit this stung just a tad.
however, in celebutante fashion, i am not mourning the loss of our potential love, and am, instead, going on a date tonight. self-pity was never a good color on me. yep, just like lohan, i can roll out of the lovebed with one man and into a sleeping bag with another. though the lovebed spoons and i shared was pretty empty considering in a month's time we never slept together. his loss i suppose; not my fault he broke up with me before... well, witnessing some of my better skills firsthand.
tonight's boy du jour is someone i ran into well before spoons. he was a crush at first sight... aka what most people call lust at first sight, but i'm above lusting. lusting is so harlequin novel. crushing is so much more appropriate for my target demographic. anyhow, i saw this t.d.h. (tall, dark, and handsome) out one night with his friends and was too chickenshit to talk to him. now, several weeks later by the grace of friendster, we have once again found each other. oh, friendster, you eternal boon of potential love and nookie.
...and i swear to god on high that my review of "wicked" is forthcoming... i didn't want to post it on the same day that paul posted his - seen here:
http://nomilk.blogspot.com/2005/05/wicked.html
i.f.o.t.d. - because of "saved by the bell", i'm afraid that one day i'll get trapped in an elevator and have to deliver a baby. i really don't want to have to chew through an umbilical cord.
guess who's a stupid bitch.
me.
i forgot the playbill again.
oops.
spoons just broke up with me.
he said he didn't feel the click.
i did.
i.f.o.t.d. - mmm... probably dying alone, right about now.
this picture just cracks me up.
i'm laughing just thinking about it.
eat, you stupid bitch!
"walk into the light carolanne"
just think, chicago, that could be me if you'd only let me...
you know you want it.
edit to add: drew encapsulated my first thoughts on this picture quite perfectly... here.
i'm saving the "wicked" review for tomorrow because i forgot the playbill at home.
my i-trip is the greatest thing that has ever happened to my time at work. i can now jam out to my very own tunes all day long. so, though i normally would not do such a posting, in recognition of getting to listen to my music all day long, a brief survey, as stolen from anna's xanga.
Total volume of music files on my computer:
well, considering i have more than one computer, it's a bit difficult for me to estimate... without repeat appearances, i'd say my library is somewhere around 5 gigs.
The last CD I bought was:
the last one i bought was "give up" by the postal service. i needed to replace the first copy that i lost or broke or something. the last first-time purchase of a cd i made was "hot fuss" by my oh-so-adored the killers.
Song playing right now:
via my i-trip's beaming out the proper frequency to the resident radio, i am listening to "does he love you" by rilo kiley.
though, it's almost over... now, it's the sneaker pimps.
Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
i'm taking this as five songs i listen to too much... as in, every commute, i have to hear them.
1. "we become silhouettes" by the postal service. i just plain like it.
2. "on the radio" by jay jay johanson. this song reminds me of miami. i loved miami.3. "does he love you" by rilo kiley. how excited am i that the chicago show is on my birthday? very.
4. "the blower's daughter" by damien rice. this has nothing to do with my unhealthy fixation on all things natalie portman. i had heard this song before it became the anthem for "closer" and loved it then. love it now, too.
5. "all these things i've done" by the killers. i will not justify my love of the killers with explanations and words. so deal.that was fun. ok, not really. but it was a worthwhile distraction from work.
i.f.o.t.d. - um, the voodoo queen. yes, wally, i have now met her, too. on sunday, i was waiting for the redline train to downtown at my local stop, wilson, when she came walking up the platform, stopping some 2 feet from the bench upon which i was perched (yes, i'll sit on the slatted benches on the train platform but not the seats on the train). she looked at me. i looked at her. she took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact. she let out a little cackle, as one would think a voodoo queen would laugh, then she like teleported to within inches of me and slammed some vandalized baby doll on the bench next to me. its hair was missing in patches. the whites of its eyes had been colored in with a red sharpie. on its arms and legs phrases like "slave toy" and "doll of hell" were scrawled in black permanent marker. i was frozen. the voodoo queen took a few deep breaths, then clasped the doll once again in her arms. she sauntered back to her red gift bag adorned with pictures of black civil rights leaders and occult images, picked it up and began to walk past me on the platform. she then turned and said, "and tell them the voodoo queen said, 'the niggers are back in town'." i swear to god that is an exact quote. i'm pretty much sure i could not forget. i hope she didn't hex me.
