Sunday, December 21, 2008

This Is EXTRA Not Ok...




This is not ok

It is -20 degrees with wind the chill factor outside…I am therefore, trapped. I cannot find the remote and I have one of those cable box things that doesn’t have buttons on it or anything. I can’t change the channel. There is a Jonathan Taylor Thomas Christmas movie on. This Is Not Ok.



The Upside: Jessica Biel is in the movie.




Tuesday, December 16, 2008

This Is Not Ok...

"Like many, I find the holidays to be stressful…the impending doom of financial demise, nightmarish travel, being a social worker during this time (there's LOTS going on there), and of course, FAMILY TIME, kinda makes me want to scratch my eyes out…or someone else's. But it isn't really cool to ruin other people's holidays just because you're not into it. It's a downer. I find it's best to find other outlets to purge the ick and spare the population of your (my) poison. So as an alternative to hurling myself off of the LaSalle St. Bridge, I think I will instead address my most recent annoyances in this next installment of This Is Not Ok. Maybe people just don't know what's not ok. So let's make it a fair and level playing field. Per usual, I will point out things that are not ok, and there. I've said it. Now you know. Additionally, maybe there are those who can now relate. Perhaps all we need is to communicate better. Perhaps we will create unity around things that are not ok! And we can go out into the world defeating the Not Oks, making it a better place (for me)! And isn't that what the holidays are about? Unity? Bringing people together? Me? To begin…The newest in This Is Not Ok

· The lovey-dovey make out couple across from me on the train last night. I don't just find you annoying, I ACTUALLY hate you. Hate is strong word…and I hate you.
· Audible yawning.
· Big, fat, wide public yawns without covering your mouth.
· Throwing shoes at our president. He sucks. Badly. But you can't really throw your shoe at him. It's insulting to the US. Plus, what if it were something more deadly? I mean…look at our back-up plan. If anyone can do a lot of damage in a month it's THAT GUY!
· My parents. Just trust me on this one.
· Work parties. WHY do I have to go to these things?
· Law Students. Sorry baby, it's just…well, not ok. It's not your fault. I'm pretty sure law school blows.
· Status dating. Gross.
· The "77threeee-20twoooo-Lunaaaaaa" song.
· The "800-5eeeeight-eeeeight, 23hundreeed, Empiiiiiiiiire…" song.
· Public transportation riding, ring-tone testers.
· The Clark bus.
· High School kids on the Clark bus…and the redline…and the Halsted bus…
· Shows about finding out who is the father. I feel like that may just be a private matter.
· My dog, Sonny. He's a real jerkface.
· President-elect Obama STILL asking me for money. I don't have any. That's part of the reason I voted for you.
· Anne S. moving away. That was super, not ok.
· My future children. Trust me…it's a pretty safe bet.
· Rod Blagojevich. He is UBER-not ok.
· The name Rod.
· My student loan debt.
· The View.
· Regis and Kelly.
· Regis.
· Kelly.
· Proposition 8.
· That I talk to my ex's. Jesus, I'm a pussy.
· Graduate school. It's a hassle and you're not actually guaranteed to make more money.
· The temperature in my office. Why am I wearing a scarf and a hat inside?
· People who make fun of street performers. You try it, asshole.
· The fact that at this very moment I am both hungry AND fat. What's a girl to do?
· How much OTHER people's weddings cost me…and I can't even have one to get back at them someday.
· Madonna's accent.
· Serving sizes on cereals. Yeah right. For a butterfly.
· That I have to be at work for six more hours and can't handle the thought of six more minutes.
· That Starbucks doesn't deliver. The whole reason I need coffee is because I'm tired and can't move yet. p.s. It's REALLY cold out! Bring it to me.
· Crotch tattoos.
· Me…for once dating someone with a crotch tattoo…to be fair the tattoo came after we had already begun dating. But still…
· To expand on one of my previous points; a dog who eats my underpants. Underpants don't grow on trees!
· The word underpants…though I prefer it to "panties." Panties is a pervert word.
· People who dump you during the holiday season. Very uncool and somewhat traumatizing…creating yet ONE MORE negative connotation to the holiday season. Neat-o.
· The amount of times I can watch Little Women and still cry every time Beth dies. SHUT UP! That Claire Danes is very convincing!
· The amount of times I've watched (will watch) Little Women.

Whelp…that oughta do it for now. Mind you, that's just what came to me in this sitting. There will be more to come in the next installment of This Is Not Ok (aka Free Therapy). Feel free to add to it…you may even attempt to defend yourself if you feel you've been called out…just make sure I don't know where you live or that you operate under a pseudo name…OOH! Stay tuned for This is Awesome! #1. The phrase "pseudo name" and people who pronounce it as pseudonym…with a British accent."

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Tattoo You

So, um...I just...well, see...this. I...this is not ok.


What's werid is that a certain coach I once had used to call us monkey asses. Turns out I'm not one.


Friday, November 21, 2008

At Last. My Love Has Come Along...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! I CAN'T GET OVER IT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

FREE MONEY!!!

Free money, huh? My ship has finally come in!!! Here I am just checking my morning email...expecting some threats from companies to whom I owe money and I find this! I can FINALLY breathe easily. Man I can't wait to give this guy my private mobile, telephone, and fax numbers for easy communication! Read on and get on board! FREE MONEY! RISK FREE! It's true. He says so himself. Now remember, keep it on the DL. It's super top-secret.

"From:MR FRED SIBAYA No.54 Palm Groove,
Braafontein
Johannesburg
South Africa Tel/Fax+0027 86 529 0021 Dear Sir,
I am MR.FRED SIBAYA from Zimbabwe the first Son of MR JOHN SIBAYA, who was murdered in the land dispute in Zimbabwe by the agents of the ruling government of President ROBERT MUGABE, you must have heard his alleged support and sympathy for the opposition MDC PARTY led by the minority white farmers. My Father was among the few black Zimbabwean rich farmers murdered in cold blood by the war veterans backed by the government.
Before the death of my Father, he deposited the sum of US$12M (Twelve Million United State Dollars) With one of the security company in Southern Africa, as if he knew the looming danger in ZIMBABWE. The money was deposited as a gem and precious stones to avoid much attraction from the security firm. The money was earmarked for the purchase of new machinery and chemicals for the farms and the establishment of new farms in Lesotho and Swaziland before the regretted incident. This Land problem arose when President Robert Mugabe introduced a new land act. Which wholly affects the white rich farmers and some few blacks vehemently condemned the "Modus operandi" adopted by the government. This resulted to rampart killing and Mob actions.
My mother and I are staying in South Africa now as Asylum seekers, which have not been beneficial to us; I have decided to transfer this money to a foreign country where we can invest it. I am faced with the dilemma of investing this amount of money in South Africa for fear of encountering the same experience in future since both countries have the same political policy and also law does not permit us to investment hence we’re refugees. I must let you know that this business is 100% risk free. I and my family have agreed to give you 20% of the total US12M, 5% will be mapped out for all expenses that maybe incurred during the transfer 5% for any charity organization and 70% will be for me and my family’s investment in your country.
Therefore if you are willing and interested to render the needed assistance, endeavour to reply through fredsibaya0@gmail.com for more brief clarifications. I also need your private mobile, telephone and fax numbers for easy communication. Remember; this is highly confidential and the success of this business depends on how secret it is kept. Expecting your reply soonest.
Best regards,
MR.FRED SIBAYA (FOR THE FAMILY) "

Now what the heck are you waiting for? Get your free money!

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Oh, How Far We've Come!!!

