Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Overheard at the office:
"When my granddaughter found out I had a MySpace, she said, 'Granddaddy, that ain't for old folks!!'"
"It's OK to say Merry Christmas to me!"
Occasionally, I have nutty GChat conversations with Katy. Sometimes the stuff she says is so fascinating that I want to share them with the world. To know Katy is to love her, but to read transcriptions of her instant messages is to look deeply into her soul.
This week, Katy and I discuss the War on Christmas and her cat's jealousy of her unborn child.
Katy: so i heard this ad on the radio that is for these pins you can order that say "it's ok to say merry christmas to me!"
me: are you going to get one?
Katy: no!
Katy: i say it to people regardless
me: good girl
me: you're on the right side of the war on christmas
Katy: i don't look jewish so there shouldn't be confusion
me: well, what if you were a convert, but weren't ethnically jewish?
Katy: hmm
me: i'd probably say it anyway, out of nostalgia
me: i don't have a problem with what people say to me
Katy: i don't either
me: hell, if someone at macy's told me to fuck off after i bought something, i'd be fine with that
i'd probably respect them more
Katy: lol
Katy: only at macys though
me: where else would i shop?!
Katy: american apparel!
me: american apparel is a big "fuck you" to me anyway
Katy: they would totally say it there
Katy: lily has been hinting to me that she wants me to declaw her
me: oh yeah? how so?
Katy: she was scratching the crib this morning
me: did she look like she was disgusted with her behavior?
Katy: no she was really smug
me: so how do you know she WANTS to be declawed?
Katy: because if she didn't she wouldn't scratch
me: you don't think she scratches because she enjoys her claws?
me: and the power?
Katy: maybe subconsciously
Katy: shes acting out because of the baby
me: do you think she's jealous because of not being the center of attention, or is she jealous because she can't have a baby of her own?
Katy: its probably both
me: she needs to go into therapy
Katy: ok, i'm convinced
me: i'll do it, if you want.
Katy: i try to talk to her but i think she needs outside help
me: katy, i broke her of her fear of sleeping in a bed with people
me: i was like, "lily, i am going to nap and you are going to cuddle with me. and you have to accept it."
Katy: i know, maybe that is what opened her floodgates
Katy: she doesn't fear anymore
Katy: she sleeps in the bed almost every night now
me: but isn't it comforting?
Katy: it is. it's adorable
me: sometimes, you have to take the good with the bad
Katy: i know...
me: like, accept her issues because she's adorable
me: i think you're the one who needs therapy, katy
Katy: i have been to therapy! i know how it works
me: but do you know that it DID work?
Katy: shove it
Katy: i am no longer destructive
And a bonus one-liner!
Katy: the guy looks like an ugly paul giamatti
Eeek! My parents are coming!
My parents are coming to Chicago to visit me for the first time since I moved here over two years ago. They had been planning to come for a long time but there's been a ton of family crises (deaths, cancer, etc) keeping them in Virginia. I'm very excited, but now that they'll be here in two days, I'm rather nervous because I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH THEM.
Granted, I can have them do all of the tourist stuff like the Sears Tower and Millennium Park because I know they want to do that stuff. But at the same time, I don't want to limit it to the crappy stuff like going to the top of a big building and looking at that damn Bean. I'm definitely going to encourage that we make the trek down to Hyde Park to go to the Museum of Science and Industry, since my dad is obsessed with Discovery Channel type things, and the Field Museum since my mom likes dead, stuffed animals (especially elephants!).
I'm also trying to figure out where to go for dinner three nights in a row. My parents definitely aren't as picky as I am when it comes to food, but they are just as hesitant to unnecessary fancy meals. (We don't have an exotic selection in Montross, natch.) I talked to my mom online last night, and she started asking me if I'd heard of the restaurants featured in her Frommers' guide (from 2004). "Have you heard of North Pond? How about Italian Village? Ooh! A Rainforest Cafe!" I, on the other hand, am trying to find some places that have some character and do not have locations in other cities. And also feature hamburgers on the menu.
