Say My Name, Bitch

25 Things Women Should Know About Men...An Article Originally Designed for Someone Else.

2012-01-17T12:42:00.000-06:00

So, I was asked to write an article for a site last week.

I did, and the author of said site decided to, in an ultimate dick move, post it, and tear it apart in examples of how I'm not getting laid. Or something like that, I kind of stopped reading. What can I say, random capitalization and bolding make Baby Jesus cry.

Since I was smart enough to retain the rights to my work (yay me!), I'm just going to go ahead and post it here for y'all.

Enjoy!

Here’s 25 things women really ought to know about men.

1. Guys will never understand why we wear 5 inch heels that pinch our toes, make us crabby and give us blisters that are so violent we have to wear flipflops for a week.

The vast majority of men have five pairs of shoes or less. Gym shoes, dress shoes, sneakers, sandals and a pair of boots. Now there are some variations on the above list, but they tend to keep it pretty simple. They will never understand why we need four pairs of black patent leather hidden platform pumps. Yes, I am aware that there is a huge difference between the black leather hidden platforms with the 3 ½ inch heel and the pair with the 4 inch heel and peep toe. They never will. Men think it’s stupid that we would pay hundreds of dollars on shoes we can barely walk in. Men think it’s stupid that we talk about shoes. Men think it’s stupid that I’m even explaining this right now. If I had to put money on it, 95% of the men who have read this far have stopped paying attention to this paragraph and are now daydreaming about sandwiches.

2. Your boyfriend hates your friends.
Well, that’s a little unfair. He doesn’t hate all of your friends, just an overwhelming majority of them. It’s not because your friends are bad people. It’s because you fight with your friends all the time, and then you bitch to him about it. You have a friend or two that you don’t get into petty arguments with and remembers to bring a case of beer when she stops by to chill. He likes that friend. He does not like the friend that constantly picks fights with you and blames her consistent bitchiness on her period. He doesn’t like your friend that has decided anything with a penis is bad. He doesn’t like your friend that blows every tiny thing he’s ever done out of proportion and glares at him every time he enters a room like he’s got a hooker on each arm and an ounce of blow in his pocket. He would never tell you outright that if he didn’t know otherwise, he’d think your choice in friends made you just shy of mentally handicapped because he’d like to see your boobs again sometime before the day he dies.

3. Your boyfriend does not understand your relationship with your mother.

Women have a complex at best relationship with their mothers. Few of us are lucky enough to not have constant mom drama. I consider myself lucky that my mom and I have never had an argument once in my adult life. Every other female I know goes back and forth with her mother. Horrible words are exchanged, phones are slammed down, and there are hours of crying. He’s smart enough to not outright say that your mother is acting like a bitch, but secretly he can’t understand why you can’t see that. The reason guys are so quiet when you fight with your mom? They know they can’t win and they are secretly trying to gauge whether or not they are staring at you in twenty years.

4. It’s acceptable to have different interests than he does. He won’t love you any less.
Part of what makes people awesome are their differences. Unless you are in 7th grade, it shouldn’t be a deal breaker that he has interests that don’t involve you. If you want to be a part of them, go ahead and ask. Most guys are more than happy to include their chick in something they are passionate about. Consequently, if it’s not your thing, it’s not your thing. One of the guys I love most in the world (although I would never admit it and he can shut up if he’s reading this) has taken to skydiving. Absolutely loves it. I have tried on numerous occasions to try to figure out why in pluperfect hell someone would jump out of a perfectly good airplane just to do it, and it completely escapes me. But he loves it, and goes frequently. He’s asked me to go, and I’ve said no. Mostly because I’m pretty sure it would embarrass him in front of his friends when I proceeded to cling inside of the plane like a spider monkey while bargaining with God. And guess what? He still talks to me.

