Last Friday of 2011.

Friday, December 30, 2011

And here we are, the last Friday of 2011. How bout that. Where has the year gone? What a good time to reflect on all of the Fridays that have come and gone over this past year. From Fridays spent in high school classrooms in Council Bluffs to Friday afternoons spent driving the lovely interstate between Kansas City and Topeka. And alas, long Friday afternoons spent in downtown Chicago overlooking the Chicago river. It's a trade off, that's fo sho. Working four hour days in Topeka, or eight hour days in Chicago. Pick your poison. At least here I have friends to drink my poison with now every day after work.

From time to time I like to look back on old posts just to check up on my former self and see what I was up to. Here's an excerpt from 12/30/2010. What a silly girl I was:

"Woo hoo tonight is New Years Eve eve! I am like so totally pumped for tomorrow. NYE is like for sure one of the best nights to go out. I know I love getting all dolled up and going out when it's freezing outside and I've just spent the last seven days eating non stop, cooped up inside and the only bit of sunlight my body has seen is from the rays of the microwave. Ya par-tay!! Over priced drinks, overly crowded bars, freezing temps- my kind of night! NYE is also great because it's like the Halloween of winter. Slutty dresses? Yes please! Hooker heels? Uh duhs! Coat to keep me warm? Only if its see through! Us gals can wear absolutely anything we want and no one can judge. I mean, I still judge of course, but it's only out of jealousy, right? Isn't that what it means when you stare at other girls wearing trampy clothes and you're not, it means your jealous. Definitely. I also enjoy NYE, not just because I can use the fun abbreviation NYE, but also because when I say good bye to people at like 10:00 p.m. that I won't see til tomorrow I can say, "see ya next year!" That's just fun. So when I hear people say things like, "it's just another night," or "it's the most overrated night of the year," or other bah humbug stuff like that I feel sorry for the poor fellas. What on earth has made some people so bitter, I wonder? Lack of 12:00 kiss? Plans not "fun enough" to live up to the hype that is NYE? These are all such superficial reasons we are talking about. New Years Eve does for mankind what texting did for deaf people. It opens a whole new window of possibilities. It's just the entry way to a brand new start. What's better than that? Do I go on runs? No. But in 2011 I bet I will! Do I volunteer? Not now. But why the heck not in 2011? So have I been suffering from post Christmas depression as of late? Perhaps a bit. Will I in 2011? Well not in January, but yes, I imagine I will go through the same thing next December. But for now I am keeping my eye on the prize. On ringing in the new year with a great attitude! On making some resolutions and sticking to them. Not the type I used to make when I was little (candy only for dinner, stop making bed, stop brushing teeth) what a silly 18 year old I was! I'm talking about very important things. Like keep Zucky waiting a few more days before I respond. Check. Finish screenplay about life after college and how much it sucks. Check check. Have couch cleaned from the numerous spots Harlow has peed on it. And check. Couch cleaner lady just left twenty minutes ago. All is looking good."

Really hoping to start those runs in 2012... And now lets look at a post from the very next day on 12/31/2010:

"To be quite honest, I've never really cared much for this so called "holiday." It's so overrated. Why would you call the end of a year a holiday, anyway? It has to happen at some point. There is no sense in celebrating the inevitable. It's so American of us to try to celebrate every mundane thing. When are we going to start celebrating every last day of the month? Or hell, let's start celebrating every single Sunday night since it's the end of the week. I'm just not into it. So ask me if care that I am stranded in Topeker on New Years Eve thanks to icey roads and white outs on the interstate? Because I don't care. Not one bit. Nope, I haven't even thought about it, or cried about it, or cried some more, or thrown a fit about how much I hate it here. Because that's just not what I do. I'm just a roll with the punches kinda gal. Nothing gets to me, I'm just easy going like that. So I don't even mind that Chris is on the couch with the stomach flu right now. I'll still wear my 2011! hat I purchased at Target, and blow the horns I bought and do a little new years dance all by myself and still have a grand time. Won't be the first time.

I can only imagine where next new years eve will find me. One never knows. I sure wouldn't have guessed last year at this time that I would ring in 2011 drinking champagne alone in an apartment in Topeker, Kansas. I must have really pissed God off somewhere along the road. Note to self: find church, just not Westboro. Well, I wish you all a very happy new year and Auld Lang Syne, whatever the hell that means. If I make it through tonight I can get through anything."

