Thursday, September 30, 2010

Debbie Does Desserts

I'm relaxing in a quaint little bakery/coffee shop in between classes in Holten, KS called Debbie Does Desserts. Not only does Debbie Do Dallas, apparently she makes a mean pecan pie, as well. Who know. That would put a different twist on the movie. Clearly, I am an outsider because every time a new customer walks in they peak their head around to see who the new girl is sipping a coffee typing on her computer. I feel just like Reese Whitherspoon in Sweet Home Alabama, I can just tell everyone is talking about me. I think I might put on my sunglasses just so I'm not so noticeable. Luckily, Debbie is a real sweetheart because I found myself in a pickle when it came time to pay for my latte and I only had plastic (I'm such a city girl) and they only take cash or check. They're allowing me to send them a check in the mail when I get home. This is the school I was at last week where they treated me like a celeb, so I'm assuming the whole town must have heard about me from their children. Typical. The school even asked me to stay and present a special presentation to just the seniors because they thought I was so cool. So I set up in the cafeteria during advisory and waited for the mass amounts of seniors to come check out the chef from the city. And waited. And about five minutes later I was still standing alone in front of my screen with no watchers. No biggy. I wasn't ashamed. Luckily, a few guys stumbled along just as I was about to leave. But then I quickly figured out they weren't actually interested in culinary school at all. All they wanted to do was ask me about partying.

"So like did you party in college?"

"You can tell us the truth."

"You did, huh?"

The cool girl inside me wanted to bust out some great college stories. But the realistic person knew this would be the dumbest idea ever. So I responded very maturely with,

"No, I didn't. I loved my classes and took my studies very seriously. College is really about learning, I didn't want to waste my time dabbling in those other immature areas. It just wasn't for me."

And then the boys left. But not before they asked me if they would be cooking with alcohol in culinary school. Stupid teenagers. When will they realize college isn't all about drinking.

On another note I could go for a home game right about now to do some good old fashioned college drinking. I took my break from Lincoln, we worked things out after a brief separation and I think we're ready to get after it again. We just needed some time a part is all. Lincoln just needed some time to realize it can't take advantage of me so much and just use me like an insecure freshman girl. We can have fun together with out making a scene or getting ridiculous. So now that that's settled I think perhaps we should consider moving the K State game to Lincoln next week. Nobody really wants to go to Manhattan, anyway. I mean who wants to go to a town that is so lame they couldn't even come up with an original name, they had to just copy the name of an already established city. Exactly. It's gross there. It's such a shady place that they couldn't even afford to have the game on a Saturday like normal college teams because that would take all of the towns people away from their jobs on the busiest day of the week at Wal Mart/AlCo. But that being said, Chris and I might still go to the game given it is a pretty short drive from Peker. So if anyone wants to join, we gots a real fancy place you can crash at. Although I should warn you, the wall in the guest bedroom faces the neighbors who seem to constantly get into domestic disputes, so you just gotta learn to tune them out. After a few screams and loud thumps it will eventually stop. They never let it get too out of hand.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

The Dougie

So after weeks of seeing various statuses mentioning "The Dougie" I finally googled it to stop my wondering regarding if "The Dougie" was a reference to either Doug Funny or perhaps Doogie Howser. It was neither. From what I've gathered it's just a new dance move, like the Superman? It looks pretty simple to learn, I might have to practice it this weekend so next time I'm in Lincoln I can just happen to pull it out- if need be. Which if it's a half way fun weekend at all, need will be. Then again, maybe this dance move is already old and done with. I would hate to be that loser dancing like an idiot, I mean I usually only try to look super cool when I dance. I hate it when I'm out of the loop. It makes me feel weirdly old. For instance I just found out the other day what ROFL means, rolling on the floor laughing. Like, are you serious? That's worse than FML or LYLAS. And it's missing a "T". Geesh. LTISM. But speaking of FB I am very excited to see the Social Network. I've actually heard really good things about it. And who wouldn't want to know more about the person who created a network we all spend the large majority of our day devoted to? Don't act like you don't. No one is better than the Book. NO ONE. Does anyone remember when it used to be called The Facebook. The address was www.thefacebook.com. I can still remember the day Jade told me about FB. I was still a little senior in high school and she said,
"you are so lucky you are just going to be starting college. There is this new internet thing everyone is like getting obsessed with. I think it's gonna be really popular for people your age."

"Well what is it?"

"It's called the Facebook. And it just has pictures of all of your friends and stuff."

I didn't get it.

"I don't get it. What do you do? Like IM?"

Not for years to come.

"No, I mean it's hard to explain. You can like search people and add new friends. It's just for college kids to check each other out I guess. I'm not really into it too much but I know a lot of freshman like it."

"That sounds dumb. Why would you just want to look at people."

Ha. Silly, naive me. Little did I know how much I would find I enjoy looking at people. I made my profile page in July before my freshman year and remember taking about three hours to decide on the perfect profile picture. A senior pic just seemed too generic. I needed something that screamed "Hey! I'm fun, add me as a friend!" I still remember the first pic I chose, is that sad? No, I think what might be sad is the fact that I was wearing a shirt in it that said "I'm a Paris." Not kidding. In my defense she was still pretty cool at that time, it was 2005, times were different back then. I would anxiously check my page every day waiting for my friend count to reach the double digits. It took a while, but once I had added all of my co workers at the Norfolk Country Club pool it shot right up there. That was a good day. And then I was so excited to get invitations to join groups. One of the first groups I joined was "Sandoz girls 2005." Wonder who the dork is who started that. Wergin? Kidding. But really, did you create that? Oh, I could do this for hours. Just take a nice leisurely walk down FB memory lane. But seriously, it is nice that our entire college experience is documented for us to look back on. I say nice, employers say inappropriate/reasons for termination, call it what you want, I think it's good. I like to know that anytime I want I can look at my SB album 2007, or Ugly Sweater Party 2006, I can know which of my friends was praying for their cousin three months ago and who was late to work last week because their cat spilled their coffee and who was still LOL'ing over the silly word their baby said, who coincidentally might have been riding the cat who spilled the coffee that was praying for the cousin. As they say, a second on FB= a lifetime in cyberspace.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Hail Pelini

Once upon a time I played on a basketball team that was ranked number one in the state. Yes, Kari, I'm going to talk about my junior year on the NHS Lady Panthers team. So we began 11-0, we were pretty damn good in the beginning, number one in class A, but as our schedule turned shitty (Fremont cough cough) we turned shitty. We played down to the level of the worse teams, which is exactly what I was afraid of for our dear Huskers yesterday. Why did no one listen to me? Having played on a number 1 ranked girls basketball team is basically the same thing as playing on a number 7 ranked in the nation football team, clearly I know what I'm talking about. But no, everybody said we were going to kill South Dakota. My dad even referred to them as a high school team a time or two. Well look what happens, damn it. Look what happens when you trot in on a high horse and look past a team. A ref calls a five second call after a mere three seconds and your entire high school dream of playing at the Devaney and getting ready in the cool Husker locker rooms and strutting around in warm ups while going to the concessions, the sole reason you didn't drink in high school and was sometimes mistaken for a lesbian due to lack of make up/wearing mens basketball shorts is shattered by a bunch of Fremont thugs and Emily the Machine Moran. Or something like that. I mean I'm still talking about the Huskers, I could care less about high school basketball, I'm sooooo over it.

