In the following sentence, which of the underlined words appears out of place but actually isn't?
Last night, I went to Uncle Julio's to drink alcohol and eat cheese with my boyfriend.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Pros and Cons
The interns last day in the office was this past Thursday. This has both benefits and drawbacks:
"No, she wears pants, but they're not THE pants."
"Why don't you suck a bag of dicks?"
"Someone has to piss excellence around here."
Intern, you will be missed.
- Pro - There will be no one here to talk me into getting ice cream that I don't need or drinking a margarita on our lunch break (true story).
- Con - There will be no one to go to lunch with, period.
- Pro - No one will be interrupting a conversation I am having with my boss by throwing a stress ball at me over the cubicle wall.
- Con - Said stress ball will also not bounce once and then land in my cup of tea, thereby cracking me up.
- Pro - I will not feel guilty when I don't have any work for him to do.
- Con - I will not feel guilty for not doing my own work because the intern and I decided to watch Charlie the Unicorn or Weird Al videos on YouTube.
"No, she wears pants, but they're not THE pants."
"Why don't you suck a bag of dicks?"
"Someone has to piss excellence around here."
Intern, you will be missed.
The Way To My Heart Is Apparently Through My Apartment
Funny what life throws in your lap. Boys for example.
I haven't had any funny stories to post lately, mainly because I'm spending all of my time with a boy who is not MrSteve nor the bartender nor the owner and my stories about those events are not particularly funny: they are sappy, and cutesy, and romantic, and disturbingly cheerful and likely to make the average Bizzybiz reader throw up. Not that funny things don't happen - it's just that they are pretty much inside jokes that only I and this boy would find funny. Who has an actual name by the way, but I haven't quite asked him if it was OK to blog about him and I can't think of a good blogname (Captain Awesome? Smiley McSmileson? Hey You, Nice Ass?) so for now he will just be some boy I am dancing around telling you about.
My point though, was that I wasn't looking for this boy. I had decided quite honestly that it was OK to be single forever and ever amen since I have such wicked awesome friends. "Find a boy" was not on my to-do list. "Find an apartment" is what was on the list. The ridiculously hot music and baseball loving leasing agent with the great sense of humor and the smile that will make you lose consciousness due to it's brilliance was wholly unexpected.
I have become a cliche. It's a good thing I'm so good at making fun of myself.
I haven't had any funny stories to post lately, mainly because I'm spending all of my time with a boy who is not MrSteve nor the bartender nor the owner and my stories about those events are not particularly funny: they are sappy, and cutesy, and romantic, and disturbingly cheerful and likely to make the average Bizzybiz reader throw up. Not that funny things don't happen - it's just that they are pretty much inside jokes that only I and this boy would find funny. Who has an actual name by the way, but I haven't quite asked him if it was OK to blog about him and I can't think of a good blogname (Captain Awesome? Smiley McSmileson? Hey You, Nice Ass?) so for now he will just be some boy I am dancing around telling you about.
My point though, was that I wasn't looking for this boy. I had decided quite honestly that it was OK to be single forever and ever amen since I have such wicked awesome friends. "Find a boy" was not on my to-do list. "Find an apartment" is what was on the list. The ridiculously hot music and baseball loving leasing agent with the great sense of humor and the smile that will make you lose consciousness due to it's brilliance was wholly unexpected.
I have become a cliche. It's a good thing I'm so good at making fun of myself.
Friday, May 04, 2007
I Watched Spinal Tap This Week
MrSteve: Out? In? On the moon?
Me: Home, but I wish I could hang out on the moon!
MrSteve: Pity. The moon would be cool.
Me: I know. I would be bouncing all over the place
MrSteve: And that would be different from regular you how?
Me: Well obviously because I could bounce higher what with the lower gravity
MrSteve: My point was that you bounce quite happily about under 1 g.
Me: Right but on the moon I could bounce up to 11
Me: Home, but I wish I could hang out on the moon!
MrSteve: Pity. The moon would be cool.
