YouTube saves the day!

So I remember a series of commercials from back in the day... They were, (in my humble opinion,) as a collection, the finest collection of humorous commercials ever made.

The company: Miller Brewing Company.

The campaign: "Commercials by Dick."

The shining example: (Also known as the only one I could find):

May I present, "EVIL BEAVER!!"



If you tell me you didn't giggle when you saw the guy with a peg leg, I'm going to call you a liar!

Happy Friday!

I really like my new office!

I don't have to tell you kids that I am in much better sorts now that I am gainfully employed, you know that already. (And I would like to thank all of you who have taken time out of your schedules to write e-mails and comments of a congratulatory nature. It's nice to see that I am not the only one who is really happy about this!)

And now that I've been there for a little over a week, it's become apparent that my co-workers are getting comfortable around me. They are becoming acclimated to my presence, and loosening up enough that along with the work we do, we also get some laughs in. While answering calls this afternoon I definitely had to suppress giggles to field questions from clients. We talked about the Whitney Houston comeback. We joked about some former employees. We talked about Halloween costumes.

I've impressed the bosses a few times either by doing stuff they didn't expect me to know how to do, or by showing them a new and better way of doing things they already do. I've managed to not get yelled at or lectured for doing things wrong. (I hope it's not wrong that I secretly enjoy it a little bit when the people who have been there for years get reprimanded for doing something wrong. Don't get me wrong here, it's not because I want them to get reprimanded, because I do like them and I don't want them to get reprimanded, but because it means that I am not the one getting the reprimand and because I am doing my job well.)

Basically, we're all starting to get used to each other, and I think this is a really good fit for me. I am already more comfortable at this office than I ever was at my old office... And that's saying something.

QOTD:

(Jamie's brother came in to see her at work)
Jamie: "HEY! How are you? Come around here! I'll give you a tour of the office."
Brother: "Ok. Ok. Oh, this is a nice office. You all have a pretty sweet view."
Jamie: "And this is my desk."
Brother: "Oh, so this is where you get paid to sit around watching YouTube all day."
Jamie: "I might watch a little YouTube, but that's not why they pay me."
Brother: "Jamie, if that's not what you're being paid for, then I really don't want to know what it is that you're being paid for... Or why kneepads qualify as a business expense."

And a couple more, since I didn't post them for so long...

Jamie: "Scott, I have a question for you?"
Scott: "What?"
Jamie: "Does your girlfriend clean up after you at home?"
Scott: "No, I clean... I spent like an hour cleaning my place last night, why?"
Jamie: "Oh, so it must be that you are just so exhausted from cleaning there that keeps you from cleaning up anything here."
Scott: "What are you talking about? I clean up after myself here."
Liz: "Yeah, well, wiping up the drool on your desk after your afternoon office nap doesn't count as cleaning."


[Later]


Scott: "I'm leaving now... I've got a tour this afternoon."
Jamie: "Scott, don't lie. You're going home early. Don't act like you actually work in the office."
Scott: "Oh yeah, I don't work in the office, which must be why I was here until 9PM last night."
Liz: "Scott, you were here until 9 last night because you didn't do anything all day, so you were shuffling things around to make it look like you got something done."
Scott: "Hey! I do work in my office! And I was doing work until 9 last night."
Tiesha: "Watching porn doesn't count as work."

CTA Troubles...

On my way to work this morning, I was caught in the middle of yet another typical transit mess, (because as I've noted before the CTA hates me and I have the worst CTA luck EVER).

So I was nearly half an hour late for work. But on the up side, the train conductor did give us a QOTD!

Conductor over PA system: "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. Due to a split rail on the brown line, all brown and purple line trains will be rerouted into the subway along with the red line trains. That means you folks are going to be packed in like sardines, and of course you will be delayed."

[A few minutes later]

Conductor over PA system: "Well it's me again folks, and I'm back to tell you that I've got good news and I've got bad news. The good news is I just saved a bunch of money by switching to Geico. The bad news is that it's a giant mess up here. "

Ok, its time we had a serious discussion...

Perhaps I hadn't made myself 100% clear in previous posts. (I thought I was being pretty clear, but perhaps not.)

It's about the comments regarding the "Gay husband."

Umm... Long story short, I have one. My concern is that some of you might have missed that fact in the nuances of past postings.

You all remember Anthony, right? Yeah, he's my gay husband. In an effort to be 100% totally and completely clear, let's do this in a bulletted fact sheet.

• Anthony is gay.
• I love him.
• He loves me.
• We are not actually/legally married.
  
• We will never be actually/legally married.
• I do have a friend who intends to legally marry her gay husband... I find that weird.
  
• He still qualifies as my gay husband despite any legalities because I say so.
• He knows that he is my gay husband.
• He is ok with this title.
• Despite being my gay husband he doesn't really do husband-y things. He occasionally buys me drinks, or pays for dinner... That's pretty much where the husband-y line is drawn.
• You might think that because Leslie's gay husband fixes things around her house that my gay husband does the same for me. You need to rethink that.

The fact is that inasmuch as I am Anthony's straight wife, around the house I am comparable to the stereotypical bull dyke. (No, I am not a lesbian. Though I have many lesbian friends, so I can get away with saying that I know I fit a kind of bull dyke stereotype in certain situations.)

Another bulletted list in the interest of clarity:

• I help my friends (and gay husband, Anthony) move as the need arises.
  
• When I help my friends move, I don't shy away from heavy lifting like a lot of girls. I get in there, I get dirty, I take care of business.
• Anthony is deathly afraid of mice/rodents. While I don't want them in my house, I am not bothered by them. I can exterminate like a pro.
• I know about cars. I know about makes and models. I know about transmissions and radiators. I know about semi-metallic brakes and rotors and drums. I can change a tire. I can change the oil in a car without the aid of a mechanic.
• I love my sports.
  
• I love to go camping/fishing/etc.
  
• I am not technologically impaired like a lot of girls. I know what an RF converter is. I know that given my current setup I need to have one in place, and as such I purchased and hooked up my own. I can hook up a stereo. I can fix a wide variety of computer problems without assistance.
• I can outdrink a lot of the men I know.
• I have a working knowledge of power tools. I can wield a drill, a nail gun, a jig saw, a table saw, other power tools, and an acetalene torch with no questions or problems. (Manual tools go without saying.)
  
• I can dismantle, clean, and reassemble, (and have fired) a gun. (Several varieties actually.)
• I could go on, but I think you're getting the idea.

After that list I feel it's necessary to refresh you on the fact that I am a HETEROsexual female. (And while I'm on that note I should also mention that as a heterosexual female I have impeccable taste in shoes and accessories.) As such, it's a mystery to me why guys don't want to date me.

So.

In summation: Anthony is my gay husband. I fix things for him, and he pays me in food and alcohol. It's a good trade-off.

I'm glad we had this chat.

And I'm still adjusting...

It's just after 10 PM and my eyes are literally fighting me... They want to close, I want them to stay open for just a few more minutes. I watched Project Runway, and fought with my eyes for 3 hours to accomplish that feat. (Yes, I was that tired that early. Shut the hell up.)

Based on the comments associated with the last post, I have something important to discuss with you fine folks, but let's face it, when you're as tired as I am, and you've gotta get up early and drag your ass into the office for another couple of days, the Zs take priority here.

We'll talk about this later.

Don't think you're off the hook! Now go to your room!

(I heard that!)

I've found the new quote source...

One of the people in my office seems to be a heck of a lot more quotable than the rest. She's yet to really let it all fly, but, I have a feeling that given time, she's going to wow us. (Either that, or these are going to be as good as the quotes get.)

"I have my conjugal visit tonight! Actually, my gay husband is coming over for dinner... I feed him, and then he sits on my couch and screams at the television while watching 'Deal or No Deal'... And occasionally he fixes things." ~Leslie

Kim: "I'm sorry. I know that you're in the middle of a rant, but I need to interrupt."
Leslie: "Oh, that's ok, it wasn't a rant. It was an oration."
Kim: "I see, well sorry, but..."
Leslie: "One can never rant until after lunch... At least not in polite society."

Adjusting...

Ladies and gentlemen, the Lizzle is pooped.

Please allow me to explain.

When it's been 4 months since your last paycheck and you don't know when the next paycheck might be coming, and you are scrimping and hoarding the change that you find under the bed, or in the closet, just so that you can make the train fare, and do a little laundry so that you can look presentable for your next round of interviews, you learn a thing or two about keeping yourself entertained with free activities.

And we all know that my personal favorite free activity is sleep. (Hey, you learn to love to do the things you know that you do very well.) And we also know that my bed is legendary for its unsurpassed comfort... Long story short, I'm an EXCELLENT sleeper. And I really love that it's an enjoyable activity that I can engage in and that doesn't cost me a penny...

However...

