lyndsanity

That's Just Schick

2009-04-23T17:04:00.002-05:00

Really ad agency? You really are showcasing the new Schick Quattro razor with bikini trimmer by showing a woman running by bushes and once she passes them, the bushes are trimmed? Into various shapes? And then using the same concept in print with a trimmed shrub covering a sensitive area on the naked statue of Venus?

I hate when lady products make it uncomfortable to watch TV with my dad.

Congratulations!

2009-04-09T18:18:00.003-05:00

The Fast and the Furious Three has been proclaimed the best movie in the Fast and Furious franchise. An award much like being the prettiest carnie at the state fair.

Breaking My Silence for This

2009-04-03T10:07:00.000-05:00

I have never apologized for being from nowhere. In fact, I love being from a nowhere that is as great as small town Iowa. I love it so much, I am writing a book about it.

Though I’ve always been proud of where I’m from, my eyes are actually welling with pride today. Little, conservative, middle of nowhere Iowa, just made history. After a ruling by its highest court, Iowa will become the third state to legalize gay marriage.

That’s right kids. Iowa. Who are the Idiots Out Walking Around, now? (Ahem California.)

TITD*…Automated Telephone Systems Made Me Cry

2008-08-01T15:17:00.000-05:00

Actually it was Wednesday, but I couldn’t post because my internet was down. Hence my 3 hours on the phone with AT&T, my DSL provider. After spending 20 minutes talking to a man in the DSL department, he informed me that my problem was with the telephone, not the internet and that he could give me a number to call for telephone repairs. Please note that AT&T provides both my telephone and DSL service. I asked if he could transfer me to the phone division. He could not. They cannot transfer. AT&T the largest telecom provider in the world, cannot complete a transfer. Oh irony, how you sleigh me.

Anywho, the telephone division was equipped with one of those horrifying voice recognition software systems. You know what those systems suck at? Understanding English. I was literally screaming the word “Repair” into the phone and the man on the system would say “Did you say Orders?” or “Sounds like you want to discontinue your service. Am I right?” NO! No you silly bastard you are not right. Then he would apologize and say “I’m sorry I’m having so much trouble understanding you, let me transfer you to someone who can help.” Then I would talk to a sales person who would give me a number for phone repairs and the process would start again.

Do you know what finally worked? When he asked me to describe my problem, I said “My telephone sucks.” And he said “It sounds like you need the repairs division.” I was just surprised he was able to understand me through my tears.

*TITD = Today is the Day. Clever right?

Today is the Day I Learned What I have in common with Brody Jenner…

2008-07-29T22:19:00.001-05:00

My cell phone. After losing my old faithful phone to a watering can filled with vodka lemonades during Saturday night’s festivities and cancelling my iPhone order ($30 more a month than I pay now, $700+ for the term of my contract), I needed something new. And I picked the phone they show in the barf-tastic commercial starring LC and Brody. I feel bad about myself. But, I really like the phone.

In happier news, I also learned how cute the boy at the AT&T Store on Fullerton is. I spent the whole ½ hour flirting and so did he. Turns out my new running skort (yep, I’ll save that for tomorrow) is quite powerful.

Today is the Day Lyndsanity...

2008-07-29T18:00:00.004-05:00

Started a new blog convention. Because I'm really drained for some odd reason, I'm copping out for a bit. So you're the lucky ones who will get to read about things that I did on a particular day. Are you thrilled? Well if not, there's always the option to not read. You should have lots of practice at that after two months of almost no posts.

Enjoy!

It's Getting Hot In Here...

2008-07-11T09:33:00.003-05:00

Because in case you didn't know, I've been named sexiest person of the week over at one of my fav. blogger/people I know in real life, Curt, and new bff's Nicolle's blog. Check out what you didn't know about being me, being sexy, and being as close to famous as I ever will be. http://thesexy2008.blogspot.com/

Greensome

2008-07-11T09:25:00.000-05:00

Did you think I had abandoned you my loyal reader? (Hey Sarah!) Fear not. I have just been busy being fabulous. Or boring. It’s really a toss up at this point. Seriously, I was up to my knockers in wedding planning for my bff and then gave my self a little time off for good behavior. (And by good I mean I only fell down once at the reception. In a gown. Classy.)

Anywho, what prompted me to get back on the literary pony (dirty) were advertisements for a new loft development in the city called Eco Lofts. I drive by the sales office at least once or twice a day on my way to and from work. Granted, I know that the best sales tactic of the year is to throw green or eco or similar phrases into your pitch, but this place is cracking me up.

When I think Eco Lofts, I think of roof top organic gardens, solar panels, smart appliances, advanced heating and cooling systems, bamboo wood floors instead of cherry and a recycling bin. Not so with the Eco Lofts. They think threesomes.

The Eco Lofts may have all of the latest and greatest in economically friendly advances. But I’ll never know. Because the prominent picture on the side of the sales office is of two attractive women with a man sandwiched between them. While they are fully clothed, they are all also wet with water coming down on them. Like perhaps they got muddy in the organic garden and the new neighbors decided to jump into their giant shower together to get clean…and dirty. They might not tell you how their lofts are eco-friendly, but who needs to know that when you’re getting a bj?

I’m fully anticipating that the Eco Lofts will be the new Melrose Place of Chicago. Go green. Get laid.

So, How Was Your Day?

2008-06-16T17:23:00.000-05:00

This afternoon at work, we raced remote control cars up and down a long hallway. You may remember this hallway from previous really strange work events. We had Speed Racer plates and napkins, racing flags, checkered table cloths and wall decorations. We ate giant cupcakes from CostCo, reviewed our May monthly numbers and received light-up car-shaped key chains with our company logo on them.

This is the sixth celebration of this kind that we have had this year.

And just to clarify, I do not work at Dunder Miflin. Nor, is my company fictional.

Unfortunately, I already had a full day’s work planned and will be staying late to finish up. In case you didn’t know, “staying late” is like saying “I’m important.” If you can also use the words “merger” “initiatives” and “strategy” while martyring yourself about the sheer number of hours you put in because of how busy you are (be sure to use the word busy a lot), it will be clear to all of your friends, family and coworkers that you are indeed a very busy, important person, dedicated to big business.

Today, I developed a strategic plan for an upcoming acquisition that is a result of a pending merger while managing initiatives in our company’s largest channels. So. Clearly. I’m a very important person. Who races remote control cars around soda bottle obstacles instead of attending her Monday afternoon conference call.

In My Face

2008-06-05T09:19:00.001-05:00

So a week ago, I was considering my online persona and thought seriously about deleting it. Getting rid of my MySpace page, laying the blog to rest, and focusing inward for the summer.

I weighed these options with the levity they deserved. Well, the levity they would deserve if the online me was half as popular as I pretend it is. I hemmed and hawed over the fact that MySpace allows me to stalk certain people from my past who I feel I need to keep tabs on. But while I log in quite frequently, I never DO anything on it. I deliberated over my blog and the fact that it keeps me writing, which I love, but is distracting me from writing a book of essays, which is what I really want to do. And of course, there’s you, my loyal reader to consider. (Hey Sarah!)

During all this consideration (which apparently is going around right now), I became ill with the strep throat. That’s right, I contracted a disease most commonly affecting 4th graders. And I realized the only thing I really need in life is not my online persona, but my health, and decided to end it all (in the internet sense).

And then I joined Facebook. It’s a really good way to pass the time when you’re couch-ridden.

You win again Interwebs.

Boogle

2008-06-03T21:36:00.000-05:00

I used to google myself quite frequently to find out how cool I was. Turns out? Never very cool. What I did like was that all of the posts directly related to me. I was literally just bragging to some friends Sunday night that I’m the one and only me in the world, because that’s the kind of thing that makes me feel important. Until I googled myself tonight. And there’s suddenly 10 pages of results from China and something to do with popular searches and when you click on the links, I can’t even find my name. It’s all very confusing. I liked it better when the interwebs found me and only me, even when the results were totally boring.

Sex and the Cynical

2008-06-01T19:02:00.002-05:00

I am going to write about Sex and the City in this blog post. This is your spoiler alert. If you do not want to know about Sex and the City, do not read any further. Now, I am going to hit the return key several times so you can close this screen before you can see what I have to say next.

No one dies. And it ruined the movie for me. Part of it is because I am morbid and like sadness in movies that I can’t deal with in real life and so I was disappointed. Part of it is because every time the phone rang or someone looked sad or really anything happened, my heart dropped and I assumed Steve/Big/Miranda/Carrie/Samantha/Smith/Charlotte was dead. And that’s a nerve racking way to watch a movie. And the last part is because Cynthia Nixon is a liar. And it makes me mad that she duped me by telling us all that “someone” was going to die and god bless her if it didn't get me thinking a million different possibilities.

It’s not a bad movie. It wasn’t worth taking the day off work to see. The cosmos and cocktails that followed however, well those never disappoint.

Oh Boy George!

2008-05-29T11:09:00.000-05:00

Things might get a little slow here on lyndsanity. I just found out that my one and only, George Clooney, has dumped his little Vegas waitress hussey. I’ve said my good byes at work as I am fully expecting that he is on his way from LA to my ivory tower/office building in Schaumburg. Once he arrives, he’ll charge up to the elevator, push the button, wait 20 minutes for it to arrive, get through three secure doors AND THEN, he will sweep me off my feet in the manner of Richard Gere and Debra Winger. Except for less assembly line and more rolling me down the halls of my office in my lumbar support lacking chair as the theme from Batman & Robin plays.

So I’ll miss you guys, but you’re all invited to our Las Vegas wedding at the Belagio. George will play the part of Booker from Roseanne and I will play the part of Nurse Carol Hathaway.

OMG

2008-05-28T14:22:00.003-05:00

When I was younger, I had a very serious disease called Catholicism. I caught it after spending more than 40 hours a week in either Catholic School and/or church, and sometimes, both at the same time, for nine years. Symptoms included memorization of countless prayers to a literal heavenly host of saints as well as a vague understanding of how three people can be one even though one is a ghost and one was like the father of the other. Or something. All very confusing.

Eventually, I got over it and was able to resume a heathen lifestyle. I usually relapse once or twice a year when I go to mass with my family, but I feel as if for the most part, I’m cured.

The point you ask? Well, on Sunday night, I was revelling in attention at a friend’s party as a result of several tasty treats I had made. I REALLY like to make party food and wish it was my job. As I nodded graciously at guest after guest, I would say “I know I went overboard. It’s an addiction, I can’t help it. Please enjoy yourself” And they would respond “Oh! It/they/you is/are so good/tasty/awesome/pretty.” (Okay not that last one.) Until, one guy informed me that he had gone to culinary school. While he didn’t criticise, but in fact seemed to enjoy, I was deeply chagrined at my collection of peasant palette appetizers and desserts. After chatting, he convinced me that he could teach me knife skills, (I also requested nunchuck skills but he was less confident in those.) So you can imagine how pleased I was with myself that a cute guy who could cook was chatting me up and offering me private lessons. Wink.

Or not wink. Because then I found out that he no longer cooks, but instead goes to seminary school which requires him to not drink, attend church and believe in, you know, whatever. Now, I admire people with religion, but just like I don’t talk about my lack of beliefs, I don’t particularly like to listen to others talk about theirs. And once I realized that the knife skills class seemed more like a conversion than a cooking class, I turned back to the only part of church that ever made sense to me. Wine.

Hiya Sailor

2008-05-20T12:33:00.001-05:00

On my way to work this morning, I pulled up at a stoplight a block away from my office. Looking at the car next to me, I saw that the driver was someone who worked in my office. So we made eye contact and I waved at him.

With my hand in mid-wave, I realized that indeed this was not someone who worked in my office. Or anyone I’ve every seen before. Rather, I was making eye contact and waving at a perfect stranger. I immediately took on a horrified look, then laughed at myself, before focusing intently on the light, begging it to change. A full minute later, it did. And we both turned left.

Blushing terribly and very obviously avoiding that entire area of my field of vision, I just kept mouthing, “don’t turn, don’t turn,” as we approached the entrance to my parking lot. Praise Jesus he didn’t, because he probably thought I was flirting with him or laughing at him, and either way I don’t need to deal with that in the dim light of a parking garage.