I've also come up with two rules that my parents will have to follow the entire weekend. The first is mostly for my father: DO NOT TALK TO ANYONE YOU DO NOT KNOW. When my father came with me to Chicago, every single bum and con artist on the street took him for the sucker he is, and I'll be damned if he wasn't handing out spare change to anyone who asked him for it, only to bitch about it later to me. He even paid twelve dollars for an unsolicited shoe-shine!
Rule number two is for my mother: DO NOT ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY NEW JOB. My mother has been driving me absolutely nuts since Monday by calling me at work multiple times a day with random queries about my new employment. Hell, this started on Thursday, the day of the interview, when she asked me three times if Northwestern offered benefits. The thing that really aggravates me is that she'll just look up the answers to her questions on the Northwestern HR site no matter what I tell her, so I don't know why she's bothering me with them in the first place. Yesterday was probably the worst of it, when she called to tell me that I shouldn't have formally resigned from DePaul because I haven't gotten the official offer letter. She's convinced that my new boss is trying to scam me into working for free, I think, and she's terrified that I won't have a real job in two weeks. She also told me not to burn my bridges at DePaul "just in case of an emergency." I guess she expects that on Friday I'll be so excited to leave that I'll be throwing out Fuck-yous and c-punches and lighting my farts on fire.
I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it, but come on - I'm an adult now.
Granted, I can have them do all of the tourist stuff like the Sears Tower and Millennium Park because I know they want to do that stuff. But at the same time, I don't want to limit it to the crappy stuff like going to the top of a big building and looking at that damn Bean. I'm definitely going to encourage that we make the trek down to Hyde Park to go to the Museum of Science and Industry, since my dad is obsessed with Discovery Channel type things, and the Field Museum since my mom likes dead, stuffed animals (especially elephants!).
I'm also trying to figure out where to go for dinner three nights in a row. My parents definitely aren't as picky as I am when it comes to food, but they are just as hesitant to unnecessary fancy meals. (We don't have an exotic selection in Montross, natch.) I talked to my mom online last night, and she started asking me if I'd heard of the restaurants featured in her Frommers' guide (from 2004). "Have you heard of North Pond? How about Italian Village? Ooh! A Rainforest Cafe!" I, on the other hand, am trying to find some places that have some character and do not have locations in other cities. And also feature hamburgers on the menu.
I've also come up with two rules that my parents will have to follow the entire weekend. The first is mostly for my father: DO NOT TALK TO ANYONE YOU DO NOT KNOW. When my father came with me to Chicago, every single bum and con artist on the street took him for the sucker he is, and I'll be damned if he wasn't handing out spare change to anyone who asked him for it, only to bitch about it later to me. He even paid twelve dollars for an unsolicited shoe-shine!
Rule number two is for my mother: DO NOT ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY NEW JOB. My mother has been driving me absolutely nuts since Monday by calling me at work multiple times a day with random queries about my new employment. Hell, this started on Thursday, the day of the interview, when she asked me three times if Northwestern offered benefits. The thing that really aggravates me is that she'll just look up the answers to her questions on the Northwestern HR site no matter what I tell her, so I don't know why she's bothering me with them in the first place. Yesterday was probably the worst of it, when she called to tell me that I shouldn't have formally resigned from DePaul because I haven't gotten the official offer letter. She's convinced that my new boss is trying to scam me into working for free, I think, and she's terrified that I won't have a real job in two weeks. She also told me not to burn my bridges at DePaul "just in case of an emergency." I guess she expects that on Friday I'll be so excited to leave that I'll be throwing out Fuck-yous and c-punches and lighting my farts on fire.
I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it, but come on - I'm an adult now.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Welcome to Adulthood.