Me: I know. I would be bouncing all over the place
MrSteve: And that would be different from regular you how?
Me: Well obviously because I could bounce higher what with the lower gravity
MrSteve: My point was that you bounce quite happily about under 1 g.
Me: Right but on the moon I could bounce up to 11
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Won't You Be My Neighbor?
So the guy that called the police when he found a skull boiling in a pot at some guys house? Yeah, we know that guy. He's a hairdresser and part time drag queen. His brother cuts the bartender's hair. We saw him at the Social Distortion show last October dressed up like a cat with giant boobs and platform shoes.
Chicago. It's a small town, it just happens to have 3 million people in it.
Chicago. It's a small town, it just happens to have 3 million people in it.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Fredrick the Entertainer
About forever ago I had bought tickets to see Naked Raygun and their special guests Dillinger 4 at House of Blues. The show was Friday night, and I took Melle as payback for her strong arming me into the Scissor Sisters show a few months back (although I have to admit, a man in black and white vertical striped, sequin super short shorts dry humping an amp does have a degree of entertainment value). The best thing about punk rock shows is the people - you never know what kind of characters you're going to meet. In this particular case we met Freddie.
Freddie is a chubby, bald (I couldn't tell if this was by nature or on purpose) 26 year old. He was at the show with his step-brother Lou, or as Freddie called him "Lou-dog". Freddie could accurately be described as "high-strung". Our conversation started when Freddie decided that Melle was carrying a fake ID, because it was obvious to him that she was not 26. In fairness to Freddie, she did tell him she was "going to be 27" which is technically true, but made it look like she was lying as she will not actually be 27 for another 8 months. I was slightly offended that he was not at all troubled when I told him I was 29.
Freddie quickly noticed Melle's tattoo, which is hard not to do because it is beautiful and also covers half her arm. We were then given a rundown of Freddie's various tattoos. "This is my dad's initials, and this one is for my mom. You see this one here? That one says 'strength through struggle', which is important. I got that one when I was straight-edge." I found it hard to believe that Freddie, who was drunk off his ass, was ever straight-edge and I told him so. "Well, I mean, except for the drugs. But my friends were straight-edge." He insisted to us several times that this particular tattoo was "important", even though it was obvious to me he wasn't gaining any strength and was clearly losing his struggle. "Then these, do you see these?" he asked, pointing to some dark patches on his forearm. "These are cigarette burns. There's another fresh one under this band aid too. These are all from my buddies that died. I had three buddies die in the last year, so I burned myself with a cigarette for each one so I'd remember, you know? That's what we do in my neighborhood."
I didn't know and neither did Melle. But as stupid as the whole thing seemed it got worse when we asked him where he was from that this is what they do in his neighborhood, and he told us Rogers Park (home of Loyola University Chicago and a Jesuit religious order).
Freddie also seems to lack a short-term memory. A guy went past us trying to get closer to the stage and elbowed Freddie a little bit in the process. Freddie flipped out. "Fuck man! Did you see that guy? He fuckin hit me right in the fuckin face! I'm gonna go fuckin kill that guy!" The guy hadn't actually hit Freddie in the face, unless he had a second face on his upper chest. In preparation to go fuckin kill that guy, he did the athlete pour with the rest of his beer. This is the thing where you open your mouth and pour your beverage over your tongue and down the whole front of your shirt without actually swallowing anything. He then threw his empty on the ground with authority and started for the stairs. I grabbed the back of his shirt to stop him and told him it wasn't worth it to get thrown out right at the start of Naked Raygun's set. This stopped him from going but he continued to stand there, breathing heavily and fuming.
Ten minutes later he erupted again. "No man, fuck it, I'm gonna go kill that fuckin guy that spilled beer all over my shirt. Fuck! Look at what he did to my shirt!" Melle and I looked at Lou-dog who just shrugged with resignation. It was clear he'd been to shows with Freddie before.