I was sick to my stomach watching this game unfold. To make matters worse, I was sick to my stomach surrounded by greasy food and exposed butt cheeks at Hooters. And I was sober. Bad, bad combination. What went wrong? Where was the defense I know that gives me chills when they run out for tunnel walk? The defense that brought tears to me eyes freshman year because I was so overcome with emotion for the fact I will never have the opportunity to be a member of the blackshirts gang. The defense that seriously made me consider joining a womens football league so I too could feel the glory I saw on the field. My God, where was the heart? If these players don't want to play well get them off the field because I can think of another team who would gladly take their spots. And that team is the Night Hawks. Nebraska's new It Girl. Clearly this state isn't big enough for the both of them. So what if many of the Night Hawks are over the age of 30? Who cares if some have a criminal record? Doesn't matter that many spent the last five years training to compete in the Mens flag football division for the Cornhusker State games. Those players have heart. A helluva a lot more passion than I saw last night anyway. And maybe it has something to do with the fact that I've spent the last two weekends at Hooters, but the Night Hawk cheerleaders don't look too bad to me, either. I'm not claiming to be a football whiz by any means, I typically judge a game based solely on interceptions- if we had at least five that really caught my attention we played great, if we didn't have any we played mediocre at best. I just know this game sucked and lacked what the Lady Panthers always had: passion. Luckily, the Huskers came away with it, and I suppose a win is a win. But let's just hope yesterday wasn't a foreshadowing for worse things to come. In the meantime we've just got to say a few extra Hail Pelinis and Our Father Who art Tom Osborne prayers before bed tonight, it's really all we can do at this point.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Saved By the Bell

As it turns out, Emporia is the Lexington of Kansas, if you catch my drift compadre. I was immediately informed of this as I was walking into the high school and passed several groups of “eses” who called my way,

“Hey chicka! You wanna come cook for me sometime?”

“Ooooh senorita, I can make some spicy enchiladasss.”

Ext, and so fourth. I gave them my traditional faux sign language hello to let know them I was a deaf chef. I tell you what, each place I have been this week makes Peker look better and better. Nobody told me western Kansas is the new Mexico. But the day just gets better. So much better, this next part is almost too much.
So students are filing into the classroom after the first bell. I hear a female student say to no one in particular,

“Ugh, I’ve been nauseous like every morning this week.”

Well, I didn’t want to be the one to bust this girl’s bubble and tell her some would argue this as a common first sign of pregnancy. But when I looked up and saw who was speaking I ruled this out almost immediately. Picture Whitey from Me, Myself and Irene. Then add some longer curly white hair, and give or take 100 pounds. We’ll call her Whitey Jr.

So I’m at the part in my demonstration when I add dried chili peppers. Whitey Jr. announces once again, to no one,

“I can’t eat spicy food.”

Naturally, I don’t respond. I never respond to comments like this. What do students expect, I’m just going to change my demo recipe for one picky kid? No. It’s the same students who usually taste a bite of what I make and immediately say very loud for all to hear,

“This is like freaking nasty. Omg.” And it’s so obvious they say it because they think it like hurts my feelings or something. Guess what? It doesn’t! It just triggers my pissed off-o-meter is what it does. Anyway back to Whitey Jr. She wants to offer more information is seems,

“I can’t eat it because I’m pregnant.”

Well I’ll be damned. I didn’t see this turn of events coming. So now I give her a double take and wonder who in the hell is responsible for this catastrophe. I’m finishing up with the demo and feel Whitey Jr. creeping on me. Oh great, I think, this is going to be interesting. She starts with,

“I have kind of a personal question I need to ask you.”
No. Please don’t.

“Uh huh.” I respond extremely hesitantly.

“Well see my brother used to go to your culinary school,”

Okay, it’s not as bad as I thought. She continued,

“But then he burnt to death in a fire. So my dad told me to ask you if we need to send back his knife kit.”

Then again.

“Oh my gosh, that is awful. I am so sorry to hear that. I’m not positive, but I’m gona go ahead and say that you don’t need to worry about his knife kit, you have much more important things to worry about I bet.”

“Okay, good. Because most of the knives kind of melted together anyway. But my dad said I better check with you anyway so you don't like start coming after us to get the kit back.”

“I appreciate it, but no, you’re fine, there will be no culinary instructors looking for your family. Is that all you need?”

Why did I even ask. I could see her searching her feeble brain to conjure of more questions just to loiter around me.

“Umm, well, ya. What programs would you think would be easiest for me to study when I graduate, being a young mother and all?”

Hmm. Well Farrah studies culinary and seems to like it. And I think Macy studies advertising. Let’s see… I believe Catelyn is still finishing up her GED yet, so I think one of the two I listed above would probably be the best. I mean what better success stories than those girls? Luckily, I was saved by the bell (insert intro song along with neon colored crazy designs and icecream /sunglasses/ sneakers/ skateboard images),and the teacher intervened and told Whitey Jr. it was time to go. Close call. I've got no advice for teen moms. My only advice is for those who aren't teen moms, and to those I would say go get yourself knocked up so you can get on MTV and be on US, Ok!, and People every other week. Maybe even land yourself a spot on Dancing with the Stars. Our nation loves teen pregnancy more than Jaycee Duggard. And that's my 2 cents on that.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

I remember a time...

I remember a time long ago when Thursday nights meant either getting drunk, or drunker. The biggest dilemma of the day was figuring out who was going to buy the Bartons for the night. Yup, $2 or $3 per person was all it took for a night of excessive drinking, and I recall some of us even got mad at paying this price a time or two. Jello shots? Sure. Mop water? Why not. Husker punch? You betch ya. There didn't need to be an occasion for such drinks, the occasion was simply that it was a Thursday. The reason to celebrate was the simple fact that we had made it through three days of not drinking. I never met a Thursday night I didn't like. Sure, Friday mornings were typically pretty awful, but what did that matter when the only thing on our agenda was to walk to the Union to get food and then to not be hungover in time to start drinking again by the evening. The only time we wouldn't go out on a Thursday would have been if we were too hungover from Wednesday. Now I debate whether to have one glass of wine or two on a Thursday night, I sure wouldn't want to over do it. My greatest excitement tonight will be a new episode of The Office, perhaps a bowl of ice cream if I'm feeling naughty. Sometimes I feel like I went from being twenty to twenty three in just a few years...But what I am supposed to be doing on Thursday nights I wonder? Like, let's say for a second I have friends in the town I live, what would I be doing then? Watching the Office with them? Are other twenty three year olds really going out tonight? Am I missing out on something? I think I just have to let go of the vision I have of myself rushing to a trendy bar after work to meet friends for happy hour while we sit around sipping on cosmos and munch on bar nuts served in a cocktail glass while us girls kick off our heels under the table and the boys loosen their ties and we discuss the market and our asshole bosses. I guess my life isn't a scene from the Boiler Room as I originally thought it might be. For starters, I get off of work at 2:00 p.m. at the latest, and if I went in "work clothes," I would probably get told to get my ass back in the kitchen, depending if the bar we were at served food. And I don't really understand wall street, either. I mean, if someone is losing money someone has to be gaining right? Right? So somebody please explain to me how that whole 1930s "depression" really went down because it sounds a little too damn fishy to me. Chris tries to explain it to me all of the time and it just doesn't click. I've also asked Chris numerous times to invest my money in a stock that he can guarantee will double in profit by next month and he won't do that, either. Stockbroker schmockbroker. Well, I should stop being so sulky because it is almost the weekend and my parents are making the trek to Peker to see the palace Chris and I live in. Although I am sad a Husker game is not in my future for the weekend it is for the best because Chris has a lot of work to catch up on and Chris has already said we will go to Hooters again to watch the game. Which is just as good. Yes. Definitely. God love post college life.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

