50 Shades Meet Up And Why This Post Is Not About France

Hello everyone! I'm just back from France today, and I absolutely owe you a post about snails, art museum shenanigans, and a mariachi band. However this post is just a short one in order to update everyone who is not on the email list about the 50 Shades party game meet up happening this Sunday evening. I was absolutely planning to post my France recap (entitled "Is This Snails?" because I had decided that probably everything was made out of snails, including cups of tea, which I needn't have worried about because there IS NO FUCKING TEA ANYWHERE IN FRANCE) tonight, as I am currently sat in a hotel by myself for the express purpose of catching up the blog and the email and the twittering I've missed whilst I've been away. But then I got back from the trip and started unpacking, at which time I reached into my bag and ended up taking a massive chunk out of my finger with the razor blade I had carelessly thrown in there with no blade guard LIKE A DUMBASS, so right now I'm typing this with my left ring finger held up in the air because it really, really, REALLY fucking hurts. It's not a good situation. I bled through three plasters (Americans: plasters = band-aids) earlier.

ANYSUCK, I'll either post about France when I can type like a normal human being without screaming every time I touch something, or I'll bat my eyelashes at StereoNinja and try to get him to type it for me with me dictating, but I suspect he'll merely laugh at that suggestion.

So, the meet up! It's this Sunday the 10th. I've reserved a table at the Green Man pub on Euston Road in London for 5 pm because it's much easier to play table games with the use of an actual table. I've never been there, but it was suggested by one of you lovely folks, I can get there via tube, and they let me book a table online without having to speak to any strangers or pretend like I know what I'm doing. I can't wait to meet you all and I'll see you Sunday!

iNo.

I finally broke down and got an iPhone yesterday. This is the part where you all gasp incredulously and then yell "YOU ARE ONLY JUST NOW GETTING A SMART PHONE? THE HELL?" I know. I know.

The truth is I didn't really want a smart phone for a number of reasons. For one thing, I am already addicted to my iPad. ADDICTED YOU GUYS. And I have tremendous fear of becoming that person who never ever socializes at all even when out in public because OHMYGODTHEINTERNETSAREEVERYWHERE. Or the person that ruins every fucking bar room debate by immediately looking up the answer and ending the entire conversation. Those guys are assholes and I don't want to be one of those assholes. An even bigger reason is that iPhones tend to get stolen right out of people's hands. It happened to Mrs. Sizemore. A woman here in Chicago was even killed when an iPhone thief pushed her down the stairs at the Belmont Brown line station whilst escaping with someone else's iProperty. I didn't worry about using my phone on the train until today. No one was going to try to steal my flip phone. Now? Now I worry. There is also the much more stupid but nonetheless real reason where I am my father's daughter and oddly resistant to change at times. A phone doesn't need to be filled with apps and do 900 magical things, it needs to make and receive phone calls. That is what "phone" means. I may even have told a number of different people that I would get a smart phone when they pried the perfectly fine regular ass phone out my cold dead hand.

Still, the smart phone thing is long past reaching critical mass and when the bartender got one a couple of months ago I figured it was probably time for me to join the ranks of the Eternally Connected (for reference, two nights ago I patiently explained to him how to attach a photo in an email. For him to have a new thing before I have it is downright ludicrous). I was still reluctant. For help in overcoming this, I turned of course to the great and wise Fish, an early adopter of every technology ever and pretty much the only person whose advice I actually heed (sometimes), and asked him to convince me. "Do you like your iPad? Wish it were more portable? You have the ability to upgrade and you aren't? Why are you fucking this up?" was his typically withering response, so here I am one week later with an iPhone 4s.

I turned it on for the first time and was immediately not a fan. My mild OCD tendencies went into overdrive because the entire first screen was filled with icons. Like 20 icons, which is way too much for me to look at and I was overwhelmed and turned it right back off to catch my breath and regroup. And yes I know I can move and/or group them and have started doing so, but it requires a lot of work to figure out which applications I'm going to use in descending order of frequency and then group them accordingly and when I had a regular phone that only did phone things I didn't have to deal with this. But fine, that problem will be resolved eventually. Then last night while I was laying in bed awake at 3:30 am because my cat is an asshole, it dawned on me that I hadn't checked out Siri yet. (Oh by the way, that commercial with the idiot kid in the shitty band that wants Siri to call him rock god is fucking awful and makes me feel all damn-kids-get-off-my-lawn. Please, please let them stop airing that soon.) I decided to see what she was up to so I asked her "Siri, are you there?" and she replied with, "Wherever you go, that is where I will be." Which is a seriously creepy thing to say and now I am afraid of my iPhone because Siri is FUCKING STALKING ME, YO. I hope this gets better soon before it tarnishes Fish's thus far sterling record of advice giving.

