What to expect when you're expecting the Huskers

Friday, September 30, 2011

Dear Madison,

First of all, congrats on the honor of welcoming the entire state of Nebraska into your state. You're in for a real treat. But that being said, let's not forget who either of us are. You are Wisconsin, we are Nebraska. So spare the hick/farm/country jokes, it's not like you're USC. You're a state known for cheese and fat, white people. Us, for corn and fat, white people. To each their own stereotypes. And like I've already said, yes, we are bringing the entire state. So no need for the snide remark, "geez,  is the whole state here this weekend?" Because yes, yes it is. And we take pride in this. So suck it.

As you probably know, many of us will be making the long drive up to Wisconsin. What you don't know, is that it is a Nebraska law that when a Husker drives by a fellow Husker we are actually required to honk and wave excitedly throwing the "#1" finger out the window. It's just what we do. And regardless to what you've heard or will see, we don't all travel in RV's. Only the lucky ones. The rest of us will just pack in our cars like sardines.  We are the greatest fans in college football. You better be ready. But don't fret, the rumors are true. We're all pretty great. I mean some are overly nice to our opponents (my dad) and I guess a few might be a little overly rude (my brother.) But don't judge us on those few assholes who don't actually know anything about football but just tag along for the booze and Facebookable mobile pics. Cough cough. And don't you dare even think about heckling us. Because we roll deep. I'm as nice of a Husker fan as the next, but I can only handle hecklers for so long until shit hits the fan. And our shit has corn in it, so you don't want to go there. We know you think you're going to win, and obviously so do we. So rather than talking shit to each other with "good luck, you'll need it," or "you guys are going down," how about we agree to let the players duke it out, because they are afterall the ones playing the game. I know sometimes we, as fans, tend forget this but the fact remains. 

As for what to expect from us in the bars, well, it's not going to be pretty. We're not mean drunks, but I think I speak for a majority of us when I say we're pretty much down right sloppy. Remember that cute Husker girl fan you saw earlier that made you think, "hey, Nebraska girls are cuter than I thought," well there's a good chance she'll be drooling in the corner of a bar by the end of the night slamming pizza and j├Ąger bombs. Her boyfriend (or boy for the night) will be fist pumping near by. Nebraska kids by day, Jersey Shore trash by night. We're just fun like that. Win or loose, we'll still drink the shit out of your town. 

But I sure hope we win. I know your quarterback is supposed to be pretty good, but we have T Magic. And as long as Tay Tay doesn't hurt his ankle, or break his toe nail, or get a calf cramp, he'll do as good as has dad will allow, darn it. So get ready Madison, we're coming for you. Things are about to get crazy, sexy, cool. See you in about eight hours.

Love always,

Bill Callahan

Blackout time

Thursday, September 29, 2011

This whole "working" thing is really getting in the way of my bloggage and I'm not liking it. I'm just like busy and tired all the time. I shouldn't say "busy," I'm just lazy. I still don't understand why the work day has to be as long as it is. I want to know  what asshole came up with the whole 8-5 thing because I really don't think it has to be this way. Everyone just follows it because it's all we know. What if work days were only from 10-2? No lunch, no time to jack around, just strictly business in those four hours. I bet the same amount of work would get done. Probably even more. It's just exhausting sitting at a desk all day. It's all calls and emails and changing the radio station and going to the breakroom and waiting til happy hour. Did I mention I got my first sale yesterday? It wasn't the sale that excited me though, it was the fun that came afterward. The entire office took shots of Jameson, apparently it's a tradition around here. The shots were shortly followed by an elegant wine and cheese happy hour at restaurant 437. Happy hour with my coworkers, not Chris's, not Chris's friends, but my very own coworkers. I think I might actually have work friends, and the best part is that not one of them is a 60 year old FACs teacher. It's very exciting.  

But let's talk about Madison. If you're going, but you haven't posted it on Facebook yet, you're probably not really going. I've spent a greater part of my day reading articles about Nebraska in the Madison news. They seem to think our "little black out" is a joke. It's getting me all riled. I've never actually participated in black outs in the past (I mean when it comes to the clothing kind) but I'm definitely joining in on the fun for this weekend. I'm gonna black the shit out of myself (again, clothing-wise.) I'm really going to try to keep it under control this weekend. My drunk-pants aren't as flattering in places that aren't Lincoln. Cutting lines, spitting out my drink, playing "door guy," probably won't fly in Wisconsin. I'm there for two things, for football and for cheese. I'm coming with my game face on and painted black, wearing black pants, black shirt, black shoes, I'm going all out. I have a real good feeling about this game. I think I'll actually even pay attention. This might be the first time in my life I am just as excited for the game as I am for tailgating. And that's saying a lot, because we all know how thrilling it is to drink with friends (even people you just vaguely know) in another state. It's always amusingly surprising to run into someone you know at an away game. This is an anomaly I've never really understand, but have always participated in. Should it really be that shocking? No, but it always is. And that's what I love about away games, those unexpected (marginally expected) run-ins with people you probably wouldn't drink with in Lincoln but are more than happy to buy a beer elsewhere. If you're not going, I'm sorry. I want to say you're not going to miss out, but that'd be a lie. From everything I've read, this weekend is going to be a big deal. Like as big of a deal as when Tommy Frazier came to the Sunset Plaza in Norfolk and signed my football poster. Or when Zach Potter came to York Elementary. We're talking big, like so big Facebook might actually blow up on Saturday. Literally, the FB server will be getting so many annoying posts and pics from obnoxious Husker fans like myself it might just stop working. We'll just have to wait and see. But if you're not going, it's not too late. Do you think anyone has ever said, "man, I really wished I wouldn't have gone to that game on Saturday." No. Well maybe, but that usually had more to do with alcohol than the actual game.

