Monday, January 30, 2006
Ok, so... Remember the face transplant lady? And do you remember asking for a picture of her when I first mentioned her? Well here is the first picture that anyone in the media has been able to get.
Go easy on her, because she has survived my worst fears realized, (she had the bottom half of her face ripped off by dogs,) and the new (bottom) half of her face is still paralyzed because she only got it slapped on there a couple months ago.
The scariest part of this is obviously the part involving having half of your face ripped off by crazed dogs, and we all know this is probably my greatest fear, (despite my LOVE of dogs) and this is most certainly the way that I'm going to bite the big one, because karmically-speaking, I probably deserve to go out that way.
And suddenly as you find yourself notting in agreement, you pause and ask aloud, (despite the fact that your computer screen will give you no verbal response) "So what's the second-scariest part about this?"
Well I'll tell you!
That creepy look on the lady's face reminds me more than a little bit of Jackie Stallone, but she also vaguely reminds me of my crazy Aunt Monica. I can't explain it, but there's something about her!
In other tabloid news, Bigfoot has been spotted again, and that bitch is on the move! Usually limiting his appearances to Canada and the Pacific Northwest, our old pal sasquatch must have hired himself a private jet, or got John Travolta to fly him to Malaysia... (Because you know that crazy scientologist bitch and sasquatch are totally pals!) Don't believe me? Here's a video link for ya!
Ok. So now we're done with Enquirer-worthy items, so let's get to the hard news, shall we? (he heh heh... "HARD" news, ...God, I am such a 12 year old boy stuck in the body of a 23 year old girl!) So anyway, let's continue gushing about what a great job Kelly did!
I'm not kidding, I don't think I could be any happier about the new look, I think Kelly did an amazing job! (Thanks again Kelly!) She really captured the overall theme of the happy hour! And that theme is, "No matter how bad things get, they can always be improved with a few cocktails!"
I think that theme is Pulitzer-worthy... but then again, what do I know?
Well, I've certainly bored you and kept you from your lives and families for long enough don't you think? So run along! Go play! But don't you get muddy! And don't pull your sister's hair! ...And be home in time for supper!
The wonderful, fabulous Kelly of "Diary of the Nello" fame has graciously donated her time, talent, and efforts to whip up a fabulous new look for the page!
Depending on when you are checking out this post, you may already see the fruits of her labors! (In which case you can clearly see that she has an amazing talent, and has done a stupendous job!) And if it's not updated just yet, then hold on to your hat when you check back later, because I think she's done a really swell job of classing up the joint!
To sing the praises of the wonderous Kelly, head on over to her page and give her some love! She's in the sidebar, and she is that link I have up there a couple of paragraphs back!
Thanks a billion Kelly!
YOU ROCK! (And from what I can tell, you're a great mommy too!)
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Let's move through this chronologically, shall we?
The office that I work in does a weekly backup of all the information on our server, and I am the lucky individual who is in charge of seeing that the backup goes off without a hitch. It should be noted that for the backup to run properly all of the brokers need to have their computer programs shut down to the desktop, and their computers need to be on. So the backup is all set to run, and as one of the brokers is headed out the front door of the office, I said to him,"STOP! Go back to your desk and shut everything down so that backup can run."
He replied,"Can you go do it? I've got to be somewhere in 15 minutes."
Visibly irritated, I groan and say, "Yeah, whatever... I'll take care of it."
So a few minutes go by, and I go back to his office to shut things down... I close the 17 open e-mail windows, I close the 9 open excel spreadsheets, I close the itunes, I close the instant messages and the buddy list... and then I get to the last window... a media player. A media player that has been running and is currently stopped on a particular screen capture of a woman in a rather "compromised" position. And by "compromised" I mean she is in the middle of giving a blowjob to a spectacularly large gentleman.
As someone who has never needed or spent much, if any time viewing pornographic materials, I am a little put off by this. Honestly, I don't really understand porn, and I certainly don't understand the need to view it in the office. So this encounter was more than a little shocking, and just a bit unsettling for the ol' lizzle! (Unsettling in the most humorous way one can be unsettled.)
So not long after this, it's time for me to head home. So I pack up my belongings, and head for the bus stop. I board the bus as usual, only to be folowed by a crazy woman. (I tell you, I am some kind of magnet for crazies!) This woman proceeds to sit down without paying her fare. The bus driver tells her that she can't simply board the bus and not pay, so she needs to either pay a fare or get off the bus. She shows the bus driver a piece of paper, and the bus driver tells her that there's nothing she can do about that, and that she needs to pay a fare or get off... The crazy woman refuses. So the bus driver starts calling the CTA offices, and nobody seems able to do anything... Long story short, the woman held us all hostage on the bus for 20 minutes until the cops came and removed her.
So then I got home, changed clothes, and went up to campus for a volleyball game and then to dinner with some friends. When they dropped me off at my humble abode, I noticed that the lobby was smoky. I see a woman standing in the laundry room, and one of the washing machines spewing smoke. Another long story short, the machine had gone on the fritz, caught fire, and is now kaput. Thank goodness it didn't go unnoticed, because lord knows I can't afford to go out and replace all my shit!
So that's the long and short of it! I'm headed off to another volleyball game, and to wherever the evening will lead me! Have a great weekend bitches!
Friday, January 27, 2006
What is Crapper day, you ask? Well, I'll tell you! The man who invented and perfected the first flush toilet, Thomas Crapper (yes, that is his REAL name,) died on this day in 1910. So any time you use the can today, think of Ol' Thomas Crapper, and pour some out for your homey!
This Bud's for you Mr. Crapper!
Ok, so yesterday as I sat at work, I got a call from the lovely Caroline. We all know how much I love me some Caro, and we all know what happens when Caro and I get together... There is mirth, merriment, and mass consumption of alcoholic beverages.
The original plan was to just meet up for a happy hour... You know, a couple cocktails, a little bullshitting, and overall an early night.
I would like to take this opportunity to note that the original plan was altered... largely due to the fact that I had a few intoxicating beverages, and my state of consciousness was also a bit altered. And despite the fact that I knew I had to get up at 7AM in order to make it to work on time, I stayed out well into the wee hours of the morning.
Caroline, as usual, provided some choice quotes, and we'll get to them in a minute, but first, more about the evening out.
We started out at Fizz, had some grub, a few rounds, and met up with Dave. Then we proceeded to Bungalow, where we had several more rounds, Dave and Caro informed me that I should eliminate the word "but" from my vocabulary, and I should go ahead and write a book. (Basically they are both gunning for a spot in the Author's acknowledgements section... and if I ever do write the Difinitive Book of Lizzle, they'll likely get their wish!) Dave decided that eleven PM was late enough for him, and of course Caroline and I were still busy bullshitting, so we went to Maeve and laughed at the stupid bitches who were TRYING to dance, but in all honesty they ended up looking like they were doing "The Elaine." Seriously, (Caroline can attest to this,) we were having a pretty serious conversation and at one point I looked over and saw the awful gyrations on the dance floor, and literally ended up getting off my barstool (I deliberately got off to prevent FALLING off) because I was laughing so hard... I was crumpled up in a ball laughing so hard I was crying... It was THAT funny.
So we pretty much closed down Maeve, and I stumbled out of the cab at about 2 AM, took a quick shower, got everything ready for a STRONG pot of morning coffee, set my alarm, and crashed for a few measly hours of sleep.
Needless to say, this morning was more than a little bit difficult to suffer through. And I thought very seriously about calling in... But I didn't. I came in, guzzled coffee, and suffered in silence.
That's really all I've got for you kids at the moment, so without further ado, here are the quotes!