England Trip Do Over - Part 2

There are two things I forget every time I go to England: 1) I am not English and 2) I am not 20. I woke up at 7:00 a.m. Wednesday morning with a raging hangover and wanted nothing more than to down a glass of water, roll over and go back to sleep. It was not to be. We had planned a trip to Thorpe Park which everyone had been looking forward to for a month, and begging off because I drank too much was not really an option. I got dressed sitting on the floor of my room and made it downstairs to the car where Sulu, MrBalls and i.c. hater were waiting on Nat and me. "Good morning!" grinned i.c. hater as I slid into the backseat.

"No," I replied. We collected Nat and headed out. Now here's the thing: I love roller coasters. LOVE them. But some years ago I started noticing a change in my constitution. I had always gotten a bit motion sick on long car rides, but at some point in the mid 90's I realized that I was starting to get motion sick going on roller coasters. One particular trip to Cedar Point ended with me collapsing in tears - I'd gone on three brilliant coasters and was so shaken up and nauseous I was sure I would never be able to ride again. Luckily, I quickly discovered the joy of Dramamine and my thrill riding ways were able to continue. I was totally pumped, despite my hangover. "Even if I puke after every ride," I announced as we walked in, "I am going to RALLY LIKE A CHAMP." We got on the first coaster and I kicked my feet happily as we chugged up the first hill. And then we plunged down it.

You guys. There is no amount of motion sickness medication in the world that can counteract the effects of both motion sickness AND being hungover at the same time. I came off the ride almost in a daze from how bad I felt. We ended up settling into a pattern where I would go on two coasters in a row and then sit one out while I recovered. This worked out really well since as it turns out, Sulu is kind of a giant pussy about roller coasters and I often had her for company.

The newest attraction at Thorpe Park is Saw. There are two rides: an absolutely insane roller coaster with a drop that is greater than vertical and a sort of haunted house type thing. We went for the haunted house first. Along the way we had picked up a couple more friends, so the seven of us plus the four or five people behind us were lined up train style with hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them and sent inside. We were immediately accosted by a terrifying man who went straight for Nat (she was in between Sulu and me), prompting her to scream, or rather screech "STOP TOUCHING ME!" This had the effect of basically painting a target on her, and in every subsequent room the monster people seemed to go straight for her. I got through the entire thing mostly ignored while Nat kept up a steady stream of screaming and yelling: "STOP TOUCHING ME! GO AWAY! FUCK OFF!" The situation wasn't helped by the fact that our friend at the front of the line was as terrified as Nat was and was leading the line along at a pace that made it seem as if her shoelaces had been tied together.

Next up was the roller coaster. There was a queue*, so we were idly chatting while we waited when someone brought up Ben & Jerry's ice cream (this happens every time MrBalls and I are anywhere near each other) and led to a comment from i.c. hater to the effect that he hates ice cream (i.c. hater! Get it?). We demanded clarification. "Well, I don't like the way it is so cold. It's really a bit agro, isn't it?" The rest of us were all perplexed, but true to his word he refused to eat it any of the Half-Baked pint we bought on the way home.

This time around, it was Sulu who became hysterical on the ride. She was sat between Nat and me for moral support, and the both of us were patting her legs reassuringly as we went (straight) up the hill and she babbled uncontrollably. At the top of the hill she started screaming and she did not stop for the entire ride. She was physically shaking when we came off it. I was a bit shaken up as well, but it was of the hangover variety, so as the rest of the group prepared to get back in the queue, I was fully prepared to sit it out with a PTS Sulu. Except that when the suggestion was made to go again, she was the first one to agree, and then she RAN to the entrance. It was impressive actually, I don't think we could have paid Nat to go back in the haunted house.

Saw the roller coaster. Note that the way up the hill is vertical. Sulu was not a fan.

The drive home was much more lively than the drive out had been and, as previously mentioned, we stopped for a pint of B&J's which four of the five of us shared, though the bulk of the thing was consumed by myself and MrBalls. Also at some point we invented the term "Dickmuff".

