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.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
The Hiatus
OMFG, as the kids would say.
What with all the working hard, and the trying to find a new apartment (hi Aaron), and Reading Challenge 2007, and Easter, and margarita drinking (it can be a full time job sometimes) it's hard to find the time to check the blogs I read, let alone contribute to my own.
Reading Challenge 2007 takes up most of my spare time. This is a project Heather devised. Knowing that I enjoy reading and wanting to read more often herself, we made a pact at the beginning of this year to encourage each other to read more. So far it's worked out extremely well. I've completed 22 books so far this year, meaning I've been averaging about 2-3 books a week. After a slow start, Heather is doing very well too. I like to think this is because I publicly shamed her on MySpace.
A great side benefit to Reading Challenge 2007 is the getting of delicious mail. Heather and I have been exchanging books with the assistance of the US Postal Service, and the last package she sent me came with a box of homemade cookies, which I managed to eat all of in about 20 minutes. Heather makes a mean cookie. I wanted to send her back a pie, but I'm not sure it would survive the trip. Suggestions?
Yesterday I got the invitation to my cousin's wedding in the mail. I am very happy for him, but also it's really weird. This is primarily because I used to babysit him, which means someone I used to babysit is old enough to get married, which means theoretically that I am old enough to get married, which can't possibly be correct as I clearly don't qualify as a grown up. Despite the weird I am very excited. In other exciting family news, I'm going to be a faunt, which is short for fake aunt. Simmy is in the process of growing her first offspring, which should be fully cooked sometime in September. This will be the first baby of the family, which is super exciting, but which I secretly fear is going to get me booted from the kids table.
Melle and I have discovered a new favorite bar, Fernando's on Lincoln near my apartment. Fernando's is like a mexican version of Tai's Til 4 but with food. There is a real Fernando (like there is a real Tai) who has had the restaurant for decades (Tai's has been in business over 45 years). Fernando is retired but is there every day (just like Tai) and his son is running the restaurant now (just like Tai's son, the owner). I started calling it Mexi-Tai's. Melle calls it "the office" as in "Hey, I need to go spend some time at the office". She thinks this is hilarious, probably because she's never actually worked in an office. The margaritas are delicious. Melle told Fernando that they were better than the margaritas she had in Mexico. Fernando scoffed. "They don't know how to make a margarita in Mexico," he told us. "They do it all wrong. The make them with Fanta!"
I will be moving to my new apartment next week and I love love love it. For over two years I have been looking back with nostalgia on the days in Cleveland when I had a garbage disposal. My new apartment has one, along with a jacuzzi tub and central air. And a huge deck. All of my dreams are coming true!
What with all the working hard, and the trying to find a new apartment (hi Aaron), and Reading Challenge 2007, and Easter, and margarita drinking (it can be a full time job sometimes) it's hard to find the time to check the blogs I read, let alone contribute to my own.
Reading Challenge 2007 takes up most of my spare time. This is a project Heather devised. Knowing that I enjoy reading and wanting to read more often herself, we made a pact at the beginning of this year to encourage each other to read more. So far it's worked out extremely well. I've completed 22 books so far this year, meaning I've been averaging about 2-3 books a week. After a slow start, Heather is doing very well too. I like to think this is because I publicly shamed her on MySpace.
A great side benefit to Reading Challenge 2007 is the getting of delicious mail. Heather and I have been exchanging books with the assistance of the US Postal Service, and the last package she sent me came with a box of homemade cookies, which I managed to eat all of in about 20 minutes. Heather makes a mean cookie. I wanted to send her back a pie, but I'm not sure it would survive the trip. Suggestions?
Yesterday I got the invitation to my cousin's wedding in the mail. I am very happy for him, but also it's really weird. This is primarily because I used to babysit him, which means someone I used to babysit is old enough to get married, which means theoretically that I am old enough to get married, which can't possibly be correct as I clearly don't qualify as a grown up. Despite the weird I am very excited. In other exciting family news, I'm going to be a faunt, which is short for fake aunt. Simmy is in the process of growing her first offspring, which should be fully cooked sometime in September. This will be the first baby of the family, which is super exciting, but which I secretly fear is going to get me booted from the kids table.