"oh, miss elphaba, many years i have waited..."
in less than 24 hours, i will be seeing the wonder that is "wicked". i'm sure you're green with envy. do not fret, fair readers, a review will surely follow.
furthermore, one of my bestest besties in the world is visiting this weekend, so i'm sure i'll be good and sloppy for the next 96 hours... or whatever gets me to sunday afternoon. never been so good with the numbers and yet, oddly, handle tens of thousands of dollars five days a week. hmm. anyhow, he actually warned me on the phone that i better be ready to get "shitty wasted" because we are "p-uh-artying it up" while he's here. i don't know if i'm more scared of the amount of booze to be consumed this weekend or his choice of vocabulary.
well, i'm off and on my way to barwhore!
"whenever i see people less fortunate than i, and let's face it, who isn't less fortunate than i?"
i.f.o.t.d. - once in third grade, i shut my thumb in our reinforced steel backdoor. the nail of said thumb subsequently fell off. i shrink at the thought that this could happen again.
yes, i was that guy last night.
you know him.
the one who goes to $1 drink night and always has 2 drinks in hand.
yeah, that was me.
i'm classy.
i.f.o.t.d. - since the day it happened to this guy todd in 9th grade and especially on days like today when my abdomen is a little grumbly, i am a little bit afraid that when passing gas i may just shit my trousers. "well, we know who farted, now don't we, todd?"
"celebrity is an entity all its own, now; people are 'famous' with no true claim to fame."
i've decided i want to become a local celebrity. with or without aspirations to make it to the national playing field, i want to grab chicago by the balls (or hair, if our fair city happens to be of the vaginal sex) and acquisition some clout. balls of hair or hairy balls in hand, i would gladly give the public what they so desire - their very own resident celebutante. i would don oversized, dark sunglasses and derelict-chic clothing when in public during the day, inevitably spreeing of the shopping variety or enroute to a yogballah lesson. i would let my weight fluctuate and become a topic of frenzied conversation in our very own redeye and other local mags and rags. i would go blonde, as every and anyone of even the slightest reknown should. i would be seen at the hippest parties and trendiest bars & clubs, offering up my amazing tabletop dancing skills for paparazzi fodder. i would become orange, the only natural skin color for someone that famous. i would do product endorsements in the land of the rising sun and other asian nations, perhaps even releasing an album or two there under a pseudonym. i would make the rounds on the local talk shows, radio and television, giving insight to those aspiring to be me. i would. and i'd be good at it.
now, to figure out how i put this plan into action...
some ideas:
1. become an heir -- stricken, as my parents are not moguls
2. become a local fashionista -- stricken, seeing as my parents are not moguls, i cannot afford to be a fashionista
3. become actor in area productions -- potentially stricken, as apparently being an actor in chicago will only get you missed connections on craigslist, not celebutante status
4. become writer of popular column -- potentially stricken, as this is incredibly cliche post s.a.t.c. if the column deals with sex, which what popular column outside sports doesn't?
5. become star of leaked sex tape -- stricken, as this rarely does anything for careers already in place much less those still floundering; a flash of your can is only a flash in the pan
6. become host of area television or radio show -- potentially stricken, as this requires either a good face or a good voice, neither of which i'm entirely lacking, but neither of which i'm in entire possession of; furthermore, this is a pretty hard gig to land even for someone as dynamic on camera as myself.
7. become reality television star and gain fame upon my return to chicago -- stricken, as i can barely stand to watch most reality television starring real people much less be on such a show
i guess i'm screwed. shucks.
i.f.o.t.d. - ringworm. i don't know how you get it or what it does to you, but i'm totally creeped out by it.
oh, noes, i missed a day.
sunday went off without a hitch. so much so, that i think i officially am no longer single. that's right boys and girls, i'm off the market. i think. please, please, no need for tears.
i met his best friend. i ate a dinner his friend cooked. i watched tv at his friend's condo. we sat close on the couch. we had some friendly touching (hand holding, leg brushing, etc.). we shared a perfect goodnight kiss. he called me his in an email. he gave me a pending invitation to see his apartment. he wants to see me again and meet my friends. i think i have a boyfriend.
now, to get rid of the other guy i was seeing while spoons and i weren't serious. hanging out with #2 tonight should be really fun... ick. i just wish i didn't know that he liked me more than i like him. i wish i could have that ignorance about his feelings... thinking we were just friends while he wanted more. i guess that'd be just as bad. sorry, #2, but i have to sack up tonight and break your heart.
