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

It's not easy being green

When I was in college, I took a class that was popularly referred to as "the drug class," "fun with drugs," or "I wonder if the professor will give us drugs today." I don't remember the actual name of the class, but memory loss in this instance is ironically hilarious – so I refuse to actually look it up. In fact, I don't remember much about the class at all - not because I was on drugs (you guys are assholes) – but because it really wasn't that interesting.

Something that I do recall, however, is the theory that people take drugs because of an inherent desire to alter consciousness. The theory suggests that humans start this altered-state experimentation at a very young age. For example, children spin in circles to make themselves dizzy in an attempt to rework their known sensory realities. The dizziness sensation allows them to experience something outside their typical existence. Interesting concept.

So, similarly, when adults desire to feel that altered state, spinning around in circles just isn't enough anymore and they turn to more sophisticated, manufactured instruments of euphoria.

What is your opinion on the topic? Do you think the theory has merit?


I remember when I was a kid...I was convinced that if I jumped at just the right angle and with just enough momentum, that I could actually fly. I am serious. I recall running around in the yard jumping all over the place. Perhaps after running around like a lunatic and hurling myself upwards, I may have caused myself to get lightheaded, thus allowing me the illusion of flight. I also thoroughly enjoyed making myself dizzy.

As I write this, I found my self wondering if I seek out mind-altering experiences any differently now that I am an adult. Will spinning until I fall down allow me the same joy at 26 as it did when I was 6? If not...will I seek other avenues to adjust my senses?

Nah.

I don't know about you guys…but all this spinning around in circles has made me very thirsty. I'm gonna go get a beer...or 12.




Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Bravoholic

I have a serious problem. I am obsessed with Bravo programming. I was addicted to Project Runway and now that the season has ended, I have adopted Top Chef as my Wednesday night "must see TV." Next to Chef Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares on BBC America, Top Chef has got to be my favorite show EVER. (Are we sensing a food trend here?)

Last night was the Top Chef season premiere. It's a bit too early for me to pick a favorite, but I think that there may be some interesting surprises this year and I am super-pumped.

One thing that may be funny (if not annoying) is contestant Andrew's uncanny similarities to McLovin from Superbad. (The link takes you to an interview on Bravo's website - but you will see what I mean if you watch the show). I will be rooting for him just so I can quote the movie every Wednesday.

Keep the following clip handy for next Wednesday (or re-runs).

Office Commandments Neurosis

This post began as "When using the office restroom, thou shalt not use an open stall next to a stall in use" - then I thought...this has got to be just me.

I have a whole set of bathroom neurosis, including (but not limited to) the fact that I cannot "perform" when surrounded. This particular issue only applies at the office, as I have no problem going to the bathroom at concerts, baseball games (Go Go White Sox) or other public functions. Hell, I drop trou and pee mid conversation with friends whilst on the phone. I pee with Matt in the same room brushing his teeth (sorry baby). It is only at work where I suddenly feel claustrophobic and get stage fright. In my world, urinal rules apply whilst at the office.

That said, I hereby present "KC's bathroom issues" in no particular order;

* I have a favorite stall at places I frequent and at work. This is typically the first stall in the row. I feel put off and more than a little annoyed when someone else occupies "my" stall.

* I spare no expense on toilet paper. Only the best for these buns. In college, I bought my own because I couldn't stand the tree bark they tried to pass off as TP.

* If, upon entering "my stall," I find that the previous occupant did not flush, I will grudgingly move onto the next stall rather than flush before use. If, in the same situation, the toilet is flushed but there are "mystery drops" on the seat, I will wipe them away with a "glove of TP" and proceed to use the stall. How does this even begin to make sense?

* I always wash my hands after using public restrooms and become agitated if I have to open the door inward to get out of the bathroom. If I just washed my hands, the last thing I want to do is touch the door handle. (I usually use a paper towel)

* I rarely wash my hands after using the toilet at home. (I do wash them before I handle food)

* Just the thought of port-a-pottys make me gag, yet I frequent outdoor concerts and festivals with alarming regularity.

* Dried up boy pee on that inner lip of the toilet is one of the nastiest things to clean. This is why I ask Matt to clean our bathroom on cleaning days. Thank God he does this without complaint.

* Similarly, Man whiskers aka beard shavings in the bathroom sink are also a point of contention. Meanwhile, I shed long hair all over the apartment like it's my job.

* Mystery moisture in restrooms is the thing of nightmares. People that put carpet in their bathrooms should be immediately institutionalized.

* Padded toilet seats terrify me, but not as much as fuzzy toilet lid carpets.

It's not easy being nuts.

Meme, youyou

I was tagged for my very first meme (I'm new to the blogosphere - what?) by Aunt Becky.

Directions: Pick up the closest book. Open the book, turn to page 123, count down to the fifth sentence on that page, and then post the next three sentences.

The book is "The Tipping Point" by Malcolm Gladwell.

But Sesame Street just somehow never took that idea and ran with it. They knew that kids did this some of the time, but they never tried to build a show around that idea. Nickelodeon did some pilot shows before Blue's Clues where kids would be explicitly asked to participate, and lo and behold, there was a lot of evidence that they would.

Now that I have typed someone else's words into this space - what am I to do? I'm not sure if what I read is supposed to have some sort of existential meaning. Perhaps I am supposed to reflect upon this passage and determine it's place in the greater scheme of things and this discuss it at length in this post. Luckily, I am just not that deep when it comes to my reading material (or life in general, really) - so you shall be spared the boredom.