The next day I was feeling much better, which was important because I had some seriously grown up plans, y'all. Specifically, I managed to get to Hitchin rail station, buy a ticket and a return from the nice ticket counter man, get myself on a train to Kings Cross in London and then find the prearranged meeting point at St. Pancras station all by myself LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING ADULT. I was meeting a total stranger, hence the bright purple, highly recognizable hair. I'd been internet stalking him for some seven years, and realizing that I could do whatever I wanted on this trip and that I had nothing to lose, I'd e-mailed him and asked if he would be interested in meeting me for a drink. I should back up a bit. The stranger is sort of my idol, internet-wise. His writing is spectacular and is the standard by which I judge all other websites of similar material. I'm not the only one who has noticed, either - his site is fairly popular. So when I sent the e-mail, I wasn't really expecting there to be a response, let alone that the response would be "yes" and "I'll clear my afternoon for you." I figured it would get lost in the sea of fan mail he must get constantly, or that perhaps he doesn't bother to arrange meet-and-greets with potentially crazy fangirls from the internet. I immediately freaked out because HOLY CRAP WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR and also shitshitshit what if I can't think of anything interesting to say? By the time of my trip we'd been corresponding for a few weeks so I was marginally less nervous (though not comfortable enough to do something intelligent like wear shoes intended for walking in, given that he had told me we'd be walking a fair amount. Instead I wore heels because looking good seemed way more important and I like to pretend to myself that I'm hardcore). We went for lunch and had tapas (my first time, somehow I had missed out on this brilliant cuisine for the first 33 years of my life) and then went and found a coffee shop that served genuine for real delicious coffee, which I took a photo of because I had never seen real coffee before anywhere in England. It was a wonderful afternoon and went by very quickly. The stranger had another engagement, so we made plans for later in the week and then I went home (by taking the tube back to Kings Cross because I am VERY MATURE).

Back in Hitchin I discovered the one thing that would make life in a small town in England difficult for me (actually the second of two things. As I apparently told everyone repeatedly while drunk, what I would miss about Chicago if I moved is that I can get Mexican food made by real Mexicans when I am drunk at 5 in the morning, and in England even if I could find something open that late (unlikely) it would almost certainly be curry and I don't like curry. Tacos!): everything shuts ridiculously early. Well, I say everything, but I mean everything decent - Subway was still open when I got back, but I didn't go for it. I was starving but there was no way I was eating Subway, which I can get at home, while I was in England. It's the principle of the thing. Instead, I went home and made myself some hot chocolate, surfed the internet for a while and went to bed. I had an adventure planned for the next day insofar as I had absolutely nothing planned at all and was going to be truly on my own as far as how to entertain myself. Shut up, it was very exciting for me.

*Line.

Learning Curve

My company moved our offices last week, which has been quite educational as far as getting to know my co-workers and finding out which of them are crazy and which are not, something I will not go into here, less out of privacy issues than out of my not wanting to relive the experience because, seriously, oh my god.

On the whole this has been good. I now have an office of my very own with an actual door and a window and a desk made out of wood. Also I have a weird diagonal beam in the back of my office that half covers the windows and truncates the usable space. Obviously I requested this particular office because I thought it was awesome, not to mention the fact that it is also the last one on the far end of the space, meaning that anyone coming this way is doing so on purpose to see me rather than walking by on their way to somewhere else, thus retaining my status of having the most private space of anyone here, which is good because I take naps under my desk Costanza style on a semi-regular basis (I have a pillow and everything). It is also gloriously RIGHT NEXT TO BROWNSFAN'S OFFICE. On moving in, I promptly tacked up a paper ceiling cat to watch me calculate because the CEO thinks it's really stupid. On the other side of BrownsFan is the CEO's office, in which he has laid out his furniture in a way that causes there to be a long alleyway of empty space to one side of his desk that everyone has had a suggestion as far as how to fill. Bowling alley was an idea. I went pinball machine after learning that he has a Star Trek one IN HIS HOME which he should obviously bring here so that I can play it. He has boringly gone with his own idea: tree. I was disappointed until he told me I could decorate it for Christmas at which point I started jumping up and down and squealing. I WILL DECORATE THE CRAP OUT OF THAT TREE FOR CHRISTMAS. WATCH ME.

