It's really damn cold outside. Welcome to winter in Chicago.

It's cold, it's wet and it's the prettiest time of year to go downtown.

I live in one of the greatest cities in the world, and I don't spend nearly enough time enjoying it. That's why I decided I'm going to celebrate my new gig at Myspace (Yea, I told you! Big!) by going to the city.

I think I'll do the touristy thing, finish my Christmas shopping and maybe meet a French guy for lunch.

I'm almost looking forward to some time in Chicago by myself. The problem? It's really flipping expensive. I have serious problems paying out the nose for something I can find cheaper in the suburbs, but on the same token I love going downtown.

Is it possible to do bargain shopping in downtown Chicago without stealing anything?

I don't know if it's the time of year, or if I'm going through some sort of biological clock-y thing, but I've been super nostalgic lately.

And this nostalgia has caused me to make bad life decisions, the latest of which was downloading Mortal Kombat II for my Playstaton 3.

When I was little, I remember spending hours sitting two feet from the TV with my twin sister, Nintendo controller in hand, playing Mortal Kombat II for hours on end. I even found ways to cheat (ie: sweeping her feet out from under her, freezing her continuously, etc.)

I was 10 years old, and I kicked massive ass at that game.

Now, I'm 28 years old, and I have18 more years of hand eye coordination under my belt. This should be a breeze, right?

You'd think.

You'd be wrong.

I'm getting my ass kicked. All over the place. I can't even get past the first level of this game. The first 3 times I played I didn't even get a chance to hit the guy before he killed me.

10 year old me is very disappointed in old loser me.

Generally speaking, I like Christmas shopping. Once I get over the hurdle of buying things for other people, I tend to do pretty well.

However, the one thing that sucks is that I have yet to figure out exactly how to do all of my shopping online, thus I am forced to deal with actual people. Which isn't always so bad, I was actually having a pretty pleasant shopping trip.

Until I stopped at Marshalls.

They had these over the knee black suede boots I had to buy right now or I will absolutely die so I stopped in. After grabbing a few things, I stood with the other 9 people in line. After waiting a ridiculous amount of time, I finally got to the checkout.

I decided to get my sister and her boyfriend a Christmas ornament with their new baby's handprint in it (cute right?), and I was checking out the cashier who I will refer to as "Miss Mary Sunshine" noticed it.
The conversation went like this:
MMS: That's cute.
Me: I think so too! I have a new niece and I think that would be a sweet gift.
MMS: They have one of these for pets at Walgreens.
Me: Seriously?
MMS: Yea.

At this point, a smart person would've let her finish scanning my crap and gotten the hell out of there, but the alarm bells hadn't gone off yet. (Remind me to get those looked at) But No, I had to open my big fat cake hole and continue the conversation.
Me: I never noticed that, I should check it out for my Mom.
MMS: I was going to get one for my sisters dog. She has a Pekinhuahua (Ok, I made that part up. I can't remember what kind of fucking dog it was, sue me).
Me: Aww how cute.
MMS: Not really.
Me: ....
MMS: I think they're ugly creatures.
Me:....
MMS:
Me: I guess I get spoiled with my cute little Pomeranian.
MMS: Yea, well my dog died in my arms so I decided no more animals for me.

Now, I'm not a terrible person all the time, and I have total sympathy for anyone who has lost a beloved pet, and this was obviously a recent event. So, against my better judgment, I decided to keep talking to her while she scanned out all eight million things I fucking bought because this is the longest most uncomfortable conversation ever.

The Dumbass Also Known As Me: I'm so sorry to hear that.
MMS: Yea, I loved her alot.
Me: That's really rough especially this time of year.
Holy lord how many more things can I possibly have in that cart?!
MMS: It was 6 years ago.

Six. Years. Ago. It was at that point that the absurdity of this conversation hit me, and in spite of myself I let out a half smile. It was either that or uncontrollable laughter, so I chose the smile as not to offend everyone.

Me: Well I can see why you'd decide no more animals. I'd be lost if something happened to Zoe, we've always had dogs around.
MMS: Well, it's easy to say that. Just wait till one of your dogs dies, then you'll understand.

It was right about then that I decided that I hated this woman. I'm 28 years old, I don't know how old she thought my dog was, but I think it's pretty safe to assume that someone who is almost 30 who has always had dogs around has probably experienced the loss of a pet at some point. Or owns the oldest dog in the history of the goddamn world.

I might have gotten a little mean.