Dear "Friend" of mine who is sending around an email with a subject line that reads "FBI uncovers plot to trap Obama", that when opened shows a picture of a box with a watermelon in it, held up by a stick with a string attached to it (the kind that will trap something when pulled. i.e. a rabbit or squirrel),


You're not even a little bit funny. You're fucking racist. May your daughters breed with handsome and intelligent men of color, and may their beautiful, successful, well-adjusted off-spring dance on your grave. Asshole.

Here, I got a pic for you:Love,
rem

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The WAWA Sisterhood!


Dear Jenny,

DUDE! It's your birthday! Ever since that beautiful day when you gazed into my eyes and said, "Dude, if you try to make me munch box we can't be friends." you have been the Tango to my Cash. The Laverne to my Shirley. The Cage to my Jack. And other gay-ass shit. You've withstood threats on your mother from mine. Meriwether family Christmas trees, Letters of Dismissal, Leo the Dick, Laura, ME, my break ups, me "reeeeeally meaning it this time!", you brought donuts to my grandmother's funeral (and came to the church way early b/c I had to be there way early...I really loved my grandmother. You got that without making me say it and sound like a pussy), and SOOOOOOOO much more.

You think that singing in a person's face in a car ride is ok. More than ok. It is expected. You know that me going home means I'm actually going to your house while I stop by my mom's a few times. You pretty much just assume you're picking me up from the airport. You never complain about it. You gave me your green shirt when I moved away. You stopped talking to me for a REALLY long time the year I forgot your birthday, and I wasn't all THAT concerned because I knew we'd eventually be fine again. That's how we are. I'm sure that you love me. You and only one other person (actual statistic). You've ridden out my career changes. And you make me laugh. We both think the other person is funnier. I'm right. And you too believe that posing for weird pictures is the right thing to do. You too believe that food IS therapy...especially since if it's from WAWA. And you fully support my idea to move to the fictional town of Stars Hollow.

This could go on forever. What it really comes down to is that it's awesome how we're awesome.
To the WAWA sisterhood!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DUDE!

-rem
p.s. remember how this time last year we spent the day in court shaking our heads at my brother in disbelief??? BEST. BIRTHDAY. EVER!

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

well, hello there...






Hi. I think I’ll dust off my blog again and see what happens. To all of my reader who messaged me a few times asking me to start er’ up…well, thanks! Here goes:

I…well...ok so I don’t really have anything to say and I don’t know why I chose tonight to get going again. Um…I could just update you and we’ll start from there.

Let’s see…um…my job and school are stressful, I have too many pets and a baby is moving in with me on Saturday…like pretty much almost perminantly-ish. I’m like almost a mom-type person. Which is pretty much a bad idea. I still fall asleep with my contacts in, curse at the television when the Bears play, leave the iron on, forget to pay my cable bill, think that writing papers while drinking is ok, hate cleaning, HATE my alarm clock, love the wrong people, have holes in my socks, am raising a puppy (and by raising it I mean yelling at it for pooping on the floor b/c I need to wait until the Gilmore Girls rerun I’ve seen several times and have on dvd is over before I take him out) and am planning on faking my death and moving to Tuscany to avoid paying back my student loans. But I love baby…so I guess I’ll do…ok(???) Let’s see…what else, I’m a vegetarian again. I even hate my own self for that. But it gives me room to make sure people know how much better I am than them. Now instead of telling people who smoke that smoking can kill them, I can tell people who eat meat about the meat industry and how meat was once alive. I find it to be a real eye opener. Most people have no idea that their steak came from a cow. I do what I can, you know; saving the world one pretentious, passive-aggressive comment at a time.

I’m dating someone. We get along and don’t think the other person is always lying to us. I guess that’s pretty good. I found out my ex HATES me. Whatever. The CTA has gotten worse. The hope for the country’s future has gotten better. Soy turkey is surprisingly good. Jewel coffee is unsurprisingly bad (I bought the economy size and am going to attempt to anonymously leave it in my office kitchen). I got a bowflex. I haven’t used it. I’ve decided that law students are intolerable. My brother turned one this week. I left my mittens in the bathroom and Nordstrom’s and am REALLY pissed about it. My friend’s are pretty cool. They got baby lots of stuff. I’m a happy person. I think that’s pretty strange but I’m going with it. I am over all of my ex’s. Either b/c they are fucking assholes who can’t get over themselves, or b/c I don’t really give a crap about them. Mostly the former. AANNND that’s it. We’re up to speed. So this week I will start er’ up for real. Thanks for the emails. I’ll try to go well with your morning coffee ;-)

Thursday, September 18, 2008

"Why don't you ever blog anymore?"

Hey there.
Ok, so I've gotten a fair number of texts/IMs/emails/actual voice comments in conversations (i didn't know people still did that) asking me why I don't blog anymore or asking me when I'm going to blog again, and variations of the sort. First of all, thanks. That's super nice that anyone would ask me stuff about me and what I'm doing.

Second, I'm busy (for the record, when I first typed that I wrote "busty". I think that's funny.

And finally (I think we're on third) and most importantly, I don't really have anything to say. I don't have a blog that keeps people informed (like fannie, grace, and garvey). I have a "let me tell you what I think and feel" blog. Like Brita. I don't really feel all that interested in sharing my thoughts and feelings anymore. It works for some people. It most certainly does not work for me. I think I feel safest (smartest) when I keep those to myself. If that changes and I want to write something I will let all my reader know by putting my link under my IM name. Email me if you want my IM and don't have it.

Thanks,
rem

Monday, August 11, 2008

Comments?

Does anyone know where my comment thinggie is on my blog? I can't find it. I played with settings and now stuff is funky. I accept that I'm stupid. Now someone tell me the answer.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Humble Pie

I am a social worker. Like many professions we are governed by a code of ethics and we take an oath. It’s long, so I’ll just give you the gist. It a little diddy that goes a lil’ somethin’ like this:

“…The primary mission of the social work profession is to enhance human well-being and help meet the basic human needs of all people, with particular attention to the needs and empowerment of people who are vulnerable, oppressed, and living in poverty. A historic and defining feature of social work is the profession's focus on individual well-being in a social context and the well-being of society. Fundamental to social work is attention to the environmental forces that create, contribute to, and address problems in living…”

M’kay. So that’s my job and I guess I take it seriously or whatever. They call it a “helping profession.” Oh. So I guess I help people. In theory. But what about being helped? I must say that until recently I never really thought about it. I mean, why would anyone help me? For starters, I don’t need help. Further…well I can’t really imagine who’d want to help me. I’m very…average, and have been proven to be easily dismissed and disposable by people who I was sure cared for me. Cue the violins, right? Wrong. I’m actually a very content human being who really doesn’t think about that sorta thing unless asked to do so.
I have a point, I swear.

This leads me to my story. I must preface this with saying that I am seriously embarrassed to talk about this. It’s far too sharey. But I’m working on my humility, which ties into this story, so here goes.

Those of you who know me know that I am in my final year of graduate school. I decided to take a summer course. Like many I rely on student loans to get through school and when things go wrong with them…well as I have recently learned, that can be a bad thing. Not, “oh man there’s nothing on but Two and a Half Men reruns” bad. but like, “Oh man. My period is three weeks late” bad.

I’m going to make a VERY long story short so I can get to what matters here. My school fucked up my summer loan package so badly that my loan are now four weeks late and I am told won’t be here for another 6 days. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I’ve been out of food for a while and so have my pets. We’ve actually been sharing what’s been left of my food. I’ve told a couple of close friends and was over-heard by one of my co-workers talking to my best friend from home, practically in tears. Now before this sounds like a pity-party, let’s get down to what’s really going on here.

