A note about comments. I love them, because I love hearing from you. Also, I just switched over my commenting to a new system. Older post comments might not be in the correct order, which means my replies are all jacked up. But I like the new system so whatever.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Ryan Gosling is Delicious

Dear movie makers,
I'm a sap when it comes to romantic scenes in movies when the guy puts on music, dims the lights, and gets all sweet on the girl. I'll gladly admit that if a guy put on a vinyl record for me I would probably melt for him (assuming the music was in good taste of course). But what bothers me about this concept is that a vinyl record doesn't realistically work for romance. For those unfamiliar, or too young to know what vinyl is, a record only holds about four or five songs on each side (on average). That means you have roughly fifteen to twenty minutes to woo the girl before it's time to flip the record. Interrupted romance is not romantic. A CD on the other hand would give you anywhere from thirty to forty-five minutes, which is much more realistic. 

Also, just watched Crazy, Stupid, Love and it was great. Ryan Gosling is delicious. If you see the movie then you'll know where this post came from. It'll all come full circle and make more sense. Until then, enjoy this lovely still shot of him borrowed from the interwebs.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

I'm Wearing a Plate

When you turn 40 three things happens:

1. All hell breaks loose
2. You start saying yes to your friends more
3. Insane things start making a LOT more sense

Like wearing a paper plate as a necklace:

Happy Birthday Jenny!

10 Undeniable Truths

1. You can have 500 bazillion TV channels, but when you have insomnia you can't find a single program worth watching.

2. GPS needs an "avoid the ghetto" reroute option. Can someone please get on that?

3. Drunk dreams are realities you're in denial about until someone shows up with photo/video evidence.

4. Your fourth grade teacher lied to you. You will never need to write in cursive. Ever.

5. The day you wear a white shirt and forget an umbrella is the day it will rain down on you like Zeus himself is angry at the world. And yes, everyone will see your lacy white bra underneath as you run for cover.

6. You've had spinach stuck in your teeth for over an hour now, and no one told you because it's funny. They've been tracking its migration, which is why they keep asking you mundane questions that they know you'll answer. Go to the bathroom and find your dignity.

7. When something says 0 calories, and you eat 10 of them, they're no longer 0 calories. Somehow they add up to tight pants and a muffin top.

8. On a family road trip no one ever pees at the same time. You WILL have to stop again.

9. You are thinking about sex right now. And now you're looking around to see if anyone noticed.

10. Somewhere out there you look terrible in the background of some random family's vacation photo. And when face recognition software becomes mainstream it will haunt you. Just accept this and move on.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Brick - third installment

Knock knock, who's there, Crazy Ass Brick. Yep, you guessed it. Third installment of My Roommate is Fucking Insane. Enjoy my pain while I drink this bottle of wine.

The Lesbian
Before you go gettin’ all excited about this post I feel the need to tell the pervs in the room that this is not a sex story. I completely understand if you skip ahead. I won’t be offended, but I will smite you for your perviness.

So a few months after Brick and I moved in to our awesome new digs, we finally decided to throw a real housewarming party. We chose a Stock the Bar theme, and told people to show up gangsta, brown bag bottles and all. We sent the invite out to hundreds of our closest friends who like to drink and get crazy.

A few hours into the night we’ve got three bar stations in full swing, a dance floor, and a DJ keeping us moving. The night was young and rockin’. I was well on my way to happy drunk town. Then SHE walked in. The one person I told Brick NOT to invite walked through the door. It’s a girl we both worked with and knew very well. It’s a girl who constantly, blatantly hit on me* no matter how many times I told her I was straight and not interested. To be honest, even if I wasn’t straight I wouldn’t be into this girl. And Brick knew how strong my feelings were about her being IN OUR HOME. Now she could stalk me easier goddamnit.

So if you’ve done the math then you’ll know this party went down around the same time that Brick started taking all the happy pills. So this is post The Butter incident, but pre everything else. So I’m not fully aware that she’s slipped into Crazyville. So I scamper over to Brick and ask “fuuuuuck, what is Lesbian doing here?” Brick replies “I thought you two would hit it off so I invited her for you.”

Screeeeech! Hit the brakes. WHAT?!?

“Why would you think that? I’m not a lesbian. I have a boyfriend. He’s standing right over there. You know I hate how she always hits on me AT WORK IN FRONT OF ALL OUR COWORKERS. Why would you invite her?”

“I don’t know.” And she goes back to drinking and chatting like this didn’t just happen.

I spent the next hour dodging Lesbian, and trying to convince my boyfriend to kick her out of the party for me since I clearly couldn’t talk to her without giving her a tiny ray of hope inadvertently. I eventually convinced the boyfriend to just make out with me right in front of her, which totally did the trick. She got all “oh, right, you’re not a lesbian” and finally left the party. (That didn’t stop her at the office, but I eventually switched jobs so the whole problem went away.)

*It should be noted that I usually don't care if a girl hits on me, because hey, a compliment is a compliment right. But most girls are cool when I tell them I'm not interested. This girl was just persistent and ignored my requests for her to stop. It's no different than when a cocky guy in a bar tries the same bullshit after I've told him to fuck off and he just won't take the hint.

Who Ate My Peas?
I came home one night to find Brick throwing everything from the fridge and freezer onto the kitchen floor. And I do mean EVERYTHING. Not a single yogurt, frozen veggie, or soda can was spared from the tirade. From the safety of the living room I timidly asked her what was up.