Our new offices are located in the office tower portion of a train station, which I explored last week in an attempt to educate myself about my new surroundings. Here's what I've learned:

• There are no less than three Hudson News stores in this one train station (that I've found so far), two of which are directly across from one another. I bought a 20 oz. Coke Zero and a small bag of Chex Mix in there for over $7. It would have cost me less than $3 if I'd walked a few more feet to the CVS. I learned not to shop at Hudson News.
• There is also an Auntie Anne's Pretzels in here. Dangerous this may become. I am trying to forget that I know that.
• The trek to and from the office level floors involves a ride on the escalator. It is a huge pet peeve of mine when people get on an escalator and then just stand there, particularly when it's going down. People: The escalator is NOT A RIDE. Please either walk your lazy ass down the magical moving staircase or move the fuck over so I don't have to kill you.
• There is one major drawback to working in a commuter train station, which I discovered almost immediately: at quittin' time, absolutely everyone in the world is trying to get into the place you are trying to leave. And since it's the end of the day and everybody just wants to go home, they will mow you the hell down if you get in their way. Since I am leaving the train station I am, by definition, in their way, and getting home for me is now similar to a very frustrated salmon getting pelted with massive rocks on its way to spawn, except at the end I don't get to spawn. This strikes me as a very cruel joke. 

Remember when I said I wasn't going to talk about my co-workers at the beginning? I lied. Back in our old space, all of the offices had glass walls and the rest of the space was a sort of open architecture dealy-o, meaning everyone was pretty much all up in each other's business because you could hear and see everything that was happening. If you wanted to have a private conversation or scratch your ass this was not a good thing, but if you wanted to get someone's attention three desks away you could just call to them whatever it is you wanted. Apparently after 20 some odd years, this practice is a hard one for a few people to break. Despite the fact that we have these amazing walls now and that the layout is not at all designed for line of site to anyone else in the place, there are a few people who continue to yell into the hallway when they want to talk to someone. This is usually met with a yelled back "What?" which in turn leads to louder hallway screaming. BrownsFan and I have been supporting one another in our attempts not to strangle the others, who have not yet noticed, despite our reminders, that we have these amazing inventions called "telephones" and that proper usage of said "phones" would allow one to speak in a regular tone of voice whilst still being heard by the person five rooms away one would like to speak to without disrupting everyone else by screaming at the top of one's lungs. The technology is amazing, it's way beyond our time.

More on this later, and photos when I remember to take some. Currently it is time for my desk nap.

You Can't Get There From Here

When I woke up yesterday, the 18th of April, and I looked out the window and saw that it had snowed two inches in the early morning hours of April the 18th, and my sleep fogged brain realized that it was snowing, and it was April, I have to say I was pretty fucking pissed off. I stomped off to work and spent the day complaining about the fact that it was cold, and it was snowing, and it was April. Even so, I was relatively certain that it would be the worst morning of my week, what with the snowing and the April, and on the whole I think I took it in stride.

I spent a lot of time thinking wistfully about yesterday morning during the two and a half hour clusterfuck that served as my commute this morning.

It started out well enough. I timed the leaving of my house in a such a way that I would largely miss the rain on my 1/2 mile walk to the train, thereby allowing me to leave my umbrella at home and saving me from having to buy yet another umbrella since I almost invariably forget I have one with me and leave it on the train. A train pulled into the station in due course, and I stepped onto it and found a seat, which is always a bit of a victory. I finished the sudoku while we traveled a few stops. In between Paulina and Southport we stood on the tracks for an unusually long amount of time. I finished the crossword puzzle. The conductor told us there was some trouble with a train that had "broken" ahead of us and that we would be standing "momentarily". I still wasn't alarmed as this happens frequently and we are usually moving again inside of five minutes. Fifteen minutes later we still hadn't moved.

By now I had read the entire paper (to be fair it's the free morning paper and there's not a whole lot to it once you skip all the celebrity gossip and stories about a new bar that won't be open long enough for you to check it out). The conductor came back on to give us the exact same announcement which seemed superfluous as the situation hadn't changed and no one had gotten on or off the train since the last announcement. After another ten minutes he did make a new announcement: the broken train was fairly well fucked. It would not be going anywhere for a while and neither would we. And further to that, when we did go somewhere, it would be to the Southport stop, where we would need to get off and get onto a shuttle bus which would take us to Fullerton where we could get back on a train having bypassed several miles of track to which they had cut power. We had some time to think about our individual game plans though as we couldn't pull into Southport until the train that was already there was able to get onto the northbound tracks and out of our way. Even at this point I was remaining calm. Sometimes things break and it's nobody's fault and there's little you can do about it but soldier on. I called my office and explained the situation and that I didn't know what time I would be in. Then I remembered I had Peggle on my phone and started playing it.