And I made it through it afterall. Talk about a drama queen, sooo glad I'm over that stage and have like totally matured now and no longer worry about such trivial things. Speaking of worrying, I need to find some time to fit in a spray tan so my pasty legs don't look so pasty in my super slutty NYE skirt... Ugh. So much to do in prepartion of tomorrow.

Ring in the New Year with a good attitude, don't despise tomorrow night and all of the hype that goes with it, embrace it. Or just drink enough to forget about it and pass out early. Either works.

My very first negative blog comment.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Big day for the blog yesterday, huge! Not only did I hit my 420th post, but I also got my very first negative comment! And it’s anonymous, no less. So I’d just like to be upfront here and say that for the next few paragraphs or so I am going to spend far too much time discussing this one comment. Feel free to click back to whoever you were stalking on Facebook at anytime if you’re not in the mood to read yet another pointless rant of mine. But anywho, if you haven’t taken the time to notice the infamous comment, please look below. I guess I just feel so incredibly honored to have my first official hater. Strike that, who am I kidding I’ve had haters since I could talk, probably even before then. What I meant is this is simply the first time (on here) that someone has finally spoken out against me and my silly thoughts. And let me tell you, that takes guts, especially to do it anonymously. To get all riled up and pissed at some bitchy girl to the point of thinking, “you know what, I’m going to comment something, this stupid girl complains all the time, and I’m tired of it by golly, so rather than clicking away, I’m gonna comment. I’m gonna do it. Just watch me.” And then you did! I hope it felt as good as you imagined. As good as it feels when you complain about Husker athletes on Rivals, or when you get into comment fights on YouTube or when you post about why you think the Kardashians are ruining the world (which I kinda do too, see we’re not that different, you and I.)

But I digress, I knew I’d spend far too much time on this. But I can’t help it, I’m just a little excited is all. I feel like it’s a real milestone. Now don’t get carried away all you cyberspace Negative Nillys out there and start flooding me with your pissy comments getting all anxious in your Jo Boxers that you’ve finally found a good internet opponent who is going to take the bait and respond to everything you say. Because I won’t. I’m like way too busy complaining and blogging about more important things. But… Just this one time I will give an official and very thorough response to:

“man I would really hate to be your boyfriend, a lot of people had to work today, get over it”

The good news is that you’re not my boyfriend. So right off the bat you’ve got that going for you, I think we can both agree you’ve dodged a bullet here. The thought of you and I together is just silly. For starters, I don’t even know you, and for enders I somehow (luckily I know) managed to snag a good guy already. And I'm quite sure you have an equally as wonderful girlfriend. I don’t think Chris minds being my boyfriend, in fact, most times I think he kinda likes it. And as for a lot of people having to “work today,” well see now that’s the difference between you and I, Mr. Anonymous. Perhaps this might be true for you, but I happen to know a lot of people who didn’t have to work yesterday. My mom, my sister, my brother, basically all of my friends, my grandma, my dog, the Kardashians, um… and everyone else I saw out gallivanting on Michigan avenue yesterday. So you have to understand where I was coming from. It was just a rough day for me. But you’re right. I need to get over it. Thanks for the advice.

Well it’s about to time to start my humpday. But just for the record, I do encourage comments. I just don’t often notice them, it was my mom today who actually texted me (because she wasn’t working) “you have a comment! And it’s not good!” Yikes! And I’d also like to say everything I write is simply in good humor. Take it for what you want. If it riles you to the point of posting something along the lines of “get over it,” I suggest you “get over it” and find another blog to browse. There’s a ton out there. And speaking of other blogs, I saw on one that today is “National Follow a Blog Day!” How exciting. So feel free to click “join this site” on the right side if that’s something that meets your fancy.

Enjoy your last Wednesday of 2011. I woke up on the right side of the bed today and am determined to make it a good one! I suggest you do the same. I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes,

"Dogs are forever in the pushup positon." -Mitch Hedberg


And P.S. (next time you comment, try to be a little more subtle, Carl. Geesh.)