“WHO ATE MY FUCKING PEAS?” (red devil eyes glowing)

She then stormed out of the apartment and didn’t return for many hours. Right after she left I could see the bag of frozen peas in the pile of strewn food. Let this be a lesson, vampires don’t like garlic, but Bricks do like peas. Keep a handful in your pocket and scatter them to keep the Bricks busy.

Follow up: a few days later I came home to witness her eating the entire bag of peas for dinner. That’s a lot of fucking peas to eat in one sitting.

Stay tuned for future installments of Brick is Crazy.


Check it yo. I added labels so you can find the funnies easier. The label links are on the right => just below the archives (which is another way to search old posts in case ya haven't sorted that one out. It's ok if you're a little slow.)


K, bye.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Emo this

Ok, so last night I was stuck on the train for almost three hours. It pulled out of the station at 10:30pm and made it just past the first stop when things went south. Due to high winds we were forced to stand until further notice. About an hour into that I was climbing the train walls due to no internet service and a storm a-brewing outside my window.

Everyone who takes the Chicago Metra Northwest line knows that just past Clybourn is a dead zone for internet services. Many a mistake has been made by starting a download before passing the dead zone. And yet here I was stuck in it for gawd knows how long.

After an hour of listening to the emo girl sitting in front of me complaining about "this is bullshit" and "they could move the train if they wanted to", I was all "Shut the fuck up about your stupid life. We're all in this together." (but in my head) 

I was all "Shut your pie hole, I don't plan to die today on this train in high winds. I didn't wear a cute enough outfit to be found this way." (still in my head) Because you see, in my head I was the motherfucking hero of the train car putting this emo looking, koolaid haired, black nail polished, ash tray smelling, deep sighing brat in her place. But outloud I just tapped my fingers along to my iPod and pretended like she wasn't there.

Because if I was trapped on the train with her for an hour already, this can't possibly get any better if I start a fight now. And in the end we were trapped for almost three hours together, in what turned out to be a massive storm that rocked the unmoving train (causing me mild panic attacks about dying young in a non-cute outfit.). Emo girl eventually fell asleep and we all silently shared a celebration about it.

The Stacks

It totally blows the big one that Borders is closing their doors for good. I have always loved Borders over other chain stores. Of course nothing beats a good indie store with stacks upon stacks of books piled precariously in every nook and corner. The kind of store that employs the strange and oddly intuitive emo kid who can always find that book you didn't realize you were looking for, until he hands it to you.

But to get back on point, I went to one of the last Borders stores during their closing sales. I perused the books and picked up a few that I had been meaning to buy eventually. But the section that sucked me in, that called to me, was the music. I can't recall the last time I walked through stacks of cds. It's so easy these days to download everything from the comfort of my couch. I had long forgotten the joy of flipping through cd cases as I worked my way down the aisle. I get that joy every time I walk into Reckless Records for vinyl (or any other vinyl store for that matter), but that's because I like to inspect my used vinyl for quality. Why don't I buy cds anymore? And so I did. I bought three that day.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Worst. Date. Evah.

Ok, a couple things you need to know first. One, this happened when I was 27 years old. Two, I cannot for the life of me remember this guy's name. So we're going to call him Greg because why not.

I met Greg at a friend's birthday party. It was a wild night that ended around six the next morning. Greg was the guy asleep on the back porch, and because I was young and stupid I found it charming. I offered him a ride home since he lived in the burbs with his parents (red flag number one).

Greg took a liking to me and asked our mutual friend for my number, which I eventually caved permission to. We went out on one date that was so-so, but there was just no chemistry. I wrote him off as a 25 year old college student still living at home and not really doing anything with his life. He apparently thought I was the one. So he begged our mutual friend to convince me into a second date. Eventually I caved. He was cute after all.

So on the Friday night that Greg was to pick me up for a movie, he was running late. He called to say he was helping a friend out and would be about an hour late (red flag number two). Two hours later he called to say the friend needed him to stay a bit longer but that he was on his way now. I said "Sure, what the hell. Come pick me up."

He arrived at my place with another guy in the car (red flag number three). He said he needed to give this friend a ride home real quick and then we would go to the movie. At this point it was almost 9:30 at night. If the friend lived nearby this wasn't a big deal. Turns out this friend lived an hour away in Wisconsin. WHAT!?

So we drove an hour to drop off his friend, and then an hour back, and by this time it was almost midnight because oh yes, we managed to get lost along the way. We arrived at the movie theater and guess who forgot his wallet? (red flag number four)

We were already at the theater so what the hell; I paid for the tickets and we went in. BUT HE DID NOT GET SNACKS GODAMNIT. I just wanted to watch the movie and then go the fuck home. During the movie (which I also cannot recall, probably because it sucked, and possibly because I've blocked most of this night from memory) he leaned over to tell me that he likes to hide in friend's showers and scare them when they go to the bathroom (red flag number eleventy-two).

Who the fuck hides in people's showers? And who then tells a girl when on a date? I'm not kidding when I say I always check my shower before sitting on the pot now. I have no intention of having the shit scared out of me, literally.

We left the theater around two o'clock and headed back to my place so I could escape the nightmare of a date. On the drive we got pulled over because Greg was driving 50 in a 25 zone (fuck red flags, alarm bells are sounding). I was aware at this point that Greg did not have his license on him because of the no wallet issue. I quickly learned that was the least of his problems.

So the cop came up, knocked on the window, asked for the usual, and Greg said "I'm sorry officer but I don't seem to have my wallet on me and I keep my license and registration in my wallet." Who the fuck keeps their car registration in their wallet? Seriously, who does that? This idiot apparently.