"Well, let's see... Big Momma's House 2 comes out this weekend, so I'm going to be really busy!" ~ Caroline
"It's kind of like sleeping with a baby!" ~ Caroline (talking about doing the nasty with a guy who is bare down there)
"That makes men gay!" ~Caroline (talking about the women doing "The Elaine" at Maeve)
"Well, I just can't handle balls that are more than eight pounds!" ~Caroline
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
As anyone who has known me for any length of time can attest, I consider my bed among my most prized posessions. I don't have an extravagant shoe collection... though I will say that the few pairs that I do have would make Imelda Marcos a little jealous.
As far as my shopping goes, I focus on 2 things, bags, and my bed. Bags because I need a stylish way to keep all of my stuff handy, and my bed is a shopping obsession because despite it's spectacular-ness, (spectacularity?) I am constantly looking for ways to make it even better!
Despite, or maybe as a result of constantly sleeping alone, I constantly find myself investing in new ways to improve my bed. New down comforter? CHECK! King-sized feather pillows? CHECK! Fluffy down featherbed? CHECK! High thread-count sheets? DOUBLE CHECK!
In a recent post, I mentioned that I bought a set of 600 thread-count sheets. Let me say here and now that they have instantly become the object of my infatuation! I LOVE THEM! They are FABULOUS! So fabulous they are becoming my addiction. As soon as I get home from my day at the office, I cook up some dinner, eat in the kitchen, and then head over and crawl between my sheets to read or watch a movie before showering, and crawling right back into those SUPERB sheets! It is truly a blissful sleeping experience... If you have the means, and you care at all about what kind of sheets you sleep on, I highly recommend that you pick some up! I will issue a quick disclaimer though; sheets this great will make anything less seem like sleeping on burlap!
Consider yourself advised.
Picture it: You live in a midwestern metropolis, complete with reliable public transportation. Every morning you pay your fare, board the same bus, and start your work day with a less-than-delightful commute. Sure, there are people who have to commute like an hour and a half each way, in constant gridlock... so yeah, it could be worse, but those people generally are in the clean comforts of their car. A privately owned and operated mode of travel. The rest of us schlep ourselves onto the busses and trains, where we contend with the craziness of the general population.
As I've noted before, I have public transit horror stories that boggle the mind of even the most hardened and jaded transit passengers. I won't get into it, but it's UGLY.
So anyway, knowing my luck with the transit system, I generally encounter the at least one of the crazier folks belonging to this city's inhabitants on a daily basis. This is made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that I'm "Normal and approachable looking." Since I'm so approachable, this generally means that the crazies have no problems with sitting next to me... Little do they know that I very deliberately chose my seat as far from them as possible. (It should be noted that this method of avoidance can only be used for crazies who are already on board when you get on, and it's not 100% effective, because I have actually had pre-boarded crazies move and sit next to me after I sit down... Considering some of the nuts that I've ended up in a year-long lease agreement with, I have to wonder if I'm some kind of "Crazy Magnet")
So the particular brand of crazy that these people collectively dabble in always seems to find itself drawn to the seat next to me... Why is that? And then I've got to wonder if I there is something else that I could possibly do to prevent the crazies from wanting to sit next to me. Is there some way that I could take on an affected crazy tone that makes the other crazies say, "WHOA! That chick is totally fucking nuts! NO WAY AM I SITTING THERE!"?
Any suggestions? I mean I wouldn't mind throwing off the normal folks either, if only so that I can sit on the bus or the train with my purse occupying the seat next to me instead of some lunatic fresh from the macadamia ranch.
So then we go to the kind of crazy that I AM totally capable of. (Mom, go ahead and skip this part, we talked about this already.) I have rapidly become one of those "crazy coffee people." And by that, I don't mean that I'm a coffee snob, or that I am incapable of functioning without coffee. I mean that the recent purchase of a new coffee maker has made me a little nuts about my coffee. I mean really. The new coffee maker has a timer on it so that the coffee begins brewing about 5 minutes before my alarm clock goes off in the morning. (It might be the most brilliant invention EVER... Maybe second to the wheel.) This pre-wake-up brewing process means that I have to get things ready the night before. I've gotta put the coffee, water, and filter in before I go to bed. Of course I take this opportunity to get everything else for my morning coffee consumption. I get my mug and my spoon out, and I set out my thermos so that I can continue drinking my coffee at the office... It's kind of scary! (This scares me, because I am in no way a planner. Never have been. I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. And here I am getting things organized the night before for my morning brew!) So I've become a crazy coffee person, almost over night!
Hmmm... you think there is some way I can turn my coffee fixation into a way to keep the other nuts away from me on the morning commute? Like bugging my eyes out, pretenting to have the coffee-induced shakes, and mumbling incessantly about the importance of using Colombian beans?
It's a thought!
Monday, January 23, 2006
|Your Seduction Style: Au Natural|
You rank up there with your seduction skills, though you might not know it.
That's because you're a natural at seduction. You don't realize your power!
The root of your natural seduction power: your innocence and optimism.
You're the type of person who happily plays around and creates a unique little world.
Little do you know that your personal paradise is so appealing that it sucks people in.
You find joy in everything - so is it any surprise that people find joy in you?
You bring back the inner child in everyone you meet with your sincere and spontaneous ways.
Your childlike (but not childish) behavior also inspires others to care for you.
As a result, those who you befriend and date tend to be incredibly loyal to you.
We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our cubicles and suddenly felt something brewing down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the work poop is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.
When farting, you walk really fast around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.
The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.
A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making
a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.
When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.
The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poop hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.
WALK OF SHAME
Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the Courtesy Flush.
OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER
A colleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under their arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.
THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N)
A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.
A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.
Someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poop at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.
A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.
A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.
A poop that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.
A case of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire.
A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to poop when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.
Rose Marie, 62, of Shelton, Wash., seemed to just disappear. She was reported missing by her husband, and after 10 hours of searching she was found dead under piles of clutter in their home, reports Internet Broadcasting Systems.
This was no ordinary clutter. The house was so filled with piles and piles of junk that Marie's husband had no idea his wife had died. When police searched the home for her, their heads actually touched the ceiling as they crawled over the clutter. In fact, police had to conduct two separate searches of the home before they located the body. Mr. Marie believes his wife fell while looking for the telephone and then suffocated.
Police estimate there are several tons of debris in the house. IBS reports that Mrs. Marie apparently suffered from a psychological condition known as hoarding, which is a symptom of obsessive compulsive disorder. She collected items for 15 years.
(My mom worries that she's an incurable pack-rat... But at least she's not this bad!)
Sunday, January 22, 2006
He's a film student and independent film director... He's good... But his posts tend to revolve very heavily around film, his upbringing, and stuff that he's working on. This generally means that unless you really know him personally some of the ideas are a little hazy, but whatever. I like it.
Spell check isn't his strong suit, but he manages to get the idea across anyway. So stop by and leave him some love if you are so inclined... and if you don't want to, that's cool too.
So Friday was spent pretty much just like I said it would be, but without the trip to the bars at the end.
I got home from work, ordered fabulous food that I didn't have to cook, I put on some sweatpants, and I dined on that marvelous meal and sipped some wine, and I had a Lizzletini while watching one of my favorite movies... I ended up going to bed at like 10 PM... Something I haven't done (unless I was sick) since I was approximately 8 years old.
Saturday, I woke up refreshed! (It's amazing how well you sleep when you know you don't have to worry about your finances for a LONG TIME.) And that refreshing sleep meant that I was ready to take on the day! So I tackled my weekend apartment cleaning job, and then took off with Anthony on a much needed Target trip! (I went a little nuts just because I haven't been able to go to Target in so long!) Here's what I got:
- A (MUCH NEEDED) coffee maker.
- A toaster.
- A paper shredder.
- A really pretty black and white picture for my wall.