Melle and I have discovered a new favorite bar, Fernando's on Lincoln near my apartment. Fernando's is like a mexican version of Tai's Til 4 but with food. There is a real Fernando (like there is a real Tai) who has had the restaurant for decades (Tai's has been in business over 45 years). Fernando is retired but is there every day (just like Tai) and his son is running the restaurant now (just like Tai's son, the owner). I started calling it Mexi-Tai's. Melle calls it "the office" as in "Hey, I need to go spend some time at the office". She thinks this is hilarious, probably because she's never actually worked in an office. The margaritas are delicious. Melle told Fernando that they were better than the margaritas she had in Mexico. Fernando scoffed. "They don't know how to make a margarita in Mexico," he told us. "They do it all wrong. The make them with Fanta!"
I will be moving to my new apartment next week and I love love love it. For over two years I have been looking back with nostalgia on the days in Cleveland when I had a garbage disposal. My new apartment has one, along with a jacuzzi tub and central air. And a huge deck. All of my dreams are coming true!
Monday, March 26, 2007
Are You Bored? Circle One: YES/NO
The Intern is leaving for his real life job in a couple of months. This makes me sad because he is the only other person who will act juvenile with me and pass stupid notes back and forth in meetings. Also because it's funny when he gets irritated that I call his girlfriend "The Pants".
Let Me Know If I'm Leering
You know how when you first get something pierced you have to have some kind of jewelry in it for a while to prevent the hole from closing up? It's a really good thing vaginas aren't like that.
I have not had a dry spell like this since, um, ever. I am going crazy. Not having any sex is making it so that I can't think about anything else. (Also having sex makes it so I can't think about anything else too, so maybe it's me.) I have now begun sizing up every single human that walks past me in terms of mating with them. No seriously, I mean everyone. Are you 80 years old? Are you a toothless hobo who smells like moth balls? IT DOESN'T MATTER. I am checking you out. How you doin?
Case in point: My company is considering a new website and we've been listening to pitches from different website developers, as you do. Or rather, other people have been listening. I have been picturing all of them naked. Today my coworker asked, "So what do you think of those guys from Friday? Do you think they're better than the first group?" My actual answer: "I don't really know. I think the first group was more attractive. Well, actually the two guys from Friday weren't bad, it was just that one guy. Something bad happened to his head. It looks like the moon." Probably I should not be trusted with anything important right now.
I have not had a dry spell like this since, um, ever. I am going crazy. Not having any sex is making it so that I can't think about anything else. (Also having sex makes it so I can't think about anything else too, so maybe it's me.) I have now begun sizing up every single human that walks past me in terms of mating with them. No seriously, I mean everyone. Are you 80 years old? Are you a toothless hobo who smells like moth balls? IT DOESN'T MATTER. I am checking you out. How you doin?
Case in point: My company is considering a new website and we've been listening to pitches from different website developers, as you do. Or rather, other people have been listening. I have been picturing all of them naked. Today my coworker asked, "So what do you think of those guys from Friday? Do you think they're better than the first group?" My actual answer: "I don't really know. I think the first group was more attractive. Well, actually the two guys from Friday weren't bad, it was just that one guy. Something bad happened to his head. It looks like the moon." Probably I should not be trusted with anything important right now.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Deal A Meal Is My Favorite Card Game
H-town: i love a good mumu
me: if i was huge that is totally what i'd wear
H-Town: ladies and gentlemen - the GOOD MUMUS!!
of course
they're comfy
me: i would be proud to wear my mumu. i would say "I may have a bigga figga but you don't get to wear a mumu!"
H-Town: haha
would you wear a tent?
if it got to that point?
i hope i'd be able to stop you before you reached tent size
me: I would cut a hefty bag into daisy duke shorts
i would go clubbing in it
H-Town: i'd want to stop you before you got to "we have to move you with a forklift" size
me: wait! if you don't stop me, does it mean i get to meet richard simmons again? because that would be awesome
H-Town: hmm that's a tough call
me: it would almost be worth it to become morbidly obese just to have richard simmons show up in person at my house
and cry
H-Town: and give you a pair of his hot pants to eventually fit into
me: he would sob openly as i showed him my refrigerator filled with cheese
actually i could show him that right now
H-Town: it's starting!
i'm willing to bet that if you wrote him a letter and said the only way you thought it possible to meet him was to gain 500lbs, he might come meet you now
he could promise to cry anyway
me: holy crap that's brilliant! we should get started right now
"My dearest Richard
H-Town: send him photos of you eating donuts and pizzas
threatening to put barbecue sauce on your cat
then say your cat's joined the cause
me: "You may not remember me, but I was the little blond girl who sat on your lap when you made an appearance at parmatown mall in ohio in the early 80's. Anyway, I've never forgotten your spandex biker shorts and have been dying to meet you again ever since...."
