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.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
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
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