This is not a story about my temporary poverty or my not so sharp financial aid dept. at school. So, starting about a week ago a few people found out about how bad this whole thing has gotten (for me. There are people in this world who are far worse off and it is not temporary, as my situation is. That is important to note.). And in the past week, this is what has happened:

Last week a co-worker dropped a month CTA pass on my desk and $15.00 and said in a deep Bosnian-war surviving-mom voice, “take this and don’t say a word. You will buy some food.” I peed a little. She’s scary and sounds like Dracula…and is one of the most loving humans I’ve ever met. My birthday was 2 days ago and the Saturday prior friends took me to eat and refused to let me pitch in a nickel (good. I don’t have one). On my birthday I got into work and there was a gift on my desk and a birthday note…and cookies. A different co-worker handed me money and said, “I didn’t have time to get your gift. Take this. Go buy pet food. It’s your birthday, you can’t say no.” Then my co-workers took me to lunch near my house, stuffed me and sent me home…I worked only two hrs that day. The night of my birthday my friends (one of whom is a relative of an ex and doesn’t even need to acknowledge me, let alone spoil and love me) got me pizza and cup cakes and watched my favorite dvds with me while we stared at the most perfect birthday gift ever, that they got me. Yesterday, my co-workers found another lame-ass excuse to take me to lunch despite my protests. My friend Anne sent me a birthday card with a note in it that made me feel for the 1st time in as long as I can remember that I might be worth being loved even though I fuck up so, SO much. I feel confident in saying that she is my friend and she loves me. And I don’t feel weird saying that. Yesterday my friend Donna took me to the movies and got me my favorite movie snack for a post-birthday, friend-date. Tonight my friend Kim took me for birthday drinks because she missed my birthday. But here is the kicker…I got a sudden knock on my door tonight and when I opened it there was my friend MSG and her gf with bags of groceries for me and my pets. Like, for real.

I didn’t ask a single one of these people to help me. I didn’t expect any of them to care that I felt frustrated and fearful. They just…helped me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who doesn’t love me and I risk missing the people who do. I don’t really think this was that good of a story, but it’s a true story. People helped me b/c they wanted to and because maybe some people think I matter. I didn’t know that. I hope I deserve it. So that’s my story about humble pie. Maybe it was more for me than it was for you. And yes. I cried when I wrote this. Maybe I’m getting old. I’m not sure what I think, but I do know that I’m catching myself in the middle of almost knowing something. I’ll let you know when I figure out what that is. Maybe it’s just a matter of trying to maintain whomever it is that those people think I am that compelled them to want to make me feel safe. Ok. I’m out of thoughts now. I’m going to bed. Wait. One more. I don’t remember the last time I told someone I loved them who’s not a baby or an animal. I…yeah. That’s all I got so far.

**POINT OF INTEREST: I was not drunk when I wrote this.

Monday, July 28, 2008

How I Deal With Car Doors





Now typically, as in pretty much always, wisdom and skill are bestowed upon me by those who are smarter, more experienced, more worldly, more talented, and just plain better than me. But today my friends; TODAY I get to give back. Today I will bestow upon you a gift from my bag of goodies. Ladies, gentlemen, and Garvey...I present to you…THE DE-DOORING URBAN-BIKER SIDEKICK.


Allow me to explain…


I have spent most of my life practicing martial arts. I have formally studied under some of the finest and highest ranked teachers in the United States and the world. I have trained and competed in Korean, Thai, and most recently Japanese styles. Now why am I telling you all of this (besides wanting everyone to think I'm super-duper awesome and wish they were me)? Due to this extensive training I have found that I have many physical reactions to situations that are immediate and automatic at this point. It's as though they are innate (and yes everyone smarter than me ((all of you)) I know it's not ACTUALLY innate. As in I wasn't born with it. But my point is it almost feels that way.). This most recently became evident in my urban commute. I live on the north side of the city. My route is Clark (starting @ around 5300 N.) to Halsted, and then east on Lake. It takes about 45 minutes each way. And besides the inhalation of truck, construction, and other assorted industrial fumes that are surely killing me, it's a lovely ride. With one exception. CAR. DOORS. Yes, those commuters who have furiously rushed to work (but of course had time to stop and get their quadruple vente, no foam, soy latte…one splenda ((no please or thank you.)), latte in one hand, cell phone in the other…texting, who are SOOOO important that they needn't think of anyone but themselves when rushing from their vehicle to their cubicle so that they can keep their jobs and make just enough money to make their $600.00 a month car payment (precisely twice the amount of their student loan payment and ¾ of the amount of the their Illini wall covered, Lincoln Park apartment. Well, ¾ of their portion of the rent. Their three roommates cover the other portion. Super expensive but it's totally worth it because it's within walking distance of BOTH Duffy's AND Durkin's! SCORE!) on their new convertible Saab. Smell trouble? Me too. But not for me! For him/her! That's right. Armed with the power of the DE-DOORING URBAN-BIKER SIDEKICK I'll respond in an instant! No need to stop…or really even slow, if you time it properly. I'll continue on my way while the weekend warrior is left massaging his shin for the next 10 minutes to be followed by an insta-bruise and swelling that makes him ask, "Do you think I should go to the ER? (His inner-monologue: " Oooh! Miller Lite and Vicodin…"). You too can defend yourself against these boils on the butt of humanity (random Steal Magnolia's shout-out!!)


Let me break it down for you:


1. You must first gage the height of the car/car door. Since you've been paying attention all along, you'll already know what you're dealing with by the time it happens.


2. The height of the vehicle will determine whether or not you can stay seated or if you need to rise and balance on your leg that remains on the pedal.


3. Once that is determined you will put your weight on the leg furthest away from the car while at the same time bringing your knee closest to the car up toward your chest.


4. Lean slightly forward at the waist and focus on pivoting your inside hip so that if you were to now extend your leg out to your side your shoulder and your heel would be aligned . I will explain why this is important in a later step.


5. Now that your knee is cocked (pulled toward your chest), you're leaning forward slightly, and your hip it rotated forward, your hips should be open, giving you the power and the positioning that you need to execute your strike swiftly and efficiently.


6. The moment you see the door beside you begin to open you should be in this position.


7. Then SNAP the leg out to the side. The following is CRUCIAL for your success: The striking foot must be flexed with the toes pulled back. The heel MUST be over the ball of the foot with your big toe pointing at, let's say 7:00-ish. Do the best you can (if your hip is properly rotated forward as previously instructed, this should already be the position of your heel.). If you are directly beside the car you are to strike with the outer-ridge of the foot. If the door is slightly behind you, you are to use your heel to strike. This is technically a "back-kick" and not a side-kick. But it is equally useful and appropriate in this circumstance. And Finally, AS SOON as you strike the vehicle you are to IMMEDIATELY retract your kick to your starting position.


8. Shout expletive of your choice.
*NOTE* In the event that the door has been completely opened in front of you and you haven't the option of going around and are forced to stop, deliver this technique to the knee/shin/stomach/chest/face (whatever flexibility allows) of the impeding driver. Then, shout expletive.


I hope this has been useful. I wish you luck. Remember this technique will require practice. I suggest "borrowing" the keys to a friend's car who surely won't mind that you're practicing on their door. I suggest Garvey. She's very generous…and humble. In fact, so much so that she'd be embarrassed if you even asked first before you took her keys. She'd rather you just take them and not make a big deal.If you'd like me to clear up any of this technique or further explain, please don't hesitate to contact me.


Happy Commuting/saving the environment/saving money/not playing into the hands of the big oil companies!!!


Yours,

rem
**the original posting of this can be found at thechainlink.org**

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

How To Cut Costs During A Gas And Mortgage Crisis; every little bit counts


Dear Aime Bergeron and Sameer Herrera,

Thank you for your near daily emails informing me that I can get "Viagra and many other items" for only $1. ONE DOLLAR!? What a deal! Normally filling my Viagra prescription breaks the bank! In a time where gas is nearly five bucks a gallon and the mortgage crisis has us by the balls, every little bit counts!
Thanks again,
rem

Point of interest:
Things I don't have/own:


  1. A car

  2. A condo/mortgage

  3. Balls

Sunday, July 6, 2008

What's Love Got To Do With It?