I'm too gitty to work. I can't believe it's only Thursday. Where is Rebecca Blackout when you need her.

Pure Michigan

Monday, September 26, 2011

A weekend of cabin drinking in Michigan makes for a struggle Monday morning. Saturday night things got a little bit out of control and we all got pretty drunk. And when I say "we all" turns out I was actually the only one who jumped on the sloppy train, something I didn't realize until the next morning when I started noticing I was the only one getting the "look" and the "how are you feeling today?" I don't know why that always seems to happen to me. I should have known things were going downhill when I started getting sassy on Facebook. I get myself into trouble when I post under the influence. I don't know why I feel the need to become the official Facebook Husker advocate regarding negative posts. If douchers want to say annoying things about the team, so be it. They have their rights too. There really is no need for me to poke my nose into it and post my own annoying opinion regarding who I feel is and isn't qualified to post about the Huskers. A douche is a douche is a douche. Like Chris always tells me, just because someone has never played a sport doesn't mean they can't be knowledgable about it. Like Doc Sadler (the example Chris likes to use) which I feel only backs up my notion. So to the gentlemen (and a few dumbass girls) watching the game/facebooking a new status after every play regarding how bad they thought it was,  I apologize for making fun of your opinion (and yourself.) That's the beauty of sports, everyone is entitled to pretend to be a fan. But whatevs, it's the nature of the beast. These "fans" only bitch because they care so much for their dear little Huskers. It's like the new Facebook that had everyone up in arms. We bitch about what we love. I'm rambling. Moral of the story, someone needs to take away my phone when I drink. Or better yet, Facebook needs a breathalyzer app that requires one to blow before being able to comment or post.

Besides being the weird drunk girl surrounded by a small group of barely tipsy people, it was a great weekend in Michigan. Tim the Tool Man Taylor wasn't kidding around, his state has some real good looking areas. Although, I will admit one of my favorites parts of the trip was driving by Gary, Indiana- the nation's crime Capitol. I love looking at ghettos! You know how big cities offer bus tours of celebrity neighborhoods and historical spots? Well I think there should be a bus tour of the ghetto and various housing projects. I'd sign up in a heart beat! Hell, I'd even like to be the tour guide. Passengers might be required to wear bullet proof vests, but that's not a big deal. 

But back to Michigan, we ate, we drank, boated, kayaked, fished, embraced Pure Michigan head on. So doing all of this in less than 48 hours makes today a little rough. I think getting up in the morning could be used as a torture tactic in a POW camp. Monday mornings are especially the worse,  it's the hardest thing ever for me to take the first steps out of my cozy, warm bed and into the cold bathroom. I lay in bed for hours making small negotiations with myself. Okay only ten more minutes, four more, maybe five, getting up in two. Sometimes I go through my entire morning routine before I realize I was just dreaming about getting up but am still very much in bed. I really can't imagine what it's going to be like in the dead of winter knowing I have to get up, walk five blocks to the train, wait for the train in the freezing cold, and then walk five more blocks to my work. Holy shit, that will be awful. 

So happier thoughts... I'm going to Tory Burch to sign the official papers this afternoon. Is this my best decision ever? No, probably not. But like I always do, I'm going to make myself learn the hard way I've gotten into something I probably should have stayed away from right from the beginning. Me working retail on the weekends. Should be interesting considering I've never worked retail or worked a weekend. I never learn. If worse comes to worse and I really hate it I'll probably just have to have Kim call and quit for me again. In the meantime, if you're in Chicago stop by the new store that is set to open October 30th and see me! I'll be the snooty sales girl working alongside the other 16 year old weekend workers. Rumor is Tory will actually be at the store opening so that's kinda cool...I'm sure she'll want to meet me since I'm going to make it my mission to become her niece's new BFF.

No more time for nonsense, there's too much work to be done. Madison,WI is less than five days away... Oh boy. The corn vs the cheese. Cheesy corn. My favorite kind.

TGIF, but for reals.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Well I did it. I survived the seven day itch. I've officially been at this job longer than I was my previous job a month or two ago. Feels good, like I've really accomplished something important. Sure am glad it's the weekend though, it's been one exhausting work week. Today is more or less (more) my first Friday working in an actual office. No joke, that's kinda weird to think about, huh? I recall absolutely hating Fridays in high schools with my previous position because all of the kiddos were all super hyper and strung out on Mt. Dew in anticipation of the weekend. I just wanted to kill myself (or them but it's not "politically correct" to joke about killing students)  if I had to be around them for more than two hours. Well as it turns out, those Friday-excited hyper kids grow up, and they turn into Friday-excited working adults. And I think I've turned into one too somehow? I've discovered there's just a different feel around the office on a Friday. There's seems to be a "gitty umbrella" hanging above everyone's heads today catching all of the good thoughts and attitudes. The songs on the radio are just a little bit better, the coffee tastes a little smoother. Everyone seems to be just a little bit lighter in their step. And why wouldn't they be? The weekend is just right around the corner. I think I finally understand the meaning of TGIF. I haven't understood a real TGIF since I was in third grade and was truly busy at work solving fractions, evaluating obtuse triangles and then bolting off to soccer, basketball, and swimming immediately after. Talk about a busy week. I looked forward to nothing more than relaxing on the couch with a little Family Matters (I was diverse like that) and Clarissa Explains it All with some pizza and Hee Haw. 

