O. The Office

2009-05-20T13:46:00.000-05:00

I have been blessed with an office job and what a blessing it is considering I can help myself to complimentary tea and coffee free of charge anytime I want. Booya. If the bland walls and “window view” of the adjacent office building weren’t enough to truly inspire me, I have the joy of listening to other “office-like” conversations. Take today for example, when Herb Hardwick took the time at about 2:34 p.m. to call his wife and inform her that the “guys went out to lunch for Ryan’s birthday.”

In office-like environments, birthdays are a big deal and it is customary to treat the celebrated individual to a lunch of some sort at a cheap, but seemingly expensive place such as a Panera Bread or a Bucca di Beppo. It is at this pathetic location that a co-worker will compensate for the fact that the office gang took you to Panera with a remark such as, “The bread bowls. Now those things are great with soup.”

Today Herb Hardwick, who is located across the hall from me, called his wife to inform her of the birthday lunch. Office conversation between Herb and his wife went something like this.

I had no idea they served steak sandwiches.

They literally must have just added it the menu.

Surprisingly good. Surprisingly good, because they have more steak than bread.

That must be the trick.

Well, I guess we’ve been eating our steak sandwiches at the wrong joint then, haven’t we?

Dead serious. The bread was smaller than the actual steak itself.

I’ll tell ya, I would have thought the other way around, more bread, less steak, but I guess that’s why I’m not in the sandwich business.

Seriously.

I have no idea where they would get this small bread. It’s not normal bread.

They must have connections.

You’re telling me.

Who would have thought?

I salute you Herb Hardwick. We must appreciate the simple things in life, and if that means a steak sandwich for you, then by all means buddy, rave on.

Black Beauty

2009-05-20T13:44:00.000-05:00

There is something to be said about an article of clothing whose night like fabric literally inspires, motivates and musters unnecessary emotion. Yes, I am talking about black denim jeans: the world’s definition of black beauty. It's an article of clothing that was most likely conceived on the back of a motorcycle in the midst of some regrettable Sturgis trip. It's tricky and evasive in nature. It is trained to blend in with its surroundings; to appear as dress slacks, but alas no! It's denim.

It is most distinguishable when paired with a pair of bright, white Reeboks, or a cut off tee. Its beauty can only be appreciated against of back drop of pine trees underneath a setting sun. The pockets large enough to hold any essential Swiss army knife or necessary beer cozy; it's zipper remains oiled and attentive in the event of a quick, inappropriate public pee. Going to a funeral? Simply pair with a short sleeve, button down pastel dress shirt. A rock concert? Simply wet with a garden hose to administer the effect of cheap leather. Bow down to the almighty, the trump slacks, God's choice for everyday wear: the black denim jean.

Melanoma

2008-06-20T15:48:00.001-05:00

I think every once in a while we hit lows in our lifetime where we are forced to take a step back and evaluate who we are and who we are becoming. The other day I decided to go to a tanning salon. I won't even beat around the bush and give you some lame excuse like "i need a base tan or I burn", I just simply wanted to rid myself of the gift that winter had given me...pale skin. Upon entering the salon I felt like I was at a travel agency because you have to buy things in "packages". This package comes with a month free, that package comes with lotion. I knew that I wasn't going to be in this for the long term, so I chose the smallest package. My only requirement was to buy a bottle of lotion. All right, whatever. That's when the girl turned around holding a bottle in each hand and said, "We have chocolate diamonds or Chocolate sun"
That's when I had an outer body experience...what had my life come to where I was making decisions between two "chocolate" lotions.
Were there real chunks of chocolate in them?
Why does the woman in front of me resemble a carrot?
Why are there playboy stickers in a cute basket?
Why do all the tanning beds resemble space ships?
Why am I here?
I needed to go. I needed to leave and rid myself of the year round bronze promise. Instead of taking the high road and apologizing for wasting her time, I opted for chocolate diamonds and proceeded to "bed 10", where I inevitably after an impressive 4 minutes, got sunburned.

2008-06-19T00:55:00.001-05:00

I was thinking about this the other day, and to be honest, I don't know if this was an original thought. At the time I thought it was, however it may have been just stuck in my subconcious from a movie a long time ago.

The other day I was contemplating the idea if, god forbid, I were to lose a limb. Let's say and arm or a leg in some awful accident. I am completely traumatized by the accident and upon arrival at the doctors office I am notified that my arm cannot be put back on and I will have to get a prosthetic. So here comes my thought; what if they only had black prosthetics left? Or what if a black man went in, and god forbid, had lost his leg and they only had a white prosthetic left? I came to the conclusion that it would suck.

There's strong..and then there's army strong

2008-06-16T02:45:00.003-05:00

From what I can gather from the commercials....apparently being in the army means
Being deployed to the grand canyon where you will be handed a flag
Your mission is to rock climb at sunset to the top of this cliff
Once you make it to the top, I want you to salute and everyone will notice how cool your shadow looks in the sunset
Too scared to rock climb? No worries, I will put you in a tent with the coolest computers you have ever seen.
Don't like computers? Not a problem. Why don't you just stand there and we will have a beating drum in the background.
Welcome to the army.

Mother of the Year

2008-03-21T11:55:00.002-05:00

If you have yet to encounter true "trashiness", then please by all means turn to VH1 ad watch Flavor of Love. When I haven't had my fill of ass or cellulite for the day, I hit up the ladies of Flavor of Love to fulfill my cravings. I'm not a religious viewer, but I recently caught an episode where Bunz confessed that she was a mother. Not a surprise, considering most of the women on the show are mothers to multiple children, but Bunz said this, "I gotta go home. I can't have Flav playin' with me like this. My kids don't have a babysitter and I've gotta get home to them"
What?
You've been on the show for a while now and your kids don't have a babysitter?
Imagine being six years old and having your mom be a Flavor of Love girl. All the sudden you're left to fend for yourself because Mom's gotta go "shake it" for a man whose eligible for the AARP. Needless to say it would be a rough childhood. Kids, this could happen to you. You could be left behind, so I've come up with some simple indications that you should look for when determining if your mom will abandon you for Flav.
1. She refers to her hair as a "weave"
2. She sounds like she has peanut butter in her mouth when she talks
3. When she wants something she strips for it
4. Her ass is the size of a MACK truck

Depend-able

2008-03-17T11:59:00.001-05:00

The other day I was sitting in my apartment craving something sweet. Instead of taking advantage of the flour, sugar and eggs that I had, I opted to hit up Walgreens to purchase cookie dough as a result of pure laziness. I have discovered that while waiting in line to check out, I judge people based on their purchases. I was eyeing the purchases of the gentlemen in front of me; aquafresh toothpaste, dawn dishsoap and oh my god, Depends adult diapers? I immediately sized him up and estimated his age to be roughly 60. I suddenly felt awkward that I was behind this man who was clearly having some difficulty with his plumbing when I thought, "Oh my god. There are probably thousands of people, just like this man, walking around in Dpends diapers!" I was shocked. Have you ever been down the Depends aisle? As if your self esteem wasn't already lowered by your need for adult diapers, Walgreens has conveniently placed every other shitty item imaginable in that same aisle. So as you shamefully walk towards the Depends boxes, you find yourself passing the shitty Walgreens socks and 80's make-up caboodles. I suddenly felt his pain. How terribly embarresing to have to purchase this item. He turned around and looked at me as if to say, "This green Depends box is your destiny." Our ages were suddenly revealed as he purchased Depends and I stood there with a box of cookie dough. Another shopper probably assumed that I was his grandaughter and that grandpa was going to need those Depends after he ate the cookie dough.

Idiot

2008-03-16T00:08:00.000-05:00

Someone took this interview WAY too seriously.....

Post Secret

2008-03-11T00:30:00.002-05:00

I recently switched academic institutions. I traded in posh St. Thomas for the down and dirty University of Illinois at Chicago. The main difference between the two? Bathroom fun.

The University of Illinois at Chicago has stalls adorned with graffiti. What did St. Thomas have? Stocked toilet paper and clean floors. Boring. I was so excited when I entered my first bathroom on campus. I usually try to hit up a different stall each time so I can really soak in the Universities culture. Some of my favorite quotes include....

"I am falling for her. I love her, but she doesn't know"--Mmm. A little too 21st century Jane Austen for me.

"The rain falling is God crying"--Nope. Sorry, that's a lie.

"Jen Womack is a whore"--Who's Jen Womack? Which one of you is Jen? I'll facebook her.....

"When one door closes another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us"--How prophetic. Also a little ironic to have on a stall door.

There is also the occasional anti-war message and global warming rampage.

Here's my question--who is sitting on the toilet in between bowel movements thinking, "I am so outraged at George Bush, I'm gonna sharpie on this stall. That will get my message across." On the other hand, what are the chances that someone sits down and thinks, "I know that Jen Womack chick and you're right, she is a total bitch." It makes things interesting at school. I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and come back 2 minutes later with a whole new perspective on life.

