Monday, April 30, 2007

Someone's got seasonal allergies.

I've been in a shitty, shitty mood all day for no real reason at all. I think it's mostly because I woke up at 7:20 and jumped out of bed because I knew I'd be late to work, and then I wasn't late to work, so I didn't even get the satisfaction that I missed at least fifteen minutes of sitting at this goddamn desk. And I'm still mad (six hours later) that I woke up in the middle of a really good dream where I was in Ghostbusters II as myself and it was toward the end of the movie where everyone is trapped in the museum and Vigo is about to possess Oscar, but he totally opened up that big hard shell over the building so I could go run and pick some stuff from Macy's for him. And then I had just remembered that Ernie Hudson was the black ghostbuster and HE'D help me save the day. I wish I knew how that turned out.

Anyway, I've spent all day doing nothing, since we don't have that much work to do, and then our system was down. I've already watched ten episodes of 30Rock and applied to about fifteen administrative assistant positions on CareerBuilder (jobs that will probably pay better than twelve dollars an hour, but probably not give me the relaxed unprofessional atmosphere that allow me to get away with watching television and applying for jobs all day).

And also, my stomach hurts. So up until about ten minutes ago, I hated everything about today. And life in general.

And then I saw this:

I'm going to be ecstatic for about twenty minutes.

A great day in the history of humans.

Which of these Great Moments in Humanity did I NOT witness yesterday?

A. While looking through the new used DVDs (think about it!) at Reckless, one man next to me turned to the man he was with, showed him the copy of What the #$*! Do We (K)now!?, and said, "It's only $9.99! A new copy is like, thirty dollars! YOU CAN'T FIND A BETTER DEAL!"

B. While eating in Chipotle, the woman next to me screamed at her one-and-a-half-year-old, who - surprise! - was also screaming. After trying to reason with the BABY, she pulled out a digital camera and took about ten pictures of it, saying, "I'M TAKING PICTURES OF YOU SO WHEN YOU'RE OLDER YOU'LL SEE HOW BAD YOU WERE." Then she made lots of eye contact with everyone else in the restaurant while yelling, "AT LEAST YOU'RE NOT WITH YOUR FATHER. I TAKE CARE OF YOU!"

C. While walking home from CVS with a huge package of toilet paper, a group of skateboarders pointed at me and made fun of me. I wonder if they'd think I was cooler if they knew I had been putting off buying the TP and had been stealing it from my roommates.

It was C. Also, I owe you like, three rolls, gals.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Look out, Aunt Jackie!

Four years of hard work has finally paid off. My roommate / BFF, Christina "WHY DON'T I HAVE A BOYFRIEND?!" Boucher (by the way, I've been taking it easy on her lately - it's time to start pressuring her into finding a man again because I'd eventually like to live alone), has invited me to the Steppenwolf Cotillion, finally making this friendship WORTH all of the trouble it's put me through. Trust me guys: there have been a lot of nights where I'll be half-asleep and will be woken up my clawing and pounding at my door because C"WDIHAB"B is drizzunk and wants to chat, only to eventually flop around on my floor while I tell her to get out. FINALLY I'm getting something back.

When she first told me about this cotillion thing, I assumed she meant the GALA, which is black-tie and celebrity-heavy. I got super excited about not eating caviar and following Joan Allen around a tent for a few hours. That's my kind of party! But then she told me that the cotillion is like prom for the STAFF members, who aren't invited to the gala, and I was a little disappointed. Then she said that the cotillion is more fun because everyone dresses real slutty (well, the gals, I assume) and there's an open bar. She said that some people walk over from the gala because that's boring because it's all formal and the mayor is there, so maybe I'll get to meet Laurie Metcalf after all? Ding ding ding! I'm interested!

I'm really excited about this. This is going to be much more fun than prom because I probably won't hate most of the people there and I can get drunk as hell. (I guess "a prom where you get really drunk" is more like a sorority formal, but I wasn't invited to one of those, and this is going to be so much better because it's going to be more DRAMA (theatre! ha!) and less bitchy.) Also, I'm hoping to make out. It'll be just like MACRoCk, except that I'm not going to make any goals. (At MACRoCk I decided that I was going to make out with three strangers, but I ended up making out with three girls I KNEW.)

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Further proof that Bob Seger heals all wounds.


The World's Pickiest Eater.

Nearly everyone who knows me personally (meaning, those of you who read my blog because I told you to, instead of happening upon it in a Google image search for "world's largest dog," which, by the way, is happening really frequently lately - was there just a decision made in the large dog debate? Seriously, MASTIFFS OR GREAT DANES?! I MUST KNOW!) (Sorry, I rambled again, I'm starting over.)

Uh. NEARLY EVERYONE WHO KNOWS ME PERSONALLY KNOWS that I'm a really picky eater. I always have been. My eating habits seem to be without pattern or reason; there are a LOT of foods that I don't like, and a few that I like a lot. For most of my life I've been able to live off of hamburgers, pizza (pepperoni only, please), pasta, and, for the most part, chicken. There are plenty of "normal" foods I absolutely won't eat: most fruits, cooked vegetables, cheesy foods, etc. I've tried to come up with why I have this problem, and most of it comes down to the consistency and texture of foods, and how they feel in my mouth.