Me: I've actually lost 3 dogs.
MMS: And you just replaced it with another one? I don't understand how people just do that.
Me: Not replaced, we rescued another dog and it just happened to be after one of my dogs passed.
MMS: So you replaced her.
Me: That's a little harsh. Are you always like this?
MMS: Excuse me?
Me: Non wonder your dog died, it was probably trying to get the fuck away from you and decided death was better than listening to any more of your shit.

And then I grabbed my bags, turned on my heel and left.

I may be the worst person ever.

This is why I hate Christmas shopping. I was in a decent mood, I was even kind of excited about the snow falling and it being pretty out. But no. By the time I got home I was depressed, missing my funny Lahso Apso that used to hide under her paws, and I kind of wanted to strangle that lady.



Merry Fucking Christmas.

I think I start every update with the phrase 'I know it's been forever, but I'll be better about updating this".

But this time I really mean it.

It's been a crazy, crazy few months.

Since a dear friend passed away, I haven't really had much to say. The hilarious stories, anecdotes and all the other bullshit seem sort of pointless and trivial without her here to laugh with us. She was like a little sister to all of us, and as the holiday season approaches it becomes more and more apparent how not OK we all really are. Christmas is going to be brutal to say the least.

What do you even say about that? She was always there, so we took it for granted that she always would be? Everyone says things will get better, but every day when I wake up there's a brief moment when everything in the world is fine. Then I remember that she's not here, and it occurs to me that things might be OK again someday, but they'll never be back to normal.

It'll never be the same.

Makes it hard to find things to write about.

On a good note, I got to stand up in my HLM's wedding to another friend of mine. She looked stunning, and in the process I learned a few things. Here they are, in no particular order:
1. I look bangin in a bridesmaid's dress.
2. Maid of Honor duties require a lot of crying
3. My best friend Shawn and I can actually spend extended periods of time around each other without there being bloodshed, provided one of us is asleep.

It was a gorgeous wedding, and I'm so glad I got to be there.

In other news, you can now see some of my writing on Outblush.
I'll be doing the occasional Personal Shopper post, as well as the occasional look-at-how-awesome-this-is post. Mostly, I'll be reviewing video games. Yep, how awesome is that?!
Next one will be Assassins Creed Brotherhood.

Hot Italian Guy with Sleevy Knives? I'm so fucking in.

I also might have another gig at another huge website, but I'm still hashing out those details.

Stay tuned.

So you may have noticed a few changes around here.

I've been talking about giving this thing a facelift for awhile, so here it is. Whether or not I'll stick with it, Im not sure.

But given that I'm going to write a thing or two for Outblush, the least I can do is make my blog somewhat respectable looking.

It's been a pretty awesome day, I'm going to post about that tomorrow though.

Ooo, see? Reason to come back.

What? That's not enough for you? Too bad! It's always "me me me me me" With you people. You'll just have to wait!

I know it's been a little while since I've posted. It's been kind of a crazy week and a half.

On the 19th, I got a call from my friend Deanne. Deanne, unfortunately, seems to have become the bearer of bad news.

I knew it was bad news when I saw a missed call from Shawn, and then a missed call from Deanne.

I knew it was really bad news when I checked the follow up text from Deanne telling me I needed to call her right now.

I knew it was really, really bad news when the first words out of her mouth were "You need to sit down".

For once in my life, I actually did what I was told.

"Mackenzie is dead". That's all I really remember about the conversation. She says I just made some noises like I was trying to talk, but the words didn't seem to work.

Mack was the little sister of one of my closest friends, and kind of like a little sister to all of us. She became such a part of our lives that I still can't wrap my head around the idea that she's gone. Some of my favorite memories have Mackenzie in them.

I'm still reeling, and so are most of my social circle.

I drove out to Iowa the next day, and spent the time I wasn't with her sister crying into my best friend's shirt. In my defense, I warned him not to wear light colors.

I just haven't had much to say since.

Everyone seems to be going around their lives, happy and oblivious, and all I can think about is how can they be happy when we are all falling apart? And I keep waiting to wake up from what is just an awful nightmare.

Mack, you will be missed terribly. I love you, and I'm better for having known you.

There's not much else to say.

It was my 28th birthday yesterday. I have to say, the sheer amount of email I got was overwhelming and humbling. I think I got back to everyone, if not, my most sincere apologies. You either got stuck in my spam filter, or I hate you. Probably the spam filter. Unless I actually hate you, in which case, you suck.