Now that I'm on a 9-5 schedule again, and not spending my afternoons lounging around my apartment checking e-mail and awaiting call backs, I'm not getting in that afternoon nap I'd become so accustomed to. I'm not sleeping nearly as late as I used to either. And so the Lizzle is pooped. She is still adjusting to the old 9-5 routine.

Don't get me wrong. I AM NOT COMPLAINING ABOUT MY JOB ALREADY. I'm just saying that the adjustment is taking a little time. It's taking all I can muster to keep my eyes open to post for you all this evening.

Speaking of posts, I see you folks are sympathetic to my bad roommate plight. I am glad that I'm not crazy for thinking that Penny was totally bonkers. Yeah, sure, when I complained to my friends about this stuff as it was going on they were sympathetic, but then again they had to listen to it day in and day out while it was happening, and they were my friends.

Funny thing is that I have a sneaking suspicion that Penny occasionally stops in here and checks up on things... I mean if you knew someone had this kind of dirt on you, wouldn't you stop in and see what was going on? Yeah, I thought so. But that gets me wondering what kind of tales she tells about me. I mean I know I never did anything as desperate or stupid as whipping my boob out in a crowded bar in front of her friends, but I know that in the end she looked at me with a great deal of contempt, so I have to wonder what errors I might have committed that she looked on as being egregious. I think I'm a pretty good roommate, but when you're dealing with someone as unhinged as Penny, there's no telling what she's telling people. I don't think she's got any real dirt on me, but then again, she's not above fabricating something to make me look as bad as I know she was... Funny thing about that is, when someone disgustingly flashes a table full of your friends, you're the one with witnesses. (In fact, I have no doubt that I'd have repressed the memory of that evening in its entirety if it hadn't been for someone who witnessed the events of that evening who brought up what happened at a party I attended not long after Penny and I permanently parted ways.)

And for as much as I complained about Penny, a lot of it was pretty standard bad roommate stuff... There are only a few stories of full-blown psychosis in action. You've seen two such tales, (or three depending on how you're counting that first story which was actually two separate events told together so that you had some kind of background). I'll do my best to come up with more for you kids, because I know you like them, but I'm just saying while it might be a multi-part series, it's not going to be a particularly long-running series. But then again, I have had several crazed roommates in my time. So there are other stories to be told...

STAY TUNED!

Same Lizzle Time, Same Lizzle Channel!

Another one from the vault... (Crazy Penny: Volume II)

You all remember crazy Penny, don't you?

In my experience, she's a tough one to forget. Well I can't think of anything new to tell you right now, so you get another crazy Penny story.

I'd almost forgotten about this one... But I was talking to a friend, trying to think of which crazy Penny story to tell next. (Because I did promise you a mulit-part series.) And while mentally flipping through the encyclopedic volumes of crazy I accumulated in the time I lived with her, I rather rapidly flipped past an entry with a shocking mental image embedded in it... And as much as I wanted to flip back to that page to review the story, I had to do everything in my power to black out the image attached. Trust me when I tell you that once the mental image is there, it's there FOREVER. I have no doubt that when I am old and grey, and my brain has long since been melted away by alzheimer's and a few too many happy hour martinis enjoyed during my retirement years, that this image will still occasionally rear its ugly head and haunt me and produce siezure-inducing nightmares. I don't look forward to waking up in a cold sweat trying to claw out my eyes, cursing them for ever having looked over and seen this first hand. In other words, be glad you weren't there to see it first hand. REALLY.

So now that you're mentally prepared, I encourage you to brace yourself physically. I hope you have a barf bag or a trash can handy. And while you're at it throw a plastic bag over your keyboard because I can't be responsible for the damage that vomit would do to your computer. I don't know that my wordsimthery can really do justice to this experience, but if it can, you're going to need those precautionary measures in place.

So picture it. It's a cool fall Friday night. We have been living together for about two months. School is back in session for me, my friends are around, and some of their friends are visiting from schools down state. (Because when you go to college in Chicago, and your friends go to school somewhere out in a corn field, your friends really don't have a reason not to want to visit you at school.) So seeing as it's a Friday night, early in my senior year of college, OF COURSE I'M GOING OUT AND GETTING WASTED, or at least that was the plan...

My friend Alana came over for some pre-drinking and general amusment. Of course Penny was home. Penny hadn't shown her true colors yet, as it was still early in our lease, and so I asked if she would like to come out to the bars with us. And because I am awesome and hang out with only the very finest people, she accepted, probably in an effort to be cool by association... But I digress.

So Alana was over, we were drinking. And some of Alana's friends from down state decided to come to the city for the weekend, and we had decided to meet up with them at a bar in Wrigleyville. Now I'm not a fan of the Wrigleyville bars... Way too full of yuppie Trixies and Chads. But as a college senior, I wouldn't turn down going to many bars where men happily buy groups of girls lots of liquor because they think they might have a shot at going home with one of them later. (Because free liquor is free liquor... and I can always give him a fake number.) So we go out. And about two minutes after our arrival while we're waiting on Alana's friends to show up I am getting hit on by a couple of hot guys at a table, so I sit down. And because Penny was to the point where she was meeting guys on match.com and still getting shot down, she was feebly trying to get one of these guys to notice her. So she sits down too. At which point she proceeds to stomp all over my game. And as much as the hotter guy was going for my game, even though Penny was dragging me down into the sub-levels of the bad game sewer system with which she was so clearly more than a little familliar, his wingman was clearly not feeling Penny. And because Penny was just that wretched, the wingman killed it for the rest of us. And the men got up and left. (Not before the hot guy told me where they were headed next, and to meet up with him if I could get rid of the wretched roommate... but since we were waiting on a group, I was pretty sure that swinging the group over to that bar and losing Penny in the process just wasn't going to happen.) The one tiny little benefit that we got from Penny running off the men was that we got their table at an otherwise packed Wrigleyville bar. And then the rest of the group showed up. And they sat at the table that we garnered as a result of Penny's wretched personality and its effect on men. At this point, in the back of my mind I am still mad at Penny for stomping on my game, but since I am in the company of friends I try to laugh and get drunk enough to forget what just transpired.

Fast forward about 45 minutes.

We've been drinking and bullshitting, and someone starts talking about boobs. (OH COME ON, ladies, you know you've publicly talked about yours... and if you're going to insist that you haven't, then I'm sure you'll admit to having at least one friend that happily talks about hers no matter where you are.) Well of course, associating with the dirty minded, foul mouthed freaks that accept me as one of their own, and occasionally look to me for leadership, the talk of boobs rapidly turns to talks of individually specific mentions of anatomy. Crazy Penny, in her misguided efforts to seem cool, mentions that she has spectacularly large nipples. (As I typed that last phrase, I realized that I'm going to start getting some really awful hits from misguided google searches.) As if it wasn't bad enough to have your wretched roommate stomp your game, run off the best looking guy who has hit on you in a while, now you hear your roommate announce that she has spectacularly large nipples in a crowded bar full of strangers, she does it at a table populated by people with whom you are friends... And you thought you knew what it was to be mortified... You haven't begun to know mortification.

We've already established that Penny is more than a little attention starved... And since she'd decided to announce the fact that she had huge nipples, and that announcement managed to get her attention, (if only in the form of shocked looks from all within earshot,) she proceeded to go into detail. She mentioned that hers were (using her words here) "Bigger than the bottom of a coke can, but smaller than a saucer." Umm... yeah...

Mortification has really taken hold. I am responsible for bringing this girl out into a public setting with my friends... I blame myself.

And then it happens.

Without warning.

In an attempt to keep the focus on her, crazy Penny does the unthinkable. SHE WHIPS HER BOOB OUT TO PROVE SHE WAS NOT LYING ABOUT THE SIZE OF HER NIPPLES.

IN. A. CROWDED. CHICAGO. BAR. ON. A. FRIDAY. NIGHT.

She seriously whipped out the giant flap of skin that she called a boob, complete with a freakishly large nipple, and stretch marks that made her boob look as though her chest had repeatedly been clawed by a mountain lion. IN A CROWDED BAR. IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS. (And this is not at all the type of bar where this is an acceptable practice... I don't enjoy those bars... This is why I don't go to Carol's...EVER. Or any place where there are stripper poles, or acrylic shoes, an excessive presence of one dollar bills.)

I had to get up and leave the table from embarrassment.

At that moment, I knew the very definition of mortification. Even though I wasn't the one flashing a bar full of strangers, or a table populated by my roommate's friends I experienced the utter and complete humiliation and shame of being the one responsible for the fact that she was sitting at that table. Because clearly she felt no shame about any of it.

Why is it that humiliation is so much worse when you're feeling shame on someone else's behalf? I mean I know I've done some things that I've been ashamed of in my time, but I always feel more embarrassed when I'm feeling embarrassment for someone else who clearly has no interest in feeling their own shame. Seriously. If someone else figures this out, let me know. Why am I less embarrassed by my own shame, and more embarrassed by someone who has no interest or knowledge of doing anything shameful?

Yeah, so crazy Penny just seems more and more appealing as a roommate alllllll the time, isn't it?