Love \n\ 1: strong affection 2: warm attachment 3: attraction based on sexual desire 4: a beloved person 5: unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for others 6: a score of zero in tennis.

Hmmm…ok. Moving on…

Love vb Loved; Lov-ing 1: to value highly : CHERISH 2: go feel a lover’s passion, devotion, or tenderness for 3: to touch or stroke lightly in an endearing manner: CARESS 4: to like or desire actively

Ok…right. So then…

Loved adj : held dear

Gotcha. So what’s with all the questions? Being in my late twenties (as in 30 in less than a month) THIS seems to be the topic of conversation among many of my friends…both male and female. What is love? How do you know if you’re IN-love? The difference between love and IN-love. How do you show someone you love them? When are you allowed to tell them you love them, if/when you’ve decided you do? How do you know if they love you? What makes it work? What makes it not work? Blah, blah, blah…

It’s all very complicated…apparently. In an age where if you can’t google the answer it doesn’t exist, there seems to be a tone of frustration about this big ol’ mystery…normally we’re content to allow Merriam-Webster to define things. But I guess not with this topic, my friends. Despite the definitions offered above, well…it seems as though this is very hard to agree upon.

So, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks doing some research. Confused myself, I decided that I’d stop tuning out when these discussions happen (every time I’m out with friends for the last 5 years, in one way or another) and I’d start tuning in. At 1st not contributing, but rather collecting data through observation. Like Jane Goodall (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jane_Goodall), I watched my friends and their significant others in their natural habitats.

Then I stated to put in my two cents here and there, but only in small pieces. I feared judgment. I thought I had a pretty good idea, but if I was way off I didn’t think my ego could handle the pointing and laughing.
Here is my close circle (of coupled people): A married couple…with twins. THREE engaged couples (I guess we’re at that age). A living in sin couple…scratch that…two of those. A newly dating couple where he doesn’t want to say girlfriend and she’s offering his sweats at backyard bbqs. One of my best friends who recently moved away who fell in love with a man the 1st time they hung out…and he with her. Two lesbian couples, one of which does several things together and several things apart, and then VOLUNTARILY take interest in the other person’s apart things and then go home and cook each other things while they play with their dogs, listen to music, read, and then cuddle while they watch tv while planning their next fabulous vacation, occasionally pitying me and agreeing to tolerate me for an evening so I can be the foster child of mommy and mommy. This? How can I compete with this? So, I kept my mouth shut and I watched (rare).

Now, it must be said that I have made A LOT of dating mistakes. Those of you who know me personally are sitting there rolling your eyes at my understatement. Don’t feel bad. So am I. BUT I really feel I’ve learned from many of them. I’d list my lessons, but I think that’d be boring and this post is already seeming pretty boring. If you’d like to know, just ask. I asked many of them (the ones who wouldn’t ask me if I was drunk because I asked or think I was up no good), separately and together, “what’s love to you and how do you know if you’re doing it right?” Each of them looked at me weird and then realized that this is totally something rem would ask, and just answered me as honestly as they could.

NONE of them said the same thing about the former part of the question, but ALL of them said the same thing about the latter. They all defined love differently, but said (and I paraphrase) they didn’t really know if they were doing it right. They just knew they were trying their best. To which I asked, “But why? Why now with this person are you trying your best?” And they looked at me like I was stupid (because it appears that I very well may be) and said, “Because I love him/her.”

????I thought you weren’t supposed to define something by using the word itself????

I just went back to watching. There was little for me to learn by asking. Despite my single status, I didn’t feel all that different from the rest of them. They just seemed to be trying their best to show one person out of the rest of us that they mattered a little more than everyone else in the room (though I’m sure we all love each other…in our own ways) and that they were willing to do a little extra to keep them safe and feel strong (though I can remember each of us doing that for each other from time to time…pretty much when ever we let each others know we needed it).

But HERE, was the kicker…or the point…or…well here was the thing that made it seem to work. Everyone I mentioned in my close circle who I’ve had the chance to observe during this two week or so study, WANTED the other person to love them. Merriam-Webster should mention that. Like, if a tree falls in the woods and there’s nobody there to hear it, does it make a sound? And if a girl/guy falls in the city and there’s nobody there who wants to hear it, should she/he make a sound? Or does she/he keep it to her/himself? And in that sense, did it actually happen? The love, that is. Is one-sided love actually love or does it get a different name? And if it does get a different name does the word already exist or do we get to make it up right here? On MY blog (this could be BIG!)? I asked some friends, all of whom jokingly said things like, pathetic, sad, and pointless. So yeah, I guess all of those words already exist. But they seem sort of yucky. Yet I’m not committed to NOT agreeing with them…yet.

So let’s take it back to the place where we began. Defining love and all its parts and actions. All of the love questions at the beginning that have been tossed my way over the last several years. Did Merriam-Webster do a good job in helping us to understand (scroll up)? Correct me if I’m wrong (no. really. Do it.) but, no. Not really. Those are just words. THAT I learned through my observation. I can’t really tell you what loves got to do with it…but I can tell you it has very little to do with just words. So that answers all of those questions…sorta. Ok, no it doesn’t. Not even a little. Guess there is no answer. But what about the other ones? These: “And if a girl/guy falls in the city and there’s nobody there who wants to hear it, should she/he make a sound? Or does she/he keep it to her/himself? And in that sense, did it actually happen? The love, that is. Is one-sided love actually love or does it get a different name? And if it does get a different name does the word already exist or do we get to make it up right here?”

Just wondering.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Americans Not Yet Ready to Go Green, Too Busy Going Blue

As an individual who works in the behavioral health field, I often just automatically assume everyone is nuts. Before we go any further I think it’s important for me to define Schizophrenia to those of you who are unfamiliar with the DSM IV’s definition of the disease. There’s a lot to it but for the purposes of this post all you need to know is that “The characteristic symptoms of Schizophrenia involve a range of cognitive and emotional dysfunctions that include perception, infernal thinking, language and communication…and symptoms associated with impaired occupational or social functioning.” To put it simply, those with schizophrenia often times have trouble with reality and perception and much of the time they have visual and auditory hallucinations. As in they see and hear things that are not there. Often they talk to themselves. I’m talking full out conversations. There’s so much flow to these conversations that at times I’m wondering if I’m the crazy one because I can’t see the other person they’re talking to. The conversation almost makes sense…Like, it’s so detailed on the one end that I can almost imagine what the other (imaginary) person is saying. Or maybe schizophrenics see/hear dead people…but then what do dead people have against me that they’ve several times told my patients to stab me with a pen or to throw books and furniture at me…and, WAIT! I’m getting off track!

Ok, now that you’re all armed with behavior health knowledge and the characteristics of a schizophrenic, enter THE BLUE-TOOTH.

I assume you’re familiar?? That little thing that attaches to your ear and is a phone. So you don’t need to use your hands and your actual phone is no where near your head, allowing you to walk down the street and just talk without having to really deal with your phone. The blue-tooth, though noticeable up close, is pretty small and only attached to one ear. So even from close range, unless you’re on the side of that person’s head where the blue-tooth is attached…well, you just have no idea that it’s even there. It pretty much looks like they’re talking to themselves.