oh, and a sidenote, as of saturday, i am the proud owner of a brand new, bouncing baby motorola razr. it's okay to hate me a little bit. chances are i already hate you, too.
i.f.o.t.d. - on my commute each morning, i almost always stand because i cannot determine the proper winner in a long-standing inner debate. you see, i'm scared to sit on the train because the seats have fabric cushions and backings that could easily absorb urine. the debate is sitting in the potential urine versus touching the seat first to see if it's wet from potential urine. since, i can't determine which is the better course of action, i just stand by the door, refusing to move any closer to the potentially urine-soaked seats all the other fools just plop down on.
things that are good about today:
-driving 70 mph on lakeshore drive at 5:50 in the am.
-leaving work early to drive to good ole trailerville to see the fam and the pooch.
-being a mere 2 days away from a sure-to-be good third date.
-knowing that on sunday i will not only see 2 really good, old friends for their graduation from university, but also knowing that same day i get to spend 3 uninterrupted hours catching up with one of my best friends in the world who recently returned from england.
-eating chocolate at 8 o'clock in the morning and not feeling guilty -- have you seen my figure? like i could feel guilty.
-getting piz-aid... and helluva lot since i worked like 9 gabillion hours of overtime in the past two weeks.
-spending none of said earnings because the weekend will be spent with mon padre et madre... again with franglish!
-going to see the gma and pa tomorrow, which translates into earning more money while spending none.
-knowing that while i'll be spending friday and saturday night in with the 'rents all i'm really missing is two more nights out at roscoe's and charlie's.
woot, woot, kiddies! have great weekends... except for sven because he saw the killers on wednesday. fuckface. xoxo.
i.f.o.t.d. - per another of hipsterhomo's posts, i'm a little scared of playing cards now. not only are they a papercut threat, but apparently, they can also eerily predict your future. no thanks! i'll stick to craps.
well, hoorahs are in order.
date numero dos (and yes, it definitely was date #2 and not #1 part deux) was a complete success. not only was date dos great, but date trois (what is with me and the franglish?) is already scheduled. i guess our 2 week waiting period is no more. i've been smiling all day.
furthermore, i'm being introduced to friends on date 3, so all-in-all, i'm feeling pretty good about this guy... he needs a nickname. let's call him spoons. believe me, i have my reasons, and they have nothing to do with spooning. we're not there yet. i am a charlotte, afterall.
in other news, the world is officially crazy. some links to prove it:
http://www.elitestv.com/pub/2005/May/EEN428257a21ceb6.htmlhttp://www.egotastic.com/entertainment/movies/star-wars/george-lucas-on-the-oc-000116http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20050512/ap_on_sc/sea_horse_island_4http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7773450http://www.popculturejunkies.com/mt/archives/my_halfweek_in_television.phphttp://gofugyourself.typepad.com/go_fug_yourself/bai_ling/index.htmloddly, i suspect that i could compile a list like this everyday.
i.f.o.t.d. - after that list of links, there are so many, but i'll go with the reigning fear at the moment, which is related to link numero one. my dad can have a temper, at times, and what with going home this weekend, i'm definitely freaked that he might twitch out and stab me 11 times in the eye. cringe-a-licious!
today's undergarments are much more cooperative with my junk.
i have a second "date", tonight, and i can't determine how i feel about it. it's with the guy from a few weeks ago. yes, it took us 2.5 weeks to schedule a second outing. i'm not even sure if this counts as a second date anymore. hell, we might be back to date numero uno at this point. at first, we were both at least seemingly enthusiastic about a repeat date, but then it's like somehow everything else became more important to both of us than going out again. i had work. he had a friend in town. i had more work. he went home for mother's day. now, we're finally at the day, and i don't know that i'm excited anymore.
it's not that i don't like him. in fact, i really liked him and still do. he was pretty much exactly what i look for in a person to date, so i should be ecstatic about going out again... but.
but i'm not ecstatic. i'm not even nervous. i'm ambivalent, and i know why.