I've become pretty self-conscious about this issue in the last couple of years. When I went to college I had to learn to eat a lot of new things, and it was pretty miserable. I'd go to D-Hall with friends and get a slice of pizza and a waffle while they stacked their trays with plates of food. Because the cafeteria was a new experience, I wasn't willing to try most of the foods I'd normally eat on my own. For example, I'm picky about how my hamburgers are cooked - I only like them grilled, which would infuriate my mother during the winter because I'd refuse to eat a burger she would cook on the stove.

I started to try new things in college, which was a big deal for me, even though everyone thought it was silly that I was trying new SHAPES of pasta or finally eating turkey sandwiches. My parents thought that my eating habits were finally becoming stable, that I'd be able to enjoy holiday dinners like the rest of the family. While I was able to open up a little bit, I still had the same issues: the way things felt in my mouth really bugged me, and it was keeping me from actually enjoying food. All I can focus on when I eat a turkey sandwich is how chewy the meat is. I love the taste of turkey, but the feeling of it on my tongue makes me want to gag. I experience the same thing with fruit: I love the taste of cherries, strawberries, blueberries, etc, but I can't eat them.

Moving to Chicago was a lot like starting over again at college. There were thousands of restaurants I wanted to try, but the menus were terrifying. I'd finally become comfortable going to restaurant with friends in college, and suddenly I had to start over. I had to examine menus, ask waiters what came on sandwiches and what came on the side, and had to, again, go out to eat and drink a glass of wine and eat bread while my friends had dinner. It gets pretty miserable sometimes because I don't want to make people always eat where I want to, but I do want to be able to just get a hamburger if I'm not comfortable with anything else on the menu.

Because my eating habits were brought up as an issue in the recent break up (I know, I'm sorry. LAST TIME I BRING IT UP, I promise), I've been thinking about this a lot. I started doing some online research on adults with these eating issues and, as I expected, there's not a lot of information. I did find one website* that had some information, but it was mostly a support site where people could vent about their eating disorders. It's not a great resource, but when I read some of the stories, I did find that I could relate a little bit to these people. I was also very fortunate to find that there are a lot of people with CRAZIER habits than I have, but I definitely find myself having the same apprehension about attending dinner parties, or going to weddings, or visiting my friends' parents' homes (that was a major thing when I was a kid, because I knew that my pickiness would be misconstrued as rudeness, as if I just didn't like someone's cooking). It also made me remember how frustrating it was to have dinner with my parents, how I would stress myself out and try to down a spoonful of peas or one cooked carrot.

I really wish I didn't have this problem. I've tried very hard to get over this (my methods, of course, aren't necessarily recognized as having much effort; people scoff at the idea that trying an orange or Chinese food at twenty-three is a "big deal" for me). There really aren't many resources offering help for this disorder. Unfortunately, my overwhelming self-consciousness has reached a peak because all of a sudden I feel like it's a bigger problem for other people than it is for me, as if suddenly it's impacting socialization. For the first time in my life, I'm considering getting therapy or something, calling it a "disorder" instead of just a idiosyncrasy. I agree that I should be able to eat the normal foods that everyone else enjoys, but I can't figure out exactly how to overcome the trepidation I have toward food.

*There's also a great article from the Washington Post.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007


Seriously, Is this what you've reduced us to?

It's not posing if you just don't care.

Last night I was bored and on MySpace (story of my life, RIGHT GUYS?!) and I took advantage of that feature where you can import all of your email contacts and see which "friends" are on MySpace. Most of the people who came up were already MySpace friends, natch, but I found it really exciting that, because I was searching with email addresses, I came up with several friends' stalker accounts - you know, where you just join MySpace but don't fill out any information so that you can look at profiles and pictures and stuff. I found a few of my parents' friends who had accounts, clearly in order to check in on their children, and I also found a recruiter from one of the staffing agencies I visited, which made me go double-check what criteria one can use to search for my profile. I think my favorite discovery, though, was that my Southern literature professor had an account. I really want her to add me as her friend!

I also got two fairly nasty comments on my blog yesterday, one of which I accepted and the other I denied. I set up the feature where I have to approve all comments after last year's fiasco when a college classmate decided to leave stupid anonymous comments after I said I didn't like U2. (I think he questioned my maturity, the irony of which still blows my mind.) Anyway, I don't think people realize that just because you leave an anonymous comment on a blog doesn't mean that you're really anonymous. For example: I approved the comment from Bright Eyes Fan at the Chicago Board Options Exchange because s/he obviously felt really strongly about calling me an idiot and pointing out that I'm too stupid to recognize Janet Weiss from Sleater-Kinney from fifty feet away. Also, there's a Bright Eyes fan at the Chicago Board Options Exchange, which I think is the best part of this story.