Today Sucks.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Man, how about that Christmas? Was that a good one or what? Jesus really out did himself in 2011, he blessed the shit out of people. I don’t know if he’s stepping up his game or if people are just being more grateful than usual but if I had a dollar for every person who thanked him on Facebook this weekend for being "so wonderfully blessed" and having "seriously the best family ever" and "loving my life" I probably wouldn’t be at work today… Speaking of work… Not doing so good. This. This whole “me at work on December 27th” is NOT okay. I’m about two hangnails away from really flying off my rocker. Is this for real? Is anybody else seriously working today? I have not worked on Christmas break in over 24 years. Christmas break= December 20ish-January 6ish. Minimum. This will NOT happen again. I’m dying a slow, painful death here at my cold desk. If one more asshole posts something about a ski trip I’m jumping out my window into the Chicago river. Try me. And “teachers” we get it, you get a lot of time off. Good for you. But remember while you’re covered in boogers and glue some of us are actually working in a very professional environment leaving incredibly important voicemails for people who will not return them. Maybe I should become a teacher… But I hate boogers and glue so much. And same goes to all of you stay-at-home mom's with your constant boastful photos of just staying at home, doing stay at home things with your kids, staying all warm and cozy at home not being at work. Well guess what, those cute little babies are going to grow up someday and turn into awkward looking seven year olds and then what? Then the pictures stop. So enjoy your wonderful time at home with them today before they start looking like the cast of Hey Arnold. Sorry, I took it too far. I'm in a bad place today.

I always get postpartum depression after Christmas but this year is more severe than ever. What’s with Christmas’s timing anyway? I feel like it takes forever to get here and we get all prepared by decorating our house and making stupid desserts and listening to Justin Bieber and then BOOM it’s in and out in a day. All your left with is a stomach is full of pickle roll-ups, a bank account encompassed with debt, and a rotting liver. It’s not right. I’m extra sulky today. I can’t help it. I need to time travel back to last week at this time when the fun was just beginning. I want to go to my happy place at the 5th Street bar with a beer in hand and retro Christmas decorations on the wall. Or to Ricardos back door lounge, knee deep in beans and nachos with not a care in the world. Basically anywhere but here. I need a Christmas break damn it, not a Christmas weekend. Or at the very least I wish everybody was back at work today, if I knew everyone was miserable I would feel a whole lot better. And that my friends, is the true meaning of Christmas.

At least I’ve got New Years to look forward to. No way in hell this night will let me down and I will tell you why. Let me paint you a picture of NYE 2010: Topeka, alone on my couch, sipping champagne, alone on my couch, alone. Couch. Topeka. Champagne (cheap beer actually.) So no matter what happens, NYE 2011 will be awesome. I don’t even care if Westboro shows up where I am to protest, it will still be great. Not to mention I will be with a really great group of people at the Hard Rock downtown. In case you don’t know, the Hard Rock is like totally cool, almost as cool as Plant Hollywood circa 1992.

But who cares about New Years right now, that seems forever away. I’d prefer to sulk for a few more hours. Poor me. My life is so terrible. Nobody else in this entire world knows what I'm going through or works as hard at doing nothing as I do. Today sucks, it's almost as bad as posting a status that no one comments on. Not even a simple "like" would suffice for today.

Happy Birthday Jesus! It's really too bad you're not on Facebook...

Friday, December 23, 2011

I woke up today in my childhood bed with a pesky hangover and a chilled red nose (my parents don't like to turn up the heat on the "old side of the house," do you have stock in the electric bill? No, and neither do they.) Anyway, I was instantly overcome with happiness as I remembered where I was and all of the fun that was in store for me in the next few days. Great holiday parties, being with friends and family, and everything else fun that people are posting a complete play by play about on Facebook. Ditto to everything, except for the one girl who popped up on my mini who is "So excited to visit my brother in jail this weekend! XOXO Heartsstarsandanalsex!"

But it's important that we don't lose sight of what this season is all about and the true reason for all of the celebrating, the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. I'm a big believer of keeping Christ in Christmas, you will never NEVER see me writing XMAS, I mean I may have slipped up a time or two and written CMAS, but I feel like Christ is cool with me just using his first initial. It's hip. I try to take a moment in between the presents and the hangovers and the Mariah Carey music to think about the story of the birth of baby Jesus. And to be honest, there's a few parts of the story that always trip me up.