Mama Told Me Not To Come

2008-02-28T15:18:00.001-06:00

The van has two responses, "Soccer Mom with kids", or the van gets this response "Shady. Probably Rape..if not rape, there is most likely rope in the back of that thing." I love how one vehicle is praised as the epitome of motherhood, and is simultaneously seen as a kidnappers haven. I feel like there is one golden rule you should go by when identifying a safe van from a not so safe van.
Windows.
Every parent should tell their kids this. If a van has windows, please, by all means, enter into it. If a van does not have windows, don't get close to it because that means it's filled with something bad in the back whether that be drugs, immigrants or tons of paint cans. So what happens if you come across a van that has windows in it, but lets say you spot one of the three dangers in the back....drugs, immigrants or paint cans. Then you just wave to that van and go along your merry way

Too Hot to Stop

2008-02-27T15:28:00.002-06:00

Do you ever have those "hott" days? It's those days where you wake up feeling like a 5'8'' Brazilian supermodel that just finished a 5k? You know those days? Those days are brilliant for a grand total of 3 hours. After about the 3 hour mark, some divine creation is notified that you think you're a fucking superstar.
"Katie O'Brien thinks she's hot shit...well I'll correct that"
You're going along your merry way winking at every passerby, bumpin' to the tunes of your ipod when,
"I'm hott. I worked out last night..I just got a check back from the government...booya.....OH FUCK!"
Then it happens. You wipe out. It can take a sheet of ice that was invisible 2 seconds ago, or you can chalk it up to clumsiness, but you blow it. Within seconds you return to being frumpy and the woman in front of you no longer has "super cool jeans, maybe I'll compliment her because I feel that great today", but rather she is annoying and you are debating whether or not you should purposely shove her and claim that it was an accident.
We love to throw excuses around..anything so we don't look like an idiot. "God damnit, I just bought these shoes and the soles are still shiny and rubbery and not broken in yet, so that's why I fell. It was not my fault." Or, my personal favorite having grown up with a family of attorneys, "Son of a bitch! Uneven sidewalk...Lane Bryant you're gonna pay for this trip!"
Either way, that 3 hours of hotness escapes you and never returns for the rest of the day. You reassume that role as pathetic. You had it, and then it was gone.

The New and Improved Reformation

2008-02-25T20:27:00.002-06:00

Some of the foulest, most inspiring and white trash icons I admire have fallen prey to an epidemic that is getting out of control. Someone needs to stop Christianity before it swoops down and reforms the last few idols I have. Someone needs to stop this new reformation and look at the problem at hand--some of our best, brightest and most worthless stars are giving in to the big guy.

Take Salt for example from the once popular group, "Salt 'n' Pepa"--Salt has traded in inspiring lyrics such as, "you're packed and you're stacked 'specially in the back", for a cross and bible. Salt, Shoop is a song that trail blazed the way for femenism in the 90's letting woman know that they too can describe men as "lollipops to be licked."

Kirk Cameron--Fuck you Kirk. I loved Kirk Cameron as the hormonal, prankster Michael Seaver on "Growing Pains". Now Kirks one with the Lord, and I don't like it. Kirk went from making $50,000 a week on the set of "Growing Pains" to shooting low-budget, straight to video Christian films. Can we say dumb? Kirk, pretty sure eternal salvation is not worth being a part of the Left Behind series.

Gary Busey-My idol. Gary is a self-proclaimed "born again Christian". Gary is the shit when it comes to Christianity because Gary makes Christianity look like Jesus is pouring vodka down the throats of the saved. Gary is the perfect example of a human being who has given into the idea of Christ, but hasn't let that affect his love of cocaine. Cheers Gary.

Hey Omaha

2008-02-21T22:32:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I like to keep updated on what's happening in my hometown of Omaha. I went on over to Omaha.com today to get a taste of the daily news when I came across this, and this is directly quoted,

"Omaha buzzes about the ballpark. Accusations ping louder than a ball hit with an aluminum bat."

What kind of shit 4th grade journalism is that? Did someone on staff just finish a boxcar children book? Was Highlights magazine the spring board for this ingenious sentence? I'm just trying to imagine the brainstorming for this sentence....

"accusations swirl like a twist cone about to melt"
"accusations fizzle as if the carbonation has escaped the coke bottle"
"accusations shrivel like an overcooked hot dog waiting to be bought by a fan"

Come on Omaha....I know we're not the New York Times, or the Chicago Tribune....but in all honestly, let's put aside our metaphors. Let's pack up our silliness and get to the news.

2008-02-20T11:51:00.002-06:00

Wow. I am sorry. I have competely neglected this. I am back, and will now post reglary. I've been a tad busy lately and well, I'm sorry.

Shit went down this morning. My bus, the 74 fullerton bus, is a bus full of regulars. When I get on at 7:30 am, I know exactly who will be in the back of the bus, and I know exactly who will be driving it. We've all accepted each others tiny quirks. We all know the chick with the corn rows will be talking way to loud on her cell phone about her son. Everyone knows that the elderly gentlemen with the cowboy boots will get on and roam all the way to the back of the bus, only to return to the front of the bus 2 minutes later. We know who belongs, and who doesn't. We are a band of brothers, united in the fact that we do not have cars. There is an unspoken agreement that we all secretly love eachother, but you never talk to the person next to you. We are the morning crowd.
Today, someone interfered with our unit. The bus stopped for a good two minutes. Coats began rustling and sighs became louder and louder as people tried to figure out why we weren't moving. All the sudden, someone revealed that a woman had parked her car in a "No Parking" spot, and the bus could not get past. A robust women in the back set the tone for how this rebellion was going to play out,
"Ah, hell no, this broad ain't gonna make me late!"
Everyone nodded in agreement. No way was this Saab driving bitch going to prevent a good 30 people from arriving to their destinations on time. As if out of a movie, a man in the middle of the bus says, "That's her! She's just standing there!" At this point the bus driver is on the phone freaking out and everyone in the bus is beginning to panick. One guy starts banging on the window hoping to catch this No Parking Bitch's attention. He fails.
We beging rounding 2 minutes and 30 seconds and the everyone on the bus is losing their shit.
People are getting out their cell phones, yelling to the bus driver to just drive over her ass. The bus driver is asking people to calm down. How can we calm down? At no point does someone make the mature decision to just get off and start walking.
Bus Drier: Move your damn car!
Woman: NO!
Our unity grew stronger as we all collectively decided that we hated this woman. Eventually things resolved themselves and the bus began moving again.

I shoulda been an Olympian

2008-01-28T20:06:00.000-06:00

I had a request.
A dear pal of mine requested that I blog about my swim team days....

I was a natural born swimmer. As a baby, my babysitter was the bathtub. I had mastered underwater breathing before the age of 8 months and the breast stroke had been perfected by the age of 2. A baby pool was not in my vocabulary...I needed depth; I needed at least 12 feet of water before I could have fun. My mom enrolled me in swim team at the age of 8. As a youngster, I was in the bathtub one day when I perfected a perfect streamline stroke. My mom burst into tears and screamed, "Michael! Our baby is going to be an Olympian!"....Okay so maybe thats an exaggeration. It was more like my parents were annoyed with me and swim team was a great way to get me out of the house for an hour. I took the sport seriously. When we went to Swimwear Unlimited to pick up my regulation suit I peppered the saleswomen with questions,
Are these goggles resistant to fogging up? Do they have proper suction?
Does this swim cap allow for optimum speed?
It was no joke to me. I knew I had talent and I laughed at the other jack ass kids at swim team.
"Hellllooooooo, pretty sure free style consists of getting your arm completely out of the water Mitch.....idiot."
"Hey Danny, when was the last time you saw an Olympian doing the doggy style?"
"Nice swimsuit Patrick, I had no idea Tommy Bahama made regulation racing suits"

I was that kind of kid. So at our first meet, I was told that I was in the "exhibition" round. Exhibition? What the hell was that? I was informed that it was where you raced alone.......you know, to gain more points for your team.
Ooo, I get it. I'm so good that they don't want to subject the other kids to my talent. I gotcha. So I would pack my swim bag with Jello packets and pixie sticks. Right before it was my time to shine, I would rub my limbs furiously, "warming them up" and literally chug straight sugar from these Jello packets. I was a fucking lunatic. A force to reckoned with. I had my mom write things like "Eat my bubbles" and "Hurricane" on my back in permanent marker. I walked around the pool, heading to the starting blocks growling at little kids as I pumped myself up. Up on the blocks I got into tunnel vision mode. Winning was all I cared about. Then it dawned on me. Wait, why was no one else swimming against me again?
How was this going to gain points for the team?
Wait a minute..........Oh my god.
Oh my god!
I'm racing against myself!
My mom stood at the end of the pool with two thumbs up screaming "Go kitten!"
How embarrassing. I'm swimming against myself and my mom is referring to me as a cat.
On the blocks I use to get so excited that I constantly false started. I would wait for the gun shot, but the sugar rushing through my body was screaming "Go you maniac! Go!"
Splash
Damn. I also received like fuscia colored ribbons, which basically meant that I sucked so bad, that they ran out of proper colors. It always went something like this,
"And in our Exhibition round, Katie receives the teal ribbon"

Know Your Gangs

2008-01-22T00:00:00.000-06:00

Moving past the periodic table and Shakespeare's sonnets, I feel like we have barely scratched the surface of knowledge.

Todays Lesson: Know Your Gangs

Kids, you may live in a city where not everyone is super "friendly". It's safe to assume that anyone who does not wave, or smile at you is in a gang. That's the easy part of today's lesson. Now, the challenge is to decipher what gang they might be a part of.

The bloods: One of my personal favorites. Members of the bloods typically wear red and contort their hands in a way that spells "blood". The color red is a source of power...nice job on selecting a color bloods. The hand symbol shows creativity and most likely a familiarity with sign language, therefore we can assume that there are good number of deaf bloods.

The Crips: Contrary to their rivals, the bloods, the Crips prefer the color blue. What does this say about the Crips? The color blue symbolizes trust and stability. Kids, if your parents kick you out of the house, kick it with the Crips. They will supplement your old lifestyle with a new, trusting and stable home. The Crips have also been known to rearrange words that contain the letter B, and replace them with the letter C, due to their rivalry with the bloods. This is a clear indication of intelligence and a familiarity with alphabet soup.

The Vice Lords: Clearly the most sophisticated of all gangs, the Vice Lords are a Chicago gang that are identified by a top hat, a cane and a martini glass. It's safe to say that if you see anyone, with any of these items, go ahead and assume that they are a part of the Vice Lords and start to run.

Well ,that concludes today's lesson. Take this knowledge, plant it and let it grow.