New TV week is better than friends

It's days like today when I get off work at 9:30 a.m. when I feel like I should be nicer to my job. Not to mention the fact that I was speaking in such a small town today that I'm pretty sure they all thought I came straight from the Food Network. I wasn't greeted by the usual bulldog of an office lady today telling me to put on a visitors badge or get the hell out. Nope today it was a sweet little old Betty White look alike who rushed to open the door for me and said,

"Oooh my, you must be the chef we're expecting."

"I sure am. Did my cooler give me away?"

"Oooh no, we all knew you were coming. Ms. Beasley told everyone."

"As in Pam?"

"Who?"

"Oh nothing, where can I find the culinary room?"

And then Betty hurried to find a student to carry all of my stuff for me and escort me down to the room. The students were dressed in various types of cowboy boots and Wrangler jeans. And for a town less than 30 minutes from Peker everyone seemed to have a thick Southern accent. It was pretty interesting. The students laughed at my jokes and praised my cooking skills, by the end of the hour I was flipping shrimp into their mouths and making fire rings out of onion towers- ya, you could say I might have been showing off a bit. And through out the entire thing the teacher was video taping me while having her student aid take pictures. Wonder what she'll do with that? That was a bit creepy, but whatever, a public tape has never done a celeb wrong so I figure it can't hurt me too bad.

But right now I am just gitty with excitement about the new Modern Family on tonight. I thought it would be fun to have a Modern Family party and make snacks and fun drinks to watch the show and invite, um... invite Chris to come home early to watch it me. But he said that probably won't work because he has a lot of appointments today, so I guess I won't have my party. But that's okay, spending just 30 minutes with Manny and Cam and Mitchell will make up for any Peker friends I have not met yet. And then tomorrow my night is already planned because I will be spending it with the cast of the Office! This is just going to be one of the best TV weeks I've had in a while.

Monday, September 20, 2010

HooHoos

Sometimes when I work at really gross schools I like to pretend I am working for Teach For America and only get sent to the worst of the very worst places because I am just that inspiring to listen to. This is kinda true, I mean except for the fact that when I am in nasty schools I get in and out as fast as freaking possible. I found a little place in Kansas today that makes Topeka look like Malibu. It's called Salina. Main town income: beef packing plant. The first school I walked into smelled like a combination of a high school locker room, and a high school boy's bathroom. I nearly gagged, it was so awful. And God bless those little hilly billy/ghetto kids I spoke to, they sure did mean well. So what if none of them knew their zip code. And who needs a phone number these days when you can have access to the Internet between the hours of 8-3. But too bad for me, that damn Kansas army recruiter got to them first and they were all already signed up for a life in the military.

I made it out of this school as quickly as possible before having to make one more stop for the day. It was at this next school when the students told me the first school I was at was the "fancy school," with the "stuck up kids." Could have fooled me. But then again, I do think I saw one girl carrying a brightly colored heart and polka dot Dooney & Burke purse at the previous school- if that doesn't scream fancy well then I don't know what does.

Speaking of fancy, Chris treated me to a lunch at Hooters on Saturday for the game...Yes, I went to Hooters to gather with other Husker fans from Peker. This was a first for me. It was everything I expected and so much more. At first, I was a bit taken back by the mid shin slouchy sox and white high top Sketchers worn by the waitresses. Was this supposed to fulfill some sort of bizarre 90's fantasy for patrons or something? Chris and I took a booth toward the back where we could watch the other Husker fans from a safe distance. They seemed like a nice bunch, a bit older than I expected. I am going to guess the leader of the group was the rowdy man who sat beside a Husker dressed gnome figurine on top of his table. Oddly enough, I believe his friend with him was Earl, from My Name is Earl. He had a great handle bar stache, and a ribbed grey tank top with a camouflage Husker hat to match. About half way through the first quarter the table next to us was filled with a cute little family there to celebrate their son's 10th birthday. I only know this because they brought in a cake (shaped like a bowling bowl) with the numbers 1 and 0 on it. The dad of the group even splurged and bought the whole table the tator tot appetizer, although he did rudely take over half of the plate for himself before passing it around to the rest of the table. They weren't dressed in Husker attire so Chris and I assumed they were just there to celebrate the birthday. What a grand idea! A birthday both dad and son can enjoy together. Who needs Chuckie Cheese when you can celebrate hitting the double digits at Hooters? Although judging by the fact the little ten year old sat quietly in the corner the entire time flipping through his sister's BOP! magazine, I can't help but wonder if the dad had an alterior motive up his cut off by bringing him to HoosHoos?

Friday, September 17, 2010

Wish you were here!

I am always so grateful when Friday comes around. This week seemed extra long for some reason. I'm just so excited for a relaxing weekend in Peker, I really don't think I could have handled another game day. I feel sorry for all those sorry Husker fans who decided to go Seattle, what fools. Tailgating on boats? Lame. Eating fresh seafood from Seattle's amazing fish market? Gross. Drinking with fellow Husker fans in a city we haven't played in forever? Overrated. Like I said, I pity the people who interrupted their work week to travel to Seattle. Jade said when she dropped my parents off at the airport it was already a sea of red of fans traveling to the game. Sounds like a hectic mess if you ask me. What with the long security lines and what not. I bet the one Eppley bar was packed, so that alone is reason enough not to want to go. And who wants to run into fellow Husker fans when your on vacation? It's just awkward is what it is. What an awful thought to think how they're all out their sightseeing in Seattle when they could be at work like the rest of us. I bet they're gonna be real behind when they get home, not to mention hung over. Some of you may or may not know that I have a brother, Jordan, well, he went with my parents too. Yup, life is good when you're a middle child. God forbid we hurt a middle child's feelings. Study after study tells us they're the ones to watch, they're the ones to be extra careful with, treat them special the doctors say. No biggy. I'm sure my parents will bring Jade and I home some Husker cups or something. Maybe we'll get some of the left over presents Jordan decides he doesn't want when he gets back to his beach house in South Carolina. Before leaving my parents dropped our doberman (Jagz) and yorkie (Izzy) at Jade's house. Her treat for the weekend is they're allowing her to watch their dogs. They also asked if she wouldn't mind giving them both a bath and haircut before they get home (Jordan hates it when the dogs are dirty so my parents wouldn't want to offend him.) They asked me if I wouldn't mind going to their home in Norfolk to check their mail,
"but mom, I live like 5 hours away, I don't think it's worth it to drive."

