Christmas Poem with bonus video

The following poem is best understood knowing that my roommate, Christina, goes by "Stina." She calls me "Dizzle." Our Dogs are named Jed and Mojo and my cat's name is Karma. Please enjoy and make sure you watch the video at the end.

Merry Christmas!

A Few Nights Before Christmas By Kristin Welch

A few nights before Christmas up in the hizzle

Nobody stirred, Not Stina, Not Dizzle

The stockings were hung by the chimney with tape

As snow fell covering the cityscape

Stina and Dizzle snuggled up in their sweats,

With dreams that Santa could settle their debts

“There is too much to do and not enough money”

Dizzle declared, “It’s not even funny”

Forced snuggling commenced with Stina and Jed

As days of prosperity danced in her head

The night took the sky and the girls closed their eyes

They slept through the night, then awoke with surprise

Karma jumped off the sink, making a clatter

Jed jumped out of his skin, then ran to get at her

Mojo then joined in the chase for the kitty

The once quiet day began to get shitty

Stina and Dizzle Shouted loud and clear

“Jed, Mojo, NO – GET OVER HERE!”

Jed reluctantly obeyed his command,

While Mojo, as usual, took defiant stand.

“My dog is an asshole,” Dizzle decried

She got out of bed, feeling defied

To the computer, Dizzle then went

Her facebook was checked, and e-mails were sent

Stina awoke, made her way to the kitchen

Grabbed some coffee, and started her bitchin’

“We need to go shopping, but I don’t wanna go!”

Stina lamented, as she eyeballed the snow

“I’t nersty outside, but it has to be done,

Let’s get dressed and get on with this fun!”

Dizzle got up, and walked towards her room

The intent was to change to shopping costume

She walked through the doorway and what did she see?

From the ceiling fell liquid resembling pee.

“Oh Crap!” Dizzle screamed, then came wild laughter

What else to you do when it rains from the rafters?

Stina declared, “ we must call the landlord,”

Dizzle – grab towels to protect the floorboards.”

“My carpet is soaked, can you grab the bucket?”

“Jed,, don’t drink from the puddlle – Ah whatever – Fuck it!”

The cursing grew louder as the girls looked for answers

This was a huge problem, cracks were spreading like cancer.

The landlord arrived, A hero for sure!

If someone could fix it, he’d find a cure!

Up to the roof, with shovel in tow,

The landlord would rid the roof of it’s snow

The ceiling stopped dripping, but the room was still wet

For the weekend, this was as good as it’d get.

For Dizzle and Stina, far and away

It had already been one hell of a day

As the landlord left and drove out of sight,

Stina said, ”Merry Christmas Dizzle, let’s get drunk tonight!"

We were all there once

For me - it was Rider Strong from "Boy Meets World" or Brandon Lee form "The Crow" (thanks for the reminder Paisana)or Johnny Depp...Hell, it's STILL Johnny Depp



Who did it for you as a pre-teen?

Like bird watching - only not at all.

One of the upsides to living in a large metropolitan area is People Watching. Major cities provide People Watching greatness at a level rivaled only by airports. Thing is, after living in a city for so long, you become desensitized to most of the amazing things you encounter on a daily basis. It's only when I am with people from out of town that I realize how much I ignore my surroundings. I will be power-walking my way down the street, expertly navigating the sidewalk cracks, hell-on-heels grates and unidentified piles of nasty - all while sending an e-mail and simultaneously telling my friend about the “crazy day” I just had at the office. At the crux of my titillating tale, I will inadvertently realize that I have lost my friend…to some homeless dude.

(Note to people from outside of big cities: When someone who appears as though they have not showered in a few years inquires to whether they may ask you a question – keep walking. If you are a slave to etiquette, you may politely say” no.” However, if they begin to follow you, keep walking. Do not make eye contact, do not slow down. Do not pass go, do not give the man $2. This is not because the person might hurt you (though I wouldn't rule that out), but rather, because this person is banking that they will annoy you into giving them money – more money for those of you that give him the $2. Forget your manners and keep walking…besides, if you stop to talk to Captain Crappedhispants, you will miss the best part of my awesome story.)

I don’t want to lose my friends to homeless dudes, but I also don’t want them (or me) to miss out on some prime People Watching opportunities. You just have to know how to do it right. Your first order of business is to find a good place to be. The middle of the sidewalk is not a good place to be. Think of People Watching like any other activity. It's better if you find an appropriate location. I mean, sure, I could take a crap while I walk around and stare at skyscrapers, but wouldn’t it be better (and ultimately more pleasant) if I just took the time to find proper facilities? Location is everything, baby. For People Watching, benches, grassy areas, and leaning against the side of a building are all excellent options. However, if the weather is nice, consider sidewalk seating at an outdoor café. That way, you can eat and converse about your sightings.

Next, talk about what you see. If we are People Watching and you see a group of people with no pants…you better point that out. Better yet, make a game out of your People Watching experiences. Below are some of my favorites;

1. Guess the Occupation: Just as it sounds - as people walk by, try to figure out what they do for a living. Make it fun. Is the short guy in the brown loafers a salesman or a gigolo? He may really be a sales guy, but wouldn’t it be cooler if that incoming call was from a woman desperate to pay for what’s underneath his Dockers? Nice pants, indeed.

2. Turn it into a drinking game: This obviously works best from an outdoor café or a friend’s balcony. Every time you see some douche with one of those Bluetooth headsets – drink. Drink twice if he is yelling at the person on the other end of the line. Take a shot for every cab driver that freaks out.

3. Gay or Foreign: This is one that can even be played while walking. Fashion can be tricky. Consider the following photo example and ask yourself…is that dude gay or foreign?

This is a game I often play with my gay friends. It's amazing how "Gaydar" flies right out the window once a European accent negates the fashion cues. I also especially enjoy this particular game. The same guy could be perceived many different ways depending on fashion choice. Again, consider the following photo example;

In a suit, the guy looks great. Fashionable and ready for an event. This look is very "now" and neither the guy's sexuality nor nationality are really peaking my curiosity. He may look a little too Ashton Kutcher-ish for my taste, but that's besides the point. It's not like I'd kick him out of bed or anything.

Same guy in the 70's print button up and hat? Totally foreign. I can hear the accent now. He would never dress this way at home, but he is visiting a foreign city and was mislead by window displays. Feeling as though he may not be able to attract American women in a t-shirt and jeans, this guy was lead astray by an overzealous hourly employee at a designer resale shop. With an American accent - total d-bag. But now peekture heem wiss moor oov a frawnch acceent. Kinda do-able, no?

In the third outfit - totally gay.

See how fun this can be?

Got my Mojo Workin'

Been a while since I gushed about my dog, huh? Isn't he the cutest?



Credit goes to my roomie for the pictures...this is her dog Jed...



Our apartment is full of adorable.

10 Things I Learned On My Vegas Vacation

1. My uncle has one of the most awesome mullets I have ever seen. I couldn't be prouder of his unashamed yet undeniable commitment to sporting one of America's most mocked hairstyles.