i don't want it to be 2 weeks between every date, so i'm subconsciously making myself downplay how much i like this guy. as much as i do like him, he's less frantic and frenetic in his replies and answers to my almost-instantaneous, extremely prompt emails, and frankly, i don't know if my feelings and heart are patient enough to "date" someone every 2 weeks. if this is just us easing into more consistent and frequent facetime, then hoorah, but if this is just the slow beginning to a slow end, then my heart will certainly be fine. right? right.
yes, i'm overreacting. would we really have it any other way?
i.f.o.t.d. - after reading a post by hipsterhomo, i'm totally scared of voodoo and the frighteningly prevalent women who could hex me while i'm waiting for the red line.
i just made you say underwear.
something about the boxers i'm wearing today has kept me at more or less half-mast since 10 am. it's really not as fun as you'd think.
down, boy, down.
i.f.o.t.d. - considering today's affliction, i'm totally scared that something is going to hit me in the groin.
jason chenier will probably read this... well, the actor who plays jason chenier, anyhow.
yesterday, for the third time in my life, i paid money to look at naked boys. yes, this dainty flower has been in 2 strip clubs. yes, one of them was the lucky horseshoe. yes, the other was called "cupid's cove" and featured a man with a penis pump. yes, i squealed like a japanese schoolgirl at a justin timberlake concert. yesterday, i attended the 7:30 production of "take me out".
admittedly, i desired to see this show for it's promise of full monty after full monty. my interest piqued and my nips perked, i wanted to know more, so i researched, read up on the play itself, stumbled across some cast bios... with pictures. halfway through kyle hall's page, i bought 2 tickets.
yes, i bought 2 tickets, with no particular guest in mind, and as we know, i missed the first show i was supposed to attend. thus, last night, through some fine bartering with steppenwolf, i had 2 "courtesy" seats. the sound of them made me feel both glamourous and a bit like a charity case. i frantically searched for someone, anyone, to take with me. the roommate was out of town. the birthday boy was not answering. that guy i used to visit in indiana but haven't really talked to in the past 2 years had changed his number. no one was to be found with whom i could share the "courtesy" seats. i went alone... feeling a bit pervy about the whole thing. as if paying money to see penis on a sunday evening under the ruse of "theater" weren't slightly deviant enough, now i was doing it by myself. in the dark. hot.
i arrived a little early and took that time to scope out my fellow audience members. they were a hearty mix. a dash of circus freak. a sprinkling of dirty old man. a light dusting of sophisticated, married, theater-going couples. a pinch of straight girls (with or without a standard issue "gay friend"). the meat and potatoes of this stew, of course, was your average, everyday gang of queens over 30. mix all in large bowl, store in cool, dark place, and add one tall glass of water (moi) 5 minutes before curtain.
the show was good. i think i'm still mulling over it a bit. the performances were strong and solid. the characters were true; the story honest. the monties were full. overall, i left with a good feeling about what i had seen. the nudity was tasteful and not really distracting. i had worried about this because i can get a little uneasy with nudity (note previous reference to japanese schoolgirl), and my courtesy seat had me within spitting distance of their pendulous privates. while the first penis was a bit of a shock to the system, subsequent cocks and one particular pair of balls were a pleasure and appropriate.
after the show, i met some friends for a few drinkereeskipoos at roscoe's and low and behold who do i see but "jason chenier"... well, again, the actor who plays jason chenier in "take me out". i did a mini-freak out... almost all of which stayed safely in my head. then he caught me staring a little, so being the ever-so-graceful social butterfly that i am, i sauntered over the 3 feet to where he was standing and said something to the effect of "i've seen you naked". bingo! this is exactly how well-adjusted adults interact with one another. despite my lack of tact, however, we had a lovely conversation about his work, living in hollywood, and being in chicago for the summer. my envy of sven grew about tenfold, and i convinced myself that i'd be accepting my friend's offer at another ticket to the show.
this time i'll be sure to hang around afterwards, squealing like a japanese schoolgirl, clamoring for autographs.
i.f.o.t.d. - having grown up on a street with a notorious pedophilic peeping tom, i am to this day constantly convinced that someone is looking in on me. this is especially bothersome because our shower has a window in it.