So the cop looked up his info from the licence plate and then slowly walked back to the car. He leaned in, looked at me and my pissed off face, and said to Greg "Son, I'm giving you a warning for now but I suggest you get the little lady home right away. I think she deserves a better night than this." (I fucking love that cop for saying it too.)

As we pulled back into traffic Greg laughed and said "Holy shit can you believe that just happened? I was sweating bullets back there thinking he would search the car. I have a quarter pound of weed in the back seat and I couldn't remember if I put it back in my backpack or not."

This 25 year old college student still living at home and not really doing anything with his life DRUG DEALER actually tried to kiss me when he dropped me off. I told him to fuck off and got out of the car.

Lesson learned? NEVER let your friends set you up with their other loser friends. (Or don't date the guy who woke up on the porch.)

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Irrational Fears

Ok, I just had a mini meltdown from one of my irrational fears, and then laughed my ass off at the absurdity of it all. And since this was witnessed by others, I might as well share it all here too!

My irrational fears:

* The space under my bed (thank you very fucking much M Night Shyamalan). I have this ridiculous fear that there's someone under the bed, which is fueled by my cat hiding under there and swiping at my feet with her paws. My cat is an asshole sometimes.

* Spiders crawling out from the center of banana bundles. WHAT!? It happens!

* Someone lurking in the backseat of my car waiting for me to get in so they can kill me (thanks to every teen horror flick my asshole friends have made me watch even though they know I don't do horror movies well).

* Snakes on a Plane! Just kidding. Snakes in general scare the bajezzus out of me. I refuse to go swimming in lakes anymore because I was bit by a snake while swimming in a small lake when I was 16. Not cool.

* Blood. The mere sight of blood can make me wanna yak my brains out, so I guess the fear is really more about the embarrassment of yaking my brains out for witnessing an extreme papercut.

* Cacti. Yes, I'm aware that it's urban legend that spiders live inside cacti and then they explode out killing everyone in sight. What's your point? I DID label this as irrational fears.

* Drinking spoiled milk. Recently I took a giant swig from the bottle (what? no one else drinks my milk) and out came chunky milk. It didn't taste spoiled, but it had separated and OMGHOLYSHIT did it freak me out.

 I'm sure I have others, but this is enough to feel mocked openly. What are YOUR irrational fears?

Monday, July 25, 2011

I present to you...

... Pan Nachos!

For us lazy folks who get done cooking the meat and just can't muster the strength to properly finish making the tacos.

Also, proof that I do actually use my stove. Sometimes.

Sunday, July 24, 2011


PS. Yes, that is my empty stove supporting my yummylicious snack. What?! Before you judge me you should know that I also ate a string cheese, but it looked too pornographic in the photo. (You may never look at string cheese the same way again. My apologies.) Ok, you can judge me now. My eating habits suck, and I'm ok with that. 

Saturday, July 23, 2011

I'm With The Band!

I've always wanted to be in a band, but alas, I lack the music skills. I could totally ROCK as a groupie, but I'm just not floozy fun enough for that.

Then I found Band Back Together, and I fell in love. I finally found the Band I've been looking for my whole life. And YOU TOO can be in the band.

What they have to say:
We're The Band. We're a group blog. We write about the stuff no one else does. We break down stigmas, support each other, kick ass and take names. Join us.

What I have to say:
This website provides resources, a support system, a shoulder, a hug, a laugh, a tear, an EYE OF THE MOTHERFUCKING TIGER, and glitter to fling. You can lurk and see what other people have to say, or you can create a profile and add your own stories too. New to using WordPress? Here's how it works.

Note for Teens (or parents of teens): There are some GREAT resources here, but not nearly enough stories. Check out the site, and consider contributing. I really could have used a forum like this when I was a teen and thought my life was tragic. (Like when Kurt Cobain died and I was all OMG my world is crumbling)

But yeah, this site has a little something for everyone: parents, teens, love, loss, pain, laughter, suffering, healing, memories, and soooo much more. Check it out.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Music is my Time Machine

Two different people with very different music styles told me in as many days that I've introduced them to some new music. Hmm. I've gotta say here, what the what? I never thought of myself as in the know when it came to music. I've kind of always felt like I was a few steps behind the times. But I guess I can surprise even myself sometimes.

So at the request of one of those friends I'm putting together a playlist of music you need to know. And also at his request it will be named If You Don't Know This You Suck. I'll share the list on Grooveshark, Spotify, basically anywhere I can find that will let me. Message me if you want it sent to you. And if that doesn't work, I'll at least post the artists and song titles here and you can look them up your own damn self.


Spotify and Grooveshark are both acting like assholes. They won't upload my music properly. What's that bullshit about? So here's the list of songs and artists as a consolation prize. I tried to choose artists and songs that people might not already know, but at the same time I also wanted to choose songs that I just really love. So this is an eclectic and fun mix that isn't really meant to be played all together. Not that it'll stop me.