Well right now it certainly doesn't hurt that I'm a little tipsy, as well. Love those two hour long drinking lunches. Another bottle of wine? You betcha. I can spend the last three hours of my Friday doing absolutely nothing screwing around on my computer. Working under the influence is the best. I just hope I don't have another coffee fiasco like I did the last time I tried to make a pot after a nice drunken lunch... Let's just say when in doubt of using a filter, use a filter. Same rule applies with so many things in life. 

But before my alcoholic induced lunch, I had a few meetings at the Chicago Board of Trade. Boy, was this a treat. I convinced the security guard on "the floor" to let me inside so I could take a peak into what the action was all about. I saw people screaming, waving paper in the air, it was all very exciting. The only thing missing was Eddie Murphy and a monkey suit. It made me realize that if my current career falls through, or my screenwriting career, I'd like to become a stock broker. It looks pretty great. 

Again, so happy for another arrival of a weekend. Let's make it a good one.

Creeper Alerts. Let's make this happen.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

I love Facebook. Love, love, love it. So when people start trash posting about it I don't like it one bit. Let's not forget no one is making you use this wonderful service, if you hate the new layout so much don't use it. Get off Facebook, I'm sure no one will miss you and the negativity you post into the newsfeed. I know change is scary, especially on Fb, but think of all the good things that have come about thanks to Zucky's constant creative updates. Anybody remember how pissed/weirded out people were when the mini feed first came about? What about status updates? I swore I'd never participate in either. And look at me now. Just a regular Jenny Facebooker I am. If Fb knew what was good for them they'd hire me onto their creative team because I'm constantly thinking of new ideas that will better the Book. For example, what do we think about adding creeper alerts? Hear me out on this one before you judge me. I don't think it would be such a bad idea if Fb had some sort of alert or task notification one could set to remind themselves to creep a particular person and/or subject later in the day to see what has developed on the particular post that initially sparked the interest. Am I alone in my creepiness here or has anyone else ever saw something pop up on their mini like "big changes are coming, so excited I got the news today," and you can't help but wonder what's going on. But then when you click on the comments below they too are only from other snoopy fb peeps like the typical, "what's up girl..."  the one from the kiss ass, "you deserve it pretty lady!" or the even less creative, "???." And since I put it out there, when did "pretty lady" become the official Facebook term of endearment? Or do people actually say "pretty lady" in person? But back to my creep alerts, this always happens to me. I'll see a status on my way to work and want to know more, but by the end of the day I have completely forgotten who I'm supposed to look up.  It's quite annoying. If someone (I  most likely don't know) is moving, landed a new job or went engagement ring shopping, I want to know damn it. And sometimes I just need a simple reminder alert, "reminder: check So & So's page at lunch to see if any more photos have been posted from her wedding," and "reminder: don't check So & So's page for at least another three months because the photos of her bare pregnant belly make you want to vomit." Anyone else with me on this one? Or am I just really that big of a creep like Chris always says?

Well whatever, I'm not a creeper in my real life. I'm turning into such a cliche city girl it's not even funny. For example, I make jokes with the door guy at my building. He calls me T, I call him Door Guy. We have that special Seinfeld relationship based on inside jokes and akward small talk. I do the same thing with the guys at the bakery I go to everyday. The token black man calls me "his wife" and we exchange silly banter about it every morning. The Starbucks girls know my order when I come in just like how it happens on the movies. I walk in, they say "what you want?" And I laugh as if they don't know. I tell them anyway because I'd hate for them to accidentally screw it up, but I know they know. I take at least five cabs a day. I have to, how else would I get to my very important meetings where I drop off the morning bunt cakes I purchased from my pretend husband at the bakery? It's a busy day, but it's just how life goes in the city. Before I know it it's almost 3:00 p.m. and it's time for me to play on Linkedin for the next two hours until it's time for happy hour. Busy, busy, busy. Funny to think how last year at this time I was spending hours on my couch self loathing about living in Peker...

Is it Friday yet? I miss my couch. 

A New York Minute

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Well my weekend flew by in a New York minute and I find myself back on the grind again. No downtime for this working girl, I've already been out and about around the city all morning long on appointments. I love it that my appointments no longer involve wearing a knife kit and pulling a cooler through hoards of high school kids. It's the small things.

Speaking of small things, how bout that little island called Manhattan? Talk about a weekend of eating Polly Pocket sized food, waiting in lines for clubs we weren't cool enough to get in, and greeting the Jaguars dressed like high class hookers. It was a weekend for the books, Facebook I mean, so many incidents were post/photo worthy. Especially for the moms...

