Homeward bound...

I'm leaving home to go home... that's kinda weird.

I'll go from being ridiculously spoiled by my mom, and ridiculously interrogated by my grandfather to hanging out in my apartment talking to my fish. (Don't start calling me crazy for talking to the fish... If you've got a pet, you talk to it!)

We had another Christmas this evening with my brother's girlfriend. I got a lovely gift card to Border's. (I'm looking forward to spending it... Probably on another art book that I don't really need.)

So again it's midnight, and I leave tomorrow morning, and again, I'm not packed. I should probably get on that.

And since I don't really have much else to tell you kids at the moment, I'll stop boring you, and get packin!

So I gave things a think...

When grandpa goes to bed at about 9, and mom calls it a day at about 11, it gives me a chance to sit alone for a little while...

And for me, being alone translates into thinking time.

So I gave my current situation a little thought. And you know what I came up with?

I'm actually pretty damn happy with my stupid little life.

I have a college degree, and a good job. I have a nice little home in the city, and a place in a smaller town to come back to whenever the mood strikes. I have my health. I have the love of my family. I have a handful of really wonderful friends... Even if they are spread all over the country... And in some cases, the world.

This is not to imply that it's all been sunshine and lollipops. It hasn't.

In my brief time spent on this little blue-green marble of the universe, I've also known sadness, loss, rejection, defeat, misery, abandonment, grief, struggle, and pain. I've witnessed death, in both terrible and wonderful circumstances.

I've saved a life or two. I've traveled some. I've worked shitty jobs that make me appreciate the luck I've had in getting where I am now. I've felt heartbreak. I've been told that I am beautiful. I've felt the despair of hopelessness, and I've found faith in the strangest of places. I've seen the destruction of addiction, and the redemption of recovery. I've known no great love outside of my own family, but I have the love of my friends, and for now, I'm content in feeling like that is enough.

Anthony, in one of his more philosophical moments, once told me that I'm an old soul. And I think he's right.

I don't pretend to know everything... In fact, I know that in the grand scheme of things, I know relatively little. But for some strange reason, I'm the signpost that a lot of people come to when they are looking for direction. I've been told I'm wise, but I think the person who told me that was a fool, so by comparison I might have only seemed wise.

I've known laughter and joy... LOTS of laughter.

I know the joy of giving and of helping.

I know how to do lots of things. A conglomeration of random things that no ordinary person would ever need to know how to do. I can knit, weave a basket, make jewelry out of raw metal, paint a picture, build a house, solve quadratic equations with my eyes closed, saddle a horse, perform CPR, diagram a sentence, I can weld. I can tell you about the properties of numerous elements on the periodic table... Including the inert gases, I can bait my own fishing hook, and I can hold my liquor. I can dissect an animal with precision scalpel strokes, I can sew a hem into a new pair of pants. I can quote baseball stats off the top of my head, and recite the 50 most common prepositions in alphabetical order. I can delegate responsibilities to a group, I can fake my way through a test on the anatomy, structure, and function of the human nervous system without ever attending class or cracking a book, I can settle disputes with minimal effort, I can make just about anyone believe anything even though I don't make a habit of lying, and I can play a couple of musical instruments reasonably well.

But you know what? None of that means anything. I'm not trying to brag or boast. I don't want fame or fortune for my abilities. I don't need validation from anyone else. I don't need accolades or ovations.

As for the bad stuff that I've seen or experienced, I wouldn't change any of it, because it has made me more appreciative of the good stuff, and it has made me who I am.

I don't really know what I'm getting at here, but this post kinda is what it is.

I just want you all to know that for once, I'm pretty damn happy.

And right now that is enough.

QOTD

After dinner:

"Hey! Somebody peed in the butter!" ~Grandpa.

(As it turned out, someone had dropped a pea in the butter dish... so I guess essentially he was right, someone had peed in the butter.)

"I'm going to get an orangutan!" ~Grandpa.

I'm not mad... just disappointed.

Well, I was supposed to go out with Whitney last night. Thus the extensive conversation with my mom about all her concerns that you can read below... and after all of that haberdashery?

It didn't happen.

She was supposed to call me when she was headed to "the fox" (short for Fox and Hound Pub) and then we would proceed to go drinking from there... Well I waited up, and after a brief dialogue via text message, I decided that I was going to bed, because I'd call going out at 2 AM less of a "late start" and more of an "alcoholic cry for help." As for Whitney, she probably just got too drunk to remember to call me... It happens. That's why I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed.

So again, I slept in until 10, showered, read a book, and messed around upstairs until about noon, and then came downstairs to see what was going on. Apparently I'm either really quiet, or my grandpa needs to adjust the volume control on his Beltone, because despite the fact that I milled around, made lunch, used the downstairs bathroom (the toilet in which has a loud and distinctive flushing sound) listened to music, and read my book, I escaped being noticed until about 1:30.

I saw grandpa several times, and even said a few words to him, and I made lunch in the kitchen while he was just one room away in the breakfast nook, and still I evaded detection. (... Hmmm, maybe that old guy in my building is right, maybe I should be a spy!)

I didn't write this, but I nearly pissed myself while reading it.

So I thought I would share this with you... and just to avoid confusion, one of the characters in the following dialogue is actually named "WHO" and WHO is talking to his brother.

=======================================================

WHO: Retards make me uncomfortable.

Brother: I got into a fight with a retard once

WHO: Are you crazy? Why the hell would you fight a retard?

Brother: Well, it was back in high school. I had a pack of cigarettes in my pocket, but I had put two joints inside the pack. Anyway, some retard saw the pack of cigarettes and snatched out of my pocket and threatened to tell on me.

WHO: Did he know you had pot in there?

Brother: Nah, man, he just thought it was tobacco. He started screaming at the top of his lungs ‘Citizen’s arrest! Citizen’s arrest!’ in that loud honky retard voice that they do. So I started to get scared because he was drawing so much attention to us. So I pushed him down.

WHO: Oh my God, you didn’t.

Brother: I did and then I went for my pack of cigarettes, but the fucker clobbered me. And let me tell you, retards hit HARD. It was like being slammed upside the head with a leg of lamb. So here I am, thinking that maybe I should say ‘fuck it’ to the pot and just run. But nooooo, that retard wasn’t having any of that. He grabbed a hold of my shirt and started screaming ‘Citizen’s arrest!’ again at the top of his fucking crazy retard lungs.

WHO: What did you do?

Brother: What could I do? I fought him. We started punching each other and jerking each other around. And I was getting really freaked out, not only because that retard had my pot, but what if someone saw me beating on him? So, finally, I catch him off guard and I push him down again. But instead of just trying to grab my cigarettes out of his meaty hands, I start kicking him over and over until he drops them.

WHO: You are fucking kidding me.

Brother: No man! Then he drops them and I grab them as fast as I could and he goes to get up to come after me again. So I kick him one last time and run like hell.

WHO: You ran away from a retard?

Brother: You’re goddamn right I did! I ran like a fucking bitch. That retard was fucking my shit up. My knees were all tore up, my shirt was ripped, my lip was bleeding…and all I wanted was my fucking pot anyway.

WHO: That is the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

Brother: I know! I wish someone would have taped us and made that into an anti drug commercial. Smoke this shit and you might just end up fighting retards on school grounds. And you don’t want to fight no retards.

WHO: You know, in some cultures, you might be considered a hero.

My mom amuses me...

Ok, so we have established that I'm staying with my mom and my grandpa in what can now be referred to as their joint home... (formerly just my grandparents' home.) So I'm spending my time hanging out with my mom, and my 85 year old grandpa... Wow. Party!

Oh, wait, no, not so much...

My dear sweet mother informed me that my "Debbie Downer" post quite literally broke her heart... Well sorry mom, I didn't mean to. Love you.

But the truth is, despite my so-called maturity, I'm not quite cut out for hangin out with grandpa all day... So when Whitney called at 11 PM offering me a chance to go out for a few rounds, I jumped at the opportunity to get out for a little bit.

This of course made my mom a little nervous.