- Pledge and 409 (Because I noticed I was about out while cleaning)
- Super Glue... though now I can't remember what it was that I needed it for... I just knew I needed it.
- Shampoo and Conditioner.
- And my one true indulgence (I consider this a landmark purchase as something I was allowed to splurge on because it's my first REAL paycheck) I got 600 thread count sheets!
But anyway, once I got home from the Target trip I got my act together, and I headed back up to campus for the men's volleyball game. (Because those are my boys!) And while I was there, I ran into Erin, who I used to work with, but haven't seen in 7 months because she went to Rome for a semester. And as it turned out, seeing her and trying to catch up on things turned into me tagging along to an old-school gathering of collegiate folks drinking and playing games around a large folding card table... (It made me feel old, but I still had a good time.) Here are the few pictures we took from the evening!
Me and Ernie (Erin.)
Erin inexplicably "getting sexy" with the wall... She didn't even drink that much!
Erin's roommates Dina and Lisa.
Erin posing for some strange reason... (I don't ask why, I just take the pictures.)
And I had to post this picture from late in the evening because it looked to me like Erin had some kind of facial deformity! WEEEEIRD!
And Sunday has been spent lounging on my hot new sheets, watching movies, and drinking coffee from the coffee shop... (It's something I can afford in addition to having a new coffee maker, so shut up!)
I hope you all had some fabulous times of your own!
We haven't had an installment of "This is where my toes go" for quite some time... So here's a current edition for you! These are my toes in fabulous shoes (please note that these shoes are different from the other pair of black croc mules that you've seen before in this feature... These are pretty new and FAR MORE FABULOUS...) So anyway, these are my toes and my fabulous shoes under my desk at my office. God I tell ya, if being a slave to corporate America keeps my toes in shoes this hot, then I'm happy to do it!
Friday, January 20, 2006
The best blogs, arguably run by the coolest people, handle these transitions with humor and self-deprication. (Not to toot my own horn, but I like to think I've done my part to count myself among these people.)
This happens to LOTS of people who keep up with their blogging on a regular basis.
As someone who has had a blog for damn near 2 years now, I would like to note that I've always tried to "keep it real" here. I don't mean that I'm tryin' to rep my hood or anything... just noting that as far as topics and emotions go, I think I've hit places all along the vast spectrum. And yet... There is one topic that I have not addressed.
This is an important topic. I mean REALLY... Pooping is not only a GUARANTEED LAUGH, it's also something that absolutely everyone on the face of this earth can relate to. (Think about the hottest person you know... Think about that gorgeous celebrity that you've had a crush on for entirely too long... You thinking about them? Well you know what? THEY POOP TOO!)
Here's the thing, the reason that I've not mentioned pooping on here before is because for some strange reason I had some crazy kind of notion that there needed to be a minimum level of decorum here... That's why certain other unsavory topics haven't been touched upon. Those unsavory topics are made all the more unsavory because for the most part they totally lack the laugh factor... Pooping is kind of an exception to the rule.
But in the interest of maintaining morale, getting in a few chuckles, and sharing the events of my daily life, I'm going to go for it... I'm going to tell a pooping story.
I will go ahead and paint a picture for you here... I know a great many people who don't poop at work at all. I once worked with a girl who literally left work every day on what should have been her lunch break so that she could drive home to take a dump. EVERY DAY. I think that's excessive bathroom avoidance. I also know people who will poop at work, but absolutely refuse to use the bathroom on the same floor as their office... They go to great lengths to put as much distance between their office, and their poo... You know what, I think this is more reasonable than going home every time you've gotta drop a deuce, but honestly, when you've gotta go, you've gotta go.
And today I had to go... And I only have a key to the bathroom on the same floor as my office... so that means distance is impossible, even if I needed it, which I don't. I'm ok with going wherever I gotta go, because I know I gotta go when I gotta go, and I know I'll feel better once it's all over and done with. [sic]
It should be noted that my office is on the same floor as a few other businesses... and a couple of those businesses have their own private bathrooms inside their suites... We're not one of those, so we share our bathroom with (I think) just one other office on the floor. All in all, there aren't many people who use the ladies room on any given day, and I see the cleaning ladies working hard to keep my bathroom as sanitary as possible on a daily basis... This eases the blow of having to go at the office.
So today I was sitting at my desk and suddenly it dawned on me that I needed to go... And so I went into the bathroom to heed nature's call. Now, I'm aware that there are certain rules that apply to pooping in a shared space... And I think rule number one is to make your presence known to other bathroom inhabitants. As I entered I made sure to kind of jingle my keys as I hung them on the hook before settling in for the business at hand... Generally accepted forms of letting others know you're in the bathroom include a throat clearing, a cough, a toe tap... really, any kind of little noise is acceptable. Not hearing anything from the rest of the restroom, I assumed I was alone and free to go about my business. I was wrong. About a minute and a half into the business at hand I hear a flush from the next stall over. THAT BITCH! SHE WAS THERE THE WHOLE TIME AND DIDN'T MAKE HER PRESENCE KNOWN!
Naturally, having heard the flush I fully expected to hear her get herself together and promptly leave... She didn't. (As it turns out she was heeding one of the other *rules of public pooping, namely the courtesy flush. --*Apparently you can just pick and choose which rules you're going to abide by.)
So here I am, mid-way through my own business, sharing the restroom with someone else who is mid-business... This means I'm in what essentially boils down to a pooping contest. This is a hot-button issue and must be handled according to the rules DOWN TO THE LETTER. I can't exit my stall first, because she was in her stall first for an unknown period of time prior to my entry into the bathroom. This means she could finish at any time and if I leave my stall first and approach the sink to wash my hands, (because people that don't wash their hands are just BEYOND DISGUSTING,) she could come out and eye contact could be made... This should NEVER EVER happen when it comes to pooping. Two poopers should never be in the same bathroom at the same time, let alone be able to make eye contact... THIS IS WHY WE HAVE THE RULES!!!!!
So now I've gotta wait her out. The pooping contest continues.
She flushes again... and stays. (Another courtesy flush, I assume.) At this point I think she is also making assumptions about what I'm doing on my side of the partition, and is likely trying to wait me out. I'm not about to make eye contact with this bitch... Even if she is kind enough to courtesy flush... I'm not leaving first! It's just too risky.
In the rather anti-climactic ending, I waited her out, and avoided a socially awkward situation, and then spent my afternoon contemplating how to best approach this as a topic for today's post. And this is what you get.
I hope you all have a great weekend.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
You see kids, I love you enough to show you... It's Thursday night, right before my payday cash infusion, and this picture displays my all that remains of my life right this second.
Displayed for you on a beautiful marble-top hallway table (a table that my dear, sweet mother got me as a housewarming gift) are my keys - which let me into the apartment that I currently owe a little bit in rent for, my gloves - which keep my fingers warm so that I don't lose them to frostbite, my piece of crap cell phone - which SOMETIMES keeps me connected to the outside world, a transit pass - with just enough money to get to work and back home tomorrow, and about 3 dollars in quarters - which are usually reserved for laundry, but in these desperate times have been used to purchase my coffee.
And that's it. I have nothing else. I think I've got something like $1.50 in one of my checking accounts, but that's only because I couldn't find anything worth buying that would have only run me the dollar plus tax and not pushed me into the dreaded "OVERDRAWN" column at the bank. You're looking at it all. It's sad.
But that all changes in a little over an hour when midnight rolls around and the direct deposit is made!
God, payday is so hot!
The highlight of my mother-f'-in day was going to the coffee shop... That's kinda sad, but it's true. I left work, figured out my phone situation, got home, cooked up a little grub, (and I do mean "a little" because there isn't SHIT left in my pantry,) ate the grub, and came to the coffee shop.