Let's start with Friday. We shopped around Soho all day surrounded by teeny tiny exotic models who made me feel like a fat Midwesterner. I might as well have been wearing light up sneakers and a Husker sweat shirt. No matter how hard I tried to "look cool" I always ended up feeling like Khloe Kardashian, the awkward giant wearing too much makeup- see lipstick photo on Facebook. I finally know what it's like to live in Z Potter's world, I mean because he's bigger than everyone not because he wears too much makeup... We waited two hours to eat lunch at hip place where I'm pretty sure our table was the only table actually eating rather than just staring around the room looking hungry hiding behind dark sunglasses and darker lipstick.

It felt like everywhere we went Americans were the minority. But I'm not talking about the type who are in Nebraska because of the tantalizing draw of meat packing plants or our booming landscape companies. I'm talking about the Super Trooper type of foreigners. Although I'd really like to know how the European countries continue to produce babies because I didn't see a single Euro man who didn't look gay, or a single Euro woman with hips large enough to survive childbirth. Does God really like Europeans that much more that he continues to grant them with magical babies that are also twice as good looking as any American? I think so. Anyway, after our good ol Midwestern meal of Beef Stroganoff and French fries at Balthazar in Soho we continued to power shop for a few more hours. We hit up all the cute boutique shops local only to New York like J Crew, Tory Burch, and my favorite: Tj Maxx. I'm a real Maxonista.

Our dinner reservations weren't until 11:00 p.m. at Buddakan in the meatpacking district. Buddakan being the infamous restaurant where Carrie and Big held their rehearsal dinner the night before Big didn't show up for the wedding on account of Miranda being a closeted lesbian and convincing him marriage is a sham. Marriage is a sham if you're married to men but in reality crave the companionship of an equally as unattractive female red head. Back to Buddakan though. We sipped extra dirty martinis and munched on condom sized appetizers. Seriously. We ordered wasabi balls that looked like little condoms stuffed with wasabi cream... Or something. Beth didn't eat her's, pretty sure I think I did. The lettuce wraps looked to be one one slice of lettuce that was cut into Saltine sized pieces with a dime size of "filling." Pf Changs would have been pissed. And so was I. So we kept drinking to fill our Nebraska hungry bellies and proceeded to get more and more angry at our rude NY server and fell more in love with our flamboyant Iowa-born busboy. By the end of the night I think both Beth and my mom had tipped the busboy at least $100 while Tye and I took care of the dinner bill and left a whopping $5 tip for the main waiter. Ooops. Don't piss Tye and Tay off, there will be consequences. After leaving the embarrassingly small tip we got the hell out of Buddakan as fast as we could. It was club time! Or so we thought. I think we waited in roughly three club lines and after being told to "get off my sidewalk" and "you're not on the list" and finally "It will be $1000 for you to get in" we decided this might not be our scene. Like WTF. Did they not know who we were? I've never waited in a line at The Rail. And Tyeler is married to Zach Potter. In the words of that famous hooker, "Big mistake. HUGE." I will get back at those club owners. I don't know how or when. But I will.

Oh, I have so many more stories that involve a pigeon toed whore, a Lebanese couple and three Polish guys but my short little lunch break is over. Must go back to my intense professional world. But more of our shenanigans will be shared later, I promise.

The City That Never Sleeps

Friday, September 16, 2011

So this was yesterday:
The only thing that stands between me and a fun filled weekend in NYC is the TSA. Just the thought of those scoundrels making me walk awkwardly on the balls of my bare feet and placing my precious belongings in their dirty totes gives me anxiety. You want to know what I think? I think the terrorists crashed planes into the towers on 9/11 not only to leave their mark on that day, but they did it because they knew how it would affect traveling for Americans every day after. It’s the terrorist gift that keeps on giving. I feel terrorized every single time I come to the airport, and it’s only getting worse. If Osama Bin Saddam Hussein isn’t behind the TSA, well then I don’t know who is. Maybe that Gaddafi guy I keep hearing about. There’s just something sinister about those people who sit behind the safety of their airport security rope dressed in their navy vests looking at the private contents of what’s in our bags. Who are they to decide what’s considered 3 ounces of liquid and what’s not? All I’m saying is that I won’t be one bit surprised if the next terrorist attack is composed of a large bomb made entirely of hair spray, cologne, perfume, lotion, ext. The more expensive the better. But I’ve already said too much, I know better than to talk about such things while sitting in an airport. I could be hauled off to prison just for saying the “T” word within a ten mile radius of an airport. I can’t help it though, the TSA just grinds my gears. I’d like to go to their place of transportation (the bus stop I can only assume) and demand they take off their shoes before getting on board, or remove their fitted blazer jackets which technically should not be consider a jacket but more of an ensemble. How come I never see a TSA employee in line at an airport when they’re just starting a shift? I’ll tell you why. It’s because they live here. I’ve already mentioned this once before, but how many people have you ever met that work at an airport? Zero. Just seems kinda fishy don’t you think?

And now this is today.
You want to know what time I finally landed in New York last night? Ten freaken thirty. Yeah, 10:30 p.m.. I was supposed to land by 8:30. Oh boy, was I fuming. I absolutely can’t stand how unpredictable flying is. When it comes to land time I think they should just cut the shit and list a window of time rather than an actual time, "Departure: 5:25-8:30, arrival: it's a real crapshoot, possibly 8:30-11:00 p.m." To make matters worse, I had a fifty year old Asian man beside me whom I can only assume had never flown before because as we taxied in the air for a good thirty minutes he spent the entire time leaning over me like a five year old trying to look out the window. Since I was indeed the one with the window seat, doesn’t that entitle me to the window rights? That’s how I’ve always known airplane law. Window seater is the one who holds the rights whether or not to open or close the window and should never feel pressured to sit awkwardly arched back in their seat so curious Asian man can perch over and look at what only appears to be thousands of flash lights below given it’s completely dark outside. #iborderlinehaveaheartattacheverytimeifly.