H-Town: hahaha
"should you not come to chicago to meet me soon, I will start to eat more and more until I cannot physically leave my apartment without the help of heavy machinery"
"enclosed is a photo of me eating a doughnut - I'm starting right now!"
me: every few months i could send him pictures of me getting fatter
i'd rig them so that i don't fit in the frame to make my situation look dire
H-Town: and show your shrine to him, surrounded by candles and empty entenmann's boxes
me: "please help. I can only wear my old bracelets as rings now"
H-Town: haha
me: "xoxo, Amberance"
H-Town: "i haven't seen my cat in weeks, I fear she may be stuck in one of my folds..."
me: "because i am so huge my perception of size is skewed. I fear I may have eaten my cat a few weeks ago thinking she was a nice juicy peach"
H-Town: haha
me: i really do need richard simmons though. there is not another human alive who has a chance of talking me into exercising. he's the only trainer in history who is not mean and nazi-like
H-Town: same here, i'd do aerobics with him
me: "If you just do 10 more sit ups, I promise I'll jump up and down and clap my hands and squeal"
H-Town: done
me: no doubt
me: if i was huge that is totally what i'd wear
H-Town: ladies and gentlemen - the GOOD MUMUS!!
of course
they're comfy
me: i would be proud to wear my mumu. i would say "I may have a bigga figga but you don't get to wear a mumu!"
H-Town: haha
would you wear a tent?
if it got to that point?
i hope i'd be able to stop you before you reached tent size
me: I would cut a hefty bag into daisy duke shorts
i would go clubbing in it
H-Town: i'd want to stop you before you got to "we have to move you with a forklift" size
me: wait! if you don't stop me, does it mean i get to meet richard simmons again? because that would be awesome
H-Town: hmm that's a tough call
me: it would almost be worth it to become morbidly obese just to have richard simmons show up in person at my house
and cry
H-Town: and give you a pair of his hot pants to eventually fit into
me: he would sob openly as i showed him my refrigerator filled with cheese
actually i could show him that right now
H-Town: it's starting!
i'm willing to bet that if you wrote him a letter and said the only way you thought it possible to meet him was to gain 500lbs, he might come meet you now
he could promise to cry anyway
me: holy crap that's brilliant! we should get started right now
"My dearest Richard
H-Town: send him photos of you eating donuts and pizzas
threatening to put barbecue sauce on your cat
then say your cat's joined the cause
me: "You may not remember me, but I was the little blond girl who sat on your lap when you made an appearance at parmatown mall in ohio in the early 80's. Anyway, I've never forgotten your spandex biker shorts and have been dying to meet you again ever since...."
H-Town: hahaha
"should you not come to chicago to meet me soon, I will start to eat more and more until I cannot physically leave my apartment without the help of heavy machinery"
"enclosed is a photo of me eating a doughnut - I'm starting right now!"
me: every few months i could send him pictures of me getting fatter
i'd rig them so that i don't fit in the frame to make my situation look dire
H-Town: and show your shrine to him, surrounded by candles and empty entenmann's boxes
me: "please help. I can only wear my old bracelets as rings now"
H-Town: haha
me: "xoxo, Amberance"
H-Town: "i haven't seen my cat in weeks, I fear she may be stuck in one of my folds..."
me: "because i am so huge my perception of size is skewed. I fear I may have eaten my cat a few weeks ago thinking she was a nice juicy peach"
H-Town: haha
me: i really do need richard simmons though. there is not another human alive who has a chance of talking me into exercising. he's the only trainer in history who is not mean and nazi-like
H-Town: same here, i'd do aerobics with him
me: "If you just do 10 more sit ups, I promise I'll jump up and down and clap my hands and squeal"
H-Town: done
me: no doubt
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Beer and Pens Shall Be Your Reward
I came home on Sunday after dropping off the bartender at the airport and started a mental debate with myself about whether it was better to start cooking some dinner or lounge on the couch watching Arrested Development reruns and drooling. Just as I finally got hungry enough to drag myself away from the television and start chopping red peppers, my phone rang. It was Gene Honda.