I heart Huckabee

2008-01-19T18:50:00.000-06:00

I'm not a huge political fanatic. I don't Tivo debates, nor do I advocate flimsy yard signs. I understand the importance of the upcoming election, I really do. The one guy who has completely stumped me is this Huckabee character. He's this wide-eyed goofy looking guy with these chicklet teeth who is apparently convinced that he's got God in his pocket. I read today that this Huckabee character said,

"to amend the Constitution so it's in God's standards rather than try to change God's standards so it lines up with some contemporary view"

Finally, someone has recognized that the separation of church and state needs to be rid of. We are a melting pot my friends...a giant pot of fondue. We are a nation composed of bananas, oranges, strawberries and sponge cake that are to be dipped into the chocolate of christianity. We need to come together as a nation and wrap ourselves in the blanket known as God's love.
Fuck the bill of rights....the ten commandments were issued and chizzled by the hands of God, therefore we should adhere to His rules. For all we know George Washington is as false as that whole "landing on the moon" bull.
Immigration laws should be changed and re-worked. Line the border with kiddie pools filled with water. A quick little dunk and bam...you're baptized...welcome to the land of purple mountain majesties.
This nation needs a makeover....a Jesus makeover.

----This message has been approved by Huckabee

Man On Bus Hints at Normalcy

2008-01-14T23:36:00.000-06:00

I take the bus. Go ahead and judge me. Public Transportation is all the rave here in the windy city for the simple fact that there's more poor people here, gas is exspensive and traffic sucks. The first time you take the bus you feel like a champion. You're slapping everyone on the knees, throwing casual winks ooing and ahhing at the fact that you don't have to buckle up. That honeymoon faded real quickly when I was stuck rubbing up against people who were missing teeth and my nose was having trouble identifying certain smells. Then there is this bull shit rule "If a senior citizen or handicapped person gets on, you must give up your seat." How about...No. First of all, handicapped people are already sitting down, and if a senior citizen cannot fend for themselves, then they should be put in a home. It's a tough squeeze on the bus during rush hour, but today a man hinted at normalcy. He had a briefcase, had gotten his hair cut in the last 6 months and was reading a newspaper. Bingo. I wanted to stand up and make an example of this man to the rest of the passengers. "See this man....you should all strive to be this bus passenger. That means not bringing your entire home on the bus with you and waiting to poop your pants until you get off the bus."

Mmmm Sorry?

2008-01-11T18:43:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I am faced with moments where I feel like a giant ass hole. It's those Larry David moments where you just cannot believe you have stooped this low as a human being. That happened to me once in a Target. I will never forget it.

I roamed carelessly through the women's section, grabbing random crap that I consciously knew I would never wear. Ponchos, jean shorts, raincoats; I was on a shopping rampage determined to get everything I needed in one short trip. I walked into the dressing room and a row of dressing stalls lay before me completely empty. Excellent, I had the whole place to myself. Naturally, like any normal human being, I snagged the handicapped dressing room.
Bigger mirror and more room.
I feel cramped and claustrophobic in the smaller ones.
I had 8 items.
Like always, I was dissatisfied with everything.
I took my time climbing in and out of jeans, swapping t-shirts, spinning around to catch a glimpse of my back side in the raincoat.
Nope.
Don't need any of it.
So I take my time re-hanging all of the garments. I grab them in a heap and open the door.
Oh no.
Oh god. There was a handicapped girl waiting to get into the dressing room.
"Whoops, sorry"
But was sorry going to cut it? Absolutely not. While I could have easily changed in one of the other 25 stalls, I selfishly chose the handicapped one. This girl had been deprived of her right to try on clothes. I might as well have poked a blind person in the eye.

World Peace

2007-12-29T00:22:00.001-06:00

I must admit, when I see the "Feed the Children" or "Sponsor a Child" commercials it does tug at my heart strings. I can't help but want to reach into my wallet and pull out a shiny quarter, pop it in the mail and in return receive a picture of Ashmael or Napur drinking a bottle of Evian. As you sit on the couch finishing up A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila or Flavor of love, the commercial cuts to starving children eating ants off the ground. "Meet Keisha. Keisha has never tasted a drop of clean water in her entire life".......and you're sitting there having just finished a 6 inch Sub beating yourself up for not getting the 12 inch because your still hungry. "For a mere 15 cents, you can provide Keisha with clean water
diapers
a new pair of shoes
toys
a bed
a memory foam mattress
Crest white strips
Apricot Body Scrub
For 15 cents? Keisha can honestly get all of that? And then you are periodically updated via mail as to how Keishas doing. The letter makes no sense because she can't spell, so it reads,

The Crest Strips haves work nice.
My mouth is white like snow fall.
My tummy is now always full.
Keisha

And sure enough, in the picture her teeth are a little bit brighter and her skin looks smoother thanks to the Apricot body scrub, and you feel good.

Happy Birthday Big Guy

2007-12-19T11:26:00.000-06:00

I have yet to understand the whole “blow up” lawn ornament fad. Who is sitting in their living room looking out at their giant blow up snow globe and thinking, “That looks great.” The average lifespan of a blown up snow ornament is roughly 22 hours. They usually deflate, or tend to tilt to one particular side looking even shittier than they originally did. I’m blaming Sam’s Club for this trend. Sam’s club has a mission statement that essentially says, “We are dedicated to serving the laziest men and women in America who don’t have the lung capacity or the energy to make multiple trips to the grocery store. We take pride in out 32 packs of Tabasco sauce and 44 packs of raisins.” Sam’s would encourage the men and women of the Christmas season to opt for a lawn decoration that is the epitome of laziness. Plug your deflated lawn ornament into an air blower and voila, Merry Christmas. They just look bad. You could honestly put an inner tube in your lawn and it would have the same effect. Same goes for the light up nativity scenes. Ladies and gentlemen the baby Jesus is not some “trinket.” He gave light to the world and he should not be diminished to a plastic light up doll. If you want to have a light up Joseph, by all means go ahead, he wasn’t that important, but to disrespect the baby Jesus, that’s crossing the line. To have the baby Jesus sitting in front of a ranch style house next to a blow up ornament is sacrilegious. The baby Jesus might as well be sucking on a candy cane while wearing Uggs.

This Gift says "I love you"

2007-12-18T16:26:00.001-06:00

Christmas isn't defined by gifts. I get that. It's Jesus' birthday which means that it's all about love and that those gifts should really be going to the poor. All right, I'll take the bait. I've completely given up on the whole gift thing. I could embroider a list into my moms forehead and she would still somehow end up getting me something that I do not want. "I thought you wanted an oven mitt?" It's an endless battle, and I have finally surrendered. Two of the worst gifts I have ever received came from my mother and my great aunt Sue. Mom is one of those mom's where she thinks she knows her kids inside and out and therefore poo poo's Christmas lists. She's too good for them. Instead we end up with gifts like Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul and the The Never Ending Story dvd. One year, having woken up in a fit of Christmas joy I made my way to our tree. It was a morning so splendid, that I thought for sure Jesus had chosen our family to spend it with. Everyone was smiling, snow was falling and our fireplace was ablaze. I fell victim to the christmas spirit and hugged all my family members while giving them a meaningful wink accompanied with a "Merry Christmas." I open my first gift, which pretty much sets the tone for the rest of Christmas. As I feverishly ripped through the neatly wrapped package, my Christmas instincts hinted that it was clothes. A minor dissapointment, but maybe it was something I would actually like. The wrapping having cleared I stared at the gift that lay in the box in front of me. What? This could not be right. I lifted the shirt to verify that this was actually what I thought it was. 4 letters stared me in the face. F U B U. Fubu? A fubu shirt? Still holding the shirt eye-level, I moved it ever so slowly to the left and gave my mom a quizzical look. "I just loved the vibrant colors!" The second worst gift I have ever received came from my great aunt Sue. I will cut her some slack due to the fact that she is in a nursing home, however that is not an excuse. Aunt Sue one year handed me a gift in a rather half ass fashion. "Here," she said as she shoved it my way. Apparently old age comes with an ass hole attitude, because she's a little bitter and angry. I opened up her gift to find another article of clothing. Damnit. There was no glimmer of hope in this gift, this would not magically turn into an article of clothing I would enjoy.....this was going to be shit. This gift had a different flare than the FUBU shirt, it was a jean vest. "Thanks Aunt Sue, I needed this." My aunt Sue then, without looking me in the face says, "The bottom is extended, and has belt loops." Sure enough, she was right. Instead of ending at the waist, this magical jean vest kept going to about mid thigh. It also had a map of the world on the inside of it.

Let's Get Physical

2007-12-17T18:30:00.000-06:00

I am terribly paranoid to work out in a gym. I could care less about my physical appearance, or if my Nike's show hints of dirt, but what troubles me is I know I look like an idiot. Like a complete moron. I know some guy on the treadmill is looking at me and thinking, "What a dumbass. That machine is for your arms, not your legs." I mentally take on the role of a marathon runner. I have 2 or 3 water bottles that never leave my side. I grab complimentary towels right and left wiping off imaginary sweat while pretending to heavily pant. To be blunt, I'm a gym asshole. I jump rope. I drive to the gym to jump rope. I am intrigued by cycling and am clueless when it comes to those giant pastel colored balls. I have no clue what those are used for, but I know it's not for bouncing. I prefer to steer clear from the locker room. I don't like to wash my hands next to naked people. I never got that whole, "What's the problem? We're all women." The problem is you're all naked and your kids are naked and you're all back here having a pow wow and are showing no signs of getting your gym clothes on anytime soon. The naked ones just hang out. Their leaning against the sink, their kids are opening every available locker....I just don't like it. It's not my cup of tea. The worst is when a naked kid comes up to you and just stares at you. First of all, you can't look at the kid, because that's perverse, so you just freeze and stare straight ahead hoping they leave. It would be my same strategy if I was approached by a dinosaur. Cease all movement until it goes away.