The other comment was anonymous, and was in response to the post where I mentioned how I wasn't particularly excited about the All Tomorrow's Parties event at Pitchfork because the lineup is Sonic Youth, GZA, and Slint. The comment said something about how I was a poseur (kudos for the correct spelling, friend!) because I don't know who Slint is anyway. Which was true, actually, until three days ago. I admit this. Also, I believe the comment ended with something about me having a vagina. Because according to that old theorem, if you don't know who Slint is, you obviously have a big old vag. Anyway, the point is that the pool of suspects if very limited, since I only know, well, ONE person in Southwestern Virginia who has a history of leaving me anonymous comments on my blog that talk about my vagina. Also, there's probably not many people in the area that listen to Slint.

And, just to get it out of the way, here's a list of bands I either hate or just flat-out don't care about, just so you guys won't be offended in the future:

Sonic Youth, Sleater-Kinney, Yo La Tengo, Mogwai, Guided By Voices, U2, The Pixies, Of Montreal, Dismemberment Plan, Q and Not U, Elvis Costello, Ben Folds, Arctic Monkeys, Mates of State, The Faint, Beck, The Walkmen, Nirvana. Oh, and Slint.

I'm sure there are more, but those are the first ones that popped into my head.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

There's no crying in rock and roll!

I've had a fantastic past few days, with the weekend even spilling over onto Monday (thanks to my sick day - I decided I should at least take advantage of my sick leave while I'm still here).

I already wrote about Andrew Bird, but I'm still pretty happy that I saw him because it was so great.

On Saturday, Christina and I went to Adam and Alissa's for Adam's birthday cookout, which was so much fun. My legs are still sore from the impromptu dance party in the kitchen (which apparently contributed to the downstairs neighbor shutting down the party; her ceiling fan was "bouncing up and down"). I think at one point I was doing squats in some choreographed routine that Katy and I came up with for "Since U Been Gone."

Christina and I went out and enjoyed the warm weather by walking to brunch at Nookies (which I don't particularly like all that much, but Christina's frustration that the male wait staff pays more attention to me than her makes me laugh). Afterward we stopped by a vintage store on Belmont and I found a vinyl copy of The Legend of Jesse James, featuring Johnny Cash, Levon Helm, Emmylou Harris, and Charlie Daniels. (I gasped when I noticed it.) Three dollars! It was a good day.

Kristin and I saw Bright Eyes last night, which fulfilled a five-year-long wish of mine. (Seriously, it's been nearly five years since Lifted came out and my life changed.) After getting tipsy from margaritas at a Mexican restaurant next door to the Riviera, we marched on in, noticing that we were much, much older than most of the people we were standing with (which didn't necessarily surprise me). Anyway, the show was alright; they played mostly stuff from the new album, which was great, but we didn't hear anything from Lifted, so I was rather disappointed. They did play "The Calendar Hung Itself," which was nice and timely (it's featured on the break-up mix). Conor sounded pretty good, and the band was excellent; the two dummers really made a big difference on the sound. My complaints, other than the set-list, were that there was a huge audio-visual component to the show, which featured videos that matched up perfectly to the songs. It looked cool, but it definitely ruins the illusion of spontaneity. Also, Conor was wearing a white suit and he looked like a Tim Burton character, which was unsettling. And there was no crying. Boo!

Monday, April 23, 2007

Make a joyful sound!

The first year I went to MACRoCk at JMU, I saw this great line up that included The Mountain Goats, Soltero, Mirah, and Of Montreal. Somewhere in between a few of those acts was this guy named Brother Danielson who literally plays in a tree. A tree. Literally. For his entire set, I was very confused, because A. There's a dude playing guitar while standing in a tree, B. the guy has a kick-drum at the base of the tree and after every song he has to step out of the tree to straighten it, and C. the guy is SCREECHING into the microphone at an ear-splitting frequency. When the set (which also included an attempt at inciting the audience to sing along with lyrics projected on a screen) was over, I was very unsettled and kind of relieved.

A year and a half later, I went to CMJ in New York to see another great lineup: Antony and the Johnsons, Damien Jurado, and Magnolia Electric Co. Again, randomly thrown in that mix was Brother Danielson, who trotted out on stage with that big-ass tree again. This time, however, he had Sufjan Stevens helping him, and I was very excited because I had just seen him at that year's MACRoCk and had been listening to Greetings from Michigan and Seven Swans for the entire summer (this was a full year before Illinois, by the way, so he wasn't as recognizable on stage). Having Sufjan play banjo was a nice distraction from the wailing Brother Danielson, who did not encourage audience participation (it was a major concern, because I was right below him and, well, terrified of the screaming man in the tree).

Anyway, the reason I bring all of this up is because I watched a documentary about Daniel Smith called Danielson: A Family Band. I had always heard that Danielson was a Christian recording group, but when I saw him perform solo I didn't get the sense that there was a spiritual inspiration to his music. The documentary was fantastic because it not only made me realize there was an interesting genius behind the odd and goofy musical project, but it also shows Christianity in a more positive light than recent studies of it (Jesus Camp, for example). I'm not a religious person, but I do have a respect for people who have a spiritual side to them and can somehow pull it off in way that isn't so hypocritical.

Also, the movie has Sufs in it, right before his big break.

Anyway, that's my movie recommendation of the week. Netflix that shit, y'all!

