Friday, October 30, 2009

Does Rain Make People Stupid in Your Neighborhood Too?

Okay, I am going to preface this one by saying two things.
First, I am writing my blog out of order, because Chrissy Costa really DID win the ghetto award (two posts back) and could not get her internet up in enough time to post her blog. So, I guess you could say, um, she is taking a "sick" day from the proverbial online "office."
Secondly, I will also preface today's blog by saying that I have not owned a car in Chicago for over 5 years, and rarely have I driven one (this could be indirectly related to both crashing the cars of the last two people I dated and, even more indirectly related to the fact that another nickname of mine in highschool and college was Crash).

All of those "prefaces" aside, I am just dumbfounded by how drivers in my city get aaaaaaaaaalllllllll jacked up when even one dew drop dances down (alliteration, like that?) to the ground.
Literally, I know for sure on days like today when it is raining hard that I should probably leave the house 6.5 hours earlier for my 12 minute CTA commute because all drivers will be going one centimeter, say every 30 minutes (don't do the math)...and have their noses planted to their windsheilds so closely that there is noooooooooooooo way they can see that they will be stuck in a traffic jam for weeks and that they'd better just call the boss now and let him know that, well, he shouldn't order their Panera box for today's lunch meeting.

Now, you might say, "Well, rain is can do all kinds of things in the rain, hydroplane, or lose control of the vehicle.."
And I would say ..."RIGHT...."

But, then, how do you account for the fact that I live in Chicago, one of the most horrific weather cities in the world, and one, where, wind storms and, say, blizzards haven't stopped people from going 100 miles and hour on the freeway and running over innocent salt pourers in order to get their dunkin donuts before heading to Grandparent's Day at the local preschool?

This doesn't make any sense.

A true enigma.

A 90-year-old woman can snow dive here or go for a 3 mile run in 20 below zero temperatures (80 below with the windchill), yet that same woman is afraid to driver her car or leave the house when there is a mist surfacing on her window---I mean it could be the dreaded RAIN and all.

This confuses me.

In fact, it is one of those questions in life as daunting to me as, say, where does the universe begin and end..and how did something create something when there was nothing, but nothing and something weren't even words yet?

Monday, October 26, 2009

Work Romances: Matches Made in Bathrooms

It is official. There are AT LEAST three people in the building where I work stalking me.

How do I know this? Because they ALWAYS happen to be in the bathroom the same time as me.

Either that, or they use to have the nickname "pee-nut" in highschool too....true story.

What is it with anonymous bathroom encounters with people that you don't work with "directly" but who always happen to be there at the same time as you....or is it just me?

I mean, these are people you would NEVER socialize with in the "outside world," and, yet, they seem to be face-to-face with you morning, noon and night at one of the most intimate times in your life.

And if life were fair, these people would be kind of like "anonymous sex" friends and you wouldn't have to even say hello to them, but no such luck. At least not in my unfair bathroom world.

You have to pretend to care and to know little tidbits about their lives, when all you really want to do is, as my dog would say (or is that as I would say to my dog?), "go potty" in peace and quiet.

For credibility sake, I'll give you an example.

I am in the social work department, so, generally, I just don't interact with people in, say, finance (this might shock you, but, we, as a rule in social work, just aren't that concerned about money). But, OF COURSE, one of my bathroom "friends" is this lovely woman in finance who just had to go ahead and ruin my whole, say "year" by getting pregnant.

First of all, now beautiful (and skinny) pregnant lady not only knows that my bladder is as small as a woman in, say, her 8th or 9th month of pregnancy, but I also have to ask her questions about her upcoming motherhood and belly and stuff because she seems to always decide to wash her hands at the same time as me.

You might say, "Well, then just don't wash your hands, Blythe," I mean the proverbial you have done that right...well, before you think you are sooo smart in solving my problem, I'll tell you that currently, the pee and run strategy isn't an option, because we have an outbreak of the Swine Flu on our floor (which, come to think of it may be easier to contend with...).