What do you do when you don't know what to write about? This!

2008-05-15T14:51:00.001-05:00

What? What was that? You want to hear mundane things about my life? Well of course you do! That’s why you’re here, reading my blog. I don’t have a topic today, so put your rain gear on because you’re getting a shit storm of random thoughts.

- I went to a Cubs game last night, my first of the year. I’ve had to turn down work tickets twice already this year, so it was good to finally get into Wrigley. This just in: baseball is still two minutes of action packed into two hours.

- I saw a man in a brand new Lotus driving to work the other day. I wanted to pull up next to him and yell “This thing corners like it’s on rails!” Like it or not, one makes assumptions about men in cars like that. They spend all that money just so women will look at them and say “His penis must be really small.”

- Angelina’s having twins! Why does anyone care?

- I received my stimulus check today. Even receiving $600 from George W. has done little to prove that anything about that man, aside from his many verbal mishaps, can be stimulating.

- The marathon is less than 5 months away. I’m effed.

- In the last month, my younger brother graduated from college, ran in a division one track meet, and won his 9-9-9 contest (9 beers, 9 hot dogs, 9 innings). Guess which one of those my family is most proud of?

- Kathrine Heigl-Kelley just refuses to be not annoying. Have I mentioned that I would like her to SHUT! UP!?

- I think I’m a wizard. On Sunday, I was talking about how all of my engaged friends are or are almost married. After a wedding in June, it’ll be a dry spell. Two hours later, I got a text from my friend saying she was engaged. Then, this morning, I was hungoves, and all I could think about was a bagel, but I was late so I couldn’t stop. Then my co-worker invited me to a breakfast meeting where I ate a delicious bagel. Somebody call Hogwarts.

Even for a random blog, this is random. I’ll save you from further meanderings. Back soon with entries about actual subjects, though of course, they will still be based on the assumption that all of you care deeply about my wizarding skills.

Honk if You Hate Stupid Car Decorations!

2008-05-12T14:30:00.001-05:00

I HATE personalized license plates. I think they are douchey and pretentious or cutsey and annoying depending on what they say. The only exception might be in Baby Mama where a personalized license plate was used for good instead of evil. Other than that, I hate them.

You know what I hate more than license plates? Bumper stickers. I don’t care who you voted for, or what your personal views on the incumbent are. I care that you’re driving 45 miles per hour in the left lane of the freeway. I don’t care if your kid’s an honor student or on the swim team. Because your kid’s parent? Is a dumb ass. I especially hate if you explain that heaven doesn’t need my organs or that my mom chose life. I’ll be sure to set my moral compass according to someone who hasn’t had their blinker on for the last 20 minutes.

And you know what I hate more than bumper stickers? Window decals. Because I’ll tell you what, the man who decides that his Ford F150 isn’t complete without a window decal of Tweety Bird wearing a backwards baseball hat, should probably trade in his truck for a pink Kia Sofia.

Things That Don't Taste Good No. 1

2008-05-05T13:09:00.000-05:00

On Saturday during a marathon cleaning session, I noticed that the stairway leading up to my apartment did not smell as fresh as I would like. Turning to my frighteningly large arsenal of smelly things (have I told y’all my “candles are the new cats” theory?) I selected one of several reed diffusers.

Upon inspection, the label told me that what I held was actually a “scent spreader,” which, ew? For those of you who aren’t’ familiar a “scent spreader” (reed diffuser) is a jar of oil, into which reeds are placed. The scented oil travels up the reeds which release the scent into the room. Don’t ask me, it’s science.

Regardless, it also claimed to smell like berries. Delighted with my choice, I struggled to free the glorious berry scented spreader from it’s packaging. Once I had finally wrangled it out of the plastic, I was confronted with a stopper in the top of the bottle. Befuddled, I tried to remove the stopper with my hands to no avail. Falling back onto my old standby, I then tried to yank it out with my teeth, which, again, ew, I know.

You know what smells like berries but doesn’t taste like them? Scent spreader oil. It tastes like burning. As in, I think it burned off a layer of skin on my tongue. As I frantically flushed my mouth with water to get rid of the acid berries, it must be noted that the stopper still remained firmly in place. I did however, find out that another scientific way to spread scents is to break the bottle when you drop it in your sink. It will spread it so significantly that you’ll spend the next two days wishing you could burn some popcorn because it’d be a nice change.

Gro(i)an

2008-05-02T07:59:00.004-05:00

You should know that I had a really pathetic blog written about this week and how it has been the worst work week of my life and I just didn’t have the energy to write. But instead, a comment from my friend S convinced me I’ve got to chose my attitude and I’m giving you this little diddy instead.

Last Friday, I woke up with a very strange pain near a typically pain-free area. After getting up, getting ready and getting to work, the pain in my upper leg continued to worsen, making me actually shriek when I sneezed. Apparently my sneezing muscles are connected to the muscles in my leg.

When my boss came over and asked me to join him in a meeting, I stood up, made several strange pain-induced faces and then blurted out “Do women have groins?” He looked at me, bemused as ever by my random outbursts and a little uncomfortable with the topic. As I limped behind him to a conference room, he couldn’t help but ask, “But if you do have a groin, how’d you hurt it?” The answer, of course, was sleeping. Alone.

After asking several coworkers if women had groins and getting no definite answer, I went online to ask.com. And you know what I found out? That when you type in “Do women have groins?” Ask.com will provide you with a list of sites where men are looking for women to step on their groins.

So if I don’t get fired because of all the fuck ups this week, then what turned out to be a search for an S&M partner will probably do it.

Luv This 1

2008-04-24T17:11:00.002-05:00

I’m giving a presentation to the Senior Leadership Team on Monday. I just finished the PowerPoint deck and the title slide reads: Q1 FI Update: SLT. Which reads just like a text a tween would send to the ex-bff who totally stole her boyfriend, letting her know she’s a slut.

Hee.

Textsations

2008-04-22T15:15:00.002-05:00

I thrive on predictive text entry when I am sending messages. It makes it so much easier to text, drive, change lanes and drink a soda at the same time. It’s only when your phone thinks it knows what you’re saying even when it doesn’t that you realize technology is not always your friend. Last week J told me that her boyfriend had texted her to “Take care baby baker.” A little indignant that her unpregnant self had been reduced to a simple warming oven for future children, J was fortunately able to clarify that indeed he meant “cakes” instead of “baker”. Oh Motorola how you amuse us! Other favorites include:

Call of! I have to tell you about last might.
I have to go good.
Have a him and tonic ready for me!
Book! That sounds awesome!
Don’t be land! Stay out!
On! I can’t believe it!
Soup me a glass of wine!

Quakers

2008-04-18T11:43:00.000-05:00

Did you know the Midwest experienced an earthquake? Well I didn’t either. I thought the nocturnal mating habits of my downstairs neighbors were responsible for shaking me awake at 4:30 this morning. This assumption was not unfounded as I once lived below someone who kept me awake with sexy time on a nightly basis. So as I lay there awake and angry (and also a little sorry for the girl who’s boyfriend only lasted about 15 seconds) I certainly didn’t think that earth shattering sex was actually the earth, shattering.

He Really Was an Idiot Out Walking Around

2008-04-16T14:50:00.001-05:00

When I was growing up, my Illinois relatives would tell me that Iowa stood for Idiots Out Walking Around. Since moving to Illinois, I have been very conscious of maintaining my Iowa-ness and refusing to turn my back on my brethren west of the ole’ Miss.

However, (you knew there would have to be a however) a couple of years ago, I met a guy who personified Iowa’s pneumonic device. To be fair, it was fairly late in the evening following a Friday Cub’s Home Opener, but still…

While I was standing at a bar, a guy introduced himself and we started chatting. Discovering we were both from Iowa, we discussed home towns, colleges and all the usual Iowegian hot topics. After buying me a drink, this tall drink of water leaned over and sniffed the top of my head before looking at me and saying, “Your hair smells like balls.”

Baffled, I looked up at him and said “No, my hair smells like shampoo and perfume and probably a little smoke.” Without missing a beat he replied, “Well I hope it smells like my balls later.”

I was utterly speechless. And as most of you know, I am a classy lady. So I only let him buy me one more drink before telling him there wasn’t a chance my hair was going to smell like any part of him, let alone his balls.

Mother Knows Breast

2008-04-15T17:02:00.002-05:00

Long ago, before I blogged regularly, I saw something that frightened me to my very core. I had forgotten about this event until a couple of weeks ago when my friends and I were sharing stories of seeing things that made us want to gouge our eyes out.

My story begins on a hot, sunny day in Chicago, that seemed just like any other day. Except... that it was in the middle of the week, I had the day off and I was going fabric shopping with Shawn. Dun dun dun. Fabric shopping not so scary, you say? Well then you’ve never fought over pinking shears with a Chicago mother working on a “project” (ie: making crap for her family cause the kids don’t want to hang out with her anymore).

So we were at Jo Ann Fabrics, one of my favorite places, and had selected the most adorable fabric for new curtains in my living room. As we waited in line for our fabric to be cut, a woman stood in front of us with a daughter who was too young be left unaccompanied but old enough to rebel against projects. By screaming. Dun dun dun. Not scared of a screaming child? Well then you probably have children and aren’t afraid of projectile vomit and diapers either, so our fears are really at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Concerned that she was bothering the other shoppers. This oh so typical Lincoln Park, yuppie mom tried what she must have imagined to be a much less bothering thing. She began BREAST FEEDING her 3 year old. In the middle of Jo Ann fabrics. DUN. DUN. DUN. And if you’re not scared of that, I’m scared for your children.

I understand women have the right to breast feed in public, though I would prefer they used a restroom or comfort room and not the seat next to you on an airplane. When infants are involved, I realize there are often unforeseen circumstances that cause uncomfortable feeding moments. But to use breast feeding as a mechanism for quieting your toddler in the middle of a damn fabric store? Put it away lady and give your kid some candy.

To steal from Sex and the City, if you’re old enough to ask for it, you’re told old to have it.

Master of Low Expectations

2008-04-14T08:34:00.003-05:00

Friday night, I was at my wittiest. I feel I can say that with some modesty as you all read my blog and know that witty doesn’t happen nearly as often as I try. Full disclosure, this level of witty can usually only be achieved with strangers who still find my comments funny and people I’ve known for some time who are drinking. Friday, my audience comprised both.

There are very few places in the city that serve their mixed drinks in plastic cups. I was at one of them. After getting a guy to charm the very bitchy bartender into providing an actual glass for me, and then getting a different guy to have her actually add some vodka to it, I commented that my goal for the night had been reached. And then I mentioned my other goals.

1. Don’t get assassinated.
2. Do other stuff.

One of the strangers I was with questioned the likelihood of anyone planning an attempt on my life as well as the legitimacy of my high-profile status. While I had a hard time proving I was a target, (Me: Do you know Mayor Daly? Him: No. Me: Well neither do I, so I guess it wouldn’t be for that) I attributed that to the success of my life’s mission rather than a coincidence of being common.

And then I managed to stretch my funny into a shot (liquor not assassin kind) and a 20 minute conversation with a cute boy on not getting assassinated. Ladies, like I said, it’s good to have goals.

News Flash

2008-04-09T11:24:00.000-05:00

Um, the shirt I am wearing? Is pretty much see through. Don’t worry though, it’s only really noticeable in the cleavage area.

I just wish it would have looked that way in the mirror this morning as opposed to not realizing my ladies were saying hello until after the managers meeting I attended. Everyone seemed to be REALLY paying attention to my presentation.

Oy Vey.

Noises I Am Hearing Right Now

2008-04-04T14:07:00.000-05:00

1. A high pitched whining noise that I only hear when I am facing my computer that may be coming from a light. When I turn my head it goes away, resulting in me tossing my head back and forth because it’s kind of neat how it goes away and comes back.

2. The sound of people talking on a conference call that I am not a part of. Apparently my new neighbor is on a conference call and I can hear the Charlie Brown Parents-esque drone of whoever is doing the talking.

3. The President’s admin yelling at either her boyfriend or her daughter on the telephone, before hanging up and the redialling for more yelling. Which is totally appropriate when you are sitting outside of your boss’s office.