Frederick Douglass

2007-12-13T09:35:00.000-06:00

The other day I had a flashback to my childhood. I was not a cool kid. I didn’t have any hair until I was two and most of my days were spent face first in the carpet with a full diaper, but I was reminded of a statue that was in our backyard. Growing up I never thought it was weird that we had this statue, but looking back, it was really weird. We had a statue of a little black boy. He was about two feet tall and he was just in our backyard. Growing up, I genuinely thought this kid was real. I thought this little black boy was being punished by my parents and was forced to be outside. As I got older, people would ask about it and I thought nothing of it, “Oh, that’s just our black boy statue.” But now that I’m thinking about it, why the fuck would we have that? That’s not like having a goofy birdbath or a worthless shed…….that’s a black boy statue. Maybe it made my parents feel better? You know when people accuse you of being racist and everyone shoots back with, “No! I have a black friend!” Maybe my parents excuse was, “No way Jose, I have a black statue!” People would always comment about it too, especially at dinner parties. Conversation always went something like this, “Oh my god! You’re yard is huge! I bet the kids just love, what the hell is that?” My parents would just laugh. There was never an explanation as to why we had this little black boy in our backyard. Was it in remembrance of a long lost black brother? Were we former KKK members? I just have so many questions…….

Rashtastic

2007-12-12T12:53:00.000-06:00

The other day I was minding my own business most likely staring off into space, or retrieving the mail or making sculptures out of pipe cleaners, which is what my days have consisted of the past few weeks, but I overheard someone say, and I quote, “That guy, man he's rashtastic.” I anticipated the other person to reply, “What the fuck does rashtastic mean?” but instead, he replied, “Yeah, he is rashtastic.” Am I out of the loop? Rashtastic? What, did urban dictionary make a contribution to society by developing rashtastic? What a shit word. I began combining words together in an effort to get to the bottom of rashtastic. Fantastic combined with rash? That’s all I could come up with. I suddenly pictured a young kid in Levis with a bull cut luring kids over to the corner of the playground. After formulating a decent sized audience, he slowly lifts up his Abercrombie tee to reveal an incredible rash. It’s a combination of vibrant colors swirling together to form an optical illusion with hints of glitter. Kids stare with gaping mouths at the rash the size of Asia that lies before them. Marcus, the loner in Mrs. Templeton’s fourth grade class quietly whispers from the back, “That’s rashtastic.” A rash so fucking incredible it exceeds a birthmark and can only be rashtastic. Kids turn around, intrigued by Marcus’ new word and suddenly he redeems himself from years of bed wetting and glue eating and snags 15 minutes of popularity. Rashtastic….spread it on.

My First Review

2007-12-09T23:48:00.000-06:00

I have received my first review from my show, "Denises Friday Night Book Club" at Second City's skybox theater. Enjoy

One of my favorite scenes from the evening involved to co-workers, Meryl and Regina - performed by Katie O'Brien and Kristen McLaughlin. Kristen's character accidentally swears while making a mistake at the computer. Katie, her cubicle mate, takes this as an opportunity to bond and give herself permission to "unleash." In the hands of less experienced actors and writers, this scene could easily have gone blue quickly and become more about the vulgarity than about Kate's character's undercurrent of desperation to bond with her co-worker.

Megan Presslak, Katie O'Brien, and Kristen McLaughlin excel in the (thankfully) multiple female roles Greg and Brian have written for them.
^JOE JANES Joe is a writer, director and actor in Chicago. He teaches at The Second City Trainer Center and at Columbia College.

Handicap This

2007-11-30T16:27:00.000-06:00

I've always had a strong desire to go see a taping of a show. The Colbert Report, Late Night with Conan O'Brien or the Ellen show. I just think if would be an absolute blast, but here's my dilemma. I would travel to New York or L.A. to experience such an event, but I don't want to have to fork over a chunk of a change in exchange for a seat in the back corner where I can't even catch a glimpse of Jay Leno's famous chin. After careful observation, I have made an amazing discovery. There is one tool I could use in an act of desperation to grab a front row seat. It is now that I ask you to watch the video below. Pay careful attention to where the wheelchair is located. Go. Watch.

Did you see that!? That wheelchair is practically on the stage! That guy is practically a guest on the Ellen show. All you would have to do is show up to the taping in a wheelchair. It's not like their going to "test" if your handicapped. Just deny being able to walk and if they "test" the feeling in your legs by hitting them with a hammer or with a solid punch, just suck it up you whimp, your getting a front row seat to the Ellen show.

I'm Sorry

2007-11-26T17:38:00.000-06:00

Dear Flight Attendants,
Hey there. Me again. Just wanted to send you some Christmas cheer and my apologies for not paying attention to your safety presentation on my Thanksgiving Flight home. I should know how to properly put on a face mask, and in the event that the plane were to crash over a body of water (unlikely, but I'll play along), I should be aware that my seat cushion could save my life (bull shit). I also would like to apologize for un-buckling my seat belt as the plane was making it's way to the gate. You are correct, something terrible could happen after we have landed. The plane could tip over? Or catch on fire? Or it could run into the airport? I would also like to apologize for when I asked if this was the newest edition of SkyMall Magazine. Yes, it was a jackass question. I am also deeply sorry for running up to the cockpit and banging on the door while screaming, "It's my birthday! It's my birthday!" I had completely forgotten that whole 9/11 incident. It was also inappropriate for me to put my complimentary drink in the overhead compartment. It was an open drink and I have no idea why I thought that was a good idea. Oh, and I completely forgot that I had a knife taped to my inner thigh. That was out of line. I should have never tossed my neck pillow as if it was a frisbee and it was completely out of line for me to give that baby next to me that Airbourne pill. And It was uncalled for when I called that individual wearing a turban Osama. You're right, not everyone with a turban is named Osama. I had no idea his name was Mark. He certainly did not look like a Mark.

Happy Holidays,
Love Katie O

Boy O Boy

2007-11-25T15:29:00.000-06:00

2 years ago I graduated to the "adult table" for Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently someone informed the rest of my family that I had gone through puberty, and access was granted. There is one haunting question I receive every year.
This years Thanksgiving dinner table talk was "The side effects of medicine", because conversation has stooped to everyone comparing health problems. Fun Fact: Apparently everyone in my family has a case of Restless Leg Syndrome. I thought this was a bull shit disease because the commercials start off with "If I don't move for hours on end, my legs feel funny. Restless Leg syndrome." I always sat on the couching thinking, well yeah, that happens to everyone. Anyways, everyone is talking about the side effects of their medications. Grogginess, headaches..you name it. My grandpa's winning because he's basically announcing he's on death row, when my Uncle Bob throws his fist on the table and declares, "Regardless of what medication your on, you should just expect to get a mild case of diarrhea." So, there I sat, absolutely disgusted with the conversation at hand, when somehow the diarrhea comment led to, "So Katie....Do you have a boyfriend?" Damnit, there it was. It came out of nowhere. That question always conveniently comes right as I have either A) Spilled gravy on the front of my shirt or B) As I am simultaneously eating two pieces of pie. "Nope, I still don't." Then they ask "why not?" And this is not rhetorical, their looking for an answer. "Because I have an STD. Happy Thanksgiving Everyone! Let's eat!" So I take a bite of pie, swallow and begin with, "You know, I'm not really looking..I haven't found anyone worth while.......I'm just SUPER busy...busy me, between church and the grocery store and walking for miles on end, I just can't seem to find the time!" And before I know it, suddenly my family has turned into E-Harmony and Match.com, every public outing turns into speed dating. "Look, he has a backpack, I bet he's smart!" "Look, he's wearing sunglasses, I bet he's super cool!" "Once he gets rid of those braces and Skechers, he will be a 10." Then it just gets ridiculous. "Kathleen, I know he's in a wheel chair, and yes maybe he wears diapers and the right side of his face is paralyzed, but he really is a sweet guy and probably has a stellar personality."

Honestly?

2007-11-24T00:29:00.000-06:00

Honestly?

Happy Holidays from the Williams!

2007-11-18T17:12:00.000-06:00

I love Christmas cards. I love the seasons greetings and the Happy Holidays. I love the pictures included inside, everyone in holiday sweaters at some ski resort, or in front of a giant pine tree. My favorite thing about Christmas cards are the one page updates. It's the families year in review summarizing each child's accomplishments onto an off white letter surrounded by a border of hollies. For once, I wish a family would be completely honest in their holiday update. Below is a fictional holiday update from my fictional family. This is what the holidays are about.....

Greetings friends and family! What a year it's been! Well as you know, the Williams have had one crazy and blessed year! We are so fortunate to look back on our blessings and share them with you.

Kristen, our oldest daughter, is entering her senior year at Brown High School. She's looking forward to moving onto college where she can escape her parents grip! Hahaha. As you all know, we had that brief pregnancy scare earlier this year. What a mess that was! Haha. We still, to this day, thank God that Kristen did not give birth to a child. We're happy to announce that she is no longer dating Wayne, who now goes by the name of "Spattered Blood". Kids these days! Kristen is looking forward to earning her parents trust back, and might we add, she's well on her way. She's already removed the eyebrow ring and lip ring! Hallelujah!

Marcus, our middle child is the brains of the family! He's still at Wabash Middle School and is carrying a 4.0. Marcus recently took first place at the Wabash Middle School Science fair with his remake of an AK-47 assault rifle. And might we add, it was not made out of pipe cleaners or Legos, no Marcus ordered the parts of the internet and it actually shoots! Haha, mom wasn't too happy due to the fact he used her credit card, but anything for the sake of science! We want to thank you all for your prayers and kind words. For those of you who don't know, Marcus recently spent some time in Juvenile Hall. He brought a homemade bomb and a bow and arrow to school. Luckily no one was hurt! You gotta let kids make their own mistakes!