The coffee shop quickly fixed my usual order, and here I sit! Blogging!
Today was a crazy day at the office...(This might get a little boring, but I'll try to make it as quick and painless as possible.) As soon as I got in I had to go run an errand (work related) and aside from that, I was supposed to get most, if not all of our client updates out today... Yeah, that didn't happen. I got one out, and then I got bombarded with TONS of crap from all of the brokers... So basically I spent my day doing all the crap that they didn't want to fuck around with, including sending a 17 page fax on our fax machine*. (*It should be noted that we have the oldest piece of crap fax machine EVER MADE... and that if you are sending more than 2 pages it has to be hand fed every page, and it's super slow... So I spent roughly 20 minutes on this single bloody fax.)
This dearth of work translated into eating lunch at my desk... not that I could afford to lunch anywhere else, but still, not having to answer the phone while trying to consume easy-mac is a nice little break on any given day, and today I didn't get that break!
So tomorrow I get to work on the client updates that I didn't get to work on today... JOY!
(Please note that is a very sarcastic "JOY" up there... not to be confused with the genuine JOY I'm about to get to...)
TOMORROW IS MY FIRST REAL PAYDAY!!!!
You all might understand my plight when it comes to being broke, but let's take a deeper look at this... This will be the first paycheck (that will do more than just barely cover my rent for the month) in OVER 6 MONTHS!
Let me re-state that for emphasis... 6 MONTHS.
To say that I've had to get a little creative with the finances recently would be a gross understatement... Starting with tomorrow's check, I'm back on my path to a positive bank balance!! It's going to be AWESOME!!
In case you can't tell, I'm so excited that I'm ready to pee my pants! ...Or maybe that's just the coffee.
No, it's not the coffee... IT'S EXCITEMENT!
And you know what I'm going to do?
Well, if you do, then you can just skip on down to commenting, because this paragraph is where I tell you EXACTLY what I'm going to do. --I'm going to get the creditors to stop calling me, I'm going to order dinner from my favorite restaraunt, I'm going to have it delivered so that I can eat it while wearing sweatpants and sipping on a Lizzletini, and then I'm going out to the bar! (Where I have every intention of celebrating my new-found fortune, and repaying those who have looked after me and aided me in my efforts to continue pickling my liver despite my poverty.)
It takes so little to make me happy now!
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
It's not because I haven't paid the bills, because that's the one bill that I have paid. (It's kind of a priority when it's my main/only connection to the real world.) And I can still get incomming calls... but I can't call out. Anyone ever heard of this problem? Is it because my phone is a piece of crap? Is it a problem with the network? I don't know!
I just know that I hate not being able to screen and return phone calls the way I always have in the past... now I actually have to answer that shit! GROSS!
I'm going to go on a shooting rampage right about now... So if you'll excuse me.
More than nuts, I'm going BATSHIT CRAZY!
(Please note that those are all 4 different links)
Yeah, I have lots of shit to do here at the office today, but I can't do any of it, why? Because I haven't gotten the revisions back from the brokers yet, and so I can't put them into the updates and send them out, and I can't get our featured tenant out because a broker wants a different picture on it, but he hasn't gone out to take the picture he wants yet... And on top of all of that, there's something wrong with our system, so it's now impossible to convert files into PDF format, so we can't send those out to people either... Wow, this is just shaping up to be a great day!
I'm not feeling any better, and it was an all-out struggle just to lift my head off the pillow this morning... I get the feeling that if this stuff keeps up I'm going to contend with my migraines again (which become more frequent in times of stress).
Basically, if bitches know what's good for them, they stay out of my way today because I am SO not in the mood to deal.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Lucky for me, back when I still had a little scratch left to my name I made some wise food investments at the grocery store. I thought enough to get chicken breasts that I elected to freeze at the time, and pick up some chicken helper when it was on sale...
So for the next couple of days, I'll be alternating my easy-mac consumption with some chicken helper nonsense.
Not exactly appetizing, but it's better than the alternative... the alternative being, eating 3 saltines and a stalk of celery and calling myself Nicole Richie.
I don't feel good, and I just want to go to bed, so you kids will have to deal with the fact that this is all you're getting in the way of a post today. Sorry. I love you all though!
Monday, January 16, 2006
That said, let's just jump right on into the recap!
Friday, after work, I went up to Evanston (not at all far from the tanning salon, aka- HELL, where I used to be employed) to play darts in a bar. I should like to note that I suck at darts. I am better than the girl who was shooting on the board next to us, but I still freely admit to sucking... I don't play nearly enough to be any good.
Saturday morning, I slept gloriously late, went to the coffee shop, went up to the first volleyball game of the weekend, and proceeded to the nearest local dive bar after we claimed the win, so that I could watch some playoff football. Now, as I mentioned before, I "happened" to meet up with the people whom I befriended at the game, and being the likable person that I am, they funded my drinking for the night... It was pretty awesome!
Sunday morning, I got up in time to make it to the second volleyball game of the weekend, (another easy win for my boys!) And immediately following the game I went to meet up with the resident drunk girl on a bike, Caroline, Dave, and Kevin for drinking, singing, hooting, cheering, and in the end... Depression. (We were watching the Bears.)
At one point Caroline ran to the drug store, and our friend Rob jokingly said that she would need to pick up some condoms for him... ("Magnums please!") And of course, Caroline being the hilarious girl that she is, indulged him... She garnered her QOTD by saying "You know it was kind of embarassing... there was this guy behind me, and here I am asking for condoms..." I of course, had to counter this statement by saying, "No, buying condoms isn't embarassing... going in and having to ask for dental dams with people behind you, now THAT would be embarassing." Caroline came back in excellent form with, "Yeah, so I get to the drugstore and I ask the guy, 'Do you have any dental dams? Because I plan on licking A TON of chooch this weekend!'" I about fell off my stool laughing at that one.
Caroline also made a $50.00 bet that no one would go over to one of the other Bears fans in the bar and snag the foam bear claw, only to run outside and claw the window with it. Of course I was perfectly ok with embarassing myself to a total stranger for the entertainment of my friends, so I did it. I didn't actively hold Caroline to her word on the bet, but she covered my alcohol for the day, so we're square... (And I owe her a great deal for all that and the other trips out, which I will repay after payday as she knows.)
After the depressing Bears loss, (only compounding depression for me because I had all my hopes riding on the Colts who also lost,) Caroline said that if she was only continuing her drinking binge if there were strippers and/or mechanical bulls involved. Sadly, for Caroline, the decision was made to proceed down the street where there were no strippers or mechanical bulls, so she and Dave took off.
My friend CT showed up and took over being my drinking ticket for the evening, and we drank heavily until I decided that I had to leave because otherwise getting out of bed for work today would have been a worse punishment than death (...as if working on MLK day in the wake of having all NFL playoff hope dashed wasn't bad enough.) Turns out my boss forgot about the holiday and decided that we would get a half-day off... So that was nice. (I should like to note, that I'm all for half-days, especially when I'm still getting paid for a full day... but I don't see why it's always the early half of the day that I have to go in... that just sucks!)
Ok, so I've bored you all enough for now... Go play!
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Yeah, I still have the job, and yeah the pay is still really good, and my health is covered, but unfortunately, my health is not a market-valued comodity when it comes to getting other shit that I kinda need... And I don't get paid until THIS COMING FRIDAY!?!?!?
So... Here is my current situation. Since working at the tanning salon pretty much paid my rent, and nothing else, I had to put necessities on the credit cards while I was searching for something new... (And I wasn't able to pay them back with much of anything.) So currently, my cards are all in a state of denial because I haven't paid the minimum in a month or two... And since I don't get paid until Friday, I am living off the TINY (and I DO MEAN TINY) amount of available cash that I have until then.