And now I know why my Friday afternoon is not very productive.

What What?

2008-04-03T14:33:00.002-05:00

You know how, when you’re me, you cling to fame wherever you can find it? Like say my friend Ed dressed up in a chicken suit and ran the marathon and thousands of people saw him. Well I’d make sure everyone I talked to knew that I knew the chicken man. Or say my friend Brian who does improv knows someone who eventually makes it Tina Fey (love you girl!) big. Well then I’ll tell everyone how I used to party with him/her even if it was just that one time and he/she didn’t talk to me.

So if you’re me, you’re thrilled if you once were out with a friend at a bar and she introduced you to the man behind the YouTube song What What in My Butt? and he was more than a little friendly in that “gay man touches your boobs” way. And then imagine if you’re talking about this with some friends and they all know who he is and think that it’s cool that you not only know him, but also that he liked your rack. That’s about as good as it gets in my book.

Unless…

That same man ends up being featured in a SouthPark episode in which Butters recreates the exact same song word for word and visual for visual. I mean seriously? I may have peaked.

So That's Why He Hasn't Called Me Back...

2008-03-27T08:36:00.001-05:00

Though we’ve been together for almost 8 years, on again, off again, he’s hardly returned any of my calls lately. At least now I know why. Apparently, he’s on a mission. A special, secret mission, only made public recently, when, via a pop song, he revealed that’s he’s only got four minutes to save the world.

Thank God Justin is teaming up with Madonna, who has many times tried to save the world by affecting a British accent, and Timbaland, who might not be able to save the world, but can at least float your boat, perhaps even an aircraft carrier.

I mean between saving the world through catchy lyrics like “Tick tock, tick tock” or “Go grab your girl” (which is apparently an effective world-saving technique) AND hosting the ESPYs, I guess he’s probably not going to notice my new haircut either.

Tough Enough

2008-03-26T14:15:00.000-05:00

Something weird happens to me when I’m around the president of my company. I become a moron. While my boss has assured me that the president likes me and thinks I am intelligent, I can only assume he does so in spite of my demonstrated skills rather than because of them.

Friday was no exception. On a call with quite a few higher ups, I was making some really valid points. My boss was sitting next to me smiling and nodding along as I made several slam dunks. And then I said “We’re going to continue to go after education and leads…toughly.” And on the word toughly, I swung my arm like a lumberjack/pirate. You know, to demonstrate that I’m tough. Ly. Because if there’s a word to describe commodity financial service strategy and the people who drive it, it’s toughly.

Kiss My Easter Bass

2008-03-24T17:23:00.002-05:00

Last year on Easter, I took great pride in announcing to anyone in my family that I was going to a book reading later on that evening. I thought it made me sound posh. My family thought it made me sound annoying(er). So this year I wasn’t invited back. (Not really, but I couldn’t make it.)

Yesterday, I did the complete opposite of a book reading. I’ve got three words for you: Bass. Pro. Shop. Here’s how it happened:

When J called me at 9:45 to see if I was going to go with her to a family brunch, I threw on some clothes and met her and her boyfriend downstairs to head out to the burbs.

About five minutes into the brunch with very sweet strangers, J’s step uncle(?) asked me how I knew the family. I explained that I was a friend of J’s and he explained that he has a friend who I would really like. Which was fairly amusing given that I rarely express my taste in men in the first 30 seconds of conversation. After asking my age, my relationship status, my roommate status, location of my apartment, I decided this man knew more about me than my own uncle, and politely steered the conversation away from match making.

After eating ¼ of an omelette the size of my head, J’s more immediate family took off for the Bass Pro Shop. Y’all? Have you been there? Because this place is fierce. They have everything an outdoorsman could ever dream of, including the most butt-ass ugly camo furniture that no woman would ever allow in her house. Or at least not unless she’s the kind of woman who would have found the selection of camo lingerie exciting.

Best part about Bass Pro? The bar located INSIDE THE STORE. That’s right kids, Beer, Bass, Bait and Ammo. It's finally the answer I 've been looking for. You know, if my question was where can I find me a man?

Top Shaft

2008-03-19T22:22:00.002-05:00

I’m so sad. I just found out (through some internet stalking) that the Top Chef Chicago house was about a block from where I used to live a couple of apartments ago. (For my friends who remember, that would have been the mouse-infested place above Players Club.) I was almost close to a whole bunch of B-list celebrities! But really, I love the show and could have seen myself spending hours walking back and forth in front of the house, hoping that CJ from Top Chef Miami might do a guest spot. Cause that man? Could sauté my spinach any day. (What does that even mean?)

Mail Call

2008-03-18T09:20:00.003-05:00

When you’re an apartment dweller, you tend to receive a lot of mail intended for the people who used to inhabit your place. After a couple of months it typically tapers off, but a few items tend to linger, giving you some bizarre insight into the life of people you will never meet.

It’s nice to know that a guy who used to sleep in my bedroom received not one, but two copies of the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. Or that someone who has used my toilet (ew, I’ve never thought about that before) really loved shopping at L.L. Bean and LandsEnd. It’s hard to be too critical though, as someone in my old apartment is probably enjoying my White House Black Market catalogue and my AAA Living magazine.

I currently receive about 5 catalogues each month that I have never ordered. Most of them are nice to look at and get a cursory flip before I chuck them. (Sorry trees!) But there is one that disturbs me so much, I’m thinking of making a call and cancelling it. Because seriously former occupant of floor 2? Who in the hell likes HoneyBaked Ham so much that they need to receive a monthly catalogue?

I Don’t Want to Wait For My Life to Be Over

2008-03-17T22:04:00.000-05:00

Kids! I’ve got a conundrum. My boyfriend Joshua Jackson, that dashing scamp Pacey on Dawson’s Creek, is staring in a new movie. This is good, because the man looks more and more like our generation’s George Clooney every day. This is bad becuase, he’s still in the rubber nipple Batman suit stage of George Clooney. So this new movie is coming out and even though it looks like total crap, I feel like I should go and support him, like a good girlfriend would. The problem, other than the fact that Joshua has a not-pretend girlfriend, is that the new movie, Shutter, is scary. And we know what happens when I watch scary movies. I pee myself and giggle because I’m nervous, which will probably make me less attractive to Joshua. God I wish James VanDerBeek was here to help me by talking with big words and referencing old movies.

Toe Pick

2008-03-16T21:01:00.001-05:00

Three Posts in One Day??? What happened you ask? Well I finished the GMAT and now I’m watching The Cutting Edge Three. And let me tell you, these actors are no Moira Kelly and DB Sweeny, though honestly who is?

Regardless, I can’t turn it off, even though it may be the most horribly written, terribly acted and patently predictable movie I’ve ever seen. I mean, I understand that these people are not actually ice skaters, but couldn’t they have splurged and hired actual actors? I must say though that my favorite part of any ice skating movie, even Ice Castles the story of a blind girl with the passion to skate, is the cutaways they have to do because the actors can hardly skate. Every jump you see is only feet, every spin is blurred, and every lift is shown only from the back.

And I just threw up in mouth a little bit because they just did the exact same moment in the first movie where they decide to do the Pemchanko. And now they’re having the same fight. But the only thing I can concentrate on is that they’re skating to a remake of the song She’s Like the Wind and the boy is wearing jeans and a button down shirt as if he’s just come from a Golden Tee tournament.

Oh goodie! Another showing starts in one minute. Perhaps, I’ll watch it again and do a play by play blog as I watch. But then, I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you guys.

I Can Only Imagine…

2008-03-16T20:40:00.000-05:00

What it would be like to own the Ultimate Christian Power Anthems album. Because I tell you what, those commercials move me. What’s interesting is that I recognize almost all of the songs from my Super Christian Days. What can I say? It was the nineties, I was young and silly, playing fast and loose with religion. Everyone was doing it.

Regardless, it amazes me that they still put these albums out. How many times do you have to release the Ultimate Christian Power Anthems album before you’ve reached everyone in the Awkwardly Expressive Christian target market? I was raised Catholic, a religion where that kind of expression is just not acceptable. It’s almost as uncomfortable as having to hold hands with strangers during the Our Father. I mean we’re not Protestants for JC’s sake!

But the worst part of the commercial is the video footage of the singers. I don’t handle the “staring at the camera singing about Jesus with your eyes closed” very well.

Remember That Time I Brought Sexy Back

2008-03-16T20:28:00.000-05:00

Well I didn’t either until Kristin reminded me that I introduced Sexy Back to her brother at a party two years ago. Because I talk almost constantly, I often forget things that are said, especially if I’m not the one saying them. It’s always hard for me to realize other people may have things they want to say, regardless of how funny, charming and adorable I am. So anywhobe, Kristin reminded me of the fun time I had with her and her brother introducing them to the song Sexy Back, which we played twice. We relived the moment last weekend over sushi. Forgetting that we had discussed it the week before, I asked Kristin if she had any siblings. Of course, she does, a brother, to whom I introduced sexy back, thus reliving the moment yet again over green beer yesterday. Twice. And then I promised her I would write a blog about it. So the next time we get together, we can tell the story again, but this time introduce the new element of the blog entry.

Perhaps I should be less uninteresting.

And Then I Fell...

2008-03-03T10:21:00.000-06:00

The other night I was pumping some gas (that’s not a euphemism) while simultaneously emptying the back seat of my car. Because I spend about 3 hours a day in my car, it becomes a bit of a trash dump and I typically stock pile a lot of plastic water bottles between gas ups.

Once I had gathered up the water bottles, I set my sights on the trash can. What should have been an easy journey was made more difficult by the gas hose, which I would need to step over. The first round went well. Feeling confident, I misjudged it on the second attempt. And I face planted. In a skirt. Hearing the gas pump fall out of the car, I looked around wildly, not to see if I was being doused in gasoline, but to see who was looking. After ascertaining that the three men inside the convenience store were indeed laughing at me, I then noted that the gas had fortunately shut off before the hose hit the ground.

As I gathered up my water bottles, threw them away and limped back to my car, I thanked God for the pay at the pump option, because if I would have had to go inside to pay, I would have just driven off.

And Then I Watched the Oscars…

2008-02-26T15:01:00.002-06:00

Some notes I thought you might enjoy since none of you invited me to your Oscar parties thus missing my live commentary.

Oh John, Oh John, Why Have you Forsaken Me?
I love this man. Love Him. But the Oscars were boring and I’m pointing at least one of my fingers at him. I believe the criticism last time was that his humor didn’t land with his audience. I couldn’t have disagreed more. This time however, critics and celebs alike seemed to love it. And I think he dumbed it down, played it safe, and was just a little awkward for a good chunk of the night, as if he didn’t believe in the material either. Which further confirms my theory that the only reason I’m not famous is because I’m too smart.

Bald is Not Beautiful
Denzel!!!! Grow your hair back, you hot, hot man. Bald ain’t your thing and the light reflecting off your head did you no favors.

Paging Miranda Hobbs
Was it just me, or was Tilda Swinton the spitting image of Miranda from Sex and the City in the earlier, really, really bad hair years? A little hair tip for you watching at home, though. Until about 15 minutes ago impending death rendered me unable to shower for the last three days and my hair was a caramel colored version of the same do. Beauty secrets of the stars revealed. Try it today!

Don’t Mess With Miss Christie
Last night on the Fashion Police, they referred to the stunning Julie Christie as “about a million years old, but her body is fabulous.” I’m sorry. They had the second part right, she is a very sexy older woman, but she’s only in her mid 60s and certainly doesn’t look even that. She lost the Oscar (boo) but she’s got my sexy older lady vote.

SHUT UP! Katherine Heigel
You know how I feel about her. Yes I think she looked pretty, but her nervous-demure act at the podium did not ring true for me. She’s been in Hollywood since she was a teenager. Suck it up and say your lines sweetheart. Save the poor me, excuse me, I’m nervous act for Grey’s Anatomy. Lord knows you’ve perfected it there.

Abusey (Thanks TMZ for the fun word play.)
Gary you made my night by ruining Jennifer Garner’s. Loved you. Loved it. Loved the hair.