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Lessons learned on Saturday, April 21st, 2007.

1. No matter what, I will always get the first sunburn of the year the week before I plan to get a haircut, which will leave me a with a stupid line on my forehead where my hair swoops across it.

2. Don't buy beer at the Market Place on Diversey. You will pay twenty dollars for a twelve pack of Corona.

3. Look at the case of beer before you buy it, because you might be buying Corona Light, which isn't very good.

4. If you drink enough Corona Light, you start to enjoy it. It's real smooth.

5. It's impossible to eat six saltines in a minute. Trust me, and these pictures of Katy, Christina, Mel, and myself attempting this feat:

Still skeptical? Here's a video of what happened when Jason tried it. You're welcome, Internet.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

There will be snacks, there will.

It's 6:30 on Saturday morning, but I can't sleep anymore. I keep waking up so, dammit, I'm going to sit here and wait for the day to start.

I had a lovely evening last night seeing Andrew Bird and Apostle of Hustle at the Riviera. It may have jumped up into my top five shows ever (well, at least top ten). A. Bird played such glorious music (the phrase I kept thinking of was "ocean of noise;" thanks, Arcade Fire!). He definitely has a knack for evolution and adapting his sound for such a large venue, and it was absolutely fantastic. It was loud and interesting and I danced and nothing was going to ruin it for me, not even the dumb bitch next to me who kept yelling, "If that motherfucker doesn't play "Action/Adventure," I'm going to cut someone."

I spotted Nora O'Connor up in the private boxes to the right of the stage, and I kept hoping she'd just swing down and join Andrew on stage. And then she did - well, she walked on stage instead of swinging, but I was really, really excited nonetheless. I'm going to have to start listening to her solo work and hopefully catch a live show somewhere in Chicago.

Also, Apostles of Hustle! I'd only seen two of the guys tour with Feist two years ago, and I knew nothing about them other than, "Hey, that's a great band name." But damn, they were pretty amazing, as well. But really, I love anyone who's affiliated with Broken Social Scene.

Anyway, I've still got a nice buzz from the good music, and I'm excited because my concert calendar is quickly filling up again: Bright Eyes on Monday (my destiny is finally being fulfilled: I'll be drunk and crying, hopefully), I'm buying Amy Winehouse / Patrick Wolf tickets in a few hours, and then Peter, Bjorn and John, Feist, Arcade Fire!, and The Decemberists (a free show with the Grant Park Orchestra!). And even though the first night is going to be boring because I don't care about Sonic Youth, GZA, or Slint, I'm really, really excited about Pitchfork (Cat Power! Iron & Wine! Girl Talk! New Pornographers! Megan! Kelly!).

Also, it's going to be in the '70s today. It's about goddamn time.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

It's only Wednesday and I'm already wading through a sea of assholes.

There's this great scene in Broadcast News where Holly Hunter confronts her boss at a party and tells him he's making a huge professional mistake, basically calling him out for his own misguidedness for rewarding William Hurt's character, a fairly daft, but attractive, news anchor, with a promotion. After her unsolicited advice, he looks at her and says, "It must be nice to always believe you know better, to always think you're the smartest person in the room." She immediately responds, "No. It's awful."

In a seemingly unrelated anecdote (but please, wait for the segue), there's the case of Olivia Palermo, the mediocre New York socialite who sent an unsolicited email to her more famous contemporaries. What looks like a somewhat desperate plea for attention and acceptance from a stupid twenty-something with something to prove (laypersons in the psychology field - specifically, me - might diagnose Olivia with either "a false sense of maturity" or "social retardation") turned to be an embarrassing event when a few of the bitchy socialites, who apparently also consider Olivia to be a social 'tard, sent the email to Socialite Rank, who then published it for all the world (read: the Gawker set) to see. [Disclosure: I wasn't even interested in this story when it first broke because, um, stupid rich bitches? No thank you. But then Olivia Palermo was on Go Fug Yourself and they made an allusion to the "scandal" and I did some research. I just wanted to clear up any suspicions that I sit around reading Socialite Rank at work, because I already had the insufferable misery of having heard an explanation of Edward Said's theories of Orientalism - unsolicited, mind you, which is proving to be the great theme of this post - during my recent break-up, which I now think was actually a half-handed attempt on my ex's part to prove some sort of intellectual superiority, as I, as well as every other third person, was assigned that essay in college, and hearing someone give their own lecture about it is the post-graduate equivalent of your twelfth-grade creative response to Beowulf in which you wrote from Grendel's point of view.]

I'm not even going to think of a creative and witty way to tie those two stories to the catalyst behind this blog post. For the sake of brevity, and you, dear reader, I'm just going to jump right into it.

Last night I received yet another unsolicited email from my ex's ex-boyfriend / BFF, despite my specific instructions for him to NOT email me anymore. I think what motivated the correspondence (other than the underlying "false sense of maturity" and "social retardation") was his assumption that I cannot give up my right to have the last word in the manner. I assume his sophomoric email ("Okay, I won't contact you anymore! I just wanted to tell you this through this email!") was just an effort to incite some sort of response. Which it clearly has, but instead of emailing him back, I'm going to show him that you don't send ridiculous, pretentious emails to someone with a blog, because that person will just make fun of you online. Dumbass.