28 is not a great birthday. My sister just had a baby, one of my best friends in the world is getting married, and suddenly, I feel old. At this age, I’ve passed the point of being close to 25 and now linger dangerously close to 30, and suddenly I find myself wondering about all sorts of shit I never cared about before.

For example, I spent what was close to 3 hours last night worrying about whether or not my stock portfolio was performing as well as I had expected and whether or not I’d have enough money to retire when I turn old enough for that sort of thing. That immediately progressed into Holy-Shit-That-IS-A-Gray-Hair, which turned into a complete panic attack because my apartment is a mess.

Which is not unusual. It’s messy even by my standards, but it’s been a ridiculously busy month or two so I haven’t felt really compelled to do a Martha Stewart. This time, because I am now old, I decided that I am single because my apartment is a mess and no one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table.

I will let you think about that for a second.

No one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table.

It’s not “No one will ever marry me because I’m impossible to please”, “No one will ever marry me because I have impossibly high standards”, or even a well-deserved “No one will ever marry me because I’m the type of insane that thinks no one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table”. It’s “No one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table”. As if somehow the entire dating world knows that my kitchen table is covered in old bills, receipts, shopping bags and random purses and somehow that got me onto some crazy blacklist.

The logical side of me tries to take over. Because really, the people I’d want to marry don’t give a flying shit about how cluttered my kitchen table is. And in reality? The people who I’d want to marry only give a flying shit about how cluttered my kitchen table is if it somehow impedes my ability to remove my top.

It’s like at midnight on August 12, I completely lost my mind. Sex in the City and all those other shitty dating shows lied. Getting older while being single in a huge metropolitan area not only sucks like Lindsay Lohan for an 8 ball, it also makes you crazier than shit.

Cause nothing says sexy like being old and crazy.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some kids to chase off of my lawn.

So, I've been kicking back and forth the idea of redesigning this thing for some time now.

That being said, I have no idea what I want to do to it. It's the typical problem. I can come up with brilliant, earth shatteringly cool ideas for things...provided those things aren't for me. (See: Stealing Happy Hours).

But when it comes to me? Absolutely nothing.

There are a million different things I want to do, all of which are impossible to combine in any way that doesn't make me look like I have some pervasive developmental disorder.

So I find myself back to the drawing board, again.

I also hesistate to ask anyone their opinion.

In my head, the resulting email conversation would go something like this.

Clare: I need an idea for my blog. What makes you think of me?

Random Person In The Comments: Good question Clare! These are things that make me think of you!

And so does this:

And don't forget this! This is SO you:

(This image borrowed from Hyperbole and a Half, which is one of the funniest damn blogs I've ever read).

I was going to put in a picture of a brontosaurus, but I'm still bitter about it not being a dinosaur anymore. Then I thought about a pterodactyl, but I'm sick and tired of those snarky pterodactyls taking all of my Brontosaurus' glory. Blah blah blah blah I'm Still A Dinosaur yack yack yack You're Not A Dinosaur Anymore. It's always about them, really. So selfish.

So you can see why I hesitate.

However, I need to come up with something because I'm sick of my images being broken.

Ugh. That burning smell? My brain. Too much thinking.

One of the problems with riding public transportation is that it is, by nature, public.

There is always that one crazy person riding the CTA who is having some sort of emotional breakdown that is so severe that even during the after-work-commuter-craziness, that person gets both of the seats to themselves, simply because the other passengers are terrified to sit beside them.

On Thursday, I was that person.

Usually when I go to work, I am sunshine and butterflies. Big smiles, great mood, giggly. If I farted, glitter would come flying out of my butt. I'm not crazy, I just love my job and my boss.

So when work hires someone who decides to shit all over that sunshine and happiness, it really messes with me.

Thursday started out normally enough. Got to work, spread all of the joy I could to my coworkers, whether they want it or not. It's not my fault they aren't naturally happy sunshine-y people. A lot of them are kind of miserable. Which then makes it my responsibility to make their lives a little bit less sucky. And not in that obnoxious cheerful way that most impossibly happy people use to rape you with cheerfulness. Don't judge me, I don't see you making your coworkers lives suck less.

My boss was out for the day, and because I only work downtown a few days a week, he decided that I could sit at his desk because otherwise I don't really have a permanent place to settle in our offices downtown. This is significant for one reason. I was in the Boss Mans Chair. Everyone knows that the person who sits there is in charge of, well, everything. I could pretend that I was queen of the ecommerce department of my company all day long. All would bow down to the greatness that is my technical knowledge! I would make important decisions that no one else could make! Things would be different under my rule! It would start the golden era of our department!

