Ok, now that I am in a new city, I keep getting the same questions.
Usually people will pose questions about Missouri that aren't surprising...for instance, "How is Missouri like Illinois?" "What are the notable differences between here and there?" Or sometimes I get questions like, "Why are you EVEN HERE!!" Quite frankly, I am not amused.
Sometimes though, people are confused/ignorant to the ways of my great Show Me State.
1. We don't have an accent. YOU DO.
2. It's soda, not pop. C'mon. I never even heard of the word pop being used for the word soda until I was 17 and someone from Kansas City came around St. Louis and was spreading the heresy.
3. We're a city too, ya know. Sure, not as large, but a city nonetheless.
4. We're not liberal/we don't give the public assistance, Transit, help, cutbacks.
5. In the CITY city, we don't have country areas. Again, see #3. This woman I work with said, "Oh yeah, you're from St. Louis? I visited St. Louis one time....it was beautiful. Such country areas. Lovely wildlife and scenery."
Uhhh. If by scenery, you mean, smoke stacks, then yeah, we have nice scenery. Or, if by scenery, you mean a preponderance of glock-bearing citizens, then yeah, great view. If you are seeing wildlife other than dead fish and mice in the city of St. Louis, then YOU ARE NOT IN ST. LOUIS.
6. Oh, we don't just have one type of pizza. We, unlike you, have thin crust, crust and thick crust (and our sauce goes UNDER the cheese, as God and all mankind intended).
7. Our hot dogs suck in St. Louis.
8. Polish population in Chicago: 1.999 billion. Polish population in St. Louis: 10 people total (5 of which are just visiting from Chicago). Haha.
9. We're a lot like you, except we're from Missouri.
10. We're to the left, to the left. A young girl I work with said, "So, where exactly IS Missouri?" And then later she said, "So where exactly IS St. Louis."
Man, if she wasn't my favorite Chicagoan.....
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
One among us
I was walking (in circles) around downtown Chicago trying to find an entrance to get on board the brown line after an interview this morning that did not go well. By the Washington and Wells stop, a homeless man wielding a cup o' coins said, "got change?" I told him that "I barely have my head on straight, much less spare change" then proceeded to wait until the light turned red so I could safely cross the street. While still waiting, he asked me again, "Got the time?" To which I then said, "Nope. We're Oh for two." This is probably why I don't have a job, no sweet Rolex and no spare change for the needy. I am the needy.
(Where was he heading? Is he is homeless and jobless, what event was he heading to?)
As I was waiting for the longest light in the history of the world, I realized that if I didn't get a freakin' job, I'd be the one on the side of the street, wondering what time it is, using my thrift store McDonald's recyclable cup. But, when I realized I would have to give up the many thrift store cups I had in my possession and I almost started crying. If it wasn't for my anger at the goddamn invisible train stops, I would have. It is very hard to find the locales to get on and off the train. Very tricky, Chicago Transit Authority.
(Where was he heading? Is he is homeless and jobless, what event was he heading to?)
As I was waiting for the longest light in the history of the world, I realized that if I didn't get a freakin' job, I'd be the one on the side of the street, wondering what time it is, using my thrift store McDonald's recyclable cup. But, when I realized I would have to give up the many thrift store cups I had in my possession and I almost started crying. If it wasn't for my anger at the goddamn invisible train stops, I would have. It is very hard to find the locales to get on and off the train. Very tricky, Chicago Transit Authority.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Baby Etiquette
Yes, you are right. I should write my own guide to proper every etiquette. Not that fancy schmancy type of etiquette books that tell you you can't eat dinner when your shoulders are not at a 90 degree angle. I am talking about everyday fo' real etiquette.
Today's topic: Babies.
1. You have a child. Great. Now, after the usual three questions someone is properly supposed to ask when said child is brought up (aka, 1. What's his/her name? 2. When did you have him/her? 3. Awww. Tell me one interesting fact and then please zip da lip), I need you to end the conversation, unlike the alternative which is talk about your baby daddy issues, talk about every bodily/physical function the child in question does.
2. When talking about baby daddy issues, after 4 minutes, I am cutting you off or leaving or inventing my own baby daddy issues even though I don't have a child and am merely mocking you for my own enjoyment. When you find out in three minutes or three days or three months, I'll just play it off like a hilarious joke.
3. If you REALLY won't stop talking about baby daddy and I can't hang myself or escape through a stage door, after my two questions about baby daddy, (aka, How long have you been going out and How's it going with you two?) please, I don't want to hear about it any more.
4. When you ask if I wanna see pictures of the fruit of your loins and I reluctantly accept please show me at max 15 photos. I run out of comments after the 20th photo. I end up just saying things like, "You'd never expect THAT to be THERE" or something even more ridiculous like, "Baby made a bold move wearing red in the sun."
5. When you force me into an 80 minute discussion on baby etc, por favor, please excuse my attempts to end the conversation.
6. If the conversation is not ending, please end my in-depth discussion on breast milk, my biggest fear. Also, please don't mind the vagina canal questions. I have one, but haven't used it yet, for the obvious reasons you can infer from above.
Today's topic: Babies.
1. You have a child. Great. Now, after the usual three questions someone is properly supposed to ask when said child is brought up (aka, 1. What's his/her name? 2. When did you have him/her? 3. Awww. Tell me one interesting fact and then please zip da lip), I need you to end the conversation, unlike the alternative which is talk about your baby daddy issues, talk about every bodily/physical function the child in question does.
2. When talking about baby daddy issues, after 4 minutes, I am cutting you off or leaving or inventing my own baby daddy issues even though I don't have a child and am merely mocking you for my own enjoyment. When you find out in three minutes or three days or three months, I'll just play it off like a hilarious joke.
3. If you REALLY won't stop talking about baby daddy and I can't hang myself or escape through a stage door, after my two questions about baby daddy, (aka, How long have you been going out and How's it going with you two?) please, I don't want to hear about it any more.
4. When you ask if I wanna see pictures of the fruit of your loins and I reluctantly accept please show me at max 15 photos. I run out of comments after the 20th photo. I end up just saying things like, "You'd never expect THAT to be THERE" or something even more ridiculous like, "Baby made a bold move wearing red in the sun."
5. When you force me into an 80 minute discussion on baby etc, por favor, please excuse my attempts to end the conversation.
6. If the conversation is not ending, please end my in-depth discussion on breast milk, my biggest fear. Also, please don't mind the vagina canal questions. I have one, but haven't used it yet, for the obvious reasons you can infer from above.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Proper Bus Etiquette.
After my recent adventures in Chicagoland area, I have decided it was time to impart my wisdom on the masses. What has brought this about, one might ask. Well, I will tell you. Burglaries, annoyance and ill-tempered, insanely uncomfortable meetings with inner city bus traveler. That is what has brought this on. Yes, I have not only been a witness to a burglary, but I have also been witness to an insane bus passenger who became and nuisance, to put it gently, to those around her. This one woman was on the bus, had a seat next to her and refused to let anyone sit there/sit there in peace.
So, in conclusion, it has come to my attention that Chicago needs me to tell this the rules of the route.
1. If you have to make a call, please try not to YELL AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FOR ALL TO HEAR. Seriously. And, on a side note. If you are a "regular" like I am and take the bus at the exact same time I do everyday, please consider not making phone calls every single day and abstain from YELLING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FOR THE ENTIRE PHONE CALL THREE DAYS IN A ROW.
For one, no one cares about your multiple baby daddies and child sitter issues. Secondly, I definitely don't want to hear about your baby daddy issues for three days straight on a gawdawful bus jam-packed full of sweaty, testy, shady Chicagoans.