Mom: "Well why didn't she call before 11?"
Liz: "I don't know mom, I didn't ask... but I'd like to go if it's ok."
Mom: "Well how will you get back in?"
Liz: "I assume there is some kind of key involved, and you have one I can borrow for a few hours."
Mom: "Well, uhh... Ok, I guess. The lock is a little funny, you're gonna need to practice it."
Liz: "Ok, I can do that."
Mom: "Don't forget to turn out all the lights before you leave."
Liz: "Ok."
Mom: "Oh, that means it'll be dark when you get to the door... how will you see?"
Liz: "I've gotten into doors after dark before, I'll figure it out."
Mom: "Did you practice the lock?"
Liz: "Yes."
Mom: "Ok... don't forget to turn off the computer and all before you go out."
Liz: "Ok."
Mom:"And be home before 5!"
Liz: "Ok."
Mom: "And be quiet when you come in!"
Liz: "Awww, damn, I thought I'd be really loud and obnoxious."
Mom: "LIZ."
Liz: "Mom, I'll be fine, and I'll get back at a reasonable hour."
Mom: "And if you all have too much to drink, call me."
Liz: "Mom, if they have too much to drink I'll drive, and if I have too much to drink too, then I can call a cab."
Mom: "Ok, but be sure to turn everything off before you leave... And don't lock the outside door, or you'll never get to the middle door!"
Liz: "Mom, I'm going to have to go out a door you know... and the outside door can't be locked from the outside."
Mom: "Oh... well just turn everything off before you leave and be quiet when you come in!"
Liz: "Ok mom."

My Aunt Pam thinks my mom's positive attitude is rubbing off on my grandfather... I think that's a double-edged sword, because my grandpa's worries are rubbing off on my mom. Bless their hearts!

As for nursing a bit of a hangover in the company of my 85 year old grandpa... well, we'll see how that goes!

Later kids, I'm off for a few intoxicating beverages!

All is quiet for now...

Yeah, all is quiet here on the Southern front... perhaps a little too quiet. And out of sheer boredom, I will likely be fiddling with the overall look of things here in the next couple of days.

Don't be alarmed if you see a few new links in the sidebar, or some template/color changes. I'm bored with the current look, and I'm bored with sitting around and reading the local newspaper, so I'm going to use my time more effectively to remodel my little home on the wide open internet range. Kind of like re-doing a bathroom, but with less tuscan marble, and more deep colors... And since I'm not paying anyone to install a new commode on my page, it'll be much more cost effective. (And for the lack of the new commode, you'll just have to find some other place to take a dump.)

It's going to be pretty... I hope.

My grandpa probably thinks I'm crazy...

Considering I didn't go to bed until about 2 AM, getting up at 10:00 AM really isn't all that bad for me. (I like to sleep a lot... And it wouldn't have surprised me if I'd ended up sleeping until noon.) But for a guy who goes to bed at roughly 9 PM and gets up at 5 AM, sleeping until 10 is just beyond comprehension.

So after I got up, I showered, read my book, and generally puttered around upstairs until about 12:30. This was apparently worth a little worry because grandpa actually came up to check on me to see if I was ok. So I decided I'd probably better just come on downstairs so that he could more easily find me if he wanted to make sure I was ok. There was still coffee waiting for me when I came down, which I thought was very sweet. So despite the fact that it was after noon, I went ahead and poured myself a cup. And since I'd finished the last of the coffee, I decided to go ahead and rinse out the pot. This prompted grandpa to ask, "What are you doing?"

"Well, I finished the last of the coffee, so I was rinsing out the coffee pot."

I got a look from him like I'd lost my mind.

So in an effort to stay out of the way and not interfere with his routine, I decided to just go to the living room and read a book. Shortly thereafter, he came in to see why the Christmas tree was on, (my computer was plugged into the same power strip as the tree, and I needed to turn it on) and apparently I had escaped notice because he got all the way across the room to turn the tree off when he heard me cough, and said, "Oh, hi! I didn't see you there... I was wondering who left the tree on."

A short while later he headed off to church, which prompted him to inform me, "Uhh, I'm going over to the St. Ben's and the parish center. Umm... If anybody calls for me, just tell them I'm not here. But don't tell them where I'm at unless it's really important or an emergency."

You'd think with a prompt like that that the phone was ringing off the hook, and that people were stopping by at all hours to track my grandpa's movements... Like he was a celebrity being stalked by the paparazzi or a terrorist under government surveillance... And not an 85 year old man with a routine that you can track with a stop watch.

And in case you're wondering, while he was gone, his phone didn't ring, and nobody came by but the mailman.

So my day has a pretty easy pace to it. It's a funny little vacation from my own reality.

And now for the Christmas quotes!

======================================================

QOTD (Some of these are going to require a little background.)

"Shut your pudding pop hole!" ~ Cole

Background: My father is notorious for blowing his nose in spectacularly loud fashion... and he does this immediately following, if not during, EVERY SINGLE meal. Prior to this quote, my father had just blown his nose in the other room.
"WOW! I didn't even realize we'd had a meal! That's amazing!" ~Cole

Background: My (step-) sister's step-mother bought everyone gag gifts as stocking stuffers... this included silly string for everyone. And my sister proceeded to shoot my nephew with it at close range... hitting him in the eye.
"OWWWWWW Mommy!!! Why'd you shoot me in the eye? OWWWW IT BURNS!! Why'd you shoot me mommy?" ~Tyler

Background: My dad has a bit of a belly, and my nephew was puffing his tummy out.
Becky: "Wow look at that belly!"
Tyler: "Yeah, it's really big like pa-pa's!"

Background: For Christmas, Tyler got a 4 foot tall figure of Woody from the movie Toy Story.
"WOW! Tyler, that's the biggest woody I've ever seen!!!" ~Jean Ann

Background: My little sister is all excited about going to Mercy Academy for high school, so for Christmas she got a sweatshirt that said "Mercy" on the front.
(In a tone that resembles a shocked grandmother,) "OH! MERCY!" ~Cole

Yeah, I'm probably the only one who thought all of these were funny, I guess you had to be there... I assure you, they were hilarious.

Well, it's been a day...

(***This is not a jovial post. Feel free to skip it if you don't want to read me being a "Debbie Downer"***)

Going into my holiday getaway, I knew this day had to come... And it was a rough day for the ol' lizzle.

This morning, I left my dad's house, (which afforded ample quotes during my brief time there, which will be posted later,) but that meant I was going to come "home" to see my mom. Now this is kind of a touchy thing. Since my grandmother's death in September, my mom now kinda cares for my grandfather these days, so instead of coming home to my house, I'm hanging out at my grandpa's house. That's fine by me, it's a lovely home, and it's where my family is... and that's what matters. But at the same time, it's kind of weird and tough to be here knowing grandma isn't here. It's obviously our first Christmas without her, and it's still kind of new for me because I was able to put some kind of emotional distance in there when I was several hundred miles away in Chicago. That buffer was quickly shattered.

Let's also factor in the fact that I paid holiday visits to my uncle and my other grandmother, who are both terminally ill. Knowing with little room for doubt that this will be their last Christmas with us was also really rough... And as someone who is really never at a loss for words, I spent a large part of my day struggling to find words. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to say it. In the interest of avoiding awkward dialogue, I tried to defer to others, and just answer any questions in simple, minimal ways... I don't like to pretend my life is all big and important when I'm standing at the bedside of someone who is staring death in the face... You know it seems kind of cruel to talk about what you are planning to do a couple of years down the road when you're addressing someone who probably only has a few months at best.

So then I had Christmas with my mom. She spoiled me as she has a tendency to do. And after the "official Christmas" was over, she took me aside and issued intensely personal and sentimental gifts. (And when you've had your physical and emotional barrier crushed in a heartbeat, it's really tough to maintain composure when sentimental gifts are presented.) And when we went to exchange a music box that wouldn't play, I was shown a copy of the gift that my mom gave my grandpa, (A little framed print entitled Merry Christmas from Heaven) ... at which point I nearly lost it a store at the mall.

So I had a bottle of wine with dinner.

And then we went to the $2 movie theater... (because they can do that in my hometown) and I saw "Jarhead." (Strange movie.)

And so that's been my day. A few tears. Some laughter (though not enough by my normal standards). And here I sit, stealing wireless from my grandpa's neighbors, and dragging all of you down into the muck to wallow with me. Sorry guys... just had to get it out of my system.

The holiday haul...

I've still got a couple of Christmasses to go to, but so far here's what I've raked in for the holidays:

• Cash
• Chocolate
• A "Sex and the City" book
• A wine caddy
• A bottle of Grey Goose

Does my family know me well, or what!?!?!

Hope you all are having a grand holiday!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go gorge myself on wine, turkey, and dressing while I watch the Bears beat the holiday crap out of the Packers!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a damn good night!

Merry Christmas bitches!