"Well it would really be nice if you could, Jordan has a Maxim magazine that he thinks is being sent to Norfolk on accident, he'd just really like it in time for the trip back to read on the plane."

"Oh, so you want me to get the mail then overnight the magazine to you in Seattle?"

"Exactly. Don't be so selfish, you can take one piece of food from the fridge when you're home if you'd like, except the jalapeno cheese, that's Jord's favorite. Leave that."

What can you do I suppose. I just hope my mom doesn't continue to text me a play by play of their weekend. It started yesterday around 4, which was 2 in Seattle with,

"champagne at the HardRock! Wish you were here."

Nice.

"calamari on the fish market. Too bad you're not here."

My ultimate fav fried fish.

"Can't keap uuop with ur dad andd brothe. To many drienks." I think this was at 5 Seattle time.

I can't wait to respond tonight when Chris and I are out, I'll really get to show her up. I already know what I'm going to say even,

"MMM Red Lobster cheesy biscuits and popcorn shrimp! Heading to the country bar next. Wish you were here!"

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Hooters

So just when I think I am having an awful week and nothing can go right and I just have the worst life ever my little highschoolkid-hating heart of stone manages to crack a bit. Today as a new class was coming into the room to listen to one of my great presentations I happened to hear one of the students go up to the teacher and ask if they were having a guest speaker, she said yes, and then he asked if I would wear "his microphone." My initial thought was that this was just your average smart ass high school guy asking another stupid question so I just glanced toward the teacher to see if she was really taking the kid seriously. I figured he was from an audio or film class and was seriously going to make me wear a Janet Jackson microphone simply for his sick entertainment. But upon glancing at the guy you could tell he was a bit different. He spoke a little slowly and had very large hearing aids in his ears, the teacher explained he was deaf, but had a special device in his ears that would let him hear whoever spoke into this microphone. So I put on the mic and said into it, "can you hear me?" To which he repeated,

"can you hear me now? But, can you hear me now? Can you hear me now, what about now?"

When he realized I had caught onto his joke he began laughing hysterically. So I played back and gave him a sarcastic, "ha ha real funny." And when he looked at me I noticed he was blind, as well. I told him he was a real jokester and I introduced myself, as did he. His name was Kellan Hellar. Okay,no it wasn't, but that, Alanis, is what I would call ironic. Anyway, his name was Kyle and he was born blind and deaf. Talk about making me feel like a real selfish jack ass. Obviously he was different from the other students, but it was clear he was incredibly smart. But as I originally thought, he was a definite smart ass, but the nice kind. As I was washing my hands at the other side of the room getting ready to begin the food demo all of the sudden Kyle yelled out,
"I'm counting the seconds I hear the water drip, you better wash for 30 seconds at least or I'm reporting you."
Apparently his little walky talky picked up sound from across the room. Before I began my demo he politely asked if I wouldn't mind announcing every single thing I was doing so he would be able to picture it in his mind. Anyway, that's that, just one of those situations that kinda makes you think...

But back to the superficial stuff. Like Gaga. PETA is apparently up in arms regarding her little meat dress she rocked at the VMAs. I think they're just pissed because unlike fur, throwing red paint onto a meat dress has absolutely no effect. They probably will start throwing white stuff, like flower, oooh but then they've just basically made a really big chicken fried steak, all they would need is some butter and a pan and they'd have a bomb chicken fried Gaga.

Speaking of fried though, Chris mentioned that we should join the Topekans for Nebraska club...Hmmm. Wanting to be supportive, I said sure. I figured it couldn't be all that bad to go to a bar where you know a bunch of other Husker fans will be, that's always fun. And then he told me where they meet for games. HOOTERS. I've never been to a Hooters, and really don't ever want to go. If I want to see nasty girls serve wings and burgers in shiney orange shorts that show their bottoms I would go to a, uh, well Hooters I guess. But as it turns out I don't want to see that. I feel this choice of location to meet says entirely too much about this group. It either means they used to meet at Applebees but got kicked out for being too wild and rambunctious. Or it means these are Nebraskans from towns such as Pilger, Stanton, Winside ext who have relocated to Peker and are just so damn excited to finally live in a big city with a Hooters they choose to have every special occasion there. Either don't work for me. Sorry. I'm not saying I'm too good for Hooters, because I know many a great stripper began their career there, I'm just saying it's not my cup of titty.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

"Too young for this. Too young." Teen Mom Edish

Amber throws her gang signs while trying to coax up some fake tears for the camera and dramatically says,
"I'm too young for this. Too young." And cut to commercial. Somebody give MTV an emmy for this show, this is some deep shit!!
Amber just makes me sick with anger. She is just so uncooperative, and even though Gary's belly is a little icky (was the belly close up necessary?) I just think she is awful to the poor lug. Leah is just itching to start a drug habit. I would consider fostering Leah, even if she always crys, if it would mean getting her out of Amber's household. I can hear the pain in Leah's cries and it's heart breaking. Does Amber not listen to a word Dr.Drew says? How dare she tell Leah, "Daddy's leaving you again." I just think Leah is becoming such a diva because she has lost some weight and is studying martial arts.

Farrah. Stop. Stop stop stop. You are a little nasty bitch. You give sarcasm a bad name because you suck at it. Repeating everything your mom says in a high pitched nasaly voice is not considered a come back. It's considered annoying. I wish your mom wouldn't have stopped at merely slapping you, you deserved to get your knees smashed. Your little asian friend isn't much better. And by little I mean not. She was clearly excited to jump on the MTV bandwagon and befriend you. And the worst part is the fact that you are eternally screwing up your precious Sophia. I know you were raised in Counciltucky so a lot of your problems stem from your surroundings but come on, don't be such a wicked hooker all the time. And what's with you pretending you can't pay rent but you can afford nights out at Spaghetti Works and non alcoholic fish bowls at Blue? Doesn't your fake job at Good Nights pay you enough?

Catelynn and Tyler. Oh you two just get better every episode. I almost got a little choked up when you called Carly on her birthday. Don't worry about Butch and Catelynn's mom, they're just jealous that you two were Prom Queen and King. I've got a good feeling you two will do alright and go on to live a long and happy life as a couple. Like the cute couple you see at Wal Mart that wears pro football attire and has bumper stickers that say "I'd rather be drinking," and takes special weekends to go to casinos and stuff- maybe even a weekend cruise for an anniversary. Although I do hope that your future holds a life without braces for Catelynn (especially those pesky rubber bands!) What's going on with that? Hasn't it been like over three years?

Maci. Even though I find Kyle incredibly unattractive I do love the way he treats you. Ryan is a little hotty, but just such an ass. And he never talks, it's pretty easy to see why you fell for him. Sometimes he gets a look in his eye that is just scary. He screams wife beater. But really, I hate to say it but I usually fast forward through you because you have your shit together for the most part, and that's just not that fun to watch. I get more excited to get my blood boiling because of Farrah.