2. Por favor. If you speak another language, do not think you are exempt from the previous rule. We/I can still here you, even though you are speaking Russian, French, Spanish, etc. I know at most 22 words in the spanish language but, I know enough to know that what you be sayin' on the telefono on the bus can wait until you arrive at the local Laund-ro-mat.
3. If there is 89 people on the bus (maximum occupancy 62), this is probably not the time to take up more than one spot on the bus. And, if someone wants to sit down, and, I may be out of line here, but, perhaps....LET THEM SIT DOWN. Also, move your shit out of the seat next to you. Why are you traveling with 3 garbage bags on the bus anyway (true story).
I know, I'm a heretic.
4. Leave your (literal) garbage at home. This goes back to the third example of proper etiquette on the bus. Where are you going that requires you to bring 3 garbage bags full of god-knows-what? Fo' real. What is in those bags. They seem fairly light. So, I assume they aren't clothes (some people use garbage bags to transport their dirty laundry). So, this leads me to assume that he a)keeps his receipts in there b) crumples up old newspapers to use later for ransom notes or c) he is doing the city a favor by going around town, picking up trash and carrying it elsewhere, using the bus as his mode of transportation.
All in all people, let's get classy on the bus.
So, in conclusion, it has come to my attention that Chicago needs me to tell this the rules of the route.
1. If you have to make a call, please try not to YELL AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FOR ALL TO HEAR. Seriously. And, on a side note. If you are a "regular" like I am and take the bus at the exact same time I do everyday, please consider not making phone calls every single day and abstain from YELLING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FOR THE ENTIRE PHONE CALL THREE DAYS IN A ROW.
For one, no one cares about your multiple baby daddies and child sitter issues. Secondly, I definitely don't want to hear about your baby daddy issues for three days straight on a gawdawful bus jam-packed full of sweaty, testy, shady Chicagoans.
2. Por favor. If you speak another language, do not think you are exempt from the previous rule. We/I can still here you, even though you are speaking Russian, French, Spanish, etc. I know at most 22 words in the spanish language but, I know enough to know that what you be sayin' on the telefono on the bus can wait until you arrive at the local Laund-ro-mat.
3. If there is 89 people on the bus (maximum occupancy 62), this is probably not the time to take up more than one spot on the bus. And, if someone wants to sit down, and, I may be out of line here, but, perhaps....LET THEM SIT DOWN. Also, move your shit out of the seat next to you. Why are you traveling with 3 garbage bags on the bus anyway (true story).
I know, I'm a heretic.
4. Leave your (literal) garbage at home. This goes back to the third example of proper etiquette on the bus. Where are you going that requires you to bring 3 garbage bags full of god-knows-what? Fo' real. What is in those bags. They seem fairly light. So, I assume they aren't clothes (some people use garbage bags to transport their dirty laundry). So, this leads me to assume that he a)keeps his receipts in there b) crumples up old newspapers to use later for ransom notes or c) he is doing the city a favor by going around town, picking up trash and carrying it elsewhere, using the bus as his mode of transportation.
All in all people, let's get classy on the bus.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
$14.83
I just returned from Starbucks. Yes, I know, how cliche. But, I'll have you all know that I am the first person to "sell out." I am a poser, tried and true. But, that's not the reason I am writing today. I went to Starbucks to read Julie and Julia, by Julie Powell, and to get my daily fill of espresso. I don't know what it is but chocolate mixed with espresso is better than sex at its best (sorry Englishman, but that's mostly true). So, I walked the couple of blocks to my local Starbucks (which is all you need to walk in Chicago, there's a 'Bucks on every corner here, not unlike CVS, Walgreen's and Dunkin Doughnuts) and I decided to get an iced Grande Mocha, and it should go without saying that I purchased a chocolate chip cookie as well even though this drink contains enough chocolate to satisfy the regular chocoholic (but, I've built up a tolerance over the years). In plain English, an Iced Grande Mocha is just a medium-sized drink containing milk, espresso, fancy schmancy chocolate over ice, overpriced. I usually think iced drinks and frappachinos are for babies and prissy high maintenance women, but it's hot out there today and I am feeling especially high maintenance, so, get off my back. Anyway, my total was $5.25, which I had to balance my checkbook right then and there to make sure I could afford it. SWIPED the Visa and then sat down on one of the slightly used Grandfather chairs which contained what appeared to be a cigarette burn hole. Hmmm. How. Why?
I opened my J&J and then carefully eyed the other patrons. I like to creep on other people in coffee shops because generally, coffee shops are magnets for posers, creeps, addicts of all sorts, hippies and pseudo artists. I like to think that I fit into all of the categories, so I fit right in. One guy was on his laptop, another was on his laptop, other woman was closing her laptop and across the room, another man was YES, on his laptop, if you can fathom THAT possibility.
Why are so many people laptopping at coffee shops? I think it goes back to the type of people who frequent those establishments. Posers, creeps, addicts, hippies and artists.
Anyway, as I was secretly developing back stories to all of these Starbucks characters, I glanced down at the table and there was a receipt in front of man #2 on laptop. No biggie. Starbucks gives out receipts just like normal establishments and places of business. But, here's the weird part. The receipt for this man was for $14.83. I look around and he wasn't with anyone, but in front of him was several empty cups and dishes.
Here's the gist:
Man wakes up, says, "Man, I'm grumpy. I don't want to make food all day. I am also low on espresso drinks in my body. I also don't want to use the internet at my own house. I'm going to Starbucks. I'll feed my 12 cats (people like 'Bucks people always have 3-15 cats in their possession) and I'll be gone until dark."
Then, he goes to Starbucks and hangs around, eating multiple meals and drinks until dark.
I mean, he went to Starbucks, according to the receipt and ordered two to three meals, including multiple drinks totaling $14.83.
I mean, I was flipping out about my measly 5 dollar bill. Who spends 14 dollars on Starbucks? Insane.
I opened my J&J and then carefully eyed the other patrons. I like to creep on other people in coffee shops because generally, coffee shops are magnets for posers, creeps, addicts of all sorts, hippies and pseudo artists. I like to think that I fit into all of the categories, so I fit right in. One guy was on his laptop, another was on his laptop, other woman was closing her laptop and across the room, another man was YES, on his laptop, if you can fathom THAT possibility.
Why are so many people laptopping at coffee shops? I think it goes back to the type of people who frequent those establishments. Posers, creeps, addicts, hippies and artists.
Anyway, as I was secretly developing back stories to all of these Starbucks characters, I glanced down at the table and there was a receipt in front of man #2 on laptop. No biggie. Starbucks gives out receipts just like normal establishments and places of business. But, here's the weird part. The receipt for this man was for $14.83. I look around and he wasn't with anyone, but in front of him was several empty cups and dishes.
Here's the gist:
Man wakes up, says, "Man, I'm grumpy. I don't want to make food all day. I am also low on espresso drinks in my body. I also don't want to use the internet at my own house. I'm going to Starbucks. I'll feed my 12 cats (people like 'Bucks people always have 3-15 cats in their possession) and I'll be gone until dark."
Then, he goes to Starbucks and hangs around, eating multiple meals and drinks until dark.
I mean, he went to Starbucks, according to the receipt and ordered two to three meals, including multiple drinks totaling $14.83.