Last Thursday I had an early-morning interview that I scheduled the previous afternoon for a job I didn't know much about. I was feeling rather blasé about it when I left the house that morning, more thankful that I didn't have to be at work at seven than about having another fruitless interview. By nine-thirty, however, I had the impression that I had gotten the job. And then I spent the next four days in frenzied anticipation until I got an offer yesterday morning.
Basically, I'd be the assistant to this professor who does a lot of fancy sciency things, which includes running an institute of sorts within Northwestern. He travels a lot, only teaches six months out of the year, and publishes a lot of articles, and he needs someone to manage his calendar and correspondence while he's off showing everyone how brilliant he is. And luckily, he seems like a super nice guy who immediately liked me (maybe for my keen ability to smile and nod). The interesting thing about the position is that I'll be commuting back and forth between his Chicago and Evanston offices while he decides if he's going to hire a second assistant.
It'll be a lot more responsibility, which is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. I'll probably be busy at work most of the time, which is something I'm actually looking forward to, as the six hours of downtime at my current job has taken its toll. Sure, I won't be able to watch Netflix or 30Rock at work anymore, but the salary more than makes up for it. The unofficial offer is over ten thousand more than I'm currently making.
I'm so ecstatic about this opportunity, and I feel like I'm finally doing something. The last year and a half of work has finally paid off - I paid my dues, got some experience, and am finally able to move on. And the idea of not having to rewrite my resume every few weeks and letting my CareerBuilder account sit dormant for a while is something I'm excited about. I'm also anticipating a lifestyle change; I won't have to worry about overdrawing my account anymore, I can start building some savings, I can pay off my credit card, and can maybe even afford a sweater from J. Crew. It's kind of surreal, in a way, but I feel like a lot of my early-20s problems might find some resolution, just in time for me to settle into my MID-20s.
And here's the other crazy thing: I start on Monday. As of this writing, I have only thirty more hours of work at DePaul.
Basically, I'd be the assistant to this professor who does a lot of fancy sciency things, which includes running an institute of sorts within Northwestern. He travels a lot, only teaches six months out of the year, and publishes a lot of articles, and he needs someone to manage his calendar and correspondence while he's off showing everyone how brilliant he is. And luckily, he seems like a super nice guy who immediately liked me (maybe for my keen ability to smile and nod). The interesting thing about the position is that I'll be commuting back and forth between his Chicago and Evanston offices while he decides if he's going to hire a second assistant.
It'll be a lot more responsibility, which is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. I'll probably be busy at work most of the time, which is something I'm actually looking forward to, as the six hours of downtime at my current job has taken its toll. Sure, I won't be able to watch Netflix or 30Rock at work anymore, but the salary more than makes up for it. The unofficial offer is over ten thousand more than I'm currently making.
I'm so ecstatic about this opportunity, and I feel like I'm finally doing something. The last year and a half of work has finally paid off - I paid my dues, got some experience, and am finally able to move on. And the idea of not having to rewrite my resume every few weeks and letting my CareerBuilder account sit dormant for a while is something I'm excited about. I'm also anticipating a lifestyle change; I won't have to worry about overdrawing my account anymore, I can start building some savings, I can pay off my credit card, and can maybe even afford a sweater from J. Crew. It's kind of surreal, in a way, but I feel like a lot of my early-20s problems might find some resolution, just in time for me to settle into my MID-20s.
And here's the other crazy thing: I start on Monday. As of this writing, I have only thirty more hours of work at DePaul.
Monday, November 12, 2007
"No fourteen-year-old boy should have a ninety five-dollar shirt unless he's on stage with his four brothers."
This is the second part of a series wherein I bitterly whine about how I can't afford stupid shit (because I go out for lunch and buy gin and tonics too often) and then project my self-hatred onto others.
I hate people who shop at J. Crew because I wish I could afford to shop at J. Crew.