I'm not going to cut-and-paste the entire email (I've sent it to many friends, who, like me, have LOLed, so you'll just have to take my word that it's one of the funniest things I've ever read), but I will provide you with my favorite passage, or what I'll refer to as, "Stupid Point, number three:"
3. I hope that one day I will no longer be perceived as being "creepy," and that [The Ex] will no longer be perceived as being a "sociopath," and that you can look back on these months you have shared with one another in secret contentedness.
"Secret contentedness?" Who gave Emily Bronte a GMail invite? Or has she just resurrected in the form of a 23-year-old with a soul patch? Either way, I'm not feeling it. (Megan has, so far, had the best reaction to his writing style: "He writes the way I spoke when I moved to the U.S. but I had an excuse because, you know, I'd been going to school with ESL students for 6 years. What's HIS excuse?" Also, should I have made it more clear that I also thought this guy was a sociopath? I think it is now.

Another great part is where he insists that my ex "deeply cared about me" and handled the breakup in the best possible way. I don't know about you guys, but nothing says "best-case scenario" like: "Hey, I've been wanting to break up with you for weeks now but I felt really bad because, like, your DAD has cancer, and I knew that if I broke your heart I'd feel really guilty and stuff. So instead I'll just lead you on, repeatedly telling you that you shouldn't worry about anything and that I have no intention of ending things, all the while insulting you and your family (Your parents didn't give you a check for four thousand dollars just for graduating college after spending about seventy thousand on tuition and expenses for four years? What a couple of cheap motherfuckers!) and ignoring your emotional breakdowns so that you'll eventually get the nerve to want to break up with ME. And when we finally break up, I'll give you several reasons why it ended, specifically: 'You don't eat sushi, and since eating sushi is part of an urban image that I have to maintain, I can't date you' (it's just logic, my dear - don't you agree?), and then I'll explain Edward Said to you because you're too stupid to care about global issues like me. Wait, what do you MEAN you don't want to be FRIENDS?!" SOUNDS LIKE A TERRIFIC PLAN!!

Man, this post not only made me feel even better about burning bridges, but it also made me really pleased with myself. Can it get any better? Well, maybe if you showed me a three-minute video of bunnies hopping around aimlessly!

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Lighting candles to a cynical saint.

I am in a foul mood today. Part of it's work, part of it's the break up, and part of it's Virginia Tech.

A couple of fellow bloggers have written about the shootings, and what they said makes sense. Thirty-three people, in the long-run, isn't a massacre when you compare it to how many people die a day from preventable disease, or war, or any other human-influenced death. So part of me feels silly for feeling weird about the event, and at the same time, I feel guilty for not feeling worse. Being from Virginia, I've known a lot of people who have gone to Virginia Tech. And I think all day yesterday I was rather removed from it because I was sitting at my desk six-hundred miles away, reading about it on

But still, it hits home, especially after I watched some of the live coverage last night and saw one of the students (the bald gal) recount her story about the shooting. When I wasn't staring at her head, I was focused on the buildings behind her, specifically how much they looked like the Bluestone buildings at JMU. And I realized, yes, as Americans we're so far removed from the death and destruction that happens every day all over the world, but that doesn't mean when we ARE affected by a tragedy we shouldn't still feel completely and utterly shitty about it. I'm not saying that the thirty-three people killed yesterday in Blacksburg are more or less important than any of the other innocent people who died in the last twenty-four hours; I'm just saying that it makes that kind of tragedy more recognizable to me, and as self-centered as that sounds, that's how everyone deals with such an event. The realization of one's mortality is an incredibly self-absorbed awareness.

Monday, April 16, 2007

A quick thought on the Virginia Tech shootings.

I've been refreshing all day today, reading the continuing story about the shootings at Virginia Tech. I'm surprisingly rather calm about it; I think not knowing many people at Virginia Tech is keeping me coolheaded about it. (I talked to Martha online, who happened to be in Blacksburg today, and I saw that Pete was online, so I assumed he was fine. Then there was the guy I went to high school with whom I don't particularly like. I also assumed he was fine, since he was also on AIM today.)

Anyway, it's very troubling to start your day hearing the news that there was a shooting at a large university in your home state and seeing the number of casualties rise from "seven or eight" to the forties.

What's most troubling is that the first shooting occurred at 7:15 AM. The second shooting - the "rampage" in an engineering classroom - happened at 9:15. That means that for two hours, students were still walking around campus to classes, which had not yet been canceled, unaware that there was a gunman walking around, too.

I've never been to Virginia Tech, but I've always heard how big it is. The campus is very spread out. Below is a portion of the campus map (I got it from Thinking on the Margin):

The building in the red circle, at the bottom of the map, is where the first shooting took place. The building in the purple circle is where the second round of shootings occurred.

Those buildings are really far apart.

I think this will eventually reflect poorly on the Virginia Tech administration and campus security, and it will most definitely affect how universities across the country control and release information to students, faculty and staff, families, and the media, not to mention how emergency plans will be put into practice.