And let's not forget our youngest Child, Timmy! Timmy is entering the 4th grade and could not be a bigger fan of Harry Potter. Not only has Tim read all the Harry Potter Books, but he decided to spend last summer writing "his own" 8th book to the series! The book is 456 pages and can be purchased at the Walgreens on 90th and Dodge. Tim attended "Slim Down" camp this past summer for 3 months and lost a grand total of 5 pounds! Mom's really trying to help Tim get out this obesity phase so no more Mac 'N" Cheese or hot dogs! Instead we've opted for organic hamburger helper and kiddie cuisines!

And then there's me. Well as you know, this year hasn't been the greatest. Ted and I got divorced. Within the blink of an eye I traded in my Yukon for a Ford Escort! Haha Merry Chirstmas! I used food as an emotional crutch and am definitely paying for it now! It's going to be XXXL for me this year! Hahaha keep that apple pie and turkey far away! I've enlisted a great deal of help from some self-help books and will be a new member to Jenny Craig as of January 2nd. Well thats it for the Williams family! We wish you all a blessed holiday season! May God enter and bless your life and may your hearts be warmed this Christmas season!

Love, Mary, Kristen, Marcus and Timmy!

Grocery Store Disease

2007-11-13T19:33:00.000-06:00

For the longest time I thought one of my best friends brought the best out of me. Always encouraging me.....supporting me. Boy was I wrong. I'm talking about the grocery store. We use to be best friends, but that's behind us now. I'm not a good cook...I'm just not. I burn things, I have no idea what teflon is and I can't boil noodles. I'm pathetic...I get that. But the grocery store....that was a place i thought I had under control. For some odd reason when I step into the grocery store I get this "top chef" mentality where all the sudden my brain tricks me into thinking I'm a rockstar in the kitchen. I think to myself "Tonight...lobster bisque sounds delicious. Maybe veil?"
Which is ridiculous. I tend to gravitate towards the spice aisle. Before I know it my hands are confidently grabbing thyme, oregano and mustard seed. All the sudden I'm grabbing other innocent shoppers and recommending ingredients.
"Oh, your making a balsamic fig chutney with roasted grapes? Here lemme help you. Might I recommend minced garlic cloves?" Yep, I'm that ass hole. And then the produce section. I fucking flip out. Everything is so colorful and I feel like that color should be embraced...so in my cart goes sweet potatoes, spaghetti squash, lemons and limes. I'm dancing around with my shopping cart, weighing bull shit items like flax seed. I'm practically starring in my own ridiculous musical while everyone whispers "she's definitely retarded..she should not have a cart." Then I get up to the register and as I'm watching all my ridiculous items pass by I'm reassuring myself thinking, "Good purchases...solid purchases." Then I'll tell the cashier to "hold on! I forgot an item!" And i will run and grab hydrogen peroxide........pathetic. It's a disease really. I have a disease.

Icing on the cake

2007-11-13T01:02:00.000-06:00

Today I was interviewing someone on the phone. We were about half way in when I hear this

"Yeah, um can I get a crunch wrap supreme with a side of Nachos and Baja Mountain Dew? No, not the regular mountain dew, the baja mountain dew...
................
.....................
...........................

She was in the taco bell drive through. She did not get the job.

Carol has a Flute

2007-11-09T17:35:00.000-06:00

I'm not really a "movie theater" person. I would rather watch a movie in the privacy of my own home, but there is one reason I absolutely love going to the movie theater, and that reason is the flute melody. That adorable 3 second melody that plays as the giant AMC letters appear on the screen, adorned with a shooting star. I think that melody is hilarious and this is why.

What if you were hired by AMC theaters to play the flute melody? What if that was your only job? What if your name was Carol, you were 15 years old and rather than opting to work at the local BK or Boston Market, you opted to be AMC's flute girl. Carols mom pulls up to AMC Theaters at 2pm everyday in her Astro Van. Carol jumps out with her kahkis on and starched AMC polo, flute case in hand. She runs into AMC, looks at her CASIO watch and realizes she's running behind schedule. She won't have time to warm up. Carol clocks in, checks her schedule in the employee lounge and realizes that she needs to be opening for Saw IV in theater 6 in 2 minutes. In record time, she pieces her flute together, races to theater 6 and makes it just in time. As the last preview shows, Carol takes her place underneath the exit sign, approaches the flute to her lips and as the giant AMC letters make there way across the screen, she nails her flute melody. She bows, in the dark, because the theater resuses to turn on the lights for her 3 second performance. She then darts next door to theater 7 to open up for Bee Movie. She will work until 6pm, grab a slushie, spill it on her khaki pants, and then wait for her mom to pick her up.

I, sadly, think of this scenario every single time I hear that flute melody.

Heaven

2007-11-07T14:53:00.000-06:00

When I die, I hope I arrive at Heaven, assuming I have jumped that hurdle and actually make it to the gates, I would like God to be standing there, grab my hand and ask "Katie, what would you like heaven to be like?" That is when I will pull this video out of my back pocket and say, "here pal, this is my heaven." This is what heaven should be.

Shut Yo Mouth

2007-11-07T00:15:00.000-06:00

My mouth has a mind of its own. For some odd reason my body has programmed itself to prioritize my mouth over my brain. For example, I was working at home a while back, doing my job, when I interviewed a woman over the phone. Her baby screamed through the whole interview. Towards the end of the interview, I politely said, "And for the next round of interviews there can't be any noise in the background" She apologized, giving me some sob story about how she was a single mom, frequent Wal-Mart shopper, etc, then I said this......
"No, I completely understand, I have two kids of my own."
?
Fucking Mouth.
Well this happened again, last night at one of my Improv Olympic classes. During our 10 minute break, we gathered and began talking about how technology is really advancing. Fascinating convo right? Well, I felt like I needed to jump in and be heard. Discussion had climaxed when someone mentioned robotic advances to aid in warfare, when I said this,
"Kind of like the roomba". My brain up to this point had desperately tried to keep my mouth shut, but alas, the mouth won. Everyone looked at me in a quizzical fashion, until someone broke the silence by saying, "Like the robotic vacuum?"
Yes, in the midst of desperately wanting to fit into to this technological conversation I had blurted "roomba". So I confidently kept with it, "Yeah that robot vacuum. Talk about technology!"
Whoever brings up the roomba in conversation might as well wear a sign that says "social outcast." I made a terrible mistake last night.
I brought up the roomba, which had aboslutely nothing to the do with the conversation at hand, except that it was "kind of like" a robot.
Well done mouth, well done.

Food For thought.

2007-11-05T15:52:00.000-06:00

This is a thought that constantly creeps into my head and drives me crazy. Why do we laugh? What determines what is funny? Why is it when you see or hear something funny, your body is programmed to open your mouth and make an obnoxious noise? It just seems like a bizarre response. What is humor? Are you programmed with a particular humor? Is it developed?
Just some food for thought.

Scene

2007-10-31T10:01:00.000-05:00

Well, I guess I could post an actual scene I've been working on. It's a rought draft and there are bound to be typos. I don't know if I'l really post these, I haven't decided....could be weird......

(A very slim and fit women of 35 stands in front of a circle of chairs that are filled with overweight women)

Melinda: Hello Ladies! My name is Melinda and I would like to welcome you to the first day of your new life! Who’s ready to shed pounds and rediscover themselves? There’s only one woman who can help you, and that women is Jenny Craig! Welcome to the program ladies! Woo hoo! You know, I was once just like all of you. I was once sitting in those chairs just like you. Except, I wasn’t in just one chair. No ladies. I sat in two. Yes, that’s right, I weighed an astonishing 499 lbs. I couldn’t even get out of bed. I couldn’t drive a car. I felt hopeless. Then one day after finishing off en entire birthday cake and a loaf of bread after the 700-club morning show, I saw a Jenny commercial. I picked up the phone that day ladies and made the call that saved my life. I called my husband who was in the next room and asked him to get the astro van ready. I hadn’t left the house in 15 years, not too mention I hadn’t even gotten out of that bed in 5 years. One of the pillows had molded to my back and had started growing on my skin. Ladies, do you know what its like to have stayed in the same position for 5 years? I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t even roll over. My husband called an ambulance and with a little Crisco and a homemade pulley device, they were able to get me to my first meeting. I sat with women just like you. We shared our stories, and now I would like us to do the same. Meredith, we will start with you.

Meredith: (very quietly and embarrassed) Hello, I’m Meredith and I joined Jenny because according to my husband I’m a lard ass that resembles the Pillsbury doughboys fat older sister who they can’t show on TV because she’s so fat she repulses customers who are interested in Pillsbury’s delicious pastries. Not too mention, swimsuit season is around the corner.
Melinda: Thank you for sharing Meredith. Lets have Mary-Beth share next.

Mary-Beth: Okay, Hi. I’m Mary-Beth and I have to say I’m a little nervous. I’ve never been to a meeting like this before, well; I guess that’s not true. I use to be a sex addict and the meetings were similar. Ironically everyone there was overweight too.

Melinda: Thanks for sharing Mary-Beth. I know this is a big step and a big decision that takes a lot of courage. We here at Jenny Craig applaud your bravery and courage and embrace it. How about Linda, will you share with us Linda?

Linda: Well, I use to be anorexic, and as you can see, that backfired.
(Lights)

Claim your Bag...or else.