By around ten in the morning, I had brainstormed an entire holiday based solely around my fabulousness and ability to update a website. I would be worshiped as a God! It's amazing that my boss is so level headed, having a desk of that caliber is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.

So I settled into my new throne, and began working. Plucking away happily on my computer for the better part of the day until my meeting with the new Creative Director.

I usually get to skip out on meetings, because to be honest if my boss and I were both going to meetings, nothing would ever get done, and somewhere along the line they decided it was more important to keep the site accurate and updated than it was to make me sit in a conference room with my peers and spend three hours discussing something a seven line email would have covered sufficiently.

The new guy? Loves meetings.

If he could have a raunchy romance with meetings, I think he probably would. They would meet across a crowded bar, and after catching each other's eye all night one would send a drink to the other with a note scribbled on the napkin, and after a night of exchanging glances and drinks with note covered napkins they would ditch their respective dates and share a taxi to whoever's fancy loft apartment was closer and make sweet love to each other while looking out at the lights of Chicago at night. They would eventually marry and wind up with 2.5 kids and a growing sense of resentment about wasting the best years of their lives on each other, but that's an entirely different post.

So I leave my comfortable Desk Kingdom (which I had named Clareopolis) and settle into a huge conference room that smelled like some weird combination of failure, disappointment and gym shoes. One of my favorite people on my team settled in beside me, and we got down to business. Considering I was sitting beside one of the single most brutally honest people I've ever met, the meeting was going pretty well. I figured he'd have my back, and then I could return to my wonderful kingdom that was full of wonderfulness. We weren't being confrontational, and we certainly didn't want to foster any bad ju ju.

Well, it was going well until the new guy started talking.

What happened next can only be described as a slaughter.

New Guy sat there and demanded to know our teams process for doing everything. When he got to my role in this mess, he essentially said that he didn't trust my team to get things done. And that we needed a new Project Manager to manage the work flow and site updates (which is my job). When I mentioned it was my job and we haven't run into any problems with our system, he got on his high horse and went off again about how my team is not to be trusted to deliver on time (despite us never missing a deadline), and used the one project his team phenomenally fucked up as his reason. Then he cackled manically and twirled his mustache. (Fine. He might as well have).

He actually dismissed me so many times he started asking our intern for his technical advice over mine. Our intern is 20. And from Tennessee. This is Chicago! Here we don't trust 20 year olds from out of town to give us the goddamn time, we sure as hell don't ask for their expertise on complex technical matters. (Although I do feel like I should throw in that our intern is actually brilliant. He's caught on so quickly that I now think he knows too much, and I no longer trust him).

So there I sat, the lowly little Admin, taking it on the chin from a Director. This went on for the better part of an hour. If I said "This is blue", he would've responded "You're wrong, you can't be trusted to know what blue is!". Then he'd have sat back in his chair with that smug look of satisfaction you only get after getting a 4 year degree from an art school.

By the end of it he had reduced me to nothing more than a drone that plugs various codes into a website. It was like Festivus. Except after the Airing of Grievances we skipped the Feats of Strength, mostly because if we hadn't I'd have impaled his skinny self righteous ass on the Festivus Pole for all to see.

I was lucky enough to leave work immediately after the meeting. I made it to the Blue Line, settled into my seat, and before I knew it, a single tear had slid down my cheek.

Fuck.

I've always believed that crying is like pooping: everyone does it, but no other living person should ever have to see you do it or clean up the aftermath. It's a private affair that is best left that way.

Little did I know that my ex-boyfriend would decide now would be a great time to create the perfect storm. I look down on my phone, and I see "I'm sorry I haven't called. I miss you".

There are 2 things my ex doesn't do. He doesn't miss people, and he doesn't apologize. And I had just gone through the painful decision to cut him out of my life because he's kind of a bastard and I can't allow him to keep walking in and out of my life like it's a revolving door because it hurts too much and thats what adults do we make those decisions and we stick to them because we are grown ups, and his text completely ripped the stitches.

The next thing I knew, I was crying. And not just crying, I was crying in public on the Blue Line. Crying might actually be an understatement. I was openly sobbing, making noises that are probably comparable to a Water Buffalo giving birth. I have no idea what that sounds like, but I'm pretty sure that it's the only proper way to describe what happened. I was leaking out of every hole on my face, and I just couldn't stop.

I was almost at my stop when I realized how full the train was. There were people crammed next to each other, standing room only. That was when I looked beside me and realized the seat next to me was empty. Why? Because I had become the crazy person on the train no one else would sit next to.