It's officially Christmas here in the eastern time zone, so here are some Christmassy links for you to enjoy with the family after the presents are all opened (and it's still too early for egg nog... or a jack & coke... whatever.)

If you're already familiar with the badgers, then the santa badgers will be much more amusing.

And if you're not a "Christmas" kind of person, here's a non-denominational winter greeting for you!

And with that, I'll bid you a Merry Christmas, and happy other holidays... I'll be in and around between now and new year's eve when I'll be back in full force.

Hope y'all have a good one! And I hope Marcia is out enjoying her paris honeymoon instead of checking in here!

A conversation... (The unabridged version)

On Monday, I talked to my mom on the phone...

Mom: "Are you packed?"
Liz: "No. Why would I be packed? I don't leave until Friday."
Mom: "I don't know... Just thought you might be getting a jump on things."

Tuesday:

Mom: "How did your interview thing go? Are you packed?"
Liz: "Mom, the interview thing went fine, and no, I'm not packed."

Wednesday:

Mom: "Hey kiddo, are you packed?"
Liz: "Mom, we've been through this. No, I'm not packed. You know I don't ever pack until the night before I'm set to leave."
Mom: "I know... but why is that?"
Liz: "It's all a part of a special system... I pack and clean at the last possible minute so that I don't have time to mess everything up before I leave."
Mom: "Oh... and you couldn't just do all of that an extra day in advance?"
Liz: "No mom, I told you... It's a system. And it works... Besides, when have you ever known me to do something before the last possible minute?"
Mom: "I guess you make a good point. And if it works then it works."
Liz: "The last minute system has almost always worked for me."
Mom: "Almost?"
Liz: "Yeah, well, there have been a couple of minor exceptions, but in those cases, a phone call and a forged doctor's note has worked well enough to buy me a little time."
Mom: "I see."
Liz: "My momma didn't raise no fool."

Thursday (Day):

Mom: "Hey! What are you going to do with Murphy?"
Liz: "He's going to stay with Anthony... Mom, stop worrying, it's all worked out."
Mom: "I'm a mom, I worry. That's what I do."
Liz: "Well, I'm delivering Murphy tonight."
Mom: "Sober?"
Liz: "YES."
Mom: "Will you stay that way?"
Liz: "YES. I have to get up at 4:30 to catch my flight, so I'll be going to bed sober and early, or I'll be staying up all night."
Mom: "Just checking."

Thursday (Night):

Mom: "Packed yet?"
Liz: "No."
Mom: "Well go upstairs and pack! I want you to have stuff for your trip."
Liz: "Mom it'll be fine... stuff or no stuff, I'll still get there."
Mom: "Ok. Love you."

QOTD

"That's what I do! I run around spreading wetness throughout the land!" ~ Anthony

To the tune of the Oscar Mayer hotdog song:
"My vagina has a first name... It's S-U-S-A-N."
"My vagina has a second name... It's H-A-I-R-Y."
"'Cuz my vagina has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A!"
~Anthony

Liz: "Umm, Anthony?"
Anthony: "What? I'm churning butter!"

Ok, so I lied...

So there is one thing I want for Christmas...



And that thing is...




a little naughty time with James Franco.

YUM.

All I want for Christmas...

Since I got my two front teeth many Christmasses ago, I was kind of at a loss when trying to figure out what it is I needed. This year I didn't really make a list of things I wanted from "Santa" ... and by "Santa" I mean other people.

I told my dad I wanted a coffee maker, and a toaster... because I am now a practical old person who doesn't need frivolous things like a gigapet, or a polly pocket, or other such nonsense.

My mom knows me well enough that I trust her to shop for me without a list.

But in all honesty, there aren't many things that other people can get me that I wouldn't be able to procure for myself... I mean yeah, sure, I'd like a new car as much as the next person. And I wouldn't turn down a large check, or huge diamond ring, but I'm a bit more practical these days.

So I got to thinking about the *things that make me genuinely happy. (* Please note that these are THINGS, defined as tangible goods.)

And here's what I came up with:

• Sweatpants.
• My bed.
• Hot new shoes.
• A brand-spankin' new scrubby sponge. (I'm weird. don't ask.)
• Vodka. (Top-shelf - means I'll be happy the next day too!)
  
• Crab Rangoon.
• Chicken fried rice.
• A bubble bath.
• A good book.

Yeah, see, I'm easy to please.

Seeing that sweatpants were on the top of my list, I got to thinking about my days working in the athletic department in college. The funny thing about the athletic department is the equipment room, (where I spent the bulk of my time.) When it came time to distribute things like letter jackets, wind breakers, and watches, a lot of people could really have cared less.

I was always shocked by that... I mean this is a division 1 athletic department, and these are awards that show your accomplishments.

But no, people didn't really get excited about that... they were more excited about other things.

Things like SWEATPANTS.

Yep, that's right, the athletes would rather have a pair of sweatpants instead of a letter jacket. It seems so illogical... until you try on a pair of those glorious sweatpants. Once you slide into a pair of those bad boys, it's all down hill from there. I still have several pair that I sport with great frequency while lounging in my apartment. And they make me happy.

So what do I want for Christmas?

I want to be able to sleep in, in my glorious bed, and then spend a day lounging around my apartment, in sweatpants, dining on chicken fried rice and crab rangoon, possibly reading a good book, or taking a bubble bath, and ending the day wearing hot new shoes and drinking large quantities of top-shelf vodka... (Guess what I'm doing on New Year's Eve if I'm not bartending!)

It's official...

Markus has officially scared the bejesus out of me... Or he has at least facillitated me in scaring the bejesus out of my self.

Last night I had a dream that I was dumb enough to go into open water, and of course, I was attacked by sharks... and I woke up too soon to know whether or not I survived. I'm pretty sure I didn't though, because I have really shitty luck, and there were an ass-load of sharks, and I was already bleeding pretty profusely from my wounds by the time I woke up.

Basically, I was fish food, and subconsciously I knew it, so I didn't actually have to see it... er dream it.

When a fish smiles at you like this, the only thing you need to worry about is what color flowers you want at your memorial service.

Am I just an asshole?

Ok, so am I just an asshole, or do you guys think this way too?

When you're walking down the street, or drinving along in a car, and you pass someone who is really gross looking, do you all ever wonder to yourselves, "I wonder if that person looks that gross all the time, or if it's just a really off day for them..."

I know I do this all the time. (Especially around old people.) I don't even bother questioning it with people who appear on Judge Judy, Jerry Springer, or anyone sporting a mullet, because I just know they have already put in all the effort they could muster for the day... They tried, but they are just JACKED!

I don't know what to say to that...

Ok, so we've established that I have a dialogue going with you, my lovely readers. Funny thing is, that a lot of us read several of the same pages on a daily basis. That leads to dialogue on other pages, in other people's comment boxes.

The dialogue I find myself shuddering at in disbelief today is from our dear friend Jay (aka McFatty), of BlogPortland fame. On Markus' Swim At Your Own Risk post about a giant squid encased in ice, Jay taught me about "Dead cat punch."

He wrote: "Dead cat punch refers to a large container (usually a brand new, clean garbage can) full of jungle juice. Then, a dead cat (or whatever animal) that is frozen within a block of ice is dropped into the jungle juice. It is the partygoers mission to finish off the jungle juice before the ice melts, exposing the dead cat and tainting the precious alcohol. Maybe it's a Texas thing."

First off, I must respond to that by saying, "BLECH!!!!! I think I just threw up in my mouth a little... er wait, no, a lot actually."

Ok, I'm all for a good drinking game or alcoholic challenge, but this is really just beyond disgusting. I'm thinking this must be a Texas thing... and if it's not just a Texas thing, then I'm hoping that it's limited to the greater-Texas-area. All I know is that I've never encountered it before, and for that, I am grateful.

This also got me to thinking... Ok, so you have this deceased animal encased in ice... That's bad enough, but let's introduce a little logic into the equation. Ok.

ICE = water + cold

That means at one point, the cat or other deceased animal was just stewing in some chilly water at one point, right? So while the ice was still just water, weren't all the disgusting little dead creature features, like germs, bugs, diseases, grubbies, etc, just free to frolick about anywhere in the water?

So correct me if I'm wrong, but it doesn't really matter if the jungle juice ever actually makes it to the deceased animal, because the water that has long since melted into your drink had kitty-contagions in it all along.

This makes me glad that I haven't made out with anybody from Texas. (At least I don't think any of them were from Texas.)

So there that is.