This was interesting because Gene NEVER calls me. We generally discuss all things needing discussion at the bar, or relay messages through the owner or the bartender. So I was excited because my first assumption was that he had a really brilliant idea of somewhere to go to out to dinner and he thought of me first. I was wrong.
"Amber, this is Gene."
"Gene! What's going on?"
"This is an emergency."
My glee died in my throat. There's no such thing as a delicious emergency.
"OK."
"I'm doing pledge at Channel 11." Gene seems to always be doing pledge at Channel 11, as WTTW does four pledge drives a year. "We are short about 30 phone operators. If you are not doing anything tonight, and if anyone you know is not doing anything, we could REALLY use some help down here on the phones. We're on East St. Louis. Go to the side entrance and tell them you're a friend of mine and you're there to help with phones."
It is a testament to how much I like Gene that I actually showed up, because talking to strangers on the phone ranks right up there with petting spiders on my list of Things I Never Ever Want To Do. It took me a half hour to convince myself that I didn't have any kind of reasonable excuse to stay home. In the end I decided that if I was going to watch PBS all the time and never donate, then showing up to handle calls from people who aren't cheapskates was the least I could do to prove that I don't suck.
When I got there, a very nice guy named Dan stuck me on the end of long table and quickly went over how the phone works, the script, the pledge forms and the various thank you gifts we were offering at that moment. "When you get up to use the restroom or go to the cafeteria, make sure you put your phone on not ready so it doesn't ring and ring while you're gone. It's awfully hard to find the one ringing phone when there are 50 of them. Oh, and obviously don't get up and leave while we're on camera." This will seem incredibly stupid I'm sure, but I was so nervous about answering the phones that despite having watched hundreds of pledge drives in my life and the fact that I was in a television studio, until he said that it hadn't even occurred to me that I was going to be on television. It was only by sheer chance that I had actually put on make up that day and hadn't worn a t-shirt that said "Bitch! Shut the fuck up!" or "Masturbation: My Anti-Drug". I looked around the room to find all the monitors so I would know where not to look. I don't actually mind being on screen; it just freaks me out if I can see myself. When I got to sing the national anthem at the Chicago Fire game I couldn't look at my huge head on the Jumbotron for fear I would lose it and crack up laughing. Dan handed me a very nice WTTW pen that lights up that I got to keep as a reward for swallowing my terror and went away.
During my first break I realized why the shortage of phone operators was such an emergency. It felt like my hand was going to fall off, and I was sure my brand new pen was going to run out of ink. The phones just did not stop ringing through the entire break. The show that was airing was called Remembering Chicago which is a great and extremely popular series. Apparently everyone wanted a piece of it (a $60 pledge gets you an episode of your choice on DVD, and $120 pledge will get you all four episodes!) I even got a call from a guy in Florida (how he was getting the Chicago PBS station in Florida is a mystery to me. I'd like to see that cable package. What else are they carrying?).
Surprisingly, I only got two prank phone calls the whole night. The second one creeped me out though. "Are you wearing a black shirt? HAHAHAHAH" *click* I hung up and thought Hey I AM wearing a black shirt! Holy shit, they're watching me!!! I glanced around the room trying hard not to look alarmed. In so doing I realized there were fully seven women in the phone banks wearing black shirts, which was a relief because it wasn't necessarily me specifically that they were watching. All in all, it wasn't nearly as bad as my neurotic social phobias had feared.
Afterward, Gene decided that he owed me a drink, so we went to meet up with Teacher Charlie. In a vain attempt to find a bar that was still serving food at 11:30 on Sunday night, we ended up in a place we hadn't been to before. Their kitchen was closed, but our need for alcohol was greater than our need for food, so we decided to stay. This caused a great deal of excitement among the staff. Gene is not Harry Caray, but he is somewhat more popular here than he'd like to believe. He does not like to talk about his Wikipedia page, or his appearance in Opportunity Knocks. The bouncer took one look at Gene and flipped out. "You're staying? Oh my God, then I'm going to get your drinks because I have White Sox season tickets and I have DePaul season tickets and oh my God, you're awesome!" I thought that was weird. He has season tickets because he likes baseball and basketball, or he has season tickets because he likes to listen to Gene talk? Because he can listen to Gene talking at Tai's for a lot cheaper. The manager was also impressed and bought us all another two rounds, as well as producing some chips and salsa from the previously closed kitchen. We hung out until closing with the bouncer basking in the glow of Gene, Teacher Charlie basking in the glow of my pen which seemed to fascinate him, and me basking in the glow of a very drunk girl who kept hugging me and dancing on me and insisting that she loved me. Or maybe she was basking in my glow, who knows?