5. It’s not acceptable to dismiss his interests just because you think they’re childish, stupid or a waste of time.
Do I give my friend a significant amount of shit for jumping out of perfectly good airplanes? Of course I do. Do I dismiss it as stupid and meaningless? No. For a few reasons. First and foremost, I’m not a cunt. Here’s the thing. Guys are going to like things we don’t. It might be video games, heavy metal, skydiving, football, shooting, fishing or internet porn. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t tell you that Grey’s Anatomy is a vapid waste of time (it is, by the way), so learn to keep it shut. And if you want to really impress him? Next time he’s playing that “stupid X-box” ask him if you can play with him. If it’s a single player game you’re shit out of luck, but a lot of games have a co-op setting. The worst that could happen is you now have a valid reason to dislike it. Who knows though, you could find out you really do enjoy stabbing zombies in the face. You don’t know unless you try. And even if you hate it? Shut up about it. No one wants to hear that their interests are stupid.

6. Guys are dicks to their friends.
Some things in life just defy explanation. This is one of them. Guys are assholes to their guy friends. They do this for sport. Don’t believe me? Go ask him, right now. I’ll wait. There’s not a guy on the planet that doesn’t have at least one story about something his best friend did to him that was horrible and hilarious. My friend Ben once called me to tell me that his best friend Ray had just punched him in the face out of the blue. When Ben demanded to know why, all Ray said was “You know why”. Ben didn’t know why. 3 weeks later, Ray finally admitted the reason he punched him was because, and this is a direct quote “I felt like it”. Shitty? Yes. Hilarious? Absolutely.

7. Guys think that you look cute in sweatpants…sometimes.
And for those of you who think you’re clever, I’m going to go ahead and categorize yoga pants as sweat pants. The reason guys think girls in sweat pants and a tank top is hot is because that’s not how they usually see us. There’s something adorable about a girl in comfy clothes when you’re used to seeing her dressed up that says “ I’m comfy and cozy and would be comfier and cozier in bed with you”. However, there is a limit. Ask yourself this: When is the last time you wore real pants at home? When is the last time you had a bra on? If you can’t remember, you’re abusing the privilege. I’m all for being comfy, but never wearing anything other than your jammies is going to leave your poor confused boyfriend wondering exactly what happened to his hot girlfriend.

8. Stop asking guys what they’re thinking about if you’re not going to accept the answer.
Ever asked a guy what he’s thinking about and gotten the answer “Nothing”? Sure you have. Because chances are you then blew it out of proportion and convinced yourself that he was mad at you. Perhaps there’s another girl. It’s probably that slut that runs the self-checkout lane at the store. Why doesn’t he love me? How dare he throw away everything we have? Meanwhile, and I promise you this is true, your boyfriend is sitting on the other side of the couch thinking things like “I’m hungry” or “I think the transmission is making a funny noise” or “Man, I really like pie”.

9. Our diets exhaust them.
When men diet? They all do it the same way. It’s always some variation of “Man, I’m getting fat. Time to cut back on the crap and work out”. They don’t make a big scene out of it, they just do it. Women on the other hand? It’s a production. The first thing we do is cry to our girlfriends before spending the rest of the night on the internet looking up ridiculous and dangerous diets to starve ourselves thin. We then purge everything that even resembles food from our kitchens while waiting for the tapeworm we ordered from Bosnia to arrive. Then we cry some more, drink lemonade that’s been infused with pepper, syrup and something else that makes it taste like rancid ass and call it dinner. Every time he dares to put anything with flavor or saturated fat near his mouth, he can feel your white hot glare from across the house. They watch us do this for about 3 days before we collapse face first into a pizza because we haven’t actually eaten anything in 72 hours. Then they have to deal with the inevitable “I’ll never be thin!” crying. They’d rather punch themselves in the testicles.

10. They will tolerate the stupid crap we do to promote health to a point.
Men have an amazing ability to tolerate crap if they think it will end with you touching their penis, and most will sit quietly while you go to yoga, choke down 17 different vitamins and herbs and water board yourself with a netipot. You might even get an adventurous man to try tantric sex, if only because there’s sex involved, even if he doesn’t get to blow his wad. But there is a line. They will not take a “Guided Vortex Hike”, they will not sit in an “Oxygen Steam Cabin” and they will not agree to “Colon Hydrotherapy”. Especially that last one. There is no man on the planet that is going to pay someone $120 to shoot a stream of water up his butt.