Eventually we pulled into Southport, where we were told there were shuttle buses waiting for us downstairs to take us to Fullerton. Out on the street I did indeed see two buses and also a man in an orange vest with a clipboard who seemed to be directing things. Everything appeared to be under control. It fucking wasn't. There was firstly a problem of physics and the inability to condense the volume of humans that fit into eight train cars into the space of two buses. There was additionally the problem that trains were continuing to come into the station and drop off their human cargo. For me personally, there was the problem that it was 40 degrees outside and that it had started pissing down ice cold rain and I hadn't brought an umbrella. A very lovely Asian girl with an enormous Cubs umbrella offered me a space beneath it - don't ever try to tell me that Cubs fans are assholes, it simply isn't true. The first batch of buses were full up and left without us. I managed to wedge myself on to one of the second set of buses and we took off in rush hour traffic on a circumlocutory route designed to pick up, per orange vest guy, "as many people as possible" from the other three train stops between the one we were at and the one we were headed for. It was possible for us to fit exactly zero other passengers on our clown car of a bus, and we drove past the other stranded CTA customers feeling a mixture of relief and survivor's guilt.

Upon our eventual arrival at Fullerton, we filed into the station like a horde of spawning salmon and headed, logically we collectively believed, to the southbound platform in order that we might catch a southbound train. After allowing us to stand there for ten minutes in the freezing rain and wind, we were disabused of this ridiculous notion by a man on the loudspeaker who told us in a tone dripping with irritation at our stupidity that it was obvious we needed to catch a southbound train on the northbound tracks. As we headed back down the stairs to get to the other platform the woman next to me summed up the feelings of all of us by saying "I've never wanted to get to work so much in my entire life." Almost immediately after the last of us had reached the northbound platform, a brown line train pulled up to the southbound platform we had just vacated. It was followed in about two minutes time by a red line train pulling up to the southbound platform. Those of us who chose not to run back to the other side like the proverbial chicken stood there dumbfounded for the fifteen minutes it took for a train to pull up to the platform to which we had been directed.

By now I was soaked to the core and shivering, having lost my umbrella buddy in the shuffle, and I stepped on the train with no small measure of relief, pleased as punch to find a seat available and for once not caring that there was a mother holding a screaming infant in the seat just in front of me (I also ignored that she was speaking fucking French). About this time, the same announcer who had chastised us earlier began to tell us in the same exasperated tone as before that we were NOT to go to the northbound platform, that southbound trains must obviously be boarded from the southbound platform. He didn't actually finish with "you fucking idiots" but we all heard it. I was already on a train, and had been informed by the conductor that it was a southbound train to the loop, and also I was sitting and starting to dry - I was not, under any circumstances, getting up to go back where I had been in the first place. I continued to sit there for the half hour it took that train to finally close its doors and pull away towards the oasis of downtown. I finally arrived in the office around 11 a.m. at nearly the same time as the person who had flown in that morning from Boston in less time than it had taken me to commute from Lakeview.

And to think, only yesterday I had woken to the sight of beautiful, pristine, non-public transit interrupting April snow. Sigh...

This Will Only Take A Second...

Today's pants shitting moment is brought to you by a bum on the train on my way home from work today. He came in through the emergency exit door and proceeded to yell the following statement:

"Attention all the passengers on this train! I hope you can all forgive me for what I'm about to do."

Zzzzziiiiip went the needle on the imaginary record as all conversation in the train stopped immediately, because as everyone who has ever watched a movie or the evening news knows, that kind of statement is always followed by the guy pulling out a gun, dramatically jacking a round into the chamber and firing it at the ceiling as a warning that he WILL kill anyone who does not cooperate before robbing everyone.

What actually happened though was that he got down on his knees and begged for change. He wanted our forgiveness for asking us for change in the first place. Hopefully some day I will be able to forgive him for giving me a heart attack as well.

Ghost in the Machine (and other tales about my crazy)

As my heroine Jennie Smash might say*, I have a touch of the crazy. As such, my brain occasionally** derails over ordinary, mundane things.