Thanks for noticing!

I checked my comments when I got home from work and even though the comments were limited today, I was particularly touched by one of them. Debbie from Fresh Air Lover noted that I sounded happy again, and that it was good, because that's the lizzle you all know. And to that I have to say, THANK YOU. I AM HAPPY! And as much as my problems might have mounted over the course of the last few months, they feel like nothing now. I can handle it. I can do it all! Because that's what I do. I get up in the morning, I put my pants on one leg at a time, I go to work, I earn an honest living, I kick ass, I take names, and I do it all with a smile on my face. (Er, um, well, I don't wake up in the morning with a smile on my face... I wake up a grump, but that's what coffee is for!) And for as much as I bitched about things recently, I plan on making it up to you. You are the best damn readers on the internet, not only because you have the quality sense of humor and general good sense to read my blatherings, but you also stuck it out! You rode it out with me down there in the trenches. A lot of bitches would (and did) give up their readership. (Yeah, I keep track of the numbers.)

I was so glad that someone other than my mom took the time to actually tell me that I sound happy. And that that's more like the Liz they know. It reaffirms my belief that you all are not only readers, you are friends. And I'm glad to have people around me (and spread all over the world) who just want me to be happy, and for that to be enough. Not everyone has that kind of support system, and I'm really grateful for mine!

(Deb, expect a phone call soon... Or just call me whenever it's convenient for you... whatever.)

Tomorrow is casual Friday at work. I will be wearing jeans and my absolute favorite sweater. (It's a plain black sweater that used to belong to a boy, but I snagged it because it was big and comfy and I loved it.) And although all of my Fridays for the last few months have had an even more lax dress code (meaning if I wasn't interviewing I stayed in a t-shirt and jammie pants all day,) I'm actually really excited to have an office with a casual Friday in the policy.

In unrelated news, I will end the speculation about my sister's wedding. She called it a shotgun wedding because it's being planned on a shotgun-style timeline. Not because there is a baby or a shotgun involved. She is not pregnant. [EDIT] And as for the speculation that I will not be attending, I say, OH FUCK THAT BULLSHIT! I'm not gonna miss my sister's wedding! It might be a little nothing of an actual wedding because she had to skip a lot of the normal planning for the sake of time, but it's my sister, and I have every intention of attending. (Besides, I don't get invited to many weddings... Perhaps because I am only good for crass jokes and draining the bar, but those are both welcomed in my family, so you know I've gotta go to this one.)

So that's that.

And in the words of Heidi Klum:

Auf Wiedersehen

First day back in the big leagues...

Well, today marked my grand re-entry into corporate America. And all went well... relatively speaking. I got in early, I helped people move things to prepare for my arrival, I got situated, I filled out paperwork, and got busy. My office e-mail isn't working just yet, so that slowed things down, but it wasn't my fault, so it's ok. I opened with a joke and it was smooth sailing from then on out.

Seeing as I am back in a real estate office, and people in the real estate world here know each other, jokes were made about my old office, and I laughed and joined right in!

You all remember office porn guy, right? Well the short version of working with him was that he was a wretched human being. He has a completely overblown ego, an arrogance that is completely unfounded to the world outside his head, and other equally gross qualities. Put simply: not at all a likable individual. Especially when you work in a support type of role and have to take last minute orders and make things work. I detested him. I found out today that EVERYONE ELSE detests him too. There was a little chatter during one of my interviews that made me suspect that he wasn't the most highly thought of broker in the game, but today the chatter was full blown conversation, and my contribution to the conversation was healthy, and everyone else got a more complete picture of the supreme asshole that he is. People asked the questions, I gave the honest answers... The answers included, "He is an organizational disaster! I was expected to overhaul and re-organize ALL of his files on a weekly basis," and "Yeah, part of my job included going into his office on a Friday afternoon before I left and cleaning up his desk, which included organizing all of his paperwork into 'neater piles' and throwing away the bottles/cans/glasses that he would spit into while chewing tobacco." I left out the bit about the porn... I have a feeling that's best saved for another day. And everyone else fed into it. They told their stories, they fed the flames... We all had a great laugh at his expense. Before all the story telling began, one of my new bosses who has had some dealings with *Joe (office porn guy's pesudonym) in the past, approached my desk and said, "HEY LIZ! I've got a great surprise for you!"

"Oh yeah? What's that? A sign-on bonus?"

"Umm, no. Actually Joe is going to stop in here and see how you're settling in at your new office!"

[GROAN....] "If I ever see him again it'll be too soon!"

It went on from there. I enjoyed it immensely!

So as you can see it was a good day, and everyone felt comfortable enough with me to be themselves and let it all hang out.

Half of the office is in Michigan tomorrow, so it'll be a very light day for all of us. I like the idea of getting paid to kind of ease into things. (Hell, I like the idea of getting paid. PERIOD!)

And so there you have it!

I would like to take this opportunity to poll you. We already addressed the question, but now I'm looking for solid answers. Please vote here, and let me know what you think!

I love you bitches! Thanks for being so damn hot!

Back into the salt mines...

Tomorrow (or today depending on how compulsive you are about reading this blog) is my first day at the new job. So that means I'll be on my best behavior. Not checking blogs, not checking my e-mail, not checking my phone messages, filling out tax forms, you know, standard first day fare. The behavior will almost certainly be changed over time, as I establish myself as a quality employee, you know how it is.

I know that all of you have some idea of how miserable I have been lately, and if you take that and compound it over the course of four and a half months, you might have some kind of idea just how happy I am to get back to work and back to earning a real paycheck. (Lucky for me I am good with saving money for a rainy day, making things work on a very tight budget, soliciting favors from those who love me and juggling things around when things run dry.)

I saw a t-shirt not too long ago, and I didn't buy it because I was conserving funds until I knew I had more money on the horizon... and now I think I'll either go buy that shirt, or make my own version. The original shirt said, "I'm not lucky, I'm good." I like that a great deal, but if I do it myself, I'm going to take it a step further and have it say, "I'm not at all lucky, I'm just VERY VERY good." I think it fits, especially now.

In other news, my sister who only got engaged in May has decided to move her wedding up from next September to THIS November! That's only two months! Which means the lizzle has to start playing "operation: anorexia" stat! A girl has to look good in the family photos! The reason for the sudden date change is an unavoidable circumstance in the family. (Dad told me, I was sorry to hear about it. So sorry, Kim!)

And since I've got work in the morning I'm going to be heading to bed so that I am as fresh as a daisy! (A couple of cups of coffee should go a long way to that end as well...)

Goodnight my lovelies!

And in the words of Tim Gunn, "Carry on!"

Well, I've got some news for you bitches...

The motherfuckin' Lizzle got the motherfuckin' job!

I know all of you are breathing a collective sigh of relief because you don't have to listen to me bitch and moan about my state of unemployment anymore. (I know that's what you're doing because I was tired of it too!) So now you get all new office drama and gossip, and I am working with more potentially quotable people, so we might even see a return of the QOTD!

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go shout my employment from the mountaintops!

The hunt for el chupacabra...

Well, the search for el chupacabra has ended... not only have we found him, we found him
ON SALE!

WOOT!

It's not every day that we find a legend, let alone a legend at a bargain basement price!

My punk ass is still waiting...

Here's the thing... I don't know whether it would be better for me to hear nothing until the decision is made, or to hear a small stream of positive feedback while awaiting an answer. Yeah sure, hearing that small stream of feedback seems nice, but it makes me wonder if everything is so positive and nice, what's holding up the offer that I hope is eventually coming? I want to tug my hair out while agonizing about how this is going to end. I just want to work! Is that so hard to understand? Is that so bad? Is that too much to ask? I mean I'm not asking for next week's lottery numbers (although those would be lovely...) I'm just asking to be able to go into work every day and collect a paycheck that I can live on at the end of the week.

And so another restless night begins...

Waiting is the hardest part...

Ok, it's Monday afternoon. I had the interview this morning. I think it went well. (Very well, to be exact.) And now I am just waiting for them to call my references and to hopefully make an offer. It certainly didn't hurt that I showed them a little trick on the computer to make their e-mails look better. And so while I await word on my fate, I have been tinkering with my computer for a while, and I've gotten this thing to recognize who the boss is... Kinda.

It still kind of wigs out when I try to upload pictures, but in a round about way we're getting the job done. And so now I present you with a kind of a hodgepodge that would have been several different posts had my computer not been such a bitch. Just be glad you get to see them at all.

First off, remember back when it was hot out and I bitched and moaned about how my air conditioner wasn't working? And then I got to tinkering and got it to work... Well one day when I knew I'd had the thing running for a couple hours and the apartment didn't feel any cooler when I got home, I came to find out that it was then working a little too well... Which prevented it from working at all... Don't ask me how this happened, but I took the cover off and found this:

Bitch had frozen over!

Speaking of icy things, here's a shot of the best damn raspberry mojito in the city of Chicago! (And yes, it was ever bit as delicious as it looks!)