Issue #1: the Inn Keeper. What kind of asshole turns away a ready-to-burst pregnant woman and her obedient husband out into the cold. This keeper had to have been someone like, Sandusky, or Kenny Powers. Yup, that's it, every time I think about this story from now on I am going to picture Kenny Powers working behind the desk at this so called "Inn." I'm sure he was just such an arrogant ass turing away this sweet little couple claiming they were carrying the Lord's child. I mean even if he didn't believe what Mary was saying about giving birth to the King you think he might have at least considered she was telling the truth for a second. Like what could it have hurt if he just let Mar and Jo hang out in the lobby for a while? On one hand let's say she just has a "normal baby," big deal, now he just has a little extra cleaning to do is all. But on the other hand, Mary puts her money where her mouth is and does indeed deliver the new King in his lobby, now what? Now his Inn isn't just an Inn, it's a Hilton. It's a pretty big deal. Suddenly it becomes the flocking spot for other Kings, and Little Drummer Boys, and angels and reindeer. Old Inn Keeper is now set for life, can hire other people to work for him and can go on to have offspring that become the new socialites of Bethlehem showing off their Britney's when they get on and off a camel going to award shows. But that's all hearsay now thanks to those famous six words he muttered, "not enough room in the Inn." Dick.

Issue #2: Rewind nine months. How come we never hear more about the day when Mary had to explain to Joseph she was impregnated by an angel in the night? That's all I'm gonna say about that one because I'm a belieber and I don't need any more explanation besides the fact she said she was impregnated by Him and that's good enough for me.

Issue #3: We saw three ships come sailing in, come sailing in, on Christmas day in the morning. Who was in these three ships? The three Kings? And what water were they sailing on? Because I'm pretty sure Bethlehem is land locked.

Issue #4: What is a manger?

Issue #5: The Little Drummer Boy. Rather than just "playing" for Jesus, why didn't this little guy consider giving Jesus his drum set as a gift? I mean He just received gold, frankincense and myrhh (yeah, I had to google that spelling) for God's sake, drums would have probably seemed like the best thing ever. Babies love drums. Knox is getting like five different versions of drums for Christmas in fact. Sure Jesus might not have been able to play them for a few months, but this man is about to walk on water, I think it's safe to assume He could learn to play with toys a little sooner than others. Just a thought.

Okay, the catholicness in me is starting to feel guilty with all these questions. Religion means just accepting things for how they are and not asking for explanations regardless of the situation. So whatever. Merry Christmas! Happy Birthday Jesus! It's really too bad he's not on Facebook, he'd get so many wall posts it wouldn't even be funny.

On the Road to Christmas Break

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Three hours into our seven hour drive back to Nebraska, it's finally Christmas break. Thank God for Combos and beef jerky. Combos and jerky go with car rides like Asian swords and Navajo jewelry go with gas stations (classy stations I mean.) Speaking of, much to my delight we pass right by "the Biggest Gas Station in the Country" on our way home on I-80. Helluva place, helluva place. Always a treat to browse through that amazing store. I don't know why I even bothered Christmas shopping in Chicago when I easily could have taken care of everybody in one single stop. If you can't find at least one thing you like, even love, in a gas station well then you're a Nazi because that's just not American. Find me another place where you can purchase a stuffed raccoon, a porcelain doll and a ready-to-eat taquito all in one store. Exactly.

Anywhoville, I'm just hours away from unlimited couch time, excessive  appetizer eating, daytime drinking,  24/7 Ralphie,  going out at night and having awkward run-ins with old high school friends (kidding. I don't "go out" and I certainly didn't have friends) strolling through the lovely stores at the Sunset Plaza (Maurices, Vanity, JC Penny love them!!!) Panda Garden, getting antsy at Christmas Eve church like I'm still a five year old, getting super excited at church when my dad gives "the nod" that we get to skip out early,  relaxing at home with festive beverages, yummy food, and even better family feuds regarding overly competitive trivia games in pursuit of the coveted $10 Dairy Queen gift card. That has my name written all over it this year.
So much to do, so little time. My tummy is bloating just thinking about all of it. And I'm down to just three hours now... Yup...  Ugh this sucks. Hurry somebody post a new "model pics" album on Facebook to entertain me. Or an "I got the job" post that would require me to do a little stalking. Somebody give me a challenge, I'm dying here. No? No takers? Sweet just saw a new engagement come through on my Fb radar! Yesss this will give me some reading for at least the next five minutes. And I was scared I was going to have to resort to sweater party pictures! 

Well, keep on trucking. And I was totes kidding, I had friends. Like two, three if it was a good week. 