If You Don't Know This You Suck

Bad Enough for You, All Time Low
Dressed Sharply, An Horse
I Know What I Am, Band of Skulls
Tighten Up, The Black Keys
Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked, Cage the Elephant
Let the Drummer Kick, Citizen Cope
The City Is At War, Cobra Starship
Grounds For Divorce, Elbow
The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song, The Flaming Lips
Don’t Shut ‘Em Down, Flogging Molly
I Don’t Wanna Dance, Hey Monday
Dangerous, Kardinall Offishall
Lips Like Morphine, Kill Hannah
Black Horse & the Cherry Tree, KT Tunstall
Smile, Lily Allen
Keep It Fascinating, Major Lazer
Your Surrender, Neon Trees
Good Life, OneRepublic
Broken Record, Plain White T’s
Your Ex-Girlfriend, The Bad Examples
In the Dirt, S. Carey
Answers, The Scissors*
Let’s Go, The Scissors*
Breakeven, The Script
Girl Inform Me, The Shins
Under Cover of Darkness, The Strokes
Horchata, Vampire Weekend
Say You Like Me, We The Kings
Perfect Situation, Weezer
Hide, Yellowcard
*I'm aware that The Scissors are listed twice, and I know that doesn't seem fair. But two different lead singers are used and it totally changes the sound. (For the record I like both singers.) Also, it's my list and I can do whatever the fuck I want. Deal with it.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Brick - second installment

Some of you may remember my old roommate Brick, the batshit crazy girl who ruined me forever from having roommates. Here's the promised second installment of crazy ass stories about the crazy ass girl.

The Sex Story
Brick didn’t have a computer of her own, but I didn’t mind if she used mine. I had a PC then and we had different profiles saved for privacy. We even used a guest profile for our boyfriends (mostly so I could check if hers was looking up porn while we slept. He was.)

Brick was a writer, and I often enjoyed reading her stories and news blurbs. This was before we had facebook or twitter accounts, so she mostly just emailed stories out to a list share of friends. Before sending out a particular story she asked me to read it and tell her if it was too racy to share with friends. This of course piqued my interest so I readily agreed to proofread.

Imagine my surprise when the sex story was about a guy who shared the same name as the guy I was dating. When I pointed this out to her, she insisted they weren’t the same. She said it was a coincidence that they SOUNDED alike. Umm, she used the exact same first and last name as my boyfriend. When I showed it to him he freaked out and jumped on board the Brick Is Crazy Train.

The Wine Glass
Out on a date once I received a frantic call from Brick. I was in an Irish Pub grabbing a drink with my guy, wasting time before a show. She was at home having a panic attack. She decided that a bottle of wine and a bubble bath would be the cure all to her problems. Sounded like a plan to me. However, I’m a normal person, and she’s now batshit crazy.

She managed to run the bubble bath just fine. She even managed to open the wine and pour herself a glass. It was getting into the bath WITH the wine glass that went awry. When she called me sobbing all I could understand through the phone was:

“I… dropped… the glass... and it’s… in the tub… it just… slipped... what... do... I do? It broke.  And... I’m... so sorry. My hand... it just... opened up... and it fell.” (All the pauses were sobs, really big deep throated sobs.)

I calmly asked her “Are you bleeding?”

“No (sob) but (sob) the wine is (sob) in the tub (sob) with the broken glass. WhatdoIdo? (sobsobsob)”

“You walk away and drink the rest of the wine from the bottle. I’ll clean it up when I get home later tonight.”

“Ok. (sobsobsob)”

This conversation actually took about 20 minutes, but I spared you all the repeats of "it just fell" and "the wine is in the tub" while I made the "shh shh shh" sound to calm her down.*

I get home later that night, about three hours later, and ask her how she’s feeling. She says she’s fine. I check the bathroom and it looks perfectly clean. I walk back out to the living room and ask her if she cleaned up the broken glass, and she looks me square in the eyes and says “what broken glass?”

I later found the broken wine glass in the kitchen trash.

Stay tuned for future installments of Brick is Crazy.

*Seriously, after re-reading that I hope you're laughing as hard as I am at that comment. "The wine is in the tub." That is comedy GOLD people.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011


Answers by thescissors

Love, love, love this local band's sound.
If you aren't familiar with The Scissors, you should be.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Knock knock, it's the ghetto

I live in a nice neighborhood where people are friendly, and everyone waves, the kids play in the street and move when they see your car coming. It’s all very quaint to be honest. But the ghetto is moving in, and I’m not down with that.
I live in an apartment complex in the burbs of Chicago. For the past three years of living there I’ve gotten along with my neighbors, or at least the ones I’ve met.  When we see each other we smile or say hello, and in winter we help dig each other out of snow drifts. It’s just the neighborly thing to do. Recently though two neighbors moved out and left their apartments empty for a few months. Then the ghetto came knocking.
First Smoking Girl moved in downstairs. She’s very emo and thinks her life is tragic. She spends her time sitting on the stairs smoking a pack a day and crying to her mom/friends/grandma that her life is terrible and she’s not sure why she moved here. She leaves her ashes and cigarette butts on the stairs, because she doesn’t have to walk through it so why should she care? I have asked her politely to knock that shit off, and it was greeted with a smile and then ignored. I now glare and take pictures to present as evidence to the apartment complex, and I no longer care if it’s neighborly if I try and get her kicked out.