Now most of you know that in any major city the crazies are aplenty. And can be even more easily found on public transportation…which I ride everyday. Further, it’s not as easy as profiling, because there's no shortage of people who skip their rent (and their shower) so that they can afford to have a super-duper neat-o cell phone. And there are a lot of white collar crazies too. TRUST. ME. But either way, the blue-tooth owner is too busy and important to even bother with using their hands. This has lead to some great confusion for me. I find that my everyday life now includes one more very important question. “Crazy person or just really, really busy and important person?” Either way, I’m sure I don’t want to sit near you on the CTA. Actually, if I had to choose (which I often do) I think I’d pick the crazy. They have more time for me, and I like to feel like I matter every now and again.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Urban Sidewalk Waterers


Dear Chicago Sidewalk Waterers,

Really? I have to wait for you? When I’m trying to make my bus/train to get to work at the exact same time that you decide you not only need to water your lawn, but your sidewalk and the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb? Now it all comes down to timing and my ability to run in heels. I’m now forced to wait until your rainbow of arcing water moves to one extreme side or the other…then I sprint! Full-force. To make it through before my business casual gets soaked. Again I ask, “really?” If it’s soooo important that your 5’X4’ lawn (and the sidewalk that borders it in your urban oasis) be quenched; do it at 5 am. I assure you the city will have fewer morning commuting sprinters at that time. I have to be honest, at that hour of the day my quads are still tight.
Stop it.
Sincerely,
REM

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Who Knew?







My name is REM, and I am the smartest woman alive. It's true. For reasons that are too boring to name my laptop smashed to the ground. When I picked it up the 6, 7, 8, U, I, H, J, K, N, and M keys didn't work. Did I panic? No. Ok. Yes. I did. I text my computer friend. He didn't answer. I have like ZERO computer skillz, outside of writing papers and using the internet.

What happened next is a true story:

I popped off the strip thing at the top of my laptop (using a butter knife) where it like, folds shut/has the power button/volume button. I saw two mini screws, so I figured I'd unscrew them. I did. THEN I popped off the whole key board. I blew on it and poked at it and scowled at it. Then I noticed a pluggy looking thing. It looked like it would fit into another pluggy looking thing. It did. I popped back on the keyboard. Screwed back in the mini screws. Popped back on the strip thing at the top aaaaaaaand.............

I. FIXED. IT.



All the keys work. I have computer skillz that I didn't even know about! Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and realize I can speak Thai. Or Russian. I mean, what kind of other super-skillz do I have that I don't know about!?! This is HUGE!

Thank You CTA, #22 Bus!


Dear CTA #22 Bus,

I’d like to take a moment out of my day to say, thank you! Thank you for making it so that all three of me can commute at the same time. I just know that my boss won’t care that because the bus was 15 minutes late my one self was 15 minutes late. Not when three #22 busses show up at my stop at pretty much exactly the same time. Again, allowing all three of me to arrive at work at exactly the same time. Though my one self was 15 minutes late, my other two simultaneously commuting selves came with. Three of me equals triple the work, right? So who needs that extra 15 minutes? Not me. Not my boss. Not my clients. That 15 minutes (should I ever actually get it back) is just gravy! Between the three of us, looks like I might get out of work early today! Maybe the three of us will get home in time to watch a 4:00 Gilmore Girls rerun. We love that show. So again, thank you CTA #22 bus! Without your precise planning and execution only one of me would show up to work…on time.

p.s. I hope the simultaneous commuting me's didn’t smell what I did on my bus on their busses. I don’t know if they’d bounce back from something like that.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Nice Guys Finish Last...

Nice Guys Finish Last…

I mean, that’s what they say right? Well it has to come from somewhere…like ALL stereotypes (right Linda Lee?). So a friend and I were talking today and we (she) decided that I’m pretty nice (in a Gal way...not guy.). Like, to people’s faces. And so is she. Anyway, long story short…we decided that puts us at risk for coming in last! (Whatever that means. But it sounds HORRIBLE!) HOLY. SHIT. That is NOT ok! So we decided to be mean for seven days and see if our lives drastically improve. I can’t be sure, BUT I HAVE A GOOOOOOD FEELING ABOUT THIS!!! So far I’ve decided to ignore people I love and not to share my pretzels with my big dog. Also, I plan on telling people who chap my ass in the LEAST bit to get out of my life…AAAAND STAY OUT!!! over the next few days. It’s gonna be good. Tomorrow I plan on telling a few of my patients in the morning that they’ll never get better and no one cares whether or not they do…oh, and that daddy drinks because they cry. Also, I plan on telling my afternoon clients to go back to where they came from.

That’s all I’ve got so far, but I’m willing to take suggestions. As far as my partner in crime, I’ll keep you posted on her and my practice and findings. But let’s just hope we come out on top, eh? Or rather, first? Like, if nice = last, then mean = first, right? I’m onto something. Wish me luck! CHEERS!

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

WELCOME TO FUKUDOME!!!


The Cubs signing a dude named Fukudome…the bringing of a fabulous baseball player to a club in need or a GENIUS publicity stunt?

Either way, does it make anyone else want to say WEL-COME-OME-OME-OME TOOO-OOO-OOO-OOO FUCK-U-DOME-OME-OME-OME…!!!!?[Insert that “Y’all Ready Fo This?!” song or “Let Me Clear My Throat.”…oooh! And if they really know what’s up, “You’re Unbelievable!”]


Sunday, May 11, 2008

Loop/Downtown Rush Hour Traffic Control—I don’t get it.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the rush hour traffic control team (TCT), let me briefly break it down for you: During rush hour periods downtown there are people in neon yellow vests that stand at intersections with traffic lights and instruct vehicles to stop when the light turns red and go when the light turns green. They also hold the responsibility of directing pedestrians to walk when the white man shape walk sign illuminates and to stop on the corner and wait until the walk sign comes back up when the orange stop hand becomes illuminated.


This is a HUGE responsibility, considering that thousands of lives are at stake. But there is some assistance offered to the traffic control team. The walk and don’t walk icons will begin to flash when they near the end of their current increment. This allows the TCT time (though not nearly enough, if you ask me) to prepare for their next move.

And since it’s an entirely new system that red light means stop and green light means go and white man walking icon means walk and orange hand icon means stop, this team is ESSENTIAL for the survival of downtown commuters. Fortunately there are A LOT of them. They’re very pleasant and the look on their faces says “There no where else I’d rather be right now then here with you and these cars.” Seeing these people before getting on the spacious and reliable red line with my fellow pleasant and spatially aware commuters is actually a really nice way to end the work day. I don’t know what they’re getting paid but I know that this city department is worth EVERY penny. Thank you Rush Hour Traffic Control! And on this mother’s day my mother thanks you too for getting her little girl home from work safe and sound each and everyday, which without you would otherwise be highly unlikely.

In other news, nearly all of the public health clinics in Chicago were closed because the city could no longer afford to keep them open. Understandable. They clearly have more important things to spend their (OUR) money on.

Unrelated: What’s really going on between Mary Poppins and Bert?

Monday, April 28, 2008

"It's Girl Scout Cookie Time!"--I Don't Get It

Why are girl scout cookies seasonal? It's not like they require a certain fresh berry or the birth of a young fish to be made. Don't the girl scouts want/need money all the time? I can't name a single person who wouldn't buy girl scout cookies regularly.

But no. They only sell them once, maybe twice a year. Forcing me to buy 10 boxes of thin mints and just as many tag-a-longs to "last me through the year."

Yeah. Fucking. Right. All that really does is allow me to eat a sleeve, NAY! a BOX of cookies a day.

I don't get it.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Catsicles--I don't get it.

My cats have figured out how to open my freezer. I walk in the kitchen and one of them will be sitting in the freezer with the door wide open. No. Seriously.

How did they figure this out?

How long has this been going on?

WHY would they want to sit in the freezer?

Do you think my crabcakes are still ok to eat?