Here, read this.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Dear Santa,

This isn’t a joke, I’m just gonna give it to you straight this year. I’m not going to mess around and ask for any of the name brand bull shit I usually do. A Louis purse, Chanel sunglasses, a FUBO coat. Nope, I don’t need any of it this time around. All I want, all I really want, is for this week to be over. Not over-over, I mean I want to go to bed tonight, and wake up to find that tomorrow is Thursday and that I’m safe and sound in the wonderful state of Nebraska. For a man who travels around the entire globe in one night, I wouldn’t think this to be that hard. Clearly you have some weird time travel spell you’re already using. So pass the bottle or the bong or whatever it is you use to ingest your magic potion my way and let’s fast forward things to Thursday. I’m not playing here. I can’t take another day in the office. I need to be at home, on my parent’s couch, with a fridge full of good meat and cheese and a pantry full of Doritos. Enough is enough. I don’t want to hear any excuses about this being too much or too difficult because we both know that’s bullshit. Need I remind you of the little girl on 34th street who received a house for Christmas one year?! And a dad! Or how about 1992 when I got a cat and a Polly Pocket mansion. Granted, we had to give Snickers away two years later but you couldn’t have known that satanic cat would attack my brother in the night. Or did you… And what about that boy on your train who got a bell that fell off your sleigh? What was that all about anyway? You need a little more consistency here if you ask me. How do you get off giving one girl a house and then some poor schmuck gets a broken bell? Whatever. All I am asking for is a little time travel.

I just really need this right now. My spirits are low today, real low. See I had this hour script consultation with a guy from LA last night regarding the screenplay I’ve been working on for a little over a year now… It went… Well it went right into the shitter. He told me there is a lot of good stuff going on and the story itself is great, but overall I have a lot more to work on. “Tarantino usually spends 5-10 years on his scripts,” I was told. Well I don’t have 5-10 years. I need to sell this shit now, I’m so tired of not having a bathroom with heated floors. It was just one critique after another after another. He basically ripped my heart out and threw it against the wall and then took a big deuce on it. We ended the convo with, “well I can see you’ve got a lot of talent and potential, but you’re just starting out so it’s gonna be a long road. You picked a hard industry to get into.” No. If I wanted a hard job I would have followed my dream of being an Olympic gymnast. Or a crab fisherman. I chose screenwriting so I could sit at home and just hash out funny ideas all day about college shananigans and funny drinking stories. Everybody loves those movies.

I’m a dreamer. I know this. And rarely, very rarely, do I let people crush my dreams. But today, they’re a little crushed. I feel just like Michelle Tanner when she didn’t get to play Yankee Doodle. That SOB Derek just swooped right in and took it from right under her. Nobody wants to be Lady Liberty.

Alright Santa, that's it. Your choices are either time travel, or booking me an agent in Hollywood. I know which I'd chose if I were you. Hollywood people are awful.

Your fav,

Cindy Lou Who
AKA Taylor Momsen

We're Going to Vegas!

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Life Rule #37: Don't talk shit to a homeless person on the subway.

It's so simple. So why do I continue to break my own life rules time and time again? It's like I never learn.

Let me preface exactly how I wound up in a heated argument with a bearded homeless man last night on the train. It all began in Vegas. Well not Vegas exactly, but my company's version of Vegas in our "nap room." Yesterday at around 4:30 our entire office (14 girls) was summoned to meet for a little "team building activity," or so the email said. We entered the back break room to find a mock casino table set up, photos of Vegas on the wall, and a tower of champagne glasses. We had met our goal and were going to Vegas, screamed our HR girl as she was sprayed with champagne from head to toe. Just kidding. Just kidding I'm not. What? Isn't that normally how an HR department delivers good news to a company? Maybe we're just fun like that.

And so more champagne proceeded this announcement. We drank in the office and made plans for the trip ahead. A suite at the Palms? Maybe the Cosmo? Take in a show or two, a few of the girls have been dying to see Holly Madison's boobs in person. What a splendid night this was becoming, the only natural thing to do next was to head on over to the neighborhood bar for more drinks. As it turns out, our neighborhood bar is the Trump Bar just a hop, skip, and a jump away. So we sipped on $30 glasses of wine encrusted with diamonds and Trump's beautiful gold locks of hair as we made even more plans for Las Vegas 2012. My little Nebraska heart was beaming with excitement, I mean I still get "I'm so cool" butterflies when we get to drink at the Trump or the Grand Luxe Cafe (which my coworkers so rudely told me is Cheesecake Factory's sister restaurant... as if I didn't know. Losers.) And I happen to like Cheescake Factory, I mean is their menu a novel, or is their menu a novel! But anyway, now a weekend in Vegas at all of the greatest bars and restaurants? This girl is in the big leagues now. Although, my last trip to Vegas wasn't exactly half par either. I mean, the State Farm convention sure treated the Wolfe family right. All you could eat Haagen Dasz bars, free State Farm pens every where you looked, not to mention the complimentary mini bags of pretzels in our room, it doesn't get much better than that.