...and shitcanned i was.
last night, as i stated previously, my weekend began. last night, frank's cinco de drinko birthday extravaganza officially started. (sidenote: am i the only one that finds it amusing that a puerto rican has his birthday on the anniversary of mexico's independence? maybe.) it began with a very low-key dinner at coobah, where the music was just as loud and spicy (err... caliente) as the entrees. overall, a good experience, though the wait staff could really pick up the pace a little. regardless, we then, keeping with the latin theme, headed over to salud; however, our party of 3 fags and a muncher was not-so-won over by this drinking establishment. it was crowded, i was wearing sandals, and the eye candy was along the lines of old peanut brittle. we promptly left.
we headed out to good ole boystown. it seemed more like a ghosttown, so we drank heavily. the rest of the evening was lackluster, minus my interactions with a large gang of brazilians walking to charlie's. like 12 brazilians... well maybe 11 and 1 polski. all of them hanging out together simply because they're all brazilian, which suggests that the one had to be brazilian as well because they didn't seem the type to let one polski tag along. they didn't go to school together. they didn't know each other in brazil. they don't work together. they're friends because they're brazilian. i'm not sure why this fascinates me so... it might have something to do with them buying me drinks. maybe.
regardless, after getting home at 5 and awaking at 8 for work, i discovered that i had spent way too much money on the birthday boy. well, rather i should say, i discovered that his "best friend" didn't spend enough money on the birthday boy. it's then that i determined why i was invited to this intimate, semi-expensive dinner and exclusive drinking party: i was the cash cow. even now, i feel a little had. i don't mind spending money on the ones i love. in fact, i enjoy it quite a bit. what pisses me off here is that his best friend gets credit for a lovely night out on "us", when really it was all on me. i was recounting today, and dinner was split pretty evenly, but the friend only bought one round of drinks with me catching every subsequent round. it's just a little bogus.
needless to say, come saturday when we're further celebrating his birthday at roscoe's (his choice), i'm not buying the birthday boy a fucking thing.
...ok, maybe one drink. i can't really take it out on him.
it's not my fault i'm a... (yes, really shitty transition to a piece of post content that has little to nothing to do with me getting drunk last night... or does it?)Wackiness: 66/100Rationality: 56/100Constructiveness: 72/100Leadership: 38/100
You are a WRCF--Wacky Rational Constructive Follower. This makes you a Paul Begala.You are unflappable and largely unconcerned with others' reactions to you. You were not particularly interested in the results of this test, and probably took it only as a result of someone else asking you to. You have a biting wit and intense powers of observation. No detail is lost on you, and your friends know it--relying on you to have the facts when others express only opinions. You are even-tempered, friendly, and educated. Foolish strangers may mistake your mildness for weakness--they will be surprised.You entire approach to life is enviable. You will raise good kids.Of the 120091 people who have taken this quiz since tracking began (8/17/2004), 4.7 % are this type.
i found it to be pretty accurate, though i don't like the use of the follower. i don't think i'm a sheep. i think i'm more of a go-with-the flow than a follower. so i'm changing follower to flow-er...
quiz:
http://hokev.brinkster.net/quiz/default.asp?quiz=Better+Personality&page=1
paul begala (in case you were curious):
http://www.cnn.com/CNN/anchors_reporters/begala.paul.htmli.f.o.t.d. - you know those "need a doctor" posters around the L? well, i fear that i make faces like that when my hair isn't caught in the door or i have heartburn (or whatever it is that is wrong with the old woman). sidenote: why does getting your hair caught in the door require a doctor? were these posters made in 1823 when barbers were surgeons?
i'm totally getting shitcanned this weekend... starting tonight.
who's game?
i.f.o.t.d. - while eating anything nutty, i am afraid that i may inadvertantly kill someone in the area who happens to be highly allergic. those nut allergies are vicious!
i'm a trojan work horse.
come friday, i will have worked 12 straight days at 8+ hours per day. i'm not necessarily complaining, as i am full aware that many, many people work longer, harder days than mine. it's simply an observation. my job isn't hard. nor is it demanding with regard to labor. it's quite nice in many ways. i have my own desk. i get plenty of down time to do things like post and surf approved websites. i enjoy the company of my coworkers and get paid pretty well. i am good at the job i am supposed to do and accomplish my tasks with relative ease.
yet, i hate my job.
i hate it in a strange way. i do not cringe at the thought of it. i do not loathe going to work each day. i do not hate it in the way that people generally hate their jobs. i hate it subtly. i hate it quietly.
i think this is because it is not the big things about my job that i hate. it's all the little shit. the stuff you think you can ignore in order to love your job but that refuses to go away, nagging at you like one of those wounds you get under a fingernail after you pick away that strip of callousy skin that after it heals leaves the white section of your fingernail with a really odd edge where it meets the pink.