Terrible Tuesdays

So today might not be classified as one of my "better" days. In fact, come to think of it, Tuesday and I have been struggling with each other for the past couple of weeks. It started last Tuesday after my awful alarm clock went off way too early and layed in bed thinking of a good excuse to not go into work. I like to pretend my job is like college and morning classes are optional, so I figured I could call my teacher for the day and say I blew a tire on the way, or woke up to find a dead battery, car excuses are always a great way to go, I try to steer clear from the actual car accident excuse just because it always ends up sounding way too tragic. So after running through my list of excuses and trying to figure out which would fit best for the day I realized I had woken up and might as well get up and go to work. After being on the road for less than ten minutes my car started to feel less like a car and more like a cart on a roller coaster. I looked around to see if anyone else was shaking inside of their car just in case it was some sort of weird earthquake but was disappointed to see I was the only bouncing car. So I called Chris,
"Hey, my car feels like a roller coaster, is this normal?"

"Well, probably not. I bet you have a flat, you should pull over."

"Oooh, not gonna work. I'm already late, do you think it would be okay if I just drive to where I have to get and then check?"

"Sure, if you don't mind being that asshole stalled in the middle lane during morning rush hour."

I pulled over. My back right tire was flat. So now I was truly late for work, but still had to get up early, and didn't even get to use the excuse. Later at the shop I would come to learn that the puncture on the tire occurred on the one tiny spot that is unfixable forcing me to buy a new tire for $200. The job Chris mentioned at GoodYear didn't sound all that bad anymore.

Which brings me to today. Starts off just like last Tuesday, lying in bed, not wanting to go to work, thinking of car excuses, I basically do this every morning though. I just like the feeling of thinking that my job is optional, I like to pretend it's up to me whether I go or not, I dunno, it's a power thing I think. My excuses wake up and I get ready for another day. So just as I'm pulling out of my covered parking spot, yes Topeka doesn't offer garages, simply 1970ish covered spots, I'm looking behind me not wanting to crash into the lime green GEO parked too close behind, when all of the sudden I hear a loud crunch. Shit, I don't see any cars besides the GEO I didn't hit so I must have hit a walking baby or something. But then I noticed the hispanic lawn men laughing and pointing, a rude gesture I felt, if I had just indeed hit an infant. Then I figured out that while backing up my front ride side crunched into the wooden pole beside me. Little car accidents like this are the worst. Because it's just one of those awful, this could have been spared, feelings. So ya, two Tuesdays, and two excuses that weren't used that turned true. Alanis might call this Ironic, don't ya think? But I call it shit. I also call her thought on having 1,000 spoons when you need a knife shit, as well. That's not irony, it's a shitty situation. So my $2000 bill to fix my hanging front bumper makes the $200 tire bill not seem too bad. See, it really is time for me to hang up my driving gloves. I've apparently worn out my welcome on Mother Road.

To make my week even more jolly I have my yearly review call tomorrow. I've been warned this call doesn't always go that great as it's the time when my boss brings up every mistake I've made in the past year. My mom told me to drink wine before the call, Jade told me to take "uppers" not sure what she was referring to exactly, but both seem to be worried I will flip my lid and end up doing something drastic like telling my boss I quit. Some might say I don't take criticism that well. I don't think that's the problem at all, I think some don't give criticism well. On the rare occasion I do need to be corrected I prefer to be told straight up, I don't need someone to tip toe and twirl around what they want to say, just come out with it. I think that is where the confusion lies in the ridiculous notion I don't take criticism well. Pssh.

I'm not too worried though. I do what is asked of me, no more, no less. I don't see a lot of growth in this job, I'm not exactly one to really want to climb the fake corporate ladder this job pretends to offer. Let me explain myself before you write me off as an awful slacker- this job is much like a sorority in the fact that some employees prefer to work extra hard (kiss ass) and do unnecessary extra jobs on top of the regular shit we have to do and then get mad when they don't get the extra recognition they prefer. So what happens next to ensure the said employee feels special is a fake title is created to wear on top of their original title. Like in sororities, when there was an Activity Girl one day, and then the next week her best friend who helps her alot suddenly has acquired the title of Activity Girl Deputy or assistant or Sherif, or something ridic. So as you might tell, I was not one of the lucky ones in my job to acquire a new fake title this year (captain, senior, head, master, senorita, ruler, ext) entitling me to more work, yet same pay. I know, I really dropped the ball on this. But little does everyone else know that I just created my own title, a title no one else can have no matter how many Happy Birthday, Congrats on your numbers, or joke of the day emails they send out. I mean I don't know what the title is just yet, but I'll think of it soon and introduce myself as it in classrooms.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Don't Be Tardy For the Party

Alright gameday, you win. I'm done, I don't even know why I try to compete with you. You come out the victor every time. Me and my little liver try as hard as we can to hang out with you all day and you toy us along acting as if you are going to let us by buying us shots here and Red Bull Vodka's there and then all of the sudden BOOM! you hit us a like freight train. And continue to strike the following day, and even the day after. So I give up. Find someone else to take money from, find someone else to trick into dancing with you at the Rail by planting the idea into their head fist pumping and head banging is still cool in the Midwest. And find someone else willing to give money to the O street homeless people. Yup, Saturday was not a day for the weak. Not many can survive drinking for over 15 hours. And not many people did. Lack of Husker spirit is what I saw at the bars around 5:15 Saturday night. To those of you who went home planning to "nap" and then come back out I scoff at you. Because I know you didn't make it out. Nobody ever does. A nap in between drinking hours is basically asking for a hangover. I know, because I made the same mistake for years and years. And those are game days I can never get back. Wasted game nights spent in Theta, sleeping in the living room or guest bedroom or kitchen waiting for my phone alarm to wake me to go back out. Never happened though. So could one say I am attempting to make up for those nights now? Perhaps. Or perhaps I stay out because I have no other option. I don't think 475 Ride goes to Peker, then again, it just kinda depends on the driver because I know some go to Amigos/McDonalds but others don't. I suppose it wouldn't be a bad idea to bring my NCard from here on out just in case.

So last night was the VMAs, hosted by a channel who no longer shows music videos. Maybe soon the show will be called TRA's, Teen Reality Awards. Anyway, I was anxious to see how Chelsea would handle the position of host. I was honestly nervous watching her because I didn't want her to let me down. I still can't decide how I think she did. Was she drunk, or just acting drunk? Normally I would say she was for sure drunk, but something about last night just screamed faux drunk. I got bieber butterflies when Justin performed and then literally screamed when he won best new artist. I didn't realize I was that big of a fan, but I can't help it I just think he is the cutest. Taylor Swift looked like a 1920s corpse, I kept waiting for Kanye to interrupt her performance and was thoroughly disappointed when he never did. I'll admit her songs on the radio are ok, just OK, but when she sings live it sounds very reminiscent to LuAnn the Countess of New York City House Wives, "Money Don't Buy You Class," which everybody knows isn't half as good as Kim from Atlanta's, "Don't Be Tardy For the Party." Gaga looked fab, as usual, I wouldn't expect anything less from the style queen. My fav was the dress made out of meat she wore for about two minutes, and meat is a hard thing to pull off, not everyone can do it. I know I always feel self conscious when I try to wear it, but maybe I'm just not wearing the right type cut. I'll tell ya one thing, it's a good thing rappers don't bring their dogs in their entourage to these shows like they did in the 90's. I would hate to see a few pit bulls and dobermans get whiff of Gaga's attire.