Today I had to go to the bathroom at work. I try not to go in there much, because there might be other people in there and I don't want people knowing that I sometimes pee. But extra coffee this morning (because I was tired, because I slept on the couch, because there was a spider in my room) necessitated that I go in there, so I did. I was relieved to find that I was in there all alone. I choose a stall and sit down, and the next thing you know I hear the toilet in the stall next to me flushing. My immediate thought was that there was someone crouched on the toilet seat so that I couldn't see their feet trying to catch me in the act of peeing. I am not making this up. But then the toilet flushes again. And again. And I realize that this particular toilet must be the ghost toilet, and not only that but there must be one heck of a line.

So now that I know it's just ghosts and not a pee spy, I feel much better and go to wash my hands. Did I tell you about the automatic soap dispensers? You stick your hand under there and it drops the perfect amount of soap into your palm. I am still completely mesmerized by this. But today there is a problem. The dispenser on the right, which is my preferred sink, has a flashing red light. And again, the crazy tells me that a flashing red light in the soap dispenser means someone has planted a bomb in it. If I use that particular soap dispenser the bomb will go off and blow me to smithereens. As much as my logical, rational side (and I do have one) keeps trying to tell me how ridiculous that is, I end up washing my hands in the left hand sink. Just to be on the safe side.

Speaking of bombs, yesterday I'm sitting on the eL at noon, playing collapse on my phone. Across from me is an enormous (in the solid sense, not in the fat sense) black man with work boots on. Which really wouldn't be anything to write about in and of itself, except that when he got off the train, I saw some kind of round metal thing that had been left in the seat next to him, and I presumed by him. And I start to freak out because they've been bombing trains and buses in London lately, and while Chicago is neither London nor New York, it still is a pretty big city, so someone leaving a bomb on the eL is not entirely out of the question. But seconds later I relax as this thought jumps unbidden into my brain: Don't be silly, black construction workers do not leave bombs on trains. Which is true as far as I can tell, but don't ask me where my brain came up with a blanket statement like that. I have no idea. It is futile to ask questions of the crazy.

So did I slip it by you? The part where I was on the eL at noon? Right. That was because I was headed home on my lunch break due to the crazy insisting to me that my lovely cat had jumped out a second story window and was lying in a crumpled heap in my backyard. See, I had left a window open without a screen in my kitchen because for some reason there's a bunch of flies in my apartment and rather than kill them like a normal person, I decided to leave a window open all day long while I was at work in the hope that they would taste freedom and just fly out. But an hour after getting to work, I realize that I opened it pretty wide...wide enough for Kristen to fit through should she so choose. Now mind you, my cat doesn't really show signs of wanting to escape, let alone by way of a two story drop onto a slab of concrete. Additionally, she seems to lack any kind of initiative for anything other than trying to steal chicken from me. Nevertheless, the crazy had a hold of me by then and there was no way I was going to be able to concentrate until I was sure she was safe inside the house. Which she was; I found her sleeping on the couch right where I left her when I went to work in the morning. Explaining to my boss when I got back about what my "emergency" was at home was...interesting. But may I say thank heaven that guy thinks his dogs are his kids the way I think Kristen is mine.

So what have we learned today kids? Nothing really, except that Amber's thought patterns may or may not be based in reality depending on the day, and possibly the size of the room. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to concentrate on chewing the exact same number of M&Ms on each side of my mouth to prevent my face from becoming visibly lopsided.

*Must give credit where credit is due. There's been a rash of e-plagiarism lately, especially on MySpace. Also, she might argue that she is crazier than me.
**frequently

6th Grade English

Remember when you were in junior high or middle school, and your English teacher made you write in reflective sentences? An example:

Homework question: Did Suzy go to the grocery store with her mother?
Your answer: Yes, Suzy did go to the store with her mother.

Some guy was talking like that on the train the other day:

Reflective Sentence Guy: What do you want to do tonight?
Aquaintance: I don't know. Would you like to get some dinner on the way home?
RSG: I would like to get some dinner on the way.
A: Do you think we should just grab takeout?
RSG: We should just grab some takeout.
A: Oh! I think I have some leftover cake for dessert!
RSG: Yes, leftover cake would be good for dessert.

This went on from the Loop all the way to Belmont. You know what? It's annoying.