2. I forgot how much pain is involved in getting a tattoo...not that I got one or anything.*

3. Slot machines are evil money eating robots. Luckily, I cannot be tricked by their shiny, sparkly exteriors.**

4. Despite my intentions to get married to an Elvis Impersonator (The young, hot one) BY an Elvis Impersonator (the old, fat one), I was not successful. Next time I will set my sights on something more attainable, like getting a raging case of syphilis.

5. Cirque Du Soleil's "Love" will change your life.

6. Sometimes you just need to break away from the group and spend a day by the pool. Screw them. I'm tan now.

7. I have a much stronger appreciation for Chicago's anti-smoking laws now. Since quitting last October (Ooohh...the 1 year anniversary is close!), I have become one of those people that "stink eyes" the sidewalk smokers downtown. I recognize the hypocrisy in that I only recently was one of them, but damn...my hair still stinks!

8. Girls want to meet me! In my room! And can be there in 20 minutes! (Something to keep in mind for next time, when I try to get an STD that makes it burn when I pee!)

9. Never leave your cell phone in the rental car, turn in the rental car, get on a plane and fly home. (My dumbassedness astounds me sometimes)

10. I am no longer of the age where "clubbing" even remotely sounds like fun...and I am 100% okay with that.

Viva Las Vegas!





*yes I did.
**yes I can.

Shameless pimping

A very dear friend of mine has some art up for sale on etsy. Some of it is a little on the bizarre-o side, but there is no doubting her talent. If you are into unique and original peices - I urge you to check out her stuff. Her specialized etsy page can be found here. Her stuff is super-affordable and she may add some more peices soon.

You can blame her lack of page fanciness on me. Since she doesn't have easy access to a computer - I posted her stuff for her. Because I know nothing about art...I totally did not do her justice. Regardless...check it out.

I have her stuff in my place and so should you. She made my dog(and dining room) look pretty amazing...that is for sure.

Reason #874.5 why I am an asshole

A while back, I briefly dated a guy named Mike. I met him out and about at a bar in Chicago. He seemed really nice, had a good job, and sang in a band (do I always date musicians?), and frankly, he was pretty darn cute. We hit it off and he asked if he could take me out sometime. I was interested, so I obliged. He took me out for dinner and drinks and I went out to meet his friends. I even introduced him to a few of mine on the second date. All in all, so far so good.

I believe it was the third date or so when he surprised me with tickets to go see Mofro at Schuba's in Chicago. I had casually mentioned that they were one of my favorites and I was pleasantly surprised by the gift. We planned to meet up at his condo in the South 'burbs and head out to the show from there. I showed up early and excited to see a great band in a great venue. Antsy and anxious, I pressed for us to get moving quickly if we wanted to get a good vantage point for the show, but he wouldn't budge, saying that he had a "surprise" for me.

20 minutes later, there was a knock on his door and the surprise had arrived...in the form of a white stretch limousine. I suppose that most girls would find this sort of gesture incredibly romantic and thoughtful, but it freaked me out. Big time. It just seemed like waaaay too much effort for a third date, and let's face it, he was trying too hard. I'm not the kind of girl that can be "bought," and I felt like the gesture was wholly unnecessary. Nevertheless, I decided to stop being a neurotic bitch and just enjoy the evening for what it was.

We pulled up to the venue, and I have to admit, I felt a little like royalty being let out of a limo, just to see a band at a bar. I was starting to feel pretty good about the date. So what if he was trying too hard? It just meant that he thought I was worth the expense. I was sure that we were going to have a great night.

Since we didn't have to look for parking, we arrived at the perfect time to scope out a great place to stand and enjoy the show. Mike went off to grab a couple beers and I held down our place on the floor. Minutes later, Mike returned with beers and shots. I took the shot and toasted to a great night. Not wanting to get too drunk (it was only the third date), I mentioned that one shot would be my limit for the evening. Mike agreed not to buy me any more and gently squeezed my hand and smiled as the lights went down for the show. I blushed as he kissed my hand and twirled me around once to the music.

The band sounded great and Mike and I were having a really good time. He excused himself to grab a couple more beers and I stayed near the stage dancing and singing along. Several songs later, I found Mike at the bar high-fiving some guy with a line of empty shots in front of him. I asked where he had been, and he slurred the response that he was, "Schtaking some shots wisss his new friendsss." He shoved another beer in my direction and downed what I could only assume with his fifth shot within the 20 or so minutes that he had been away from my side. Annoyed, but still reeling over his sweetness only moments before - I asked if he would care to join me back on the main floor for the show. He waved me away and said he would meet up with me when he was done with his friends that knew how to "party."

Suddenly embarrassed and upset, I walked away, determined to enjoy myself with or without him. After all, I had tickets to a great show and lord knows I don't need a guy to have a good time (that's why batteries exist). I ended up running into some old friends out on the floor and made the very mature move of getting wasted in retaliation. If Mike wanted to get drunk without me, I was going to do the same.

At the end of the show, I said goodbye to my friends and found my "date." Considering that he had downed what must have been close to an entire bottle of whiskey, he was still standing upright and was actually somewhat coherent, although I can't say the same for myself. We got back in the limo (well, fell back into the limo, if I am going to be perfectly honest), where I decided to give him a piece of my mind. "How dare he just leave me all alone? I had thought we were going to have a good time together, and instead he just bellied up to the bar and ignored me. He should never have even taken me out if he was just going to drink himself stupid and blah blah blah." I was MAD...and drunk as hell.

Slurring but apologetic, Mike started to defend himself when I interrupted him by rolling down the window to vomit. Oh yes...I did. On the Interstate. Going 60+ mph. It was all over the front of my dress, in my hair, all down the side of the limo and probably on the poor car driving behind us. The world was spinning and having my head sticking out of a speeding vehicle with nothing to see but the world flashing before my eyes was not helping my condition. There were no towels to clean myself off, and there was no way to scrape my dinner or my dignity off the side of the road...and we were still a good half hour away from his place.

I won't gross you out with the details of the rest of the evening, but let's just say that I was not putting my best face forward. I still think it was a jerk move to abandon me at a concert for shots, but in the long run, I was the one who came out of the situation looking like a jerk.

Let's tally, shall we? Guy buys me concert tickets after I casually mention that I liked a band. Mike = 1, KC = O. Guy orders limo to take us to show. Mike = 2, KC = O. Mike gets shitfaced, KC gets shitfaced. Mike = 2, KC = 0. Mike apologizes, KC blows chunks out of a limousine window. Mike = 2, KC = -5.

Can you believe he asked me out on another date? I must be cute when I puke.

You make me warm and fuzzy

Somehow, even though I have been a mega-lame wad and have not been posting much these days, I have been nominated for a blog award by Paisana and Ginger Magnolia. Woot!

Look at it. Isn't it pretty and shiny? I want to love it and pet it with my thumb as I walk along..




Anyhoo, somewhere in my cold dark heart, I really do appreciate that people are still hanging around and reading when I have occasionally posted. You guys are super-awesome. And I swear I still read you guys - I have just been a mega-non-commenting-jerk-face lately. But this mega-non-commenting-jerk-face loves you, mmmkay?