======================================================

The rest of your Wednesday report is that I am writing from the coffee shop, because that's just what I do on Wednesdays, and that I was kind of disappointed by my white mocha coffee today... It's a one-time thing though, so I'm not too concerned.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go purchase some wrapping paper.

Be good my lovelies!

A little more clarity...

Ok, to clarify, the source of all the problems was a zit that had not yet become visible. (I was applying stuff as a preventative measure,) and so far, it has not surfaced. I humbly admit that I have great skin, and that blemishes are a rarity, thus I am not one to pick at/play with blemishes, but rather to treat, conceal, and deny they ever existed.

Except in this case, where I have been forced to admit it happened, because of the events that followed.

Secondly, I don't know who the fellow who googled Tits McGee was, or where he came up with his conclusion, but when I googled it just to check (because SarahReznor made a good point,) it was not there... nor was it on the second, third, fourth, or fifth page of results.

And with that, I bid you a good evening.

OK, bitches...

You hot sluts have waited long enough for a post, so here it is... quite late on Tuesday, so I'm sure that most of you won't read it until Wednesday... though there will be a fresh one for your hump day as well!

So let's catch up, shall we?

Oh, so my big nasty swollen eye was probably not as bad as you imagined. Although there were moments when I felt like him, I never actually looked like Quasimodo.


Yeah, I probably exaggerated a little bot back on Sunday... Because to be honest it didn't even keep me in on Sunday night. When Caroline called to lure me out of my apartment with the promise of NFL football, and plenty of booze, I took her up on it. So we went out, we parited, and I found out that a SUPER-skeezy man who has a crack-whore/stripper girlfriend is apparently totally in love with me. (See, I'm tellin' ya, I attract all the winners!) It's always an interesting night out with Caroline.

Nights out with Caroline are made even more entertaining by the fact that she is a total lightweight drinker, and that even when she isn't drinking, she's very quotable.

So after a night of binge drinking with Caroline, and a day of recovery at her and Dave's apartment, I came home, slept, and then got ready for that interview thing at the Drake... (Strangest bartending interview ever, by the way)

Then, since I was already downtown, I decided to knock out my Christmas shopping. (Don't get your hopes up... I love you all, but I'm only buying for the family this year.)

I should also note that before I headed downtown, my new shoes showed up at my door.

They are here. They are FABULOUS! (And pictures will be posted soon.)

So I spent my shopping day blissfully walking around in exquisite new shoes! (It's a chick thing.)

Anthony and I dined downtown, and here I am, wrapping up my day with the hottest sluts on the face of this earth... (And you're still going to be the hottest sluts, even after Tom Cruise becons Xenu to bring all his minions down to party.)

======================================================

QOTD

"All I know is, if I were a superhero, I'd be called "The Impractical Shoe!" ~ Caroline

"Hey! Do you want to lick my stomach?" ~ Caroline (I honestly don't know who she was talking to, but I heard it, so it was noted.)

"OOOOH YEAH! You can spend the night! Do you want to come over and see my pussies?" ~Caroline (Fortunately for me, she has two cats... if I didn't already know that fact going in, I'm pretty sure I'd have turned her down on the offer.)

Sorry.

I didn't get to post yesterday... I was hungover all morning, and in the evening my internet was crap.

I have to go see about a New Year's bartending gig down at the Drake today, but I promise you a real bona fide post later!!

Stay hot, you crazy sluts!

Yep, I'm still an idiot...

Just when things were starting to go well, and I was starting to think I wasn't really as dumb as I previously thought, I go and prove myself wrong.

I'm still dumb.

I had one of those giant zits-that-hurt-before-they-are-even-visible that was brewing... and while I was over at Anthony's the other day he said, "Here, put some Clearasil on it!" And without thinking, I did.

I forgot to check what was in it, because I am allergic to benzoyl peroxide... it gives me hives and makes my throat swell shut. (My last doctor told me he'd never seen such a violent reaction to benzoyl peroxide, and that he was amazed at the severity.)

Before you ask, YES, Clearasil does have benzoyl peroxide in it.

So now I have one eye that is significantly swollen and gross looking... fortunately my throat hasn't decided to swell shut this time. Another fortuitous thing is that I still have some medicine from the last time this happened.

So now I have a swollen eye and white goop smeared all over it. (Insert obligatory crass oral sex/facial jokes here.)

I should be back to normal in a few days... in the meantime, I'm not leaving my apartment, because I don't want to give small children nightmares.

Yeah, I have a gay husband... but you... You REALLY have a gay husband.

So a couple of things...

I have a friend who apparently had gastric bypass surgery. She has lost 75 lbs in the last few months, and she looks incredible!

So incredible, in fact, that she is engaged to a gay man.

Yeah. You read that right.

She has decided to go ahead and marry a gay man. And here comes the kicker.

She's doing it so that he can get a green card and stay in the country.

I'm not kidding.

(I swear my life, and the characters in it should totally be a sit-com.)

Yeah, he's a gay Irishman, and they are getting hitched so that he can stay in the country. I told her that no matter what happens, I want an invitation to this wedding! It's going to be fabulous!

I swear, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

The autobiography that I will one day write will be absolutely unbelievable.

=====================================================

Speaking of marriages, I presently have an on-going flirtation with a married man.

No, I'm not going to do anything to compromise a marriage, and no, I don't take this seriously at all, but here's the skinny.

Basically, I was bartending at a company Christmas party, and being nothing but my fabulous self, this married guy starts chatting me up. Literally like 4 feet away from his wife.

(Now I will say this, I am WAY hotter than his wife, and he is an attractive guy, but none of that matters!)

So by the end of the evening, this guy gives me his phone number and asks for mine, and says we should go out sometime.

So last night I got 2 text messages from the guy.

I'm standing in the bar, and I jumped when the phone vibrated in my pocket. The following conversation ensued:

Anthony: "WOOOOO! Booty call!"
Liz: "No, it's not the booty call... wait... who is this? ...OH MY GOD! It's the married guy!"
Anthony: "MARRIED GUY BOOTY CALL!"
Liz: "No no no no no no..."
Bridget: "Married guy booty call? Liz don't mess with the married guys, they never leave their wives."
Liz: "Oh, I'm not messing around with him... he just started texting me! And I sure as hell don't want him leaving his wife, because A.) I won't be doing anything that should make him want to leave his wife, and B.) Well... there really isn't a B.)"
Bridget: "So why did you even give him your number?"
Liz: "Because it's a harmless flirtation, and if he wants to go out, and buy me drinks, I'm gonna let him... That's liquor I don't have to pay for!"
Bridget & Anthony: "Oh."


So I got two more calls from the guy tonight... I find this strangely amusing.

Why do I only manage to attract homosexuals, rejects, and unavailable men?

======================================================

QOTD

Liz: "What's that guy's name again?"
Anthony: "Ummm, I forgot."
Liz: "It began with a K."
Anthony: "Ummmm.... Kazoo?"

Doomed to be left...

It's probably a good thing that I'm terminally single, because the fact is that I am cursed! I am DOOMED to be left.

The latest in the list of abandonings goes to Meljoy, AKA Lonnie. She is leaving me. She is moving to Iowa to go back to school. I will be beside myself with grief. I now have one less drinking buddy and everyday confidante.

It is likely that there is another person leaving me on the horizon... Without naming names, I'll just say that I know one of my other drinking buddies is currently interviewing for jobs in OMAHA!

OMAHA... as in, OMAHA, NEBRASKA!

Seriously, you bitches need help! We're talking like MAJOR THERAPY!!! You're leaving one of the most vibrant, interesting cities in the world to go to IOWA and NEBRASKA!

What am I gonna do without my asshole pals!?!?!?!

Christmas is a time for family...

Yes, it's that time of year again folks, Christmas time... Time for drunken work parties, over-spending, over-eating, and enjoying the company of friends and family.

In my family this translates into drinking LARGE amounts of alcohol, and the dramatic re-telling of the infamous family stories... You know the ones I'm referring to, the ones that have become legendary over the years. The ones that never cease to entertain. The ones that you have little doubt will end up associated with the Greek myths because the stories are that incredible.

The funny thing about these stories is that they are all referred to by their most climactic moment... this pretty much gives away any sense of suspense during the layour of the plot, because when someone said, "OH! Tell the story where EVENT X happened!" Event X is always something very straightforward like, "The time Uncle Jim stabbed Grandpa!" (Yes, that is one of the infamous, TRUE stories in my family... Uncle Jim really did stab Grandpa... though it was hardly as dramatic as you might think.)