I mean, I was flipping out about my measly 5 dollar bill. Who spends 14 dollars on Starbucks? Insane.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Hello, Sunshine
I am dating that guy. You know the type. Perhaps you are the type. The type who rises early. A little too early, if you ask me. That's right ladies and gents, my boyfriend is the Early-to-bed, Early-to-rise type. Except, the Englishman takes it to a whole new level. Living in sin is very nice. No marriage b.s. to worry about, no stress, no kids in my hair but coming together in the Cosmo sense of the phrase is more or less dealing with THE AWAKENING HOUR. I, like many unemployed Americans, like to sleep in until a modest 10, 10:30 (who am I kidding, it's more like 11). There I am, my eyes adjusting to the beautiful morning light coming through my blinds. I turn over and nope, no Englishman to be seen. At first I wonder if these previous few years have been nothing but a dream. But, then I see the remnants of the Englishman's tracks. He's moved things around....he's been in the storage space....on the internet....here...there....everywhere!!!! I roll out of bed and there I see him---awake and sunshiny. Although his bright green eyes are lovely to see first thing in the morning, the inane chattering of a busy body unfortunately is not. You see, I am not trying to hurt anyone's feelings, I just am a sleep person. Not an awake person. Never have been. Plus, when I get up, I need at least an hour to adjust to the light, much like a bat or a vampire who has been in his crypt for hundreds of years. I need some time, senor. I wake up to:
"Hey Erica. How are you?"----the Englishman speaketh.
"Hey."---me
"How are you, whatcha doing?"---Englishman
"Fine...what have you been doing?"---me
"Oh, I went for a 6 mile walk and I read three newspapers, checked my email, got some coffee, finished two crossword puzzles, boy were they hard, and then I took a shower after I ate some breakfast."---Englishman.
"What??!?!?!?!?!? I just set foot on a floor."---me
"Yeah I know."---Englishman.
At first I blamed him. He's the best at everything. Everything. Then, I realized. THERE ARE MORE LIKE HIM OUT THERE. More people who get up, on weekends like he does, at the crack of dawn (8 o'clock) and roam around the street with their baby children and their papers and freshly poured caffeinated beverages (although I am sure they only get those flavor-infused delicacies so they can 1) bond with the same species, other 8 a.m.ers. 2) do something with all of the time they have and 3) make sure they don't look weird for being up so early---they need to have an excuse as to why they're functioning at an alien hour.
"Hey Erica. How are you?"----the Englishman speaketh.
"Hey."---me
"How are you, whatcha doing?"---Englishman
"Fine...what have you been doing?"---me
"Oh, I went for a 6 mile walk and I read three newspapers, checked my email, got some coffee, finished two crossword puzzles, boy were they hard, and then I took a shower after I ate some breakfast."---Englishman.
"What??!?!?!?!?!? I just set foot on a floor."---me
"Yeah I know."---Englishman.
At first I blamed him. He's the best at everything. Everything. Then, I realized. THERE ARE MORE LIKE HIM OUT THERE. More people who get up, on weekends like he does, at the crack of dawn (8 o'clock) and roam around the street with their baby children and their papers and freshly poured caffeinated beverages (although I am sure they only get those flavor-infused delicacies so they can 1) bond with the same species, other 8 a.m.ers. 2) do something with all of the time they have and 3) make sure they don't look weird for being up so early---they need to have an excuse as to why they're functioning at an alien hour.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Hot Child in the City
Discrepancies in the Chi-town persona are numerous.
For one, the "Windy City" is not very windy. It's very hot and thick in the town and I find myself begging for a slight breeze to ease the heat. Very hot and yet no breeze.
What to do? No se.
We (me and the Englishman) live on the top floor of a building constructed in the eighteen twenties, I'm sure, and the main problem is it's cool at nights here, yet, it's hot as Hades inside. I mean, I've probably lost 5 pounds in mere sweat alone. Ridiculous.
For one, the "Windy City" is not very windy. It's very hot and thick in the town and I find myself begging for a slight breeze to ease the heat. Very hot and yet no breeze.
What to do? No se.
We (me and the Englishman) live on the top floor of a building constructed in the eighteen twenties, I'm sure, and the main problem is it's cool at nights here, yet, it's hot as Hades inside. I mean, I've probably lost 5 pounds in mere sweat alone. Ridiculous.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Am I on candid ******* camera???
OK. So, living in the city is expensive. Housing (rent, utilities), food, restaurants, transportation (bus and train tickets and gas) is EXPENSIVE. So expensive. It's not like you can walk all over the place to save money, either. So. expensive.
So, I decided to venture out into the job market. I took my bad self and my resumee with 1 error and took it to a local realtor. This experience, like many of my previous employments was ridiculous, to say the least. This man, Mike, was ridiculous. There was only one worker, him, in the entire store. He refused to answer any of my questions and told me he'd figure out what my pay rate and approximate hours per week would be. No prob, I thought. I'll roll with it. No big deal. I just want a job.
First of all, he YELLED at me day in and day out. I only worked two days, but everything I did was WRONG. But, here's the kicker: If I went to ask a question, he would say, "No questions. Every time you ask a question, I lose my concentration and I forget what I was doing. Seriously, I'm earning 50 dollars an hour and if you ask me 20 questions, I lose money."
"But, how am I supposed to know what I'm doing if you don't explain it to me?"---I said.
"I'll let you know."---Mike claimed.
Then, there was the peaches.
He kept staring down my neck....kept going....at my peaches. (some call them melons, but mine are more like peaches). I wasn't wearing anything revealing, either!
Then, he kept touching my hands. I was like, "Whoa man, get out of here. Stop touching my hands," but to no avail.
Then, more of the yelling. "PUT THIS FOLDER OVER THERE. OVER THERE........THERE.....THERE......ON THE PILE."---Mike
What fucking pile, I thought to myself. All there is is random papers thrown EVERYWHERE.
"Where?"--me
"DON'T ASK QUESTIONS. YOU'LL LEARN, EVENTUALLY"----Mike
I took a look at the papers, even though he told me, "Don't look at anything or tell anyone anything," and there were so many bills and unpaid invoices he neglected to pay. Lawyers and collection agencies kept calling and he either: lied or he hung up on them. This is absurd, I thought. Is this a real business?
Of course, I asked, "Is this a real business or am I on candid camera?" and he claimed this place was four businesses rolled into one. And he then proceeded to hand me 12 business cards that claimed he owned and operated all 12 of such business ventures. This is absurd.
The next day, he made me call up three (3) different phone companies and made me wait until they connected me to "someone in the United States." Even though the customer service representatives in the Philippines spoke perfect English, he made me wait for confirmation that I was indeed talking to "someone who spoke the same language and was from New Jersey."
Wow.
He yelled at everyone, everyone. Friends, lawyers, architects, printer cartridge sales attendants and ME.
Then, at the end of the second day, I asked, "Mike, how much money am I going to make?"
Then, he looked down, pondered and said, "I was thinking......Six dollars, under the table, no tax forms."
"Mike, I can't work here any more."---me
"Why not?"---Mike
"One, quite frankly, I'm stressed out."---me
"WHAT? I GOT A BAD EAR....YOU. GOT. TO. SPEAK. UP."---Mike, who has a "bad ear/an addiction to yelling and hearing his own voice."
"I'M STRESSED OUT. STRESSED. I'M STREEEESSSSSSED OUUUUUUUT."---me
"Well, sure, you're not trained yet."---Mike
"I can't work for 6 dollars, I got ends to meet."---me
"Well, I lost all of this time training you. It's a little unfair to me."---Mike
(I wasn't trained, I didn't do anything except write things down, print out an invoice, fax something and yell at Vonage reps.)
"You'll find something, Mike. Someone more suited for this job."---me
Then, he wrote me a check for my 10 1/2 hours work (at six dollars an hour) and then I peaced out of that hood. God, that was awful. So I went from unemployed to employed to confused to ulcer-ridden to angry to unemployed within 48 hours. Nice.
