Friday, January 30, 2009
It's been one hell of a roller coaster week. I'm so glad it's Friday, I can't even express how much. I need to rest and recharge in regards to everything. First there was bad news, then less bad news, then semi-ok news. Sigh. We can only hope for not so bad news. My fingers stay crossed for good news for the people I love. Work was crazy busy. Crazy busy - which is a great great thing. I'm not complaining about that at all. Yesterday was one of those days that I thrive in. I was busy busy go-go-going all day long. I loved it! I got a crazy cryptic email from someone who I'm in the process of getting close to. If not for the fact that said person were family, I wouldn't be interested. However, they ARE family, and I'm concerned/interested, so now I have a phone call to make at some point this weekend. Plus VonMom wants the dirt. So, I'll have to make the call, see what's up. Oh, yeah. We have a new governor. He's pretty Rad. RAD, not Rod. God Bless Governor Quinn.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
When we were teenagers, Laura and I used to go to this club Medusa's nearly every weekend. We were maybe 16 when we started going there. Medusa's was wonderful. We loved to dance, and the music there was awesome. New Wave, Industrial, all the good stuff from the early 90s. The crowd? While they were our people, we were on the more conservative side of things. I didn't have a driver's license at the time, and I don't think Laura had gotten hers yet. That's the reason her dad drove us there once. ONCE. We were young and blissfully ignorant to how Medusa's and the people that went there would look to Laura's career police officer dad. He drove by - I think we weren't cool with having him drop us off in front - and he saw the fine element that were hanging around outside before going in. Black leather. Mohawks. Chains. Weird piercings. Black lace. Black lip stick. Black eyeliner. "Psssssh." (Laura's dad made some weird noise) Uh oh. That was not a good noise. "You're going THERE?!" He was pointing at the tall big dude with the mohawk. Sigh "Yes." He looked at me, in my blazer and peg rolled jeans smiling hopefully from the back seat. He looked at Laura, in her blazer and peg rolled jeans smiling nervously from the seat next to him. (She was nervous that night because she was the one hiding the cigarettes in her pocket that night.) "Well. Be careful. See you later." He gave us a nervous little chuckle, and his familiar 'those two' shake of his head. But, he let us out of the car. He didn't trust the place, nor did he trust the people. But he trusted us. Even then, that meant something. *** A side note: The big dude with the mohawk? Many years later he would become Laura's husband. To this day I don't think her dad believes that to be true, but it is.
Monday, January 26, 2009
On Saturday Laura and I went to see "Jersey Boys". We got the tickets from Laura's family for Christmas. I was excited about the show, but I didn't think it would be fantastic. It was. FANTASTIC. Our seats weren't the best, we were way up in the balcony, on one side, so we were a little obstructed, but beyond that, the show was fantastic. I even bought the soundtrack. I never buy the soundtrack. Laura and I like to go see at least one musical a year. Being in Chicago, this is something we can easily do. The hard part is picking which show to see. "Jersey Boys" has to be right up on the list. The songs were all great, the performers were outstanding, and the story moved along. However. Sitting just behind us had to be one of the stupidest humans I have ever encountered. She was young (mid-20s). She was cute (of course). But man, was she dumb! The first words out of her mouth that alerted us to her limited IQ were: "Oh! Look! We DO get to sit together! The seats go 1,3,5, stuff! See! I was SO so worried we weren't going to be able to sit together. I was like, God, if we can't sit together, that would suck! Blah! Blah! Blah!" She proceeded to sit down and sing -HORRIBLY- some of the lyrics to some of the songs listed in the playbill. Of course, she even got some of them wrong. Laura, who is historically the nicer of the two of us, even looked at me with this awe/horror/incredulous look. After a few minutes of listening to DingDongDipshit, Laura asked me: "Is she blonde?" **before you freak out, Laura is naturally blonde, and I am blonde by choice, so relax** I turned around and glared at the dummy and said "No. Surprisingly not." So, the lights go down. Everyone else shuts up. From just behind me I hear: "Oooooh." She watched the show ok enough. Ok enough for an eight year old maybe. She