But I digress. Let's get back to rule #37. After too many drinks at the Trump, I decided it was best I make my way home. I made my way to the train, cursing the entire way I left my rain boots at the office because my feet were killing. I reached the platform just as the train was pulling up, something that rarely happens. I was Rosa Parkd and anxious to get a seat, which I was certain wouldn't be a problem at 8:45 in the evening. And it wouldn't have been a problem if a certain homeless man wasn't sleeping across FOUR seats. Just to give you a visual, some seats face forward, some to the side, blah blah blah, he was draped across four seats is the main purpose here. I see this and naturally I'm pissed. But I keep quite. RULE #3- never break your own rules, especially when you're drunk. Whatever, I keep quiet.

Stop after stop more people continue to pile on the train. Sleeping beauty doesn't stir until a very nice looking older man attempts to sit near his foot, at which point Sleeping HIV actually kicks him away. Oh hells. Not tonight. I start cracking my knuckles and cracking my neck (a weird tick I developed in basketball when things start to get heated.) If you ever see me do this, walk away. Shit about to get cray. Real cray cray. I tap the homie and say,

"Hey! You. This man needs to sit down."

Homie doesn't move. So I try again,

"MOVE! This is not fair, you need to sit up."

People start looking at me, it's not often voices are heard on a subway. Homie starts to move and looks at me and drunkenly mumbles,

"you got something to say, den say it."

So I drunkenly yell,

"I'm saying it! Get up, this is bullshit! You can't lay across four, we all payed for a seat on this train and you are breaking the rules."

At which point I gesture toward a rule sign on the wall. I know, real smooth. Much to my surprise, no one is backing me up. Or even supporting my argument. No, they're just looking at me like I'm as drunk and crazy as the homeless man. A swing and a miss. Even the business man I was sticking up for was discreetly walking further and further away from us.

Luckily, my stop was next. So homie and I mumbled a few more harsh (sloppy) words toward each other until I bolted out the doors fast and far away. I ran all the way home. I should have known better... Rule # 2- you DO NOT talk about the fight club. Who cares though, I'M GOING TO VEGAS!

A Delayed Letter To Carl P.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Dear Carl,

It’s taken me awhile to finally accept the news, to be quite honest I still don’t want to believe it. I guess I’m just really confused. I mean, how could you? Florida Atlantic? Really? But seriously, is that even a real school? Sounds like a deep sea fishing movie starring Cuba Gooding Jr. and Kevin Costner. That was mean. I'm sorry. I'm just hurt, you have to understand that. I had to hear it from Suh’s Twitter that you're leaving Nebraska. That’s a joke, Suh doesn’t even know you. I asked. It was actually from Bo’s. Just kidding. It was from Tom’s. As in Tommy Frazier. But even he might have been referring to something else- “#missingmyhotcarl.” But, I'm sure someone out there cares you're leaving, I mean besides me. Whatever though, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said you look like an Islamic Nicholas Cage. Or that you look like an older version of Randall from Recess. I didn't mean it. I hope these aren’t reasons you’re leaving.

I'm sorry I said the only reason you were at Nebraska is because of your brother. Everybody knows that isn't true. You have so much talent as a coach it's not even funny. Our defense this year was definitely unlike any other year... And that was because of you. I feel like you were just starting to step out of the spotlight of your older brother. And by older I mean younger. Sure, a lot of people know Bo, but I think it’s safe to say you made quite the name for yourself here in Nebraska, as well.

Anyway, I didn’t intend for this to get too windy. You know I don’t know a lot about football or politics. Public speaking and pageantry is more my thing. I’m just gonna ask that you don’t go- don’t go without taking your brother with. You Pelinis are like the Olsen twins, useless without the other. And even more useless with both. So yeah, let's kill two birds with one stone here.

Keep in touch,
(literally)... different area code rule.