The headlines from the other infamous, TRUE stories in my family include:

• The time Aunt Kathy bitch-slapped Tiffany at the family reunion.
• The poop IN Pam's Easter shoes story
• The time Bill threw an ice ball, and gave Uncle Ron a black eye.
• The story of how my parents met in a bar.
• The story of my parents' wedding night.
• The tale of my brother's nickname.
• The story of how I was almost named ROBERTA! (ICK!)
• The time Aunt Toni nearly gassed us all in the car on Christmas eve.
• The "mom's first meatloaf" story
• The swedish meatball story.
• The "Corel actually CAN break" story.
• The tales from our childhood in the basement.
  

As you can see, with most of these stories, it's pretty evident just from the title what you're building up to. And in all honesty, that's probably a good thing... Because nine times out of ten, the listeners are all drunk, the teller is likely three sheets to the wind too, everyone ends up laughing to the point of tears and stomach cramps, and if you hadn't heard the story before, you're likely to lose more than a few of the significant details in the gales of laughter.

It happens.

I mean don't get me wrong, I LOVE listening to these stories. I consider myself a pretty funny/witty individual most of the time... But I am only like that because I was a product of my childhood environment. My family is a large, diverse, strange, hilarious conglomeration of some of the strangest individuals you can possibly imagine... We seriously range everything from a couple of "Type A" Japanese members, to a blind albino lesbian. Seriously we run the whole gamut, and we have EVERYTHING in between the two extremes.

It's kind of funny to think that this is where I come from, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

===================================================

QOTD

"The librarian pirate said, 'ARRRRRRRRG! READ A BOOK!'" ~Anthony.

Bridget: "We need to hang out more!"
Liz: "Yeah we do!"
Bridget: "We need to go to the straight bars!"
Liz: "Yeah, that's where there are straight men!"
Bridget: "Yep. I scare off straight men."
Liz: "Me too... Let's go out soon and see if we can set the record for scaring them off!"

QOTD

Phil: "Holy shit! You've got like an army of cookies there!"
Liz: "Yeah, I've been baking... You want one?"
Phil: "One? I was going to take out a whole brigade once you weren't looking!"
Liz: "Oh... Well help yourself, but there's fudge too!"
Phil: "Wait, there's fudge? There's an army of cookies AND fudge?"
Liz: "Two kinds of fudge."
Phil: "Remind me again why you're single?"
Liz: "Hell if I know."
Phil: "There's gotta be a reason... I bet you're a vampire!"

Molly: "My friend Erik said that freedom tastes like cheez-its."
Emily: "I wonder what FEAR tastes like..."
Molly: "Oh, that's easy! Fear tastes like bacon!"
Liz: "Funny, I always thought fear tasted like coconut."
Molly: "Bacon, Coconuts... Tomato, To-mah-to."

Sweet treat FRENZY.

For some strange reason, I have gone on a veritable baking frenzy this evening.

I figured after treating myself to new shoes, karmically speaking, I had better treat everyone else to a little Christmas lovin'. And since I am tragically, terminally single, I decided to dole out my lovin' in the form of confectionary goodness.

I made a big batch of mint-chocolate fudge, raspberry-chocolate fudge, and my famous "Marry me!" chocolate chip cookies. (I'm not kidding, I got a marriage proposal out of the cookies... they are THAT good.)

Yeah, it's like 2 AM, but I'm still busy in the kitchen.

After de-funkify-ing my sink, and doing all the dishes that had to wait until the sink wasn't gross, I set out on my quest for sugary greatness!

I'll head up to the gym (where I worked in my collegiate days) to pass out sugar highs to all of the stressed out student athletes who are finishing up their finals, and the staff who has continued to love, support, and tolerate me since my departure.

I don't labor under the delusion that people love me for my personality... they love me because I put Mrs. Fields, and Fannie May bitches to shame!

... I guess I'm lucky that since I am poor and can't afford much in the way of gifts this year, that people always love the gift of sweet treats!!!

A desperate woman, a desperate act!

I am pretty sure that there is something wrong with me!

Here's how I know.

I went into the office today. And I trained with the girl who's position I will be taking. All of that went well enough, and I'm not worried about the job at all... but I am worried about something else!

The wardrobe.

As I sat there, I thought about my fine selection of beautiful clothes... and I got worried.

I realized that I don't have anywhere NEAR the wardrobe that this job will require. Yeah, sure, I have plenty of clothes that would be fine if I were working in a tanning salon, or some other job that didn't require much in the way of wardrobe effort. And yeah, I'm fine as far as having hot outfits to wear out on the town, but REAL dress clothes are another issue.

It's winter in Chicago, and I don't think my ample supply of cute skirts are going to fair well in these chillier times. Of course I can get by wearing mostly sweaters and dress pants, but I'm going to have to work on improving the selection... That is a noted fact.

In addition to the clothing, I nearly had a heart attack when I realized I only have 3 pairs of shoes that are really apropriate for an office environment.

3 PAIRS!!! NO FREAKING WAY!!!

One is the pair of croc mules that we all know I love. But those need new heel caps! Another is a pair of cognac-colored Enzo mules. They are too big, but I love them anyway. And the third is a pair of black Enzo heels that just SCREAMS "I WORK IN AN OFFICE DOWNTOWN, BITCHES!"

But as any woman can attest, 3 pairs is simply not enough.

So what did I do? I went shoe shopping.

I ordered three more pairs of shoes... two for the office, and one for my own amusement. (Because they were a hot pair of Charles David heels, and they were on sale for something next to nothing!)

They will be here in a few days!

The act of desperation came into play when I actually had to order the shoes.

We all know that since I'm poor, I don't pay for my internet service. (GOD BLESS WIRELESS!!) So, when I went to place my order, the wireless wigged out, so instead of taking it as a sign from god that I shouldn't be ordering shoes, I intstead, packed up my computer, and ran downstairs, and OUTSIDE because I knew the wireless signal would be good there, and I placed my order.

And as I sat outside, (shivering because I was too concerned with my shoes to think about grabbing a coat,) awaiting my order confirmation, I thought to myself... "Look at me, look at what I've been reduced to! This is truly an act of desperation... like throwing a baby from the window of a burning apartment!"

It was an emotional connundrum... I was elated at having more FABULOUS shoes in the line-up, but I was saddened by the state of affairs that constituted my ordering status.

What am I going to do with myself!?!?

The saga continues...

So last night I told you all about how my sink was full of revolting green gunge... So today I had to sit around and wait for the plumbers to come and fix it. And they came. They snaked my drain. They left.

Everything was in working order, so I went to the grocery store... And then I returned...

TO MORE REVOLTING CRAP IN MY KITCHEN SINK!

And it smells. And since my kitchen isn't totally enclosed, I have since had to saran wrap my sink and spray large quantities of Glade room spray to make my apartment tolerable.

The building manager says that it's because the people upstairs are re-modeling, and that it's a common problem amongst people who live on my floor when people upstairs do that nonsense.

I'll say this, there is no better advertisement for buying a Brita than what's going on in my sink right now!

BITCHES!

=======================================================

I know some of you are worried that now that I am gainfully employed that I will stop posting every day... FEAR NOT MY CHILDREN! I love you all far too much to abandon you in the good times... especially since you all stuck with me through all the SHITTY times.

I might not be posting three and four times a day like I did at the salon, (because I think I'll have a bit more to do on a daily basis) but you can rest assured that I will still post every chance I get... even if it's on my lunch hour or when I get home every night!

And hey, now I have a commute that takes me down to Michigan Ave every day! So now I get to deal with a whole new mess of people, including my fellow crazy Chicagoans, and of course, the unavoidable tourists from Kansas, or where ever. So now we have all new daily fodder for posts!!!

======================================================

Krystian, the Polska love of my life, who left me in August to go teach in Poland and Spain for a few months, is back!!!!!

I forgot just how much I missed him until I talked to him today!!!

CINDERBLOCKS FOREVER!!!!!

Well that was unexpected...

Just as I was in the throes of celebrating my new job, and my new salary, and the fact that I still rock at life, I discovered something was amiss.

And it was amiss all up in my kitchen sink!!!

The city has been doing assorted work on the sewage lines in the area lately, and for a couple of days they turned our water off so that they could work, etc... So I'm pretty sure that this is related.

But I went into my kitchen to refill my glass of red wine, when I noted a rather icky smell. Something mildewy and generally disgusting.

I looked in the fridge. Nothing.

I looked in the freezer. Nada.