In Memoriam
On a serious note, I think it was in poor taste that Brad Renfro wasn’t included. He’s a frightening depiction of what happens to people, celebrities or not, when they lose their way. He deserved to be noted for his contribution.

Why Can’t I Be Anne Hathaway?
Even if just for the moment where she got to play straight to Steve Carrel’s funny.

Missing In Action
Lots of missing celebrities. Lots of missing star power. Lots of missing excitement. I was bored and I wanted some drama. Why else would I have tuned in?

And Then I Caught the Plague…

2008-02-25T19:21:00.001-06:00

What is this death that is upon me? I have certainly contracted some sort of illness that will eventually claim me. I also became considerably more Old English by spending my sick time reading about Anne Boleyn.

Tomorrow, I plan to hack up a lung and hitting the random article link on Wikipedia for 6-8 hours.

What Would Jesus Christ Superstar Do?

2008-02-21T10:31:00.001-06:00

Last night, I attended Jesus Christ Superstar with Finlay and Monique. It. Was. So. Weird. Bordering on camp, it is a musical that, as Monique puts it, “Didn’t age well.” Nor did it’s star from the 1973 movie, Ted Neely, who reprised his role last night in this the farewell tour of JCS. The whole musical had an eerie feel about it, with Neely, a man twice the age of the biblical Jesus, sounding for much of the musical like Johnny Cash in his late song “Hurt.” In other words, he sounded old. And he looked old. And the music felt old. And it was just all old.

More troublesome, however, was the motley duo that sat next to me. Moppet and Mrs. Moppet arrived at the theatre late, causing our row to stand and let them through as the lights went down. As the floppy-haired, almost mullet-wielding gentleman in his mid-40’s settled into the chair next to me, his female companion and him conversed while the curtain came up. I can understand the necessary chatter that comes with sitting down and settling in, but these two did not let up. They talked almost non-stop through the first couple of numbers. In the rare moments of silence, Moppet would rock his head back and forth violently to the sweet jams, an action that proved to be almost as distracting as their ongoing conversation.

After 20 minutes, the frustrated woman in front of them turned around and asked them to be quiet, and reinforced the message by shushing them. While most would have been effectively embarrassed into silence, Moppet and Co. turned the poor woman into a villain, mocking her and her request to be quiet. On it went for the entire first act: Moppet deliberately talking at a normal volume to his lady, just to irk the woman in front of him, and obnoxiously shushing her if she so much as shifted in her seat. Occasionally, the Moppets would also kiss as Mrs. Moppet ran her hand up and down his thigh. What a special treat for me.

After loudly declaring their intent to move during intermission, probably to avoid us squares who came to watch the musical, Moppet resumed his head rocking while singing quietly under his breath. Then, he started playing the drums on his leg, tapping along to a beat he just couldn’t seem to find. As he rocked, sang and drummed next to me, I couldn’t help but wonder why he came to the theatre in the first place. Clearly his show was far superior to that of the paid actors on stage.

Finally moving at intermission, Monique, Finlay and I were able to enjoy the remainder of the musical in relative silence. Unfortunately, I found myself missing Moppet during the last scene where a 65 year old Jesus was in a loin cloth. At that moment, I really could have used a distraction.

And Then I Pointed…

2008-02-17T12:43:00.000-06:00

You know when you’re out, and you’ve got great hair (thank you new curling iron) and you’re rocking a fabulous shirt with killer cleavage and grown up earrings? Well kids that was me last night. Hot.

Or not.

Everyone has a dance face. For straight white men, it often involves an under bite. For girls, it usually involves “sexy eyes” and funny lip movement that looks like you’re repeating “Ooo.” Admit it, you’re making your dance face right now.

While we all have our dance faces, I seem to be one of the few who has the dance point. Ya’ll I look like freaking Elaine Benes. I dance and I point and point and point. While making a dance face. In a bar that doesn’t even have a dance floor. Now the pointing isn’t new, I’ve done it before and it’s been (ahem) pointed out to me by well meaning friends. And I thought I had it under control. But last night it became clear that the pointing is controlling me. Be cautious should you find yourself on a dance floor with me, I could easily seduce you with my dance face and then take out your eye.

A Valentine’s Day Miracle…

2008-02-15T15:29:00.000-06:00

Half a pitcher of margaritas, several beers, and a few hours of deep talks with a dear friend and I still made my 7:30 conference call and nailed my presentation with the president.

That’s gotta be better than romance, presents and sex, right?

And Then I Overshared…

2008-02-12T11:25:00.000-06:00

A couple of coworkers and I were chatting about living alone and how much I enjoy it. And then I mentioned that the best part was that I find I don’t wear pants all that often.

Who shares that with two of their coworkers? Both of whom are male. One of whom is their manager?

What’s wrong with me?

And then I Cut My Own Bangs…

2008-02-10T18:22:00.000-06:00

What was I thinking? This was a lesson I learned back in my junior year of high school. I spent most of that year looking like a weed wacker and I had wacky run ins on a regular basis.

Blinded by the possibility of having REALLY good hair last night, I made a mistake. I blame it on the new curling iron I bought that made the majority of my hair look absolutely fabulous. But my bangs were weighing me down. I thought I’d just give them a little slanty trim. And they looked good. Awesome hair was achieved.

And then this morning I woke up. And the bangs had changed. It looked like I had only cut half of them and badly at that. I’m not sure what to do as I can’t get them professionally cut until the weekend. Until then, I’ve got weird chunky bang layers that just aren’t as rocking as I thought they looked after three glasses of wine.

K Why Oh Why Are You Doing This?

2008-02-10T15:18:00.000-06:00

So pretty much everyone knows how I feel about Valentine’s Day. If not you can revisit my thoughts here. This year however, I am terrified by the holiday and can’t wait for it to be over because of one thing…KY Jelly.

Have you seen or heard these commercials? They are horrifying. The one playing on my radio almost constantly is a slow jam, Barry White style song with lyrics about getting romantic with the KY. I don’t even know what to say. Just make them stop.

G Math

2008-02-07T11:22:00.000-06:00

I’m wondering if I can charm the GMAT into giving me a good score. Last night, we took a break before we started the geometry section of our review. I mentioned that when prompted to explain when we would use geometry in real life, one of my math teachers in high school said we would use it if we were every going to build our own flash light. I felt fairly confident that if that was the best example he could come up with, I wouldn’t be using geometry ever again.

A guy in my class responded that he used geometry all the time. Then again, he’s a civil engineer. Then the teacher said she uses geometry to hang pictures.

I responded “I use a guy to hang pictures.”

And then followed up with “In fact, I used a guy for geometry, too.”

Now if only the GMAT tested that kind of clever.

I Don't Even Want to Know How You Catch That...

2008-02-04T21:50:00.000-06:00

Our favorite Pappa of Hip Hop, Diddy, has discovered a new disease according to “Making the Band 4” It’s called “Bitch Assness.” It is apparently a problem in his community and has something to do with being salty about one or more things. I’m getting vaccinated. I’m also getting a lobotomy so I can forget I was watching “Making the Band 4.”

SuperLiar

2008-02-04T12:46:00.001-06:00

I’ve been lax. Work and studying for the GMAT have been wiping me out. I did however make time to watch the SuperBowl. I will not deconstruct the commercials as there are people much more clever and observant than me to do so. I’ll only comment on one. The Victoria’s Secret commercial. Yes, you remember it. The absolutely stunning brunette playing with a football. Nothing to write home about except that one of the guys I was watching with told me that model is supposedly a virgin.

I’m assuming he’s talking about the 14 year old version of that girl. Because you CANNOT seduce a camera like that if you ain’t hitting it on the regular. She might not be a Pam Anderson, but she sure as shit isn’t a Mary.

It's Totes Hard To Say Goodbye

2008-01-24T16:54:00.000-06:00

My shtick at work is that I am younger than everyone else in my department. This works to my advantage because it makes me feel special, even though it doesn’t actually make me special. It also works to my advantage because it really narrows the pool of girls at work that people can set their brother, friend, nephew, son, physical therapist, veterinarian, etc. up with. But the best part about being young is that I can pretend I know all of the hip things to say, and then introduce them into the office vernacular, even though I am only making things up that I THINK kids are saying, without actually checking the validity. This has worked well in the past and made me appear cute, endearing and unthreatening.

That was all well and good, until I overused my favorite word. Those of you who have spent any time with me know that I have a propensity to start using this word and then find myself unable to stop. Such was the case after several (read: WAY too many) cocktails last Thursday. I assume, though don’t remember on my own, that I must have used this word over and over again, because for the rest of the weekend, it followed me everywhere, mocking me.

So it’s with a great sadness that I lay it to rest, lest I break the guarantee I made to my disbelieving co-worker that I would never say the word around him again. Goodbye old friend, I’ll “totes” miss you.

Did you miss me?

2008-01-22T09:59:00.000-06:00

Of course you did. That’s because I spent the past four days in Canada on a business trip at a ski resort. As I literally ran ½ mile home on Saturday night in a dress that bared too much cleavage, stilettos that were too high and a coat that did too little to protect me against the -1° weather and it’s corresponding 20° below wind chill, I realized that Canada is not a good place for me to go in January. Or ever.

Outside of the cold, the trip was a lot of fun. People were professional and proper during the day and a little wild and crazy at night, which is pretty much my MO. Except for one man who decided to be wildly inappropriate smack dab in the middle of the afternoon.

Humor me for a moment and take a little journey of the imagination. Imagine packing for a business trip to Canada where the senior leadership team of your company will see you. Imagine packing a suit for a formal dinner, and business casual clothes for meetings. Now imagine reaching into your collection of white trash t-shirts and pulling out the white-trashiest of the bunch. Imagine carefully placing the shirt in your suitcase where it would remain until you pulled it out on Friday afternoon for a team-building activity. Now imagine walking into this activity wearing a shirt the read “I know what the G means” on the front, cleverly followed by “And I know where the spot is!” on the back. Then imagine wearing it proudly all day, into the evening and to a dinner at lovely Greek restaurant.

What a winner. Because if there’s a group of people who should know about your skill in finding the G-Spot, it’s definitely your coworkers.

He Could Luv Me For A Lifetime

2008-01-14T10:14:00.000-06:00

This morning I received a text message on my work cell phone from a number I didn’t recognize. Weird that I don’t know the number because apparently I have quite the history with this person, or at least it would seem from the text…

“Ok so I say im gone still call u but I think enough is enough i may not have a job rght now but i bet i can luv u a lifetime so when you get threw w ur options”

Looking through my phone, I realized this person had texted me once before, proclaiming...

“That’s how u do me.”

There’s a lot to this story apparently. Is enough enough? Has not having a job caused problems in our clearly troubled relationship as I experienced continued success in my career? And does the fact that the improper use of “threw” instead of “through” mean that I was dating an imbecile?

I know I enjoy the vodka now and again, but I’ve almost always remembered ex-boyfriends. For some reason, though I just can’t seem to recall this tumultuous affair.

Indeed, that IS how I do him.

Living Alone Lounging

2008-01-09T22:20:00.001-06:00

There are some really interesting discoveries I’ve made when lounging by myself in my own apartment. Things you can’t really know about yourself or judge about anyone else until you’ve been faced with your couch, your television and your underwear.

The Good…I don’t wear pants that often anymore. It’s really quite nice. The only bad part is when someone calls you, say on a hungover Sunday, and asks you to do something that requires pants. Once you get used to no pants, it’s really hard to understand why you might need to do anything that requires them.

The Bad…My running commentary at my television set. I don’t talk to myself, but I do talk to the people on the shows. I got frustrated tonight with one of the girls on “Sex and the City” (God Carrie, it’s not ALWAYS about you). It’s way worse than when guys yell at sports games, because at least the outcome hasn’t already been determined. I’m taking issue with scripted comedy/dramas

The Ugly…With no one else to blame, I have to admit that I watched “One Tree Hill”. By Choice.

Damn you writer’s strike. Damn you.

Gym Sight: I Didn't Even Know I HAD That Muscle

2008-01-08T08:32:00.000-06:00

Because I am incapable of doing anything in moderation, yesterday I did both a weight lifting class and a run. You’ll remember that I have committed to doing the marathon and have decided in the New Year to move past the “rest” portion of training. But I couldn’t be happy with just a run, oh no. I had to lift for an hour at lunch. Because I have a compulsion to go overboard. Because I have no self-control. Even with things that are good for me. (And especially with things that are not.)