Well gotta go, Oprah's last season is just about to kick off. I heard a rumor she actually allows a few of her Anglo American fans to win a prize or two, although I won't believe it until I see it.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Time for a new job

Somewhere in between standing in the rain for a fire drill surrounded by damp high school students and using a two foot tall toilet in a school day care and having a secretary snap at me for being late to first hour I started to wonder if I am going to make it this year. I am really struggling here. And those damn Topeka tolls are going to be the death of me. Who is Topeka to think they can charge you to come to their town? Please. I told Chris I don't know how much longer I am going to last in this job before I have a meltdown. He suggested I find a job in Topeka. Hmmm. And where or where would I work in Peker, I asked him.

"Well Frito Lay is based out of here, you love chips. Maybe you could be a driver for them."

Grand idea, Chris. Combine the two great loves of my life- driving and Doritos. The combination of me driving a truck for hours on end stocked full of Cool Ranchys and Nacho Cheese Doritos and Cheetos is simply an equation for disaster. Not that I was really considering it, because I wasn't.

"Goodyear tire is also here. They're a good company."

"Another great idea, Chris. What would I do there?"

"Sell tires."

So I'm feeling a bit stuck. Stuck between selling my self pride or selling tires. This is an awful feeling.

Today I am speaking at one of KC Mo's more rough schools. It's kinda cute how all the little ghetto babies call me Chef T. I don't bother to correct them and tell them I'm not an actual chef, who am I to crush their dreams of believing they have an actual chef in their classroom. A few even swear they have seen me on the Food Network, I just smile coyly and say " I don't knowwwww, maybe it was me." The teacher was all a buzz today because her daughter, LaKoya, just had her third child a few days ago- she's eighteen, by the way. But poor LaKoya went into labor a bit early due to the stress of her apartment getting robbed last week, poor thing even got her dog stolen! So if anyone sees a pitbull-boxer mix that limps on his left side it's Tony and he belongs to LaKoya. Sometimes I wonder if African American people just love the Spanish language and that's why they prefer to put "the" in front of every name.

After class today JaQuice came up to me because he was very interested in the study abroad programs I mentioned. He said that ever since he saw an Anthony Bourdain episode a few weeks ago he's been dying to study abroad in Las Vegas. Ah Vegas, beautiful country.

"Ya, I just always got this dream of working in one of dem casinos where Anferny ate dat I saw on TV. You ever been der? To Vegas?"

"Well, yes. I went when I was younger. Great country."

"Ya, so you think I could do that travel study thing you mentioned?"

"Well I don't see why not."

We do have a school in Vegas, so I was telling the truth. So what if he thinks he's going abroad, he'll find out eventually, I don't need to be the one to tell him I decided.

So let me talk briefly about that little show called Joysey Shore. I just don't even know where to begin. Should I start with how spoiled Angelina is for getting a FOSSIL watch from that handsome devil Juan? Lucky! I haven't gotten a Fossil watch since 5th grade when I saved all of my paper delivery money to buy one from the Buckle. And Sammi, you didn't "kick the shit out of J Woww" as you claimed many times. You pounded on her back and pulled her hair. You're skinny now, good for you, but you're still as big as a hooker as the other girls. J Woww still really scares me. I fear for Sammi's life. I heard J Woww has her own fashion line, I can see why she is definitely the fashionista of the house. Love, love, love the way she combines Native American style dresses with knee high winter boots- she's a risk taker. And Snooks, if you're not America's sweet heart I don't know who is. The way you lotioned up your butt while standing in those over sized slippers with the camera filming the whole thing as you just look over and giggle is just priceless. Even though the boys typically just gross me out I still find them quite entertaining. Vinny calling Angelina the "Rob Kardashian of the Staten Island" could not have been written any better. I feel that the Situation has been quite tame as of late. What I would love to see happen next season in this show is to keep the entire cast but throw in one completely random person to mix it up a bit. Somebody completely unfamiliar with the jersey coast culture, like a frat boy from Nebraska. The first name that sprints to mind is Nick Vacanti, I don't know why.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Chpt 14 FbGirl and Game Day (Posts)

Because a jersey can only be worn as a dress for so many weeks out of the year.

Sometimes I wonder if Husker games are going to crash Facebook. Game days are the few days of the year when every single Facebook patron, young or old, tall or small, feels it is their duty as a Nebraska fan, their absolute obligation, to post. If you are pumped up about the game well then you better let the FB world know or thousands of your FB friends might start to, God Forbid, question your loyalty. Just a standard "GBR" is always fine. Perhaps throw in a little "So excited to watch the Huskers play!" followed by a classic, "Husker Power!" Out of respect, it seems most just follow the simple KITOA rule regarding game day updates, (Keep It Tom Osborne Appropriate.) Which in all regards, wouldn't be a bad rule to follow in life in general. I know I always try to keep it at the top of my mind. Oh, and we can't forget the updates informing us when it is time to enter the stadium, "headed to memorial," "sea of red," "time for tunnel walk," ext. If not for the whereabout updates I might never know when it is actually time for the game to start.

For the most part FbGirl starts the day off like everyone else. An innocent "Go 'Skers," here, and "pumped for the game," there. A few minutes later possibly an update of where she is, or maybe where she is going, or even where she has been. Like her ten too many Husker beads, and double stickerd cheeks, she just always has to take it one step too far.

"Headed to the bottoms to get my drank on!"

"Leaving Sandys, time for Brothasss!"

"Leaving Bros, anyone have a dance party at their tailgate!?"
No, no one does that. Because that is weird.

We don't only know how excited FB girl is for the game, we get an entire play by play of her day. Okay, we get it, you're out and about. Our mini is suddenly full of only her updates as everyone else has taken a break to socialize the old fashioned way, face to face. But the real problem doesn't start until the game updates begin. Depending on how much FbGirl has had to drink she suddenly becomes that angry screaming fan irate over every tiny mistake, the fan I always have to hold myself back from punching. It seems as if she is taking the words directly out of the muscly tattooed boys she is standing by and word vomitting them onto her status because there is no way she could truly be watching the game and updating constantly at the same time- the delayed cell service in Memorial just wouldn't allow it.

FbGirl: "WTF defense I could play better. Put me in."

This would require you wearing pants/shorts under that jersey.

FbGirl: "Um I'm pretty sure I could have caught that pass. I can run faster than that."

Even in your Husker red heels and hoolah hoop earrings? Don't think so.

FbGirl: "Big surprise, looks like were in for another disappointment this year."

Said your parents.

FbGirl: "TD?!? Come on 'skers how did you let that happen?!"

Put an S in front, and it happened the same way as all of yours. They got screwed.