I'm pretty sure I had much more fun than I would have as a drooling couch potato at home. And I certainly wouldn't have such a cool pen.
This was interesting because Gene NEVER calls me. We generally discuss all things needing discussion at the bar, or relay messages through the owner or the bartender. So I was excited because my first assumption was that he had a really brilliant idea of somewhere to go to out to dinner and he thought of me first. I was wrong.
"Amber, this is Gene."
"Gene! What's going on?"
"This is an emergency."
My glee died in my throat. There's no such thing as a delicious emergency.
"OK."
"I'm doing pledge at Channel 11." Gene seems to always be doing pledge at Channel 11, as WTTW does four pledge drives a year. "We are short about 30 phone operators. If you are not doing anything tonight, and if anyone you know is not doing anything, we could REALLY use some help down here on the phones. We're on East St. Louis. Go to the side entrance and tell them you're a friend of mine and you're there to help with phones."
It is a testament to how much I like Gene that I actually showed up, because talking to strangers on the phone ranks right up there with petting spiders on my list of Things I Never Ever Want To Do. It took me a half hour to convince myself that I didn't have any kind of reasonable excuse to stay home. In the end I decided that if I was going to watch PBS all the time and never donate, then showing up to handle calls from people who aren't cheapskates was the least I could do to prove that I don't suck.
When I got there, a very nice guy named Dan stuck me on the end of long table and quickly went over how the phone works, the script, the pledge forms and the various thank you gifts we were offering at that moment. "When you get up to use the restroom or go to the cafeteria, make sure you put your phone on not ready so it doesn't ring and ring while you're gone. It's awfully hard to find the one ringing phone when there are 50 of them. Oh, and obviously don't get up and leave while we're on camera." This will seem incredibly stupid I'm sure, but I was so nervous about answering the phones that despite having watched hundreds of pledge drives in my life and the fact that I was in a television studio, until he said that it hadn't even occurred to me that I was going to be on television. It was only by sheer chance that I had actually put on make up that day and hadn't worn a t-shirt that said "Bitch! Shut the fuck up!" or "Masturbation: My Anti-Drug". I looked around the room to find all the monitors so I would know where not to look. I don't actually mind being on screen; it just freaks me out if I can see myself. When I got to sing the national anthem at the Chicago Fire game I couldn't look at my huge head on the Jumbotron for fear I would lose it and crack up laughing. Dan handed me a very nice WTTW pen that lights up that I got to keep as a reward for swallowing my terror and went away.
During my first break I realized why the shortage of phone operators was such an emergency. It felt like my hand was going to fall off, and I was sure my brand new pen was going to run out of ink. The phones just did not stop ringing through the entire break. The show that was airing was called Remembering Chicago which is a great and extremely popular series. Apparently everyone wanted a piece of it (a $60 pledge gets you an episode of your choice on DVD, and $120 pledge will get you all four episodes!) I even got a call from a guy in Florida (how he was getting the Chicago PBS station in Florida is a mystery to me. I'd like to see that cable package. What else are they carrying?).
Surprisingly, I only got two prank phone calls the whole night. The second one creeped me out though. "Are you wearing a black shirt? HAHAHAHAH" *click* I hung up and thought Hey I AM wearing a black shirt! Holy shit, they're watching me!!! I glanced around the room trying hard not to look alarmed. In so doing I realized there were fully seven women in the phone banks wearing black shirts, which was a relief because it wasn't necessarily me specifically that they were watching. All in all, it wasn't nearly as bad as my neurotic social phobias had feared.