i hate the people who pay for a 25 cent hot chocolate with a twenty.
i hate the people who can't seem to understand we only receive refund checks on tuesdays and fridays.
i hate that i'm now immune to the smell of coffee.
i hate the people who toss their money across the counter like i'm the cheap whore they slept with the night before.
i hate the way voiding a transaction works on our computer.
i hate the woman who tells me she's gonna steal coffee everyday, as if announcing it to me before she does it somehow relieves her of the moral fact that it's wrong.
i hate our mark-ups.
i hate that we sell pens yet never have any for me to use.
i hate that we don't sell cherry coke.
i hate that the receipt paper starts curling long before it's about to run out.
i hate our stock room.
it's all these little things as someone once said. they just better be wary of the day that hundreds of angry greeks start flooding out of my ass.
i.f.o.t.d. - working in a cooking school, i happen to be around a lot of knives. working in a cooking school's bookstore, i happen to be around a lot of money. i am incessantly afraid of the day the two meet.
i've never really relied on the kindness of strangers, but i think it's about time i started.
my friends are, on the whole, good people to know. they can make me laugh. they laugh at me and on occasion with me. they have jobs and apartments. they shower.
however, there is one area of my life in which my friends are a black hole of uselessness: matchmaking. though i routinely make it clear to my cohorts that i very much want to be a part of the "dating scene", it is a rare occurrence that one should approach me and say, "hey, i know this great person you should meet." yet, i know they know great people. and i know they know i want to meet great people. where is the disconnect here? where they fail me even more is on that off chance they do say, "hey, i know this great person you should meet," and i, of course, agree -- they never introduce me to the aforementioned great person. my cronies are truly unreliable with regard to my love life. well, wait, no, my date life.
see, the thing is i'm not looking to fall in love... well, ok, i never really stop looking for that, but i'm not so naive to think that every person i go on a date with is the one, if even such an idea exists. right now, i just want to have the rush of a first date on a regular basis. hell, i want the rush of a second and third date, as well, but the groundwork for all of this is that i want dates. that's all. i recently read something that played with the idea that "we are not who we are if not for someone else", and it stuck with me a litte. but, really, i'm not ready to tackle that idea. i do know, though, that i am ready to be myself and having someone else around to see that wouldn't be so bad.
someone else said, "there's a whole world of potential first dates right around the corner". i guess i'm walking down the wrong streets, so i'm looking for some directions, kids.
it's time to start my date life, and maybe, if i'm lucky -- no... strike that -- if i'm happy, my love life will catch up.
so all you strangers out there, i might need a little bit of kindness. if you know someone great, send them toward my corner.
i.f.o.t.d. - ever since a terribly unfortunate accident in seventh grade, i fear that at even the inkling that i might have to urinate, i will piss my pants.
i had the right to remain silent, but i just kept on talking.
since i do not have to be at the office until 10:30 each morning, i tend to sleep until about 8:30 or so, then i sorta roll myself out of bed to wander and scratch for 15 minutes at which point i turn on the water for my shower and return to wandering and scratching. generally, at about 9, i'll actually get in the shower or at least start undressing to get in the shower. it is only around this time that i can definitively be considered "awake".
at 8:37 today, my whole morning routine was interrupted by some of chicago's finest in blue. yes, while i was still blinking and scratching, i heard the distinct buzz of our building's security system. being the first button on the panel, this is not an uncommon experience for those in apartment #1, unless we're talking before 11 am, which in this case we are, so there was certainly a smacking of the lips and a half-incomprehensible "what the fuck". i sauntered to the interior panel and kinda palmed the whole thing, hoping i hit the right button. i heard the security door open. success.
out of curiosity, i opened our front door to see who i had let into the building. i figured it was a small courtesy i could provide to my fellow residents... and there they were.
two chicago police officers. badges, guns, sticks, the whole sha-bang. they came into the foyer, gave me a look, then asked if they could come inside and ask me a few questions. it's about here that i began furiously compiling any and all memories of my most recent drunken escapades. "could they really be here because i peed in an alley?" though i was suddenly relieved at how boring i could be, i still wasn't sure why they were here, so i placidly replied, "sure", doing my best to not look wiggy.
they proceeded to make their way into our "living room", where they did that cop thing where they look around as if everything is a clue then let their eyes make their way back to you. i'd seen it a thousand times on law & order (r.i.p. jerry orbach), but the full effect can only be truly felt in person.
they began their questioning. i continued to slowly awake.