What do you mean by TINY, Liz?
Well, I'll tell you. I have a roll of quarters that I had originally reserved for laundry, a transit pass with $20.00 on it, a check for $15.00 that I got from someone for Christmas, and about $7.87 in cash... That ain't much... Especially when you consider that I'm heading into a weekend with 2 men's volleyball matches, and numerous NFL playoff games.
(We must also consider that Liz will somehow have to manage to eat lunch downtown for 5 days before the paycheck magically appears in my account.)
So Lizzle is hurting on fundage. (Even after calling mom for a small cash infusion.)
So what happens now, you ask?
I'll tell you!
Lizzle relies on highly developed skills and instincts to sort matters out!
Today (Saturday) was the first of the 2 volleyball matches, and the first day of an NFL playoff weekend which must be survived... So...
I see people who I vaguely know while at the volleyball game. (And by vaguely, I mean I've seen them before, though I can't say I honestly know their names.) So during the volleyball game, these 2 people who I vaguely know are actively heckling the other team.
I am a smartass extraordinaire, I can keep pace with the highest grade of heckling... So I make friends with the hecklers during and after the game, and when I head to the nearest bar, they "happen" to show up. So of course, I make mention (in a sly, though completely socially acceptable way) that I don't get paid until Friday, and that I have roughly $7.oo to my name. And so, my new friends decide that I am worth the friendly investment, and sponsor my drinking for the whole of the evening. (I was appreciative!)
Tomorrow, I am scheduled to attend another volleyball game, and go watch the Bears play the Panthers at a bar with the beloved Caroline and Dave.
I will say this, I am ok with maintaining sobriety through the volleyball game... The NFL game is another story.
I feel that it's important to note that the last two times I've gone out with Caroline and Dave, the evenings have been largely, if not COMPLETELY sponsored by Dave. (Dave is a real estate agent, he can handle it... though I still do feel like an ass!)
Going out three times in a row with a couple of people and not picking up a check here and there makes me feel like more than a little bit of an asshole. (I freely admit that when people freeload on me I tend to devolop grudges in a big hurry!)
We'll have to see how tomorrow goes, but I have the distinct feeling that I will be paying my way through the day with witty banter, amusing commentary, and being generally adorable. I know Caroline is a regular reader, and that Dave stops by occasionally as well here at the Happy Hour, so please allow me to say that I am INTENSELY SORRY that I have freeloaded off of you for the last few outings (likely including this Sunday). It is not my style at all to be a freeloader. I am usually the first to readily pitch in my cash, buy a round or two, and tip well. However, the paycheck situation being what it is, I have been forced into a "Thank-god-I'm-likable" situation. And that translates into bumming rounds off of my friends.
That said... I would like to further announce that once I have a paycheck in the bank, I owe you kids a great debt, and I have every intention of repaying it!
Some of you out there are undoubtedly scratching your heads and saying, "But Liz, how will you eat this week?"
And to that I answer, "Two words: EASY MAC."
Fortuantely for me, my dear, sweet, sainted mother bought boxes of easy mac like she had stock in Kraft Foods, and was trying to be the sole customer keeping the company afloat! (Seriously, I have enough Easy Mac here to feed the entire continent of Africa at the moment!)
So, I'll be chowing down on the stale bread that I have, and mass quantities of easy mac until payday... at which point I plan on going out whole hog to the grocery store and the bar, and pony-ing up what I am due!
And that my friends is being poor!
Saturday, January 14, 2006
In order to secure a date, you first need a date. This theory also applies to people being interested in you. As soon as you have one person interested in you, all of a sudden multiple others become interested in you. (Just ask any man who has gotten seriously involved, or married... As soon as he's not available to others, that's when all those others come out of the frickin woodwork seeking his attention.)
Apparently this theory extends outside the realm of romantic interest, and into other areas of life as well.
Why do I say this?
I was just offered another job.
So you see, in all those months when I was unemployed, or unhappily employed at a job I hated, I couldn't find something else to save my life... And now that I'm happily, gainfully employed, another job offer just comes falling from the sky!
And this was no ordinary job either! It was a job at my coffee shop! Which would translate into FREE COFFEE!
It's incredible! I mean I knew they loved me, but I didn't know they loved me that much! I mean, they want to frickin EMPLOY me! ("Even if it's just for a couple of shifts a week.")
Amazing... It is totally in keeping with the theory.
Yeah, that's all I've really got for now...
On a completely different note, do you all remember the old commercials for the "Viper" car alarm system??
Yeah, the one where the guy is breaking into the car and the snakes come out all angry and mean lookin' and the car burglar runs away because he is scared off by the "Viper"?
Ok, so I ask you... How much more awesome would that security system have been if it weren't just a standard car alarm, and it actually released angry, mean vipers if someone was trying to bust into your car!
Or at least like an animated hologram viper... because I understand the logistical problems of releasing mean venomous snakes every time someone tries to break into a car with a certain security system... that could, and likely would end badly... Or at least in a really ugly lawsuit.
But still... how cool would it have been?
Friday, January 13, 2006
But you know what really makes my heart weep?
Yesterday it was sunny, 50 degrees, gorgeous... especially when you consider it's January in the northern reaches of the midwest.
Today... Well today was another story. It's cloudy, rainy, sleet-y, snowy, COLD, and MISERABLE.
I can't handle trying to deal with the weather when I've got all this other stuff going on!
DAMMIT BRING BACK THE WARM WEATHER AND BLUE SKY!
Thursday, January 12, 2006
For example, my power color is blue, I'm a Carrie Bradshaw, my stone is amber, and I am a lily!
|You Are A Lily|
You are a nurturer and all around natural therapist.
People see you as their rock. And they are able to depend on you.
You are a soothing influence. You can make people feel better with a few words.
Your caring has more of an impact than even you realize.
Krahny02 : i pretty much live my life by asking myself "what would ace of base do?"
Krahny02 : should i take this shot? of course, ace of base would...should i not go to class? fuck it, ace of base would be rocking out...should i punch this old man? of course, he fuckin deserves it!
Yup... Ace of base!
The turnip story -
Several years ago, long before I became a resident of this bustling midwestern metropolis, I lived in a lovely home with my family. (Family meaning my mom, and my older brother.) This lovely home was only a mile or two from the home of my grandparents... Which, of course, translated into seeing them frequently.
One summer, my grandmother decided to grow turnips in her garden. This fact in and of itself is not particularly noteworthy or fascinating until you hear about what became of the turnips.
Being homegrown, the turnips produced from the garden were not particularly large or impressive. They didn't look like they were bound to win any prizes at a state fair or anything. They weren't a spectacular color, or shape either... So grandma decided that they would be consumed.
Not being a family of turnip fans, we disagreed with dear sweet grandma, and let her know that we had no intention of consuming them.
Here's where the real story begins!
One evening after a lovely meal (probably consisting of BBQ chicken from the grill, green beans, jello with fruit and marhmallows somehow suspended in it, cottage cheese, and buttered bread) grandma insisted that we take the turnips home with us.
We verbally conceded the point and said that we would take them. However when the time to take them home came, the turnips were "forgotten" on the kitchen counter.
Another day that same week, we again dined at grandma's house... (probably a meal of porkchops from the grill, mashed potatoes, cottage cheese, leftover jello with fruit and marshmallows suspended in it, and buttered bread) and again grandma insisted that we take the turips... and again we "forgot" them on the kitchen counter.
Fast forward a few days to the Sunday of the following week.
In all likelihood we'd "forgotten" the turnips 3-4 times (another point or two to mom) at this juncture.
Grandma, not one to let this kind of thing slide took matters into her own hands.
Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, she quietly slipped the turnips into my mother's purse.
Point - grandma.