I don't get it.

p.s. this is not very eco-friendly.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Stuff That I Don't Get

All of my blog friends are clever and/or uber-intelligent. Kudos to them, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to keep up with the Jones'. In fact, today I'll be starting a series that focuses on quite the opposite of being in the know. This series is entitled, Stuff I Don't Get.
Yep. That's about the gist of it. I'll simply mention something I don't get and invite my reader to help me to understand.

Welcome to my first installment of Stuff That I Don't Get

Today’s stuff that I don't get asks the question, “Why don't cabs have cup holders?” Now I can't speak for all cab riders, but in the morning I often have a drink in hand. Usually coffee. I trust I'm not the only morning commuter who thinks that coffee/tea/juice is a lovely way to begin the day, and in their time crunch is often forced to bring it along. It all goes well until it's time to pay. To get out my wallet and to remove the money from my wallet...and then put my change back in my wallet. Now, as my job (like many of us) requires business casual I am wary of squeezing my coffee between my knees while I cash handle. Yes, the travel mug is SUPPOSED to be spill/splash proof, but I've had my days and I'm not all about having another one 30 seconds before I walk into my office. The process stresses me out EVERYTIME. So here it is...here is my question: Why don't cabs have cup holders? I don't get it.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

TAGGED

Alright. I'm going two birds with one stone on this, since both fannie (http://fanniesroom.blogspot.com/) and brita (http://brita05.blogspot.com/) tagged me. At this point I'm just having a damn axiety attack about getting it done so here goes...

The rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book of 123 (or more) pages.

BLOODTHIRSTY BITCHES AND PIOUS PIMPS OF POWER (fannie loaned it to me so that automatically makes me look smart)

2. Open the book to page 123 and find the 5th sentence.

"It all makes sense to him."


3. Post the next 3 sentences

"Team hate is smarter than it is intelligent. The unfunny antics of Coulter are remarkable only because they are intentionally outrageous, tasteless fabrications that evoke anger--which pays. Ingraham reminds me of a child swinging blindly at a pinata and constantly missing."


Ok, I hope that this has proven to all of you a few things. #1. I know how to read. #2. I'm really, really smart and political and crap. And C. #1 and #2 only really happen with the help of Fannie.

I guess I'm supposed to tag other people...but I don't really have a lot of blog friends (most of my friends are really stupid ((and ugly)). That's why I hang out with them. I'm the smart and pretty one). Since I've been double tagged I'm going to tag Garvey (http://www.melissasuegarvey.blogspot.com/) and um...hmm...well since fannie has likely read 15-20 books this past week I'll tag her. Don't tag me back bitches.

*NOTE: Where I come from to "tag" someone is to have sex with them. Just sayin'.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

I'm Sorry? What Was That?

I must remain vague with my details so as to not disclose the person(s) or institution(s) they represent. I got JUST now got off the phone with and individual who is, to put it vaguely, a mentor of mine, a leader in their field, and a person in whose hands much of my future rests.

A lot of the conversation doesn’t really matter…until THIS; "…we just got out of a meeting about you…and we can’t decide if you’ll be famous or infamous, so we’re going to rear you for both…”

Let that marinate…

*helpful details for imagery*
1. They were NOT kidding. They didn’t even laugh, they actually seemed quit irritated when they said it.
2. The only response I could muster was, “Ok. See you Monday.”
3. This is true. Nothing was added and the only things omitted were names, places, and other personal info.
4. The "famous" thing is obviously blowing smoke up my ass. Those of you who know me know that I'm pretty average.

Continue to let that marinate…I know I will…no, seriously…what was that all about?

A Mother's Words of Wisdom

I talked to my mom on the phone two nights ago. Not a very common occurrence because, well...she doesn't really like me that much. But she had news and so she called. The news was decent (my family will not stop growing...I am soon to be the oldest of 7. Honestly, I can't afford it.). She asked me about school, work, and music (the standard). She validated my successes and ignored my failures (I’m thinking she had a good 3/4 of a bottle of Shiraz under her belt at this point in the night...it smoothes over the failures part). When we were getting off the phone she said, "keep at it honey. I’m proud of my baby-girl, and when things get confusing remember my rules to live by." 1st of all, I'm not so sure what the proud part is about. I'm not being humble people; I'm telling you the truth. I do NOTHING, and when I appear to do something good it is entirely self-serving with the mask of altruism. 2nd of all, I'm going to be 30 this summer...and yet I'm still “baby-girl”.

Anyway, last night was...well, "confusing" to say the least and so I decided to take her advice. I sat and thought back to being a newly 18 year old girl being dropped of at college by her mother and her aunt. I thought about the sense of terror and sadness I felt at the realization that after wishing to be left alone for the past 6 or so years, I was actually about to be.

I'm guessing my mom saw that look on my face. And we had one of those moments. I guess they're different for each mother-daughter pair. For us it's that look in her eye that says, "This very moment I don't resent you for being born when I was so young and ruining my life." and I look back at her with a look that says, "This very moment I don't resent you for ignoring me for most of my life." It's very touching...from what I remember. Anyway, having seen the look on my face she sat me down on the probably STD infested dorm room mattress and said, "Listen, I know you're scared. You're supposed to be. It's what you do with that that matters. Life isn't as hard as people make it. All you need is a few simple rules to live by. You stick with them and you'll always be ok." I asked her if they were different for everybody and she said, "No. That's the mistake people make. They think the rules are different for everyone. If that were the case the world would be chaos, wouldn't it?" I agreed and asked her if she'd tell me what they are or if I'm supposed to figure them out. She said, "Maybe you're supposed to figure them out. But I'm your mom, so I'm going to tell you." So she did. She listed them in order of importance. I needed some clarity last night so I went over them again in my head. Here they are. My mother's rules to live by (in order of importance):

#7. The moment a person says "I'm not crazy..." walk away. Do not offer an explanation.
#6. Never, EVER refuse a free drink. It is rude, and worse it is stupid.
#5. Never fuck with an African-American grandmother. They have endured more than you ever will and as a result can kick the shit out of you with words alone...but you're lucky if words are all they use.
#4. When someone offers you something to eat/taste/smell and they have a weird look on their face, don't. In fact, remember that that person isn't your friend and don't ever talk to them again. Again, offer no explanation.
#3. Don't blame it on me. Blame it on your father.
#2. If it is tall and it is blonde it is your enemy. Yes, that includes your aunt ________.
And #1....................................
NEVER trust a woman whose upper thighs don't rub together.

"That's it?" I asked her? "That's it." She said. And as life went on I could see more and more that she was right. These rules were all I really needed to get by. And so every time I lose my way, I sit and I think, "What were my rules to live by, again?" And I hear my mom's voice telling me what I need to know to live well...or at least NOT live badly. And so I wanted to share them with all of you.

So, thanks mom. It is times like these where I just want to say, "I'm really glad it's illegal for my therapist to tell you what I say."

Cheers!

Friday, February 22, 2008

Everything I Ever Needed To Know I Learned From Buffy



After nearly 10 years of higher education and well over $100,000.00 in student loans it suddenly occurred to me. What a waste! EVERYTHING I EVER NEEDED TO KNOW I LEARNED FROM BUFFY.

For starters,
“Seize the moment. Cause’ tomorrow you might be dead.”

“What is your childhood trauma?” is the most direct way to attempt to understand a person’s psyche.

Even if you’re like, 400 years old a naughty school-girl outfit can knock off MORE than a few years.
*note to self: buy naughty school-girl outfit. Wear it.

Don’t hangout in cemeteries. What possible good thing could ever come from that?

First dates should be scheduled during daylight hours…in direct sunlight. Second dates should be scheduled during a full moon.

Right or wrong, a symbol matters more than the thing it has come to represent. Meaning, I’m over the whole Jesus debate. Who cares as long as his symbol can keep things from killing me?