The award is called the Arte Y Pico award and it comes with a meme

The rules state:

1. You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award through creativity, design, interesting material, and also contributes to the blogger community, no matter of language.

2. Each award should have the name of the author with a link to their blog.

3. Award winners have to post the award with the name and link to the blog of the person who gave them the award.

4. Please include a link to the “Arte Y Pico” blog so that everyone will know where the award came from. (And so the blog can pick up a crap-load of traffic - I assume)

And Here’s How It Works:

1. Link the person(s) who tagged you
2. Mention the rules on your blog:
3. Tell about 5 unspectacular quirks of yours
4. Tag 5 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.


So..ok here it is...

1. I hate squirrels. I'm not really scared of them or anything, but I don't trust them. Something about their beady eyes and that creepy chatter sound that they make. I would honestly not be sad if I never saw another squirrel again in my life.

2. One of my favorite shows to watch on television is "Clean House" on the Style network. I watch it instead of cleaning my own place.

3. Like many women, my guilty pleasure is Celebrity Gossip. And while I am definitely a feminist (*gasp), I adore some of the most misogynistic blogs like WWTDD. The guy is a jerk, but also very, very funny.

4. I am getting geared up to do the Master Cleanse detox. I was going to start yesterday, but I have to be in Phoenix for work next week. I didn't figure it would bode well for me to forgo dinner with Clients in favor of homemade lemonade. Plus, I advertise for a major brand of alcoholic beverages. We are pretty much required to drink with our clients. I know, I know life is rough. I am trying to find 14 travel-free days so I can torture myself on a diet of lemonade, saltwater and laxative tea. I am actually excited about it.

5. I am totally listening to Elvis right now in my office & it rules.

Now I am supposed to tag a bunch of people. Because I am a bitch rebel, I am going to skip this step. I am totally that person that deletes chain e-mails and never follows the tagging portion of meme's...and know what? I'm not sorry.

Hearts and snuggles to all of you. Awards make me warm and fuzzy - even if I do buck tradition. Besides, there are enough links in this post already.

Question

Has the rat tail somehow squirmed it's way back into society or has my neighborhood experienced an influx of white trash children? Either way...it ain't right, I tell yah.

The Friday Song - Let's Go Go Go!

This weekend my beloved White Sox play the Chicago srCUBs in the first Crosstown Classic series of the year.

All I gotta say is...Let's Go Go GO White Sox!! Chicago's Proud of You! If you need me - I will be glued to my TV.

White Sox Fight Song

Cooking with KC

Ok...so it's not really a recipe that involves cooking. Hell, I don't even cook. This is, however, delicious.

Buy a bag of Frozen dark sweet pitted cherries from the freezer section at the grocery store. Also buy some Diet Dr. Pepper. Get out a glass. Add cherries to the glass rather than ice. Pour in Dr. Pepper. Drink. Have orgasm.

You can thank me later.

The book Meme

Honeywine has tagged me for a Meme and it goes a little something like this;

Step One – pull out a book on the book shelf.

Step Two – go to page 123.

Step Three – read and write out the 5th sentence.

Step Four – tag 5 more people.

For this excersise, I have chosen class and substance in the form of The Bad Girl's Guide to the Open Road, by Cameron Tuttle. This classic treasure explores topics that are essential to road trip success including; 14 ways to open a beer bottle on your car (such sophistication), 11 things to do with condoms (blow it up for lumbar back support!), and tips to get out of a speeding ticket.

Page 123 deals with the best way to piddle when you can't find facilities. The 5th sentence reads, "On top of that, it's a great way to be united with nature and a way to give back."

I have elegant and sophisticated taste, no? I am supposed to tag people now, but being that I am so rebellious - I will tag nobody! Muah-ha-ha. However, feel free to share your favorite book or what you are currently reading in the comments section. I am always interested in new authors and would love some ideas of something new to check out. Don't be intimidated by my obvious sheik and refined tastes (Ha!), suggest away!

Thera-Flu is not helping my productivity

I bought the new David Sedaris book last week and I am so excited to read it - that I could shit. Seriously, I heart him with the warmth of 1,000 suns. My love is admittedly unnatural but I am unapologetic as he is without a doubt, my favorite author. The problem is that I am in the middle of reading a different book & I steadfastly refuse to put down the book I am reading until I am finished. (Don't get on me for reading Jodi Picoult - I like her and I don't care what you elitists say. So There. Ppptttbbbbb.)

In other news, I think I contracted The Bubonic Plague this weekend - so I am hopped up on cold meds and am borderline delirious. Sigh.

Results + The Friday Song

Thanks for your suggestions for a name for my scooter. Of course, I loved the highly innapropriate "Weenis" and "Bitch," but figured I should pick something a little more PG. Imagine me talking to my grandmother - telling her I was going to take "Weenis" out for a spin. Hilarious? Yes. Grandma safe? Abslutely not.

After much debate, I have decided to go with a musically influenced name for my Buddy Scooter. The final decision is "Buddy Holly." The thing already has "Buddy" written on it, so it was meant to be. Now if you don't mind, Buddy Holly and I are going to go for a ride...not fade away.

Weekend Update + Ask the Internet: Name my Scooter

I spent a lot of time on the new scooter this weekend. It was beautiful in Chicago on both Saturday and Sunday, which meant I was going to be out and about as much as possible.

Saturday was primarily speant hungover and aching, but I got it together around 2:30 (I know, I know) and met up with "The Gays" for some German Beer festival action. Let me tell you, you have not experienced fun until you rate the hotness of men in Lederhosen with a few catty gay men. Though I was not drinking (I was on a scooter - I'm not stupid), it ended up being a really good time.

Sunday, I woke up early and decided to spend the day out riding and exploring. The sun rewarded me for my efforts with one the most glorious farmer's tans in the history of all farmer's tans. Thing is, instead of a tan, it's more of a burn - a very painful, very red burn. I seriously look like I am wearing a flesh colored t-shirt with red arm warmers and a scarlet neck scarf. It is truly a sight to behold.

Even with the burn, the weekend treated me pretty well. I had some emotional moments (thanks for listening Becky), but the scooter has proven to be a very nice escape. There is only one thing left to do....and I need help. I want to name my scooter. People name boats and motorcycles all the time, so now it's my turn. The scooter is Seafoam Green and is a Genuine Scooter Company Buddy Scooter (125 cc).



As I understand it, most vehicles/boats are given women's names. However, I get the distinct feeling that my scooter is of the male persuasion. Perhaps it's because the model is a "Buddy," or maybe it's just because I like the idea of a man between my legs (Snap!). However, I am open to it's sex (look at me with all my filthy innuendos), it just needs a good name. Any suggestions?

It's the little things in life

Dudes...John Hiatt just played at my office. It's days like these when I really like my job. What other place can you get up from your desk, watch a living legend play 5 songs and then just go back to work? My phone is horrible for pictures, but he looks pretty good, huh?





And just in case you don't know who John Hiatt is...he sang/wrote many many songs that you know...you just never heard his name. For example;

Brokedown Palace

This Link was on my Google Hompage today under "How to of the Day."

Fitting, huh?

I need some serious fun this weekend.