"do you live here alone?"
"no."
"who else lives here?"
"my roommate." (doh!)
"uh... yeah, but who?"
"oh, i get iii... er, her name is... molly, yeah."
"ok, does anyone else live here?"
"uh, yeah, molly," i said then giving a look that suggested it was a stupid question. (doh, again!)
"yes, i mean other than molly and yourself."
"oh, no, then."
"ok, how long has she lived here?"
"who?"
"molly," he said, his eyes shifting a little to suggest that i'm a fool. (yes, it was deserved)
"oh, she's been here... well, i think like 2 or 3 weeks. i'm not sure."
"you're not sure?"
"no, i mean... no, i'm not sure."
"you live together. you don't know when she moved in?"
"like 2 weeks ago."
"ok, how long have you lived here?"
"a little over a month?" (half-asking myself)
"are you asking me?"
"no, i was counting in my head when i said that... yeah, uh, like a month." (a month and one day, to be precise... and way to tell the cop you were counting in your head... smooooooth)
"do you know 'johnny johnson'?" (i changed the name, but it was incredibly similar)
*i laugh*
*they look at each other*
"what's so funny?"
"that's kinda a stupid name, isn't it?" (who the hell am i?!?)
"ooook, but do you know him?"
"who?"
"johnny johnson"
*i laugh again* "sorry, i just wanted you to say it again... no, i don't know him... how could i know someone named johnny johnson?" (again, who the hell am i?!?)
"are you asking me again?" he said this time kinda peeved... for obvious reasons.
*i sorta look at him in a way that was both confused and suggested that i did want him to answer my question*
"has your roommate ever dated a man named johnny johnson?"
"are you serious?" and then i laughed some more.
"yes, i am serious."
"no, she hasn't... at least, i hope not. and i'm serious, too."
"...so she hasn't dated anyone named johnny johnson?"
"uh, no."
"who are your neighbors?"
"excuse me?"
"your neighbors... the other people who live in this building... who are they?"
"heh... i don't know. there's a girl named beth and a guy named rocco next door. some other guy lives with them, too... could be a girl i guess."
"one of your neighbors could be a girl?"
"yeah."
"what do you mean?"
"i just know hesheit is named jesse."
"hesheit."
"he, she, it."
"oh... that's clever."
"...thanks."
"you've never seen this 'jesse'?"
"he could be the guy who i sometimes follow home from the train."
"whoa... what?"
"everyday, there's a guy who walks here from the train at about the same time as me... only he's a few seconds faster, you see, so i follow him... as in i'm behind him."
"nice. what's he look like?"
"tall, white guy."
"that's all you can tell us."
"i follow him... remember. that's about all i see. he carries a brown bag even when he's wearing black."
"hmm... ok. so there's no johnny johnson around here as far as you know?"
"uh, no. not as far as i know."
*they left... yes, without saying good-bye*
i can't believe i'm not in jail right now. they had to think i was hiding something, especially considering some things that i thought of only later in the day.
1. i sleep in pj pants , a t-shirt, and a hoodie, so throughout my entire encounter with them, i had bedhead and was wearing a hoodie zipped with the hood up. if we hadn't been standing in the apartment that i claimed was mine, i could have been a homeless crack fiend, aka my area's favorite street accessory.
2. my roommate had painted a shelf for her bedroom the night before; however, the smell of paint fumes had not entirely left the apartment. i'm sure it smelled like a meth lab, but then again, i have no idea what that smells like.
3. our living room, as in the room where this whole exchange took place, consists of a stack of blankets with some pillows, an ironing board, and a television on the floor. it screams crack den.
4. having just woken up, i know that my eyes were bloodshot and that my teeth were probably less-than-pearly white with matching breath. again, i was doing my best to convince them on appearance alone that i was squatting.
i fully expect to have police surveillance for the next week or so.
i.f.o.t.d. - hooray for more fears with links! i fear that if and when i get famous, i won't have a publicist smart enough to prevent me from making mistakes like this.
http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/go_fug_yourself/2005/04/just_my_fug.htmland in case you were as interested as i was...
http://www.cafepress.com/heathertees.20919785