I looked in the trash. Nil.

And then I looked in the sink! BINGO! WE HAVE A WINNER!

There was something wrong with my sink... Namely it had been overrun by a particular breed of revolting green gunge.

Somehow a plenitude of filthiness had managed to back up into my kitchen sink.

And when I tried to run water to get it to leave, it decided it wanted to stay, so I'm assuming the pipes are also filled with the same revolting gritty gunge.

I already left a note for the building manager to stop by and fix it tomorrow.

I doubt that I'm the only one with this problem.

=====================================================

QOTD:

Liz: "You know how I told you that my job at the tanning salon made me want to kill myself?"
Kirsten: "Yeah... I remember."
Liz: "Well, there's been a bit of a development."
Kirsten: "Wait... let me guess!! You actually did kill yourself!"
Liz: "Well, that would make this conversation more than a little impressive, but alas, no. I didn't kill myself."
Kirsten: "Damn! I thought I had it there for a second!"

Kirsten: "I'm trying to redeem myself, so I'm doing a good deed. So on Saturday I'm working at the Special Olympics."
Liz: "Oh, that'll be nice!"
Kirsten: "Yeah, I told my dad, and he asked if I was going to be a timer or a hugger... I told him I'm going to be a timer, because as much as I need redemption, I'm not spending all day hugging retards and quadriplegics."
Scott: [Who is now doing his best "Special Olympics participant" impression (See: "Special Olympics participant," Read: RETARD.)] "Kirsten HUG ME!!!"
Kirsten: "OH MY GOD, ARE YOU ACTUALLY DROOLING ON YOURSELF?"
Scott: "Yes, but only so you'll hug me because I'm special!"
Kirsten: Like I said, as much as I might need redemption, I'm not spending my day hugging quadriplegics and retards."

A job that won't make me want to wield an Uzi? NO WAY!!!!

As a young college grad, I've been waiting for this day to roll around since mid-May.

The day that I can finally say that I have a real job. I have a job that doesn't involve waiting tables, working retail, exotic dancing, or cleaning tanning beds. Gone are the days of "Lotion Training" and suicidally longing for an end to my salon-induced misery.

I have a job that actually looks respectable on a resume'. I have a salary that includes FRICKIN' HEALTH INSURANCE!

I don't have to worry about spontaneously developing toxoplasmosis, or shingles, or a sudden case of wandering spleen. BECAUSE I HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE!!!! (I have been very careful about what I have been doing since my parents' health insurance no longer covered me once I graduated... I've been very careful to avoid things like getting hit by a bus, or joining the polar bear club.)

I've also been very careful to avoid things like shopping, dining out, or generally spending money on non-essential items... basically if it doesn't go into my belly for the lowest possible cost, or keep the roof over my head, then it doesn't happen.

It'll be nice to actually venture out beyond those constraints for a change!

Of the company that hired me, I will say this; they are a small but well-respected retail real estate firm located downtown. The people there all seem friendly, and likable, and they all seemed to dig me for one reason or another. One guy liked me for my art minor, one guy liked me because he used to be a lifeguard too, one girl liked me because she was a swimmer and soccer player back in the day too... So I've got all that going for me.

I go in Thursday for a few hours just to get the rundown of what I need to do on a daily basis, and then I'll get to go home for the holidays, and actually start work on the 3rd of January!

Once again, I thank you hot bitches for all of your support in my brief low-moment.

Y'all are hot!

(There is a joke back there if you actually took the time to click the diseases!)

"What's this game called again?" ..."I WIN!"

YEP. I rock at life, we know that much.

Today I got confirmation of that fact. I had an interview this morning from 11:00 AM until shortly after noon. (The fact that I literally had a private sit-down talk with each member of the office on an individual basis seemed to bolster my confidence.) Now granted, there are only 5 people in the whole office, but whatever. The last person I talked to was the founder of the company and the president/CEO/whatever. As we wrapped up our conversation he said something to the effect of, "Well, you had some references listed on the copy of the resume' that we had, is it ok if we called a couple of them?"

Of course I told him "Sure, call whoever you want." (I know I have good references.) So apparently I left the interview at noon, and made my way home... Meanwhile they wasted no time checking me out, because by 1:15 they had called me back ready to make an offer.

And the offer was good.

So I took it.

I am employed again!!!!!

I thank all of you hot sluts and bitches for your wonderful support!!! You are the hottest sluts on the face of the earth, I have no doubt about it!!!

You can't keep a good bitch down!!!

YEAH BITCHES!!!

Just this afternoon I blogged about how my ego took a bit of a blow... But I'll tell you something, I rebounded in a hurry!

After that post I went to see Anthony (who is always a good ego-booster for me) and we chatted a bit. As I sat there talking to Caroline and Anthony I got a phone call. It was a call for an interview!

Immediately (I mean literally within minutes) after getting the boot from those heinous fake-&-bake bitches I went online and submitted an ass-load of resumes on monster.com.

And today, that 20 minute fervor of job hunting paid off! I officially have an interview set up for tomorrow morning.

And I think it's because these bitches know that I am totally the new hotness!

Keep your fingers crossed for me, because if I get a real job, that means I can totally afford to start living again!!! (It'll be nice to be able to go out and play, and shop and not have to worry about paying $7 for a top-shelf cocktail!)

======================================================

I think it's an indication that I am reading WAAAAAAY too many Swim At Your Own Risk posts when I saw a headline about racial tensions in Australia and mentally theorized that it was increased hostility between the race of mankind and the race of sharks!

Because we know it's only a matter of time before they grow legs and start biting us in half on our own turf!!!

Kill a couple minutes...

TheIdleReceptionist lives up to her name once again...

She found this quiz that tells us where we belong!!!

(It's a handy thing to know!)

You Belong in New York City

You're an energetic, ambitious woman. And only NYC is fast enough for you. Maybe you'll set yourself up with a killer career Or simply take in all the city has to offer.

What City Do You Belong In?

So where to you bitches need to be?

Unemployment; day 1

So I'm unemployed again. So naturally, I took the new-found freedom of my day to kind of relish the fact that despite the fact that my bad attitude and I are so apparently unemployable, I have all day to do whatever the hell I want, and I don't have to smile and pretend I'm in a good mood for anybody anymore!

Yes my job search has commenced, yes I'm looking at being in the unemployment line for Christmas, and yes my ego has taken a little bit of a blow, but I'm not going to let that stop me!

WHY?

Because my bad attitude is tempered with a healthy dose of optimism. (The attitude is only as bad as I want it to be...)

And yes, I did say that my ego took a little bit of a blow. It's true, but allow me to explain.

In the 9 years that I have been a contributing, employed, tax-paying member of society, (that means I was employed at the tender age of 15.) I have successfully managed to maintain my jobs with an astounding success rate. I was a lifeguard for 6 years. 6 bloody years! I worked as a retail sales associate for 6 months and I quit that job because my boss was an awful woman who did a lot to make my life hell, and I was still working as a lifeguard at the time, so I had something to fall back on. (Yeah, I had 2 jobs, and was in high school all at the same time!) I continued my lifeguarding well into college, and had another job working in the athletic department (in addition to taking 18 credit hours almost every semester). I also took a job working as an administrative assistant for a while, but I decided to go home for the summer, so I left that job too... When my lifeguarding days were done, I worked as a merchandiser for a flower company, and still had the athletic department job.

So as you can see, I'm a pretty damn hard worker. And I have always prided myself on being pretty damn good at whatever I decide to do.

The ego suffered a blow because after going 8.5 years without a single complaint, let alone a firing, I have been fired from my last 2 jobs... The bartending job I lost because I wanted to go home for my grandmother's FUNERAL, and my tanning job because I apparently have such an awful attitude.

After 9 years in the working world, being fired from two jobs in a row is an ego blow for anyone!

But don't worry about me! I know I'm still rad, and I'm not gonna let those fake-&-bake bitches get me down!!

I'll strike back at them when I use their real names in my tell-all book!

OH, I SO WIN AT LIFE!

Live the dream!!!

Me and my bad attitude need a trophy!!!!

My bad attitude will kick your bad attitude's ass!!

And don't you forget it!

As a sports enthusiast, I must say that I pay attention to things like championship events, MVP awards, and things like the Heisman Trophy being given to 3 USC footballers in the last 4 years.

So, in the championship of bad attitudes, I think mine deserves some kind of recognition! Because after all, my bad attitude is apparently supreme in all things "Attitudinous"

If my attitude were in the olympics, it would surely sweep the gold in all contests.