This morning when I first woke up, I thought, “I’m a little sore, but just the kind of sore that proves you’ve had a good workout.” And I smiled. When I walked down my steps, I thought, “Oooh, I can feel the burn, but I’m sure it’s just my muscles warming up.” And I grinned. As I was riding in my car, I thought, “It hurts to sit. Why does it hurt to sit?!?” And I grimaced. Then finally, while walking from my car to the office, I thought, “I wonder if someone could remove my glutes, hams, delts and biceps and give them back to me when they no longer hurt.” And I made the face of someone who can’t decide if they are pissed off or constipated.

Worst of all, it seems that although I ran yesterday, my marathon training is not complete. To adequately train, they suggest you not just run once, but run 4-5 times. A week. For several weeks. For many months. So if you’re at Bally’s tonight and you see a girl crying on a treadmill, come say hello.

With Friends Like These...

2008-01-07T13:54:00.001-06:00

I’m going to need a bigger bank account. Yesterday I joined some friends for euchre and various Sunday Funday activities. Turns out while extremely good at Sunday Funday (it’s my funniest day), I am actually not so good at euchre. Tyler and Jake, my incredibly good looking friend,* who has played euchre with me before, coached me before the tournament began. He encouraged me to “play with confidence” and to “believe in myself.” Which are excellent things to tell someone before taking her money, which Tyler and Jake easily did.

Then we played 31, which apparently is a game but seemed just another way for me to part with my money. While simple enough in concept, luck was neither a lady nor even a madam yesterday. Rather, she was a straight up prostitute, taking me for ten more dollars.

Finally, I placed a bet I was certain I could win. After a disagreement about a Mary Katherine Gallagher sketch, I bet another friend $5 that MKG does not stick out her tongue while smelling her armpit hands. After going home and watching the sketch I realized that not only was I down another five bucks, I would also have to admit that I was wrong. Which I may never live down.

So gambling? Not so much my thing. Next Sunday I’m going to stay home, knit and burn ten dollar bills. It’ll be cheaper than going to bat with those hustlers.

*Much like his nom de plume, Tyler and Jake also asked that I include the bit about his looks to protect his true identity. (Love you Tyler and Jake!:)

Promises, Promises

2008-01-03T16:14:00.000-06:00

So Resolution 3: Try Something New Every Day is one that I’ve kept so far. Yesterday, it was Orange LifeSaver Mints, which violated Resolution 1: Don’t Become Addicted to Orange Flavored Candies. Today, it was Sweet Potato Fries from Sweet Baby Ray’s. Which unfortunately violated Resolution 4: Don’t Gain 20 Pounds. On a good note, that shit be tasty. On a bad note, I am frightened that Resolution 3 will end up violating all 342 of my other resolutions. On a promising note, it will give me an excuse to keep making up resolutions, providing endless fodder for my blog. That should help you all keep your Number 1 Resolution: Waste More Time at Work by Following the Inane Details of Lyndsay’s* Life.

*My spell check at work doesn’t recognize the word Lyndsay’s. I feel that even after a year of working together, my computer doesn’t really know me at all.

No Resolve

2008-01-02T18:13:00.000-06:00

Oh kids. We’re only on day one of New Year’s Resolutions (I, like the rest of America, refuse to count January 1 as a resolution-keeping day) and I have already broken one of them. What’s shocking was that I thought it would be the easiest one to keep. I made somewhere in the neighborhood of 41 resolutions and I really thought I would be doing a celebration dance for this one on December 31, 2008. Resolution 1: Don’t become addicted to an orange flavored candy. With such a simple resolution leading the pack, it hardly even needed to be written down or enforced. I don’t particularly like orange flavored candies. Or oranges for that matter. I was in the clear.

But then those LifeSaver bastards stepped in. At the supermarket this morning, I saw a bag of LifeSaver Mints Orange Flavor and I dropped them in my basket to keep at my desk. These little unassuming white candies with orange dots were highly addicting. I could eat them all damn day. And before you think I am exaggerating, I know this to be true because I ate those silly little things all damn day.

I’m afraid to go to the supermarket tonight (why am I suddenly saying supermarket?) because I worry I will buy a bag for home and the addiction will take root. LifeSavers? More like Dream Stealers. I guess I’m moving on to Resolution 2: Save the environment. Almost as overwhelming as Resolution 1 but infinitely more accomplishable.

Back On Dry Land

2007-12-31T16:36:00.000-06:00

Oh by the way, I’m back from vacay. My family went on a cruise and I have muchas stories to share including “12 Yards of Fun: The Fam Does Cozumel.”

I know, I know the suspense is brutal.

Stay tuned and Happy New Year.

A Cautionary Tale

2007-12-31T16:25:00.000-06:00

Well kids, here we are, wrapping up 2007. Some would take this time to reflect on the past or plan for the New Year. But not I my friends, instead I will impart one piece of knowledge that I acquired quite recently: Sign up to work on New Year’s Eve Day. By doing so, you will safeguard yourself against the horrors of New Year’s Eve Eve drinking.

By choosing not to work today, I afforded myself the opportunity last night to reacquaint myself with my old friend Kettle Soda. We met again and again and again throughout the evening. As a result, I have been able to do absolutely nothing all day. The downside of this of course, is that I am expected to go and do the same thing tonight. It ain’t gonna be pretty folks. It ain’t gonna be pretty.

Outie

2007-12-22T11:22:00.000-06:00

So I'm totes going on vacay. For those of you who are hanging on my every word (I'm looking at you internet stalkers), read up on my past posts or perhaps go outside and mingle with real people.

Back next week!

Merry Christmas or non-denominational winter holiday of your choosing.

Peace out boy scouts.

Juno

2007-12-19T14:59:00.000-06:00

I was confronted with two teenage pregnancies last night. A newly knocked up Jamie Lynn Spears deeply disturbed me and a fictional impregnated Juno enchanted me. I must admit that I have a simultaneous girl crush on Ellen Page and a Cougar-crush on Michael Cera. They are the most adorable people ever. (Call Me!)

The premise is simple, girl and boy do it, girl get’s knocked up, girl finds adoptive parents for baby, girl is super kick ass, boy is not half bad either. (Again, Call Me!)

Though not terribly plausible, the incredibly fast paced, witty dialogue of Juno was absolute perfection. While a 16 year old that sharp isn’t impossible, it would be rare that everyone around her shares the same talent for turning phrases and firing quips. Regardless, I was so happily immersed in the dialogue, I held myself back from laughing for fear I would miss a line.

Page in the title character was fantastic, looking much younger than her 20 years as she played exactly the kind of 16 year old I would like to go back in time to be. The adoptive couple (Desperately Seeking Spawn as Juno’s truly hilarious sidekick Leah called them) played by Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman were well executed stereotypes and provided great fodder for a couple of “oh shit don’t go there moments.” But my real favorite supporting characters were JK Simmons and Allison Janey, Juno’s father and step-mother. Again, much too glib about a pregnancy to be entirely believable, but their all around kick-assedness made them fantastic additions to the cast.

It was good kids. Funny at times, touching at others and quite relatable all the way around. Go see it. It’ll totes make you wish you were back in high school and preggers.

I Feel God in This Chili's Tonight

2007-12-18T15:38:00.001-06:00

On Friday I was the emcee for my company’s annual holiday party award ceremony. While it wasn’t held in a Chili’s, the awards were all together to similar to the Dundee’s for my liking. The Monty’s included such awards as “The Ebert and Roper award” “The Really Into Saving Kash (RISK) award, and “The Best Legs” award. As emcee, I did a little opening monologue and intros for each of the awards. I have to say, I killed. Probably did a better job then even Michael Scott himself. Everyone had a great time. So great in fact that our Canadian CEO who only comes to the states about three times a year (and who you may remember once presented me with a very special award) said to the Canadian head of HR “We should hire her!” before HR assured him that they already had.

So That's The SubWay

2007-12-16T22:01:00.000-06:00

I have recently become obsessed with Subway Sandwiches. Though the trend of eating Subway is as old as bread itself, I was a little late to catch the train (Subway, train, get it?). Actually, with all of the great sandwich places unique to Chicago, I hadn’t had a Subway sandwich since my Kirksville days.

Today, grabbing a quick lunch, I picked up my usual 6 inch turkey. I requested light mayo and when the sandwich artist picked up the regular mayonnaise bottle, I stopped her and asked for light. At which point she reassured me “It’s the same mayonnaise, just different bottles.”

Thank you Subway for misrepresenting your mayonnaise. This way I can have all of the flavor of regular mayonnaise but only half of the guilt. Then again, when I put on a swimsuit next week, I’m blaming you and only you if I don’t look exactly, and I mean EXACTLY, like Gisele Bundchen.

I Mean Seriously!

2007-12-14T15:57:00.000-06:00

So the president of my company just asked me a question. After I answered, he said “That wasn’t so bad was it?” And then I said “You’re always good for a hard one.”

How do I still have a job?

IT Eyes Are Watching Me

2007-12-13T10:35:00.000-06:00

So I’m a little freaked out because they took away blogspot at work yesterday and then today they mysteriously brought it back. (The “they” in this case refers to whoever makes decisions like “Evites are a dangerous cancer to our company. Ban them. Ban them now.) This leaves me wondering about many things, like are they watching my blog now? Have they been watching my blog for awhile? Have they deemed me harmless or are they waiting for me to hang myself?

I don’t know the answer to these questions, but it makes me glad I have never identified myself by my last name or my company by its name. That way they can never prove it’s me. Well, at least until they connect the dots that they’ve heard 60% of these stories floating around the office and they all lead back to the only girl in the office with a particular first name.

Fortunately, I always blog at home or on my lunch break never on the company's dime. I wish I had a time stamp on my blog to prove it, but somehow it was removed.

Belly Up

2007-12-11T15:03:00.000-06:00

On Saturday, I celebrated a friend’s birthday at a Turkish restaurant/hookah bar in the city. About 15 of us were seated around a phallic shaped table (think round table stuck on the end of a long rectangle table) enjoying various delicious Turkish delights. Not to be confused with Turkish Delight, the mystery food from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe book. In fact, one of my friends got to bring some Turkish delights home with him, when a plate of yogurt dip fell on his coat. Over the loud speaker, the owner of the restaurant assured us that this was just an accident. Thank god they didn’t do it on purpose or it would have been a real mess.

The owner was also responsible for introducing the main event of the night: The Belly Dancers. Both women were fantastic, brightly dressed and badly wigged. During the first couple of songs, there were several amusing moments when a patron would shove a dollar down their skirts or they would cajole some unfortunate diner to come up and dance with them. Those first few songs were a fun and nifty little sideshow to the evening. Once the novelty wore off however, it was more than a little awkward to continue paying attention to the scantily clad dancers undulating around your table. Conversation was impossible because of the loud music, watching became boring and uncomfortable, and not watching seemed rude.

What I’m wondering is, given my lack of experience with the subject, does this happen at strip clubs, too? Do guys ever feel awkward, get bored or not know where to look? Or is this just one of those differences between guys and girls? Because I’m telling you, I think I’d only be interested for about 5 minutes, and then I’d be asking the strippers just to sit down and have a chat.

Crack, Virgins, Whore Houses: A Christmas Story

2007-12-10T13:17:00.000-06:00

Ireland and Tyler and Jake had their annual Christmas dinner last night. To cleverly avoid Thanksgiving/Christmas food overload, Ireland made Lasagna (which my Canadian computer insists is spelled Lasagne, and I just can’t abide by that). I made a cheese ball and spent the whole night concerned the beef from the cheese ball was stuck in my teeth. A statement I repeatedly made while the flash of a camera went off. So even if I didn’t actually have beef in my teeth, I was talking in most pictures, always a pretty look for me. I also made cheesy bread which is lovingly referred to as “crack bread” not because it is cracked but because it’s addictive qualities bear an eerie resemblance to those of crack cocaine which the kids have informed me is a highly addictive drug.