So, I decided to venture out into the job market. I took my bad self and my resumee with 1 error and took it to a local realtor. This experience, like many of my previous employments was ridiculous, to say the least. This man, Mike, was ridiculous. There was only one worker, him, in the entire store. He refused to answer any of my questions and told me he'd figure out what my pay rate and approximate hours per week would be. No prob, I thought. I'll roll with it. No big deal. I just want a job.
First of all, he YELLED at me day in and day out. I only worked two days, but everything I did was WRONG. But, here's the kicker: If I went to ask a question, he would say, "No questions. Every time you ask a question, I lose my concentration and I forget what I was doing. Seriously, I'm earning 50 dollars an hour and if you ask me 20 questions, I lose money."
"But, how am I supposed to know what I'm doing if you don't explain it to me?"---I said.
"I'll let you know."---Mike claimed.
Then, there was the peaches.
He kept staring down my neck....kept going....at my peaches. (some call them melons, but mine are more like peaches). I wasn't wearing anything revealing, either!
Then, he kept touching my hands. I was like, "Whoa man, get out of here. Stop touching my hands," but to no avail.
Then, more of the yelling. "PUT THIS FOLDER OVER THERE. OVER THERE........THERE.....THERE......ON THE PILE."---Mike
What fucking pile, I thought to myself. All there is is random papers thrown EVERYWHERE.
"Where?"--me
"DON'T ASK QUESTIONS. YOU'LL LEARN, EVENTUALLY"----Mike
I took a look at the papers, even though he told me, "Don't look at anything or tell anyone anything," and there were so many bills and unpaid invoices he neglected to pay. Lawyers and collection agencies kept calling and he either: lied or he hung up on them. This is absurd, I thought. Is this a real business?
Of course, I asked, "Is this a real business or am I on candid camera?" and he claimed this place was four businesses rolled into one. And he then proceeded to hand me 12 business cards that claimed he owned and operated all 12 of such business ventures. This is absurd.
The next day, he made me call up three (3) different phone companies and made me wait until they connected me to "someone in the United States." Even though the customer service representatives in the Philippines spoke perfect English, he made me wait for confirmation that I was indeed talking to "someone who spoke the same language and was from New Jersey."
Wow.
He yelled at everyone, everyone. Friends, lawyers, architects, printer cartridge sales attendants and ME.
Then, at the end of the second day, I asked, "Mike, how much money am I going to make?"
Then, he looked down, pondered and said, "I was thinking......Six dollars, under the table, no tax forms."
"Mike, I can't work here any more."---me
"Why not?"---Mike
"One, quite frankly, I'm stressed out."---me
"WHAT? I GOT A BAD EAR....YOU. GOT. TO. SPEAK. UP."---Mike, who has a "bad ear/an addiction to yelling and hearing his own voice."
"I'M STRESSED OUT. STRESSED. I'M STREEEESSSSSSED OUUUUUUUT."---me
"Well, sure, you're not trained yet."---Mike
"I can't work for 6 dollars, I got ends to meet."---me
"Well, I lost all of this time training you. It's a little unfair to me."---Mike
(I wasn't trained, I didn't do anything except write things down, print out an invoice, fax something and yell at Vonage reps.)
"You'll find something, Mike. Someone more suited for this job."---me
Then, he wrote me a check for my 10 1/2 hours work (at six dollars an hour) and then I peaced out of that hood. God, that was awful. So I went from unemployed to employed to confused to ulcer-ridden to angry to unemployed within 48 hours. Nice.
Updates
I moved from Kirksville to Chicago! I'm currently living in sin with my one true love, The Englishman!
It's been such an adjustment moving from farmland to the metropolis.
Let me make you a list of differences I've note:
Kirksville:
small
rural
so much farmland
not urban
field mice, at worst
three coffee places (one with AMAZING chicken salad)
three octogenarian taxi drivers, to make up the public transit
you can't leave your house without running into 20 people you know and whom you feel compelled to chit chat awkwardly with
republicanville, USA
one large wal-mart
friends (granted, most aren't there anymore either)
Chicago
large
urban
so many buildings
not rural, at all
THE LARGEST RATS YOU WILL EVER SEE
three coffee places....on my block alone (one with amazing atmosphere)
no chicken salad
thirty nine methods of transportation, buses, trains (all sorts of colors), taxis, cars, bikes
you can wander the city all day and not see a familiar face
democrat (blue state)
one satellite Target (small)
no friends (yet) :(
exciting
It's been such an adjustment moving from farmland to the metropolis.
Let me make you a list of differences I've note:
Kirksville:
small
rural
so much farmland
not urban
field mice, at worst
three coffee places (one with AMAZING chicken salad)
three octogenarian taxi drivers, to make up the public transit
you can't leave your house without running into 20 people you know and whom you feel compelled to chit chat awkwardly with
republicanville, USA
one large wal-mart
friends (granted, most aren't there anymore either)
Chicago
large
urban
so many buildings
not rural, at all
THE LARGEST RATS YOU WILL EVER SEE
three coffee places....on my block alone (one with amazing atmosphere)
no chicken salad
thirty nine methods of transportation, buses, trains (all sorts of colors), taxis, cars, bikes
you can wander the city all day and not see a familiar face
democrat (blue state)
one satellite Target (small)
no friends (yet) :(
exciting
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Hilarious Sci-Fi Story for you
To save face with my slightly nerdier constituents, I have decided to write (and produce and direct) a short sci-fi, aka science fiction story for you. It'll be hilarious for all you non-nerds or closeted nerds out there.
In a land far far away,
There was a, undiscovered by Earthlings, PLANET!
(cue background oohs and aahs)
In this planet there was only a small family. One of the members was a girl named Schmerica. This alien girl, Erica....I mean....Schmerica, loved to eat cookies.
Yes, I do believe aliens like cookies just as much as any respect-worthy human of the Earth race.
One day, the cookies RAN OUT. Since the planet was undiscovered and there were only so many resources on the planet, she was sad to find out there was none left.
"No cookies left, by golly!"---Schmerica said.
What was Schmerica to do? She didn't know anyone else, she couldn't borrow some from friends? There was no grocery store to buy some more.
What was she to do!?!
Finally, after much consideration, she hopped into her Unidentified Flying Object, which aliens just call space module, and went into space.
After traveling through a black hole (freaky, right?) she went BACK IN TIME! Here, she discovered Americans in what is now present day (The Year 2010). These Americans gave her cookies and she taught them an even better way of making cookies. With her help, the face of cookies was changed FOREVER. I like to believe this woman's name is Schmerica Fields. Aka, Mrs. Fields. She is an alien from the future. Amazing cookie-baking alien.
In a land far far away,
There was a, undiscovered by Earthlings, PLANET!
(cue background oohs and aahs)
In this planet there was only a small family. One of the members was a girl named Schmerica. This alien girl, Erica....I mean....Schmerica, loved to eat cookies.
Yes, I do believe aliens like cookies just as much as any respect-worthy human of the Earth race.
One day, the cookies RAN OUT. Since the planet was undiscovered and there were only so many resources on the planet, she was sad to find out there was none left.
"No cookies left, by golly!"---Schmerica said.
What was Schmerica to do? She didn't know anyone else, she couldn't borrow some from friends? There was no grocery store to buy some more.
What was she to do!?!
Finally, after much consideration, she hopped into her Unidentified Flying Object, which aliens just call space module, and went into space.
After traveling through a black hole (freaky, right?) she went BACK IN TIME! Here, she discovered Americans in what is now present day (The Year 2010). These Americans gave her cookies and she taught them an even better way of making cookies. With her help, the face of cookies was changed FOREVER. I like to believe this woman's name is Schmerica Fields. Aka, Mrs. Fields. She is an alien from the future. Amazing cookie-baking alien.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
View from my front porch...errrr....my desk
As I sit here at the library, I notice many different things. Seeing such a wide variety of people can only mean one thing: my internal commentary is going haywire.