Afterward, Gene decided that he owed me a drink, so we went to meet up with Teacher Charlie. In a vain attempt to find a bar that was still serving food at 11:30 on Sunday night, we ended up in a place we hadn't been to before. Their kitchen was closed, but our need for alcohol was greater than our need for food, so we decided to stay. This caused a great deal of excitement among the staff. Gene is not Harry Caray, but he is somewhat more popular here than he'd like to believe. He does not like to talk about his Wikipedia page, or his appearance in Opportunity Knocks. The bouncer took one look at Gene and flipped out. "You're staying? Oh my God, then I'm going to get your drinks because I have White Sox season tickets and I have DePaul season tickets and oh my God, you're awesome!" I thought that was weird. He has season tickets because he likes baseball and basketball, or he has season tickets because he likes to listen to Gene talk? Because he can listen to Gene talking at Tai's for a lot cheaper. The manager was also impressed and bought us all another two rounds, as well as producing some chips and salsa from the previously closed kitchen. We hung out until closing with the bouncer basking in the glow of Gene, Teacher Charlie basking in the glow of my pen which seemed to fascinate him, and me basking in the glow of a very drunk girl who kept hugging me and dancing on me and insisting that she loved me. Or maybe she was basking in my glow, who knows?
I'm pretty sure I had much more fun than I would have as a drooling couch potato at home. And I certainly wouldn't have such a cool pen.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
More Scenes From a Bar
I'd been saving these to write full posts around, but I've forgotten most of what I wanted to post and I really want these scraps out of my purse.
MrSteve and I having a conversation about how other people are always driving my car:
MrSteve: You have a weapon. You could say "no".
Me: I don't think I have that weapon. I think my no is bent or something. Somebody broke it. Never let other people play with your no.
Mike: Who sings American Pie? It's Bob Dylan, right?
Me: No, it's Don McClean.
Mike: Are you sure?
Me: Yes. If it was Bob Dylan no one would understand any of the lyrics.
I'm stealing MrSteve's matches just so I can light them, and then sniff them.
MrSteve: You know that only minions of the devil enjoy the smell of sulfur, right?
Me: Well then bring it on, Beelzebub!
Mike: Hey, do you want a shot?
Me: No thanks.
Mike: I know. That's why I asked you.
Gene: I had this lobster while I was in Maine. It's so sweet you don't even think you need the butter. But you use it anyway.
Vic: I knew a girl like that once!
The dj had just started spinning.
Me: Well, that's my cue to leave. It's time to go when the music starts getting thumpy.
MrSteve: I like my music thumpy. With extra misogyny and a side of bling.
MrSteve and I having a conversation about how other people are always driving my car:
MrSteve: You have a weapon. You could say "no".
Me: I don't think I have that weapon. I think my no is bent or something. Somebody broke it. Never let other people play with your no.
Mike: Who sings American Pie? It's Bob Dylan, right?
Me: No, it's Don McClean.
Mike: Are you sure?
Me: Yes. If it was Bob Dylan no one would understand any of the lyrics.
I'm stealing MrSteve's matches just so I can light them, and then sniff them.
MrSteve: You know that only minions of the devil enjoy the smell of sulfur, right?
Me: Well then bring it on, Beelzebub!
Mike: Hey, do you want a shot?
Me: No thanks.
Mike: I know. That's why I asked you.
Gene: I had this lobster while I was in Maine. It's so sweet you don't even think you need the butter. But you use it anyway.
Vic: I knew a girl like that once!
The dj had just started spinning.
Me: Well, that's my cue to leave. It's time to go when the music starts getting thumpy.
MrSteve: I like my music thumpy. With extra misogyny and a side of bling.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Girl Scout Cookies
Tagalongs are highly addictive. They should be classified as a controlled substance and regulated by the FDA. And those junkie dealers that only sell them once a year should be thrown in prison.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Shameless Self-Promotion
I bet you didn't realize you were reading the blog of a world famous poet, but you are. My favorite podcast, Punky! Radio - with listeners in every corner of the planet, 3,435 MySpace friends, consistently rated as the top music podcast on Podcast Alley and syndicated on two internet radio stations - has posted my poem that I wrote for their show as an audio file on their MySpace page.
GO LISTEN TO IT.
You may not get all of the jokes, so I recommend you also become a regular listener because it's a really great show.
I'm going to go sit back and wait for the endorsement deals to start rolling in.
GO LISTEN TO IT.
You may not get all of the jokes, so I recommend you also become a regular listener because it's a really great show.
I'm going to go sit back and wait for the endorsement deals to start rolling in.