If my attitude played hockey, it would get the Stanley Cup every year... Or it would at least make it to the finals despite racking up the most penalty minutes in a season for fighting and playing dirty... (My attitude is so much dirtier and meaner than Steve Bertuzzi!)

And if my attitude played football, it would totally tackle the shit out of all the other bad attitudes on the field!

Thus, I think I am entitled to some kind of award for my efforts!

So I am founding a new award!

I'm thinking something like "The Lizzle-Tini Trophy for BAD attitudinal excellence."

I get it the first year because of my apparently monumentally bad attitude, and thus it is named in my honor! I think that the 2006 Lizzle-Tini Trophy will be awarded to Tim McLinden for his continual negativity directed at the most successful of his offspring, Kirsten... though Kirsten get's some kind of special honor for generating and tolerating such a continually bad attitude.

I don't rule out other candidates though, because if they prove themselves worthy of the Lizzle-Tini Trophy, victory can still be theirs!

Beaten to the punch...

In the most supreme of all unbelievable twists of fate I have been beaten to the punch.

Here's the story.

I was actually on my way to work (on what should have been a day off) to do "publicity" for the salon... I was literally standing on the el platform, waiting for a train to go to the salon, and I got a phone call.

It was my boss.

She started off by telling me not to worry about coming in to work tomorrow, I didn't find anything odd about that statement because the managers have been conducting interviews, so I just figured that they had found someone to pick up the weekend shifs that I had been covering since we recently lost one of the other workers.

And then I got a kick in the teeth.

I was informed that I was, in fact, FIRED.

Yep. I was fired from that piece of shit job. (Apparently those interviews they had been conducting were to replace me.)

Why was I fired? Because I had a bad attitude.

ME??? A BAD ATTITUDE??? NO WAY!

I'm not kidding. I was fired from working a VERY-slightly-better than minimum wage job because I had a bad attitude.

That's a fucking riot as far as I'm concerned!

So I asked my boss, "Well, I have never thought myself to be anything but professional while at work, so can I please have some example of my own bad attitude?"

Nothing really seemed to come to mind at the time for the boss... She just said that she had talked to the assistant manager, and that I didn't meet their standards, and they had made the decision and that my attitude and I were no longer needed.

I DON'T MEET YOUR STANDARDS?

Let's see, I have a college degree, I work the shifts that nobody else wants because they suck ass (even worse than all the other ass-sucking shifts... because NO SHIFT is good there.) I sell your products better than 3 out of the other 4 people you employ, I am THE ONLY one who actually cleans that place, I have never had to submit a end of shift report that was short any money (which means I wasn't stealing), and nobody has lodged a complaint against me saying that I was rude or incompetent... AND I DON'T MEET YOUR MOTHER FUCKING STANDARDS?

Yeah, that makes sense!

Oh wait... NOPE... Not so much.

(Yeah, NOW I HAVE A BAD ATTITUDE! ...And if I had a bad attitude while I worked there, it was probably only because they weren't paying me enough to have a good attitude.)

So, MERRY MOTHER FUCKING CHRISTMAS!

Now, if you'll excuse me, my bad attitude and I have some heavy drinking to do!

======================================================

On the up-side, I had a better day than Richard Pryor, who died today.

God, I'm an asshole.

I'm being ignored... I think.

Ok, so I'm pretty much used to people not paying any attention to me when I talk... (Those who ignore me are usually the ones who are far too stupid to understand my special patented blend of humor.) Anyway, so now I think I'm being ignored by someone I kinda consider a friend. (It's hard to explain, so I'll spare you the nasty details, just suffice it to say that we're kind of off-and-on friends with a little friendship-related baggage.)

So anyway, this friend frequently comes to me in times of need for words of wisdom... (The advice usually is in reference to relationship troubles.) Apparently this friend seems to think I know what I'm talking about... I don't have the heart to tell him I don't know shit about relationships, as we can readily see based on my current successful relationship rate. Basically, I don't know much more than anybody else, and I probably, in point of fact, know less... but I know a little bit about a lot of other things, and I take that, pool it all together, and spin something out that would seem like relationship wisdom if you were desperate enough to buy into it... He's always been desperate enough for it, and it's always seemed to serve him well enough that he keeps coming back, so I guess I'm getting something right.

So anyway, this friend and I talked briefly about a week ago. It was casual, and friendly, nothing that could have caused any hostility... I don't think... And ever since then I have messaged him a couple times and been ignored. I don't know why.

Sure it's possible he's just busy, and that he's got other things going on right now... in fact it's likely that he's busy, but too busy to shoot a quick message back saying something like "Hey, I'm busy as fuck-all right now, I'll talk to you next week,"?

Seriously that took like less than 10 seconds to type... I'm not worth that little bit of time? Well you know what I say? FUCK THAT BULLSHIT!

(I say "FUCK THAT BULLSHIT" because I like the word 'fuck' and saying "FUCK THAT BULLSHIT" just rolls off the tongue so easily!)

Any insights today, kids?

Am I the only one???

After a conversation with Anthony I have to ask, am I the only person with "lucky" underwear?

Back me up on this people?

Seriously, some underwear is just "luckier" than other underwear, right? Personally I have 2 pairs of "lucky underwear." One is a green Victoria's Secret number, and the other is a black J.Crew deal.

This isn't weird of me is it?

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QOTD -

Liz: "You have lucky underwear, right?"
Anthony: "Actually no, I find I'm luckier when I don't wear underwear."
Liz: "Nice. Good to know."

Caroline: "Well, I'm pretty damn cool, I only hang out with the highest quality people!"
::Liz and Caroline clink glasses::
Heather: "Oh so that's why you never hang out with us anymore!"

Oh, the F-Bomb... how I love thee!

We all know that I love using the F-bomb... I very regularly use it in my posts, (and I use it notably more in my everyday conversation) This of course prompted my dear, sweet mother to send me an e-mail detailing the proper uses of the word... Much as I love my mother, I disagree, and think there are MANY acceptable uses for this word, and many of us encounter acceptable reasons EVERY DAY!

So here's the e-mail:

Acceptable use of the "F" word:

When is @#$% Acceptable?

There are only eleven times in history where the "F" word has been considered acceptable for use.


They are:


11. "What the @#$% do you mean, we're sinking?"
-- Capt. E.J. Smith, RMS Titanic, 1912

10 . "What the @#$% was that?"
-- Mayor Of Hiroshima , 1945

9. "Where the @#$% did all those Indians come from?"
-- Custer, 1877 !

8. "Why the @#$% can't you understand what I'm saying?"
-- Einstein, 1938

7. "Who the @#$% says it doesn't look like her!"
-- Picasso, 1926

6. "How the @#$% did you work that out?"
-- Pythagoras, 126 BC

5. "You want WHAT on the@#$%ing ceiling?"
-- Michelangelo, 1566

4. "Where the @#$% are we?"
-- Amelia Earhart, 1937

3. "@#$% the house, get in the boat!"
-- Noah, 4314 BC

2. "Aw c'mon. Who the @#$% is going to find out?"
-- Bill Clinton, 1998

1. "How the @%#* was I to know they'd get this mad."
-- Saddam Hussein, 2003

Yeah, so that's what my mom thinks of my foul mouth... totally historically improper and abusive.

What can I say? I like the word! I like it for it's versatility and adaptability. I like the way it adds a certain kind of emphasis that would otherwise be lost on the listener...

Seriously, which one do you guys think more accurately conveys my level of disbelief and shock at the skinny-jeans-revelation?

Option 1: "Gee, I don't know how it happened."

Option 2: "I don't know how the fuck it happened! But I'm in my fucking skinny jeans!!!!"

Personally I'm an option 2 kind of girl... maybe it's just me.

"Just cover it with a book..."

So once again, I've gained writing fodder from the people I encountered on the morning commute.

This time, I'm blaming it on the skinny jeans.

Yes, I wore them two days in a row (because that's what you do when you FINALLY fit into them again!)

So this morning I boarded the train, and sat across the aisle from a guy who was relatively attractive, and appeared to be roughly 21 years of age.

Apparently he found me relatively attractive too, because not long after I boarded he had to move an object to his lap.

Which made me a little curious.

No, I wasn't curious about what was going on with his lap... I know what was going on there.

No, I was curious as to whether or not guys have or haven't evolved the "just cover it with a book" mentality.

I mean really! I haven't actually seen someone use the "just cover it with a book" move since like 8th grade.