As if Smoking Girl wasn’t enough, a cute young couple moved in directly below my apartment. It started off great until I was woken up in the middle of the night by their boxer who barks like it’s his job. They let that thing roam around without a leash, and never shush it. It barks at everything, and I mean fucking everything.
Just the other night the boxer got out of their patio (not like it’s hard since they’re using an old wood baby gate to hold in a giant boxer) and it started barking at a baby in a stroller. Now I won’t go into why the mom had the baby out at nine o’clock at night, that’s another post about moms who drag their babies out at inappropriate times. But the dog was barking hello to the baby in the baby’s face, which caused baby wails to wake the whole block up. What do the owners of the boxer do? Get upset with the mom. Apparently the baby provoked the dog. A BABY provoked the DOG. Are you kidding me?! I was hoping for an all out brawl, but it ended with screams and storming off in opposite directions.
The baby gate meant to hold in a boxer:

So my once peaceful, clean, quaint neighborhood is slowly turning into the ghetto. I feel like I should carry a piece and add a little swagger to my walk. Or I could start looking at buying a place again. Perhaps this is the sign I needed to get me motivated to look again.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Circus Freaks and Geeks

The Bad Examples 1
Lombard 0

I went to Germanfest in Lombard last night to see The Bad Examples. They were fantastic as always. But I have to say, the crowd was full of the freakiest people on the planet. And I've seen some weird shit in my time.

I've never seen so many unfortunate tattoos in one night before. And some of them were just located in unfortunate places. A full spread of butterfly covering your entire chest is HOT right?

I've never seen so many grown men dressed like thugs in baggy pants low ridin' and paired with a ratty old t-shirt leftover from the 80s. And the ladies? Shorty shorts and cowgirl boots? Black bra and white wife beater? Warped Tour t-shirt cut down to tank top size barely covering the gigantor boobs? Way to keep it classy ladies.

This fest was full of Island of Misfit Toys.

On the bright side, they played one of the greatest songs ever: Your Ex-Girlfriend. I couldn't find a video for it, but that links to the lyrics. HILARIOUS.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

As promised, drunken adventures

Last night was Old St Pat's Block Party. Food, drinks, and music. We saw Cobra Starship and the Plain White T's. There were other bands, but we were too busy finding the booze to notice them.

We managed to get ZERO photos of Cobra Starship because we were too busy dancing, drinking, and scoping out hot guys. (There weren't many.) But we did manage to get some photos of the Plain White T's. I wish I could tell you these photos are blurry because we were dancing (flailing), but that's not why. I was just DRUNK.


Yes, I was double fisting the wine. Red and white wine. 
Because drinking wine in a plastic Miller Lite cup is CLASSY.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Forgive me father, I'm about to sin

Today started off with about four hours of sleep, followed by insomnia, followed by a mouthful of soured milk, followed by puking, followed by having to go to work. I KNOW RIGHT.

But today is Beer Friday at work, and THAT is followed by Old St Pat's Block Party. You gotta love a church that throws the world's largest block party and serves you beer! With rockstars!

At least two out of three things are going to happen tonight:

1. I'm gettin' drunk
2. I'm gettin' a hot guy's number
3. I'm gettin' rowdy

I'll post pictures if I'm not too drunk, distracted, or in jail.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

There's Crazy, and then there's Batshit Crazy

I was chatting with a friend earlier about my roommate horror stories of days long gone. As he teared up from laughing at my sad sad stories he said I should write a summary for him to laugh at later. So here it is. Enjoy it bitches. This is my pain for your pleasure.

I just want to state right off the bat that this girl is the reason I refuse to have another roommate unless I'm gettin' some from them. I don't care what that something is (preferably something dirty) just as long as the good outweighs the bad.

Back Story
The roommate, Brick*, was a good friend of mine when we decided to move in together. We hung out all the time, crashed at each other’s places often, and threw parties together regularly. Moving in to save cost seemed like a great idea. We found a beautiful two bedroom in Lincoln Square (north edge of Chicago for those not familiar) with hard wood floors, ceiling fans, and an actual backyard to BBQ in. It was perfect. For about two months. Then Brick started having panic attacks about her life, started seeing two different psychiatrists, and managed to land five different medications from a total of four doctors (all of whom did not know of the others). So her medications started interacting poorly, and she went nutso. Hilarity would ensue if I hadn’t been the one having to deal with it. Below are a few stories from the remaining six months we lived together.

I came home one night, proceeded to make myself some dinner, and discovered half an onion in the butter drawer. After tasting the butter I discover it’s been like that for awhile because the butter now tastes exactly like raw onion. If you’re an onion aficionado, that’s probably gold to you, but it was disgusting to me.

So I called out to Brick in the living room “Hey, did you put the onion in the butter drawer?”


“Could you maybe not do that anymore? The butter tastes like onion now and it’s gross.”

After slamming the remote down on the coffee table, Brick stormed into the kitchen and screamed “Not all of us are PERFECT like YOU Dawn” and she proceeded to burst into tears and run off to her room where she stayed for the night.

This was the beginning of the end for us. The butter did us in.

Knives Don’t Belong in Pans
Having previously worked at Williams-Sonoma I was the proud owner of a full set of 5 ply stainless steel All Clad pots and pans. I loved these pans. They made perfect meals for me. I took painstaking care of them so they would last my lifetime. There were few rules about these pans: don’t use knives in them and don’t leave them empty on a hot burner.

Brick would often walk away from a hot stove and leave food to burn to the point of dried up caked mess. She would tell everyone what a great cook she was, but in reality she was really good at scrubbing off burnt caked mess and then ordering in. One night I came home to find her cutting up chicken in the pan as if it were a cutting board. When I asked her to please not use a knife in my ridiculously expensive pan she turned to me, with knife in hand, and mumbled in her most evil devil voice “I’m not using a knife in the pan”. She then proceeded to cut the chicken in the pan with the knife she apparently wasn’t using. I swear to fucking god her eyes were glowing red. I backed away only because she was wielding the biggest knife in the collection. (I didn't bother pointing out that a bread knife is not the best option for cutting chicken anywhere.)