You're High

My best friend Mary and her loving boyfriend Rob have a particular verbal exchange that they frequently use with one another. It works like this:

Rob says something bizarre, or something with which Mary does not agree.

Mary responds with "You're high."

Rob replies with "You're pretty."

It is all very charming and sweet.

I was reminded of this on the train this morning, albeit not in the same charming context, when a woman sat down on the bench in front of me and announced "You're pretty," then proceeded to pet my head for the next two stops until she again said "You're pretty," then disembarked at Fullerton.

Today's Rant: Big City Irritations

Despite the fact that my job is a mass of unexplained chaos, and the fact that of the only two friends I have here (not counting my brother and nearly his entire fraternity), one now hates me and one keeps trying to kill himself, I really do enjoy life in the big city. I love that I take the train and having my very own el pass. I love that my office is in the Loop. I love almost getting run over by cabs every time I try to cross the street. I love giving people directions to my house that include the words "at 3400 North".

Having said that, there are some aspects of big city life I could definitely do without, to wit:

• People who talk too loud on the train. This morning's example comes from a girl I presume to be in college. She is talking, nay, screaming with someone about some concert tonight. "I DON'T KNOW THAT BAND. NO! I KNOW, I KNOW THE SONG, I JUST DON'T KNOW THE BAND. I DON'T KNOW IF I WANT TO GO SEE A BAND I DON'T KNOW. YEAH I KNOW....DER DER DER DER (serenades entire train with a half-humming, half-singing, entirely off-key rendering of some completely irrecognizable song) RIGHT, THAT SONG, I KNOW, I'M SAYING I DON'T KNOW THE BAND. WHAT? YEAH I'M ON THE TRAIN. I'M AT FULLERTON. (She's actually fully 5 stops north of Fullerton) I'M ON MY WAY TO SCHOOL. WELL, I DON'T KNOW MAYBE I'LL GO. WELL, I CAN'T TALK THAT LONG BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE THAT MANY MINUTES. YEAH, IT'S PREPAY. I DON'T KNOW I MIGHT. OK. OK. BYE-IE!" Thank God that's over. But no..."HI! OH NOOOO, ARE YOU SLEEEEEPING? I'M SO SORRY, I'M JUST CALLING TO SAY HI. BUT GO BACK TO SLEEP AND I'LL SAY HI LATER. HEHEHEHEHE (High pitched shriek that I think is meant as laughter) AWWW, THAT'S SOOOO CUUUUTE! NO. YEAH. I WAS JUST CALLING TO SAY HI, AND TO FIND OUT WHAT YOUR CLASS SCHEDULE IS? (states this in a voice that sounds like a question, even though it's not) WELL OK, GO BACK TO SLEEP THEN. ALRIGHTY. BYE-BYE!" Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You are on a train, a public train, where people who have just gotten up for work and are not happy about it are trying to commute in peace. If you "don't have that many minutes" why are you making a second call? I'm going to throw your phone into the fucking lake. Also, please don't EVER sing again.
• People trying to hand me stuff. What's the deal with this? I go out for a sandwich at lunch, and 57 people have to try to hand me some kind of pamphlet or flier or menu. I try to get on the el, and some dude is shoving a Red Eye in my face. Hi, do you see the book in my hand? That's what I'm reading today. It is not for hitting people over the head when they try to hand me something. Perhaps it should be. If I wanted to read the Red Eye this morning, I would have grabbed it out of the bin that is literally two feet from where you are standing. I have a book, a backpack, my purse and my el pass all in my hands. I don't have room for your newspaper or your socialist propaganda, or your crummy band's little advertisement or your Chokin' on a Chicken Wing lunch specials. And speaking of menus
• Coming home from work to find 89,000 menus in my mailbox, shoved between the slats on my stairs, rubber-banded to my railing, and taped to my front door. Is everyone else getting this? Or have they somehow figured out that I'm new? I really hope it's the latter, because the bulk of my trash is starting to be made up of menus for Chinese restaurants and pizza parlors. Do I maybe look too skinny? Maybe they're trying to put some meat on my bones. They can't all be new, there's just too many of them. Are they factoring the cost of all this door-to-door advertising into the price of my meal? I bet it's cheaper to eat somewhere where they're not chopping down an entire rain forest just to tell me that General Tso's chicken is $6.95 and comes with a spring roll. STOP IT. That is what the phone book is for. Geesh.

OK, rant complete.