Monday, September 6, 2010

The Wonderful Alcoholic Cycle of Nebraska Life

So yesterday morning I woke up craving a large ice water, a fountain pop from a gas station, a sip of orange juice and a large smoothie. Oh, and some hash browns on the side. I also wondered if I had sucked on a blow dryer before going to bed the night before as my mouth was too dry to swallow. At this point I began to question why I was sleeping on the floor of my parents hotel room with my head nearly touching the door. But, as I gathered my surroundings a little bit better (Chris sleeping close by fully clothed in Husker attire as was I, both of us using hotel towels for blankets, Jordan sleeping across the room under the air conditioner spooning a box of Lazzaris and Kate sleeping in the fetal position next to my pregnant sister, I remembered we had all just endured our first game day. And survived it, barely. Boy was it was a doozy. It wasn't even 6 a.m., but with the combination of the air conditioner sounding as if it was preparing for take off, and Jordan's snoring which sounded like some sort of wild boar mating call, I was wide awake. I crawled into the bathroom and seriously debated sleeping in the bath tub, Stephanie Tanner did it once and I always thought it looked quite cozy. But lack of blankets, or even towels, made the tub an unlikely bed. So I sat on the floor with my head against the wall and started to think about the day that was...
It started at the bar around noon with a Blue Moon and a Bloody. Knowing I had a very long day ahead of me I began very slow. Next stop on the tour of fun was Sandys. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy this place, I really do, but sometimes I feel like it's the number one stop on game days for everyone who doesn't live in Lincoln/never has, more specifically people over the age of thirty whose wives wear stickers on their cheeks and husbands keep radio headphones in their ears during the game. It's the place that people from Columbus probably make sure to go to every game day and don't actually realize there are other bars on O Street- strictly an assumption though. After Sandys we took a quick pit stop at the Rail for a Pelini Pitcher and pub mix to rejuvinate. We couldn't stay long because there was a talegate and fanbulance waiting for us under the bridge. There's just never enough time in a game day for all that must be done. Perhaps this would be a good time to propose the idea of two, or even, three day talegates? Pre talegates Friday, during talegates on Saturday, and post talegates Sunday? Just thinking out loud here. Then again, I suppose you could simply call going out on Friday night pre talegating. Anyway, after a few talegates we decided to class it up a bit and head to Tavern On the We Don't Work At The Bar anymore, or whatever you want to call it. What a hidden treasure this was! It was quite delightful to drink in the cozy little terrace area. Had I not been surrounded by dads dressed like Bo Pelini and moms dressed like well, Bo Pelini, I might have thought I was somewhere far, far away from Lincoln. This was the last stop before the game. I hate to say it, but sometimes that game just really gets in the way of my plans. If you're not careful a hangover will sneak right up on you during those few hours. Throw in a fat leg resting on top of yours, and a child with sticky fingers behind you, and a great day can really take an unexpected twist. I just don't understand why Memorial doesn't give in already and serve alcohol. C'mon Tommy O, let loose for once. No one will judge you. Chris and I might have snuck out just a tad early, and as we were exiting our row we got stalled behind other people leaving during what was apparently a good play because a 70 year old grandma physically pushed me out of the way. Bad, bad move. I was on the verge of hangover and this might have just pushed me over. Luckily, I didn't realize what had happened right away and so the line had began moving again and I was out of view of the woman so I was unable to say something that would have been completely inappropriate to say to an elder.
Without meaning to, I changed from my jean shorts and into my sassy pants. I should have known better than to continue drinking while wearing them, nothing positive could follow. Upon leaving the game Chris and I walked to Mistys to meet my parents for dinner as I bitched the entire way about the audacity of the old woman. Followed by Mistys was a few tame drinks at Barreymores before we were finally ready to subject ourselves to the sweaty drunk fest that was the Rail. Worried we weren't at the level of all of the other sloppy red faced patrons, Kate and I headed to the back bar for a few shots. We glanced for a brief moment at the dance floor, but it had Andy Christiansen written all over it so we headed back to the front. Shoot! That was bad, especially because I think Andy was framed, I just couldn't not use it. Anyway, back up front we took more unnecessary shots, hugged people we might not normally say hello to sober, and then got the urge to head a spot out of the way, but on the way. The Bar line was wrapped around the block, but since I once worked there back in 2006 for roughly two weeks I felt no need to wait in it. I'm embarrassed for myself and the degree to which I enjoy cutting a bar line in Lincoln, NE. If I could go back to Saturday night I would find myself just to make a few rude, belittling remarks to my face to take myself down a few notches. Once in the Bar Kate and I decided we had to go to the bathroom (together of course) but were far too good to wait in line like everyone else. Strike my earlier thought, I wouldn't just talk shit to myself, Id prefer to beat the shit out of myself. We cut the porta potty line and jumped into the next free stall. It's one thing to use the indoor restrooms together, but the porta pottys? Yes, Kate and I definitely took the girl bathroom rule too far there. Some angry boys began to pound on the door, pissed we cut them- pun intended? So I came out and profusely apologized and told them it was an emergency I cut them and then bought them a few drinks to make up for my rudeness. Wait, come to think of it, I mean that's the opposite of what I did. I came out and freaked out on the gentlemen like it was their fault. Damn sassy pants. I continued to yell like an absolute idiot until I forgot what it was I was initially screaming about. For all who witnessed that I apologize, completely unnecessary, as were most of my actions past about 7 p.m. Thank God it was getting close to closing time at this point, so not too much more harm could be done. My anger subsided so I figured my last few minutes at the Bar would be better spent singing and dancing with anyone willing to join. The lights turning on was my cue it was time to head to the promised land known as Lazzaris. Another long line that meant absolutely nothing to Kate and I as we walked right in and magically got a full plate of spicy chicken pizza in no time at all. So with pizza in one hand, and ranch in the other, we grabbed ourselves a corner table and didn't talk for the next few minutes as we sloppily devoured the food. We went next door and had to drag Chris from the Rail to start the walk back to the hotel. Safely back in the hotel we all breathed a sigh a relief as we had just conquered yet another season opener. And even though we all knew we'd pay for the fun we had with an awful hangover the next day, and even still today, we'd do it all over again. And will do it all over again for weeks to come. So to the big city folk who always ask the snarky question of what is there to do in Nebraska, well this is it. We watch football and we drink. So naturally we live for the days when we can do them both together for hours on end. And as little UNL college kiddys grow up they produce more alcoholic Nebrasky babies to continue this wonderful cycle.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Twas the night before game day...

Ya, I really did this. I know, it's weird I actually have the time/thought to write poems about pre game nights. But c'mon now, let the first person who hasn't written an ode to a Husker game throw the first stone... I mean... If this doesn't prove I need friends I don't know what does.

Ode to game day

Twas the night before game day and all through the town
All the Nebrasky’s were brewing, drinks all around
The pitchers were washed and drying with care
In hopes that Elk Creek would soon be there.

The fans were all anxious all dressed in their reds
As visions of tailgates danced in their heads
And skanks will be in heels, and me in flat feet
Making the drunken trek to the great Stadium street.

When out of the Union there arose such a clatter
All of the crowd turned to see whats the matter
And what did we see, but silly frat boys
Clad in Lacoste and Sperrys, making lots of noise.

Now heading downtown, a large cluster we see
Who could this group of non-stuck up, attractive girls be
Sorority girls, of course with a smile on their face
As GDI’s look on, pissed and bitter, greek tailgates aren’t their place.

The foam on the top, of a newly poured beer
Brought a tear to this eye, of old college cheer
Then what to my wondering eye should appear
But a group of college pals that were coming so near.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew right away it must be Sandy Fritz
And to the Bar she came as fast as she can
Marge the cook behind, with Runza in a pan.

