Friday, September 30, 2011

Do you think this is weird?

Please read the following conversation had between two people.

Setting: Elevator in an office building going down.

Person 1 (A hilariously silly girl who likes to tell stories, we will nickname her FA): "So, when do you leave for your trip?"

Person 2 (a NON-hilarious girl that causes constant stress in the life of FA, we will nickname her "Awful Girl," or just "AG" for short): "Oh, we leave at 5 today. We're supposed to leave for the airport at 2:00 p.m. today."

FA: "Well, have fun and be safe."

AG: "Don't worry, we will be. Me and my fiance will protect each other."


AG: "We have a code word."

Elevator door opens and FA and AG exit.

FA: "What's a code word?"

AG: "Oh, it's a word we use in an uncomfortable situation so that we know to remove ourselves from the situation."


FA and AG walk out of the elevator banks in the same direction.

FA: "Well, I have to know, what is your 'code word?'"

AG: "It's 'wolf.' It's a family thing for him."


FA: "Well, don't be afraid to use it. Have a good trip."


Weird, right?

Wednesday, September 21, 2011


We're confronted with awful news every day. Soldiers in far away places being killed. Children being gunned down on the streets. Teenagers being mistaken for gang members and beaten within an inch of their lives.

I have become really, really good at blocking the sad noise out. Troy Davis and his story got to me.

Tonight I cry. I am shedding tears for a man I never met. I cry not because I believe he was innocent. I don't know that. What I do know is a very basic fact: In a criminal trial, the standard of proof is beyond a reasonable doubt.

Tonight a man was executed. There was doubt. There has been doubt for some time. Yet our government with all of its handy mechanisms to not allow this to happen, executed a man. They executed a man where there was reasonable doubt. And so I cry.

Tonight, my heart is broken.

Tonight, I let the sad noise in.

Monday, September 12, 2011

An Ode to the beautiful Gus's Chicken in Memphis, Tennessee.

I was feeling rather sickly.
The back of my throat was tickly.
I'd vommed in the morning
With very little warning
My skin had become rather prickly.

I needed something to eat.
I hoped it'd make me feel complete.
We hopped in the car
Because Gus's wasn't far
And then we took a seat.

The place isn't much of a sight.
I just needed one greasy bite.
A mouthful of chicken
and my heart started tickin'.
I knew I'd be alright.

The skin was so spicy and crispy.
My speech nearly became quite lispy.
My appetite was so sated
I felt downright elated

It's not a perfect poem, but then I never claimed to be a poet. Until I tasted Gus'. Holy hell. I will dream of this chicken until I can put it in my mouth again. Next time...I'm doing a half-chicken. WATCH ME.

For those of you who might be fried chicken fans, here is the place you MUST visit:

Waits can be long, so grab a 40 (-ounce beer, duh) and wait patiently. It will all be worth it, I promise.

Thursday, September 8, 2011


Yes, today appears to be a slow, simmering stew of anger. I believe it all began when I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. You know, the side that produces irritation at each step you take to further distance yourself from the bed? THAT SIDE.

After missing the bus, despite a full-fledged one block sprint toward it, I decided that I would use my one mile walk to the el to calm down. I didn't want today to be full of anger. I have lots of happiness in my life. I shouldn't dwell on stupid annoyances. Then I got down to the el platform only to see a train pulling away. Yep, I missed an el too.

Despite my profession to calm myself on my walk, I got further irritated when I saw all the people enjoying their brunch with their kids (likely named Seamus or Urchin or Apple or something just as obnoxious). Why do I have to continue to do a job that does not fulfill me when these jerk-wads get to feed their kids overpriced organic eggs and fun-sounding Italian sodas (I wanted one SO BAD, despite it being 8:30 in the morning).

I am in such dire need of a vacation, I can't even behave like a normal adult. I want to throw myself upon the floor (not at work, this floor is nasty times ten) and pound my fists into the ground to avoid responding to stupid letters from stupid other people. I'd like to scream-cry myself into sleep because an acquaintance's pledge to hook me up with a cheap rate on a hotel in Barcelona turned out to be just talk. Sure sounded nice.

Worst? I can't even put together a sentence that I find interesting. My words are going unwritten. My creative outlet appears to be drying up. That makes me really sad.

What is the adult equivalent of a temper tantrum? I'd sure like to engage in one of those, STAT.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Some days I love the CTA.

It was 5:15 p.m. or so and the Clark and Lake Blue Line platform was crowded from one side to the next. One train pulled up. No one got on. Another train pulled up. A handful of riders got on. At this point, P.I.C. and I decided, dammit, we were getting on that third train.

It eventually pulled up and was relatively empty. We slowly boarded (there were many people still waiting, even after the second train pulled away), and took our cramped positions in our very fortunately air-conditioned car. No sooner had I worked my way to the middle when I hear an elderly voice say to a relatively young man, "Is that seat for seniors?" Very clearly, this lady was senior the seated young man by far. He rather reluctantly gets up and lets her take his seat. "You see, I don't want to fall down now."

He stands there, looking somewhat irritated. Oh, but that lady wasn't finished. "Can you move your bag? If you push it that way, it won't be bumping me."

OH YES. This lady cited TWO serious CTA rider "suggestions" to this guy. He was PISSED. Me? I was dying laughing. Of course, some days it is virtually impossible to fit your body on the train, let alone any possessions that might accompany you. This wasn't a backpack situation, though. His messenger bag was just tucked along the same side of his body as the lady was seated. Even though he was several feet from me, I could see the irritation on his face.

OH. But that lady was not done. Oh no she was NOT. She continued to chat him up as the train pulled out of the station. "Do you know that I had to wait for the THIRD train to board?"

At this point, I was desperately trying to hold it together because this lady? She just didn't care. She was going to sit down and DAMMIT, no one's bag was going to touch her. And guess what? She was going to just keep chatting at that guy like he wasn't a sullen emo-millennial child. I loved it.

It's times like these, I truly love the CTA. And man, am I glad I worked my way onto that third train.