talked and sang and generally annoyed us. The lights come on for intermission. What do I hear behind me? "Um, what's going on?" she whined. Intermission. Yes, it's a four syllable word, so she's probably never heard it before. Her boyfriend gets up to go get her more beer and twizzlers. DingDong calls a friend: "Hey! Yeah! I'm at Jersey Boy! So, OH MY GOD! I am Freaking out! I'm sitting here like going I think I left my straightener on! Yeah! I know! NO really! Are you around? DO you think you could like go over there? Yeah. No, it's on. I'm sure. Yeah. It's in the kitchen. Next to the coffee thing. Could you? Oh, you are so awesome! Thanks! Ok! Bye!" Pretty much at the end of every song of the second act, the dippy hooted and hollered, I'm pretty sure she assumed the show was over. Me? I just wanted to punch her in the face. Anyway. After the show, Laura and I had some pretty phenomenal Greek food. Now, if you know me well enough, please pick yourselves up off the floor - yes, I said Greek food. Yes, Greek restaurant. Yes, I hyperventilated a little. Yes, I was tense and not looking anyone in the eye. But beyond my not wanting to be there, the food was great and reasonable, and the place was cute and clean. I will go back there. If only for the saganaki and rice pudding. Friday night was all yummy salads followed by strawberry cupcakes with milk chocolate frosting with VonSis and Sil1x. Good times. Sunday was errands, laundry, homework, and resting my poor busted knee. Happy Monday.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Sometimes when I talk about VonMom, people think I am either exaggerating, or being too harsh. I love my mom. However. Here's what happened last night when I popped over to VonParentsHaus for a visit. Me: "Blah blah blah, cousin blah blah" **both parents simultaneously interrupt me to say stupid and incorrect things that they think I might say next, when I was actually trying to fill them in on something totally new*** Me: "SIGH!! No! That's not at all what I'm talking about!" Yes, I was irate VonMom: "Do we piss you off?" VonDad (God, I seriously LOVE my dad!!) kinda didn't say anything. I changed the subject. A little while later just between VonMom and I: Me: "So, to answer your previous question, you piss me off when I am talking and you interrupt me and talk over me. All. The. Time." VonMom: "Well, you finish people's sentences and stuff." Me: "Really? Like when you tell me the same story three or four times? And I finish it for you? Like then?" VonMom: "Well, you just get so angry." Me: "Because you interrupt me. You've been doing it forever. It pisses me off." VonMom: "You get so angry." Me: "Because it's rude. You don't let me speak." So, we both drop it. Drum roll please!! Not five minutes later: VonMom: "I bought you something." Me: "Oh." VonMom: "You're probably going to get pissed. And hate it." Me: "Great. Give it to me." VonMom: "It's a book." Me: "Mmmhm." VonMom comes back in the room and hands me.............. 'Finally Thin: How I lost 200 Pounds! And you can too!' Me: "You know, if I lost 200 pounds I would be dead, or at least really freaky looking." VonMom: sigh Me: "Yeah. Great." VonMom: "I thought you would find camaraderie in it." Me: "Camaraderie? What?!?" VonMom: "Well, I just read the jacket. It's uplifting you know." Me: "A fat book. Thanks." VonMom: "Are you going to read it?" Me: "I'll take it home." VonMom: "You hate it. You're pissed." Me: " Mmmhm." VonMom: "Do you want a cookie or donut before you go meet your friends for pizza?" None of the above is embellished. I didn't add anything for an entertainment factor. This is my life. This is my mother. Said angrily "You get so angry!" Said lovingly "You're fat. Want some cake?" Anyone want a book written by some formerly fat chick?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Ok, so I've got a few things to say. I am going to first agree with Laura and say that we should not see the First Family in US Weekly. It might have been a bit of a gray area when President Obama was the President Elect, but now, as the leader of the free world he should be treated as such, and not on the same level of "celebrity" as, say, Paris Hilton. Let's leave him on the pedestal on which he belongs, not gossip rag fodder, but more on the real and actual news pages he belongs on. That being said. More than one person had voiced to me yesterday that they were a little tired of all of the coverage that the inauguration was getting. Hm. Who remembers four years ago? Can anyone honestly say there was more or less coverage? More or less celebrity guests? (Ok, bad Republican celebrity guests, but