Other points of interest…

- There was a baby at the dinner. Tyler and Jake’s brother, sister-in-law and 5 month old nephew were over. The baby was so cute I wanted to eat him with a spoon. He was also so well behaved, he may have convinced me to breed, which I guess will be little Adian's cross to bear.

- Given that there was a baby at the dinner, I thought we should recreate the Nativity Scene using real people. I offered to be the Virgin Mary. Tyler and Jake asked me if I knew what that word meant. I was both shocked and offended. And amused.

- I got a Gingerbread Ho House in the Yankee Swap. It was a full on brothel of Gingerbread love complete with a snow-pimp. Unfortunately, it was eventually taken from me in an ill-fated trade maneuver, resulting in me receiving two losing scratch off tickets.

The night was easily an 8 on it’s own, but *Nsync’s “Merry Christmas Happy Holidays” song playing during dinner, pushed us right up to a 9.5.

No, really. Shut. Up.

2007-12-10T08:52:00.001-06:00

I have repeatedly asked Katherine Heigl to shut up! but she refuses. She’s one of my least favorite people and hearing her talk about how “not fascinating she really is” on Barbara Walter’s Most Fascinating People, made her the least fascinating person of all time.

But it turns out there is someone who needs to shut up! more than Katherine Heigl. Katherine Heigl’s fiancé. Josh Kelly was a guest on the Eric and Kathy radio show this morning (Eric and Kathy should also shut up! but I keep listening to them for some god awful reason) and Josh was the most annoying man of all time.

Because he plays guitar, it apparently gives him license to make up songs and interject them into any conversation regardless of relevance, humor or timing. Half the time he talks like a douche all speed/coke rambly and the other half he sings like a douche all speed/coke rambly. But regardless of what he is doing, he’s almost certainly doing it douchely.

Hopefully these two will self-destruct in their marriage of annoyance as they try to out douche each other while she nits around about having a gay friend who was once discriminated against, you know in case you haven’t heard. Until the day that they do, Shut Up! Heigl-Kelly Family.

JT + BW = LUV

2007-12-06T21:08:00.000-06:00

I’m having lascivious thoughts about a Barbara Walters special. Justin Timberlake just called Dick in a Box a thoughtful Christmas gift, and god damn if he ain’t right. It’s weird to hear Barbara talk about it, but it’s even weirder to hear Justin’s lady voice ghetto talk. I think he should quiet down and meet me back stage at the CMA’s. Know what I’m sayin?

God Breakfast Us, Everyone!

2007-12-06T09:54:00.000-06:00

I was starving during my entire commute this morning. It’s not that my hour+ commute is particularly hunger inducing, but last night after going to bed on what would have been a totally empty stomach save two glasses of pinot, I woke up famished. And not just a little nauseous. Running late out the door (seriously I can’t get out of bed this week) I didn’t grab anything so my entire drive I fixated on breakfast. I thought about Jamba Juice or a bagel but knew I didn’t have time to stop. I thought longingly of Nutrigrain bars, muffins, and yogurt, none of which I had at my desk. I finally came to terms with the fact that I would be hungry until lunch.

Until the Christmas miracle occurred.

I walked though the front door into the lobby and laid out on tables before me was a breakfast feast as far as the eye could see. Croissants, bacon, sausage, fruit, pastries, eggs, French Toast. All of my dear food friends present and accounted for, lying in wait for our building’s annual free holiday brunch.

Ask and ye shall receive, right? Tomorrow on my way to work I’m fixating on one million dollars.

Phantom of the ZZZZZzzzz

2007-12-03T11:28:00.000-06:00

Saturday night after the most heinous day of entertaining my mom in a city that just refused to be entertaining, accommodating or even not horrible, we settled into our $70 balcony seats at the Cadillac Palace Theatre to watch…the most boring musical of all time.

Musicals and I have a funny relationship. With the exception of Rent and Chicago, I have never enjoyed myself at a musical for the whole time. I am almost always anxious in the first half of the first act, happy for the second half of the first act, wishing it was over during the intermission and first half of the second act and content during the end. But Phantom of the Opera was another story entirely. The music seemed old, the acting too forced and grand, the story too…dumb. I won’t say I hated it, and I’m glad I can now say I’ve seen it, but it’s definitely at the bottom of my barrel.

The part I did enjoy however was how relatable it was to me and my life. Most of my friends remember when I was an opera singer and the Opera Ghost at the theatre where I preformed controlled my mind through song and then made me choose between him and the love of my life all while I spontaneously burst into song. It was tough, but not nearly as bad as when the barber moved in upstairs and I had to make meat pies out of the people he killed, again while bursting into song (when I really didn’t feel much like singing). Now that was a bad week.

I'm a Big Kid Now

2007-11-30T10:55:00.000-06:00

I became a woman yesterday at the mall.

I finally have my ears pierced like a big girl.

Now, a few people might remember that I have had my ears pierced before. When I was 11 my aunt took me, I cried, and they grew shut. When I was 18, my friend took me, I cried, and they grew shut. My ears have been naked ever since.

Most of my friends don’t know that I didn’t have my ears pierced. When they hear this news they are shocked. So I thought, what’s the point of having your ears pierced if no one notices when they are not? The answer? Compliments. People always get compliments on their earrings, and I really like attention so these factors combined and propelled me into a Claire’s Boutique. I have not shopped in a Claire’s since I purchased a Best Friends necklace in the eighth grade. Regardless, I turned the safety of my earlobes over to a girl who looked like she lied about her age to get a job at 14.

The good news:
1. Now, they make studs that don’t look child like, so no one can tell you just got your ears pierced. In fact my cubic zirconia’s with white gold posts look like I have a boyfriend who really loves me or at least knows how to keep me quiet.

2. I didn’t cry. But I’m pretty sure my ears are the only part of my body that I will ever put through the pain of piercing. (Though my ass might disagree, it’s still pouting about my tattoo.)

3. Attention. I already have gotten a lot of attention for being in my mid-twenties and not having my ears pierced and then getting them done. I hope it doesn’t wear off for a while because I REALLY like attention.

The bad news:
1. I didn’t realize till much too late that I was carrying around a bag that read “Just got my ears pierced at Claires.”

2. The blue dots where they marked my ears haven’t come off and no amount of rubbing alcohol does the trick.

3. I’m already thinking that I’m not a fan of earrings and am contemplating letting them close. In which case, I’ll probably repeat this whole saga again.

But at least I’ll already have the blog entry written.

Put Down the Measuring Tape

2007-11-26T14:43:00.000-06:00

Question: What is the stupidest thing to do after a two day, all day Thanksgiving eat-a-thon?

Answer: Have your measurements read aloud to you at a bridal salon as you are fitted for your bridesmaid’s dress.

Remedy: Go to another Thanksgiving celebration later that day and deep fried turkey-away your sorrows.

Born to Run

2007-11-25T11:36:00.000-06:00

So I’m planning on running the marathon in ’08. This is probably a stupid idea for many reasons, not the least of which is because I hate to run. Regardless, I’m doing it, probably for a cause. I’m feeling pretty confident because I’ve found a program that coaches you through a 30 week training program. The activity for the first day? Is rest. It’s amazing that sitting here on my couch watching Splash, I am actually training for my first marathon.

We All Would Have Been Thankful for a Waterbed

2007-11-21T09:01:00.000-06:00

Y’all I’m chock full of Thanksgiving today. One of my favorite Thanksgiving memories is when my little brother was in preschool and was asked to list the three things he was most thankful for. His list…

1. His Dad
2. His Dog
3. His Waterbed

JP only had one of those things. As the teacher explained to us later, when she asked for more detail like the dog’s name, she thought it was strange how evasive JP was about filling in the blanks. She was relived to find out that it was because JP straight-up lied and not because he didn’t know his dog’s name. Unfortunately for him, these thankful lists were on display for a family open house event. My mom, older brother and I were a little saddened to see that imaginary things made the list before any of us, but understood because JP REALLY wanted a waterbed and a dog.

Thanks for Nothing

2007-11-21T08:52:00.000-06:00

“Why did Joan Rivers give the turkey her plastic surgeon’s business card?
Because her neck used to look just like that, too.
Happy Thanksgiving from Lyndsay!”

I’ve been thinking all week about sending a Thanksgiving text. I usually send one every year and it usually reads like this: “Happy Turkey Day!” Lame, right? This year, I thought I would come up with a clever joke about Thanksgiving and send that out instead. And the above is what I came up with. What does that even mean?

Which is why you probably won’t receive a Thanksgiving text from me this year. Or, if you do, it’ll say “Happy Turkey Day.”

Gym Sight: Locked Out

2007-11-20T16:05:00.000-06:00

I’m really bad at combination locks. Really really bad. I blame it on the fact that we didn’t have combinations on our lockers in the catholic school I attended from kindergarten through eighth grade. I’m assuming the rationale was some “There are no locks on the doors to Jesus” bull shit. Regardless, it left me ill prepared for a public high school where the mentality was much more along the lines of “Lock that shit up or we be stealing it.” So as a I result, I was late to class a lot trying to get my books out of my locker.

Flash forward to last night at the gym, where I was trying to undo my combination lock. It was already one of those awkward situations where there is a woman getting undressed right next to the locker where your stuff is, leaving you with the choice of looking around awkwardly, or getting in next to her and getting your stuff so she doesn’t think you’re staring. I needed to get home to watch The Office, so I just jumped right in, thinking I would be in and out in under five. Until I couldn’t unlock my lock.

I actually never took the sticker off the back of the lock, so I knew I was using the right numbers. But after the fifth try, I noticed that the half naked woman next to me was staring at me, clearly thinking I was trying to break into someone’s locker. On literally the seventh try, I was able to spring the lock. Then I made sure that I took all of my stuff very authoritatively, so as not to appear a thief.

I'm fully prepared for my picture to be up at the local Bally's, wanted poster style. Which is why I don't plan on going back till long after Thanksgiving.

I'll be the Judge

2007-11-15T11:55:00.000-06:00

I’m a judgemental person. I judge everyone. Especially people who say “I don’t judge people.” I judge those people as liars. Because everyone judges, and as soon as y’all fess up and get on the bitch bus to Judgement Town, the better off we’ll all be.

My criteria for judging typically hinges on two things: Are you acting stupidly towards me? And has this stupidity annoyed me? The answer to both questions is often times yes. But, rest assured, even though I’m probably judging you, you’ll almost never know it, because by admitting it, I’d give you the right to judge me. And really? What’s to judge? (Please don’t leave a long list in the comment section. Just judge me silently in your head and then blog about me anonymously instead.)

Example 1
My department’s temporary administrative assistant came over to ask me for some help. No biggie, happy to do it, favor done. Then, she came over to criticise how I had helped her. I calmly explained the situation and moved on. Then she came over and asked to use my computer by declaring “I need your computer.” To which I gave her a look that clearly said “bitch please.” Then, she came over and asked me questions about how the reed diffuser on my desk worked. For fifteen minutes. While I was trying to work. Please note that she did all of the above within a span of an hour. Game over. Now I spend my day praying for the moment where her temporary position is permanently over.

Example 2
There’s this girl in my office building who does not work for my company and whom I have never spoken to. She drives me insane. Whatever she job she has, it is obviously very demanding and very important. I have ridden in the elevator with her at least a dozen times and every time she is either talking to her companion or talking on the phone about how busy she is. Today, I learned that she has only had two vacation days all year. Because she is busy. And important. And annoying.

Example 3
Objectively reading this blog, I have judged that the person who wrote it is probably a bitch.

Send In the Clown

2007-11-13T15:42:00.000-06:00

I like to make people laugh. To me, laughter is like love. Freud that up all you want to, but at least it’s laughter and not tears.

Sometimes, this results in me trying way too hard. For example, a statement like “Cheese on your pizza” can lead my mind through a maze of association and end up with me randomly blurting out “Wouldn’t want to wake up next to that!” And…crickets.

Sometimes, it results in my trying not hard enough. For example, my boss will say, “Can you move that file?” and I’ll say “That’s what she said.” First, not my joke (oh Steve Carrel call me, I’ll make an honest adulterer out of you). Second, not at all applicable, as this should evoke some sort of sexual innuendo that the phrase “Move that file” really doesn’t bring to life. And third, that line can be SO funny, it should be used with caution and respect as opposed to my haphazard shout outs.