Does this mean that I haven't been attractive since 8th grade? CERTAINLY NOT! I think it's feasible to assume that most guys just learn a certain amount of self control in that department. Maybe I'm wrong. I mean I know those things have a mind and a life all their own, but honestly, is there no way to control that whatsoever?

I've never encountered someone who was over the age of 16 and still needed to "cover it with a book."

What ever happened to "just think about baseball?"

I just don't get it! Guys, (and ladies with significant men in your lives,) help me out here! I want to understand!

Is there no control AT ALL in that department? I'm afraid it's been too long since I've had a significant other for me to speak knowledgably on the topic.

UMM, NO... NOW GO AWAY!

No, not you! You can stay!

The title of this post is dedicated to the people who seem to be really ok with bothering me on my day off.

As I previously stated, I wanted to go to "my coffee shop" because it's my day off, and that's what I like to do on my days off! So I put on the skinny jeans and off I went!

And as I sat there, composing one of the previous 2 entries, a skeezy old man came into my coffee shop and helped himself to a seat at my table... Now, I'm not being greedy here, I am more than willing to share my coffee shop with other coffee-loving patrons, and under certain circumstances, I'm even willing to share a table with someone I don't know... But today was not one of those days, and these were not those circumstances.

As I sat there, my laptop taking up the bulk of my favorite little table in the front window (which it should be noted is a SMALL table, that is beset by two chairs, and even that's a little optimistic, because it is a very small table), my gloves, cell phone, and large cup of coffee taking up pretty much all of the remaining space, and my laptop bag and coat resting comfortably in the other chair...

::Enter skeezy old guy::

(It should be noted that this is just a little neighborhood coffee shop, it is populated by a small group of regulars, the anonymous masses tend to crowd into the starbucks a couple blocks away.)

Now the shop isn't particularly full today, and there are several open tables in the middle and back of the place... but for some inexplicable reason the skeezy guy decides to make himself at home AT MY TABLE!

I say inexplicably, because it was abundantly clear that there was no space for him or his coffee at my table. He didn't even ask as he went to move my coat and laptop bag to an empty chair at a nearby empty table. (Yeah, that's right, the next table over was EMPTY, and he still thought it would be ok to move my shit over there so that he could sit at MY table.)

As he went to move my posessions, I glared at him and he questioningly looked back at me and said, "WHAT??"

Of course, knowing that manners are going to be totally out in 2006, (being the YEAR OF THE RUDE, and all) I said, "WHAT? You are asking me 'WHAT?' as you move my things without asking me?"

"Well, I just thought..." he stammered

"No, clearly you didn't think, because a thoughtful person would sit at the empty table and not disturb someone who is obviously busy... and they certainly would THINK enough to ask before moving that person's belongings before assuming that it's ok to make yourself at home."

"Uhhhh...."

I think he got the picture that he was not wanted. He ran off to the back somewhere.

Yeah, I'm a bitch, but I'm totally PMSing right now, so I'm surprisingly ok with it.

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While we're on the topic of people who I don't want in MY coffee shop, let's just note that it's really frickin' cold in Chicago in December. And as I've already noted, MY table is in the front of the shop.

In walks a middle aged woman.

::Howling gale of cold December wind enters as she opens the door::

Speaking largely to herself, "Hmm, did he come in here?"

::Woman looks around briefly and exits, letting in more cold wind::

A couple of moments later, as the chilly air is starting to dissipate, she apparently still can't find "Him..."

::Naturally, woman RE-ENTERS the shop, this time HOLDING THE DOOR OPEN as she looks around for her counterpart::

Lizzle: "Hey, it's cold out! You mind closing the door?"
Lady: "Huh?"
Lizzle: "Ok, slower and in smaller words... IN OR OUT?!?!"
Lady: "Oh... uhh, sorry!"
Lizzle: "Yeah."

Like I said before, I'm totally being bitchy today, but I'm PMSing, so it's allowed... and I got a look from the owner of the shop, who clearly thought I had said the one thing that he had wished to say but couldn't because he didn't want to offend her before she spent money in the shop. I winked at him and continued with my business.

Laundry day!

Today is my day off, and it's also laundry day!

(No laundry day isn't typically a happy day for me, but today it is, and I'll tell you why!)

Today I decided that I wanted to spend part of my day off at the coffee shop that I frequent, and since it's laundry day, I am totally out of respectable clothing... All of my jeans are dirty, my favorite sweatshirts have crap spilled all over the front of them (because as we know, I'm a total klutz like that). And I am totally and completely out of socks. (That's how I know I can't put laundry day off any longer!)

So, knowing all of my respectable pants were gross, and bordering on walking around on their own; I delved into the closet... Into that stash of clothing that every woman has... The clothes that don't fit anymore, but you keep them in the feeble hopes that one day you'll really stick with the diet and exercise and you'll be able to wear those blessed clothes that you spent so much on in skinnier times...

Well, knowing that I have not stuck with any kind of real diet or exercise of late, I was quite pessimistic as I gazed at that stash... but then I looked longingly at the fabulous pair of jeans that I so loved in my skinnier days... The ones that had originally cost an obscene amount of money, but I happened to acquire quite reasonably because I am an expert shopper (It's totally a genetic thing!!!) and it was just a lucky event that they happened to have a pair in what was my size at the time.

Not even knowing why, I slid them off the shelf... perhaps just to get a better look at them as I was intensely gazing at them.

And I grumbled as I slid my legs into them... "::Grumble, grumble:: ...There's no chance in hell... ::Grumble, grumble:: ... I'll try pulling them up, and they won't be anywhere NEAR fitting, and I'll want to kill myself..."

And then a miracle occurred! I put them on, and zipped them with ease!

THEY FIT!!!!

By some stroke of magical, mysterious luck, THEY BLOODY FIT!

Of course, I stood wide-eyed with amazement as I looked down at them... Zipped and buttoned... While on my body!

I probably looked something like those scary wide-eyed pictures you see of Liza Minelli, though I couldn't tell you for sure, because when I walked over to the mirror, I was not looking at my face... I was looking at my ass! MY ASS IN MY SKINNY JEANS!

In my disbelief, as I piroetted before my mirror, I audibly said (despite the fact that I was alone in my apartment,) "THERE IS JUST NO FUCKING WAY!"

Apparently there was a way!

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That's my story... take it or leave it... But you sure as hell better not rain on my parade! (And YES, I am having a parade to celebrate the fact that I wore the skinny jeans again!)

Just for the record...

Ok, so we got into the whole dog-attack thing again last night. And this morning, I had a comment noting that someone (I believe it was brenda, but I lack the energy to go look) didn't know I was afraid of dogs.

FOR THE RECORD: I'm not afraid of dogs. I LOVE dogs! I particularly love big dogs. (As opposed to little rat dogs... even though I have one of those too.)

The reason I note this is because it's kind of important as far as my theory goes. I am convinced that I'm going to die old and alone,by being attacked by a pack of wild dogs. But here's how it goes down: I will be living my miserable, lonely life, and in a bid for a little companionship as the years roll by, I will get a big dog or two... and after a while they will come to believe that they have sufficiently lulled me into believeing that, "My dogs would NEVER maul me to death! They love me, and I love them!" And of course, they will be right... and that's when it will happen! They will spring their trap, and I will be at their mercy!

Of course, my death will go largely unnoticed since I'll be a lonely old spinster, and no one will think anything of it until the smell of my decaying corpse drifts into the hallway of my co-op. Then the neighbors will complain, someone will come by and open the door, and find me dead on my living room floor, and the dogs perfectly content because they will have had a ready supply of fresh meat to nibble on since I have obviously lost the ability to feed them any other way.

Yeah, it's a little gruesome, but I'm pretty sure that's how it'll go down. I'm so doomed!

(It'll either happen like that, or one day I'll decide that I've had enough of this cruel world, and I'll go visit Australia... And lord knows if you've ever been to "Swim At Your Own Risk" you know there is no way I'd ever survive a trip to Australia!)

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Just a quick question:

Has anyone else noticed that those "Word verification" things that people have on their comment sections have gotten really long and complicated?

Seriously, they used to be like 4 letters long and were always pretty simple... but nowadays, you have to type something like "xfjvnsgnlzoxjdvnajngabois" and it's always in some font that makes certain letters REALLY HARD to distinguish!

I understand why they are there, and most of the time I don't mind doing them, but seriously they need to lighten up on those things!!! I didn't know I had to be an NSA code-cracking expert to post a comment about new shoes, or something!