Eventually we had to part with Freddie and Lou-Dog because Melle had obliterated her liver, but I will always think fondly of him and his crazy cigarette burning ways. And that's how to attend a punk rock show.
Freddie is a chubby, bald (I couldn't tell if this was by nature or on purpose) 26 year old. He was at the show with his step-brother Lou, or as Freddie called him "Lou-dog". Freddie could accurately be described as "high-strung". Our conversation started when Freddie decided that Melle was carrying a fake ID, because it was obvious to him that she was not 26. In fairness to Freddie, she did tell him she was "going to be 27" which is technically true, but made it look like she was lying as she will not actually be 27 for another 8 months. I was slightly offended that he was not at all troubled when I told him I was 29.
Freddie quickly noticed Melle's tattoo, which is hard not to do because it is beautiful and also covers half her arm. We were then given a rundown of Freddie's various tattoos. "This is my dad's initials, and this one is for my mom. You see this one here? That one says 'strength through struggle', which is important. I got that one when I was straight-edge." I found it hard to believe that Freddie, who was drunk off his ass, was ever straight-edge and I told him so. "Well, I mean, except for the drugs. But my friends were straight-edge." He insisted to us several times that this particular tattoo was "important", even though it was obvious to me he wasn't gaining any strength and was clearly losing his struggle. "Then these, do you see these?" he asked, pointing to some dark patches on his forearm. "These are cigarette burns. There's another fresh one under this band aid too. These are all from my buddies that died. I had three buddies die in the last year, so I burned myself with a cigarette for each one so I'd remember, you know? That's what we do in my neighborhood."
I didn't know and neither did Melle. But as stupid as the whole thing seemed it got worse when we asked him where he was from that this is what they do in his neighborhood, and he told us Rogers Park (home of Loyola University Chicago and a Jesuit religious order).
Freddie also seems to lack a short-term memory. A guy went past us trying to get closer to the stage and elbowed Freddie a little bit in the process. Freddie flipped out. "Fuck man! Did you see that guy? He fuckin hit me right in the fuckin face! I'm gonna go fuckin kill that guy!" The guy hadn't actually hit Freddie in the face, unless he had a second face on his upper chest. In preparation to go fuckin kill that guy, he did the athlete pour with the rest of his beer. This is the thing where you open your mouth and pour your beverage over your tongue and down the whole front of your shirt without actually swallowing anything. He then threw his empty on the ground with authority and started for the stairs. I grabbed the back of his shirt to stop him and told him it wasn't worth it to get thrown out right at the start of Naked Raygun's set. This stopped him from going but he continued to stand there, breathing heavily and fuming.
Ten minutes later he erupted again. "No man, fuck it, I'm gonna go kill that fuckin guy that spilled beer all over my shirt. Fuck! Look at what he did to my shirt!" Melle and I looked at Lou-dog who just shrugged with resignation. It was clear he'd been to shows with Freddie before.
Eventually we had to part with Freddie and Lou-Dog because Melle had obliterated her liver, but I will always think fondly of him and his crazy cigarette burning ways. And that's how to attend a punk rock show.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Amberance: Guru
MrSteve: Back when my job was fun, today would have been a perfect day to go for a test drive.
Me: Yeah, well, eventually everything starts to suck.
later...
MrSteve: I have to start looking for a new place soon as well.
Me: Really? why?
MrSteve: Because I hate my place. The only thing keeping me there was the garage and now she says she needs her garage back. Actually, I'm thinking about maybe leaving here altogether to go somewhere else.
Me: Seriously? Why would you leave Chicago? Chicago is awesome! I'm going to live here forever!
MrSteve: As a wise philosopher once said, "Eventually everything starts to suck."
Me: Yeah, well, eventually everything starts to suck.
later...
MrSteve: I have to start looking for a new place soon as well.
Me: Really? why?
MrSteve: Because I hate my place. The only thing keeping me there was the garage and now she says she needs her garage back. Actually, I'm thinking about maybe leaving here altogether to go somewhere else.