2007-10-28T00:36:00.000-05:00

Airports.
I love airports. I really do. I enjoy my time spent there. One thing that has always kind of caught me off guard is baggage claim. I think baggage claim is obnoxious. Everyone stands with their knees practically touching the conveyer belt waiting for their suitcases. Everyones is a hurry, gotta go...gotta get my bag and go. Luggage comes rolling out and you always have that one jackass with the bright yellow bag with like duck tape just plastered all over it and your thinking in your mind "eh, kinda smart..at least he knows which bag is his."
But then have you noticed that that guy....is never there to claim that one bag that stands out! Thats the one bag that is always rolling around at the end. Then, how great is it when you see someone across the way grab your bag. Your black suitcase. So, instead of yelling you just throw your arms up. Thats all you can do. You just throw em up. Your thinking "Maybe if my arms go up that guy will think......oh her suitcase..whoops". Then you run over "Oh, um.....um...my suitcase...mine. Mine!" You just point. Then they get all defensive.
"No. no miss this is my black suitcase. I had the tag bent this way so I would know"
"But it has my name on it"
They check..it does. So they just drop the bag and run back to the conveyer belt fearful that someone else might have stolen their black suitcase. And that yellow bag with duck tape is still rolling around, no ones claimed it yet. Then you have that one guy who has already claimed six giant bags and he's waiting for his seventh black, swiss army bag to come around and your thinking "where the hell are you coming from that you need that much luggage"
Then there's the other guy who's muttering "Jesus christ, I knew I shouldn't have checked a bag. I knew it! Is anyone else missing luggage? Mine is not here. Anyone else?...THE ONE TIME I CHECK A BAG! Christ! No one else is missing anything?"
You know...thats where you should go if your homeless. Baggage claim, just grab some bags and head on out. No one would know. You could make a bundle reselling some of that stuff. It would be like a grab bag, you would never know what you were going to get. That makes life fun.

Sports Clips

2007-10-25T23:37:00.000-05:00

I have a bone to pick with Sports Clips. And that bone is that Sports Clips is ridiculous.
"Welcome to Fucking Sports Clips"
God forbid you go to a haircut establishment that might make you look "foolish" like family cutters or supercuts. Screw foolishness...head on over to Sports Clips and be a man. Get a mans haircut. At sports clips your manly and sporty at the same time. We at sports clips wear Jerseys and as an added perk we give you a whistle and a complimentary water bottle filled with that cool blue liquid we use to clean combs. Fucking sports clips! You like football? Thats a perfect reason to get your hair cut. Baseball fan? Come get a cew cut and hold a bat in the barbers chair. Swimmer? We will buzz your head while wearing a speedo. Come on in. Come get your hair cut at a place that is filled with excessive amounts of testosterone all the way down to our J. Crew products. Come in today and with a shampoo purchase of $35 dollars or more we will throw in a feww jock strap. Fucking sports clips. Time to get your hair cut like a tool. For tools. By tools. Sports Clips.

An Anniversary adorned with porn

2007-10-23T16:01:00.000-05:00

My family is very Catholic. In fact we're so Catholic, that my grandpa has gotten to the roots of our geneaology and has proudly proclaimed that we are the long lost, distant relatives of St. Anthony....yes St. Anthony. So next time your brag about your Lexus, or getting into Stanford law....I will have one up on you.
Anyways it was recently my grandparents 50th or 60th wedding anniversary. I'm not sure which one......anyways, my grandpa had planned to shower his bride of eternity with a "rare" gift. He wanted something special....something that says "we've been together a lifetime...this is a token of our love for each other" So, who else to consult when buying an anniversary gift then your local parish priest. Father suggests to my grandpa that there is this beautiful rare brazilian gem that would be perfect. My grandpa, cane in hand and with a twinkle in his eye knows that my grandmother will love this gem. Having only to go off the knowledge the parish priest has given him "brazilian gem", he logs onto their new computer and googles "brazilian gem".
whoops.
Well, brazilian gems did pop up. Naked, brazilian gems. Grandpa had stumbled upon a sea of porn while attempting to purchase a gift for my grandmother for the upcoming anniversary. Ashamed and full of Catholic guilt and blanketed with sin,he is embaressed to tell anyone but has a dilemma because they keep getting porn pop ups. Finally he breaks the news to the family at my moms birthday dinner pleading with my uncle to help him with his computer problems and solve the brazilian gem porn dilemma. In a fit of laughter, while simultaneously creeped out, we all ask if this was actually a "mistake".
My grandpa, now a little angry and ashamed, said that he had prayed many rosaries and has gone to confession even though he witnessed the images "accidentally"
My grandmother simply said, "He said it was an accident, and I believe him" and she left it at that.
Now thats 50 or 60 years worth of love and trust.

2007-10-15T11:27:00.000-05:00

Anorexia:Abercrombie::Cocaine:

a) Kate Moss
b) Birtney Spears
c) Lindsay Lohan
d) all of the above

What's your fortune?

2007-10-09T12:52:00.000-05:00

I recently read an article in the New York Times that talked about the fortune cookie. Apparently an extremely large supplier of fortune cookies (can't think of the companies name off hand, maybe Wonton?) is taking fortune cookies in a new direction. Instead of the upbeat and inspirational fortunes such as, "Success can only be measure in smiles", or "Wealth comes from hard work", some fortune cookies will now have crummy fortunes like, "You will die, eventually," and "You will never be successful at your job." This, in my opinion is sheer brilliance. I wonder if this Wonton company has any idea how much of a ripple affect they could cause with this new "fortune cookie strategy." It will change chinese restaurant conversation forever. Everyone knows that at the end of the meal at your local Fuji Inn, conversation stoops to this level,
"Everyone read their fortunes aloud! But wait! I heard if you can get the fortune out of the cookie without breaking it, it really will come true!"

"Oh yeah, well I heard that if you crack it in one try it comes true!"

"Oh yeah, well I heard if you crack it at a 48 degree angle, it comes true!"

"What does yours say, Susana?"

"Mine says, your future breast augmentation will go badly"

(dead silence)

"Wow, how weird if that, Susana weren't you thinking about getting breast implants?"
"Yes, yes I was. Um, I've never gotten a fortune like that before...what does everyone elses say? Lucinda?"

"Mine says, Your partner will soon grow bored with your nagging and misshaped body"

Chinese food, as if it wasn't awkward enough (what the hell is a snow pea anyways?), will now become extremely awkward! I want to propose some fortunes to Wonton and pitch some ideas. So, you know how Chinese fortunes always have a row of "lucky numbers?" Well, what if Wonton changed that to your "predicted date of death." It still follows the whole number pattern, but its still keeping with this downer attitude. Some fortunes I would propose would be,
"20,000 tredmills couldn't help you lose that baby weight"
"If I saw your face everyday, I would move out too"
"Your lucky you have a pet, that will be your only companion"
"You will become dependent on an oxygen tank"
"That PTA speech was your defining moment"
"Your child hates you, and always will"
Wonton, those are my ideas. I would be happy to be a team player in this morbid and sad new strategy. In fact, please, I urge you to allow me to be a part of your company. I love chinese food, and fortune cookies, but I especially love shitty fortunes.

Family Game Night......

2007-10-08T16:42:00.000-05:00

Family Game Night. That pathetic attempt made by parents to bond as a family. It's that chance to get James, the eldest son who has the most potential, to refrain from his hippie pot smoking for one night. It's that attempt to have Mary Louise, the middle child with scoliosis and braces, to for once feel included. It's that oppurtunity to keep the good looking child, Mary Beth in for one night and have her keep her clothes on. It's family game night. My family tried this once. My mom originally publicised it as "family movie night", but Blockbuster, Family Video and Hollywood Video have pretty much had it out for our family for about 10 years because we have fines off the charts. Honest to god we have had Big Fat Liar, the incredible cinematic production starring noneother than Frankie Muniz, checked out for about 6 years now. So, since our family was banned from renting movies for life, my mom thought substituting a board game would increase our chances at bonding because we would be forced to converse. Let me explain something to you, my family is equivalent to a bag of gardettos. None of us look alike, we don't really get a long and we've been shoved in a bag and forced to get along and experience this rare thing known as "love." The O'Brien family owns 3 games. Monopoly, Risk and Yachtzee. My poor mom, pathetically excited that we were all together on a Friday night splurged and bought junk food. She bought bugles. Bugles? No one really buys Bugles. It's like Uncle Bens Rice, sure its advertised, but no one really seriously thinks about ingesting either of those products. So there we are, all five of us kids and my mom and dad. We take a vote and monopoly wins, but alas, the fricking board is missing. All the money is accounted for, even the houses and chance cards are in ziploc bags, but the board is gone. Yachtzee is a no go because we realize, oh right, we don't even own the game yachtzee. And Risk, well Risk just sucks and you can't play that with 7 people. The bugles are un-opened, and there we are at family game night with no game, while simultaneously being on blockbusters shit list. Family game night was a bust, and we never tried it again.

2007-10-06T00:12:00.003-05:00

If you have yet to encounter sheer brilliance, then allow me to introduce you to Van Morrison

A brief history lesson....

2007-10-04T23:07:00.000-05:00

The rat tail. Distinguishing the white trash from the non-white trash for over 20 years. A hair cut designed to say to the masses "look at me, I'm a giant fucking freak". A hair cut so low on the hair cut totem poll its equivalent to leprosy. You know what its like when you spot a real live rat tail on a youg boy next to the claw machine at Denny's. You think "get out of here...I need to get out of here". Have you ever sat next to someone in a movie theater with a rat tail? Torture. I haven't, but I've heard horror stories. The rat tail lightly drapes itself over the back of the movie theater chair as if it has a mind of its own. It purposely lingers close to your popcorn and coca cola slushie. I was curious as to how this hair cut could have possibly come about. Who thought, "I know! I'll shave my head and leave just a little bit in the back. That will show the kids at school!" I use to think you would honestly have to be mentally ill to WANT such an awful haircut. But, as it turns out, there is some history behind the rat tail. Apparently, the rait tail sprung from the 1980's star wars/ jedi knight phase. Apprentices becoming Jedi Knights MUST have a rat tail and then once the apprenticeship is complete, the infamous rat tail is either "burnt" or "sliced". At this point I was relieved, at least there was a reson that this hair cut had come about, but then I thought. Thats inexcusable. Everyone knows Star Wars is fiction. Fiction, you freaks. You don't take it seriously. FYI: Jedi Knights are not real, making the rat tail a fictional hair cut. This is a plea to the white trash of America. You can keep your menthol lights and you can keep your mullets. You are allowed to leave the kiddie pool out in your yard year round and I will even let you park your Bronco on the lawn, but for the love of God, rid yourselves of the rait tail. It makes you look a lot worse then you already do. The rait tail is a dangerous thing. It has a mind of its own. Its curls on its own for gods sake.