I love to people watch, especially when I have nothing better to do than sit here at a desk, waiting for people to ask me about EBSCOhost.
Right now there is:
A man of cocoa brown skin "stealing" the free paper than is available near my desk. He's very shifty-eyed even though he isn't stealing--it's there for your convenience.
An Aryan woman with light eyes and blonde hair sitting at a weird desk that is rarely used. She is wearing a pair of cowboy boots with a brown jacket and skirt. Very weird considering she is probably from the suburbs....like most of the students and this particular university. The weird thing is....she's only writing a five page paper (that's right....I'm that creepy that I checked when she scrolled.
In another corner, there is a group of beautiful black students chatting among themselves. Are any black people not beautiful?
Walking towards the circulation/check out desk I see a man making use of an Ipod. Clearly he's not getting any work done with Motley Crue singing in his ear.
There is a man here clearly confused about the weather. Leather jacket over a long sleeved shirt and shorts with an umbrella and a red back pack. Maybe he likes rain on his calves.
There is a girl who came in with a very tall boy. Very odd looking in a pretty yet ordinary sort of way. Her head's shaped like a oval round bowl. Flat in front, round in back. The bowl head didn't bring in any work to do. I think the boy with bowl head did. She did bring in water. Hmmm.
Man with the Ipod is still at the Circulation/check out counter. go home. you and Tommy Lee.
Man with shorts and umbrella is looking through the library catalog....coming up with....not much, because he's checking out some girl exiting the library. Boy, is he checking her out. Whoa man. Whoa now. Thorough.
Another man comes in, confused about the weather. Wearing a beanie, some white khaki shorts, a Columbia jacket with a shirt underneath. And a blue backpack.
Asian girls leaves with a yellow backpack, head down. Very sad looking. Today was not a good day for her at the library. Especially if she's leaving early, looking sad. Has given up---school's taken all she's got.
The paper "stealer" is BACK! Now he's shiftily eyeing computers. Going back and forth between the rows of computers.
Woman at the circ desk, checking out so many books. This late in the semester?!?!?!? No she "diddd ent." I feel that. That's real. I've completed many an assignment with the loyal, constant support of the drug known as procrastination. Oops....procrastination girl just exited the building in a hurry! Touche.
One lady is writing a paper, head as far down, into her book as humanly possible. Head so far. Can it get any farther.....nope. I don't think it can. So far....too far. HOW IS HER NECK HANDLING THIS. I can't keep my eyes off of her. She just shot a squeeze of water from her water bottle. Keeping hydrated. The neck'll thank you later.
More for later.....
I love to people watch, especially when I have nothing better to do than sit here at a desk, waiting for people to ask me about EBSCOhost.
Right now there is:
A man of cocoa brown skin "stealing" the free paper than is available near my desk. He's very shifty-eyed even though he isn't stealing--it's there for your convenience.
An Aryan woman with light eyes and blonde hair sitting at a weird desk that is rarely used. She is wearing a pair of cowboy boots with a brown jacket and skirt. Very weird considering she is probably from the suburbs....like most of the students and this particular university. The weird thing is....she's only writing a five page paper (that's right....I'm that creepy that I checked when she scrolled.
In another corner, there is a group of beautiful black students chatting among themselves. Are any black people not beautiful?
Walking towards the circulation/check out desk I see a man making use of an Ipod. Clearly he's not getting any work done with Motley Crue singing in his ear.
There is a man here clearly confused about the weather. Leather jacket over a long sleeved shirt and shorts with an umbrella and a red back pack. Maybe he likes rain on his calves.
There is a girl who came in with a very tall boy. Very odd looking in a pretty yet ordinary sort of way. Her head's shaped like a oval round bowl. Flat in front, round in back. The bowl head didn't bring in any work to do. I think the boy with bowl head did. She did bring in water. Hmmm.
Man with the Ipod is still at the Circulation/check out counter. go home. you and Tommy Lee.
Man with shorts and umbrella is looking through the library catalog....coming up with....not much, because he's checking out some girl exiting the library. Boy, is he checking her out. Whoa man. Whoa now. Thorough.
Another man comes in, confused about the weather. Wearing a beanie, some white khaki shorts, a Columbia jacket with a shirt underneath. And a blue backpack.
Asian girls leaves with a yellow backpack, head down. Very sad looking. Today was not a good day for her at the library. Especially if she's leaving early, looking sad. Has given up---school's taken all she's got.
The paper "stealer" is BACK! Now he's shiftily eyeing computers. Going back and forth between the rows of computers.
Woman at the circ desk, checking out so many books. This late in the semester?!?!?!? No she "diddd ent." I feel that. That's real. I've completed many an assignment with the loyal, constant support of the drug known as procrastination. Oops....procrastination girl just exited the building in a hurry! Touche.
One lady is writing a paper, head as far down, into her book as humanly possible. Head so far. Can it get any farther.....nope. I don't think it can. So far....too far. HOW IS HER NECK HANDLING THIS. I can't keep my eyes off of her. She just shot a squeeze of water from her water bottle. Keeping hydrated. The neck'll thank you later.
More for later.....
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Techno babble
Do you have a blackberry? Are you one of those people with an Ipod, Ipad, Ipole, Iphone, Ipoll, Isad. Quite frankly, I am sad.
I, President of the United Luddite Federation am here today to make it known that the only technology I own are: cell phone. No Internet connection. MP3 player with 200 songs max on it. And a calculator.
Even if I owned a blackberry, I wouldn't know what to do with it. I am so lame in those regards (and in other regards as well). I think I would put it into my shirt or coat pocket to protect myself against oncoming bullets. This act shows just how up-to-date I am and just how paranoid I am and the lengths I will go to protect myself against stray bullets (I live in Rural Town, USA).
I just am being passed by...at light speed...by all of this change in technology over the past few years.
I have a laptop....but, the only Internet sites I ever frequent include cnn.com, nytimes.com, blogspot (to write), facebook (because I gotta) and my email account.
Someone was talking to me about how much time they spend on the Internet and it's ridiculous. What do you people do on the Internet? After I check my email and facebook, the computer remains unused until tomorrow at 10 o'clock when I CHECK THOSE TWO SITES AGAIN. I even considered going back into the dark ages and getting a land line phone instead of my cell phone. All of the techno freaks beware. I am your worst enemy.
I, President of the United Luddite Federation am here today to make it known that the only technology I own are: cell phone. No Internet connection. MP3 player with 200 songs max on it. And a calculator.
Even if I owned a blackberry, I wouldn't know what to do with it. I am so lame in those regards (and in other regards as well). I think I would put it into my shirt or coat pocket to protect myself against oncoming bullets. This act shows just how up-to-date I am and just how paranoid I am and the lengths I will go to protect myself against stray bullets (I live in Rural Town, USA).
I just am being passed by...at light speed...by all of this change in technology over the past few years.
I have a laptop....but, the only Internet sites I ever frequent include cnn.com, nytimes.com, blogspot (to write), facebook (because I gotta) and my email account.
Someone was talking to me about how much time they spend on the Internet and it's ridiculous. What do you people do on the Internet? After I check my email and facebook, the computer remains unused until tomorrow at 10 o'clock when I CHECK THOSE TWO SITES AGAIN. I even considered going back into the dark ages and getting a land line phone instead of my cell phone. All of the techno freaks beware. I am your worst enemy.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Library news
I, like any country-loving American, works.
And, like any good, well-raised and good mannered girl that I am work at the library.