Amberance: Conscientious Citizen
Tuesday night I headed out for my first experience as a voter in Illinois. Or rather, as a voter in Chicago as it was only a municipal election. I was extremely excited despite there being only four races on the ballot, one of which was a person running unopposed and another being the mayoral race, which is really just a formality here. Mayor Daley was re-elected overwhelmingly just as everyone expected. Chicagoans are funny like that. It's not that people are unaware that the administration is overwhelmingly corrupt, it's just that they don't really care. It's almost considered part of the city's cultural heritage: who doesn't think of Chicago when they think of Al Capone and the mafia and buying politicians? Secretly we like being notorious. As long as the streets are clean, and they are, Daley can be declared Mayor for life. Nevertheless, voting was the thing I was waiting for to make me feel like I can tell people I'm from here, so I was really psyched about it.
I got to the polling place which was a school near my house and went inside. I got passed from one table to another until we finally figured out that my ward's table wasn't in the building. "Go back out and on the other side of the pavement there is like a yellow field house, that's where you need to go." I thought this was weird because the school was pretty huge and the other two wards were only using one room. But whatever. I walked around the playground and saw the yellow field house. It was tucked way back into a corner where it could barely be seen from the street. It also looked like it could collapse on top of the people inside it at any second. In my head I started imagining a conspiracy theory, like Daley found out that a lot of people in my ward were planning to vote against him so they put the voting somewhere that was difficult to find and scary once you got there.
The inside was tiny and smelled like mildew and unwashed jock straps. The people inside, on the other hand were awesome. In all my life I have never seen such cheerful election volunteers. I half expected them to hand me a beer and tell me come hang out at the table. While I was voting it was discovered that almost everyone volunteering in that room was left handed, and they had noticed the left-handedness of me and the person who came in right after me while we were giving our signatures and this caused much rejoicing.
I finished voting in about 18 seconds, and took my ballot up the collection table. By the way, they have GIGANTIC ballots here. Seriously. Only four races on the ticket, but this sheet of paper must have been about 12" x 20". Al Gore would have a stroke if he ever saw them. This was the part I had been most looking forward to. Because all my life, I've been a voter in Ohio and in Ohio you get this awesome "I voted today!" sticker when you turn in your ballot. I was really excited about that sticker because I wanted to wear it to the bar tonight in order to make fun of my friend Teacher Charlie, who is best known for his never bothering to vote. I planned to taunt him with it. Only, when I turned my ballot in, there were no stickers. Instead they handed me a slip of paper that read "Ballot Receipt February 27, 2007. Municipal General Election." as if I had purchased something I might later want to return. Also the upper left-hand corner noted that this was Form 10, so apparently it's some kind of official document. All I know is that it has no adhesive that I can use to affix it to my shirt tonight. I was disappointed. I thought everyone handed out stickers when you voted. On occasion it's been the only reason I went - I have no idea who all those judges are!
So I'll have to make fun of Teacher Charlie without a cool prop, but what's that you ask? Where am I from? Why, I'm from Chicago Illinois!
I got to the polling place which was a school near my house and went inside. I got passed from one table to another until we finally figured out that my ward's table wasn't in the building. "Go back out and on the other side of the pavement there is like a yellow field house, that's where you need to go." I thought this was weird because the school was pretty huge and the other two wards were only using one room. But whatever. I walked around the playground and saw the yellow field house. It was tucked way back into a corner where it could barely be seen from the street. It also looked like it could collapse on top of the people inside it at any second. In my head I started imagining a conspiracy theory, like Daley found out that a lot of people in my ward were planning to vote against him so they put the voting somewhere that was difficult to find and scary once you got there.
The inside was tiny and smelled like mildew and unwashed jock straps. The people inside, on the other hand were awesome. In all my life I have never seen such cheerful election volunteers. I half expected them to hand me a beer and tell me come hang out at the table. While I was voting it was discovered that almost everyone volunteering in that room was left handed, and they had noticed the left-handedness of me and the person who came in right after me while we were giving our signatures and this caused much rejoicing.
I finished voting in about 18 seconds, and took my ballot up the collection table. By the way, they have GIGANTIC ballots here. Seriously. Only four races on the ticket, but this sheet of paper must have been about 12" x 20". Al Gore would have a stroke if he ever saw them. This was the part I had been most looking forward to. Because all my life, I've been a voter in Ohio and in Ohio you get this awesome "I voted today!" sticker when you turn in your ballot. I was really excited about that sticker because I wanted to wear it to the bar tonight in order to make fun of my friend Teacher Charlie, who is best known for his never bothering to vote. I planned to taunt him with it. Only, when I turned my ballot in, there were no stickers. Instead they handed me a slip of paper that read "Ballot Receipt February 27, 2007. Municipal General Election." as if I had purchased something I might later want to return. Also the upper left-hand corner noted that this was Form 10, so apparently it's some kind of official document. All I know is that it has no adhesive that I can use to affix it to my shirt tonight. I was disappointed. I thought everyone handed out stickers when you voted. On occasion it's been the only reason I went - I have no idea who all those judges are!