BOO

2007-10-01T22:35:00.001-05:00

Halloween is my favorite holiday. I always get disappointed looks and sassy comments such as "What about Christmas!?" Mmm, sorry. Christmas doesn't jingle my bells. The only thing I love about Christmas are those crazy Coca Cola polar bears. In my opinion they have more christmas spirit then Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all those manger animals combined. But Halloween....now thats a holiday. Each year I go to great lengths to prepare a great costume. This year I've toiled over being Harriet Tubman (two words: underground railroad (third word-->) bitches) Then I thought I would try the whole "slut thing" for Halloween. Caddy Harron infamously said from the teenage cinema bible, Mean Girls, "Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it." And, its true. My slut ticket was going to be a modern day Martha Washington, but then I thought thats a weird slut choice. Besides a previous marriage to George, there wasn't anything slutty about her and apparently she was really boring and was just a homemaker at Mt. Vernon. SO i abandoned that idea. Then I thought about being a pregnant prom queen. Granted, its not funny if you were the prom queen at one time while you were pregnant, but to everyone else its kind of a funny concept. So then, I thought, "why not be Veronica from the 6th station of the cross?" For those of you who aren't familiar with my homegirl Veronica, she was the charming women on the side of the road who happened to have a wash cloth handy while Jesus was burdened with carrying that cross. She essentially gave Jesus a quick sponge bath on his way up to calvary and as a thank you, Jesus left an image of his face on the washcloth. It probably became a family heirloom, or maybe she framed it? I don't know. So, I think I am going to be "station 6, Veronica wipes the face of Jesus." My costume you ask? Some biblical clothing (most likely a sheet), a painted on tear, and yes, I will be carrying a washcloth around with jesus' face on it. And i know you might be thinking to yourself, "how lame". This is not lame my friends. Lame would be if I was a hooters girl or a beer keg.

Awkward.

2007-09-27T14:48:00.000-05:00

Location: Chicago Public Library Lincoln Park Branch

On Wednesday evening I walked to the Library. Placed Barrel Fever, by David Sedaris into the return book slot and noticed that the two computers equipped with card catalogs were occupied. I roamed through the stacks for a while waiting for a computer to open up. 15 minutes later, the computers were still occupied. I approach the front desk,
Me: "Excuse me, are those the only two computers that have card catalogs on them?"
Librarian: "Oh, are you the woman looking for books on sexuality?"
.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................. What the fuck?
Me: "Um no, actually that wasn't me."
Librarian: "Oh sorry, yes those are the only 2 computers with card catalogs."
I walked away shame faced. Who knew the library could be so awkward?

Americas Next Top Rape Victim

2007-09-26T17:24:00.000-05:00

Americas Next Top model. My guilty pleasure. Actually the reason I love this show is not for the quality modeling, nor is it to admire the beautiful faces that adorn the television screen, rather it is to pay homage to my "mama", Tyra Banks. Having litterally made millions off the world known as modeling, talk shows and reality shows, Tyra is a big, bad, beautiful bitch who I have come to love and admire. She's the attractive Dr. Phil; the "lighter" Oprah. She's a mixture of chocolate and vanilla poured into a very shapely and attractive mug. Shes my gurl. I love it when Tyra sits the models down for "one on one" girl chats. During these "one on one" chats this super, super model lowers herself to their level by wearing Levi jeans and removing her shoes. She curls up on the catch and almost always says one of these lines to the hopeful models, "So....you were raped. What was that like?" The model always responds...."oh Tyra. It was tough." "So....you grew up homeless. What was that like?" The model always responds. "I had nothing Tyra. No heels, nothing." "So ....you were abused. Tell me about it?" The model always responds, "It hurt, and bad" Those are the most popular three. Somehow every gorgeous young women in america that makes it on these shows has had one of these 3 awful situations. Now and again you get a wild card,  "So, your mother was a transvestite that made you run around naked." The model always responds......"Yep." Its a god damn modeling show, its not beautiful counseling. When Tyras "one on one" chats come to a close, the model is sobbing, Tyra rises, gives the girl and hug and says, "You've come so far. Don't let anyone tell you your not gonna be somebody" Ironically 15 minutes later Tyra cuts them because they were either fat, immature or lacked "personality". Ah, tough. As the camera pans the models ribs peek through blouses and tank tops. I don't know about you, but nothing says sexy like visible ribs. If i can see someones entire clavicle and ribs I think to myself, "shes classy". Or, if i can fit a ponytail holder around their thigh, I think to myself, "I wanna be your friend."

This is why you need to get a degree....

2007-09-23T11:35:00.000-05:00

I have a ridiculous job. if you know me pretty well, I've complained to you about it. Although, I should keep my mouth shut because it is a great job. I get paid really well, and I can work in my pajamas, so no complaints. Let me explain......I work for H&R Block. Basically I pick up the phone and call people, ask them some ?'s, and then determine if they are competent. If they are, I give them a green light and hire them, if their not, I give them this bull shit line, "I am going to pass on your information to my supervisor and if they are interested in hiring you, they will call you. However if they don't call you within the next two days, they will have moved on with further candidates." This is code for, "you were someone how dumb enough to fail my 1st grade level ?'s. No one is going to hire you. Not even Burger King."
But, here the thing.
I don't call people named Bob, Ralph, Susan or Carol.
No, I call people like this (actual names of people I have called)
1. Joei. --This is pronounced "Joey". Replace that 'i' with a 'y' or forever remain on the shitty name list.
2. Concepcion--pronounced "conception". Do you not realize the definition of your name is "fertilization" or "inception of pregnancy?"
3. La-Crystal. Your life would be so much easier if you just erased the "la"
4. Whytny-Pronounced "whitney" but spelled with every fucking consonant imaginable.

Other favorites include, Jamesetta, Tekyla, Dinesha, La Kayla, LaMarr and Toddler.
People always give me a hard time when I make fun of these names. "its a cultural thing." This is not cultural. Muhammad is a cultural name....but CONCEPCION....CONCEPCION...that is crazy. Thats not cultural. Thats called under the influence. Thats what these names should be referred to, Under the Influence names. UI names..
"Whats her name?"
"La-Quayla"
You don't think to yourself, "Ah! A cultural name!"
No.
You think to yourself, "did she just say fucking "La-Quayla?!'
Then i receive this argument, "well their parents probably wanted them to be unique"
Unique as in the kid eats lunch alone for the rest of his life while people whisper, "did you hear? That kid in the corner, his name is Tequila."

Homeless, not helpless

2007-09-13T11:26:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the homeless can be a tad overwhelming. Its a little overwhelming when a large man clad in 5 different coats shoves a cup your way saying, "Miss, help a brother out" or "Mornin' Miss, please?" At first I gave into their opression. I would throw a quarter in, or drop some change into their hat. Theres definately a technique and quite frankly, an art to being homeless. If you have a homemade sign that says, " Desperately Hungry, please help", I will not give you money. For two reasons. 1) Thats half-assing it. I want to hear tragedy. I can see you look like shit, but where is the story behind it? 2) Mis-spell some words if you want my charity. Why have you correctly spelled "Hungry" and "desperate", as far as im concerned your too educated to be on the streets. And, the phenomenon that seems to be catching on is the homless man with no legs. This use to be a rare find. The war veteran with no legs who sits on the corner still recovering from shell shock. He was the one people would walk by and think, "Crap, he is homeless and has wheels for legs. He gets a 5." But now, their on every corner. How many homeless men with missing legs can one city have? I saw 3 the other day! Either someone is teaching some kind of homeless legless illusion class where you are taught to create the illusion of having no legs, or there are literally hundreds of these guys wheeling around.