Let me go, let me go, let me go.

I had a terrific weekend and a lot of stuff happened, so forgive me for phoning it in and writing a wrap-up post.

I hung out with lots of people. Made new friends, saw old friends, deleted some friends. It was quite hectic, yet rewarding.

I learned on Friday night that taking a four-hour nap and then getting drunk is not a good plan. But, separately, I had a good time doing both of those things. And I heard "Head On" by the Jesus and Mary Chain at the bar, and I would have danced to it had there been other people dancing. (We all know I don't start the dance party.)

On Saturday, my friend Heather from high school, who is moving here in July with her boyfriend, came up to visit, and we had so much fun. We went to LBC and she drank a forty and we danced to Montel Jordan, and it was pretty much one of the greatest moments in my life. I'm so excited about her moving here, even if they're going to live in Hyde Park with the nerds and we'll have to take eight forms of public transportation to see each other.

On Sunday morning I realized that I needed to cut some people out of my life, people who were doing their best to make it more awkward and weird for me. So I decided to be proactive and give the ex a call and end things for good, which, not particularly to my surprise, was taken with an apathetic, "Ok, best of luck." Note to self: no longer associate with sociopaths, and hang out with people you like instead of people you hate.

In music news, I finally got the new Bright Eyes, as well as the new Feist. I'll always have a soft spot for Conor, and now that he's gone country-emo, I love the new album. A lot. Even after one listen. And the new Feist record is so, so good. It's even better than Let It Die, which could sometimes slip into Mom-Rock.

It's going to be a good week, y'all. I can already tell. I'm going to celebrate by eating a box of girl scout cookies now.

Friday, April 13, 2007


Sorry for my lack of interesting posts, but I don't have anything to say that's blog-appropriate.

So instead, I'll share this with you: If I could live in a music video, it would be the one for Feist's "One Two Three Four." Enjoy!

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Too much funk for one morning.

I woke up at seven again this morning in a general Shitballs attitude because it's still snowy/rainy/shitty outside and also, I don't want to fucking come to work anymore. So I sat in bed for a while before I finally managed to get up, knowing that I didn't have to put too much effort into my wardrobe because if I actually follow what I THINK is business casual, my manager will just ask me if I have a job interview. So I'm wearing black pants and a button-up shirt that's not tucked in, which I think still looks fine under the black hoodie I'm wearing over it. Because I no longer give a fuck. My hair even looked dumb this morning but I was like, "Aw, hell no, I'm not going to shower. Fuck that shit."

Just to let all y'all know, I was offered a job on Thursday that started on Friday. It was from the last staffing agency I signed up for, and it was going to pay twenty dollars an hour. Twenty dollars an hour just for the temporary part, but with an increase when I became a real employee after three months. And I told the recruiter that, no, I couldn't take it because I had a job and I needed to give two-week's notice.

I called back yesterday to "check in," and my recruiter told me that things HAD come up and they considered me for the positions, but they didn't call me because I told them I needed to give notice at my present job. So, shit. What the hell am I supposed to do? I have this stupid sense of loyalty to my managers which is really based on NOTHING because they haven't necessarily done anything for me. And should I just WAIT until some company decides that they really want to hire someone but they can wait another two weeks for me? I don't think that's going to happen. And after yesterday's discussion with my manager, who told me that I can't be HONEST ON MY JOB APPRAISAL because HR doesn't think that it's possible for me to actually exceed their expectations to type shit into PeopleSoft, I'm becoming less patient with this job search deal.

I think my problem is that when I read The Fountainhead the first time, the whole selfishness philosophy didn't really take, and that maybe I should spend the next few weeks plunging myself into Ayn Rand's bullshit until I come out not giving a shit about anyone else but myself. Sometimes I feel that I'm just too aware about how my actions affect other people, and maybe I should take a cue from some people I know and just do whatever the fuck I want. And really, in the last few weeks I've been pretty happy because I've been avoiding the stupid shit I don't want to deal with and have stopped calling the people who don't call me back, and I realize that I'm sometimes better off not worrying about how I'm making other people feel.

I realize that this wasn't really about anything other than me doing my usual bitching about work, and I don't want to include a rant about the weather, but JESUS CHRIST I am not supposed to be wearing long underwear in April. I mentioned this to Megan this morning, whose response was, "Back in Germany, we wore felt-lined corduroys in April..." I accepted this for about five minutes, but then I realized that Megan is my age. And American. And her telling me that would have only been comforting had she been eighty years old and my grandmother.

That's all I've got.

UPDATE: After accidentally receiving the university's SAT report, which shows the average scores of all high school students who sent their scores here, I now understand why HR thinks I can only do a mediocre to average performance at work. It makes me feel about five percent happier.

UPDATE: I talked to my manager. She told me to just prepare a resignation letter and if I get an offer for something that starts immediately, I can take it. Hooray!

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

I'll try my best to pass for Stupid.