Sometimes, it results in my friends hearing the same story over and over again. Because I’m a laugh whore, you might have to suffer through repeat performances as I make sure everyone in the world has had a chance to enjoy at my story. No one typically calls me out on this, but I know they’re all thinking “Not only is she telling this story again, but does she always talk so loud?” Yes and yes.

And sometimes, I just make the lamest jokes of all time. Like on Friday when I was climbing Camelback Mountain. We climbed up the back side of Camelback, which means I was climbing the butt. At one point on the way down, I turned to my climbing buddy, kicked the side of the mountain and actually said, out loud, “I kicked Camelback’s ass.” No, really.

Fortunately, the climb was hard enough that I could excuse my delirium and lameness. But you can bet that’s one story I won’t be telling again. I’m putting that one to bed for good.

That’s what she said.

Quick as a Flash

2007-11-11T21:53:00.000-06:00

I went horse back riding this morning in the dessert outside of Phoenix with Whitney and another old friend, Leah. A lovely two hour ride, marred only by a wicked hangover and the fact that my legs and knees were not designed for a horse. (I walked into a brick fireplace at full force last weekend and my right knee is still angry with me. Climbing a mountain on Friday morning didn’t help much either. I’m looking forward to an awkward stroll through O’Hare tomorrow after my return flight.)

When the ride was over, I climbed off the horse with the assistance of one of the many cowboys in the corral, where another riding party was waiting. After wrestling one of my legs over the horse, I lowered myself to the ground.

Unfortunately, my t-shirt didn’t get the memo that it was time to get off the horse and wrapped itself around the saddle horn. I came down and my shirt stayed up. The cowboy apparently didn’t notice because he was concentrating on getting my other foot out of the stirrup as I was trying to pull myself back up to release my shirt. After a few minute struggle, I was able to free myself, but not before providing both my riding party and the waiting party a show worthy of a Mardi Gras Parade.

Does this mean I let my horse get to first base with me on my first date? What a whorse.*

*Horrible pun. I'm sorry. I mean, whorrible.

Hot or Not?

2007-11-09T17:48:00.000-06:00

Does this entry seem hot to you? That’s because I’m writing it in Arizona from my friends Whitney and Bob’s house, with their bird dog Wrigley sitting next to me. Where I just walked into a cactus. Now I have cactus things stuck in my leg and on my pants. I’m blogging through the pain because I have no idea how to remove cactus thingys from my leg/pants.

Yesterday, I went up to Sedona, gorgeous red rock country 2 hours from Phoenix. It was beautiful, blah blah blah. More importantly though, I thought I was looking good. People kept giving me these interesting looks as I walked around. I must have looked exotic and beautiful. It was a real confidence booster.

Or so I thought.

A little back story…on Sunday at Ireland and Tyler and Jake’s* house, I forgot my sunglasses. I am not allowed to have nice sunglasses because I often leave them, break them, poke myself in the eye with them, etc. Because I didn’t have time to get to their place to pick them up, I went out and bought a new pair. And because I don’t buy nice sunglasses, I instead picked a pair out from the illustrious Daisy Fuentes for Kohls collection. They were beautiful and the best $5.90 I ever spent.

What helps when you buy new sunglasses is to take off all of the tags. That way, when you walk around Sedona, you don’t have a freaking Daisy Fuentes sticker still stuck on the lens of your sunglasses thinking you look hot when really everyone is laughing at your dumb Daisy Fuentes wearing ass.

Sunday, Hungry Sunday

2007-11-06T10:42:00.000-06:00

You know those Sunday’s where you don’t really feel like doing anything and then you find other people who also don’t really feel like doing anything and then you hang out and have a grand old time? Well, good, because then you might understand why one such Sunday resulted in me driving around Evanston for a half hour looking for Papa John’s.

After a long day of college football, tailgating and celebrating Iowa’s victory on Saturday, Jake and Tyler, Ireland* and I were ready to be even less productive than we were the day before. We saw a movie, had lunch, went back to their place, watched an episode of The Office, and then I did that thing when you’re not sure if you’re supposed to leave or not and say “I should get going” and then wait to see if they want you to stay any longer. They did.

After watching what seemed to be a dozen Papa John’s commercials, Jake and Tyler and I were really jonesin’ for some breadsticks and garlic sauce. The problem? A quick search on the old internets revealed that there is no Papa John’s in the city and no one from the suburbs delivers to the city. So, we planned a mission, and I volunteered to drive up to Evanston home of nearest Papa John’s and pick up our dinner while they ran errands. The PJ’s was only 6.5 miles away with an estimated drive time of 21 minutes.

3.1 miles into the drive, I realized I left the directions behind. Having no idea where the PJ’s was, I just started driving around the dark streets of Evanston, looking for that green and red beacon of the Papa’s. Finally after about a half hour of wandering, Jake and Tyler called to see how my trip was going, given that he was holding the directions in his hand. 45 min later, I finally returned with the Papa.

As I thought about my trip and how I just spent an hour and twenty minutes in my car on one of the only days of the week I don’t have to drive anywhere, at a time when gas is $3.13 a gallon, I wondered, was it worth it? And as I dipped that breadstick into garlic sauce, I knew. Hell effin yeah it was.

*These names are fake. Jake and Tyler** and Ireland somehow equated me writing a blog to them having nom de plumes. I think they thought being in a blog was something really exciting, like a “choose your own adventure” book, when in reality it is more like reading one of those “Little Miss or Little Mr. books” where you don’t even get to be the main character. This entry would be “Little Miss No One Give a Shit About Your Average Sunday.”

**Jake and Tyler is one person. Apparently the real man behind Jake and Tyler always wanted his nom de plume to be two totally ordinary guy’s names. He’s living the dream folks.

Little Diddy About Jack & Lyndsay

2007-11-02T09:52:00.001-05:00

I signed up for new internet service at my house because stealing wireless from my neighbors was really not giving me the download speed I was accustomed to. I had AT&T come out and install a phone line that I will never use so that I could get DSL. This was after AT&T told me they didn’t service my area, which makes sense given that I live in the rural, desolate, undeveloped area of downtown Chicago.

Regardless, a telephone man came and installed my phone line on Saturday and explained that he had only connected one jack in my house and to have the others connected would cost me money. Again, given that I had no intention of even owning a house phone, I decided one jack was sufficient for my DSL and negative phone usage.

I was wrong.

The telephone man told me the working jack was located in the front room of my apartment. On Tuesday when my modem arrived via mail, I happily connected it to the jack in the front room of my apartment. No dice. Same with the one in the kitchen. Then I discovered what jack the telephone man was talking about. I followed a wire that came in through the front room and ran along the base boards into the study. So now I know what that ball of wires I hid behind my desk was: my “phone jack”. Clearly I couldn’t plug my phone into this mess, so instead, I started to cry.

It didn’t help.

I called AT&T and explained my story. They told me they would call me back. I waited and waited and kind of felt like AT&T and I had gone on a date, but I talked too much and maybe farted when I got out of the car, and now I was waiting to see if they were going to ask me out again, knowing that they wouldn’t.

I was going to call my landlord, and ask him to fix it. But then I remembered that he was going to fix the broken tiles in my kitchen when I moved in. Four months ago.

Instead, I went to Menards* and bought a phone jack. And then…installed the phone jack myself. It’s jankey as hell kids, but it works and I’m on the internet super highway moving at what can at least be considered respectable speeds.

Turns out I do know jack.

*Hee. That shouldn’t still make me giggle as an adult right?

She Bangs

2007-10-31T09:46:00.000-05:00

I had a rather unfortunate experience on Monday when I tried to articulate to my hair lady how to work my bangs.

“You just, kind of you know, swoopy them across my forehead, so they’re not really bangs, but like bang thingies that swoopy.”

In my head that meant they would fall across my forehead prettily, like my bangs are want to do. On my head, however it meant something completely different. I don’t know what do with these things. Because my bangs? Are from the 80’s.

Yesterday, I actually took some time to do my hair (work boyfriend was here), so I was able to hide the bangs in a faux-swoopy manner. Today, I was too exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of seeing work boyfriend to get out of bed in time to do my hair, so I blew it dry and put it in a pony tail. So now my short, short bangs have decided to curl under. I swear I look exactly like I did in my 4th grade school picture, minus the crimping.

On the way to work, I thought I was making sexy eye contact with a guy, and then I realized that he was only staring in horror at what he thought was an 11 year old with bad bangs driving a car.

Only three more weeks till they grow out. Then, I’ll go get them cut because they are too long, and the whole sordid affair will begin again.

Work Boyfriend

2007-10-30T09:39:00.000-05:00

Do you ever have a ton of emails that are all flagged important and urgent? Me neither, but if I did, I would ignore them and stare off in to space thinking about Work Boyfriend.

I know what you’re thinking, “Don’t shit where you eat, Lyndsay” or “Those office cameras pick up everything” or “That cafeteria worker from downstairs just doesn’t like you that way.” But the beauty of work boyfriend is actually threefold:

1. He doesn’t actually work for my company, which keeps things light and casual.
2. He lives out of state and we only see each once in a while, which keeps things light and casual.
3. Neither he*, nor his wife or children know we are involved, which keeps things light and casual.

So I’m off to meet him in the lobby, where I will immediately become demure, sweet, and to be honest, mildly retarded. I do have a way with the men folk.

*I just want to clarify that I am not a home wrecker. Work Boyfriend and I have a strictly imaginary relationship.

Happy HOlloween

2007-10-24T10:16:00.000-05:00

I heart Halloween. You get to be whoever you want and do whatever you want under the guise of costume and make-believe. You get to be the star of your very own show. Except if you’re me, of course, and this year’s fantasy results in playing second fiddle to everyone’s favorite hooker.

I mean, being a hooker on Halloween has it’s perks, (especially after last year’s stint as a Golden Girl), but if you had to pick any hooker who would you pick? You reach for the gold, right? You go all in! You find the red dress, or the smoking jacket, or the thigh high boots filled with condoms of varying colors! Am I right ladies?*

Or at least that’s what you would do if your dear friend Shawn didn’t have you beat in the legs and looks like Julia Roberts departments. Because when that’s the case, you just end up a hooker’s best friend.

The problem of course is that no one will recognize me as Kit DeLuca, foul mouthed Jersey Girl with a raging drug habit and some of the best lines, unless I’m standing next to Vivian. So whenever we’re separated (when he smokes or pees or when I eat or pass out), I’ll just look like a hooker. From the 80s.

If that doesn't scare the beer out of you, I don’t know what will.

*Oh god, I just became a female stand up. If you ever say that line without your tongue planted firmly in cheek, I can’t be friends with you.

Lars and the Real Girl

2007-10-23T11:24:00.000-05:00

This movie might not have broad release, but wherever it is showing, it’s coming with my high praises.

The premise is simple, boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, girl happens to be silicone sex doll. Critics are describing it as oddball and they are spot on. But their raving reviews also bring to light the same magic I found in this film. I was so touched by the tenderness of this movie, the quiet messages and moments of pure hilarity.

For as much as I write, and for as many things that I enjoy, I’ve never been very good at expressing why I like something (it’s just, you know, so, you know, I don’t know, good). I leave insightful, unique, great critique to Tom. (Please see this movie Tom and explain why I like it.) So I won’t attempt to capture what it was about this film that struck a cord with me, but suffice to say the cord was struck.

I don’t think everyone will love this movie. But I did. For its screwy concept but real execution. For moments of painful awkwardness and sweet exchanges. For making me laugh out loud and cry really, really sad, silent tears.

Go see Lars. Go see his girl. You won’t regret it.

5 Things You Never Knew You Didn’t Need to Know About Me

2007-10-22T11:37:00.000-05:00

I’m a little offended that Tom thought there would be anything about me that anyone would consider lame, as I reek of only awesomeness. But I’ll respond anyway…

List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be “totally lame,” but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it:

1. I love sunflower seeds in the shells. Sunflower seeds are dirty by nature. But, give me a chilly Sunday afternoon with a good book, a glass of pink lemonade and a giant bag of sunflower seeds, and I’m as happy as…well a girl who really loves sunflower seeds, pink lemonade and reading.

