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."
AWKWARD SILENCE ENSUES.
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."
MORE AWKWARD SILENCE ENSUES.
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."
YET MORE AWKWARD SILENCE.
FA: "Well, don't be afraid to use it. Have a good trip."
END SCENE.
Weird, right?
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tonight.
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.
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
THITH ITH WHAT FRIED CHICKEN SHOULD TATHTE LIKE(ithpy).
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: http://www.yelp.com/biz/guss-world-famous-hot-and-spicy-chicken-memphis
Waits can be long, so grab a 40 (-ounce beer, duh) and wait patiently. It will all be worth it, I promise.
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
THITH ITH WHAT FRIED CHICKEN SHOULD TATHTE LIKE(ithpy).
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: http://www.yelp.com/biz/guss-world-famous-hot-and-spicy-chicken-memphis
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
Today...
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
WHAT?!? Another poopscapade?
The other day, I wrote about how some strange person in my neighborhood has been leaving bags of dog feces on the speed bumps in our alley. (I suppose I should call them "Speed Humps." This IS Chicago. And yes, after over ten years here, those signs still make me giggle.) I haven't seen anything like that this week.
HOWEVER. There is a new problem with poo in my alley. Some strange person has now been allowing his or her dog to defecate behind my neighbor's car and is not cleaning it up. The other morning, P.I.C. says to me, "Be careful, someone let their dog shit behind our neighbor's car last night." Sure enough, there was poop there. I also feel it important to note that "behind the neighbor's car" means it is almost nearly in my path to walk down the alley from our back door. It is also a mere four steps from behind our car. So this DOES affect us, even more directly than the poop bomb person.
Sure enough, this morning, P.I.C. warns me again. "There is more dog shit behind the neighbor's car."
MORE? Yes. It was more than yesterday.
I'm not sure who is behind all of these poopscapades in my neighborhood, but I am starting to wonder. WHY? WHY DO YOU LOVE MESSING WITH PUPPY POOP SO MUCH?
HOWEVER. There is a new problem with poo in my alley. Some strange person has now been allowing his or her dog to defecate behind my neighbor's car and is not cleaning it up. The other morning, P.I.C. says to me, "Be careful, someone let their dog shit behind our neighbor's car last night." Sure enough, there was poop there. I also feel it important to note that "behind the neighbor's car" means it is almost nearly in my path to walk down the alley from our back door. It is also a mere four steps from behind our car. So this DOES affect us, even more directly than the poop bomb person.
Sure enough, this morning, P.I.C. warns me again. "There is more dog shit behind the neighbor's car."
MORE? Yes. It was more than yesterday.
I'm not sure who is behind all of these poopscapades in my neighborhood, but I am starting to wonder. WHY? WHY DO YOU LOVE MESSING WITH PUPPY POOP SO MUCH?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
My very own financial cul-de-sac.
Yeah, it's another Sex and the City reference.* DEAL WITH IT.
Some days I fear I will never be able to get out of the financial hole I have dug for myself. I went to private school for SEVEN years and now pay for it handily each month. I have worked at jobs that just didn't pay quite enough to allow me to live in a rather expensive city. I really, really (I mean, REALLY) love to go out to eat. I also REALLY love to cook and to buy nice ingredients. (Seriously, I POUT if P.I.C. suggests we end up purchasing our meat or seafood from Dominick's.) Of course, this means that I tend to live above my means.
Sigh.
Getting married this year also crimped my financial situation. Well, that and the SIX other weddings to which we have been invited in this calendar year (P.I.C. being in one, me being in one). AND...our long over-due honeymoon means that every extra penny is going toward some aspect of making sure we get fed while in Spain.
Sigh.
ONE BIG SIGH.
I know, WAH WAH WAH. I got marrrrried. I have to pay for my HONEYMOON. I can't eat at fancy restaurants all the time. I have to BUDGET. (WHINE WHINE WHINE.)
Despite feeling panicky quite often about money, I get by. Furthermore, I really do love my life and there is not a lot I would change about it. (Well, I might require that public servants get the occasional raise. I mean, I did go to school for seven years. I would think that should stand for SOMETHING.) I sure hope that after this year (and our whirlwind trip to St. Thomas in January for P.I.C.'s best friend's wedding) we might have a little bit of a breather from showers and weddings and stuff.
This post has no purpose other than to whine about my consistently first world problems. I would apologize, but it's my blog. So I can whine WHENEVER I CHOOSE.
* For those of you not "in the know," this particular statement came from the episode in which Carrie is faced with the prospect of having to buy her apartment. It is shortly after she and Aidan break up (the second time).
Some days I fear I will never be able to get out of the financial hole I have dug for myself. I went to private school for SEVEN years and now pay for it handily each month. I have worked at jobs that just didn't pay quite enough to allow me to live in a rather expensive city. I really, really (I mean, REALLY) love to go out to eat. I also REALLY love to cook and to buy nice ingredients. (Seriously, I POUT if P.I.C. suggests we end up purchasing our meat or seafood from Dominick's.) Of course, this means that I tend to live above my means.
Sigh.
Getting married this year also crimped my financial situation. Well, that and the SIX other weddings to which we have been invited in this calendar year (P.I.C. being in one, me being in one). AND...our long over-due honeymoon means that every extra penny is going toward some aspect of making sure we get fed while in Spain.
Sigh.
ONE BIG SIGH.
I know, WAH WAH WAH. I got marrrrried. I have to pay for my HONEYMOON. I can't eat at fancy restaurants all the time. I have to BUDGET. (WHINE WHINE WHINE.)
Despite feeling panicky quite often about money, I get by. Furthermore, I really do love my life and there is not a lot I would change about it. (Well, I might require that public servants get the occasional raise. I mean, I did go to school for seven years. I would think that should stand for SOMETHING.) I sure hope that after this year (and our whirlwind trip to St. Thomas in January for P.I.C.'s best friend's wedding) we might have a little bit of a breather from showers and weddings and stuff.
This post has no purpose other than to whine about my consistently first world problems. I would apologize, but it's my blog. So I can whine WHENEVER I CHOOSE.
* For those of you not "in the know," this particular statement came from the episode in which Carrie is faced with the prospect of having to buy her apartment. It is shortly after she and Aidan break up (the second time).
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