still) More or less fanfare? No one actually knows, because no one was paying attention! Not one of my young democrat friends gave enough of a shit. See, I distinctly remember turning OFF any and all of the Bush2 celebrations because I couldn't believe we were celebrating four more years of crap. One thing I can speak to (because I looked it up): President Obama's number of Inaugural Balls - 10 - Including the super fantastic Neighborhood Ball that he created as a celebration For. The. People. Former (phew!) President Bush's 2nd term Inaugural Balls - 9. So, you say, you cynic - See? President Obama has a lot! Like the most! Show off! NOT SO FAST. The most Inaugural Balls ever held? President Clinton holds the record at 14! FOURTEEN!! Plus, I don't think the President himself is responsible for the fanfair. Let's not blame him, ok people? On another note. I'm really really annoyed at the women who spent part of yesterday discussing the wardrobe choices of the First Lady and the Vice President's wife. I don't care what Michelle or Jill were wearing. NOT IMPORTANT. As far as their clothes? The most I care is if they were warm. I hope Michelle's feet didn't hurt when she walked part of the parade route. We should not be discussing whether Jill's boots were a solid choice or if Michelle looks good in yellow. By discussing that you demean those two great ladies, and, in my opinion, you demean all women. You present the image that, even on what is one of the most important days in our living history, that we might be so shallow as to discuss at length their clothes. What do I think about when I look at Michelle Obama and Jill Biden? I think 'How strong they are. How brave. They know that they are a part of something huge, and country altering. They could lose their husbands over the small minds and prejudices of some of their own countrymen. They stands by their husbands as no one else can.' I don't think 'Huh. Nice dress.' God Bless President Obama. May his enthusiasm and our country's general uplifted mood last and last. For at least the next eight years.
Monday, January 19, 2009
So, yesterday I was flipping through the channels, not really thinking what I was looking for. I stumbled upon the Best Thing Ever. HBO was showing the Inaugural Celebration. I was crying within, oh, like 30 seconds. Bruce Springsteen opened the show with that "The Rising" song. I've never before been super huge into the Boss, I could have even taken him or left him in the past. But now, I have this huge new thing for him. Like a willing to spend mega $$ on tickets should he tour soon thing. So, during this song, he's singing, and there's this choir, and he's all grinning like he's just thrilled to be there. It was awesome. It was two solid hours of awesome. Some other highlights: James Taylor. I mean - JAMES TAYLOR (I've been obsessed with him for a couple of years now) Stevie Wonder. Sure, he played with Usher and Shakira, but that was okey dokey. Garth Brooks. He sang "American Pie" (I squealed aloud on that one), "Twist and Shout" and "We shall be Free" (one of his own). So so so good. He's another one I would pay big bucks to see live. I'm not generally a country gal, but I do love me some Garth Brooks. Pete Seeger. PETE SEEGER leading the whole damn crowd in "This land is your land, this land is my land." U2 singing the shit out of "Pride" followed by a little "City of Blinding Light" or whatever it's called. AGAIN a band I would spend money on to see live. The only downside on the singing part was Beyonce singing the national anthem or whatever the hell she sang. I kind of in general hate her nasally, trilly, not-spectacular voice. I hate her persona. I hate her clothes. I'm not surprised she was on the show, I just wish we could have done without her. Another side-note on the singing people - JOhn Mellencamp - he looks old. Sings great still, but looks OLD. In between all of the awesome singing, they had actor/esses speak. They quoted memorable moments from past inaugurations and speeches. It gave me chills. Jamie Foxx did a spot on impression of Obama, quoting the speech from Grant Park on 11/4. I cried and cried and cried. Every time they showed Obama beaming, or singing along, or looking serious, I got chills. Finally, someone I can stand behind, and be really excited about. I know, I know, I've swore up and down that I won't get political here on this ole' bloggy blog. The thing is, I'm so excited about Obama. I believe in him, something I've not felt in all the years I've been able to vote. That being said, I'm sure my sappy little ass will probably tear up a little, or a lot, but I am ok with that.