Last night, at the library, I came in to work the late shift, a little unhappy about not being able to sleep or chill at home in my own abode. Here, I sat and took questions and read Chelsea Handler's latest book. Well, after a student came by, asked for a pencil to borrow, I said sure. As I was rifling through desks and nooks and crannies for a pencil (who doesn't bring a pencil to the library), I came across a veritable cranny of booty. I came across such deep treasures anyone of distinguished taste would dream about....mints and hand sanitizer. All free.
One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is deals and things that are free. It's better than sex. Getting things for free is better than theme parks, medicines, any high I've ever heard of and almost better than eating.
The point is: I found smelly-good hand sanitizer (I love hand sanitizing and am currently addicted to the act therein of sanitizing these hands) and mints. Well, I had seen the mints before (had one then) and yet many weeks later the mints remained. Well, I opened up this treasure trove and found three to four mints (my mathematical skills goes right out the window anytime I come across free shit). So....what did I do?
I ate a mint.
an hour passes.....
ate another mint.
another hour or maybe it wasn't even half an hour and I was craving the free minty glory.
So, I popped another into my mouth. Deal.
Then, there was only one left...and since I am a firm believer in not being silly and keeping a mint like that (free!) all by its lonesome. I popped it into my mouth and Kobe'd the Altoid box into the trash. Man, I felt good. Real good.
Too good.
Come into work the next day, refreshed (which wasn't a coincidence, to me...it had something to do with those mints) and a supervisor came up to me and said, "Hey....did you eat so-and-so's mints....I know you worked last night...."
Me: "Uhhhhhhh. Mints were there.....they might have been eaten. What's the low-down?"
"So-and-so's looking for them."--Super
Moral of the story: I had to make an extra trip to the local grocery to pay for a whole box to reimburse so-and-so for the three to four mints I had rescued from prison/the Altoid box.
And, like any good, well-raised and good mannered girl that I am work at the library.
Last night, at the library, I came in to work the late shift, a little unhappy about not being able to sleep or chill at home in my own abode. Here, I sat and took questions and read Chelsea Handler's latest book. Well, after a student came by, asked for a pencil to borrow, I said sure. As I was rifling through desks and nooks and crannies for a pencil (who doesn't bring a pencil to the library), I came across a veritable cranny of booty. I came across such deep treasures anyone of distinguished taste would dream about....mints and hand sanitizer. All free.
One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is deals and things that are free. It's better than sex. Getting things for free is better than theme parks, medicines, any high I've ever heard of and almost better than eating.
The point is: I found smelly-good hand sanitizer (I love hand sanitizing and am currently addicted to the act therein of sanitizing these hands) and mints. Well, I had seen the mints before (had one then) and yet many weeks later the mints remained. Well, I opened up this treasure trove and found three to four mints (my mathematical skills goes right out the window anytime I come across free shit). So....what did I do?
I ate a mint.
an hour passes.....
ate another mint.
another hour or maybe it wasn't even half an hour and I was craving the free minty glory.
So, I popped another into my mouth. Deal.
Then, there was only one left...and since I am a firm believer in not being silly and keeping a mint like that (free!) all by its lonesome. I popped it into my mouth and Kobe'd the Altoid box into the trash. Man, I felt good. Real good.
Too good.
Come into work the next day, refreshed (which wasn't a coincidence, to me...it had something to do with those mints) and a supervisor came up to me and said, "Hey....did you eat so-and-so's mints....I know you worked last night...."
Me: "Uhhhhhhh. Mints were there.....they might have been eaten. What's the low-down?"
"So-and-so's looking for them."--Super
Moral of the story: I had to make an extra trip to the local grocery to pay for a whole box to reimburse so-and-so for the three to four mints I had rescued from prison/the Altoid box.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Mountain Men
Back in the olden times (yes, as a history major, we describe it such) there were these people who navigated and explored rural, western America. These people, usually single men, roamed the wilderness (again, as a history major, I feel privileged enough to describe it as 'wilderness') in search of wealth. Most of the time, they were living off the land, battling Indians and trapping fur-covered creatures, probably with their bare hands. These men, mostly young, single, hairy (probably) manly beasts of men were known as Mountain Men. Well, now that 150 years has rolled by, Mountain Men have made their return: to State University, where I attend college.
Now, clearly, I am no prim and proper princess prodding around Podunk, Missouri. But, recently, I have seen an uprising of men who are doppelgangers of Mountain Men.
In the age of vegan/vegetarianism, pro-animal, pro-rights, pro-faux fur, or no fur, pro-hemp, pro-electric, pro-environment, there are these groups of humans cohabitating the earth with these people.
On one side of the spectrum, the vegans/pro-animal/environment hippies *no offense, really, I'm just getting my point across* while on the other side, the Mountain Men.
These Mountain Men, perhaps once a part of the vegans. Maybe they drank too many herbal teas and smoked too much of the "green goddess" that Mother Nature provided. They might have taken their agricultural science class a little too far. Perhaps they spent too much time camping one weekend and ended up relinquishing all responsibilities they had. I can just see it now, average, nuclear families coming up to this small small town wondering what happened to Timmy. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY TIMMY?? The wilderness got him. Yes, he's still going to class. Yes, he's chasing rabbits into the sewers, Timmy's mom. It's best you leave a note. Or, forget his face. The wilderness has got him now. The wilderness changes a man. Or, changes a twenty year old infant child with a bow and arrow.
Whatever the case, these hobos are wild. Wild looking, wild in nature and wild in their actions. Wild. Whoa wild. I've heard urban myths (with several complying sources) about trapping wild animals (except, in towns, animals aren't wild, they are partly domesticated) and then killing and roasting them in the road. In. the. road.
Another thing, they never shower. Never. No grooming. nope. Definitely no shaving. The extent of their facial hair is astonishing. The lengths it will go. Hair on top = half the amount on face. Beardy gentlemen prowling the streets at night looking for townie game to hunt and kill and eat over a slightly urban, slightly illegal fire. They always travel in packs too. They ban together. Or, maybe it's like a cult. A cult gathering of MOUNTAIN MEN.
Anyway, today, I almost was ran over by their "community bicycles" from the late 60s, probably stolen or "borrowed" from another Mountain Men. Because, in the wilderness, the strongest, and in this case, the beardiest, survive.
Now, clearly, I am no prim and proper princess prodding around Podunk, Missouri. But, recently, I have seen an uprising of men who are doppelgangers of Mountain Men.
In the age of vegan/vegetarianism, pro-animal, pro-rights, pro-faux fur, or no fur, pro-hemp, pro-electric, pro-environment, there are these groups of humans cohabitating the earth with these people.
On one side of the spectrum, the vegans/pro-animal/environment hippies *no offense, really, I'm just getting my point across* while on the other side, the Mountain Men.
These Mountain Men, perhaps once a part of the vegans. Maybe they drank too many herbal teas and smoked too much of the "green goddess" that Mother Nature provided. They might have taken their agricultural science class a little too far. Perhaps they spent too much time camping one weekend and ended up relinquishing all responsibilities they had. I can just see it now, average, nuclear families coming up to this small small town wondering what happened to Timmy. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY TIMMY?? The wilderness got him. Yes, he's still going to class. Yes, he's chasing rabbits into the sewers, Timmy's mom. It's best you leave a note. Or, forget his face. The wilderness has got him now. The wilderness changes a man. Or, changes a twenty year old infant child with a bow and arrow.
Whatever the case, these hobos are wild. Wild looking, wild in nature and wild in their actions. Wild. Whoa wild. I've heard urban myths (with several complying sources) about trapping wild animals (except, in towns, animals aren't wild, they are partly domesticated) and then killing and roasting them in the road. In. the. road.