Luckily, by the time we got to “our place” our wonderful littles hostesses were waiting with full champagne flutes and a nice little meat and cheese tray to greet us. I’ve never been so happy to see alcohol, and Tyeler and Beth, of course. We are staying at Tye’s uncle’s apartment in Soho. No biggy. It’s just your standard perfectly decorated, incredibly large apartment you’d expect to be staying at if you are filming a movie with Judd Law and Rose Byrne with a cameo appearance by a Trollson twin. I usually reference Katherine Heigl, but this apartment is too cool for her stupid rom-coms. She wouldn’t even be invited to a party here. This place has tall ceilings, exposed brick everywhere, ginormous windows that look like they belong in a penthouse hotel suite somewhere I’ve never had the luxury of staying in before, and a variety of eclectic light fixtures through out. Like I said, no biggy.

So anyway, after we chit chatted here for a bit (drank a bottle of champagne) Beth, Tye, my mom, Jade and I headed out on the town around midnight. Going out super late is tres New York. Us gals were ready to hit the hot spots. We were dazzling in our high heels and sparkly tops... But after walking a block or two and not seeing an abundance of people out and about we couldn’t help but feel like the over dressed mom/daughter group who escaped Texas for a big weekend in the city. We might as well have been wearing home printed t-shirts that read “We also do hair bigger in Texas- Mom/Daughter Trip 2011.” Whatever. We were still gonna have fun.

We decided on the Soho Grand a few blocks away for drinks and apps. We drank expensive martinis, ate teeny tiny crab cakes that should have probably been called crab hershey kisses, and literally shut the place down. We didn’t leave until almost every last person was out around 2:45ish. And that last person happened to be a very drunk, very chic looking girl who stumbled all the way down the stairs babbling things like, “my dad owns this shit. He owns your life.” I told Tye to be quiet, but she was pretty insistent. Not a bad start to the weekend. And now, well I'm waiting for the lazy asses to wake up so we can start our day already. I'm ready for these streets to make me feel brand new, for the lights that inspire you. So much for the city that never sleeps, it's nearly 10:30! I want brunch, damn it. TGIF peeps, TGIF.

View From the Top

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

As we all know from my boastful mobile pic on Facebook this morning I love my new view from my office. And I use the term "office" lightly, as in reality I sit in what appears to be a large reconverted store room with two other girls, and of course very large windows. The perks in the break room are embarrassingly awesome: free bottles of water, unlimited Splenda packets, Starbucks roasted coffee, and tons of mini hand sanitizers. Which by the way are free for the taking, no need to hoard them in your purse as I previously thought.  Let's just say they know how to treat their employees here. But even with all of the luxuries that come with this job, I still find myself staring out the window day dreaming for roughly 85% of the day... I like to pretend I am looking out the view of my penthouse office that I have all to myself, that is furnished with a giant beautiful desk, a flat screen on the wall, pretty yet comfy furniture, and a bar. Oh, and one of those globes that opens up to a secret alcohol stash, my office definitely has one of those. What I do in this pretend office, I'm not sure. But I know it's important, and it probably involves searching Facebook, reading US, writing blogs and going out to lunch.

 In the meantime, the highlight of my day pretty much revolves around snack time and lunch time. I don't know why food is so entertaining at work, but it is. Because of this excitement, I find it very hard to bring my lunch to work because 9 times out of 10 I end up eating my entire lunch bag by 10:30 a.m. It makes for a long afternoon of fruit snacks and suckers. Today I had to go down to the 6th floor to get my photo taken for my name badge and took full advantage of the short break to sneak across the block to buy a bag of Combos from Walgreens next door. It didn't dawn on me until I was walking back into the Wrigley that I was going to have to explain to my boss why I was returning from getting my name badge with a bag of Combos. I stuffed the bag into my blazer as best as I could, but when I passed the security guard he had the audacity to ask what I was hiding in my jacket. Everybody is so damn touchy lately. I reluctantly (and shamefully) revealed my hidden weapon of Combos. The security guard actually laughed at me. But afternoon hunger is no joke. You're not you when you're hungry. Grab a Snickers. Or cheese filled pretzel nuggets.

After I got my salty snack the afternoon breezed by. I like my coworkers because I've realized we do a lot of dicking around. Even though they're a pretty fancy bunch, like the type who showers in the morning, they still know how to mess around and have a good time. It took us almost an hour to decide what kind of frilly stationary to order for the office thank-yous. And after that difficult task it was on to another: deciding the venue for the Christmas party coming up in four months. But there just wasn't enough time in the day for a decision so lofty. After much conversation and numerous email correspondence sent back and forth between the girls in the front office and girls in the back, nothing was ever officially decided. I have a feeling this is going to be something that takes many weeks before finally setting anything in stone. 

And then before I knew it (but not really I'd been steadily watching the clock since about 2:48) the 5:00 o'clock bell rang and I ran all the way home. I was in an unusually big hurry today as  it was my little Har Har's 1st birthday! We celebrated with a lengthy trip to Pets Mart where we let Harlow sniff out anything he wanted. Unfortunately the urine on the floor couldn't be purchased so we persuaded Harlow to get the rubber stick and ten pound bone instead. I told Chris to use the bathroom before we left.