This was of course while we were out for Maxine's birthday at Carnivale... Just look at this wrecking crew:


Here's a better shot of those damn fools!


And of course one of the birthday girl herself:


And then there's Anthony, my poor, pooped little pumpkin!


And here's a shot that I enjoy, only because it's the name of a salon here in the windy city... I might be alone here, but I think this is a great name for a salon! And to do it in neon lights, well, that's just fabulous!

This is a shot from one of the soccer games I attended recently. I feel it's important to prove to you all that I do occasionally leave the house.


And then the other day as I was on my way home from an interview, I had one of those moments when I looked up and just had to say "WHAT THE FUCK?" And it's really great at times like that when you realize you have your camera with you and you can snap a picture with ease to prove to everyone else that you're not crazy.

May I present to you, the guy practicing his nunchucks in the subway. Yeah... Nunchucks. Swinging. Freely practiced. In the subway.

Right about now...

Provided you are reading this on Monday morning, (which is when most of you will probably see this,) at this moment I am most likely in some phase of what I genuinely hope will be my last interview for a good long while.

I need you all to channel all positive thoughts, prayers, mojo, voo doo, whatever in my direction! THIS HAS TO GO WELL OR MY GOOSE IS COOKED.


And now for some all too rarified QOTDs:

"HEY! I SEE NIPPLES!" ~ Ciara

"I'm an expert yak scratcher!" ~Ted

Something is amiss...

I don't know what the hell is going on with my computer. It wigs out every time I try to upload pictures from my camera, and while I've tried every conceivable way to fix this mess nothing has worked. I've tried everything from a system restore to an uninstall and reinstall of all the software involved.

I don't know what the hell else to do.

So don't come around here looking for pictures of me in all my glory.

I'll figure something out, but if you have any suggestions in the meantime, let me know!

I thought I was tired before... turns out I didn't know what tired was yet.

Thursday was a LONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG day for the Lizzle. As I mentioned before I was scheduled to have an all day interview thing with a marketing company. As tired as I was last night, I didn't sleep well. And in order to get myself together and get downtown to where I needed to be I needed to get up early. So going into what I knew was going to be a long day I was already tired.

I get down there. I mentally prepare for what I think the day should be. I rapidly come to find that my idea was totally malformed.

I heard the original interviewer tell me that the all day interview thing would be a kind of "day in the life" of entry level personel in the company. That we would be going out to the client and that I would essentially be observing what the underling staff does.

I thought that this meant I would be going to the office of the client and watching the lower-level staffers figure out what the client wants, and how we can make that happen. I figure at some point I'll be asked questions about myself, what I want, what I see myself doing in this situation or that situation, blah blah blah. I figure I'll probably be asked questions to see if I get the overall gist of what it is they do.

I was wrong.

No. What they wanted me to observe was essentially a physical version of cold-calling. Basically I observed as an entry level person and her supervisor literally walked door to door and tried to push a product on people that the poor unsuspecting folks at home didn't ask for. So for the sake of clarity let me refresh you here; "A day in the life of entry level staff in a rapidly growing marking firm" = "walking door to door hawking unwanted goods and services on John Q. Public," and "entry level personnel" = "door-to-door-to-door-to-door salesman."

Given the pitch that I'd heard from management back in the cushy office, I wanted to be sure I was giving this a fair shake. So I stayed on long after I learned how unappealing the entry level part is. At lunch the "supervisor" showed me how the company works the advancement angle. And on paper it looked good. Especially if the numbers she was showing me were genuine. But I have my doubts. There was something a little hinky about being asked to spend X-amount of time doing the company dirty work out in the elements, (which with the Chicago winter months coming was dramatically even less appealing,) and then be promoted to this ultra-fabulous ultra-lucrative career in the office in the long term (which on paper is relatively short, but as it isn't exactly written in stone, I have certain issues with.) So like I said, I stayed on for a while to be sure I was giving this a fair shake and a close enough look. I didn't want to judge too harshly too fast. But as we stood at the doorway of a young hispanic woman with a few small children in her basement apartment, and the supervisor pulled out more trick plays from her little book, trying to sell this poor woman on something she didn't want, didn't need, and hadn't asked for, I watched the supervisor keep pushing the sale on her... She smelled blood in the water, and she was in it for the kill.

About ten minutes later, (at roughly 6 PM) during a break in activity, and about two hours before the scheduled finish of my day long interview process, I'd had my fill. I didn't want to do that to people. I didn't want to be a part of that. Hell, I didn't even want to watch it anymore. The guilty conscience in me felt like even though there was a tangible product being offered, it was like we were conning these poor unsuspecting folks whose only mistake was being at home when we made our rounds. It just felt so wrong. It wasn't me. It made me feel gross... and I wasn't even doing the selling. I was only observing... I really wanted to shower at that precise moment.

I shook hands with the supervisor. I thanked her for her time. Thanks but no thanks. It's not for me. Yeah your long term looks great on paper, but I don't want to sell my soul to get ahead. You might want to check that parka at the door, you won't be needing it, because it'll be a cold day in hell before I use my people skills or my college degree to sell unwanted shit door to door. At least when I was selling behind the bar the people came to me for a product they knew they wanted.

But I've got other good prospects. A second interview on Monday. (Because after today, my tired ass needs a day off! I'm going to the beach on Friday dammit!)

Let's pretend that the lizzle has already cleaned her apartment and done laundry and dishes so that she can enjoy that time at the beach... Yeah, that's a total fiction, but if it helps me to enjoy a few hours laying in the sun on the sand with a good book, it's a worthy fiction, right?

Sorry guys...

My internet wigged out last night, and I was too tired to deal with it, so I didn't post then. And now I'm in a rush to get myself all put together and get downtown for an all-day interview with a marketing company.

I've got tomorrow free. (I think...)

I'll let you know how things go.

Girl needs a damn nap...

I am running around like a fool. Double booked on interviews and running my ass off trying to get an employer to call my punk ass with a salary offer. Today was no exception. (See post below.)

Anyway, in addition to totally mangling my poor little feet by running around in stupid shoes, I am exhausting myself. I get up early to try and try to apply makeup in a way that somewhat conceals just how bedraggled and drag-ass I feel, so that it isn't readily apparent to any interviewers that I only got 4 hours of sleep the night before. And then I run from one office to the next, spending an hour or two at a time selling myself (metaphorically,) to people, hoping for some indication of interest, only to get home around 5 or 6 PM, cook and eat dinner, talk to my mom - usually to give her the rundown on the day, spend a few hours going through any new ads that were added to the assorted sites I check, apply for jobs that seem reasonable, rewording cover letters to suit the job description, altering my resume to emphasize my experience in areas they mentioned in the job description. If I'm lucky I catch a rerun of Law & Order. I post whatever I feel like you kids ought to know. I shower. I watch SportsCenter, catch up on my blog reading, I get my clothes in order for the next day, drag my ass into bed, get a few hours of sleep and get up to do it all again.

Unemployment is a hard ass job!

So now I'm going to get on with the rest of my day... Which if you were paying attention to the above list of activities means I'm going to hit the showers, catch a few highlight reels, do some ironing and call it a night.

Take care my darlings. And since you're probably reading this Wednesday morning, have a lovely day!

What's that? No... really! WHAT IS THAT?

Could it be a light at the end of the tunnel I spy?

Now I'm not going to jinx this by getting ahead of myself, but let's just say that the Lizzle had a good day. It looks like the worm is turning... Or at least that slut is thinking about turning.

I'm not going to get into a whole lot of detail, because like I said, I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I will say that I had two interviews today, both of them went very well, and that as a result I am booked for the rest of this week, even if I'm not being compensated yet.

FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING SACRED TO YOU, PLEASE KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED ON MY BEHALF! (IF YOU PRAY, I'M SURE GOD WOULD LIKE TO HEAR FROM YOU... and maybe you could sneak something in there about me while you've got him on the line too!)

You bitches are hot! Keep up the positive mojo!

Add another piece to the shit heap... And a little bit about the fam...

I got home after my shitty day (see post below) I set to the task of nursing the blisters on my feet from compensating for that broken heel.

I checked my messages only to find out that I'd pissed off the person who had set up the inerview that I was late for, because she thought I had skipped it altogether...

I returned the call and apologized profusely to her voicemail.

I posted about my crappy day for you all to read.

I start talking to one of my dearest friends (and a loyal reader, though something of a lurker as far as commenting goes.)

I realize that I gave out the last copy of my resume to the folks in the second interview.

(I don't have a printer at home... It's 9PM. And I know that given the timing of my two tuesday interviews that I wouldn't have a chance to get anywhere to print off resumes in the morning.)

I also know that I don't have an active account on which to put money for printing purposes up on campus.

I grab the money I had set aside for laundry, I e-mail my resume to myself.

I scramble up to campus and cross my fingers that some good samaritan will allow me to give them money and use their card to print.