And Kim the ‘tender poured shots to all who came
Calling each preference out by its name
“Now Rumple! now Goldschlager! Jager and Jack!
On Tequila! On Bacardi! And Liquid Cocaine in the back!”

“To the beer garden, weird side bar, and over to the wall,
Now drink, drink, drink them all!”
With a dribble down the shirt here
And stools and a bar top covered in beer
Closing time was coming quite near.

So Fritz and her group made a quick stop at the Rail
For dirty dancing in the back, Lincoln hookers entale.
Somewhere in between Lazzaris and gyro fries too
Fritzy and Marge disapeared, into the blue.

And as I looked into the sky I happened to see
This unlikely duo flying, call out to me
“Happy game day to you and all of your crew…
But stay out of the kitchen or we’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Thirsty Thursday

So the other day Chris and I ventured out to Dillards so he could buy a few new works suits. After trying on a few he settled on a very handsome Ari-like grey pin stripe suit that made him look extremely professional and ridiculously good looking. As the little sales man made a few tailor marks on the pant legs I went downstairs to the girls sections to look around while waiting for Chris. As I was making my way through the hideous racks of gaudy purple K State clothes I stumbled upon a very pretty creme colored pant suit. Now, I don't know if it was seeing Chris all dressed up, or the ads I had just seen in Cosmo of gorgeous business suits, but I suddenly got the urge to try on the outfit. So I found my size and headed into the dressing room. I don't know what I was thinking. Although the suit did indeed fit, when I looked in the mirror I looked exactly like the teenage version of Tom Hanks in Big after he plays the fortune teller machine for the last time and transforms back into a boy in a suit. Naturally, I was thoroughly disappointed. And then Chris called wondering where I was. I told him I was in the dressing room and he asked what section so he could come meet me. I lied and said the juniors, but he caught me because he said he was in the junior section, waiting by the dressing rooms. So then I had to admit that I was actually in the Ann Taylor section trying on business suits. So instead of buying a suit that day, I went to Journeys to buy black footy socks to wear with my Chuck Taylor "work shoes." I guess I should be thankful that my work attire is that of a 13 year old so I am not required to spend much money. Although, if someday I find myself at age thirty still wearing Chuck Taylors to work and carrying a knife kit I will need to do some serious life reevaluation. When I was little I always pictured myself to be a corporate shark somewhere wearing nice suits and heels, and having a big office with a mini fridge to keep alcohol in, overlooking some great city and having an assistant bring me coffee in the morning that is too scared to make eye contact with me. Somewhere in this dream I forgot to figure into it the fact that I really don't enjoy work/have a pretty bad work ethic. If there is a corner, I'm gonna cut it.
Sometimes I just can’t help but daydream what it might be like to work with people over the age of seventeen- or teachers under the age of sixty. For the most part though, I deal with teachers who are pretty nice. For the most part … Today for example, I called a teacher who answered her phone with a tone that sounded as if I had interrupted her during the middle of giving birth to her first born. I should note that I do realize teachers are verrrrry busy people, I am reminded of this almost daily as many NEVER return my voicemails and most typically only respond to an email after about the fifth time I send it. I am not discrediting them in anyway, I can completely understand why they are always so bogged down and stressed, what with that awful 8-3 schedule they have, and throw in the fact that sometimes they actually have to grade papers, not tests of course thanks to scan-trons. I see teachers in action all the time, hard stuff… But anyway back to my story about Ms. Bitcherson. So she answers the phone already pissed off that someone would be so rude as to think they were worth a second of her time. I go on to introduce myself and she interrupts to say,
“ya, ya I got your email, get to it.”
Um, excuse me, so you do know how to work a computer? You’re just rude and choose not to respond to me? Is that what it is?
“I’ll be in your area soon and would love to speak to your students.”
(Big exhausting sigh from her part) “Wellllll, when are you think?”
“October 12th and 13th.”
“Uh don havmycalenda wha days are those?”
“Excuse me?” I ask (nice again, still not rude at all.)
“I SAID. WHAT DAYS ARE THOSE?”
I kid you not. She was a straight up snatch, I was honestly silent for a second not sure how to respond.
“I’m sorry maam, I’m still new here and am not 100% fluent in my Topekan yet. Those dates would be a Tuesday and Wednesday.”
(Another obese sigh. Clearly this was a very intense convo for Ms. McSnatchley.)
“I dunno. I mean I’m getting ready to go on a three day vacation so I’m just very busy and occupied. But whatever, ya , sure.”
“Oh wow! Well golly gee, why didn’t you tell me you were going on a vacation!!! A three day vacation at that. No wonder you are so busy, I completely understand. Planning three entire long full days of an angenda is one tricky thing. I’m sure I could never do it. In fact , I have a good feeling you’re the only person to ever do it, actually. You take care now, and have fun in Branson.”
I ended the conversation quickly before I lost my ladylike manners and brought myself down to her level. But she was just nasty. We ended up scheduling something so I am pretty anxious to see what Madonna looks like in person and if she is as impolite.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Woke up in the morning feeling like Ke$ha. But not really, that would be awful.

I've come to the conclusion that college is done completely wrong. Let's think for a second about the fact that most students graduate around the age of twenty two, some younger, some older. And at this baby age we are expected to know what we want to do with our life, or at least have a good enough idea to be able to find a career that will suit what we want to do. It's really quite preposterous. I think someone really needs to revamp this whole college idea. And this is what I suggest: I think students should go to school for two years and then have to take a mandatory work break for two years and then go back and finish up. Here is what would happen during that two year work break- we would get an entry level job, like most of us do right out of college, have a chance to really get a taste for what we hate to do, and what we really like to do so then we could go back and know what it is that we really want to study. Also, it would make most students probably that much more appreciative of college for their last two years after seeing how awful it is in the real world. Does this make more sense to anyone else? Finally, after being out of college a year, well technically half of year, but I am counting my fake graduation back in May '09, I am just now figuring out that I actually would like a career involving writing. I don't know how, or where, or what, and I blame all of my unanswered questions on the ill planning of college. Why wasn't there a course in college called How To Get Rich Quick? Or How To Get Your Own Reality Show? Or How to Write a Catchy But Terribly Annoying Song "Woke up in the morning feeling like P Diddy..." Sometimes I wonder if these are actually the classes that are taught at schools like South University and Argosy. I could totally see Ke$%h&*#2a going to a school like that sitting along side Snooki and the creator of Crocs. The three of them just happily taking notes knowing it's only a matter of time before they are all rich. Assholes. How did Ke$h know what P Diddy felt like in the morning anyway, is what I've always wondered.

Three more days... three more days until countless Fb statuses about the football game. Three more days until Lincoln is as fun as Las Vegas (I mean how I imagine Vegas, it wasn't really that wild when I was 16 on a State Farm Insurance trip with my family) Three more days until its time to drink with a group of friends larger than just two people, sometimes just one, I mean most times just one. Oh Lincoln, get ready. And most importantly, Lazzari's stock up on spicy chicken. And don't be stingy on the ranch, either.
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