Punch first. Ask questions later.

We should attempt to work out a more appropriate retribution/restitution plan for the Native Americans our forefathers brutalized when settling this here “land of the free.” It’d be in everyone’s best interest. Really.

You were right. High school was a really weird experience.

Red heads CAN be sexy…if you give them a corset and leather pants.

Stay away from frat guys.

Eve did NOT bite the apple. There was no apple. And probably no Eve. So “those guys” can stop using that as an excuse as to why women are weak and cannot be trusted to properly handle temptation, and should therefore not be put in positions of leadership and power. It’s official. You made it up. Put that in your goofy hat and bullet-proof golf cart and smoke it!

Faith isn’t ALWAYS a great thing to have. In fact, in can result in death/near-death.

Other people’s sisters seem to be…unnatural occurrences too.

“Angel” isn’t really THAT gay of a name.

F***ing the wrong person can steal your soul and make you do some REALLY f***ed up things. Avoid it if you can.

I want a leather trench coat. PETA can suck it.

If you need to get a seriously difficult/important job done (i.e. saving the world), assign it to a woman. Men are “watchers.”

There is at least one lezzie in every Scooby gang. Right Velma?

If you need time to think, take off your classes and clean them. It’ll come to you.

Don’t pick on the nerd in high school. They’ll probably end up being way cooler than you’ll ever be, and even if they’re not cooler they might end up with the means to destroy you with the flick of their wrist.
*note to self: Damn it! Why wasn’t this series out when I was in high school?!

You were right. Your freshman year college roommate was NOT normal.

Other people’s moms are cooler than mine.

Other people’s moms are WAAAAAY worse than mine.

Don’t take candy from strangers.

Now this we all already knew but, College = let’s find out if I’m a lezzie.

Never buy a home without at least one spare bedroom. You might get a whole lot of house guests at once and you’ll want to be prepared. Otherwise things can get a little tense.

Pirate patches don’t work for everyone.

Everyone should really stop kissing Southern California’s ass. It’s not really that great/safe of a place to be…and not just because of earth quakes and LiLo still having her driver’s license.

Hair dye and/or an English accent can turn a dork into a sexy, bad-ass mo-fo.
*note to self: Get hair dye and/or an English accent.
*note to self: Call Brita.

People who play with dolls are crazy.

One extremely pissed off lezzie with exceptional intelligence can cause a lot—like A LOT of damage.
*note to self: Do what Fannie says. Don’t ask questions. Further; protect her girlfriend at all cost.

Don’t invite strangers into your home. Make sure you pass that on to all of your family members.

Men can get kinda chubby and still be considered cute and adorable and charming and all that stuff. Women are supposed to get skinnier as time goes on.
Note to self: That sucks.

You were right. Your high school principal WAS evil.

Your mom doesn’t get it. That’s ok.

Don’t drink too much. It could make you act…stupid.

If a dead guy starts asking you to do him favors, don’t. I’m guessing he has some sort of ulterior motive.

And most importantly…watch out for the pretty, innocent looking blonde. She’ll kill you.

Well, that’s about it. Quite honestly, I can’t think of anything else I’d need to get by. Wish I knew that $100,000.00 ago!

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Things I love #2, The People Edition

Tisk, tisk people. What did I say? If you’re to send me messages calling me soulless, etc you should do it via blog comment. I already did “things I love #1” a few days ago. Did that count for nothing? But ok, maybe my crankiness came on a bit strong. I’ve been a bit stressed lately, but honestly I say and do a lot of things that just aren’t good…or maybe more specifically, NOT “smiled upon” and I wanted to just be more upfront about it. No apologies, but a zone for me to say things I think and feel. So I would like to submit my next post on things I love and be a little more specific this time. So, you can stop calling me names and psychoanalyzing me. I have a soul…it just happened to come with one complementary dirty east-coast mouth and one over analytical, over educated brain, and since I called within ten minutes I got a free career that deals with hearing and seeing REALLY shitty things happen to perfectly innocent people. That package deal can equal some pretty fucked up results…mostly turning me into an asshole. So…dear friends who’ve said some really weird and or mean shit to me this past week, Presenting: Things I love #2, The People Edition.

I love my siblings because we share parents and that means that we will one day (for better or worse) understand each other in a way that no one else will.

I love Jenny because she cried when I moved from Philly to Chicago and gave me my favorite shirt of hers, she stood in the receiving line at my grandmother’s funeral, and she knew to shut up and decorate the Christmas tree when my mother demanded she do so (who just seconds prior had threatened to beat up Jenny’s mom…weird story).

I love Dana because she knew me before Chicago…when people thought I was cool…and when she moved out here and watched me get progressively less cool, she loved me just as much as she ever did. She still does.

I love J-Mo because no matter what I say or do I’m right, and which ever person I’m telling him about me having a beef with is wrong. Samples of J-Mo’s work include: “FUCK THAT BITCH! SHE’S FUCKING DEAD TO YOU!!” & “Sorry officer. I didn’t even know that girl. I just gave her a ride.” And how could I forget, “Dude! Did you just f*** her in the back of my Explorer?! YES! You just upped the resale!!” Those are just of few of maybe 300 times that no matter what I did, to J-Mo I was right.

I love Matt and Bun because when they married I was in their bridal party…but wait—there’s more! Matt is my ex-boyfriend. Bun is the girl he dated after me (they married like 8 years after we broke up so this isn’t as weird as it sounds). The thing is; Matt is like family to me. We’ve known each other for over half of our lives. Our families know each other. He’s one of my best friends and this was going to be one of the biggest days of his life. We’ve been with each other through thick and thin…in fact when he and Bun broke up for a brief period he and I spent many hours concocting a plan to get her back…it worked. And Bun. I ADORE her. She’s like a fucking blonde Snow White who still thinks fart jokes are funny. She’s perfect and they belong together. And she gets “me and Matt”. And one day she called me and asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. I think it was her, “Don’t worry; he’s still going to be one of your best friends…even when he’s my husband.” She was right. *note…writing that kinda made me tear up*

I love Anne S. because despite having a really weird and awkward introduction and factors that would make most women really dislike or dismiss me, she ended up judging for herself and is now one of my best friends. Also, she has pretty much the finest ass in this hemisphere. Also she holds me accountable…again, without judging me. And her eyes are pretty.

I love M.S.G. because no matter what stupid idea I have she backs me. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief…if I say I want to do it, she says I can. She’s seen me be a COMPLETE FUCKING ASSHOLE, told me I was being a COMPELTE FUCKING ASSHOLE and then would do something like take me to a movie or ask me to breakfast. She was the 1st person in Chicago that I let hear any of my music and when it was over she said, “I LOVE it dude, really!” And then a bunch of other stuff…and she meant it. I could tell by the way she said it. Also she’s a dego-wop. What’s not to love?

I love Annie Fegs because she drove all the way up here in the freezing weather just to bring me my favorite candy because I had a broken heart. That ain’t all, but it’s very representative of who she is and how she treats me.

I love Myers because she’s the devil on my shoulder and probably my biggest cheerleader…but only in things that involve malice intent…and everyone needs one of those! AND…she’d do anything for me. I know it.

I love Fannie and LES because they treated me like family…which gladly involved me letting them hog the couch while I brought them drinks. I’d do it again in a second. Also, they were confident enough in their intellect to admit to loving and respecting someone who goes by the name of Buffy.

I love Anna W. because she was some sort of salvation to me. A reminder that I might be worth loving and that someone might still be worth being loved. And she’s a super-good drinker with a great shoe and bag collection.

