I'm sorry but

No, I'm actually not. The situation: Got to my nasty urine-scented Metra station this morning, right around 7am, as usual. Today, there were six teenagers drinking beer and laying around in the parking lot. Literally. One of them was laying in the drive way. At 7am. God damn right I called the police. WTF. Not sure when Chicago became an open container city, or when 7am sounded like a good time to throw a party in a public parking lot. I actually tried to call 311 first. They then told me no, I needed to call 911. SO I did. I was merely giving them the heads up that not one city block away from the largest police stations in the city, there's a little drinky drinky party going on that they might want to check out. Everyone on the train seemed pretty incensed about it to. SO Get to work, post on teh fb that this happened. AND GOT BERATED FOR IT. Ok, now I finally understand that many many many people present totally false bull shit versions of themselves either on teh fb, or on their blogs (you know who you are) or both. Whatever. FINE You are SOOOOO much cooler than I could ever be!! Being consistently the same person is passe, I guess. BUT Don't go telling me that I'm old, or a fuddy duddy for calling the cops on these cobags. OR telling me that I was just like them. Yeah, so I drank when I was not 21, I fully and freely admit that. Did I do it at 7am, right out in the open? A block away from a police station? Um. No. No I didn't, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. I was a LOT smarter than that.

Is anything else watching this crap?

So. I planned to have, and did have, a mostly relaxing weekend. On Saturday I discovered a whole new show of awesome. It's called Billy the Exterminator. Here's how this happened. So, I was watching one of my favorite shows, Dirty Jobs (heeeey future ex-hubby Mike Rowe) and he went on a job with Billy (long before Billy got his own show). I then remembered that Billy HAS HIS OWN SHOW. So, as luck would have it, there was a Billy marathon going on. I could hardly pull myself away. I mean, his fam is so amazingly, proudly white trash, it was impossible not to fall in serious like with them. AND Billy is smart, like wicked smart. He knows lots and lots of stuff. About lots and lots of things. Sure, I don't need how to repel a gator info, but the stuff on how to keep the raccoons away were very helpful. Billy just needs a decent barber. And a dentist.

Friday Fun Fridgenote

Dear BlogRoll: (aka, "Friends, Lovers, and those I cuddle with) I want to know. Which are you? Are you: A Friend? A lover? Or one I cuddle with? And/Or Which one would you like to be? a little frivolity on a Friday never hurt anyone ;)

Stupid wacko

**First off, I know I said I was on hiatus, but a) I had to write a VonMom bday post and 2) I have to tell you all this story!!** So, last night was the first class of guitar 2. On the first night of every session, all guitar classes meet in the concert hall for some announcements and then you all get split into your classes and off you go. Here's what happened last night, night one of my Guitar 2. Of course, I was early. Like early early. I was the first person in the concert hall. I sat my happy ass down and vegged out. Slowly, people start to come in. While there was still only a handful of us, I hear the following exchange behind me. WhackJob: You know, I believe all guitars have souls. Mine is second hand, so it has a very old soul. NormalDude: Ok. WhackJob: Picks too. Picks have souls. NormalDude: Ok. WJ: I've been playing forever. Never had a lesson, but I'm going to take like intermediate and stuff. V(in her mind): Mmm hmmm. Good luck with that. WhackJOb. **at this point, I text the above guitar/soul exchange to a few friends** 8:00. Everyone's in the hall. I see WJ approach Jimmy T, overlord of the guitar instructors. He asks her to play a few chords. WJ CANNOT STRUM. She gets 3 of the 7 chords close-ish. Not right, but close-ish. Her strumming is horrifying. JT: Ok. Ok, let's try Guitar 1. WJ: No, I'm totally intermediate JT: 1 rep? WJ: shakes over confident head no JT: Ok, I guess you can try Guitar 2. Of fucking course. My class. WJ wasted so much of our class time, and was so very clearly in the wrong class, that it was a huge joke. As we were learning our first tune of the night "Walls" by Tom Petty, which was to be a refresher and to teach two new chords, WJ opined "We suck! Where's the harmony!" Um, what? Some where about the middle of "Country Roads" WJ: "Um, can you find me a nice version of Ave Maria?" Teacher: "No. We don't really teach that here." WJ: "Beyonce does a nice version of that song" wasn't aware Beyonce had taken up acoustic guitar. I've decided to turn her into a drinking game. The half dozen people sitting by me are in. Every time she raises her hand, we drink. Sure, I'll either get a DUI or need to take a cab every week, but it's only 8 weeks, right? That, or I might have to kill her. With her soulful second hand guitar.

Happy Birthday to VonMom

She has a green thumb, like a REALLY green thumb. I don't like plants. She can't carry a tune, and likes to make up her own words to songs. I know more song lyrics than I know anything else, and carry a tune quite nicely. She doesn't like it when I draw smiley faces on her hands. I like to draw smiley faces on her hands. She thinks I'm a smart ass. I think, 'huh, wonder where I got THAT from'. She hates tattoos. Thinks they might be a roadblock to my future as President of the United States. I love my tattoos, am planning on getting another one soon, and was pretty sure that her being not an American citizen might put more of a damper on my future as President of the United States. She thinks (deep down) that I'm smart enough to be President of the United States. She raised me with a "whatever doesn't kill her will make her stronger" mentality. I love that she did. I'm so hugely independent, and that's all her. She and VonDad have the cutest banter you've ever heard. It's like two news anchors that have been working together for, oh, about 25 years or so. She hates that my eyes "crinkle up and disappear" when someone is taking a picture of me. She doesn't realize that hers do the same thing. Deep deep down, she thinks I'm funny, even when she says "You are NOT funny!" I think I'm funny. My friends adore her. I'm pretty sure some of them like her more than me. She may have nearly fainted when her daughters got their ears pierced, but Oh My God, if you wrongfully fire her child from her crappy part time job in high school she will EAT YOU FOR BREAKFAST. She probably thinks that I got some bad habits from her: smoking (well, I'm over that one), t.v. watching, chatting, chocolate eating. What I also got was strength, honesty, drive, and determination. In those I'm proud to say that I'm her daughter. Happy happy birthday Mom. You're the coolest. Love you!

Crappy poster lately.

I don't really want to take a haitus, but it seems like that may be happening. Things at work have been crazy, busy, and crazybusy. My evenings? Even more so. Here's this week: Last night: Ticket counting from MayFest. I left at 9:40 (almost 4 hours of counting) and they were not finished. Tonight: GUITAR 2 STARTS!!!! Woo to the hoo Tomorrow night: VonMom's birthday. I'm trying to crash their dinner plans. Thursday: More time spending with VonParents Friday: Girls night with Toni Saturday night: Volunteering at Old Town Sunday: Something I cannot remember. Now, tomorrow being VonMom's big day, I will be posting a post to her. Beyond that? I will try. and try and try. But I make no promises.

VonForNow

is having such a shit day at work, she can't even talk about it. Nor can she blog.