And so ends another work day. Another day, another dolla not yet automatically deposited into my very empty bank account. Come on Friday...

Day 1 of work: classy day drinking.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Well, I've officially got one day of work under my belt. And I am happy to report that I don't want to quit. I've got a real good feeling about this one, I think it might actually be a fit. The last office I worked at briefly (6 days) was all guys, but I told myself that was a good thing, that I was a "cool guys gal" anyway so obviously I would fit in just right. But let's cut the shit, as much as we all like to pretend we're one those girls who just "gets along better with boys" or "has always had more guy friends than girls," it's usually not true. Girls who can't make friends with other girls are usually the ones who own up to this title. I like scented candles too much, I can't stand it when people don't use coasters and if my pillows aren't situated just right on the couch I think it looks messy. Do you think Chris relates to any of this? No, his idea of a candle is a Citronella, and he still can't grasp the fact that some pillows are only for display. Boys call this OCD, girls call it good housekeeping.

So as it turns out my new office, which is entirely girls, might be just what I need. When I started at my all boy's job awhile ago the only thing they had "set up" for me at my desk was a computer and a phone. I had to borrow a pen from the kid next to me and was given a pad only after asking for one. Today, on the other hand, when I opened my drawers they were full of colored paper clips and highliters and multi colored desk organizers! It was great, it was like the first day of school. Right when I sat down, the girl next to me looked to be hard at work studying her computer screen when she all of the sudden shrieked "OH MY GOD! JLo and Bradley Cooper were spotted together eating dinner last night." I felt home. And then I felt disgusted, why on earth would Bradley Cooper be with Jenny from the block? Is he planning a wedding maybe? Needing a maid in Manhattan perhaps...and every other reference to JLo's awful movies where she plays an innocent yuppy white woman.

Anyway, the morning proceeded quite nicely. Girl chit chat here and there, a little bit of daydreaming out of my window that oversees the river and the Trump tower. And before I knew it it was time for lunch. Having rode the unemployment trains for two weeks too long, my pockets are tight so I opted to pack a turkey sandwich for lunch rather than going out. But boy was I in for a surprise. Two of my coworkers and my boss invited me out for lunch with them. Two hours later and two bottles of wine later, the four of us were still at lunch. I was in Mad Men heaven. The cocktails, the steak lunch, the only thing missing was some sexual harassment and I might as well have been in the 60s. Give me a job that entails classy day drinking and I'm on board. Turns out cold calling with a slight buzz is much easier than without, I would recommend it for every sales job. I think I could have sold a Nebraska fan an Iowa jersey today I was on such a roll. Okay, I'm kidding that's just ridiculous.

But yeah, I don't wanna jinx myself but everything seems pretty good so far... We'll just have to see how day number two goes.

A Job? Don't mind if I do.

Friday, September 9, 2011

The call never came yesterday... So I called them, I've never been one to wait around. Whoever said "good things come to those who wait," is probably still waiting around for those good things to come. You gotta go out and get the good shit for yourself, life is too short to sit around and wait all damn day. By 3:45 p.m. yesterday after I hadn't heard a thing I said screw it and picked up the phone myself. I really had no other choice, I let them know there were other offers on the table (moving to Norfolk to be Knox's full time nanny or buying fake purses in Chinatown to resell on eBay) so if they wanted me they had to tell me now or I was gonna walk. Turns out... They wanted me! They really wanted me. I felt just like a 16 year old girl getting asked to Homecoming for the first time, or how I imagined that would have felt... I signed the official offer letter today at 9:45 a.m. And as soon as I signed, the boss took me around to all of the other workers (who are all girls) and told them the good news. They shrieked "yay" and hugged me. For real. It felt like sorority bid day all over again, minus the frat boys watching from their front lawns. I was even dressed in the same short Hollister jean skirt and nasty Buckle wedges...Kidding. Kill me. But really, I see some PNF's in these girls. Potential New Friends. I've got a real good feeling about it. I just hope they don't circle my fat and make me cut off and eat my splint ends like my sorority sisters did when I first pledged... Pledged. Haha who says that.

I walked out of the Wrigley building a happy girl. I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that I wasn't all smug walking around a building where most Chicago tourists come to visit knowing that it was going to be my new official office on Monday. I felt gooood. And then it was on to interview number two. Two jobs you ask? Well yes indeedy, I'm an over achiever now. The next job I am debating taking on as well is Tory Burch, obv. Downfall: working weekends, working retail. Two things I have never done. Upfall: Employee discount, free clothes and shoes given to all employees as "uniform" and TB Christmas gifts!!! Who would turn that down? Since I would just be working weekends I would technically be an "assistant sales" person, working alongside a 16 year old. But she's just not any 16 year old, her last name is Burch. As in Tory's niece. As in I will make sure she is my new best friend and I will buy her beer in exchange for Tory connections. I've got this all planned out. Things are really looking up for me.