Picture from marriedtothesea.com

My Buddy and Me

It seems as though owning my very own Stella was just not in the cards for me.

It started when I got to the dealer Saturday morning. I arrived 15 minutes before they were open and immediately began drooling over my Stella in the garage. She was beautiful. She still needed some cleaning up, but I was anxious. Before we did any paperwork, I asked to ride her to make sure that I would be able to deal with the manual transmission. I figured, I can drive stick in a car, how hard can this be? Turns out, it was really hard.

The guy began by detailing the start up process. Stella is essentially a total replica of the 1960's Vespas, and was made with all of the 1970's technology. In order to start Stella I had to;

a) Turn the key
b) Turn the Gas knob to "on"
c) Pull out the choke
d) Pull in the clutch
e) Give her gas (but not too much or too little)
f) Push the start button
g) Let her idle for a few minutes to warm up, paying close attention to the sound she makes - give her a little gas until it sounds right.

Basically, right off the bat, Stella was a temperamental little bitch. This was strike #1. Still, mesmerized by her beauty, I was convinced that I could learn to do this. I would just get used to it. She was worth it.

The guy showed me how to get her into first gear and I hopped on. I pulled in the clutch and switched her into first gear. I let up on the clutch and gave her a little gas. Stella hopped lurched forward about 10 feet and died. This was strike #2. I felt like an idiot, but maintained that I wanted this scooter and tried again. Again, I lurched forward, but the salesman said that was normal. "She gets moving pretty fast," he said. I was off - I headed down the road on my test drive, jerkily shifting gears and contemplating whether so much beauty was worth so much trouble. Stella was nothing like the Scooters I rode in Scooter school. Would I be able to get used to her?

I got the answer to my question at the next stop. Being new to Stella's pain in the ass mechanisms meant I was a little slow about the stop to start procedure. The driver behind me honked. Startled, I accidentally hit the foot brake (back wheel) just as I was giving Stella gas. She reared up in protest and I ended up in a position that could only be described as a pretty sweet "wheelie." I'm guessing it was a glorious sight to behold because everyone was watching me intently from their yards and homes. Panic set in and I reached for the kill switch, accidentally giving the Scooter more throttle as I tried to maintain some control. Stella lurched forward and I fell to my knees as the bike flew upwards and forwards through the intersection (it was residential) landing hard on the other side of the street. Strike #3.

I had crashed the scooter on the fucking test drive. I wish I had pictures to show you the damage, but you will just have to trust me when I tell you that I messed her up bad. I checked myself for damages first, I was fine. I scraped my knee up a bit, but it was the bike that I was concerned about. I picked Stella up off the street and got her started again. Luckily, she was still running and I took her back to the shop, embarrassed and feeling terrible about ruining a brand new scooter (a stupid bitch of a scooter, but still a brand new scooter).

Feeling horrible, I hung my head as the salesman assessed the damages I had inflicted on his beautiful merchandise. He touched the bumper (which had been re-located about 8 inches higher from where it was before I took off). First thing out of his mouth? "I have never seen anything like this before." Somehow, I managed to wreck the bike to the point where it shocked a person who has been selling and working on Scooters his whole life. This man has seen scooters after they have been hit by cars - and I managed to shock him.

When I do something stupid, apparently I do it with gusto. Need something ruined? I am available for children's birthday parties and bar mitzvahs.

The guy ended up being really great about the whole thing. He was more concerned about whether or not I was hurt than the condition of the bike and he ended up making me feel a little better about the whole incident. I offered to pay their $500 insurance deductible - and he accepted. I know I didn't have to, but it was the right thing to do. He even helped me pick out a scooter that was more my speed and let me take it on a test drive. He is a brave man.

I returned scooter #2 without incident and decided to go with a friendlier bike since Stella and I obviously just did not get along. Internet, meet my new "Buddy" Scooter.



I'm having it delivered. Somehow, I felt that I was maybe not quite ready to ride with the big boys yet. I'm going to practice near my apartment and maybe someday I can work my way up to something more temperamental. In a way, I think that the accident was a good thing. I was really determined to get the Stella and figure out how to ride her later. I was a bit over-confident and the results could have been a lot worse. The lesson may have cost me $500, but it was well worth it. Besides, the Buddy was super-affordable and even with my $500 "oops," I saved $800 overall by not getting the Stella.

By the way, I am taking applications for my Scooter gang. The accident obviously gives me extra "street cred," right? You wanna join?

For the cat people

Hey Stella!

I passed my Motorcycle permit test this morning and have scooter class tomorrow. It's excellent timing because...

Stella is here!!!

I just got the call from Steve at True Imports and I will be able to pick her up on Saturday! He says she is beautiful & I cannot wait!

Bet you can't guess what I will be doing this weekend!

I'm going to be screaming like Brando until Saturday at 10am.

Anticipation

Me: If my new roommate has a Harley and we go riding together, am I going to look like a total lamewad on my scooter?

Friend: I don't know if "lamewad" applies so much as "Chach"

Me: What if I ride up on a motorcycle gang? Do you think they would let me join, or will I have to form my own scooter gang of hoodlums and debauchery?

Friend: I don't know if the words "Scooter" and "Debauchery" should ever be in the same sentence. Ever.

Me: Well, not until now, anyway. I'm going to single-handedly make scooters hardcore.

Friend: How is that possible? You are so not hardcore.

Me: That hurts, man. I am wicked-crazy hardcore. I mean, just last night, I totally threw caution to the wind and drank a regular Coke instead of a Diet Coke. You scared?

Friend: Trembling. How are you not in prison?

Me: I have a lot of practice running from the law. Outlaw for Life. Oooooh, I am totally putting that on the back of my Gang's leather jackets.

Friend: Do Scooter riders wear leather?

Me: Good Point. What about on the back of a windbreaker?

Friend: Or a cardigan!

Me: I could crotchet our outfits!

Friend: You are such a loser.

Me: You love it.

Sadie - The details

Sadie was the kind of dog that could make you smile whether you wanted to or not. She had a ton of energy and would climb all over you, licking any bit of exposed skin that she could find. She was the happiest dog you could ever meet. She didn’t have a mean bone in her whole body.

Sadie wasn’t conventionally beautiful. She had a smooshy pug face and her tounge would hang out as if it didn’t fit in her mouth. Thing is, you didn’t have to look at her long to fall in love.

She was content when she could lay on my mother’s lap with one of her toys stuffed into her little mouth. She would look up with her big ole eyes and melt your heart in a way that no other dog could ever do.

On Monday, May 12, 2008 my Mother took Sadie in to have a surgery that was supposed to open up her air passages to make it easier for Sadie to breathe. This sort of surgery is fairly standard for pugs, and my Mother chose a specialist in her area.

On Tuesday, my Mother took the day off work to pick up her dog. When she arrived, Sadie was still really “out of it” and didn’t even act excited to see my Mother, which is highly out of character. The vet assured my mother that Sadie’s condition was normal and that she may act strange for a few days as she recovered. Taking their instruction, my Mom returned home with her dog and kept vigilant watch over her best friend.