The turnips sat in mom's purse, unnoticed for a day or two, at which point I get a phone call.
Mom: You'll never believe what I found in my purse today
Liz: Probably not, so just tell me, what?
Mom: Those damn turnips!
Liz: NO WAY! How did they get there?
Mom: I imagine your grandma got tired of us "forgetting" them.
Liz: You know what this means, right?
Liz: It's on!
Over the course of the next several months, the turnips were returned to grandma... They were conveniently left on her chair, hidden in the couch cushions, tucked under her pillow, left in her martini glass, or wrapped up in her knitting.
Of course, Grandma, smelling the heat of competition (which smelled suspiciously like old turnips,) played right back into us. She would leave them in our shoes, our purses, bags of leftovers that were to go home with us, and I think once or twice even in our mailbox.
Like I said, this took place over the course of several months. To those of you familiar with the shelf life of raw vegetables, months might seem like a long time... and it was.
As it turns out, over the course of time, turnips kind of shrivel up, dehydrate, and more or less petrify.
So by the end, we were passing petrified turnips back and forth which looked more or less like a shriveled dog turd.
It was pretty damn funny.
In the end, I don't know what happened to the turnips, but the humor of the situation kind of wore off, and in all likelihood they were discarded in a trash receptacle. (Don't go crying for the turnips, these things happen!)
But that is the turnip story.
(The moral of this story? --It's not my fault I'm such an odd individual, I come from an all-around crazy bunch of folks, and crazy is kind of like a virus, once it's in your system, it gets programmed into your DNA, and you'll always have it with you.)
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
In the unlikely event that you are unable to actually view this musical masterpiece, here are the lyrics!
Glad that a brick didn't fall on my head.
Glad that a spider didn't crawl in my bed.
Mostly of all, I'm glad I'm not dead.
Glad that a bomb didn't go off in my eye.
Glad that Karen didn't marry another guy.
Mostly of all, I'm glad I'm not dead.
Glad I know a guy named Joe Nashinski.
Glad I didn't sleep with no Monica Lewinski.
Mostly of all, I'm glad I'm not dead.
I'm glad I'm not dead.
I'm glad I'm not dead.
Yeah, I'm grateful to be alive... Which I guess if you really want to put it another way means, I'm glad I'm not dead.
This means that I get to skip the line, and go ahead and sit at my table. And when my coffee is ready, I pay when I pick it up (also skipping the line for pickup.)
The employees and I joke about other patrons, other workers, etc.
It's a good deal all around.
I don't really know where I'm going with this, suffice it to say that I am officially coffee house royalty... Now all I need is a coffee bean tiara, and some kind of tax-payer-funded salary to keep me in the style to which I am normally accustomed.
In other news, as I left work today, I got another call from my dad. Again, not good news.
Apparently my grandmother, who was deemed terminal anyway, upon hearing about my uncle decided that she was going to pretty much give up on living.
She has since completely stopped eating, and her condition has considerably worsened.
My dad called to tell me all of this, and to give me specifics.
Basically, grandma has a life-threatening blood infection that started in her foot, blood clots in her legs and in her lungs, pneumonia, and her lymph nodes are swollen to 4-5 times their normal size. The call was more or less to inform me that it wouldn't be long, likely a matter of days, and that I should mention to my boss that when something finally did happen, I would be missing a couple days of work.
I guess it's probably a good thing that I didn't take off work to go home for Jim's services, because missing work 2 times in a 2 week period for funerals back home seems excessive... especially when you consider I am only a little over a week into the job.
Kind of unbelievable to say the least.
I mean I have no intention of abusing my sick/personal days once I've earned them, but hell, I've got to admit, if I were my boss, and I heard 2 funeral excuses so close together from someone who I just hired, I'd probably be a little suspicious about it too.
We'll see how it goes over when I talk to him tomorrow.
So all things considered, it's not been the best week to be a sick person in my network of friends and family. It's almost as if knowing me is a terminal condition in and of itself.
Consider this your warning! I love you all enough to caution you!
RUN AWAY FROM ME WHILE YOU STILL CAN.
Either that, or pay a visit to your doctor to make sure you can't presently be diagnosed with any terminal diseases!
And so here it is, Lizzle's first attempt at an animal fact sheet! Since Marcia most recently tackled the cuddliest of the arctic birds, I'm going to take on another cold-dwelling creature.
- Contrary to popular belief, polar bears are not white. The bear itself is actually black, but is covered with thick white fur.
- The thick white fur helps the bears to disguise themselves in the frozen wastelands that they call home... But the drycleaning bills are murder!
- Polar bears don't have problems with staying warm. In fact, they are more like an old Datsun because they are more likely to overheat than get too cold.
- A myth maintains that polar bears use tools, including blocks of ice to kill their prey. A famous scientist, who got his jollies watching polar bears, believes that this assertion can be traced to unsuccessful hunts. After failing to catch a seal, a frustrated and angry polar bear may (act like your dad, or a small child and) kick the snow, slap the ground — or hurl chunks of ice.
- Another misconception is that polar bears live at both poles. The belief is common among school children, who grow up seeing illustrations of penguins and polar bears together. Polar bears, of course, hate penguins, and their incessant squawking, and the fact that the stupid penguins were always making out and puking fish all over each other, and so the bears packed up all their Coca-Cola products into several U-Haul trucks, and moved away. They never encounter penguins which, since the move, do not live in the same regions as polar bears.
And there you have it, a quick and handy reference sheet about polar bears! Don't say I've never done anything for you!
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
So anyway, back to the slippers. (Marcia will appreciate this.) As far as slippers go, they were adorable! They were pink and kinda fuzzy/terry cloth. And they had little sparkly embroidered cherries on them. Here's a picture... and when we note the dirt on them, please keep in mind that they are somewhere between 4 and 5 years old... (That's older than either of my nephews!) And that despite washings, over the course of 4-5 years of regular use, a certain amount of dirt is just gonna stay.
So the other night I went down to the laundry room of my current residence, and as I stepped down on the last stair I heard a faint popping noise. At that exact second I thought little of it, because despite being in my early 20's, my body creaks and pops like a body belonging to an 85 year old arthritic mule used for rides down into the Grand Canyon.
And that's when I noticed it... I noted an extra little floppy noise when I stepped with my right foot...
For all intents and purposes, that popping noise I heard was the suicide shot of my slippers! They decided that they couldn't hang on any longer, and like a suicide bomber in Iraq, decided to self-detonate.
It was a sad day.
Being poor/frugal (since I have no choice in the financial realm until payday) I am going to try to stitch them up, and see how they do... otherwise, I'm going to have to be slipperless until payday, and then go drop some cash on a new pair.
Today's menu: Leftovers from last night's dinner. Tuna noodle casserole. Delicious until you look at it after having seen this: "JUST TURN ON THE A/C... She'll be fine!!" (There's even video... though none of the actual corpse)
Basically a woman died in her room two and a half years ago, and her caregiver just left her alone up there because she thought that she would come back to life.
Because that happens ALL THE TIME.
So like I said, stopping to read this while the tuna noodle casserole is heating up? Not such a great idea.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Happy things like BASEBALL!
Yeah gentlemen, you read that right, BASEBALL MAKES THIS GIRL HAPPY!
And of course by baseball, I mean CUBS BASEBALL!
As most of you should know by know, I am a total die-hard, born & bred, Cubbie-blue-bleedin', Ivy-lovin', drinkin'-old-style-in-the-bleachers-of- Wrigley Field, WGN-game-watchin' Cubs fan. And no matter what anyone else has to say about it, I am DAMN proud of it.