Tomorrow will be my first experience at Kirkwoods, Chicago's famed Husker bar. They even serve Runzas and Elk Creek. Naturally, I'm excited. There is nothing better than being in another state reuniting with fellow Nebraskans. Let's be honest, no one moves away to make new friends. We move away and then desperately seek out old friends, or just other Nebraskans we don't technically "know" but feel connected to on account of past and current living situations. For some reason or another those little connections are just so thrilling to make. Like when you meet someone at a Bar who went to the same college as your 6th grade best friend and you say, "Oh yea, do you know So & So? She went there." The person almost always say no. But I've alway thought about what does it really matter if they did happen to know So & So? The conversation can be extended for like 30 more seconds so you two can both reminisce about So & So for a second more and her crazy antics? Like I said, it's just about those small connections.

Well anyway, today is a good day. It's Friday, let us all enjoy this wonderful weekend. Because Monday brings a new work week...

Smoking pounds and dropping hashes.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Everybody knows the secret to crawling out of unemployment is networking yourself. Thus the reason I don't feel guilty about spending 93% of my day on Facebook, I'm networking myself, duh! I've been doing so much creeping I bet I know more about you that you know about you. I'm also familiarizing myself with Twitter. I think I've got the "hashtag" thing figured out. So if I want to tweet something about say... unemployment I would write something like: Sure do enjoy taking three showers a day #unemployment. Is that correct? So I brought this up in a tweet yesterday, but who decided pound was no longer a good enough name for the "#" symbol? Is it changed for good, or just on Twitter? Should I start saying my lucking hash sign is 22? Will Amsterdam start selling pound brownies? Mcdonalds gonna have poundbrowns in the morning with their egg McMuffins? These are the types of things an unemployed person thinks about.

So Twitter suggests various people you should be friends with, and it keeps telling me to befriend Bo Pelini. Naturally, I keep declining, but just for the hell of it I checked out his tweeting profile. Bo has 25,348 followers, but he only follows seven people.One of the seven is actually a guy Brittany Love dates, and I'm not talking about Doc Sadler. So that obviously means Jake Wesch is probably the guy responsible for running Bo's Twitter account, which makes sense now why number two of seven for who Bo follows is Farrah from Teen Mom. But after looking at Bo, I was led to Suh. In Suh's profile, a space where one is only allowed so many letters to write about themselves, he has one very important accomplishment listed. Any guesses what this is? Heisman candidate? Star in national car commercial? Husker legend? Wrongo: "World record holder, for world's largest tweetup." Yeah, we got the world part Suh, no need to be redundant here. But what a doucher. Are you kidding me? What does a tweetup even mean? Whatever, I must just not get it, it must be important if that's the first thing Suh wants the Twitter world to know about him. To each their own Twitter profile.

So yeah... if you feel like following my rants and insults my name is thedailytay, original I know. I'm not nearly as entertaining as Khloe Kardashian or Taylor Swift, but every once in a while I'll post more than three times in a month. And one of these days I'll figure out how to put photos on Twitter so everyone can see the important images I feel must be sent online, because I see a lot of shit that should be sent to the Twitter world, that is fo shoo. Anywho, I'm just waiting on that call today... The call that will let me know if I have a job or not... nbd. Just waiting. Sitting, waiting, wishing, eating banana pancakes. Wondering where Jack Johnson went and if he'll ever write another song about me. Gonna cut myself off now before I start babbling... But seriously, when are they gonna call? I just need to know... Did I get into Berkley or am I gonna have to go to Clown College with Kimmy Gibler? Ah the suspense is killing me!

He's just not that into me.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

It was not until this morning when I finally felt completely hangover free thanks to Saturday's awful(awesome)ness. In the past few days I've had one too many moments when a blackout memory suddenly comes surging into mind begging me to replay it. I refuse to. I absolutely refuse to try to remember anything I did on Saturday because I just can't take the shame right now. I'm in about my third, maybe fourth week who knows anymore, of unemployment and my self esteem is pretty low. I went in today to what I thought was going to be an official job offer "interview" given that I've already interviewed with this specific place two times, but it wasn't. I don't know what it was, I would call it a "shoot the shit" because that's all I did. The boss asked me about my trip home and the Husker game and blah blah blah. When it was all said and done he told me they'd let me know tomorrow. I mean, what the hell? This place isn't like the FBI or a Rock'N'Roll Runza, what's with the run around? I've gone in three times now and said the same shit over and over, let's move this along, either tell me you want me or you don't. It shouldn't be this difficult. I find myself feeling like a pathetic insecure girl wondering why Job doesn't like me or want me. Like, ooh what did I do wrong, did I say something, did I not laugh at his joke, does he want my friend instead? I guess Job's just not that into me. So if that's the case and Job really does choose someone over me I'm just going to have to get over it and do the only logical thing I can. Which is stock Job on FB and Linkedin, maybe drive by its house at night, give him a few prank dials. Just the standard stuff.

Meanwhile, I'm in the process of reading yet another awful book that was published only because of its celebrity author. The Jaycee Duggard story, heard of it? Girl can't write. Good storyteller though. Next time I ask myself "what does a girl have to do to get published?" I will probably think of Jaycee, because poor thing had to do a lot. And I mean A LOT in order to achieve one of the goals on her life list which was become a best selling author. But it was no day at camp... She lived, ate, went to the bathroom, and gave birth to children in a tent for like 17 years I think it was. Which answers the age old question: does a girl shit in the woods? Yes, if that girl is Jaycee Duggard she does. If you're in the mood for a real sick and twisted story with a semi happy ending, check this one out. And if you have kids of your own, now might be a good time to invest in a leash.