Sadie continued to be extremely lethargic and was vomiting often. Concerned, my Mother called the Vet Clinic several times (once at 3:00 in the morning) expressing extreme concern for her dog’s condition. Tuesday night, my mother barely slept, worried that there was something wrong. The vet continued to encourage my mother to hang tight – she would pull through. They said vomiting was normal and that she should not worry about Sadie’s extreme lethargy. They told her that all of it was normal recovery for the procedure.

Leaving Sadie for the FIRST TIME since picking her up from surgery, my Mother went to a meeting at her place of employment. She was gone for 2 hours. Upon return, Sadie was dead.

My mother is devastated. She feels responsible as though if she had not gone to work, Sadie would still be alive. She feels like if she would have trusted her intuition and FORCED the clinic to look at her regardless of what they said, Sadie would still be alive. She feels like if she had never taken Sadie to get the surgery, she would still be alive. She feels like she paid $2,500 for a vet to kill her dog.

I know that none of this is my Mother’s fault, but she is understandably feeling responsible. I told her that Sadie was lucky to have her as a doggie mom and that she did everything she could do. It makes me sick that she made so many concerned calls to a clinic that ignored her pleas. If they would have told her even one time to bring Sadie in, my Mother would have been there in a second.

I blame the clinic and I am fucking furious. I will be damned if they take my Mother’s money after being so negligent. People pay good money for specialists in order to rely on their expertise. These people dropped the ball and I am so angry…and sad. My mother doesn’t deserve this. Sadie didn’t deserve this. Hell, Mojo doesn’t deserve this either ( I brought him over to keep my Mom company last night and we both bawled as he looked for Sadie).

She was a good dog. I’m going to miss her.

R.I.P Sadie

My Mother's dog passed away last night. She was the happiest, sweetest dog I have ever met and she was Mojo's best friend in the whole world.

For those of you who believe in prayer - my Mom could use some right now. Sadie was like a child to her and her loss has been really hard. I will update later - but for now, I just hope that Sadie is snorting around heaven, licking everyone's face and making people smile.

On a related note: Fuck You 2008.

Stella Blue

I don't buy much for myself, in general. This birthday, however, is turning out to be a rough one. Between the breakup, my job and loneliness, I have let myself turn into a sad little hermit. In order to turn things around, I have committed to a new attitude and a fresh perspective.

To me, fresh perspective is about a new look. To facilitate my new look, I am getting my hair done tomorrow & plan to have a manicure by the end of the week. More importantly, today, I put a down payment on a sizeable gift to myself.

Meet Stella Blue (tell me I'm not the only Dead Head), isn't she beautiful?


I should get her by the end of the month! I have also enrolled in motorcycle classes to get my Class M licence. Keeping busy will have never been so fun!

Ask the Internet - Birthday Ideas

So, my birthday is coming up next Saturday, May 17th. I will be 27. Ack. It's the official entry into my LATE TWENTIES and I am terrified. However, I am determined to enjoy my day and avoid feeling sorry for myself at all costs. The problem is that I have waited until a week before my birthday to actually attempt to plan anything. So what's a girl to do? Is it acceptable to throw myself a party at a bar? What do you guys do for your birthday?

Why is it called a Meme?

I have been holding off on responding to my Meme tags from both Aunt Becky and Paisana (PS - Thanks for hangin' last night. It was fun). Luckily, they tagged me with the same meme, so now I can kill two birds with one stone.

Here are the rules:
1. Link back to the person who tagged you.
2. Post these rules on your blog.
3. Share six unimportant things about yourself (things/habits/quirks).
4. Name some of your favorite blogs.
5. Send an email/comment on their blog letting them know they have been tagged.

1. I don't like chocolate. It doesn't make me sick or anything, but I just prefer not to eat it. The taste doesn't do much for me unless it is in the form of white chocolate covered pretzels or a mocha latte - and even then - I could care less. Brownies repulse me though. The smell makes me cringe.

2. I hate checking my voicemail. When I get to work and the red voicemail light is lit on my phone, I become immediately agitated. This carries over to my cell phone as well. I go weeks without checking my messages because they are usually boring.

3. I can't type. I mean, I have fingers and stuff, but I never bothered to learn how to do it correctly. I think the feminist in me decided early on that typing was for secretaries (where did I get that idea?), so I refused to learn. I was going to be successful and have my minions type for me. I now realize that I am retarted. I have graduated from the hunt and peck method, but I still only use 3 fingers on each hand when I type. It's actually kind of embarrassing.

4. I am physically incapable of sitting through a meeting without doodling all over my notebook. I draw people, I write my name, anything to keep me from sitting and listening like a normal person. It's a terrible habit. I also only use sharpies (the thin point) or mechanical pencils at work. I hate pens. God, I'm weird.

5. I actually like Richard Simmons. When I see him on television, my heart is filled with glee. I consider his enthusiasm to be contagious and I admire his optimistic spirit. The fact that he is so passionate about what he does for others is inspiring to me, even if he is completely crazy.



6. I hate the smell of cigarettes. This is only notable because I was a die-hard smoker until October 2007. I have turned into a huge asshole about it and I am SOOO happy that bars and restaurants in Chicago do not have smoking sections anymore.

I am supposed to tag people, but I am going to take a cue from Aunt Becky and invite anyone reading this to share an unimportant quirk about themselves in the comments section.

Happy Thursday Bitches!

Hello, May I help you?

*I am depressing myself with the posts about the breakup. It's somewhat therapeutic to write about it - but today, I need a break. I imagine you do too. Thanks for staying with me even though I have been down.*

Due to the nature of my job - I travel. Not a whole lot, but enough. I was in Boston last week, and I am headed off to St. Louis for the day tomorrow. Like most professionals, I have a corporate card - an AmEx. It's everywhere I want to be - or is that Visa? Either way, I abuse the hell out of it. At hotels, I order $30 room service breakfast followed by a Venti Starbucks latte in the lobby. When my luggage gets lost, I expense the "good makeup" from CVS to get me through the next day. I take a $45 cab ride home from the airport instead of $2 public transportation via the blue line. The way I look at it, if I have to be away from home, I am going to find small ways to enjoy myself on the company dime - ESPECIALLY if it cuts into my weekend.

Before switching to American Express, my company used Diners Club. Diners Club had it's perks (i.e. no late fees for paying the statement late - even though if I was reimbursed in a timely manner it never would have been late to begin with - thank you very much), but it also sucked because who-the-fuck takes Diners Club? Nobody, that's who. When nobody takes your card, it becomes more difficult to expense stuff, making KC very unhappy.

In addition to the trouble just using my card, I had numerous problems with customer service. If, God forbid, there were strange charges or a problem with my statement, I could forget about speaking to a rational human being. In fact, I am pretty sure that Diner's Club customer service reps are actually patients at local mental hospitals. They are shuffled into a room under the guise of "arts and crafts time" and are forced to listen to angry customer complaints about their statements while they make cotten ball bunny rabbits. An actual conversation may look like this;

Rep: Hello, Sunny Acres Mental hosp- I mean - Diner's Club - how can I help you?

Me: Hi, I have a question about my bill.