There were some older women staring in my direction, whispering to one another. A huge tattooed Mexican guy with a bandanna looked genuinely afraid of me, and the rest of the train just looked at me with a mix of pity and mild terror. You could tell some of them were planning on what they'd tell the reporter after I finally freaked out. "Well Bill, I had a bad feeling the minute she sat down. She wasn't acting right. She kept sobbing hysterically, and whimpering. It's no big surprise to me she beheaded that nun while screaming 'I claim this for the good people of Clareopolis!' ".

It takes a hell of a lot to be that crazy in a city this big. The worst part was that I didn't know how to stop the leaking coming from my face. It took me until 11:00 AM on Friday to finally get it together. The only reason I managed to pick up those pieces was because my boss (bless his heart, he deserves an award for putting up with me), called and when he heard a catch in my voice told me he wasn't happy about how things went and he would take care of it.

And then suddenly I felt better.

It was like a Festivus Miracle.

I’ve been doing a piss poor job keeping up with my blog. The sad thing is, there’s not a really good reason. Don’t get me wrong, I have an explanation. It’s just not a good one.

Ready for this?

My PlayStation 3 has ruined my life.

I told you it wasn’t a good one.

I got the thing for one game, just one. I saw Heavy Rain, and I absolutely had to play it or I might die. And I did. (Play it, not die.) And good God in heaven, it was the single most amazing game I have ever played. Hands down. Even with the big gaping hole in the plot and the first hour of the game being tedious, it was outstanding. I can’t remember the last time I was so wrapped up in something.

Then I made the mistake of getting Assassins Creed. Italian men with violent tempers who stab people? In.

Then I made the problem worse by getting a copy of Resident Evil 5. As it turns out, you can play that online, and the character is this gorgeous man who shoots zombies. So I can spend time with my friends without actually having to see them or put up with their crap? In.

Then I made it even worse by getting Assassins Creed 2. A hotter Italian man with a violent temper who stabs people and does his share of womanizing. If he was real, I’d marry him. In.

So we already have a problem. Hot men, weapons, something to pass the time. It wasn’t bad until I hooked it up to the Internet. That was when I realized that you got trophies for playing video games. And don’t give me that bullshit about how it doesn’t matter because they don’t actually do anything and they’re not even real. I am too much of a perfectionist. I can’t let go that I have an 89% on Assassins Creed 2, despite beating the game. I have go back and get every achievement. I have to.

Why? Because I’m a perfectionist.

I was actually doing pretty well on making sure that this thing didn’t totally monopolize all of my time, until I started racking up the achievements in Resident Evil 5. Why? Because one of the achievements in RE5 unlocks a fucking rocket launcher. With unlimited ammo.

So, the characters look like this:
Which is like, a fake beautiful people convention that was interrupted by zombies.

So we have that guy (and that chick, look at the rack on her), and again, a fucking rocket launcher with unlimited ammo.

And let’s face it. I am a lot of things, but mature isn’t high up on the list sometimes. I can’t stop. I feel compelled to see exactly how much of this fake world I can make explode into a fine mist with a rocket launcher. I spent an hour shooting things that didn’t need to be shot just to see what would happen. Because that’s precisely what I’d do if I ever got a real rocket launcher. (My birthday is coming up by the way, so if you feel like buying me something, there’s an idea for you).

So like I said. Ruined my life. The number of games I’ve beaten was at 0. Which was a number I was totally comfortable with. Now? It’s at four and rising. FOUR. I’ve had conversations with a guy about backwards compatibility and how it’s bullshit that the PS3 doesn’t have it. (To this guy’s eternal credit, he still somehow finds me attractive).

I now have opinions about consoles, games, and controllers. I have been sucked into a new level of geek and I’m not entirely positive that I can find my way out.

Whatever. At least I have my rocket launcher.

I know, I'm a terrible blogger.

You see a lot of that if you hang out at this URL long enough.

Whatever, sometimes real life gets in the way of my lifetime ambition of being a prolific blogger ala Tucker Max.

That being said, it's been an awesomely fun couple of weeks. A good friend of mine ditched me for Jamboree (Lot's of heavy metal for you non-Chicagoans). Luckily, I managed to convince his ex-roommates ex-girlfriend who is the shit to go with me. 

And I have never had so much fun. 

It's the first time I've been to a show there without my best friend Shawn, so it did feel a little bit weird without him there to protect me. But as it stands, I had a pretty awesome time. It rained, and I either look really good when I'm wet, or guys at metal shows have absolutely no standards. (Both are equally plausible explainations) because holy shit. I was with a girl who is way hotter than I am, but for whatever reason every guy in the place was paying attention to me. 