On another note, I'd like to pretend I'm a radio DJ for a moment and make a shout out to my parents saying Happy 32nd Wedding Anniversary! That's a long time. Although it's not that hard to reach that many years when you get married when you're 15 like my parents did. That's just how it was is Norfolk in the 70s, people got married young. Okay, they weren't really 15, but they were darn young. But 32 years, that's an accomplishment no less. I hope they have as wonderful of a day today as they did back in 1979. Although tomorrow won't bring a fun filled honeymoon in Yankton first and then off to the lake in Minnesota. But I bet Cabo will suffice here in a couple months.

Well anyway... Really hoping I get to announce good news tomorrow. I'm gonna hate to have to be the person who posts "I didn't get the job" on my Facebook. It's one thing not to get a job you really want, but it's another not to get a job that you were settling for in the first place. C'mon lotto, I could really use some help right now...

A Letter of Apology

Sunday, September 4, 2011

To whom it may concern: so basically everyone I encountered Saturday after about 3:30 p.m.

I'd like to take this moment to express my apologies regarding Saturday's behavior... My actions were completely inexcusable, inappropriate, and entirely embarrassing. I'll begin by apologizing to the entire staff at the Bar. It was very unnecessary for me to spit my drink at the bartender. I think I did this on accident, I have very bad allergies right now. The RBV was delicious, I'm sure I wouldn't have spit it out purpose. It's up for speculation as to whether or not that was the reason I got "kicked out," I've been told. So I'm sorry I snuck back in the side door five minutes later. I'm also very sorry to the doorman at the Bar. I guess I thought he enjoyed me sitting beside him to help him check ID's. When he continued to tell me to leave him the hell alone, I figured this was just all a part of the fun. My bad. Please don't ban me from coming back in. I will be good from now on. Let's see who else is on my list... Oh yes, sorry to the person I kept calling last night from Kate's phone whom I thought was Chris's number. Even though you insisted this wasn't "Chris your boyfriend," I continued to call and harass you, please disregard the three slurry voicemails. Sorry, I guess I was just really worried. In case you didn't hear, I lost Chris last night. Yes, it was a very scary experience. Thus the reason I was balling hysterically saying, "but I can't find him, he's gone, where is he. I can't find him" to anyone who would listen. Yup, I was drunk girl crying on game day. I chalk this one up to the fact that right now I'm reading the Jaycee Dugard book, so naturally after I hadn't seen Chris for roughly an hour? Maybe two? Who knows time is an illusion on game days. Like Alan says, "Lincoln is a time machine that only goes forward." Anyway, I'm quite sure I decided Chris must have been kidnapped. So I cried and cried, it was a very rough thirty minutes. Thanks again to all who helped me find Chris before I reported him missing to the police. Luckily, Chris was safe and sound at the Rail. I should have known. Once he gets in that Dj booth he doesn't leave. Oh well, at least he wasn't taken away forced to live in a tent for the next 20 years like I had originally feared. Okay who is next.. the entire staff at Lazzaris, the Rail staff and fellow patrons. And Theta... I am sorry I took down the composite in the basement and ran through the house screaming bazar chants, I really hope I didn't wake anyone. Or when I rang the doorbell 20 times... Thanks again to the sweet non drinker girl who let Kate and I inside. That was really nice of you, and also a pretty big mistake. You'll discover the other shenanigans I did around the house semi soon I imagine... Again, sorry. My deepest apologies to the youngins in the Fiji living room whom I decided to "haze" with a whiffle bat. That was completely unnecessary. I hope the red marks went away by this morning. And I really hope the couple in the basement TV room didn't mind that Chris, Alan, Aj, Kate and I jumped in on their late night movie date and took over the couch and the blankets they were cuddled up under.

Anyone else I encountered along the way, I apologize. Gamedays are hard. And I was just really excited I think. But this doesn't make anything I did okay. I woke up with the "oh shit" feeling on the Fiji basement floor using a couch cushion as a blanket. Yikes. I knew right then I had worn out my welcome in college town and it was time to get the hell out of there. So you win again Lincoln, I'm happy to say I won't be seeing you for a while. Until Ohio State...

These are a few of my favorite things

Friday, September 2, 2011

As if we haven't heard enough shit about how stupidly excited we all are.... In honor of tomorrow...

Beerdrops on noses, and tailgate chair sittin,
Cold mugs of elk creek and new drunk mems’ written.
Brown paper baggin it, while the washboard man sings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Cream colored farm boys and darker ones too,
Playing for the Huskers, the lucky chosen few.
Repping the big 10 in hopes of that ring,
these are few of my favorite things.

Running and chanting aside old college friends,
Looking like assholes all dressed in the red.
Screaming so loudly for weeks your throat stings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in skanky dresses with red Satin sashes,
Back Rail dirty dancing in pursuit of new rashes.
Long drunken game days that turn to drunk-eating,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Clear shots of rumple and Goldy ones too,
Sloppy gameday drinking, it’s the best thing to do.
All dignity lost from the kick off whistle ring,
These are few of my favorite things.

When Martinez goes down with an itch,
When Pelini acts like a bitch.
When I'm feeling blue....

I simply remember my favorite things,
and then I just keep..........

Cheers to a new season in the Big 10. See you tomorrow...