Rep: I can tell that the government has been speaking with you. It's clear you know the secrets.

Me: What? No, I just am confused about a charge on my bill. Can you help me with that?

Rep: When was the last time you spoke with the president?

Me: ....

Rep: *Whispering* Help me get out of here.

Me: What? Do you need help? What is going on?

Voice in background: What are you doing? Get back here! :::ZAP:::

Dial Tone

So - you can see why I hate calling these people. I was so excited to cancel my Diners Club Membership when I got news about our company switch to AmEx. I paid my last Diners Club bill and breathed a huge sigh of relief. After all, one less corporate card held by me might mean one less mental patient forced to complete "Arts and Crafts time." I am a freaking humanitarian - always thinking about others.

I wish I could say that my Diners Club relationship ended there.

Apparently, I over payed my bill by one cent. ONE CENT! Oh the humanity! When you overpay your bill, you get statements telling you that you overpaid. You get these statements twice a month...for 5 months.

Upon receipt of my first notice, I called the crazy farm customer service to inform them that I cancelled and should not be receiving statements. They recognized my cancellation and informed me that they would be sending me a check for the over payed balance. Rather than discuss the obvious idiocy of paying to send me one cent, I let it go. I figured I could keep the check with my countless $0 checks from my time as a waitress. Besides, the poor customer service people go through enough without my logic making their crazy little heads explode. See? Humanitarian.

After about 10 more statements reminding me that I was owed one freaking cent - I called again.

Me: Hi, I cancelled my card, but I keep getting statements saying that I am owed one cent.

Rep: Ok.

Me: The last guy told me a check would be coming, but I really only want to stop receiving mail from you.

Rep: But you owe us money.

Me: No, you are not listening. You owe ME money.

Rep: Oh.

Me: So how do I get you to stop sending me stuff? Can I gift you the money? I will verbally authorize you to keep my one cent as a donation.

Rep: We can't do that.

Me: Can you just send me the check for one cent, then?

Rep: We can't do that.

Me: Well, what can you do?

Rep: Can't you just throw out the statement?

Me: Sigh. No. I am sick of receiving statements. Not only is it a waste of paper, but you are spending 41 cents on postage every time you send me the statement for ONE cent. Don't you see the irony?

Rep: God I hate Arts and Crafts time, the damn Easter Bunny keeps eating all my paste.

Me: What?

Rep: I said we cannot write a check for one cent - that would be a waste of money and resources. You can disregard the statement or you can re-open your account and we will apply a credit.

Me: This is pointless. May I speak to a supervisor?

Rep: Sure

Supervisor: You are cutting into Macaroni and Popsicle stick time ma'am. What's the issue?

Me: Never mind.

Thanks Guys

Just wanted to say thanks not only to my regular commenters (all 3 of you), but to my silent (as in not commenting) friends. I apologize for not calling many of you back. I am actually traveling for business right now and have taken the opportunity to clear my head a bit. I seriously appreciate everyone's concern, love and patience. Every voicemail I hear makes me so grateful that I have such amazing friends that not only care about me, but care enough to wait until I am ready to talk.

You are all amazing, and I need all of you right now. I love you guys so much and I can't begin to explain how much your suport means to me. I promise to call all of you soon - so don't worry too much. You know me, I'm a survivor. I'm just a little sad right now and I'm not used to feeling so weak.

Until then - I heart you all.

KC

Sarcasmatic Classifieds

I need a roommate. Obviously, recent happenings have opened up an available room at my apartment. Looking for someone clean. non-smoker, not a psycho. I have a HUGE apartment with skyline views in a gorgeous walk-up building. Lots of natural light, fireplace/washer/dryer/dishwasher/kitchen to die for and a steam shower. I have a ton of furniture, so you would really only need a bedroom stuff for your room. Amazing place. $825/month + utilities.

I don't suck as a roomie - so if you or someone you know may be interested - lets get together for a beer and see if we could get along.

*The pictures are from before I moved in - so it's not my furniture, but you get the idea

One dollar, Bob.

I was doing my typical avoid work blog check morning routine and landed upon a post about naming fish over at Tenth Muse (go add some suggestions). I racked my brain for a bit and submitted a couple ideas including Bob Barker & Rod Roddy - which got me thinking - I miss those guys (Especially Rod - Come on Down!!!!).

Matt and I stayed home from work together a few weeks ago and caught a little bit of the new "Price is Right" with Drew Carey. I'm not gonna lie - it was kinda creepy. Drew just doesn't fit in with that glorious 70's stage facade. His awkward approach doesn't resonate like Bob's natural charm. I didn't see the end, but I can't imagine Drew inspiring me to "Help control the pet population" by "Having my pet spayed or neutered."

It's disturbing to see childhood icons (So what if Bob Barker was a God to me? Don't judge.) grow older or pass away. I have had a lot of moments like this lately. I remember a figure from my childhood and become a bit saddened by the realization that these people won't be around for my kids (if I ever have any). I know it's part of growing up, but have you seen a picture of Bill Cosby lately? It's enough to make me want to cry. These people are timeless to me and it is almost painful to see them in such a frail state.

I know they can't live forever and that these people will live on in our hearts and minds and blah blah blah...but it still sucks ass and I don't like it. I am getting more crotchety and bitter with every year, huh? At this rate, by the time I'm 30, I will be tripping small children with a cane whilst screaming obscenities and gibberish about how Jeopardy isn't the same without Alex Trebeck.

So who is it for you? Who is that one personality whose aging/death really hits home?

Overheard on the sidewalk

"I have seriously been stopped by three different blind guys today asking me for directions to the same place."

"Maybe there is a convention or something."

"Well, then they should hang up signs so these people know where to go."

Rhyme for the summertime

Nice weather is finally upon us and this can only mean one thing – concert season. Ahh yes – time to pack up my picnic basket and head to Ravinia, discover my long lost hippie-ness at Deer Creek, and get my groove on lakeside at Northerly Island on Navy Pier.

Admittedly, as I have gotten older, my concert behavior tolerance has decreased and I have become what some might refer to as “crotchety.” I used to never miss a show – especially if I really liked a band. Now, it has become somewhat of an annoyance to hop a train or drive through traffic on a Wednesday only to suffer the whole next day due to lack of sleep. I am still a trooper though, and I suffer through the annoyance because nothing beats live music.

At the ripe old age of 26, my music preference has calmed a bit. I do not attend shows where I may encounter a mosh pit, I hang out in the balcony with the other “old folks” and when I consider buying concert tickets and see “ALL AGES” on the bill – I curse loudly, shake my fist into the air and remove the tickets from my virtual shopping cart. You would think that this would limit my encounters with the clueless – but you should never underestimate the public’s ability to be an asshole.

With that said, I present KC’s guide to concert-going. Feel free to print and distribute as necessary.

10. Dance Politely.

If you plan on doing the “Hippy convulsion wiggle shake dance,” make sure you have enough room to do so without disturbing those trying to enjoy the show around you. Either take it down a notch or move out of my way so that I can enjoy the show without your elbow in my tit.