One fine Friday morning I emailed Brick at work to see if she wanted to plan a Halloween party a few weeks out. We often hosted parties at our place, and we both loved planning that kind of thing. She responded almost immediately with “I can’t that weekend. I’m moving out. I need to find myself.”

Ok, two thoughts are running through my head simultaneously at this point.

1.      FUCK YES.
2.      What the fuck is wrong with this girl!?

So I reply back “Ok, I’ll plan it myself. Can you be out by that Saturday?” and let it go. Fuck it. Cut the strings and let her leave. Let the crazy bitch go. The next two weeks were the worst. Her crazy grew to unreal levels, but those are other stories to tell.

When move out day arrived I was in the kitchen prepping for the party the next day, and also making sure she didn’t take anything of mine. She had already tried to pack several random things that belonged to me (random pot lid, my TV remote, two spoons from the set, and random foods that would spoil in boxes). My friend JC was in the kitchen with me trying to keep me from killing Brick, because I was very much on the verge at this point. The girl was fucking crazy and getting crazier by the minute now.

Brick takes the last box out, and then returns to the kitchen. She smiles and says “I don’t know if I’ll be able to make the party tomorrow, but I’ll call you if I think I can.”

In my head I screamed “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? You are fucking nutso, and you need to get the fuck out you batshit crazy bitch.” One look from JC tells me to take a deep breath before responding. Out loud I said “Get out.” JC calmly locked the door behind her before falling on the floor laughing at the absurdity of the self invitation.

I haven’t seen Brick since. And my life is better for it.

Stay tuned for future installments of Brick is Crazy.

*She actually had a really great name and an even better nickname. But she’s fucking crazy so I’m all about the plausible deniability. This nickname is randomly chosen because her crazy hit me like a brick to the head.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Mamas, put your babies to bed

For those who know me, you know I love babies. I also like giving them back to their parents when they cry, poop, or make that angry face that leads to crying or pooping. But what gets me all Fight For Babies Rights is when soccer moms in training take their babies out in public at inappropriate times of night.

Back in the day I worked at Williams-Sonoma as a retail whore pimping kitchen aids and culinary tools to anyone who looked capable of wielding a knife or lime juicer. Often times I would be prepping for the store close at quarter to nine, or later in the holiday season, and some asshole mom would come rushing in with baby in a stoller. The kid would be screaming his bald little head off because he's about two hours past his bedtime, and he's also now surrounded by packages of lacy underwear and jewelry mom just had to have to make up for popping a kid out.

Mom would be all distraught because baby won't stop crying, and she's trying to suck down a venti soy sugar free vanilla latte while perusing the new line of waffle makers. First off, it's cute that she thinks she'll be making waffles herself. She can't even put her kid to bed on time. Do you really think she's waking up early to make breakfast for the family? She's currently wearing yoga pants for fashion so everyone can see how firm her butt is growing with the help of that personal trainer she wants to diddle.

Secondly, go put your baby to bed you ignorant selfish waif of a woman. You had a kid so you'd have an accessory to walk around with. Your kid is like a purse dog, but cries more. Half the time you're ignoring the thing, and the other half you're acting like your whole life is tragic because your kid won't stop crying at the mall. You made your kid cry when you stopped caring for it.

I know I sound all self righteous and smug because I don't have a kid and therefore I must not know what it's like. I call bullshit. I don't need to make a baby to know that a kid needs sleep, and not in a stroller at the mall. I've been around plenty of new baby mammas to know that your time gets sucked away like a giant baby vacuum is constantly running the clock dry. But that's no excuse to take your baby out at night for a quick shopping spree. And don't give me that bullshit that you're mall walking to burn off the baby weight. It's not mall walking if you stop every time you see a new halter top you just have to try on.

Mamas, go put your babies to bed!

Monday, July 11, 2011

Vinyl records aren't for scratching

Mock me if you must, but I always have been and always will be a lover of vinyl records. It's not just the throw back to my childhood that keeps me playing them. It's because the sound is simply better, and disagreeing with me is bullshit. Oh, I'm just kidding. But here's my argument for how vinyl rocks:

  • vinyl records have a raw sound to them, much like live music, and give you that concert in your living room feeling. much to the chagrin of my asshole neighbors. shut your dog up and I'll shut my impromptu concert up. (I'm SO mature.)
  • good vinyl records don't contain artists who use auto-tuners, and auto-tuners are bullshit.
  • cds are recorded with snapshots of analog sound then converted to digital sound, but the snapshots are limited and therefore cds can often miss small bits of the music. why would you want only most of the song instead of all of it? think about THAT.
  • if you were born in the 90's you're too young to remember true vinyl records, and you're probably too young to be reading this blog. chances are if you own vinyl you're using it for wall decorations in your dorm room and don't actually own a record player. you make me sad. 
  • every time I get a new vinyl record I'm instantly transformed into my five year old self pulling a new record off the shelf and discovering what new worlds await me. 
  • my Denon DP-300F produces a smoother sound than any other music player I own. 
  • there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING, better than flipping through bin after bin of vinyl in a record store. there are a million treasures out there waiting to be discovered by people like me. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have new records to listen to.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

These are the bands of my youth

My musical tastes are quite eclectic, and people often scoff when I say that. But I've lived so many places, and been introduced to so many different music styles, that I truly have picked up an eclectic collection.

My life told entirely by major music influences.
(Some may surprise you, as they were surprising to me when I reflected back.)