Friday, January 16, 2009
I know that I have been complaining a lot about the weather, but I think I'm just going to keep at it. See, it's what's on my mind, and it's a whole lot of all there is right now. I don't really think that people not from here get it. I mean really get it. See, your snot? It really does freeze up. In your nose. Every time you go outside. I currently have two matching red/purple lines across my wrists. Why you ask? Well, they are from the parts of my arms that weren't covered this morning while waiting for the train. Nope, not kidding. What are plastic lawn chairs good for? Mainly one thing - to mark your spot! Even the mayor said that it's ok to do it. You dug it out, it's yours until the snow goes away - you know, like mid-April. My face looks sunburned. So do a lot of Chicagoans. Have we been vacationing? Nope. It's windburn. It hurts, it cracks, my skin feels weird. It's pretty unavoidable, and not at all cute. It also doesn't cover up really well with makeup. I can't feel my nose, even when I'm inside. I think it's going to fall off. I refuse to wear a ski-mask. So shoot me. Did you know that they light the train switches ON FIRE when it's this cold?!? I didn't! So, I'm on the train the other day, and as we're approaching the station, there's all these fires everywhere - and no one seems concerned but me! I asked this chick, and she said "Oh, yeah, they light the switches on fire so they don't freeze." ON FIRE. That's hard core people!! It's colder in Chicago right now than it is in the North Pole. And colder than Alaska. No, I'm not making it up. Look it up if you don't believe me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Dear Blank, Thank you for the scarf and gloves. The colors are so ugly, I think a blind person would find them offensive. P.S. Polyester makes me itch. Dear You, Thanks for that thing that I might use, like, once. Sure, you can borrow it whenever you want. I know it's really for you anyway. Dear M, Thanks for the pile of junk you pulled out of some $0.99 bin last year on 12/26. Nothing says Happy Birthday Jesus like a travel manicure kit and a book light. I know, you dig quantity. To whom it may concern, Thanks for the jewelry I might have considered wearing (but would probably have decided against) 20 years ago. I wanted to return it, but a) I don't shop where you bought it and b) I know you will be looking for me to wear it the next time I see you. Damn you. I didn't know you disliked me so much. Dear Self, Thanks so much for the Nintendo DS. My "brain age" has greatly improved! Thank you also for the Neal Gaiman books! Thanks for the lovely OPI nailpolishes! You really know what I like. Thank GOd for you! And thank God for credit cards!
Friday, January 9, 2009
So I wrote this post earlier today, and was like 'Meh. It's ok. Not great, but it will suffice.' I saved it, didn't post it. I revisted the post to publish it, and realized it's pretty bad. Ok, it's lame and well, Lame. So, instead, I give you this, my phoned in week in review via google images: I hope you have a rat-free weekend, filled with Road House caliber fun.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
"Why do you need a flashlight" (garage door going up) "Because I need to see if I can see it" (garage door up, light on) "You don't need that flashlight" "Why?" "I see it. Right there." "What? Whe Oh my God." *silence for a nanosecond* "Is it dead?" "I think the nose is twitching. That's RIGHT mother f*$ker! You shoulda never come in MAH garage!" "Yeah, the nose is twitching. I think." "What do we do?" "You stand there. If it moves, watch where it goes. I can't open the stupid packaging around the flashlight." "You know I am going to barf, right?" "What? I can't open this stupid plastic!!" "I SAID you know I am going to barf, right?" "Why?" "It's so big. Go in my house and get scissors." "If the tenants come out, pretend you are doing nothing. Just standing there like an idiot because you like the snow or something." "I hate you." (I stare at thing in garage. Convinced it's not only twitching it's nose, but somehow growing. Not like it isn't the size of a house cat already. Waiting for her with the stupid flashlight. Still not sure what we are doing with the flashlight. I really am going to throw up. Or run. But I don't run and there is snow on the ground.) *Oh.No. The tenants are coming out of their apartment* "Close my front door!" "Ha ha!" "Um, the tenants" "Go in the garage." "I don't want to. It may not be dead." "Whatever, it's at least sick. Go in the garage." "That's right! Die! Serves you right mother f&*ker!!" Sigh "It's dead." *flashlight plays over the long, fat dead thing* Out comes the cell phone. She's taking pictures. "What are you doing?" "Taking pictures." "Why? Don't you have to call the city or something?" snap. snap. "They don't care. I'm calling my father-in-law." Snap. Snap. "Seriously?! How many pictures do you need?" "What? So?" "Just call someone to get rid of it. Oh my God. It's so big." Thus ended the life of the rat that thought it was a good idea to take up residence in our garage, and possibly made a foray into our basement. I think perhaps maybe I saw it in the basement on New Year's Day, but didn't mention it thinking I was crazy. He let his presence be known on Saturday, when he scared VonSis half to death as she tried to get to her car in the garage. Wanna guess who was doing all of the swearing and was going to blow chunks in the above conversation? Two guesses, first one doesn't count.....