Luckily for me there was a dear sweet girl who allowed me to use her card. So I have resumes to give to these bitches the rest of the week.

I come home and talk to my mom.

While talking to mom, I figure out that one of my cousins is probably the next unabomber. He's an ODD duck. And the thing is, I knew he was weird even as a kid. I mean every kid has a kind of "weird" phase. Luckily almost all of us outgrow it. But even as a kid, I knew he was never going to outgrow this particular brand of odd.

Let me paint a picture for you, my dear reader.

He's an albino. (Literally.) And he lives in Florida. (Because when you're an albino living in the intense Florida sun is right where you want to be.) He's an engineering major. (No doubt learning to build the bombs that he will eventually mail to people from a cabin located deep in the remote Montana wilderness.) Are you starting to get a mental image of this? Now surround him with equally weird folks. They joke about "big pimpin" and they give each other wedgies. (You think I'm joking with that last bit... I'm not.)

Now while I know I have my own little eccentricities and peccadilloes, this cousin comes from what is BY FAR the most fucked up branch of my family tree. I have a feeling that one of these days I'm going to be on some A&E documentary about my cousin the serial killer or something... probably reading this post, showing that I predicted the events to come.

OHHHH, it'll happen. Mark my words!

I jokingly mentioned to my mom that maybe this is how I should go about getting a job. "Hi my cousin is likely the next Ted Bundy, or Unabomber... or something similar... You'll want to hire me, or I'll be giving him your info." Mom suggested that I spin that a little and mention it in the interview as a way to promote my own standing by saying "Hire me, and we can threaten the competition together!"

I don't really know where I was going with this, but I thought it was something worth mentioning. Was I wrong?

I'm not going to pretend that this was a good day for anyone...

The date holds a lot of significance for us all. It's a day that we should all do our best to observe and honor. It's important. I know that what happened 5 years ago touched many of you on a personal level. I had no direct link to the events, and I know that I was impacted. While marking the 5 year anniversary might be unpleasant to some, observing the anniversary was a humbling part of what was to become a really ugly day for the lizzle.

I got up early. I watched the coverage of the assorted services being held. I had my coffee. I went to a prayer service being held at my church to make me feel like I at least observed the day in a serious way. And when the short service was over, I knew I had things to do.

I set out to go to an interview with a staffing company that I had set up late last week. The interview was fine, but nothing to write home about. But they kept me a little longer than I anticipated. And I had another interview to get to. I knew I had to hustle my ass to make it on time. And it was roughly this point in time when I realized that I had forgotten my phone, and was unable to call and let them know I was detained, but on the way. And in my frenzied hustle to make up for my detainment, I caught my heel on a ventilation shaft cover and broke the heel off my shoe. And so I am walking like a gimp to where I need to be, and as I'm standing waiting for the pedestrian signal to change, I get splashed by a bus driving through a large puddle in front of me. I eventually get where I'm going. I am 15-20 minutes late for my interview. Other than being late, (and probably looking like a gimpy wet rat,) I nailed the interview. I had the experience they were looking for, I knew the industry, etc. But I have a feeling that being late and not calling might be quite the deal breaker here, (despite my sincerest and profuse apologies.)

I am a little frazzled at this point. I'm at the end of my rope... Part of me is tempted to tie a noose in that rope and slide it over my head! (No, I'm not serious about that, I'm just frustrated and needed to make the joke... Even a morbid joke is still a joke.)

There's more to it but I think you're getting an accurate picture.

Leave some love in the comments. I need it today! (I'm double booked for interviews tomorrow too!)

I don't know what to tell you kids...

I have nothing new to report, and so in the interest of keeping up appearances and posting, I'm going to share a psychotic roommate story. (Kinda long. But I think it pays off in entertainment value!)

I have long declared that I have lived with some real loons in my day, from the diet nazi, who insisted that I was stealing her health foods from her, to the chronic slob who left a casserole dish of greenbean casserole unrefrigerated on our living room floor for over a month, to the strange hybrid of present-and-accounted-for-absentee roommate (x2), the nymphomaniac who brought her conquests home despite a shared bedroom, and the flat out undiagnosed schizophrenic who did her damndest to extracate me from my own life.

While I have good stories from all of these living situations, the last roommate I had generated BY FAR the most weird tales of any of them. We'll call this girl "Penny." Penny was the reason I have since elected to live alone. If you'd met Penny in the second half of our time together, you'd totally understand why I've forever been ruined on the idea of living with anyone. Several of you who know me personally CAN attest to Penny's particular brand of crazy, and the things I quietly put up with.

Penny and I met through mutual friends and both of us needed a roommate, because living in this city can get expensive. We'd met a few times and gone out for dinner and drinks a time or two, and through all of that she maintained a facade of normalcy that had me fooled long enough to sign a year-long lease.

Not long after we moved into our apartment we threw a little housewarming party. We stocked up on beer, cheap snack foods, and we called our friends. So one Friday night, we had probably about 40 people who rotated in and out of our apartment throughout the course of the evening. I'll go ahead and point out something that should be noted -- Penny adopted a totally different personality once there was free-flowing alcohol involved. And that alternate persona was not a pleasant one. I only learned of this fact at the time the first portion of this story took place... It was certainly the first red flag of things to come.

So as the liquor flowed, and friends came and went, there came a point late in the evening where the apartment was populated by roughly 10 of her friends and roughly 5 of mine. Her friends were listening to loud music in the living room which I totally anticipated but wasn't wholly feeling at the moment. And I found that all of my friends were hanging out in my shoebox of a bedroom. And so I went in to see how things were going for them. Seeing as these were my friends, I naturally became engaged in conversation with them. So that means that there were roughly 6 people packed into a tiny room that offered no seating other than my bed and the small amount of remaining floor space. Four of my friends lounged on my bed, one sat on the floor by the heater, and I sat on the floor by the door. Trying to understand what they were saying over the volume of the music pumping from the speakers a mere 10 yards away got to be a little irritating. So I did what most rational people would do. I closed the door and then resumed my seat in front of it. Fast forward about 30 minutes. The door was knocked on a few times and I had let people in and out as needed. All of a sudden I feel the door being forced open behind me. I hear my roommate screaming incoherently. I stand up and the door opens. It's Penny. And she is PISSED. I can't really understand what it is she's babbling about. I ask a few of her friends to decode what it is she is so upset about. None of them seem to know what is going on either. She rages on for another 15 minutes or so. And then she informs everyone that she is going to a country-western themed bar that everyone knows I abhor.

I ask a couple of her friends if they are going with her, and to keep an eye on her. I also ask them to figure out what the hell she's so upset about. So they leave. And after a few minutes of chatter with my friends, I found that Penny's screaming fit was a little too much of a buzzkill to overcome at such a late hour. Shortly thereafter my friends departed, leaving me alone in my apartment. I proceeded to clean up the mess left by our guests, and go to bed. In the morning I find that I am being treated to the silent treatment. She's clearly still mad.

At this point we hadn't been living together long enough for me to know how to handle the violent mood swings and the resulting irrational anger on her part, and so being the pacifist I am in a living situation, I just assumed blame for whatever the hell she was pissed about and let it go. You want to know what caused all the drama? She was pissed because I had closed my door. She felt that I was trying to convey that I was too good to socialize with her guests, despite the fact that a few of her guests had come in and hung out during the closed door period. The fact that I was leaning on the door when she tried to gain entry only cemented her anger. (Believe me, if there had been someplace else to sit, I'd have been there instead of against the door!)

I took the blame, said that I didn't mean it to be offensive, but if it was that I was sorry, and dropped it. She wanted to have some long drawn out fight about it, but I avoid the drama where and whenever I can. I got a 5 page letter about why she was so pissed. I told her again, "Fine. It's my fault. I apologized, and I'm done arguing about it." A few more days of silent treatment went by and when she saw it wasn't doing her any good because I wasn't going to fight she dropped it. Based on this experience, I figured that my way of dealing with her occasional irrationality had been successful. And so that's how I'd dealt with every roommate spat that transpired over the course of our lease. UNTIL.....

Penny's behavior was pretty much normal over the course of the first 6 months of the lease, minus the occasional alcohol-fueled rage that happened a couple of times, though none as "serious" as the first. At the 6 month mark however, things changed. Girl became unhinged! My friends asked me about it. They tried to understand what was going on. I couldn't tell them anything because I didn't get it either. I wasn't the only one to notice it, but I was the one who had to live with it. After 5 months of flat-out psychotic behavior, and my constant assumption of blame I'd had my fill. I was tired of always being the one at fault. I felt like I was accruing negative points on my soul for things that I didn't really do. And I got a little tired of it. And so it's mid April. One of my friends had a birthday the week right before the extended Easter weekend. I baked a cake on Thursday. After Friday classes I went home with the afforementioned friend to enjoy a few days of R&R and to celebrate Easter. (Mind you that once we come back from Easter break semester finals are imminent.) And while I was gone I left the portion of cake that we had not eaten in a covered pan on the kitchen counter. From what I gather this is not an altogether uncommon practice. We were only gone from midday Friday to Sunday evening.