Ages 0-8 (The Early Years)
Ricky Nelson
Michael Jackson
Beach Boys
Dolly Parton
Ritchie Valens
New Order
Soft Cell
Culture Club
The Go-Go's

Ages 9-13 (The Transition Years)
The Beastie Boys
The Ramones
The Rolling Stones
The Kinks
The Smiths
The Cure
Bob Dylan
Depeche Mode
The Doors

Ages 14-16 (The High School Years, aka The Iowa Years)
Barenaked Ladies
Tori Amos
The Cranberries
Garth Brooks
John Mellencamp
Tom Petty (and the Heartbreakers)
Nine Inch Nails
Savage Garden
Sonic Youth
Skid Row

Ages 17-20 (The College Years, aka The Angry Girl Years)
Ani DiFranco
Buddy Holly
Dave Matthews
James Brown
Jill Sobule
The Violent Femmes
Liz Phair
Natalie Merchant
They Might Be Giants
Pink Floyd
Smash Mouth
Soul Coughing
Vonda Shepard
Green Day

Ages 21-23 (The Detroit Years)
Will Smith
Foo Fighters
Lauren Hill
Led Zeppelin

Ages 24-32 (The Recent to Now Years)
All Time Low
Cage the Elephant
All-American Rejects
Plain White T's
Dandy Warhols
Death Cab for Cutie
Fall Out Boy
The Scissors
The Killers
Jack Johnson
Kill Hannah
Mumford & Sons
The Script
The Shins
Neon Trees
The Strokes
Snow Patrol
Lily Allen

It should be noted that these are listed by when they were fully introduced into my life. Not by the length of how long they stayed. With the exception of the country music, most everything stayed in my life. (Though I'm not opposed to country music if the bar has a mechanical bull, because COME ON. I would listen to anything to see drunk fools ride the bull.)

There are many, many other bands not listed that probably should be. I listed primarily the bands that bring back memories of the time. I can clearly recall singing "18 and Life" in high school, and thinking that my life was so tragic for a 16 year old. I can picture myself belting out "Foolish Games" in the car on college road trips. My first real concert was Michael Jackson when I was 8. So many good memories of my life are tied into musical references. And for that I am grateful.

Notably missing are the amazing jazz and blues musicians that have been a constant in my life from day one. There are so many greats that have come into my life, and they're probably worth their own post. In fact, most of my vinyl collection is jazz and blues and it's my favorite thing to put on when unwinding after a long day.

PS. I'm always looking for new music so feel free to comment or message me new bands/songs to check out. I frickin' love music.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Summer lovin'

My summer of music started off like the Titanic. Pulling out of port slow, and threatening to sink at the first iceberg. First bonnaroo fell apart, then bumbershoot looked like crap, and don't get me started on lolla. It's so damn disorganized.

And then it happened. MUSIC happened. And one by one the music acts started filling my calendar. Huzzah! Even lolla lined up a few acts I want to see on the same day (even if it is on a school night, sigh, we can't win everything). So below is where we're at so far, and I have hopes of adding to the list. It's looking like travel (outside of a weekend drive) aren't in the works for me this summer, but there's plenty nearby to explore.

June 17, Ravinia, The B52s and The Go-Go's.

June 18, FitzGerald's in Berwyn, Ralph Covert of The Bad Examples.

June 26, Elbo Room, Avocado Jungle Fuzz.

July 8, Railroad Days in West Chicago, English Beat. (VIP dance floor baby!)

July 9, Railroad Days in West Chicago, The Bad Examples.

July 15, St Pat's Block Party, Plain White T's and Cobra Starship.

July 16, St Pat's Block Party, Barenaked Ladies.


July 16, Germanfest in Lombard, The Bad Examples.


July 16, Beat Kitchen, the Scissors and Ryan's Hope

August 7, Lollapalooza, Cage the Elephant, Flogging Molly, Arctic Monkeys, The Cold War Kids, Foo Fighters.

Ok summer of music, what else you got? There's still plenty of room to add a little something else. Promise.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Might as well have me put down then

I am covered in bazillions of tiny red dots that are swollen and itchy like a motherf@cker. Hives are no bueno. I've had them for days now, DAYS! And they just won't quit. So I finally checked in with the allergy doc. It was either that or go to work with no pants, because pants feel like sandpaper on the hives. Plus pants are bullshit. (Too bad HR disagrees)

Apparently I'm allergic to the sun and heat. ARE YOU F@CKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT?!

So according to the allergy doc, when my body temp rises too high from the heat my body reacts by producing fuckloads of histamines and the hives go all aflaring. To compliment that, when my skin is exposed to the sun for too long my body reacts by producing fuckloads of histamines and the hives go all aflaring.


How am I supposed to survive a summer of music, mayhem, and madness if I can't be outside?! This is the dumbest shit a doctor has ever told me. For realsies. Stay inside all summer? Aw hell no. Wear pants all summer? Not even if you paid me. I'm not wearing pants as I type this. Pants are bullshit.

Rum and vodka will fix this right? Lie to me. Please.

Alternatively, I was bit by a radioactive spider and this is the slowest and suckiest morph into superhero status with no apparent super powers that I've been able to muster (NOT THAT I'VE TRIED ASSHOLES).

Thursday, July 7, 2011

I love babies in a bar!