Monday, January 5, 2009
I have this strange affection for the movie "Road House". I didn't really realize I had a thing for this little bit o' cinema until my just ended long vacation. I found that every time "Road House" was on, I would leave it on. I even know some of the lines. Dalton? Patrick Swayze? One would think, right? With the 12 pack abs and rockin' mullet, every girl's dream. No, there's two dudes in that movie that make me put my remote down. A) Drrrrty Ollllld and-did-I-mention DIRTY Sam Elliot? Oh.My.God. When he rolls up on his Harley in his skinny black jeans with his messy salt and pepper do - yep. I believe his character's name is Wade, or something equally dangerous and sexxxay. If he didn't die, we'd totally have a sequel, all about me and him fighting bad guys in our own bar (probably called the Quadruple Fours) and riding off into the sunset on the back of his mrrrrw Harley. B) The blind singer guy. You know the one, he had like one hit single - Jeff Healy - that's his name. See he's cool and sexy because he's a musician, doubly cool because he's a blind musician, and he knows Dalton, and Wade, so he must be bad ass in his own way. He's sexy in an I-want-to-take-care-of-him way. Plus, in the movie he has a hot girlfriend, so that makes my impressionable female mind think 'Well, he MUST be hot, if she's with him'. Best scenery? Dalton's barn loft/apartment. I'd kill for that. It's $100 a month, and twice the size of my place. Best line? "C'mon chicken dick!" Ok, one of the basic cable channels blocked it out, but another didn't - gotta love inconsistencies!! I also love Red, the auto parts guy, Emmet, well, hell, I love all of the bit players that are old and missing teeth. I love them in an I'd really like to sit around a fire bit and have a few beers with these guys kind of way. Road House - 4 stars!! Admittedly one of the t.v. highlights of my long vacation!!
Friday, January 2, 2009
Due to the untimely and badly timed death of my DVD player, I find I have time to write. This is a distraction to the fact that my three new Netflix came today, and I was looking forward to watching them. Oh, hello 2009, I had almost forgotten that you had arrived. See, due to my lengthy vacation from work, I don't really know what day it is. Maybe the 2nd? That sounds about right. So, how about some renovations, nope that's not the right word. Resignations? Nah, not quite right. Oh, yeah, RESOLUTIONS. Ok, I am going back to my fat meetins'. I need to get myself together, that'll be the first resolution, and probably the first broken. The new diet starts Monday. Next, those people from 2008 that should be forever forgotten are. I said goodbye to you in my head on New Year's Eve. Good riddance. I hope to resolve myself to get back to blogging more regularly, like I did in the beginning. I'll work at this one. I'm also leaving Christmas where it lies - behind me. The good gifts: Gigantic blue topaz ring (perfect!),Cute Creatures Crochet book, docking station, Jersey Boys ticket, and the fuchsia glitter Madonna (as in mother of God, not chic from Detroit) bank - however this was a blatant regift, as in "Here, Aunt Von, I'm giving you this because Jyl isn't here, so you can have it" (I kid you not. See why I am done with Christmas??) The bad gifts (that will be free on Craig's list in a day or so): ugly scarf/gloves, book three of some series I haven't read books one or two of, cheap ass candles, jelly, cheap ass wallet. Next year I will be providing my family with a list prior to my birthday with gift ideas. I will ask that they not stray from this list. It's not going to be ideas, it's going to be concrete things I want. People, please stop giving me things you think I NEED. Give me things I WANT. Things I have no business buying for myself, that's the whole point of the child-like Christmas glee I try to have every year. Every year? Sorely disappointed. Best gift this year? My Nintendo DS. That I bought. For myself. I did decide that this is the year that I am getting back on the dating horse. Dearest reader, let's all forget about that little (I stress LITTLE) bump in the road from last September, ok? Things look pretty favorable on that front. More favorable than in a long long time. While out having Fun Tuesday with Shannon, I met a guy who told me three times how cute I am, and that he will be taking me out to dinner. He didn't so much ask for my number as much as demanded it. And he got it, for his confidence alone. Looks wise not what I'm looking for, but his confidence is intriguing......we shall see when/if he calls. If call, then I agree to a date. Today while chekcing my email, another decent prospect asked for my phone number. And he got it. Hedging my bets? Damn straight. So now I expect two phone numbers that I do not know to show up on my cell phone in the near future. Not to mention the dude in my German class that I wouldn't mind setting up a private study group with. I'm out of ideas for tonight. Off to Best Buy in the morning, need to purchase deceased DVD player's next of kin.