I love Amy G. because she may have been my sanest, while it lasted. Not sane as in that SHE was sane. Or that I was sane. But that IT was sane, because it was the most truthful I’d ever been with myself. And in that time she was evidence that I’d made it. That I wasn’t my past and that if nothing else I knew that there was at least one thing on this planet that I knew how to do organically. I knew how to 100% whole-heartedly love a person 100% of the time no matter what else was going on in my life. No matter where I’d been and no matter where I was going. It probably seems simple for a lot of you. Not for me. At least now I know it’s possible.

I love Nicole because she said I had to say I love her and I've been letting her boss me around for over half my life...why stop here?


Now, what are the commonalities between all of these people? #1 They all know that I may just be one of the most imperfect people they have ever met. And #2 I love them all so deeply that it makes my gut hurt. None of this negates my assholeness, and remember I’m not claiming that every one of these people loves me in return…but I’m not sure that’s really the point.

*note* there are others. I’ll get them next time.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

The Godfather III and Cousin-F***ing

So, I’ve performed my daily duties.
I’ve researched the crap out of the topic of my next paper. I went to my waxing appointment, scheduled two health related appointments, went to the gym, tidied up my house, and my pets are all walked and fed…SO, I’ve taken myself to the couch now, remote in one hand, book in the other (I have the attention span of a five year old, so I read during commercials instead of waiting 180 seconds for my show to come back on.).

Anyway, I am pleased to find that there are about thirty minutes left in the Godfather II and that III is to follow. Despite the fact that I own all three on DVDs and have seen them each about 50+ times, I am still very excited and feeling blessed (even when you own movies it’s way cooler to watch them when they come on TV…it’s almost like God is catering to you.). I open a bottle of wine and start soaking in my glorified Sicilian roots. Half way through my bottle (it’s how I measure time, i.e. “Yes your Honor, I am TOTALLY sure. It happened at about ¾ of the way into my pinot, which means it was precisely 8:13pm.”) everything was going very well…until about 2 glasses of pinot into part III. For those of you who know the movie it’s the part where Michael is having a party for being honored by the Pope. The part where Mary (played by Sophia Coppola…badly.), who is the son of Michael, begins to flirt with Anthony and be very sexually assertive. Her cousin. Her father’s brother’s son. From this point on in the movie the relationship grows…it becomes, shall we say…intimate??? Yes, in one of the most famous trilogies of all time, one of THE most respected cinematic stories ever told, there is cousin fucking and NO ONE EVER SAYS SHIT ABOUT IT!!!

What don’t I get? I’m not trying to take anything away from the Godfathers. I LOVE them. I would talk dirty to them if I thought they’d talk back. But I must ask myself; why have I never ONCE heard ANYONE say something like, “Hey, these movies are really, really good, but what’s with the cousin-fucking?” I guess I’m almost as guilty as the next gal, having gone the greater part of my life watching these movies without asking the question myself, but better late than never. I remember being a teenager and thinking it was creepy and weird when Cher from Clueless started dating her ex-step-brother Josh, and that’s not even NEARLY as strange as this…not to mention, it’s not illegal…like 1st cousin-fucking is in most states. So I guess what I’m wondering is why the whole goddamn county has something to say about whom everyone is fucking (the gays, inter-racial couples, inter-religious couples, this afore mentioned beef that I have (http://femiftheycanttakeajoke.blogspot.com/2008/02/on-fucking-your-exs-friends-and-people.html), and yet everyone from the average joe to an artsy film critic to each and every stupid frat boy and boner athlete in college that I railed simply to be able to sneak out of their room in the wee small hours of morning with one of their cooler hoodie sweatshirts, had a Godfather poster on their wall (right next to their Scarface poster…don’t even get me started on that)…yes, ladies and gents, a tribute to cousin-fucking. I mean, do your thing and I’ll do mine but know that the next time you want to tell me about how morally depraved I am I will be sure to reference your love and support of cousin-fucking.

Things That Don't Make Me As Bad As You Thought I Was, #1

Now, due to the attacks on my character (which have been for the most part sent via text/email/phone call/IM/etc...) I have decided to start a things I love section too...you know, a little bit of evidence that I'm not as bad as you might think. To be clear, I welcome attacks on my character. Just do it via blog comment. I stand firmly behind every word I have written, and will continue to do so, BUT there are A FEW good things about me too. For example...there are some things/people I love. Oh! And also I'm pretty loyal. If I do so choose to love you I will likely severely punish someone who displeases you in some way. Now, in no way does any of this make me a "good" person...but I'm certainly not as bad as they come. So, without further ado; people/things that don't make as bad as you thought I was...

most importantly this...
and then, some other stuff...












*note* there are more things/people that I love. I just didn't A) want to squish them all into one place and B) was in a lot of the pictures with them.

Things That Scare Me #1

EEEEEK!

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

On fucking your ex's friends and the people who call it "wrong"

FUCK YOU. AND SHUT UP.

Now, I thought about just leaving it at that, but after not so careful consideration I think we need to go a little further.

Wrong. There seems to be a lot of throwing this word around. Cute little catch phases about doing the “right” thing. For example, they say “two wrongs don’t make a right.” I’m going to have to disagree with that. Say your ex has seriously wronged you. SO you fuck their friend…which is apparently considered “wrong” by a lot of people…maybe this makes your ex feel hurt (should they find out). Now the ex that's seriously “wronged” and feels some sort of negative feeling because you have done something that the boring, pathetic masses call “wrong” and GODDAMN, IT FEELS SO RIGHT!!! See?! Two wrongs made a right. And isn’t that what this piece of shit world needs? A little more right?! I mean, technically that would mean I did something to make this world a better place. Which I think grants me a free pass by St. Peter.

But that’s just one scenario. There are several other ones to consider. Like, not giving a shit about doing something wrong.

But I think what is most important to remember is that people who choose to judge people who sleep with their ex’s friend can kiss my ass, because no way can they even pretend to really know you and what you need. If you’d like to challenge that, I will find you, date you, dump you, and fuck your friend…and your sister.

Intro to blog

Well now, for about a year people have been telling me that I should have a blog. I’ve been asked to guest blog, contribute to a blog, host a blog (blog is an ugly word. Contact me if you know its origins). My response to this, to quote my mother, has always been “I have neither the time nor the inclination.” (Which by the way, is how she feels about parenting, working, rehab, etc…) Now, I still haven’t the time, but I’ve stumbled upon the inclination.

See, it has recently occurred to me that I have accidentally duped…well… nearly everyone (Dear Exceptions, Thank you. I love you for knowing the truth). It turns out that there are a shitload of people out there…I mean A LOT of them who think me to be good. Fine. Think what you will, your opinion of me matters very little. BUT, what does matter to me is your nagging. And your sheer looks/words of shock/sadness/etc EVERY time I disappoint you. I didn’t sign up for that and it kinda makes me feel bad, so let us begin an honest dialogue, shall we? Don’t get me wrong. I still like/love most of you, and would rather most of you still like/love me. But I think it’s time we’re all clear here. So this will be a blog about what actually goes on in my head.

I know, I know. Those of you who know me know that I am in a discipline for “good, compassionate, and nice people.” But let’s not pretend that I wouldn't do nearly ANYTHING to spite my family. Even if it means posing as a complete pussy for the rest of my life and pretending not to care about money and status. Don’t worry, “family first” folks. They hated me first. It’s actually a very comfortable place to be in. So, here we can discuss things I care about, things I don’t care about, things I know, and don’t know, and things I’ve done and not done. To throw myself a nod, I’ve done some pretty interesting things. Many of them make me a complete fucking asshole…but I say own it, baby! OWN IT!

Disclosure: I’m into politics. And I am a hypocrite. I'm a pretty big prick, but I LOVE attacking other pricks and calling them names. Stay tuned. Some of it may just be serious blogging…but don’t confuse that with smart!