Reasons to bring your baby to a bar.
·         No one will want to sit near you so you get plenty of room to spread your shit out
·         You can claim your side car of water is for the kid so you don’t get mocked for being a lightweight
·         You can use the kid as a seat holder for bathroom trips after you break the seal
·         You can finally tell that 20 something year old floozy taking all the attention away from you to shut her whore mouth, because she won’t hit you if you’re holding a baby
·         You can face/space/tweet the hell out of your phone and just pretend you’re logging baby’s last poop
·         You can call dibs on the pool table by placing baby in the middle, because who’s gonna argue with that
·         You can play really shitty music on the jukebox and tell people it’s the only thing baby will fall asleep to
·         Baby can hold down the fort while you run outside for a smoke
·         You can use your baby as an excuse to talk about your vagina in a drunk whisper
·         You can teach your kid early how to pour a Harvey Wallbanger for future parties
And last but certainly not least:
·         You can give me reason to shout “OMG, I LOOOVE babies in a bar!” so my friends can scatter like they’ve never seen this crazy ass loud girl before

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Where’s the peanut butter?

A long ass time ago, in another office, my desk was situated in such a location that every employee walked by me at least twice a day. They had to; I was right next to the door. This would have been a great place for the receptionist, but alas, that was not my job. Our receptionist was actually located a half floor up from us, because the architects thought it would be fun that way. So everyone who came in walked past her, down the stairs, and then past me.
In the four years that I sat in that desk I had a lot of really dumb questions asked of me. For some reason people thought I was Wikipedia just because of where I sat. But nothing tops the peanut butter guy. He was a young pup fresh out of college. He was dumb as a rock. He came running up to me from across the entire fucking office to ask me where the peanut butter was. He actually left the kitchen, and passed about 100 people before reaching my desk, to ask where the peanut butter was.
“Try the kitchen.”
“I couldn’t find it.”
“Did you open the cabinets?”
“The cabinets aren’t labeled. Which one do I open?”
“I don’t fucking care. I’m not your mom. Please go find your own peanut butter.” (something I never thought I would ever say to anyone)
So, boys and girls, if I ever ask you “Where’s the peanut butter?” it’s probably because you just asked me a dumb ass question, and that’s my way of mocking you. Don’t be the peanut butter dude. 

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Mistakes that led to greatness

Things I should have thought about this weekend, and yet didn't until now.

  • I shouldn't have champagne for breakfast
  • I shouldn't attempt to eat a helmet of nachos by myself
  • I shouldn't chase this accidental jalapeno with beer
  • I shouldn't let this stranger sitting in front of us buy us beer
  • I shouldn't eat this box of donuts for breakfast
  • I shouldn't sit outside without sunblock
  • I shouldn't eat chips and bean dip for dinner

I am a ROCKSTAR. And I am full of the cheese. Nacho cheese.

Saturday, July 2, 2011


“You should get on tumblr.”
“That sounds like a five year old’s gymnastics class.”
I don’t tumblr. I barely even twitter. It took me years of being harassed about facebook to put my snarky mug up there and claim friends. I’m not anti social media, but I’m also not in love with it either. I just don’t see the point in being connected all the time. I like my alone time. I like my distance. I like my down time. If I don’t respond to you on one of the many social channels I have begrudgingly signed up for it’s not because I’m ignoring you. I’m just busy, or taking a time out. Unless you send me pictures of kittens with quotes from God. Then I’m ignoring you because you suck. Eventually you’ll learn to save that shit for your other friends.
I know this blog is bare bones. I know there’s nothing fancy about it. But that is exactly what I like about it. Simplicity. It’s easy to manage, easy to post to, and easy to read. I don’t even bother tagging my posts with key words, because who really needs to be spending their time reading old blog posts from me anyway? If you’re new to the blog and really want to read old posts, then start at the top and work your way back. Or use the archiving list on the right (I think it’s the right side, unless I’ve changed that, but then why would I? That would be work.) side of the screen.
I write because I’m snarky, and some people have encouraged me to share that with others. And those who know me, well, they know it takes very little encouragement to get me to speak up. I’m kind of a loud mouth with plenty of opinions. And that’s sober. I throw the gloves off when I’ve got liquid courage in me. But I do it all in jest. I never aim to be the class clown, but there it is sometimes.
So I’m drawing the line in the sand of social media. No tumblr. No whatever comes after tumblr. Maybe when the replacement for google blogs, twitter, and facebook have all arrived I’ll consider moving onto something more sophisticated. But until then I’ll happily, and lazily, chug along on this slow train to snarkytown. 

I will however jump in to Google+ because Zuckerface pisses me off in ways I never knew possible. So I would love to replace him if at all possible. If you want an invite I'll do my best. Just message me. My email is on the right. ==>

Friday, July 1, 2011

Tacopuncher of Truth

I’ve been asked on many an occasion if I know where the line is. You know the one. The line you aren’t supposed to cross because it could be offensive. The line that tells you right from wrong. The line that separates the appropriate from the inappropriate. Well, I’m a tornado of inappropriate behavior. I know that the line exists; I just don’t believe it applies to me.
So for those of you wondering about this so called line…
You Might Have Crossed The Line If:
·         You wake up in a pool of vomit and you’re not sure if it’s yours
·         You smell like the bottom of a malt liquor bottle in the middle of the work day
·         You perform Dick in a Box for your office talent show
·         You start serenading your office mate with “Dontcha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me” while he’s on the phone with his girlfriend
·         You greet the CFO’s wife for the first time with “I’ve seen better”
·         You give your boss Rogaine for Christmas
·         You go streaking at the company picnic
·         You drop it like it’s hot in the office cafeteria
·         You cook bacon in the middle of a meeting 

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