I thought long and hard about writing this post since I have a not-so-secret love for J. Crew. When I was in high school I ordered the J. Crew catalogs and got really excited whenever I received one in the mail. The wool! The cashmere! The leather! The seersucker! The argyle!!! I loved it so much and desperately wanted all of my clothes to come from there. Of course, my mother refused to spend so much money on a sweater that she thought I'd outgrow in a year. (The irony of this is that I still can't fit into the sweaters my mother bought me in high school, since she is of the school of thought wherein everyone's clothes should be at least one size too big just in case. I realized recently that I was even conned into wearing size twelve shoes. Imagine my joy when I discovered that I could wear a size TEN, which doesn't make my feet look too big for my body.)
Therefore, I have a love / hate relationship with J. Crew.
The whole J. Crew image certainly doesn't fit in with my own. Perhaps I decided to buy most of my clothes at thrift stores and wear dark, tight jeans to rebel against my own desire to be WASPier than I already am. I dunno. The point is that if you can afford these ties, I hate you.
And here's a full disclosure: I own two items from J. Crew. The first is a leather key chain with a whale on it (obvs.). I spent fourteen dollars on it last winter and it's already falling apart. The other is a sweater I bought at Goodwill for three dollars four years ago. It's never been washed because it's Dry Clean Only.
I hate people who shop at J. Crew because I wish I could afford to shop at J. Crew.
I thought long and hard about writing this post since I have a not-so-secret love for J. Crew. When I was in high school I ordered the J. Crew catalogs and got really excited whenever I received one in the mail. The wool! The cashmere! The leather! The seersucker! The argyle!!! I loved it so much and desperately wanted all of my clothes to come from there. Of course, my mother refused to spend so much money on a sweater that she thought I'd outgrow in a year. (The irony of this is that I still can't fit into the sweaters my mother bought me in high school, since she is of the school of thought wherein everyone's clothes should be at least one size too big just in case. I realized recently that I was even conned into wearing size twelve shoes. Imagine my joy when I discovered that I could wear a size TEN, which doesn't make my feet look too big for my body.)
Therefore, I have a love / hate relationship with J. Crew.
The whole J. Crew image certainly doesn't fit in with my own. Perhaps I decided to buy most of my clothes at thrift stores and wear dark, tight jeans to rebel against my own desire to be WASPier than I already am. I dunno. The point is that if you can afford these ties, I hate you.
And here's a full disclosure: I own two items from J. Crew. The first is a leather key chain with a whale on it (obvs.). I spent fourteen dollars on it last winter and it's already falling apart. The other is a sweater I bought at Goodwill for three dollars four years ago. It's never been washed because it's Dry Clean Only.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
"Write a blog about ingrown hairs."
Another new feature this week: Conversations with Katy.*
Occasionally, I have nutty GChat conversations with Katy. Sometimes the stuff she says is so fascinating that I want to share them with the world. To know Katy is to love her, but to read transcriptions of her instant messages is to look deeply into her soul
Our inaugural edition of Conversations with Katy is a long one about how how crazy things (cysts, hair, babies) grow inside our bodies. Read further and you just mind learn something!
me: i have a cyst on my neck
Occasionally, I have nutty GChat conversations with Katy. Sometimes the stuff she says is so fascinating that I want to share them with the world. To know Katy is to love her, but to read transcriptions of her instant messages is to look deeply into her soul
Our inaugural edition of Conversations with Katy is a long one about how how crazy things (cysts, hair, babies) grow inside our bodies. Read further and you just mind learn something!
me: i have a cyst on my neck
Katy: really?
me: yes
me: just a little ball
me: it's annoying
Katy: weird
Katy: where?
me: under my ear
me: it just popped up
Katy: when?
me: i thought it was a pimple
me: like, two weeks ago, maybe three
Katy: i have that too!
me: my mother used to get those on her head
me: she has one that's been there for years
Katy: mine went away actually
me: one time she said she brushed her hair and it popped out
Katy: weird
me: and bounced on the floor
Katy: WOW
Katy: that would be the best day of my life
me: OUR BODIES ARE SO STRANGE
Katy: i love itme: i get excited when i have an ingrown hair
Katy: ME TOO!!!!