Another thing, they never shower. Never. No grooming. nope. Definitely no shaving. The extent of their facial hair is astonishing. The lengths it will go. Hair on top = half the amount on face. Beardy gentlemen prowling the streets at night looking for townie game to hunt and kill and eat over a slightly urban, slightly illegal fire. They always travel in packs too. They ban together. Or, maybe it's like a cult. A cult gathering of MOUNTAIN MEN.
Anyway, today, I almost was ran over by their "community bicycles" from the late 60s, probably stolen or "borrowed" from another Mountain Men. Because, in the wilderness, the strongest, and in this case, the beardiest, survive.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Cookies
What is it with me and cookies? Sure, some people are addicted to cake...chocolate (that's a big one for me too), brownies, pie, cigarettes, booze, but, I take cookie addiction to a whole other level. It's not just an obsession, it's a lifestyle. When I wake up, I think about cookies, when I go to sleep, I think about cookies. Every time I eat, I need to have a cookie afterwards. This is not right. This is not kosher (do they make kosher cookies?? I hope so. I would think so....for Jewish people who are addicted like I am). But, no one can be as addicted as I am. I have a problem. And the solution: more cookies.
Seriously. How can I fix my cookie downfalls?
Answer: Rise up and kill the cookie makers of the world. Only, that will not solve it, because eventually, in the future, someone else will invent the cookie and the process will happen to someone else....the cycle will continue (like in The Terminator). MAN, Sarah Conner is a badass.
Seriously. Something must be done. We could lock me in a cell. But, then, I'd get so psychologically tainted that I would dream up cookies...or make cookies out of cell block ceramic material. That's no cure.
Any ideas? What is there to do?
Nothing. Nothing is to be done.
I love cookies. Ever since I was a kid. Ever since I strangely bonded with the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. Hooked.
Ever since my mom made warm chocolate chip oatmeal cookies with milk on a spring day (It might not have been spring). THE BEST. Thanks mom for making those cookies.
AND FOR GETTING ME HOOKED! I love me some cookies. Recently, my doctor told me I should cut back on carbs, sugars, sweets, soda (probably includes cookies, but I didn't ask to confirm). Therefore, I took it as, "Erica, you should cut back on carbs, sugars (not including cookies), sweets (that probably just means candy...who eats candy, anyway, I'm not a child....except I do kinda like some candy...and chocolate, of course) and sweets (semi-sweet chocolate chips obviously don't count) and soda (EASY....right? No more diet coke?? Well, we'll see about that one, doc).
The point is: I can't live without chocolate chip cookies. I love all cookies, cookie brownies, oatmeal, milanos, Girl Scout Cookies, peanut butter cookies.....all cookies, but chocolate chip is the best by far. I can't live without them.
I have a problem.
My name is Erica, and I am a cookie-holic.
****Hi, Erica.
Seriously. How can I fix my cookie downfalls?
Answer: Rise up and kill the cookie makers of the world. Only, that will not solve it, because eventually, in the future, someone else will invent the cookie and the process will happen to someone else....the cycle will continue (like in The Terminator). MAN, Sarah Conner is a badass.
Seriously. Something must be done. We could lock me in a cell. But, then, I'd get so psychologically tainted that I would dream up cookies...or make cookies out of cell block ceramic material. That's no cure.
Any ideas? What is there to do?
Nothing. Nothing is to be done.
I love cookies. Ever since I was a kid. Ever since I strangely bonded with the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. Hooked.
Ever since my mom made warm chocolate chip oatmeal cookies with milk on a spring day (It might not have been spring). THE BEST. Thanks mom for making those cookies.
AND FOR GETTING ME HOOKED! I love me some cookies. Recently, my doctor told me I should cut back on carbs, sugars, sweets, soda (probably includes cookies, but I didn't ask to confirm). Therefore, I took it as, "Erica, you should cut back on carbs, sugars (not including cookies), sweets (that probably just means candy...who eats candy, anyway, I'm not a child....except I do kinda like some candy...and chocolate, of course) and sweets (semi-sweet chocolate chips obviously don't count) and soda (EASY....right? No more diet coke?? Well, we'll see about that one, doc).
The point is: I can't live without chocolate chip cookies. I love all cookies, cookie brownies, oatmeal, milanos, Girl Scout Cookies, peanut butter cookies.....all cookies, but chocolate chip is the best by far. I can't live without them.
I have a problem.
My name is Erica, and I am a cookie-holic.
****Hi, Erica.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Bad hur day
How come every time I look pretty good, makeup on, legs shaved, no wind, no granola bar/almost chunks in my teeth, hur (that's hair, for all you non-Nelly listeners out there) looking fly.....I see no one.
I look my best, yet, no one is there to see me looking my best/barely presentable.
It takes me months to work up the strength and courage and determination to fix myself to a certain standard of presentability. There are people I know (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) who get up every morning and 1) shower 2) shave off 75% of their body hair (yes, wild, I know) and 3) put on makeup.
EVERY morning. EVERY. MORNING.
I barely know where the shower is in my home, much less the mascara. I like to think I am making some sort of point about the struggles of women against the patriarchal regime controlling women as mere objects by subjecting them to this horrific, unobtainable standard of beauty.....but, no, I'm just lazy....and hella busy. I am TOO busy for that activity.
There's a war going on (no, not the unwarranted, habitation in Iraq and the middle East created by men controlling oil prices): the war of schoolin'. I gots to read, folks. I gots to do it and do it well. Good news, though: I will only have two more years after I graduate from here and then I will.....find another excuse not to put on makeup.
I look my best, yet, no one is there to see me looking my best/barely presentable.
It takes me months to work up the strength and courage and determination to fix myself to a certain standard of presentability. There are people I know (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) who get up every morning and 1) shower 2) shave off 75% of their body hair (yes, wild, I know) and 3) put on makeup.
EVERY morning. EVERY. MORNING.
I barely know where the shower is in my home, much less the mascara. I like to think I am making some sort of point about the struggles of women against the patriarchal regime controlling women as mere objects by subjecting them to this horrific, unobtainable standard of beauty.....but, no, I'm just lazy....and hella busy. I am TOO busy for that activity.
There's a war going on (no, not the unwarranted, habitation in Iraq and the middle East created by men controlling oil prices): the war of schoolin'. I gots to read, folks. I gots to do it and do it well. Good news, though: I will only have two more years after I graduate from here and then I will.....find another excuse not to put on makeup.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sister, Sister
I got one. Many people do. Some don't.
Some have the boy version....others don't. I personally love one.
What I am talking about is SISTERS.
And the one I got happens to be the best. She is hilarious. I want, in general, to keep her out of the limelight (from my blog exposure) but there is something I must say.
She is the funniest person I've ever met or will ever meet. Some people try to compare...and fail.
Good news, though, the second funniest person spot is still up for grabs.
EW2: my sister, hilarious, has said some hilarious things in her span on Earth. As many many years my junior, she provides my life with constant sarcasm, wit, hilarity and much much more.
Too bad YOU don't have an EW2. (I am EW1, because I was born first).
One time, when we were visiting someone in the hospital, my mom passed out some mints to help ease our boredom and our breaths, of course.
So, on this very serious, grave occasion, I was 11 or 12 and my sister was 5 or 6. Just as my mom is sitting down to talk about options with a MEDICAL DOCTOR, with my aunt and my uncle....my sister comes around with her shirt Up. WAY UP. And my mom, like all of us, said, "EW2, Put your shirt down, honey."
EW2 left it up.