Quick side note – if you would like to learn how to do the hippy dance, follow these simple rules;
a. Listen to the song being played
b. Completely disregard any melody or beat of the aforementioned song
c. Have seizure

9. Please remember to wear deodorant.
9b. Patchouli is not deodorant.

8. Do not push or shove your way up to the front of the crowd.

If you wanted to stand front and center, you should have gotten to the event earlier. If you do happen to make your way to the front of the crowd, you forfeit any right to use the restroom, get a beer or leave for any reason unless you are willing to give up your spot for the remainder of the show. This is a consequence you must pay for prime viewing.

5. Do not wear the shirt of the band you are going to see.

This should go without saying – but (and I quote from PCU) "Don't be that guy." You may be asking yourself, “But, KC, What if it’s an old concert shirt from a different tour? Can I wear that one?” The answer is no. Why? Because you look like a fuck-tard. If you bought the ticket, you are a fan. That is all you need to prove your allegiance.

6. No shoulder rides.

We all know your girlfriend is only 5 feet tall. However, when you place her atop your 6 foot frame, you have created a really tall, annoying monster that blocks everyone else behind you. Expect to have beer spilled down your pants.

5. Don’t yell out song requests.

The band has a set list determined ahead of time for continuity/lighting purposes. Sometimes a band will ask for requests – then and only then may you scream. If you absolutely cannot contain yourself (please try), DO NOT request that one song that is played on the radio every 15 minutes. They will play it, I promise.

Don't yell "Freebird." You are not funny or ironic.

4. Air Guitar – Just don’t.

For the love of all that is holy – Just. Don’t. (This rule also applies to air drums, air base and air piano)

3. This is not sing-along time, this is a concert.

Nobody minds if you quietly mouth along or sing along to yourself. It’s fun – everyone does it. However, I paid to hear the artist sing the song. I did not pay to hear you drunkenly shout it. What’s more – I certainly did not pay to hear you sing the first line and then drunkenly mumble along until you remember another word. Which you shout. In my ear.

2. Cell phones are a no-no.

Seriously, Broseph, your friend does not care that the band is doing a Bob Dylan cover. No. They cannot hear it. Cell phones are not microphones or concert recording devices and your friend will likely be annoyed that you are;

a) rubbing in the fact that they are not at the show, themselves
b) likely interrupting whatever they are doing so that they can listen to mumbled static as you drunkenly sing along

Besides, you are annoying the people around you.

1. STFU.

Seriously. I want to hear the band – not your weekend plans. If you want to talk/gossip/make business deals do it at home/at the bar/on the golf course. This especially applies to non-rock shows where people are seated. Also – do not yell shit at the band. They are not going to get naked no matter how much you tell them they are “hot” or request that they “take it off.” This is not a strip club. The band is performing. Have some respect. Save your fantasies for the bedroom.

Did I miss anything? What annoys you most when you go to see live music?

The Friday Song - To An Old Friend

In honor of an old friend deciding to make a blogspot of her very own, I am dedicating this Friday song to Sleepy Jean over at I Like Cheese?

Sleepy J and I go way back. I met her in 1st grade when we both lived in West Chicago (Chicago 'burbs - if you couldn't figure that one out). We became fast friends and when she moved away, I was devistated. Though we didn't stay in touch (We were in 1st grade, dudes), I thought of her often and hoped she was happy.

Not long after Sleepy J moved away, my mother and I moved out of West Chicago to St. Charles (another Chicago 'burb). Some time in fifth grade, our class took a field trip to see a theater adaptation of "The Bridge to Terabithia." Before the play began, I was restless and scanning the theater for some sort of mischief when I spotted her. How was it that I was to see Sleepy J after several years - and here we were in the same town again!

We ended up going to Jr. High and High School together and becoming friends again. In Jr. High, we would sing Pearl Jam songs at the top of our lungs (She had a much better voice than I). My Mother even took the two of us up to Summerfest in Milwaukee when we were in 8th grade to see our favorite band. I had fan club tickets - because I was COOL - shut up. We sang along - we danced. We were shameless fans and desperately in love with Eddie Vedder.

Me and Sleepy Jean too cool for school rockin' the ring pops in front of a convenience store.
(How very Clerks of us)

She always had an amazing spirit. Through everything she had to deal with at home and through those years of teen angst and rebellion, she was there for anyone that needed her. She was an amazing talent and even more amazingly beautiful - she just never knew it. I always thought she had the most amazing deep soulful eyes and a wisdom beyond her years. We grew apart - I believe she moved again and I went off to college.

Turns out, while I was pursuing booze and other debauchery at good old NIU - she was off getting married and finding God. Through the time wasting black hole that is myspace, we found each other again. Though I haven't seen this girl (in person) in over 8 years (maybe more?), I still think of her as a great friend and all around amazing human being.

We share a love for the blues now and I hope that we are able to get together one day and screech out some Susan Tedeschi or Sam Cooke at the top of our lungs. Strike that - I will screech and she will sing with that pure, honest voice of hers. More than anything, I think I would just like to give her a hug.

I have been agonizing over what song to dedicate to my old friend. Do I choose something that resonates now? Something with some soul, something with some funk? No. To her, my old friend - could there be any other song to dedicate to her? Though the song is dark - I remember what this meant to her and what it meant to me. I remember friends laughing and crying together...and really, isn't that what it's all about?

First pee, now this?

Some of you (my myspace friends) may remember when my ceiling collapsed outside of my apartment door last year. For those of you that don't know me IRL - it looked like this...


Nice, huh? My landlord had the roofers come out and check out any potential damage. They fixed the small leaky spot and gave the roof a good check to make sure that we would be all safe and sound.

Well, Either the roofers are crackheads (maybe the same crackhead that tried to pee on me this morning - scroll down), or my roof is out to get me. Here is what I came home to this afternoon...


Yes, ladies and gentleman, that is water leakage around one of the light fixtures in my bathroom.

This cannot be good. Does anyone know what this means as far as my electricity is concerned? Obviously, I won't turn on this particular light, but do I need to worry about turning anything else on in the same circuit? Seeing as how I have no idea what fixtures are on what circuit - this may be difficult, but I can probably guesstimate in the name of not blowing a fuse.

Know what else is fun? If I flip a circuit - the only access to the fuse box is in the basement - which is only accessable through the first floor apartment. So, if I do flip something, I will be at the mercy of my neighbor...or my landlord...who still has not called me back.

Fun huh?

On a brighter side, maybe this is karma's (not my cat - the other karma) way of reminding me to take part in Earth Hour Chicago. This is something that my company is backing pro bono and I encourage all of you Chicagoans to get involved. Turn off your power for one hour tomorrow at 8. Go to the website. Learn more. Make a statement. Link on your blog. Do it. More importantly, do it because you want to...not because you might flip a breaker because your bathroom light fixture is leaking water and you are scared to turn anything on.

Besides, candles smell pretty.

For the Suburbanites...

I almost got peed on by a crackhead this morning on the El.

Some splashback may have landed on my shoe, but I can't be sure.

Jealous?

The Friday Song

This one goes out to Stef. She knows why.

Here's to hoping you found some peace....