Sunday evening, I bring my stuff in the back door. I sit it down in my bedroom. I go into the kitchen to fix a little dinner. I look down to see that there is a note resting on top of the COVERED cake pan. The note read:

Liz,
Next time you bake something and leave town, maybe you should throw it away before leaving. We don't want to attract bugs or rodents.
Thanks!
Penny

(The note was brief but oozing with condescension.)

If there are two things I can't stand it's hypocrisy and condescension. And after 5 months of psychotic behavior I'd pretty much decided that I wasn't having it anymore. I mean I was gone for 2 days and left a cake IN A COVERED PAN on the counter. TWO DAYS!!!!

She wasn't around when I got the little note, and we had opposing schedules so I didn't see her until roughly Tuesday of the following week. In the meantime I had mentally filed away that little note she'd left.

It just so happened that on Tuesday she ordered pizza and breadsticks.

Wednesday night I come home from a long day at class followed by work, fix myself some dinner, go into my bedroom and decide that I need to do laundry. (I'm a late night launderer, and so I worked on my homework, did some reading, what have you, and heard Penny messing around in the kitchen.) While I was down in the laundry room with my first load she came out of her room and went to the bathroom. At roughly midnight when I was absolutely sure that she had gone to bed for the evening, I went to move laundry from the washer to the dryer. When I came back in I noticed something that I couldn't have been happier about. She left a plate of pizza, three breadsticks and a glass of koolaid (presumably a midnight snack) out on the counter. I waited until I had to go move laundry around again, just so I could be sure that she wasn't coming back for it. 45 minutes later it was still there. And my detest for hypocrisy and condescension compelled me to make my move!

I threw out the pizza and breadsticks. I dumped out the koolaid. I rinsed the dishes. I put them back on the counter exactly where Penny had left them. I penned a little note of my own. I laid it next to the plate.

DEAR PENNY,
If we are so very worried about the presence or the attraction of bugs and rodents, perhaps it would be better if we didn't leave out pizza, breadsticks, and koolaid for them to consume. Please don't worry your pretty little head about critters coming into our home, as I have taken the liberty of throwing away the items for you. I would hate to think that my allowing them to sit out after finding them in any way contributed to an infestation of our lovely apartment.

LIZ.

I went back into my bedroom and proceeded to fold my laundry while listening to iTunes on shuffle. A short while later I heard her get up to get what had become a customary 3AM drink of water. I sneered. I could feel her seething as she read the note on the other side of the wall. My blackened heart revelled in the sensation.

::Knock knock knock::

"Come in."

"Umm, what's this?"

"Umm, it looks to me like a note, and I am pretty sure you can read."

"Yeah, I see it's a note, what's the meaning of it?"

"It should be fairly obvious, I mean we just established you can read."

"I left that food out for like 2 hours. Not two days."

"Yeah, and I left out a cake. IN. A. COVERED. PAN. And since you felt a note was warranted for that, I felt a note was warranted for this."

A clearly indignant Penny shouts, "Well, I don't appreciate the snotty tone in the note."

"Really? Well I think we have just established that you don't like condescending notes any more than I do. Congratulations on learning that! If you have any other issues to discuss I'd think it would be better to approach me like a fucking adult."

"Well since you brought up other issues, we have to tell the landlord if we plan on moving out or staying... Clearly I won't be living here anymore, so you need to let them know what you're going to do."

"Well, I haven't decided just yet. When I do I'll call and let them know. Now if you'll excuse me, I have laundry to fold... (and with a wink and a smile) Have a nice night."

She slammed the door and I am not kidding, the instant the door closed iTunes shuffled to the most incredibly perfect song for that moment.

Ludacris - "Move, Bitch"

I have never felt more cosmically vindicated as I did by my iTunes at that exact moment. It really was a thing of beauty.

Believe me, there are plenty of psycho-Penny stories that transpired in that 5 month period that I'll save for a later date, but at least right now you get a pretty good idea of what we're dealing with.

This is your post. (Updated)

SarahReznor writes:
I'm with summer - I want a getting drunk at Christmas story! What? That's not what she said?

I'm not sure that I have a real "drunk at Christmas" story... I think the best I can do is to give you the basic details of a Christmas pub crawl in which I participated.

The 12 bars of Christmas... I heard about it through some friends. The idea behind it was to pay the up front fee, have food and drinks provided at each of the establishments, and to bring a box of cereal. Some of you are probably thinking that the cereal was to donate to some food bank or something similarly "giving in the spirit of Christmas"... Huh, no. The cereal was for we drunk asses to nibble on between the bars. It was lovely. The conversational highlights from that particular evening escape me now, but I do know that at one point it became my mission to try all the different cereals present. I think that was the alcohol talking... But a good time was had by all.

Loni writes:
if you could be in ANY band at ANY time, which would it be? What instrument would you be rockin out? or would you be the lead singer/tambourine girl? and don't worry, if you choose to answer, I won't psychoanalyze the shit out of it. I hate Freud.

Hmmm... Any band. Any time... With options that broad and all-inclusive, I'd say I'd probably want to be a Beatle. If we're not taking into account the untimely end and the whole Yoko Ono DISASTER, I'd want to be John Lennon. I mean really, the music was mainstream while still being revolutionary. And if I were Lennon I'd have made the call that the Beatles were more important than that hussy Yoko! (That bitch!)

Brenda Love wants to know: I really really want to know what the Lizzle thinks of Suri Cruise....In detail!

Ok. For as much as I joke about conspiracy theories and all, having seen photographic evidence that there is in fact a baby, I'm going to go ahead and concede the point. Heavily photoshopped or not, I think the baby is theirs. But I think that all the conspiracy theories do have some kind of basis because Tom is so whacked. I think that while the baby is real, the relationship is not. It's too all-or-nothing for me. It's all grand gestures when the cameras are rolling, and little or nothing otherwise, and that smells a little fishy to me. I'm of the opinion that while the baby is really genetically their baby, that it was most likely conceived with a turkey baster. I also think that little Suri (with the fringe on top... Literally) is going to have a sad life. She's gonna be trapped in the life of scientology-induced-weirdness, and I have the feeling that she's going to have trouble finding herself and end up in some kind of rehab. I don't have any franchise on this as truth, but that's my take.

Jay queries: Successors to the throne of "Crazy foreign guy with animals" now that dear Steve Irwin has moved on. But I understand if it's too soon for this one.

Of all the crazy animal guys, I can only think of three right now that have any chance at stepping up the game to try to be that guy. Two of those guys aren't foreign. One of them has been around forever without ever achieving "Crikey-like" fame levels, and the foreign guy, well I don't know what the hell his name is.

Ok so for the domestic Steves, I'm thinking either Jack Hannah, or Jeff Corwin... I'm thinking Corwin really has the youth advantage and the potential to step up the game.

If we've gotta go foreign, the only guy I can really think of is that kooky red-headed Irishman who goes out and harasses anacondas in India and similar places where anacondas hang out. But like I said, I don't even know what the hell his name is, so I'm not putting my money on him.

Dream job/vacation/meal?

HMMMM... Dream job. Ideally I'd like to make a living in a creative field. I would love to sustain myself as an artist, but seeing as there is little appreciation for most things artistic in this day and age and I don't have some kind of trust fund or patronage to live off of, I don't see me following my bliss any time soon.

Dream vacation - I already got to travel to Europe. And though I would love to see the rest of the world at some point, I think my dream vacation would involve going back to Europe with my favorite people. I would love to go back and tour Italy and Greece again and take a cruise through the Greek islands with people like my mom and Anthony because while I have been there, and I've seen it before, I would want to go with them and experience it with them, seeing it and experiencing it through their new eyes. The great part about touring in Europe is that not only can you do some serious shopping and live the high life in the beautiful cities, you can also do some hiking in the hills and the ruins, and you can lounge on the beaches too. It's all there!

Dream meal - I don't know. There is a lot of food out there that I've never tried, so I can't really factor those choices into what I think a dream meal consists of. So I'd say that I would want to just re-create the best meal I've ever had, which was a 5 course tour of delights that we had while I was in Europe the first time around. It started off with a lovely bruschetta, some wine, and I am pretty sure there was a prosciutto with melon, there was a cheese course, the single most incredible pasta dish that I've ever had in my entire life, and tiramisu for dessert... Simply magnificent!


Planeswalker inquires:

How about the first crush you ever had that you actually acted on?

Umm, I believe it was 7th grade, his name was Clayton, and it just so happened to be a mutual crush. We met at one of those little middle school mixer dances, we slow danced, we sat in metal folding chairs and chatted. We held hands. We were an item for probably three weeks... maybe a month, (and again during my freshman year of high school briefly.) Yeah, that's really the long & short of it.

And Kimberlina keeps me real with her question:

Who's your favorite sister?