I try not to be one of those shallow girls who get their self esteem from other people, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that it felt damn good to be hit on a little bit. Not a lot bit, just a little. 

There's something flattering about a security gaurd thinking you're hot enough to give you his jacket to keep you dry. Or a guy walking backwards through a crowd of people not giving a damn who he steps on so he can keep staring at you. It makes me want to call every ex boyfriend I've ever had and tell them to fuck themselves with a big stick.

It makes me excited for the rest of the summer. I just scored tickets to KoRn/Rob Zombie, Shinedown/Chevelle/Sevendust, and I'm working on Disturbed/Avenged Sevenfold tickets. Why? Because sometimes you just need to rock out, and I'm one of the lucky few who has a boss who understands the need to take a half day of work because the show starts at 2:30. 

You know your boss kicks ass when instead of "This is our busy day, we need you here to manage the workflow!" his response to my taking half a day on a Friday is "AWESOME. Are there still tickets available?"

Yup. Life is good. 

It has not been an uneventful past couple of weeks.

As it turns out, I did not wind up bludgeoned to death by an irritating Frenchman.

It also turns out that a lot of the stereotypes Americans hold about the French are there because they are true. Sometimes I think I'm just better off being single, that way the only person who ever pisses me off is me.

Minus the loss of a friend (I'm leaving it at that. I refuse to turn what is a horrible thing into blog fodder), the crazy has been good though.

I am still at the job I didn't think that I'd like. Turns out, I was wrong. I love it here. I am good at what I do, and have kind of carved myself out a nice little niche. I have the best boss a girl could ask for, and for the most part my coworkers are a great bunch of people. There are a few exceptions to the "great bunch of people" statement, and mark my words: They will stop acting like assholes, or I will make their lives a living hell. It's their choice, really.

Anyway, about six months ago I interviewed for a job at what is going to be the biggest airline in the world. 6 months of interviews, and they finally came back with an offer.

And it was obscene.

I actually thought it was some sort of typo. After reading the entire thing, I was honestly surprised that they didn't include a pool boy named Raoul and my own company Porsche. I would not pay me that much, and I know me and I think that I am awesome.

The problem being? My manager would be going on Maternity leave 2 weeks after I got there, they were being totally inflexible with my start date, and from the sounds of it I would be walking into a huge mess. Not to mention they are currently working on a merger.

In the mean time, my boss where I'm at is finally comfortable enough to go on vacation for 2 weeks and leave me to take care of things, and even though I'm contract the work isn't slowing down any. 

Decisions decisions.

Ultimately, I told my Very Awesome Boss that I would have to go to the airline unless I could be hired on as a full time employee at some point. No more of this contractor shit.(Contracting gives you a lot of flexibility, but this not getting paid for time off thing is starting to chap my ass. I haven't had a proper vacation in years and most of the time I feel like I'm a minor irritation away from hitting someone in the face with a stapler. I'm going to need those benefits sooner than later.) His boss was supposed to call me by end of day Friday, which is when they needed my answer.

Nothing. So I signed the papers. I had actually started faxing the signed offer over when his boss called me.
"YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WITH THE AIRLINE YET DID YOU?"

What do you do with that?

If you're me, you frantically start hitting the cancel button while desperately yanking the papers out of the fax machine, while saying "No, why do you ask?"

At literally the very last second, they made me a verbal offer. She even offered me more vacation time than the airline, and the company would pay for my insurance until benefits kicked in. So I'm staying put. Sure I turned down a shit ton of money. Which sort of makes me itch. But on the same token, my boss went to amazing lengths to make me stay. My girls in marketing were super excited, and at the end of the day, working for a boss that not only doesn't make you want to kill yourself but is someone you genuinely like is something you can't put a price tag on. Very few people will ever feel that appreciated and valued at their place of work*.

Now I wait for the official offer, and hope I made the right choice.

I think I did.



*By the way. If you are my old boss? The one who always told me what a pain in the ass I was and how I was never really good at much? The airline's offer was FOUR TIMES what you paid me, and the place begging me to stay is a huge company. In short: Fuck you with a big stick.

Things That Made Me Laugh This Past Week


Backstory: Spring's Boyfriend had a big bunch of sand in his vagina because they don't have enough in common. Whatever that means. So yet again, he decided to make her sit down and discuss her feelings. I'm told the middle of a very serious discussion about their relationship went something like this.