"EW2, really. Knock it off."---mom
"What's the deal, sista?"---me
shirt still up
"Smell."----EW2
"What?"---mom
"Smell my breasts."---EW2
"What.....Oh. Hahahahah. Babe, it's not breast mints, it's BREATH mints."---mom
Everyone: "hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha."
Best. sister. ever.
Some have the boy version....others don't. I personally love one.
What I am talking about is SISTERS.
And the one I got happens to be the best. She is hilarious. I want, in general, to keep her out of the limelight (from my blog exposure) but there is something I must say.
She is the funniest person I've ever met or will ever meet. Some people try to compare...and fail.
Good news, though, the second funniest person spot is still up for grabs.
EW2: my sister, hilarious, has said some hilarious things in her span on Earth. As many many years my junior, she provides my life with constant sarcasm, wit, hilarity and much much more.
Too bad YOU don't have an EW2. (I am EW1, because I was born first).
One time, when we were visiting someone in the hospital, my mom passed out some mints to help ease our boredom and our breaths, of course.
So, on this very serious, grave occasion, I was 11 or 12 and my sister was 5 or 6. Just as my mom is sitting down to talk about options with a MEDICAL DOCTOR, with my aunt and my uncle....my sister comes around with her shirt Up. WAY UP. And my mom, like all of us, said, "EW2, Put your shirt down, honey."
EW2 left it up.
"EW2, really. Knock it off."---mom
"What's the deal, sista?"---me
shirt still up
"Smell."----EW2
"What?"---mom
"Smell my breasts."---EW2
"What.....Oh. Hahahahah. Babe, it's not breast mints, it's BREATH mints."---mom
Everyone: "hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha."
Best. sister. ever.
Chi-town
I am moving to Chicago (because I want to get even more of the Midwest in my system) and over midterm break I went to check out the town, sign a lease, etc.
Well, let me tell you something about Chicago that you might not know.
Yeah, everyone has heard of the (failing) Cubs, the Valentine's Day Massacre, Al Capone, Barack Obama's lovetown, the weird saucy pizza, and lastly, apparently there was also some huge fire there in the late 1800s. P.S. My spell check on this thing thinks 'Obama' is not a word. Damn Republicans.
Well, what they (society) don't tell you is all of the crime and the lack of popos taking care of all this crime.
Crime: Insane Traffic of the first, most deadly degree.
Participants: everyone with a car, taxi, bike.
First of all, I almost died about 18 times in the time span of oh, let's see, 24 hours!!!
Secondly, who would ride a bike in these conditions? Insane in the membrane.
Inches from death, nauseous at every turn....I couldn't wait to see Iowa and then to see a real state (Missouri) again.
Lastly, I can't wait to live in constant turmoil and probably receive many ulcers from my experiences driving in Chicago.
Well, let me tell you something about Chicago that you might not know.
Yeah, everyone has heard of the (failing) Cubs, the Valentine's Day Massacre, Al Capone, Barack Obama's lovetown, the weird saucy pizza, and lastly, apparently there was also some huge fire there in the late 1800s. P.S. My spell check on this thing thinks 'Obama' is not a word. Damn Republicans.
Well, what they (society) don't tell you is all of the crime and the lack of popos taking care of all this crime.
Crime: Insane Traffic of the first, most deadly degree.
Participants: everyone with a car, taxi, bike.
First of all, I almost died about 18 times in the time span of oh, let's see, 24 hours!!!
Secondly, who would ride a bike in these conditions? Insane in the membrane.
Inches from death, nauseous at every turn....I couldn't wait to see Iowa and then to see a real state (Missouri) again.
Lastly, I can't wait to live in constant turmoil and probably receive many ulcers from my experiences driving in Chicago.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Librarians, SHHH!
At my current place of employment, the library, I have come to expect the impossible and the improbable. When one thinks of the library, I would imagine they picture quiet, serene, dusty bookshelves and mean old women shushing everyone....this is not the case at my library.
People do things that I would never expect them to do. Such as: steal things, yell, talk on the cell phone, eat a full, four-course meal at the library right under the sign that says, "Please do not eat or drink. Bottled water is okay."
But, the weirdest thing about working at the library is the lack of shushing from the mean librarians in wide-rimmed glasses. Nope, no shushing takes place here!
In fact, there is this one librarian who I am sure is a novice, although I know she isn't a novice because she's been a librarian for decades that I want to shush myself.
She is THE LOUDEST LIBRARIAN in the world. It's an oxymoron, no? A loud librarian. Ridiculous.
She just talks at an abnormally loud voice. It's almost too loud for the outdoors, it's that loud. When she starts on a voice bender, I like to call it that, I scooch down in my chair and hunch my shoulders because I am so embarrassed by the sheer volume at which she is talking. I am not exaggerating here. I talk loud. My voice carries...but this woman. Good gravy! So loud.
People do things that I would never expect them to do. Such as: steal things, yell, talk on the cell phone, eat a full, four-course meal at the library right under the sign that says, "Please do not eat or drink. Bottled water is okay."
But, the weirdest thing about working at the library is the lack of shushing from the mean librarians in wide-rimmed glasses. Nope, no shushing takes place here!
In fact, there is this one librarian who I am sure is a novice, although I know she isn't a novice because she's been a librarian for decades that I want to shush myself.
She is THE LOUDEST LIBRARIAN in the world. It's an oxymoron, no? A loud librarian. Ridiculous.
She just talks at an abnormally loud voice. It's almost too loud for the outdoors, it's that loud. When she starts on a voice bender, I like to call it that, I scooch down in my chair and hunch my shoulders because I am so embarrassed by the sheer volume at which she is talking. I am not exaggerating here. I talk loud. My voice carries...but this woman. Good gravy! So loud.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Dreams I've had
I've had some whopper of dreams, let me tell you.
Really, you have no choice in whether or not you want to hear my blog---it's my blog!
Let me reiterate that this, and every other blog is true, very true.
I have THE strangest dreams.
I have dreamt that I was in prison on a conjugal visit from my boyfriend.
I have had a dream where my ex-boyfriend proposed and that within 30 minutes, I was married, with a big white wedding in a library....family planned.
I have had a dream where I have died from natural causes at the age of 21 (which I am now).
The sheer range and variety of dreams is quite impressive. I dream about death, life, fun, sex (I've had LOTS of sex dreams. Lots.) and babies/pregnancy/birthing.
A huge category of my dreams is about the latter: babies, pregnancy, birthing and child rearing.
For one, I am quite disgusted at the act of breastfeeding and many of my dreams include me, breastfeeding my baby but being disgusted and ashamed of both my act of feeding, my own child and the whole world who accepts me for this shameful act (all in a dream).
I have also had dreams that I was pregnant...but didn't know it/refused to accept my fate.
My dreams are very odd.
Really, you have no choice in whether or not you want to hear my blog---it's my blog!
Let me reiterate that this, and every other blog is true, very true.
I have THE strangest dreams.
I have dreamt that I was in prison on a conjugal visit from my boyfriend.
I have had a dream where my ex-boyfriend proposed and that within 30 minutes, I was married, with a big white wedding in a library....family planned.
I have had a dream where I have died from natural causes at the age of 21 (which I am now).
The sheer range and variety of dreams is quite impressive. I dream about death, life, fun, sex (I've had LOTS of sex dreams. Lots.) and babies/pregnancy/birthing.
A huge category of my dreams is about the latter: babies, pregnancy, birthing and child rearing.
For one, I am quite disgusted at the act of breastfeeding and many of my dreams include me, breastfeeding my baby but being disgusted and ashamed of both my act of feeding, my own child and the whole world who accepts me for this shameful act (all in a dream).
I have also had dreams that I was pregnant...but didn't know it/refused to accept my fate.
My dreams are very odd.
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