Katy: i seek them out
me: there's a sense of accomplishment when you get one out
me: like, "wow, that thing was IN ME?"
Katy: oh it is a huge satisfaction
Katy: i know, especially when you get a really long hair out
Katy: yeah except i know whats coming
me: is that what it's like when you have a baby?
Katy: and it will hurt
Katy: there is nothing better than barely pressing on an ingrown and a huge hair comes out
me: we're kindred spirits, katy.
Katy: there are many of us out there
me: i wonder if there's a chat room i can join
Katy: hmm, i bet there is
Katy: justin is the same way, and so is his sister
me: i just googled "ingrown hair fetish"
me: i don't really want to click the links
Katy: festish may not be the right word tyler
me: well, what is it? fascination?
Katy: obsession?
Katy: if you google fetish there will be trouble
Katy: write a blog about ingrown hairs
Katy: we need the peoples feedback
Katy: we need the peoples feedback
me: i may have to just copy and paste this whole conversation
*This is a direct rip-off of Erica's weekly Tuesdays with Jihone.
*This is a direct rip-off of Erica's weekly Tuesdays with Jihone.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
I definitely hate you if you have both an iPhone and a Blackberry.
This is the first part of a series wherein I bitterly whine about how I can't afford stupid shit (because I go out for lunch and buy gin and tonics too often) and then project my self-hatred onto others.
I was riding the brown line home the other night instead of the red line. The brown line seems to have a different kind of people riding on it; in other words, there are more white people, which is not really a good think because they're all rich, young, sometimes attractive white people who live in Lincoln Park. And I don't like those people very much, because they are more apt to own Blackberries and iPhones.
I was standing across the train from this man in his late twenties who was wearing a leather blazer, which was offense number one. The second offensive thing about him was that he had a chin strap, which is the worst kind of facial hair (even worse than a soul patch). The only good thing about seeing a man with a chin strap is that it makes me realize that the guy is most likely insecure about his undefined jaw line, because men whose faces blend into their necks are more apt to grow skinny little beards to give the illusion of jaws and chins. This makes me feel better about my bone structure.
Anyway, the Dude in the leather blazer was fiddling with his iPhone, which was not particularly surprising. After he finished picking out whatever album he wanted to listen to, which quite possibly may have been this one or this one, he slipped it into the pocket on the inside of his blazer. And then what did he pull out of another pocket? A Blackberry. Chin Strap And Leather Blazer owns and carries both an iPhone and a Blackberry.
I hate him because he's both a walking cliche and a walking redundancy.
I was riding the brown line home the other night instead of the red line. The brown line seems to have a different kind of people riding on it; in other words, there are more white people, which is not really a good think because they're all rich, young, sometimes attractive white people who live in Lincoln Park. And I don't like those people very much, because they are more apt to own Blackberries and iPhones.
I was standing across the train from this man in his late twenties who was wearing a leather blazer, which was offense number one. The second offensive thing about him was that he had a chin strap, which is the worst kind of facial hair (even worse than a soul patch). The only good thing about seeing a man with a chin strap is that it makes me realize that the guy is most likely insecure about his undefined jaw line, because men whose faces blend into their necks are more apt to grow skinny little beards to give the illusion of jaws and chins. This makes me feel better about my bone structure.
Anyway, the Dude in the leather blazer was fiddling with his iPhone, which was not particularly surprising. After he finished picking out whatever album he wanted to listen to, which quite possibly may have been this one or this one, he slipped it into the pocket on the inside of his blazer. And then what did he pull out of another pocket? A Blackberry. Chin Strap And Leather Blazer owns and carries both an iPhone and a Blackberry.
I hate him because he's both a walking cliche and a walking redundancy.
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