So I'll have to make fun of Teacher Charlie without a cool prop, but what's that you ask? Where am I from? Why, I'm from Chicago Illinois!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Post Traumatic Stress
I woke up from my dream last night with my heart pounding. While occasionally this is a sign of a good dream (wink-wink, nudge-nudge), today it wasn't.
I dreamed that I was standing in my bathroom talking to the bartender, who was also standing in the bathroom. Why we were hanging out talking in the bathroom remains a mystery. Dreams. Go fig. Anyway, we were standing there talking, and the bartender had no socks on. Suddenly, as if from no where, a centipede crawled out and ran across the bartender's naked little toes. The good news is, it didn't run over my toes. The bad news is I'm dreaming about centipedes.
Actually, I'm not sure that's it. Since the bartender arrived there have been three centipede incidents: one that he found in the tub when I wasn't home and released to the wild (stupid move - why not just put up a sign?: "No kill centipede shelter! Bring your friends!") the one that snuck into the tub and tried to eat me before escaping and one that came crawling out from behind the toilet while I was freaking on it that then crawled into the kitchen, where it ran into Kristen, got the shit beaten out of it, and was eventually trapped under a bowl with a note on it reading "half dead centipede inside!" until the bartender woke up and killed it. (Side note: it is perhaps possible that these were not three, but rather one exceptionally dogged centipede that twice escaped death and came back for more. But that's a conspiracy theory for another time.) The last of these incidents happened way back in October, so why would I be dreaming about bathroom centipedes now?
Because it wasn't an ordinary dream. It was a flashback caused by post traumatic centipede stress. I was so horrified by what I witnessed that I re-live it in vivid nightmares and become overwhelmed with fear anytime I'm in the bathroom and see movement other than my own.
When I discussed my self-diagnosis with the intern, it got him started on a tangent about bags filled with roaches and roaches on people's faces trying to eat their eyelashes and that these things had happened to people he knew (in South Carolina. Wally, is this common or are his friends just slobs with tasty eyelashes?). I got so freaked out I began to see the appeal of agoraphobia, provided that my entire house is one big hermetically sealed clean room.
I think maybe I should see someone.
I dreamed that I was standing in my bathroom talking to the bartender, who was also standing in the bathroom. Why we were hanging out talking in the bathroom remains a mystery. Dreams. Go fig. Anyway, we were standing there talking, and the bartender had no socks on. Suddenly, as if from no where, a centipede crawled out and ran across the bartender's naked little toes. The good news is, it didn't run over my toes. The bad news is I'm dreaming about centipedes.
Actually, I'm not sure that's it. Since the bartender arrived there have been three centipede incidents: one that he found in the tub when I wasn't home and released to the wild (stupid move - why not just put up a sign?: "No kill centipede shelter! Bring your friends!") the one that snuck into the tub and tried to eat me before escaping and one that came crawling out from behind the toilet while I was freaking on it that then crawled into the kitchen, where it ran into Kristen, got the shit beaten out of it, and was eventually trapped under a bowl with a note on it reading "half dead centipede inside!" until the bartender woke up and killed it. (Side note: it is perhaps possible that these were not three, but rather one exceptionally dogged centipede that twice escaped death and came back for more. But that's a conspiracy theory for another time.) The last of these incidents happened way back in October, so why would I be dreaming about bathroom centipedes now?
Because it wasn't an ordinary dream. It was a flashback caused by post traumatic centipede stress. I was so horrified by what I witnessed that I re-live it in vivid nightmares and become overwhelmed with fear anytime I'm in the bathroom and see movement other than my own.
When I discussed my self-diagnosis with the intern, it got him started on a tangent about bags filled with roaches and roaches on people's faces trying to eat their eyelashes and that these things had happened to people he knew (in South Carolina. Wally, is this common or are his friends just slobs with tasty eyelashes?). I got so freaked out I began to see the appeal of agoraphobia, provided that my entire house is one big hermetically sealed clean room.
I think maybe I should see someone.
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