Loving Monday.

Well I'm stoked it's Monday. So stoked in fact, I literally sat around all day yesterday doing nothing in preparation to be frazzled and pissed off today. I love that about Sundays. I always go into them with a modestly aggressive to-do list, do laundry, wrap some presents, clean room, but instead opt to lay on the couch watching TV and scanning Facebook until my eyes bleed. I Sandusky'd the shit out of Facebook all day yesterday. I can't help it, that's how I always get on Sundays. And I’m not talking about softcore phone stalking, I was doing my creeping on an actual computer, hardcore. It gets out of control. If you’re my friend, I know everything about you today. If you’re not my friend but have an open profile (THANK YOU!) I know everything about you today. And for those prudes with the locked pages, chances are I found a way in somehow. I’m just creepy like that. When I told myself enough was enough and I was forced to put my computer away, I automatically grabbed my phone and did a quick browse on there without even meaning to, it was intense. I think I need to cool it for awhile.

In my defense, yesterday was a pretty justified lazy day. Saturday, Chris and I got TBOX’d pretty bad. It’s not as dirty as it sounds, it means The 12 Bars of Christmas, which I think was actually the 65 bars of Christmas. I’ve noticed Chicago has a way of choosing the worst names for things. One of the most popular restaurants is called “The Girl and the Goat,” bring in van full of immigrants and I bet they’d be pretty disappointed when they arrived. A long standing restaurant/club here is called “The Pump Room,” yet another great choice. But anyway, TBOX was the most intense Christmas bar crawl I have ever witnessed in my life. It was the sloppiest fest of Christmas clad young adults getting wasted beyond their means from 7 a.m.-2 a.m. Words can’t describe the shit show that was TBOX on Saturday. We arrived around 2 p.m. and found ourselves about five hours behind everyone. Slutty elves were dancing with drunk Santas who were dancing with Cindy Lue Whos who were grinding on the Abdominal Snowman who was passed out in a corner. And it was barely 2:30 p.m. in the afternoon. If ever I’d seen a nightmare before Christmas, this was it. I was no longer mad the creators of this “event” had taken the Christ out of Christmas and replaced it with Xmas. Christ needn’t be any part of this mess.

So we joined the fun. But I like to think we kept it a bit classier than the skank train that had apparently come down from the North Pole. The Polar Express must have gotten a bit off track and just ended up only picking up passengers from the Southside because I saw a lot of boots with da fur and Sox jackets. Chris and I were back at home snug in our beds, while visions of jager shots danced in heads, by probably 9:00 p.m. that night. Start early, end early. Always okay with me.

And here I am. Back at work on another glorious Monday. Loving life. Hope this day drags on and on, I can’t get enough of it already. Yup, just living the dream. Doing what I love, loving what I do. It’s all a cycle. Keep it coming.

Dead Week.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

As I sit here at my cold desk and gaze longingly out the window at the wispy snowflakes falling the grey Chicago sky I am taken back. Taken back to a time long, long ago when snowflakes were actually shots falling from the sky. And by sky I mean Sky vodka, and by Sky Vodka I mean Bartons. The time, which almost seems more like a dream to me now as I think back, was called Dead week. Does anyone else remember this cherished point in their life? Although I feel like a more appropriate name would be Heaven week, because that’s how it was. It was the 2000’s, way before the world turned dark and crossed over into the 2010’s, beer flowed like water, wine flowed like beer, Ford was President, Nixon was in the White House, and FDR was running this country into the ground. Boy, was it a time to be alive. To be in college. Where everything is a binge.

I remember it like it was just yesterday, I can almost feel my mouth getting dry and my eyes getting heavy. Waking up in my tiny Theta bunk bed in open air on a Monday morning, wondering why the sun was so bright at 12:30 in the afternoon. Oh never mind, that was a lamp, why was I sleeping in the Red Room under a lamp I wondered. Why did I still have Uggs on? If I ate the slice of Papa John’s laying on my purse would I get sick? Oh well. I had not a care in the world, not a reason to get up either. Today was the first day of the rest of my Dead Week. Perhaps a trip to Goodwill to find an ugly sweater? Maybe a trip to the Union to buy beef jerky and Diet Mt. Dew. South Point for some shopping? Find a homeless man on the way home to buy some alcohol. Make red and green jello shots. Oh, the possibilities that came with Dead week. So little to do, so much time to drink. Most often though I scratched all day “plans” and opted to lay on the couch until dusk. Night always came so early during dead week for some reason. And speaking of dusk, where were those damn alumni with our dead week snacks?