Being the baseball nerd that I am, and being as comfortable as I am with my baseball geekery, (Yes, I invented the word geekery, but it's a great word, so shut the hell up,) I am proud to say that I subscribe to Ivy Line, (the official Cubs magazine,) I am on the Cubs weekly newsletter e-mail list, during the season, I have inning by inning scoring updates sent to my phone, and all year long, I regularly check the ESPN bottomline (because I have bottomline on my computer, and it is one of the best things EVER) for Cubs related stories.
Tonight I found such a story... and it brought a smile to my little round face!
We've traded Corey Patterson!
Normally, you wouldn't find a fan excited about trading away a player who was once thought to be the future star of your team for two minor leaguers... but you know what? These are not normal times, and this is no ordinary trade.
Patterson struggled all last season. For some reason we had him batting lead-off for a good part of the season... Though that reason is a mystery to most rational people because he couldn't hit a ball to save his life last season.
I particularly enjoyed the comments made by Patterson himself, and by GM Jim Hendry.
"Basically, I thought I played well with the Cubs other than in 2005," Patterson said. "I just got into a rut, and before I knew it I couldn't get out of it... Obviously, last year wasn't the best situation for me," he said. "I thought all along that getting a new start was important. I look at it as a positive."
Yeah Corey... We think getting you the hell out of our lineup is a positive as well.
"If he is not going to have a chance to be a full-time player, he is not going to be able to correct the things that led him to have a bad year last year," Cubs general manager Jim Hendry said. "It was not a good fit for him to be a bench player here at this point, after what happened last year."
Good move Jim... I'm proud of you for realizing this fact now, and unloading him and his paycheck onto someone else's bench!
Basically, just seeing the headline for this story totally made my day!
In most cases I'd be fine with being left to my own devices in order to cope... but this is not one of those times.
I went to work this morning, as usual, and as the brokers filed in, one of them asked me how my weekend was. Being the honest person that I am, I told her.
"Not great... my uncle died on Friday."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Why are you here? Why aren't you at home?"
"Because I'm too new here to have any personal days yet, and because my dad told me since I was so recently home, that I was excused from attending."
"Oh... I'm so sorry... Do you need a tissue?"
[Visibly upset, though not actively crying] "No, thanks, I'm ok."
The truth is that as far as mourning the loss, I am ok... Where I'm not ok is the instances where my mom gives me tidbidts of information that tug at my girly-emotional-heartstrings.
Example: The other night after the showing, my mom called to inform me that in his last days my uncle apparently went on and on about how beautiful I was, how well I'd grown up, what a fine young lady I'd become, and how proud he was of me... Apparently he'd said something of that nature to many of the people he had contact with in the time since I left, as several of them came back to my mom and said so.
We're a close-knit family, so that got me a little misty-eyed.
The actual funeral service was today... Again, mom called me afterward to give me the details. She noted that the entire classes of my young cousins had come to the service as a display of support... And also because he had coached them in their athletic endeavors for the past several years. While I found that particularly sweet, (because it meant that my cousins have support extending well-outside of the family,) that didn't quite catch me the way that the next bit did.
After noting other assorted details of the funeral, like the fact that nobody could maintain their composure throughout the event, including what most would consider the hardest, and most jaded of my family members, and that there was nary a dry eye in the entire church, then she told me about the service at the cemetery.
This is what metaphorically killed me.
(A little background: My grandfather died back in 1991. My, now deceased, Uncle Jim was married at the time, but got divorced about a year ago.)
My other uncle, seeing Jim's condition rapidly deteriorate decided to go ahead and purchase his burial plot. And being the tight-knit family that we are, he didn't want Jim to be buried alone. So when he went to look for a plot, he decided to go ahead and get a grouping of three plots, one for himself, one for his wife, and one for Jim. And as he looked through the list of available plots, he found something infinitely better.
He discovered that the plot immediately below my grandfather's plot on the hill was available. So, Jim is buried at his father's feet. Right where he should be.
And when I heard this, the dam broke, and the waterworks started.
Mind you, this is while I'm walking to a Michigan Avenue eatery for my lunch break.
The day's makeup was damaged beyond repair, and my fellow Chicagoans (depending on their dispositions) looked at me as though I were either a total pity case, or some kind of freak.
I was a mess throughout lunch.
Fortunately I happened to have a particularly funny book in my purse, so I had some means of distraction while trying to eat and regain my composure before going back to the office.
A quick trip to the executive washroom to fix the remains of my face before returning to the office, and I was all set. And it was a light afternoon, so the brokers and I had a chance for some light-hearted, non-funeral related chitchat.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go seek out that tissue now, and then I'm going to go read "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs."
My formal title is "Executive Administrative Assistant" for a prominent real estate firm in downtown Chicago. Personally, the only time I will EVER use the title "executive administrative assistant" is on my next resume... which I'm hoping to not have to construct for some time... So instead, I refer to myself as "the office bitch." Which isn't to say that I'm the bitchiest one in the office... though I think I hold that title too. No being the office bitch means I get to do all the bitch work that the brokers don't want to do... like faxing, mailing, e-mailing, scanning files and converting them into a different format... shit like that.
It's not bad work. It keeps me out of trouble, and the pay is quite nice. So all in all, I'm not going to complain... (Though complaining is fun, so I'm sure complaints will be logged as they arise.) My only problem with the job? The hours. Yes, I know that most of the world operates on a 9-5 schedule, and as a part of the faceless masses of corporate America, I should be too, but it's rough on me!! I'm a night person. Always have been, always will be. So what does conformity to this new schedule mean for Lizzle?
It means she does whatever she can in the evenings to prevent having to get up any earlier than is ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY in order to get ready for work in the morning.
This translates into:
- Showering at night, and going to bed with wet hair so that I don't have to shower and deal with the mop on my head in the morning.
- Planning outfits to wear for the next day so that I am not blearily stumbling into my closet right after I wake up and putting on something that would almost undoubtedly resemble an outfit belonging to my 85 year old grandfather... (who owns some CRAZY stuff and puts it together in the most delightfully unconventional ways.)
- Running to the bank when I get home of an evening to get money to put on my transit card so that I don't have to wait for the bank to open the next morning.
In the words of Chuck Klosterman, (and a great many others who just didn't happen to say it in print,) "I guess I'm just not a morning person."
Since you all seem to love Caroline so much, why don't you all stop on over and say hello to her on her page, in her comments! She would love it! She thinks that only she and I will ever read her page... With the help of you fine folks, I intend to prove her wrong!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
A few quick words on Caroline:
Caroline is rapidly ascending the friend ladder, and becoming one of my closest pals... She has already entered the circle of trust, and I have no doubt that she will remain there for a VERY long time. She is also one of the most quotable bitches I've ever met in my life! She knows she's funny, but I don't think she realizes just how funny. It should also be noted that she has incredible fashion sense and, when in public, is generally dressed in something that only she can pull off! (I wish I could wear even half of the things that Caro makes look good.) Caro is also notorious for her taste in shoes... Expensive, impractical, and exquisite... This is why her blog is located at www.theimpracticalshoe.blogspot.com. Caroline is also known to get drunk and track down the nearest bicycle (usually one that is securely locked to a stationary object) and mount up to pose for pictures... Thus the title of her page, "Drunk Girl On A Bike."
Ok, as much as I love Caro, and could rave about her for days, let's get on with the post.
So I called Caro, and we went out. We had originally planned on going out to Maeve, but in typical Chicago-on-a-weekend fashion, it was packed full of yuppie scum. So we went across the street to some bar that I don't recall the name of... Only because it was not important enough to be remembered because the bar was not exactly a happenin' place.
Long story short, we had a couple rounds because Caro's boyfriend Dave ran into a few people he knew, and it was necessary to drink while chatting with them. And then we proceeded to Bungalow... Which was also packed with yuppie scum. But we did manage to procure a table and drink a round on the house before deciding that hanging out amidst the yuppie scum was a total buzzkill.