2007-08-27T19:33:00.000-05:00

I finally took the plunge. I finally mustered the guts to move to Chicago and make an attempt at my "dream". Cheesy and cliche. Bear with me. For some odd reason I was compelled to leave a fabulous scholarship, a very respectable school and a promising future all for an improvisational comedy troupe. I had all the confidence in the world in my decision. It was instinctive, it felt right and I was willing to work. I was more than willing to get down and dirty to make second city happen. I flew into O'Hare, hopped on the train, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the city. Its amazing how a place so alive and so overflowing can make you feel so small and insignificant. So here I am. Adjusting to public transportation and slowly getting use to the fact that somehow everything smells like urine no matter where you are. Adjusting to screaming and screeching, sirens and honking and the homeless shoving their dirty hands into your pockets. Getting use to washing my hands every 15 seconds out of fear that I might have picked up ebola on the train. Keeping personal belongings close and money even closer for fear that every passing person might swoop in and claim it as their own. Finding my own rythm on my own. My rythm of interaction with strangers and my rhtym of confidence to say no to sollicitations and window shopping. Adjusting to the inadequate feeling of the gold coast. Straining my neck to catch glimpses of fabulous apartments that I know I will never own. Bumping into botox beauties and men in suits that cost as much as my college education. Why is a single bus ride 2 dollars? Why do I see the same elderly gentlemen walking behind me every morning? How come I am fearful to carry a purse, even in daylight?
I still need to buy an umbrella. God forbid I get caught in the rain.
Why is the woman at the Lincoln park library a raging bitch?
Why is my only proof of chicago identification a library card?
Im here.
I like it
and I will soon love it

Blue line

2007-08-06T14:35:00.001-05:00

One of Omahas best kept secrets for coffee lovers of all kind is the Blue line. This train themed coffee hot spot located right on the corner of good 'ole Dundee, is my clubhouse if you will. It is my retreat, my own personal coffee fort, where I always go on the weekends to order a hazelnut latte and read, or write. The appeal is rooted much deeper than just delicious coffee. The Blue Line has a down home feel to it and is home to many regulars. Its insides are filled with elitist professor types who, by the looks of it, do not own combs and find matching to be a thing of the past. On one of my most recent visits, I was nestled in the corner table, content with a book and my half drunk latte when a large, Armenian gentlemen with a cut off t-shirt came in. I had never seen him before, so I dismissed his presence although I was intrigued by the fact that he was a very hairy gentlemen. In fact, his classy cut off t-shirt was having trouble keeping all the hair in from his back all the way to his front. I wasn't disguted, I was more impressed. He looked mobbish. A gold ring on the pinky, no socks with his shoes and gold chains adorned his neck. He rings the bell on the counter, even though the blue line employee was right there and requests a bicycle pump. What the fuck? He's hairy and he's requesting a bicycle pump.....I immediately put my book down. Acting as if im looking over the menu, I begin to snoop. The skinny employee behin the counter says "a bicycle pump?" He replys "Yes! A bicycle pump!" The woman explains that this is a coffee shop and unfortunately, there are no bicycle pumps, but she tries to draw him in to buy a scone or some freshly baked banana bread. "Look, I need a bicycle pump!" His voice isn't so much raised, but he sounds almost excited. "We really don't have one sir, did your bike tire blow out or something?"
"No, I just stole this kids bike though and the motherfucker had a flat tire!", he laughs and then says "Oh well..."

So, as if on cue, I burst out laughing. This middle aged Armenian man stole a god damn bicycle only to find out that karma bit him in the ass and left him with a flat tire, and now he is in search of a bicycle pump.

People make me laugh.

Jesus Freaks

2007-07-20T10:20:00.000-05:00

I’ve had religion in my back pocket since birth. Born and raised catholic, it was burnt into my brain that if I did not attend church every Sunday, I would be doomed to the fires of damnation and would have to prance about with all the other evil spirits while everyone else “partied” in heaven. Jesus was a tactic my parents used to instill fear while they attempted to mold us into perfect human beings. “Kathleen, would Jesus cop an attitude while mopping the floor?” or “Kathleen, would Jesus have shaved his brothers eyebrows and given him a wedgie”? Nice try mother, but unfair argument, Jesus didn’t have any siblings. Booya. Point being, I’ve had to suffer through Sunday mass for 18 years. I’ve just recently noticed that the sole purpose people attend mass is because they think they “have” to in order to get to heaven, or be in good standing with the big guy. It just aggravates me that 99.9 percent of the people in mass are simply worshipping their blackberries as they check e-mails during the readings, or are playing tick tack toe on the church bulleting during the sign of peace. Why hasn’t anyone had the dignity, or the balls to raise their hand during mass and say “I’m really fucking bored?” I’m not dissing on religion and I’m certainly not making fun of the institution of church, all I’m saying is, no one is there for the right reasons. I won’t be hypocritical, my whole life I have robotically attended mass because I “have” to. In fact, I hate it. I just propose that we make mass a little more fun. Maybe someone could blow fire during the gospel? Or maybe the priest could magically produce a dove from his sleeve as he describes the resurrection? Or maybe each pew could have a talking Jesus doll and when you pushed Jesus’ hand he could say “And peace be with you” or “God damnit Judas, strike three and you’re out!”

Vending Machine Etiquette

2007-07-17T09:21:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I conducted improper vending machine etiquette. I work in a building where the vending machines are "conveniently" located in the basement, which I must applaud, is a brilliant strategy for my office building. The entire building seems to be made of up the "big boned", smoker, over 30 crowd. Their not particularly friendly, spandex is a common wardrobe item and they all hate me. These vending machines (2 to be exact) are hidden in an eerie corridor right next to Tom "the engineers" office. Tom is not an engineer, hes a custodian, but he felt it fit to tack "engineer" on his office door. He's a liar. Bottom line, I rarely venture down there for 2 reasons. 1) Its pretty dark and Tom just hybernates down there patiently waiting for someone to appear so he can lurk out, introduce himself, then proceed to inquire about your entire life. And 2) I'm not a big lover of junk food. Yesterday, however, bored and craving chocolate I had the brilliant idea to get a reeses peanut butter cup, freeze it in the freezer and then eat it. This was a brilliant idea, so I thought. I get in the elevator, hit the B, button, which I must point out, is never located near floor 1. If you ask me, in an elevator the buttons should go in ascending or descending order. You don't just throw the B in there next to floor 3 or 4. Thats annoying. Its like the Free Space in Bingo. You know it doesn't belong and you have to fumble around it the entire game. So, down I go, into the office basement. The vending machines are glowing and welcoming, but what is this? Someone else is down there. What? It's not Tom, but rather, a rough looking woman who looks like she might be a cannibal. I'm completely caught off guard. I've never seen anyone down here before, besides Tom. We reach the basement vending machine at roughly the same time and we're stuck in that human pickle situation. Those aggravating situations where you put your foot forward first, then they do at the same time and you mumble "woa, sorry go ahead" then they talk over you saying "No, my fault, you go" and then you both proceed to stand their staring at eachother debating if you really should take their advice and go. Human pickle. It sucks. And there I stood, with cannibal woman. Well I blew it. I offended her. Upon reaching the vending machines I'm thinking "Go for it. Just go for it. Take the initiative, just avoid the human pickle situation all together." So I go. Worst mistake of my life to date because in response, cannibal gives me the disgusted sigh. Its not quite a hiss, its a little more weighted with a pinch of big bad bitch thrown in. I pull out my dollar bill, which is crinkled, stuff it in the vending machine, practically shaking because the thing behind me is pissed. The machine keeps spitting the bill back at me. "whoops!" THATS ALL I COULD SAY! "Whoops" i just kept repeating it. Finally it accepts the bill, I punched D4, grabbed my candy and collected my change. Fuck it, I am not waiting for the elevator. I opted for the stairs. For furture vending machine users, there is a proper etiquette. You should never take initiative and just go to the vending machine. In a situation where there are two individuals and you reach the vending machine at the same time, either engage in the human pickle, or politely announce that "your still deciding".

I wish my name was craig

2007-07-16T12:57:00.000-05:00

I am willing to shamefully admit that I have become a craigslist junkie. In my early internet days I was never impressed with e-bay, google earth or you-tube. I had no interest in watching a cat play the piano, or an overweight woman falling off waterskis while her family guffaws as her one piece swim suit desperately tries to hold in the fat that is yearning to break out. You know what I'm talking about. It had no appeal to me. I was perfectly content with the many wonders of facebook, and cnn.com. I ocassionally read a blog or two, and then retired from the computer after merely 15 minutes of "surfing". But now, I have discovered craigslist and have become Jerry. You know, the kid who locks himself in the basement den. Jerry's only ten years old, but he has the skills of a 35 year old when it comes to a PC. He's familiar with all the websites and is an advocate for the internet. He wears shirts that read "I hear noises in my head" and "PC: Personal computer or paternal companion?" He spends many a night on his parents computer googling god knows what, only to prop open to the den door at 7am for nourishment a.k.a cheetos. He's completely isolated. He belives the matrix is real and he is a firm believer that cyber space is his closest companion. I'm not that extreme yet, but I have disovered my new best friend and amigo...craigslist. Created by an individual, who I am assuming, was named craig, it is a website that has become my guilty pleasure. It's ebay's kid brother. At first it started with innocent "shopping". Looking for furniture for my apartment, dvds and books. Then one day while working at my 9-5 office job (oh hey real world, hows it going?) I discovered the personals section. It was a wednesday I believe. Tired of seeing busted couches and shitty lamps, I wandered into this pandoras box, which was appropriately titled "personals". I began scanning the omaha personal ads on craigslist and was enetertained for an entire hour. I had found the buried treasure, I had won the lottery, I had basically stumbled upon Jesus' tomb. Titles for the personals read
"Jew Available"
"Yes, I smoke"
"Let me be the prop in your fantasy"
"Weak for Asian Princesses"
"Submissive female who wants to be treated like dirt, but not abused"
This is my new playground. I find the greatest humor in reading these ads. I scour them everyday laughing at the exspense of others. This personal site just screams in print "Loneliness"...and literally. So if you are ever bored, instead of engaging in a physical activity outside such as frisbee or golf, and rather than plopping down in front of the television set...log on to craigslist. I guarantee you will become a fan within the first 5 minutes.

In the Beginning.....

2007-07-13T12:05:00.000-05:00

Blogs seem pretty 4th grade to me. It ranks right up there with sketchers and retainers. So why am I subjecting myself to the scrutiny of the ever cosmopolitan "blogger"? Well, I suppose the main reason is because I've been encouraged to "develop" my writing. This fall I will be be planting my feet in Chicago with the hopes of attaining a degree at Second City. Do they hand out degrees? No. Do they have robes or diplomas? No. Is it even a college or respectable University? Absolutely Not. However, they do have a gift shop and a bar. Which, when you really think about it, thats all that college consists of anyways. Second City is primarily composed of classes that focus on comedy and improvisational performance and writing. It is the almighty tool to success for comedy, or so I like to think. I use to blog. I remember kind of enjoying it? I keep a notebook with me and write down humorous everyday things that I happen to encounter, so I figured that I would "get with it" and do it "blog" style. So, I guess, expect more to come? Yes, expect it.