The night presented itself with an entire new plethora of activities. A festive house party complete with ugly sweaters and ugly mustaches. A holiday party downtown with a side of Rocking Around the Christmas Tree. Maybe just stay in and drink in the sorority. And by sorority I mean frat. And by that I mean I’m lying. Jk. No. Yes. Hot carls! And hot vodka coco! And Rumples! Goldys! Hot carls! Tis the season to enjoy dead week to its fullest.

By far, the best thing about dead week was simply that it was a week of nothing, with a little bit of everything on the side. Followed by a week of one final, two at most. I sure done love dat English major I gotted. And after that? Well how about a month off. Go home. Relax. Drink in a new environment for a change. Sure, don’t mind if I do.

I think I need to go huff keyboard cleaner now. I’m depressed.

Bring Your Hangover to Work Day.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Just for the hell of it, I decided to bring a friend along to work with me today. My trusty old pal, Hangover, has been sitting beside me, no actually sitting on me, on my head to be even more specific all day long! Oh the fun we have had. We’ve snacked on random food found around the office kitchen (bread, peanut butter, mustard, Splenda packets) took a nap under my desk, we tried to play beauty parlor to fix my red eyes and blotchy face but naughty ol Hangover just made it worse somehow. I don’t know why he always does that. The thing I like most about Hangy is how loyal he is. He hasn’t left my side once today or even let me forget for one second he’s here. It’s the strangest thing though, every time we’re together my muscles ache as if I ran ten miles the night before. And my finger nails always seem extra dirty. And he hides random things in my purse like Dorito crumbs and a pair of dice. Mmmmm Doritos. But seriously why do my legs hurt. Was I running down a large Dorito? And then did I trip and fall thus causing the random bruise on my shin?

My only real complaint about Hangover (besides everything) is that he’s pretty hard to please in the work place. Hangover prefers a more relaxing environment, like a big couch or a bed. Or even just a soft spot on the floor will do. As long as Hangover has a big cup of fountain pop, preferably from a gas station, and some cold pizza he is tolerable. Not a real social guy though, likes to be in dark spaces like a basement. Yeah, a real cold dark basement covered in a pile of blankets sounds nice right now. Even a pile of towels would suffice.

In all honestly, I kind of expected Hangover to show up today given last night’s shenanigans downtown with childhood pals, Jeni, Mal and Crystal, in town. We started pretty early after I got off work with drinks at Paris Club. Then sushi at Sunda and post dinner drinks at English. If those bars don’t have awesome (pretentious) written all over them I don’t know what does. Paris. Sunda. English. So hot right now. It was quite the night. Just a good old fashioned girls outing- that is until Bradley Cooper’s twin (as he told us he was often mistaken for) decided to take a seat with us. Yeah right. Bradley Cooper’s twin, they were two of a kind, like Dennis and Randy Quaid. Prince William and Harry. Shiloh and Zahara. Alec Baldwin and the brothers that aren’t Alec. Chaz Bono and Chastity. You catch my drift.

Well Bradley was nice at first, telling bad jokes, buying us shots, it was all very cordial. And we, Jeni, Mallory, Crystal and I, were very nice, as well. But not too nice, I mean we’re all “spoken for.” Shots. Jokes. Laughs. Drinks. Dead baby jokes with a side of Sandusky (will I ever get over him? No.) Somewhere in between a bad pick-up line and Jeni making fun of Cooper’s “satchel” things turned ugly. I guess he thought we were all making fun of him, which we weren’t… And then I think he realized he was not going to charm any of us to the point of leaving behind our significant others for a chance to date Bradley Cooper’s lizard faced twin so the Chicago bigwig attorney threw a fit like a little boy and stormed out. It was real weird. And it reminded me why I am so very lucky to be happily dating a fine young gentlemen who is completely normal. It’s a douche eat douche world out there. Things have just changed so much since the last time I was single back in 2007 when a pickup line was a keg stand and a compliment was a complimentary swig of Bartons. It was a simpler time then.

Anywho, Hangover is getting grumpy again and is back to pounding on my brain with a hammer. Must be feeding time again. Probably going to go dip a tortilla in some mustard. Happy Friday, say hello to your Hangover tomorrow morning for me!