Boyfriend: We don't have enough in common, you never do anything with me.
Spring: Like what?!
Boyfriend: Like, you never go jogging with me...
Spring: Why the fuck would I go jogging, that's why I have a car.




Backstory: Her little car quip didn't go over well, he threw a fit and she called me for advice on what to do.

Clare: He wants you to show your feelings!
Spring: I don't have feelings!
Clare: Pretend! He's the chick in this relationship, obviously. What would you want if that was you?
Spring: I don't know? Send him flowers?
Clare: Spring do not send him flowers.
Spring: FINE. Send him a balloon bouquet to work?
Clare: Spring do not send him a bouquet of balloons to work.
Spring: Why not? Its the only idea I have.
Clare: Well, for starters, he works at the jail.




Irritating Hippy Spouting Off BS About the Environment Downtown: Do you want to learn about <something I blocked out because I just don't care>.
Clare: No.
Irritating Hippy: WHY DO YOU HATE THE EARTH!?
Clare: Don't be ridiculous, I don't hate the Earth. I live on it, don't I?
Homeless guy: <laughs hysterically>

My friends from home have come and gone, and I have no idea what I was worried about. I haven't had that much fun in a long time.

I should have had some indication of how the night was going to go when while we were getting ready, we clipped Belinda's hair extensions on to Cece, and gave her the most rocking mullet anyone has ever seen. There are pictures of this. I will find them. She wandered around my apartment looking like Joe Dirt's long lost sister for awhile. After Spring gave herself a 3rd degree burn on her forehead with an Instyler, we decided it was time to hit the city.

So we went to Morton's.

Where we proceeded to eat ourselves damn near retarded. Spring spent most of the meal refusing to speak to anyone, as that would require a break from the food, anything Belinda ate went straight to her boobs, and Cece ate a steak that may actually have been bigger than she was.

Then we hit the bars, when we realized Belinda left her ID in Iowa. Belinda is pretty well past her 20's at this point, but she is one of those lucky bitches who will look 22 until the day she dies. If she wasn't awesome, I'd hate her on principle alone. She looks like Rosario Dawson, and I don't, thus she must be destroyed. Anyway.

We wound up at some bar on Rush and Divison, simply because between the two of us we managed to fanagle a bouncer into letting her in without an ID. Do not ask me how we pulled that off.

That's also when I started drinking tequila. Anyone who has known me for 10 minutes knows that I need extra supervision when I drink tequila. A lot of extra supervision.

By my count, I was 16 shots in when I called my friend Con to inform him that I was drunk, and surprisingly not calling from jail. We had a hell of a time. I was in rare form even for me, and wound up snagging the numbers of a gorgeous African guy. And the hot female asian bartender. Whatever, that's just how I roll.

It really got fun when my girls decided that we were taking a bunch of Irish guys back to my apartment with  us. When I say Irish, I don't mean Pasty White Guys Who Say Their Ancestors Are Irish. I mean Can't-Understand-A-Word-They-Say-But-I-Don't-Care-Because-They're-Hot Irish. 8 of us packed into a cab, which we got kicked out of shortly afterwards.

At this point, I was less than amused. We were bringing the Boondock saints back to my place, we were all ripped drunk, and I had had enough. I could give a fuck what happened to everyone else, the 3 girls that left with me were coming back with me. Anyone who wanted to tag along, fine.

Spring at this point decided I'd be less pissed off if she petted my hair and told me I was pretty. Which she did for about 45 minutes on the platform for the Blue Line. Whenever I asked her what the fuck she thought she was doing, she would respond with "Shh mama, you're pretty."

I should've known that it would've been a mess once we got off the train. I finally just shoved the girls in the direction of the car, and told them it was like watching 4 monkeys try to fuck a football.

I look over and this guy is laughing at me. He introduced himself, and asked if he could take me to breakfast.

Now, I am wasted. Not a little tipsy. I am seeing 3 of everything, Im hotter than you will ever be, giving my actual phone number to people wasted. You know, the special kind of drunk you usually only see on episodes of Intervention.

At about this time, I turn around and realize my friends have left me alone in the parking garage at the Cumberland stop of the Blue Line at 4 AM with some French guy who wants to take me out. (I'm lucky I wasnt bludgeoned to death). So you know what I did, right?

Right.

I was that special kind of drunk where I gave my number to a French dude at the train station at 4 AM.

Go ahead and think about that for awhile, I'll wait. It takes awhile to fully comprehend how absolutely stupid that was.