2. Cleaning my ears is my favorite personal hygiene chore. But I try not to do it everyday because 1. I think I might be permanently damaging my ears and 2. I like to get a little build up for a really satisfying clean. Gross I know, but it’s almost as enjoyable as letting glue dry on my hands and then peeling it off, though infinitely more practical.

3. I like to sing the chorus of Gloria Estafan’s song 1-2-3 (1-2-3-4, come on baby say you love me, 5-6-7 times, 8-9-10-11 I'm just gonna keep on counting until you are mine) while tapping each syllable on my fingers against my thumb. This is a way I regularly pass the time. I also do the same thing with spelling words over and over again. This behavior is unexplainable but also second nature.

4. I love sports triumph movies. Remember the Titans, Field of Dreams, Hoosiers, Cool Runnings. You name it, I’ve seen it and had goose bumps while doing so. I tear up and feel a renewed sense of purpose every time I see a hardened coach teach a wayward youth life’s important lessons through (insert sport here). Especially poignant is the arch of the movie where the youth gives up and the coach turns back to vices of olden days like gambling or booze and then everyone is brought back together on the field (or court, or pitch or pool or track).

5. I used to be a super Christian. I would happily sing Jesus songs and feel “touched by the Spirit.” I would attend mass and really look for meaning. Now, I’m a disillusioned Chreaster (Christmas/Easter mass only) and though I have beliefs, the only spirit I’m in touch with comes in a bottle.

Ummm, Sweetest Day?

2007-10-19T08:23:00.000-05:00

Seriously, what is this? I had never heard of Sweetest Day before moving to Chicago, but apparently it’s some sort of celebration of love day demonstrated with the giving of cards, candy and flowers. It’s not that I had never heard of this type of holiday before, it’s just that we called it Valentine’s Day and it didn’t happen in October.

Do you know who invented Sweetest Day? A candy company. Somehow, I don’t think this is a coincidence.

I can do Valentine’s Day without even the slightest bit of bitterness. But Sweetest Day? Makes me feel anything but.

Pop Driving Quiz!

2007-10-19T08:22:00.000-05:00

Q. What is the left lane for?

A. Passing! Passing, passing, PASSING!!!! If you are not actively passing another car, get out of the left lane or I will mow your ass down in my tiny Ford Focus. That’s right, I drive a compact car, and I drive it fast. Now move the ef over!

Stupid Work Phrase of the Day

2007-10-16T16:44:00.000-05:00

No, I will not "huddle" with you. I don't play football and I am not crowding around a campfire, so huddling is out of the question.

Car Karma

2007-10-16T09:41:00.000-05:00

Over 4 years ago, when I was living in the convent (yes, you read that correctly, but it’s a story for another day), my parents came in to visit. The convent was out in the suburbs and I had decided it was time for me to move into the city. Mom and Dad were freaked out about this move because the city is full of slum lords, gangs, booze, drugs and rapists and they didn’t feel that three months in a convent on a farm had adequately prepared me to deal with anything except the booze. So we all decided (ie: Dad decided) that we would drive into the city together to get a feel for what city life was like.

I decided to drive their car because I knew the city better. Unfortunately, my sense of direction led me directly into the back of the car in front of me at 30 mph, and that became the day I totalled my parents’ car. That too, is a story for another day.

The story for today is about the accident I was in on the way to work this morning. For the second time in under a year, I was rear-ended by a car during my morning commute. And for the second time in under a year, I pulled over, got out of my car, and surveyed the damage. And for the second time in under a year, no real damage had been done.

The woman who hit me was extremely apologetic, and while my first instinct was to be very angry, it was quickly replaced with the image of me and my parents standing next to their totalled car as the woman I hit made sure I was okay. (It was apparently hard for her to tell given my steady stream of tears and “Oh shits.”) I suppose I could have made a big deal over a couple of cosmetic scrapes, but in reality, I knew my car had been through worse in my parallel parking escapades. So, instead, I said “Hey, it’s Chicago, these things happen,” and sent her on her way.

Because I know, that one of these mornings I’m going to drive into the back of the car in front of me. And when I do, I’m hoping that the gods of Car Karma remember my forgiving attitude. When that day comes, I’ll drive off with a smile and a wave from the super good looking guy I hit. And, you know, with my phone number in his pocket, but not for insurance purposes.

Thank God! or ¡Gracias Dios!

2007-10-12T11:24:00.000-05:00

Y’all, Menudo is back! If you didn’t get your fill of the 1980’s Puerto Rican sensation back in their prime, never fear. You can tune into a whole new batch of tweens prancing about on stage to Spanglish lyrics for the masses. That’s right. MTV is doing a reality TV show called “Making Menudo.” Giving young gay boys the chance to grow up to be the next Ricky Martin.

No, Really! There’s a Noise!

2007-10-11T09:38:00.001-05:00

My little car just celebrated its first birthday in the city. After three years of relaxing in the Iowa countryside, accumulating only 24,000 miles, it came to me last October, in a reverse retirement of sorts. Now, this poor little car has suffered through 18,000 miles of Chicago-land traffic, and though accident-free, the hours and hours on the road have taken their toll.

Now, my car is making a funny noise. Sometimes, when the engine turns over, it squeals right at the end. Sometimes, when it makes that noise, people turn and look. Sometimes when people turn and look, I look wildly around as well, pretending that I am trying to figure out whose car made that icky noise.

It was mine.

I took my friendly Ford Focus to my neighborhood Midas Man yesterday to get the oil changed and investigate the noise.

The Midas Man called me an hour later and in a slow “I hope you can understand this crazy young woman who hears imaginary car noises” voice explained that they didn’t hear a noise. Regardless the belts and alternator were fine, so I went to pick up the car. As I started it in the parking lot, I crossed my fingers that the screeching noise would come back and alert the Midas Man that I was not crazy. Unfortunately, it did not so I decided it was cured and drove the car home.

Fifteen minutes later, I got back in the car to go to the Laundromat and started it. The squeal managed to scare both my neighbor and his dog.

I just made like the Midas Man, stared straight ahead and pretended I heard nothing. And really? Isn’t turning your radio up and your selective hearing on the best car maintenance package anyway?

I'm A Winner!!! (sort of)

2007-10-09T14:35:00.000-05:00

I’m going to receive an award today.

I know this because last week my senior VP told my boss to “Make sure Lyndsay is in the office at three o’clock on Tuesday because she is going to receive a surprise award*.”

And then my boss told me “Be at the office on Tuesday because there is going to be surprise award at the 3:00 meeting for you from the CEO.”

Because apparently, though they believe me to be worthy of an award, they are concerned that, though I have no scheduled vacation for that day and have only taken one sick day all year, that I wouldn’t typically show up for work on a Tuesday. Unless, of course, I have been instructed that I will be receiving some sort of a surprise award.

Somehow, the excitement of the surprise award has been slightly diminished.

*The Senior VP stopped by during the writing of this blog to ensure that I would indeed be attending the mandatory company-wide meeting where I will receive a surprise award. As if he fully anticipates that rather than going to this meeting at which everyone, even those who are not receiving surprise awards, will be in attendance, I will instead embarrass US management in front of our Canadian Board of Executives by playing hooky hiding under my desk. Yet somehow they still think I deserve an award.

There's a Hero

2007-10-09T12:17:00.000-05:00

I have some friends who did an amazing thing this past weekend.

They got up on Sunday morning in the scorching 86 degree heat with high humidity and ran the Chicago Marathon. The result was Marathon Mayhem, as it was so branded in local and national news coverage. Water supplies were diminished, ambulances were scarce and people were dropping all over the race course.

Almost all of my friends were able to finish: Monique, Finlay, Sarah. Some were not: Maggie, but that girl has got the chops to get it done in Ohio. And some ran in chicken suits: Ed who was probably lucky he was diverted from the course in his 35 pound costume at mile 18 lest he should have died. All in all, these were accomplishments of heroic proportions.

But they weren’t alone.

I, too, accomplished a heroic feat, something not often attempted by mere mortals. I watched the entire first season of “Heroes” in a little over 30 hours on Friday and Saturday. How could I do this you ask? Well it took dedication, stamina, sleep deprivation and snacks. It took a jankey computer with a craptastic internet connection slowly downloading each episode from Netflix. It took a pillow, a blanket, air conditioning and a couch. It took a wasted Friday afternoon/evening and a wasted Saturday morning/afternoon/early evening during what was probably the last nice weekend of the year. It took me and my special brand of crazy.

I have the special power of being able to watch an extraordinary number of hours of television in a row. If that’s not a hero power, I just don’t know what is.

This Little Piggy Went to Airport

2007-10-03T15:58:00.000-05:00

On the way to the airport this morning, I caught whiff of a smell that I don’t often encounter in the city. It was a smell of my childhood. A smell of my hometown. A smell of hog shit.

Next to us for a large part of the journey was a sight I knew all too well, a semi hauling pigs. As the truck started and stopped in the city rush hour traffic, the pigs let out loud squeals and grunts that were very audible over the other sounds of traffic. My cab driver looked back at me and said, “Bad breaks!” Not sure what he was saying, I asked him to repeat himself. He replied, “Did you hear the breaks on that truck? Very bad.” When I pointed out the livestock visible in the truck, he laughed at his mistake. I said “The pigs don’t like city traffic.” He replied, “I guess we’re all a little like pigs then.”

And how my friend, and how.

An Act of Peace

2007-10-02T15:16:00.000-05:00

Last week, the Matthew Shepard Act was passed by the Senate with a 69 to 30 vote. While I am thrilled that it passed, I was disheartened to think there were politicians who did not support this bill, the most important being George W. Bush who has been rumoured as planning to veto the bill.

This bill would extend the definition of hate crime to include “crimes motivated by a victim's actual or perceived gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability.” It would also remove the current prerequisite that the victim be engaging in a federally-protected activity, like voting or going to school.

There is argument that this bill would restrict the freedom of speech and challenge the right of religious organizations and similar to make statements about these issues, with their primary target being homosexuality. This argument must be why 30 Senators, like our favorite closeted, homophobic, Senator Craig, voted against the bill and perhaps why George W. will veto it, even though this argument is specifically addressed and refuted within the bill itself.

This bill would mean that what happened to Matthew Shepard just shy of nine years ago would have been treated as a hate crime, and would have resulted in resources, assistance and support in investigating and prosecuting such a heinous act. This bill, a bipartisan effort, is supported by Matthew Shepard’s parents as well as a majority of our political leaders. My fear is that it will fall to the fourth veto of Bush’s presidency.

Perhaps this bill would have been the tiniest comfort to Matthew Shepard’s parents, his family, his friends, his community. My hope is that it will be a comfort in the future to the victims themselves. Perhaps it will bring justice sooner. Healing faster. Peace closer. Perhaps someday, calling deliberate acts of violence against our civil rights by name and treating them with the severity and importance of their nature, will bring them to an end.

Quote of the Day

2007-10-01T16:09:00.001-05:00

"I have to get new brake pads. Those Land Rover maintenance bastards."
"Well at least you didn't lose custody of your kids to Kevin Federline."

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

2007-09-30T12:34:00.001-05:00

Dear DVR,

I miss you. Laying on the couch, watching our favorite shows. Learning how to cook with Paula Dean and Top Chef. Living out our dreams of fame with E True Hollywood Story and Cubs games. Reveling in the bitchiness and backstabbery of The Hills and the joy of the Girls Next Door. Why did our good times have to end? I'm moving on now, to Tivo. I think he can make me happier than you. He can even predict what shows I might like. You never knew me that well. But I'll tell you, premiere week hasn't been the same without you. I almost missed Billy Baldwin having tranny sex on Dirty Sexy Money and those pretty girls being mean to each other on Gossip Girl. You redefined television for me, making it time efficient and less guilt inducing. Of course now, I have nothing to do on Sundays when I am hungover expect watch the same episodes of Newport Harbor that I have already seen, when I would much rather be watching pre-recorded episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 that I have already seen. Take care of yourself, DVR, and don't let anyone use you like I did.

Love always,
Your Number 1 Couch Potato