I'm hoping that the box of Thin Mints I'm having for breakfast this morning will cancel out the miserable hell that is the weather outside right now. It's the middle of April and it's snowing really hard and FUCK YOU, CHICAGO because that's not right. I'm in a good mood, surprisingly, because I got a good amount of sleep last night (a two hour nap and then seven hours of Nyquil-induced heaven) and I'm still pretty pleased with myself for asking Adam (repeatedly, mind you) what the 411 with this snow was. (Get it? April 11th? 4/11? HA HA HA!!)

On an unrelated note, I only had one dream last night which I can remember, and it involved me being at home and my mother convincing me to allow her to throw me a birthday party. Since none of my college friends were willing to drive to Montross, my mom pulled out my high school yearbook and invited only people I graduated with. Which, obvs., made for a very awkward party. And it became more awkward when people I didn't like started showing up, and I had to explain to my mom that I hated these people. My mother then told them to leave - politely, of course - by explaining to them how I really felt about them. I was pretty embarrassed about this, so I locked myself in my room while the rest of my former classmates partied in my basement. I blame Kristel for this dream because she called me on Monday night asking if I planned on going to our ten-year reunion that is still unplanned and four years away. She tried to persuade me when I matter-of-factly said, "Absolutely not!" I then listed off the names of people we graduated with, and she changed her mind. Fuck all y'all, Class of 2001!

Also, my manager sent out the staff performance appraisal forms that we have to fill out in a week. She told me that I cannot just check "exceeds expectations" for each category of my job description, even though I CLEARLY DO. I plan on slacking off for the rest of the day, even though we actually have work to do today, so that I can feel less guilty about lying on my appraisal about being slightly retarded enough to just meet expectations.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Well, I'm sure she appreciated the thought.

My mother called me the other night and, after a lull in the conversation (we'd run out of familial gossip to chat about, I guess), she said, "So, have you been calling in every week and voting for Sanjaya?"

"Uhm, no. I don't follow American Idol." This is not necessarily true, since I did see a few episodes while Nicole was still here, and I occasionally read Idolator's posts about the whole Sanjaya debacle, which I find incredibly funny.

Anyway, I said something like, "Only stupid people vote for American Idol," to which my mother replied, "Oh, come on. I tried voting for Carrie Underwood once when I thought she was going to get kicked off, but I couldn't get through."

Sunday, April 08, 2007


This is Shawna. Shawna is our new roommate (well, "newer," since she's lived with us for almost a month). Shawna is Jewish and confessed to Christina and me that she had never dyed Easter eggs. We immediately decided to rectify this situation.

After a quick trip to CVS for supplies, Shawna boiled some eggs and the three of us crammed into our tiny kitchen to dye us some eggs! It was very exciting, since Christina and I hadn't dyed eggs for years, and the kits have become much more interesting. We couldn't find a Paas kit and instead got one that involved mixing color packets with water. (Christina was a little bummed; she missed dropping the tablet in the vinegar and watching it fizz. Also: NO WHITE CRAYON. That was a little upsetting, since every Easter egg-dying session should involve a white crayon.) The dyes were very oily, which created a swirly effect on the eggs.

Here are some pictures of our exciting afternoon teaching our new Jewish friend about how to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ:

Look at those eggs! BEAUTIFUL!Also, Shawna was quite taken with how pretty the paper towels we used to dry the eggs came out. She even put them on display!
Clearly, the way to convert others to your correct religion is through art projects incorporating Pagan symbolism. Drop kick me, Jesus, through that goal post of life!

Also, I don't know if you noticed Shawna's necklace (WHICH SHE MADE). Or, as she calls it, her negglace!And I'm sure you're wondering if we had some bitchin' Easter jamz playing on the stereo. DUUUH!!Happy Easter, everyone!

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Saturday afternoon YouTube finds.

I bought the Nick Cave double live album / DVD today at Reckless, which was, yes, a stupid purchase, not because it's not awesome, but because I could have used that money for, like, four or five gin and tonics. Anyway, had I not bought it and watched the first DVD today, I probably would have not just spent twenty minutes watching Nick Cave videos on YouTube. Lucky for me, I did, and I found this really great video of him singing "Henry Lee" with PJ Harvey from the Murder Ballads album. It's pretty goddamn wonderful, because I love this song and I love PJ Harvey (I'm so strangely attracted to her; I think she's hot as hell), and I think two two of them together are incredibly sexy.

For the record, I think this video is sexy in the same way I think Sid and Nancy is romantic.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Welcome to the world of the emotionally mature, Troy Dyer.

Two things:

I ate Chinese food tonight, and not like, "I ate Chinese food with my parents when they went to Hunan's in Colonial Beach," (Side note: I remember people in my tenth grade art class insisting that they always saw dead cats behind Hunan's. People, if you're going to stereotype a whole race of human beings, at least don't be idiots about it. If you're going to say that Chinese people EAT cats, WHY would you find the dead cats in the dumpsters? Wouldn't they have been EATEN?) which was really something like, "I ate dry ramen noodles while my parents ate egg rolls." No; tonight Christina and I went to get real Chinese food and I ate it. With chopsticks and everything.