And it isn't just cute pregnant women either, it is the older adult woman who probably has to pee that much for medical reasons, and I am riiiight there next to all my urinating glory.


Come to think of it, though; I mean, now that I have gotten my feelings out and stuff, I could turn this into a positive. I mean, after all, when my boss is waiting outside of the bathroom to talk to me about something (true story), I could have the excuse that I was holding a joint baby and retirment reception for my pee party colleagues.

Enough work for today.

Off to pee.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

This Place, These People, All Testin' My Buddhism...

I don't understand why my neighbor gets so upset when somebody uses "his" cart. It clearly says Family Dollar on the handlebar...

Will I always live in a ghetto?

Monday 7:00 a.m. - Well dressed man with two gay poodles exit the main door. Poodles piss all over the front of the door. Two seconds later they all re-enter the buliding as I stare at the huge pee stain. Really? Did that just happen? He says, "Hi". I think, "Why the f didn't he walk 4 feet away to the tree?"

Monday 9 p.m. - man uses neighbor's car as a porno mag. as a friend watches in disbelief. I mean, I like a nice luxury car too, but do you see me making love to myself in public behind one? No. No you don't. Why? Because I don't have a penis. And that was a good call on the Universe's part. Man proceeds to make a face and run. He was holding a Giant Eagle bag.

Tuesday 6:30 p.m. - I'm talking to a friend. "Bang." Me: "Was that a gunshot?" Her: "Maybe." I just finished my scone anyway. All in a day...

Thursday 2:45 p.m. - same masturbator stands behind friend's car in broad daylight and pees. I have to give him a little credit for not peeing on our building door. Proves he's a little smarter than a poodle. Just a smidge. I look at him and he looks back. Same twisted face. Then he runs. He's holding a Giant Eagle bag.

Last Week - Something or someone; presumably a dog, shat all over the second floor of my building. We, the tenants, did our part to ignore it by stepping over the mess. All except for one of us. That one of us, who, wrote a big nasty letter to the owner of the presumed culprit, or the culprit her or himself, and put it on the pile of shat. It was quite a lovely letter. In fact, I'd like to send the writer of that/those letters a dictionary so next time they write a letter (letters) on construction paper they'll actually use the correct words. Fun.

Am I judgemental? A little. Do I wanna be? Not really. Is it hard not to be living in this shathole? Yes. Do I think I'm better than this? On Tuesdays. No matter where I move, no matter the city, I always end up in the same type of area. Ghetto. I guess I'm used to it. In fact, I'm driving around looking for wireless signal so I can finish this blog. Ya. Maybe I do belong here. But then again, maybe I just upgraded from CricKet to Sprint. Booya!...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Frozen Broccoli is Gross

I mean, what is the point in frozen broccoli? Really? What is the point.

In fact, I'll go so far as to say that frozen broccoli is like a BAD relationship.

You wanna know why?

Because you go to the doctor or you see on some billboard that you should be having 5-7 servings of vegetables a you get excited to cook...

but, then the "romance" of cooking wears off and you go for the frozen bag. Kind of like a quicky in bed or something.

You don't buy the kind that is in florets, because that would mean you'd have to cut it up and stuff, which would require work AND vegetables, so you just get the chopped stuff. In other words, you pick the bottom of the barrel in frozen broccoli, kind of like you pick your partners.

You feel at least a little excited, though, that you are going to get your vegetables (have SOMEONE to date after all) and so you bring it to work all frozen and stuff (because you don't want to stink your house up with that mess).

You add too much water (too much love and attention) to something you picked in a haphazard way anyhow, and then, what does it do? Broccoli (your lover) literally turns around and bites you in the ass.

That's right. Not only does it smell up your entire office floor (and mean you have to hide from your colleages so as not to leave a trace of you being the smelly staircase culprit), but you have to leave it all to be thrown out in your plate because, well you just can't bring yourself to "digest" it (get it?) anymore...