Kim, if you have to ask who my favorite sister is, then you apparently don't know me very well. And so I'm not going to dignify that question with response.

Ha! Just kidding. What word, more than any other word, do you think describes you as a person?

Damn... one word. That really kind of limits the field. There isn't a real opportunity to kind of temper one word with another. So I'll just do what I do and make my one word "Genuine."

What you see is what you get with me.

And there you have it. Anything else? Let me know. I'll keep going!

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

UPDATE -

Deb wants to know: Hey Lizzle, I didn't realize that we were asking questions. So here's mine... What would be your perfect date?

Well Deb, at this point I'm thrilled to have a date period... I'm not holding my breath for a "perfect" date any time soon. That said, I think it has more to do with the guy than the activity. Ok, so we're pretending that I've found some really great guy. This in itself is something of a stretch. So we're assuming that the chemistry is there, and that he can conversationally keep pace. As for the date itself, I've gotta say that while I don't mind a guy who uses the fail safe classic date, I love a guy who thinks outside the box. I would love it if a guy took me horseback riding or something. The zoo is what I'd consider a safe date, but when I've gone on the zoo date, I've generally had a pretty good time. Maybe a trip to the planetarium or a picnic on the beach. Despite all my jaded missives, I really am a hopeless romantic. And homegirl loves it when a guy who is date worthy knows how to throw in a little romance. Doesn't have to be expensive, I'd just like to see that he put a little thought into it.


And SarahReznor issued this statement and query:

this is awesome - it's like the best post ever! i loved it.

Sarah, you are way too easily amused... but I'm glad I can make you happy with such a minimal effort.

i got another couple for you - what's the best gift you ever got? and what's the best gift you've ever given?

Best gift I've ever gotten... Hmm... I would have to say that the best gift I've ever gotten would be a gift that I got without any special occasion. My mom took me to the art supply store and she bought me a set of sable brushes, (EXTREMELY EXPENSIVE,) some paints, and canvases. I think it was the best gift I've ever gotten because it wasn't expected, it wasn't a special occasion, and it was a gift that was supportive of something that I love doing.

The best gift I've ever given, well that's a bit tougher. Other people might have a different opinion of the gifts I've given, but the one that really stands out as a great gift was a painting that I gave to my cousin. She had a baby that was diagnosed with a fatal birth defect. The baby was not expected to make it to term, but she did, and actually survived 8 weeks. Knowing about the defect in advance, I had an opportunity to think about a way that I could do something. I know that given the gravity of the situation it might not have seemed like much, but I painted a pink rose (the flowers that were used at the baby's funeral) on a multi-colored pastel background, and an inspirational quote. I think it was probably the most thought and labor intensive gift I've ever given, and so I think that makes it the best. (It was also probably my best work to date.)

Nothing new to report... (UPDATED)

Yeah, there isn't a damn thing going on here. I don't want to bore you with the same old run of the mill report, and normally I'd bust out one of my more amusing older stories, but I can't think of a good one right now.

So I'm passing the buck here. Right now it's up to you. What do you want to read about? Give me a topic, ANY TOPIC! (odds are pretty damn good I've got something for you!) You got a question? Give me a question!

I've got old roommate stories, but those are way too involved to get into right now.

So have at it sluts!

I'm at your mercy.

Be kind!

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

For the record these aren't wildly entertaining stories, but rather the boring reality of my "landmark" days... Personally I prefer my landmark days to start out as unremarkable occasions that become more incredible because of the events you create. I find that the more planning that is involved is the direct inverse of the fun level. But here goes nothin'!
Summer asked -

How about the first place you drove to with friends in the car?

I don't remember the answer to this one. I got my license before any of those limiting types of laws went into effect. We were allowed to have friends in the car right away. If I had to guess.... Hmm, I got my license in December so I probably drove some friends to the mall for some Christmas shopping.

Your first date, real date. Dinner would be a good place to start. Did he pay? Did you give'em an awkward, teenage smooch?

Hmm... First date... That would have been a boy we'll call "Brian." Brian and I met through some mutual friends. After seeing each other at a few social events and at the homes of our mutual friends we decided we wanted to see each other on a more individual basis. We met up at a friend's house because it was before I had a license, and after a short time we left together. We went to a little Chinese restaurant and from what I can recall we had a lovely time. I think we went an playe putt putt, or something equally lame, but hey we were in high school, give us a break! He paid for everything. Or more accurately I guess I should say that HIS PARENTS paid for everything, because I know he didn't have a job. And I know I felt like an ass because I did have a job and he wouldn't let me throw in. But it was all very sweet. There was a kiss at the end of it, though it wasn't the first for either of us, so it wasn't as awkward as you might imagine. (Yeah, I had my first kiss before I had my first date! SHUT UP!) We talked on the phone for probably a week or two after that, and then we found some very grown up reason to stop talking to each other... and well, that was that! That's pretty much my whole first little pseudo- relationship in a nutshell. And there hasn't been much of interest to report in my dating life since then!

The day you graduated highschool/college.

The day I graduated from high school I remember my mom made me eat breakfast... Though I don't know why it was so important that day because I never ate breakfast. The graduation was down at the civic center, so we went there ahead of time (as graduates are often required to do) we got situated, alphabetized, and all cap-&-gowned. We walked down the aisle, and three of the nerdiest, most socially clueless kids in my graduating class gave their speeches. I can remember thinking that the speeches the year of my brother's grauation and the year immediately preceeding my own were FARRRRR superior to all three speeches that I was treated to. After graduation was over we graduates all filed outside and I was approached by a rather sleazy girl who had umm... been "friends" with my older brother. She said something to the effect that she would miss me, though I don't know why because we were not friends. And then her grandmother approached me and said something that indicated that she felt that her grand daughter and my brother were "meant to be" and that time would tell how their love would play out... Mind you that this is on MY graduation day, and that at the time my brother was in a long term relationship with a different girl who he'd been seeing for over a year and a half at the time... Yeah, that family is a little sick in the head.
My family then tracked me down in the crowd of graduates and we all went to dinner at a local steak house... Which seemed a little ironic to me because I haven't eaten steak, or any red meat for that matter, since I was a sophomore in high school.

College graduation I posted about back when I graduated. (Check around the 21st.)

Christmas, as a child, at your parents. (Hey, maybe it will get everyone to accept that fall is coming!)

I'm not posting anything about Christmas because that would mean that I would have to accept that fall is here and that winter is on the way. Sorry.

First time you remember getting drunk and what funny things you might have done.

Hmmmmm... The first time I got drunk I was probably in 8th grade. I spent the night at my friend Karie's house. Her parents were the wealthy socialite types, and they were off gallivanting somewhere else. And as any self-respecting absentee socialite parents would, they of course had a very well stocked liquor cabinet. 4 or 5 screwdrivers later, well... let's just say that we found the TNT James Bond marathon way more amusing than it was in reality. I do believe there was some foosball and dancing wildly to whatever music was handy at the time...Then of course we had chocolate chip pancakes the next morning. It was lovely.

UPDATE

As much as I might have planned to accomplish on my Labor Day, I didn't do a damn thing. I took a nice big nap, if that qualifies as doing something... But that sink full of dishes, and the laundry packed in the hamper, well, they are still there, MOCKING ME.

Bastards.

That is all.

Good day.

If you see this man...

Attention readers: If you should ever find yourself in the company of this man, which would likely only occur if you also find yourself in Chicago, TURN AND RUN THE OTHER WAY! Under no circumstances should you ever engage him in conversation. (Unless of course you are REALLY wanting your brain to hemorrhage, and you want grey matter to come spewing out of your ear.)

His name is Hans Seigfried, and he is a philosophy professor. And as someone who once took his class, I can vouch for the fact that he falls neatly in the category marked "criminally insane."

His distinguishable characteristics include:

• Speaks with an Austrian accent so thick that you will wonder when you actually moved to Austria. (Understanding Arnold Schwarzenegger will suddenly seem like a cake walk through the magical lollipop forest.)
• Has a creepy little beard like his fellow countryman Sigmund Freud.
• Is incredibly sexist.
• Will devour your soul if given the opportunity.
  
• Is only slightly taller than the average hobbit.
• As a professor of philosophy, and author of the book he teaches from, not only are his theories incredibly intricate and enigmaticly hard to dissect, they are taught in the aforementioned thick Austrian accent. Learning is futile, and bullshitting to make up for the things you are not learning is damn near impossible.

I only mention this for your safety and well-being. There are other former and current students out there who can attest to the truly evil and duplicitous nature of this character. And I'm pretty sure that his hobbies include kicking puppies, clubbing seals, and eating babies.

Just consider yourself warned.

Finding Religion

I don't usually get into religion here. It's not something that I think should be a public ordeal. I think that it's better to be humble in your faith. I also don't want to get into religious debates with anyone, because we live in a free country, and you can believe what you want, and so can I.

It's Sunday, generally regarded as a day for religious observation, so this fits...