I believe I am supposed to tag some more people now. I think only about 5 people read my blog, so I shall tag you all. Special taggage goes out to the Other Lovely Becky for being my only regular commenter that I don't know IRL. Yay for my virtual posse of 1. You are truly a pioneer.

Office Commandments (Part 2)

When exiting the elevator, thou shall move thou fat ass as people exit to make room for thou co-workers.

Amen.

The bonus illustrated version.......

Cast of Characters

Bubble #1: Guy that looks familiar - but I just can't place him

Bubble #2: My old boss

Bubble #3: The HR admin - she smells like cigarettes

Bubble #4: The Girl on 6 that always looks like she is going to the club instead of work

Bubble #5: The skank with the burnt popcorn yesterday

Bubble #6: Some skinny chick

Bubble #7: Me - trying to get to the 10th floor

Bubble #8: Fat Guy from the 17th floor

Bubble #9: Intern

We enter at the lobby, filling the elevator to it's 9(ish) person capacity. We smile dimly at first and then avoid eye contact at all costs.

Several riders exit at their respective floors. Notice how I get pinned in the corner (I am bubble #7 - pay attention!) between fatty #8 and Club-wear chick #4. Smokey the Admin (#3) stays put and Burnt Popcorn (#5) move forward to give Fatty a little breathing room. Meanwhile, Clubwear is texting her bff whilst I attempt to burn holes in the back of her tube top with my eyes.

At my floor, I have to physically move Clubwear out of my way as she has now answered a call on her cell and is ignoring my polite "excuse me." I am met with a dirty look as I stumble out of the elevator after tripping over Fatty's lunch bag. Burnt Popcorn says "Good Morning" as she turns toward her cube carrying a big box of Orville Redenbacher. Smokey in HR coughs and the Elevator door closes.

fin.

Office Commandments (part 1)

Thou shalt not make microwave popcorn during the hours between 8am and 6pm. He who makes popcorn in spite of the commandment shall be shunned and silently cursed by his co-workers.

He who foresaketh the aforementioned commandment and burns microwave popcorn in the office between 8am and 6pm shall be immediately shot. The assasin shall be promoted immediately.

Amen.

Rant in the name of dog

It has been a beautiful day in Chicago - probably around 50-something degrees (It has been a horrible winter so 50 feels like 80 right now). Like every other Chicagoan, I grabbed the dog and took the opportunity to go outside today - sans gloves, scarf and hat - to get some fresh air. As it was the first nice day we have had in months, I dressed Mojo in a cute (yet badass) skull and crossbones scarf. After all, special weather begs for sassy style.

We walked about a half mile up to the nearest dog park, where I was hoping to see at least a few small dogs. No such luck. I spotted a Pitbull mix, a Lab, a bulldog and a couple other larger mix breeds. I decided to be cautiously optimistic, hoping that the other dogs would be gentile. Mojo plays very well with big dogs, but in the absence of dogs his size, he will usually keep to himself. Besides, I thought, why would someone bring their dog to be off-leash in a public area if their dog is aggressive? I have always had good luck at dog parks, and did not expect today to be an exception.

We entered the park and I let Mojo off his leash. The Pit approached quickly, getting a running start to jump up at my chest - splattering the entire front of my jacket, pants, shirt and hair with mud. I yelled at the dog to "Get Down!" but the dog had other ideas. It jumped up at me again - and then went after Mojo - knocking him down and rolling him over...in the mud. Meanwhile, the Pit's owners sat chatting, either oblivious or perhaps unwilling to accept responsibility for their dog's behavior.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't wearing my Sunday best or anything. In fact, I fully expect to get a few paw prints on my clothes at the dog park. It happens. I'm cool with it. It does, however, piss me off that the owners didn't even try to get their dog to play nice. Nor did they apologize for the result of their negligence. Fucktards.

Not to be defeated, I shoved the dog away and led Mojo over to a quiet area where he could sniff around by himself. Meanwhile, the Pit picked a fight with the Lab. When the Lab's owner could no longer control the aggression against his dog, he left the park and the Pit set it's sights on Mojo. Again. I ended up having to carry my muddy dog out of the park as the Pit jumped up at me - desperate to catch a taste of my little pup. The Pit's owner lit a cigarette.

The situation pissed me off for two reasons;

1. These type of dog owners are the reason Pits get a bad rep. Pits can be amazing dogs, when owners take the time to be owners. These are the same type of people that raise asshole children - the kind that run screaming through restaurants and grocery stores. It's just too bad that children are not held to the same legal standard as dogs - quarantined or put to sleep for biting and other undesirable behavior. I kid, I kid.

2. My little dog should be able to play in public dog parks without worry of decapitation. Sure, little dogs can be assholes too, but if a maltese bites my pug, Mojo can shake it off and live to pee another day. Now if it's a German Shephard that decides to play a little rough - that owner is going to feel pretty bad when Fido maims or kills someone else's furry friend.

So what is the solution? Personally, I think that public dog parks should be sectioned off into a main run and a smaller section for little dogs (under 35 lbs). It would be like the kiddie pool at a park district. The little dogs could still hang in the main area, but there would be a safer option for the little guys to excersize and play. As far as I know, there is nothing like this in the City of Chicago. Evanston has Pooch Park (which sounds like heaven), I would even be willing to pay the fee, but the drive leaves something to be desired.

Days like this make me wish I had the $ to make my ideas come to life. I would even pay a per day entry fee for a clean place for my dog to run and play with other dogs his size. Whose to say that others wouldn't feel the same?

*And yes, I realize that this is the second post in a row about my dog. As much as I don't wanna be that guy (or girl) ...I totally am. Just to prove it - here is another picture of my dog making his sexy face at Grandma's house. You like it. Don't lie.