We then picked up Kevin at a bar called Fizz, where Caro used to work, and where Kevin still works, and after another round, we decided to skedaddle over to Caroline and Dave's house to drink more, eat, and play some Cranium. (Girls vs. Boys... And of course we ladies claimed victory before the night was through.)
It should also be noted that I learned what an "upper decker" was. (You'll learn too when you get to the quotes!)
And that was the story for the night... Now, here are the pictures, and at the very end, you'll find the quotes! (Sadly there was no bike available for Caroline to pose on for pictures last night)
Liz and Caroline looking hot at Bungalow amidst the yuppies. (Gratuitous cleavage shot for y'all on this one!)
Caroline, sexin' it up at Bungalow.
Another shot of Caroline and Liz.
I told Dave to give me a little sexy, and we got this pensive/sexy pose.
Bartender Kevin is learning how to bartend back at Caroline's.
Caroline ordered up some drunken food, and Kevin continued his bartending education... (Can't you just sense the concentration!)
And this is a shot of the drunks foraging in their natural environment.
QOTD: (Some of these are also from Meljoy's last night in the windy city, because I have been really bad about posting QOTDs lately... Sorry.)
"I love it when I can't feel my face!" ~Meljoy
"Hey, what do you expect? I coach chicks for a living!" ~Coach B. noticing the gratuitous shot of Tits McGee's chest.
"That guy's unbelievable! I don't wanna fuck him or nothin', but he's just unbelievable!" ~Marty on Pat.
"Marty! It's ok for guys to love one another!" ~Coach B.
"How bad is my oral hygiene that I break a tooth on a french fry?" ~Caroline
"I LOVE NUTS!" ~ Caroline
"Well as for new year's, I imagine you guys had to wait in line because we know Berlin has some kind of quota system going on... I mean they have to let in so many ugly people to balance out the few attractive people who ever go in, so when you guys showed up, they had to let in a lot of ugly people, because you guys totally threw off the bell curve." ~Caroline
Background: There was a woman in a wheelchair at Bungalow while we were there... (And yes, I am an asshole, and I despise people who are overly politically correct, so I actually did say what is coming up here in a sec.)
"That wheelchair thing is the best scam ever! Everybody is moving for her!" ~Caroline
Liz: "You know who makes me feel tall?"
Caroline & Dave: "Who? Us?"
Liz: "No... That lady in the wheelchair."
"Ummm, why is somebody's mom here?" ~Caroline
"So what was up with Jenny Jones and midgets? She loved those little fuckers!" ~Caroline
Talking about going on a date to see the movie "Brokeback Mountain"
Markus: "So I said, 'Oh, what are we going to see? BUTTSLAM MOUNTAIN?'"
Dave: "Oh, yeah, you're nailin' me!"
Caroline: "Yeah, Markus here taught me about the 'upper decker!'"
Kevin: "What's an 'upper decker?'"
Markus: "Well, if you go to a house party, and it's hosted by someone who you don't particularly like, you just go into the bathroom, take the lid off the toilet tank, and drop a big deuce in the tank. Then every time they flush they get nasty smelling, shitty water... So you drop an 'upper decker,' you know, in the upper deck."
Friday, January 06, 2006
The truth is that I've had quite a lot on my mind lately. And to be honest, I felt that the majority of it was not worth troubling you fine folks with. You come here for roughly 5 minutes of daily amusement, and me being a Debbie Downer isn't the kind of thing I care to post, because I know it's not what you all come here for. (Yes it happens, and lately it has happened with startling regularity, but cut me a break...)
And yet, today was another downer. It was a bad day.
I went to work as usual, and things were fine. And as I sat down at my desk, I realized that I'd forgotten my phone at home... Usually no big deal, today it was.
Up until lunch, things were going just fine. I was busy, but not swamped, and I had a good lunch with my coworkers at chipotle. (A chicken fajita burrito bowl if you must know.) And when lunch was over, Josh dumped another ass-load of work on my desk. (Basically, Josh has NO CLUE how much work is involved in putting together some of the things I do, so he has a tendency to wait until the last minute to inform me of any labor-intensive projects... We're going to have to discuss this at some point down the road... but I'm only 4 days in, so I'll save that talk for another day.) So, in addition to the Josh project, I had a project from one of the other brokers, and I had to put together and send out our monthly mailing... JOY.
So I had the privelege of staying at work an hour and a half later than usual to finish up everything that needed to be done today. So when I finally got home, significantly later than normal, I noted that I had 4 missed calls... I never have 4 missed calls when I forget my phone for a day... Seeing 4 missed calls can only mean one thing... Something is wrong.
And then I saw who they were from. 2 from my bank, one from Caro, and one from dad.
Considering my bank never calls unless something is wrong with my money, that's not a good sign... Turns out they were just confirming my direct deposit info.
Caro was just returning my call, so that was really nothing.
That just leaves the call from dad.
I talked to my dad yesterday. Dad and I don't talk all that frequently, so a call only one day after I talked to him is an indication that something is VERY wrong. I didn't even have to listen to the voicemail to know that... And even before I listened to my messages, or talked to anyone, I knew exactly what was wrong.
Before I could check my voicemail, my mom called and told me what I already knew.
My Uncle Jim died.
He'd been battling crazy amounts of cancer which had spread all over his organs for a few months, and when I talked to dad the other night, he was in the hospital. He was not doing well, but he was stable. Today was apparently another story.
So I talked to mom for a little while, and then I called dad back to see how he was holding up.
I should note that I've seen my dad cry many times. And more often than not, they were "crocodile tears." I didn't have to see the tears this time to know they were real. The last time I saw/heard him this broken up was back when his dad died...
I was 9 when that happened.
I totally understand the reason for him being tearful, and the only reason I note this at all, is because generally my dad's tearful outbursts have me no more broken up than finding soap scum in my shower.
Seriously, I get more upset when I realize I'm out of vodka, or when I get a scuff on a new pair of shoes, or when I find a hot pair of jeans that fit perfectly, but aren't on sale.
This cry was different. It was palpable... Even over the phone.
It got me upset. And dad was really too upset to talk, so I let him go, and I had a good cry on my own. And after I regained my composure, I decided to drown my sorrows in a really big cup of coffee. (Coffee to be followed later by large amounts of alcohol.)
So I went to the coffee shop. I ordered my usual. And no sooner than I got to my regular table, I proceeded to spill the whole thing. All over my laptop bag. And my laptop.
Fortunately the bag took the brunt of the damage, and the computer only suffered temporary cosmetic coffee staining. But I'm not going to lie, seeing any coffee on my beloved computer did give me a minor heart attack.
In an effort to remain positive in the face of adversity, I decided to count my blessings.
- My computer was not damaged.
- My laptop bag can be dry cleaned with relatively no problem.
- I got a chance to say "goodbye" and "I love you" to my uncle while I was home for the holidays.
- My dad informed me that since I was just home, and since I only recently started my new job, that I didn't need to come home for the funeral.
I think it would be too rough on me to see my little cousins (twin boys, age 9) attending their father's funeral. Just thinking about it is bad enough, seeing it would be incomprehensibly hard.
With all the bad crap that's gone down tonight, I decided to message a certain someone who I tend to call when shit hits the fan and I don't feel like being alone. To make matters worse, I was ignored.
And now I plan on going into my kitchen and pouring up a shaker full of martinis. You kids behave yourselves, and I'll get back to you when I have something positive to post.
In entertainment news; Scott Stapp got engaged to a beauty queen... What's the world coming to? HONESTLY?
Oh, and it was determined that Chicago is the fattest city in the U.S.
Great! It's good to know that I'm doing my part, and that it counts for something!