Me: Seriously? Why would you leave Chicago? Chicago is awesome! I'm going to live here forever!
MrSteve: As a wise philosopher once said, "Eventually everything starts to suck."
Caffeine Buzzkill
I have walked into the kitchen at work to heat up my tea which has gotten cold. A co-worker is in there pouring coffee.
Co-worker (all chipper and shit at 9:30 am): I've just got to have my caffeine in the morning! Hee hee!
Me: Yeah I was off the caffeine for a while, but I'm back up to two cups of tea a day. I can't drink coffee though.
Co-worker: Oh really?
Me: Yeah, it's way too much caffeine for me, but mostly it's because I don't like it. Coffee tastes like a shoe.
Co-worker: Ha ha! Well I add sweetener and milk to mine. That should make it better, right?
Me: No, then it just tastes like a sweetened, milky shoe.
Co-worker (all chipper and shit at 9:30 am): I've just got to have my caffeine in the morning! Hee hee!
Me: Yeah I was off the caffeine for a while, but I'm back up to two cups of tea a day. I can't drink coffee though.
Co-worker: Oh really?
Me: Yeah, it's way too much caffeine for me, but mostly it's because I don't like it. Coffee tastes like a shoe.
Co-worker: Ha ha! Well I add sweetener and milk to mine. That should make it better, right?
Me: No, then it just tastes like a sweetened, milky shoe.
Moving Right Along
So the bartender and I are all moved now, and boy what a relief. The bartender now has an actual bedroom with a closet and a door, and I have a room that actually fits all both pieces of furniture I have. And let's not forget the jacuzzi.
Speaking of the jacuzzi: have I mentioned the part where I'm largely inept at life? I'm clumsy, you see, and I don't have a lot of what they call "common sense". These traits are not especially conducive to things like moving. I started the move by shattering the glass in a picture frame, and ended it by shattering a glass that made it through the actual moving part intact when I was putting it away in the kitchen. In the middle I did the following:
Speaking of the jacuzzi: have I mentioned the part where I'm largely inept at life? I'm clumsy, you see, and I don't have a lot of what they call "common sense". These traits are not especially conducive to things like moving. I started the move by shattering the glass in a picture frame, and ended it by shattering a glass that made it through the actual moving part intact when I was putting it away in the kitchen. In the middle I did the following:
- Dropped a dining room chair on my ankle. Actually I do that kind of thing all the time, but this time I dropped it hard enough to form an impact crater on my leg. Seriously. It bruised up all angry and purple, and as it has faded, the bruising in the middle is gone and there is a purple ring around the impact point of the leg of the chair. I'm just like the moon now.
- Asked for help. The old apartment had a key that opened everything. The new apartment has 6: The front two building doors, the mail box, the front door, the deadbolt on the front door, the back door and the basement laundry room. The building also has a friendly caretaker, and I know he is friendly because my first order of business upon beginning my move was to lock myself out of the apartment. I had taken a few things over myself because I didn't want the movers to break them (it's always better for me to break things myself). I had left the keys in the door. On my way down to make another trip, I actually thought to myself "Do I need to take the keys with me?" and I answered myself "No, because I am leaving this door open and therefore won't have to unlock it." I go out to the car, grab more stuff, walk back to the building and...oh yeah, I can't get in the building without the keys. Luckily I heard a Spanish language soap opera coming from the caretakers window, and he was happy to let me in after I buzzed the door. Unfortunately, I can now never need anything ever again because I am too embarrassed to speak to him.
- Took a bath. So sore was I from unpacking things, and so excited was I that I now have a jacuzzi, I decide that my top priority was to take a nice relaxing bath. A bubble bath. Right, so for anyone who does not immediately see the problem with this (which I'm sure is just me) you can't take a bubble bath and a jacuzzi soak at the same time unless your plan is to overflow your entire house with bubbles. Luckily I didn't actually overflow the tub, I just had so many suds I had to take a shower afterwards to get them off me.
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