Unfortunately it wasn't that great (even Christina said so, it's not just my biased American cuisine palette speaking), but still. I had lemon chicken and rice and broccoli and it wasn't force-fed to me. I was pretty proud of myself, and I like it when I can get personal satisfaction out of something small like trying ethnic food for myself and not for someone else.

Also, my fortune cookie fortune told me I was both strong and sensitive. Obvs.

Speaking of sensitive (segue! segue!), I made a break-up mix today. And I know how lame that is and how it's lamer to talk about it on your blog for Christ's sake, but still. It's a good one. And the reason I do this kind of stuff is because I don't have a heart. Instead, I have an iPod. So I'm going to do all of you a favor and give you the track listing. And you know, if you wanted, you could download each song and then arrange them in this particular order and listen to it and think about my personal romantic disappointment. You can even make a cute little case for it. Be creative!

1. Sabina Sciubba. Forty Shades of Blue.
2. Marianne Faithfull. The Mystery of Love.
3. Bright Eyes (du-u-uh). The Calendar Hung Itself.
4. The Magnetic Fields. All My Little Words.
5. Bob Dylan. Idiot Wind.
6. Neko Case. Set Out Running.
7. Magnolia Electric Co. Memphis Moon.
8. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. People Ain't No Good.
9. Cat Power. Who Knows Where the Time Goes.
10. Bonnie "Prince" Billy. I See a Darkness.
11. Johnny Thunders. You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory.
12. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. And I'm Aching.
13. Liz Phair. If I Ever Pay You Back.
14. Feist. Let It Die.
15. Tori Amos. Northern Lad.
16. Songs: Ohia. Just Be Simple.
17. Blur. Battery In Your Leg.

I'm calling this one "Mix CD, Not Sent." Matt once told me that the phrase "mix CDs not sent" was probably the most emo thing you could possibly say, and I agree.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Luckily for you, stupidity isn't contagious.

Dear Internet,

I am an idiot.



PS. You might also be wondering why I didn't write anything yesterday. You see, Internet, I was at home, sick, in bed all day. Well, not so sick that I couldn't get out of bed or anything. It was just a really, really bad sore throat, so I suppose I could have gotten out of bed. But I didn't want to. I should have gotten up and been productive and done stuff like clean my room or do laundry, since I deserve to have felt like shit all day yesterday (and, actually, today, too), because it's no one's fault but my own because I was the one who decided to smoke two packs of cigarettes last week, after having quit smoking for over a month.

See? I am an idiot.

Monday, April 02, 2007

If only Bob Seger sang with the Muppets...

Because I love destroying my body for the sake of fun, I spent the entire weekend feeling either drunk or hungover. Oh, and hungry, because when I was hungover I spent twelve hours in my bed watching YouTube videos (I'll come back to that). And because I didn't particularly eat a lot this weekend, I got even drunker than usual.

On Friday night, I managed to get an extra ticket to Neko Case for Julia. I was really excited because the show was great. We were really close up front - so close I had a great view of Neko's unshaven legs. Afterward, I met up with coworker Adam and Company at some divey-as-balls bar on Lincoln and drank a lot of Old Style and smoked a lot of cigarettes until I got so sleepy I considered clearing off a space on the bar to take a nap. Figuring that would be a bad idea, I instead walked a mile home. Makes sense!

After laying around all day on Saturday, I ate some Chipotle and thought, "Hey, why NOT drink a lot of gin tonight?" I went out with Eric and Julia for Eric's friend's birthday celebration, and then I met new friend / name doppelgänger John Tyler. And then I had one of my fun little "spells" where I get all hot and sweaty and then pass out. (Remember?) Luckily, I revived myself really quickly and wasn't too embarrassed because the people near me seemed more concerned that I landed on cigarette butts, rather than thinking I was too drunk or was about to go into a diabetic shock. Clearly, passing out should replace quoting Steel Magnolias and coming up with lewd phrases ("cunt hands," anyone?) as my new party trick.

OK, now back to the YouTubes. About a week ago I bought this shirt at a vintage store. It's navy blue with a big key in front of a city backdrop. At the top it says, "Promises, Promises," so it's clearly a t-shirt from the Burt Bacharach musical of the same name. My only frame of reference about the musical was that the horrible, horrible song "Turkey Lurkey," which is in a scene from Camp, is from the show, but upon researching the show (on Wikipedia), I learned that it's actually a musical version of The Apartment (hence the huge, phallic key). It's the gayest shirt ever. Anyway, here's a video of Seth Rudetsky discussing the song at Obsessed with Julie and Jackie:

Also, on Friday night Adam played "Night Moves" on the jukebox for me, solidifying our BFF-status. Then Alissa and I discussed the awesome video starring Matt LeBlanc and an actress from Melrose Place; we couldn't remember which one, but we knew it wasn't Heather Locklear or Courtney Thorne-Smith. I found the video. It's DAPHNE ZUNIGA!

And, for no particular reason, I started searching for videos from The Muppet Show, and I think this is the best one I found. Drug-induced puppet dramatizations of Nilssen songs clearly win every time:

What? You'd rather see Leo Sayer sing "When I Need You" while being attacked by bears? Fine.