We finally made it back to my apartment, which now kind of resembles the United Nations because it's chock full of people with funny accents and more calling. To my surprise, The Frenchman called.

We are going out for drinks in a few days.

If you never hear from me again, It's because I decided to go out with someone I met on the Blue Line. At 4 AM.

Because really, what could go wrong with that scenario?

Im so excited!

A few friends from the Quad Cities are driving out here tomorrow to see me and go out!

Part of me is excited: My apartment is reasonably clean if you don't open my bedroom door, and it's been a long time since I've seen these guys.

The other part of me is terrified. I am older than I was, and I can no longer drink the night away. Not to mention, when I first met these people I was in a pretty bad place. Fine. I was an emo cunt. There, you happy?

Moving on.

Now I am far less likely to put up with some of the same shit I used to put up with when I first met these folks. Not to mention, I have a spine again.

Its totally unreasonable, but part of me is terrified that the weekend is going to suck. Or somehow, we won't get along anymore. Or somehow, I'll cramp their style because instead of being fun I'm a total sell out who works a boring corporate job.

Case in point? I just tore apart my closet looking for shoes to wear out tomorrow. I've decided I hate all of my shoes, and I was stupid for buying them in the first place. I obviously have no taste and should be locked away where I will no longer offend society with my taste in footwear.

Not to mention, suddenly I'm totally uncomfortable wandering around dressed like a slut.

I know, crazy right?

When the fuck did I get old?

I'm sure I'm just being crazy and the second that tequila hits my lips all will be right with the world again.

Ugh. Valentine's Day.

If you've read...well...anything I've ever written in the span of all of my 27 years of life, you'd have known by now that Valentine's Day is my least favorite holiday.

That's not true.

Thanksgiving is now my least favorite holiday, but only because my ex boyfriend took it upon himself to ruin it for me. Remind me to thank him for that later.

It's not that I hate it because I'm somehow bitter because I'm single. I'm usually single. I spent the majority of my life single. Until I trick some unsuspecting guy into marrying me, I'll probably stay single.

I'm alright with that. It gives me time to write, drink myself into a drunken stupor and generally sleep with anyone I feel like.

What I'm not alright with is the way other people respond when they find out I'm not dating someone. It doesn't bother me, until I have to have a conversation which goes quite a bit like this:

Person: So who is your Valentine?
Clare: I don't have one, I'm not seeing anyone.
Person: Really? I'd have thought you would have one.
Clare: Nope! Not this year, maybe next year.
Person: That's just..that's too bad.
Clare: It's alright, I've got a lot to do anyway.
Person: That just doesn't seem right.
Clare: What doesn't?
Person: That you wouldn't have a Valentine.
Clare: It's really not a big deal.
Person: Don't you get lonely?


And so on, so forth. This usually goes on until the person has somehow made me feel like utter crap for not buying into this type of bullshit, before they run along, shitting out candy hearts, rose petals and fucking rainbows along the way.

Part of the reason Valentine's Day irks me is the entire idea behind it. Even if I wasn't single, I'd hope that my significant other would show me that he loved and cared about me more than just one day a year because Hallmark told him he had to. I don't want someone to have to show their affection for me because they are afraid they'll get yelled at if they don't, that's why we have birthdays and Christmas.

That being said, I'm going to finish up my work here and go home alone to my lonely apartment where I will work out alone, watch SpongeBob Squarepants alone, and try to catch up on some writing. After that I will bask in the lonely alone-ness all alone.

And I can't wait.

Being alone doesn't bother me. If someone could tell me why my being alone bothers so many other people, I'd love to hear it.

It was a pretty low key new year.

Lots of beer, and just chilling at Steve's with a lot of really awesome people. Some friends I made in the last year, some I made that night. Either way, it was a nice way to ring in the new year, and send off 2009, which I have nicknamed "2009: The Year Of Suck".

It was a good night to put things in perspective: I am very lucky to be surrounded by people I love and people who love me. I hope that all of you were as lucky as me. I wish you all a happy new year, and hope you all got home safe and sound last night.

It was a shitty year, but now? Clean slate. Time to get back on track.

I make resolutions every year, and most of them fall flat on their faces. This year I think will be different. I spent the last year putting the right pieces in place, and instead of focusing on some short term results, I'm looking into long term changes. Which is code for "This will suck".

The list is the usual: read more, work out more, be nicer to my ex boyfriend.

But I figure a good way to start is by overhauling my little blog. It's looked the same for years, and now I need a change.

And I have no ideas on what I want to do to it.

Good start.