That said, I'm a Catholic girl. Born & raised... Even went to a Catholic university. Go fig.

This post is more about my recent ordeal and how it pertains to my religion, so if it doesn't interest you, feel free to skip it. You've been warned. Don't get pissy about this with me later!

I know I've heard it said more than once that there are a lot of people out there who don't believe in God until they are faced with difficulty. Well, I have believed all along, and that doesn't lessen the difficulty in everyday life, I assure you... Well it does, but in an indirect way... We won't get into all that. I think it's a subtlety of one's own faith that goes into that distinction.

I am not incredibly zealous in my beliefs, but I do attend masses regularly, and I know the basic tennets of my religion, if only because I have had them drilled into me by my educators for the last 16+ years.

I know that there is an entire book of the bible dedicated to one man's faith in the face of difficulty. (Book of Job) Appropriate that the guy's name happens to coincide with my current difficulties, eh?

Now, while I am one who practices her religion, I am not what you might call a "bible-beater." I can't quote passages, and I don't sit and read my bible of an evening or anything. I do know the overall themes and the general ideas behind a few specific parts, but I think my faith is less about the words on the page which have been undoubtedly been changed (even slightly) and disseminated over the years, (historically this happens and gets worse with every translation). But like I said, my faith isn't one about the specificity of words on the page, but about my belief and faith in that higher guiding force, "god" if you will. And me and my god are buddies. We talk with some regularity... Well, I talk... And if I start hearing responses when I talk I'm seeking some serious anti-psychotic meds in a BIG hurry.

Anyway, I am having one of those crises of faith. One of those times when you really want and in fact NEED to believe, but feel a little twinge inside makes you wonder if it's really worth it. I'm trying to imagine that there is some purpose behind all the stuff I'm going through right now. I want so desperately to believe there is a reason. I've been talking to my buddy, god, and I'm just hoping that a response is in the works... For better or for worse, I like to know that my buddy is listening to me.

As it pertains to my faith, I have the distinct feeling that there is some master plan that I can't possibly see right now. (I'm still down on the trail, not above the tree line, remember?) But the humanly selfish part of me really wants to see that some kind of FORWARD progress is being made on that trail. I want to see some little patch of light on the trail ahead of me that indicates the sun is still shining up there.

I know I've probably bored you, but since you elected to read this far, I guess you should know that I talk to my buddy about you guys too. I thank god for the support and kind words you all leave me here, and that I can continue the wonderful dialogue we share every day. God seems to like you kids. Otherwise I'd be grounded (smited) and I don't think we'd be allowed to talk anymore... Fortunately my pal god is pretty benevolent and lets most of those hell-worthy things that I say on a regular basis slide.

I know I have you all thinking that I am some Jesus freak now, and so I'm just going to wrap this up and let that be it.

Ohhhh, the green eyed monster...

Yes, that title is an old school reference to one of the seven deadly sins. Envy.

Apparently there is still something about me that is ENVIABLE.

Back story: When I learned to bartend, one of the things we had to do was called the "speed drill" which consisted of making 24 specific drinks perfectly in under 7 minutes. I'm not trying to boast here, but we all know that I am something of a prodigy behind a bar. So when it came time for the people in my class to practice doing the speed drill I slacked off. I stood around, talked to Anthony. I read a magazine. You know, typical slacker behavior when you're supposed to be under the gun. And Anthony, functioning as the instructor at the time asked me, "Umm, aren't you going to practice the speed drill?"

"Nope."

"You're not going to practice at all?"

"I've been making these drinks all week. I know what I'm doing back there."

(Clearly thinking that this was stupidity and hubris talking, and not skill,)
"You know what you're doing back there? I know that the speed drill isn't scheduled until tomorrow, but you want to go ahead and run through it now? If you get it under 7 minutes I'll count it... And if you don't, we'll just call it a practice run. OK?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not."

(It should be noted that for most people the first run-through of the speed drill usually takes somewhere between 10 and 12 minutes and they progressively get better.)

My first try. Five minutes, twelve seconds. (And like I said I had 7 minutes to do it.)

Fast forward to this past Wednesday. I was pissed off about that cancelled interview, so I went to see Anthony at the school. It happens to be speed drill practice day. Anthony demonstrates the speed drill for the students. They see what goes into the drill and are totally intimidated. Anthony mentions that on the first run through most people are in the 10-12 minute range, but that they get better and usually have it under 7 minutes by the third try or so. One student asks if anyone has ever gotten it on the first try. Anthony thinks for a second... And while he's thinking, I quietly piped in, "Yep."

Anthony remembers what transpired back when I was a student. He tells them the story. The students gaze at me with a certain new-found awe and respect. The students went home shortly thereafter. They had most of the day Thursday to practice. At the end of the day they had a few chances to do it for real. After the first timed "for real" run through, one student is particularly perturbed.

Anthony asks, "It's ok, you can try it again. You'll get it!"

Student replies, "NO! I'm just so mad. I can't believe it took me 10 minutes."

Anthony reminds her, "Don't worry about it, like I told you, most people DO take that long their first time doing it when it's timed. That's why we allow you guys to run through it a few times on the clock, because you get better."

Upset student says, "No, I know that you said that's typical, I just REALLY wanted to get it on the first try ... LIKE LIZ DID!"

Anthony, despite thinking it, didn't mention that I had done the drill in time without any practice... that I'd gone in cold because I jacked around while my fellow students were doing their practice runs. (That makes Anthony a good teacher and a good person.)

(It took the upset girl 6 tries.)

So in spite of all my faults, there are still things that make me the envy of others... And that's a nice thing to know sometimes!

"Oh sure, there'll be bad times, but that'll wake you up to the good stuff you weren't paying attention to..."

I am going to be a little sentimental here for a minute... (bear with me.)

After another day of all the crap I deal with here, constantly poring over the same details I've gone over every day for the last few months, looking for some clue as to the piece of the puzzle that I haven't been seeing, I called Anthony. Tonight his cousin was going out downtown to celebrate her birthday. For reasons we won't get into, because they are really embarrassing for other parties, I was asked to come along. And my first instinct was to turn down the offer, because as we all know I can't afford to go and spend money on overpriced liquor at the restaurants and clubs downtown. But after a few minutes I reconsidered and decided to go. We went to a fabulous latin fusion restaurant called Carnivale. And the second I hit the door, I knew I was financially over my head for the night... But I ran with it. Two raspberry mojitos later, (which were INCREDIBLE... and purchased by Anthony, because he is a spectacular friend,) I had laughed, I met some new people, and of course I got to spend some time with one of my most favorite people in the whole world. (That's Anthony in case you haven't been paying attention.)

When we parted ways with the rest of the group Anthony and I went back up to his place, and despite the fact that he had to get up to work Friday, we sat in his kitchen and had cocktails. We talked. We laughed. I cried. We laughed some more. We told each other things that only the very best of friends should know about each other. We looked at OLD pictures of him, laughed some more, and at about 3 AM I told him that he needed to go to bed and that I had to go home. He stayed on his couch, I tickled his foot to make him get up to lock the door behind me as I left, and as we hugged before I walked out the door he blew a raspberry on my shoulder in retaliation for the foot thing.

And on my way home, I smiled the most genuine smile I've had in a long time because I realized that he is one of the most incredible parts of my life right now, and I had been so focused on the crappier parts of my life that I had totally neglected looking at the good stuff.

Yeah, sure I've got problems. And to a lot of people they would seem like BIG problems. Hell, on an individual level, they ARE BIG problems. There has been many a person who has had a situation far less dire than mine and ended up taking their lives because they couldn't find that light at the end of the tunnel. But I'm working hard to focus on that light. I'm trying desperately to keep that light burning brightly.

I know that I have some good things working for me. I have a family that loves me. I have incredible friends who would do anything for me. I have every advantage that comes with living in this country. I have my health. I have the INCREDIBLY ALL IMPORTANT, (AND HIGHLY UNDERRATED) sense of humor. I have have an obscene wealth of knowledge about some of the most random dumb stuff. And I know how to perfectly mix just about every drink known to man.

There is good stuff here.

And though it is easy to get bogged down in the nasty, crappy, ugly parts of life, I'm trying to worry about that less and focus on the good more.

I recently heard a cheesy story about people hiking on some mountain trail, and how one of the hikers kept focusing on the negative parts. The difficulty of the hike. The monotony in the surroundings. And the other hiker told him to just keep going. And when they got to the end of the trail, above the tree line they looked down at the forest. They saw the grandeur of the whole thing put together. They saw the whole forest. The beauty of the whole thing was so much greater than the sum of all the ugly monotonous parts. So I figure I'm just still down on the trail... And that the grander picture has yet to be revealed, but I'm trying to stay focused. Trying to make it to the end of that trail. To gain the reward of seeing it all make some kind of sense... and to really see the proverbial forest for the trees.

(And I know I am so cheese-tastic right now, so I'm gonna leave it at that.)