Down the street you can hear her scream "you're a disgrace"
As she slams the door in his drunken face,
And now he stands outside and all the neighbours start to gossip and drool.
He cries "Oh girl, you must be mad,What happened to the sweet love you and me had?"
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green.

And so castles made of sand, fall in the sea, eventually.

A little Indian brave who before he was ten,
played war games inthe woods with his Indian friends,
and he built a dream that when he grew up,
he would be a fearless warrior Indian Chief.
Many moons passed and more the dream grew strong, until tomorrow
He would sing his first war song,
And fight his first battle, but something went wrong,
Suprise attack killed him in his sleep that night

And so castles made of sand, melts into the sea eventually.

There was a young girl, whose heart was a frown,
Because she was crippled for life, and couldn't speak a sound
And she wished and prayed she would stop living, so she decided to die.
She drew her wheel chair to the edge of the shore, and to her legs she smiled
"You won't hurt me no more."
But then a sight she'd never seen made her JUMP AND SAY
"Look, a golden winged ship is passing my way"
And it really didn't have to stop...it just kept on going.

And so castles made of sand slips into the sea, Eventually

Roll away the dew

Morning routines in my apartment are pretty typical. I get up before Matt, make coffee, feed Mojo and Karma, and hop in the shower. By the time I have dried off and had a cup of coffee (thus making me much more pleasant), Matt has gotten up. I get dressed and start the process of drying my hair (it takes FOREVER) while Matt gets ready to head out. Sometimes, if I actually move my ass in the morning and get the dog out, Matt and I leave at the same time and head out to work together.

Other mornings, I am lazy and as Matt is leaving, I am only just taking out the dog. Since I don't have to be at work as early as he does, it works out and Mojo and I take a leisurely walk around the block. Rather, I take a leisurely walk and Mojo frantically "checks his messages" (Read: smells other dog pee). Today was one of those lazy mornings. I walked out with Matt and saw him off towards the bus stop as Mojo and I went on our merry little walk.

We got back to the apartment and I promised Mojo his "Good Boy treat" as I reached in my pocket for my keys. Nothing. No keys. As panic set in, I prayed for my cell phone. No cell phone. Shit. Matt was already well into downtown by that point and probably wouldn't be able to turn himself around even if I could get a hold of him. I knocked at the door hoping a neighbor might hear. Nothing. Shit. Shit.

Not knowing anyone in the neighborhood, I felt uncomfortable knocking on the door of a stranger, dog in tow, asking to use a phone. Having no other option, Mojo and I headed in the direction of the coffee shop about a block away. While I was too embarrassed to ask a neighbor for help, I had no problem peeking my head into a busy local coffee shop (holding Mojo out the door with my free hand) and loudly requesting that I use their phone as I was locked out with my dog. Some people snickered, some looked at me with pity, and some just stared blankly.

Thankfully, the man behind the counter was very friendly and allowed me to use his cell phone to call my Mother (who has a spare set of keys thank-you-God). He even let me bring Mojo in to the doorway so he didn't have to stand outside in the cold. (Remind me to go order a latte tomorrow and leave the guy a HUGE tip)

My Mother answered her phone and after some well-deserved teasing about my becoming more like her everyday, she came to help me out. While we were waiting - it began to rain. Of course it couldn't just drizzle - no - it was that nasty cold snowy rain, the likes of which can only be found in Chicago and Hell. So here we were. Locked out. Wet. Cold. Miserable.

I eventually got to work, and I can only imagine what else this day is going to vomit all over me. I have a feeling that it won't be pretty.

What is Snoop up to?

Just in case you were wondering.

Wham!

George Michael is coming to Chicago!

The "Father Figure" will be playing at the United Center (walkable from my apartment) on July 9th and I kinda want to go. I mean, how many times in your life to you have the potential to hear "I want your sex" live? I don't think I would be able buy tickets without feeling a little dirty, but I have some hookups and might be able to get some tix for free. Who wants to go? Aunt Becky - you know you sing some "Wake me up before you go-go" pretty much every day of your life - you may be the only friend that would brave the rabid "George Michael Gays" (These are a special breed of gay) with me. Whattya say?

Who else is in?

Ask the internet

Alright, internet friends, I need some help. I have very kitschy home design tastes, so admittedly, you may think I am crazy to ask for a design opinion from all of you (who are probably all classy and stuff). However, I am completely torn over a purchase.

I saw these dishes on Overstock.com and I have an itch to buy them. Yes, I have perfectly good dishes already...but these are so retro-glorious that am evaluating throwing caution to the wind in order to *gasp* buy something I don't need. This is seriously weird for me as I am very cheap thrifty.

So here is the question...do these new potential dishes go with the theme of my dining room better than the dishes I already have, or is it just too much?

This picture is very old - I may post an updated one when I get home - but it gives you an idea about the general design.

**Now updated Picture**

The Friday Song - To my Daddy

As I navigate the world of blogging, trying to find other blogs written by people like myself, I have stumbled upon many themes. Since I am new to the whole regular-blogging thing, I thought that adopting a weekly theme might help me stay motivated to post regularly - and so the search began.

Becky introduced me to an explanation for that 45/365 theme that I see everywhere and I thought of it as very clever and cute but just not me. I have also seen blogs that post pictures on Mondays, post poems over the weekend, or write monthly letters to their children. I thought about trying one of those themes, but alas, I am not a photographer or a poet. I don't have kids to write about, unless you count Mojo, but that post would read something like;

"March 2008

Dear Mojo,

You have gained one pound since my last letter to you. I am beginning to think that your weight gain is more than just a "winter cushion" as the vet suggested. You are my little chunker, and I don't care that you snore like a grown man and drool all over the floor. You are Sexxy and all the bitches want you - fo' realz.

Love, Your Momma"

Let's face it, nobody wants to read that. In fact, a few of you probably just clicked away from this blog in disgust. It's cool. I can take it.

After quite a bit of thought (mostly in the bathroom), I decided that my weekly theme would be "The Friday Song" - wherein I dedicate a song to the person/thing/event of my choosing every Friday.

So without further ado, this week's song is dedicated to my Dad.

My parents divorced when I was two years old and I grew up with my Mother. We moved away from Southern Illinois when I was 6 years old and I saw my father once a month and then spent summers with him. When I was younger, I resented those summers because I would be away from all of my friends and have to socially "start over" every school year. I couldn't be in school plays because weekend visits interfered with time I was able to dedicate to rehearsal. I got my period for the first time while staying with my Dad, when the only person I wanted was my Mom.

As a kid, I always wanted to please my Father, but our relationship was awkward. I don't know that either of us really knew how we were supposed to develop a relationship. Only now, as an adult, do I feel a real connection to my Dad, and I wish I was able to spend more time with him. The time we do have together is still a little weird sometimes, but we have figured out a way to communicate with one another and I really appreciate who he is as a person. I don't know if there is any other thing in this world that can compare to the feeling I get when my Dad tells me he is proud of me.

Sometimes, a song has the ability to capture every feeling and every word that you mean to say, even if you don't know how to say it yourself. This is that song for me and my Dad. I can't listen to it without bawling, but in a good way.

Paul Simon - Father and Daughter