11. They don’t know why you’re mad and no they don’t know what they did.
Now before you rip me one, stick with me. Every single time I have ever been legitimately mad at a man in my life, he has known exactly what he did. There was no confusion. I didn’t wake up one day and decide that today was the day I couldn’t deal with him leaving his boxers in the middle of the floor any more. Every single time they knew why because it was a legitimate reason to be angry. So if your boyfriend is asking why you’re mad at him, there is a very good chance he is asking because he doesn’t have the slightest clue why you are so pissed off at him. Men are amazing at a lot of things, but they are not mind readers. If you’re pissed because he passed out drunk on the floor of his friend’s house when he said he’d watch The Notebook with you, tell him. If you keep getting mad at him for no good reason, don’t act surprised when he doesn’t give a shit when you have a legitimate complaint. You’re like the little girl who cried whiny bitch, and no one wants to pay attention to you.

12. If he actually wants to talk about what’s going on, don’t give him the silent treatment to be a bitch.
There is a difference between not talking because you’re not ready to talk, and not talking because you’re acting like a seven year old. Personally, I am one of those people that says god awful horrible things when I’m hurt. If I feel like I’m backed into a corner, I will come out swinging every time. Consequently, I’ve taught myself to be very quiet until I am sure that I will say exactly what I want to say, and not the streams of profane, soul crushing insults that are running through my head. This bothers one of my friends who claims that when I do this, I radiate anger. Which is kind of a neat super power, but I digress. What it comes down to is that I’m doing it for a reason. It’s perfectly acceptable to say “I am not ready to talk to you about this right now” if you know that you aren’t capable of contributing anything constructive to the conversation. It’s ok to take time to get your emotions under control. It’s not acceptable to be very obvious about giving your boyfriend the silent treatment while he begs, pleads and whines for you to speak to him just because you like the attention. If you’re that type of girl, I think we’d much prefer you to keep your cock garage shut anyway.

13. Your constant need for validation makes them want to kill themselves and everyone around them.
Most men assume that if they tell you they love you, that’s the status quo unless something significant happens to change that. They will tell you once or twice a day, and assume that everything is fine. Most men won’t get jealous every time you talk to a person with a penis. They won’t uproot their entire lives to show you in grandiose ways just how much they love you. Because in their head? This is taken care of. Men have a certain amount of willpower that keeps them from slipping into a murderous rage because of our crap. The more you call them crying about how you don’t feel that they love you enough, or they don’t show it enough, the more you chip away at that willpower bit by tiny bit, leaving them one step closer to murdering you in your sleep. This is not a romance novel, and if he spends every waking moment of his life proving to you just how much he loves you I would recommend a restraining order.

14. It’s OK for men to cry, but they still don’t want you to make a big deal of it.
Believe it or not, men cry. And every girl on earth swears they want a sensitive man…right up until the waterworks start. Then we have an obnoxious tendency to run for the hills. Truth be told, men cry. They’re human. But they cry for entirely different reasons than women. We cry all the time for everything. It’s Tuesday, time to cry. Someone was mean to us, time to cry. Generally speaking when men cry they want to be left the hell alone about it (unless it’s because of the death of a close family member). The following situations are ones in which a man will cry, and you should pretend that you didn’t notice: the death of Aeris, when watching Old Yeller, any situation in which he has been kicked, punched or head-butted in the nuts (don’t laugh, I know someone who was once head-butted in the nuts. In case you’re wondering, it’s still funny.), if their team wins, if their team loses, when Wash dies (if anyone even mentions being a leaf on the wind, I tear up), the ending of any amazing videogame, if something happens to a beautiful piece of machinery or if they happen to see a beautiful piece of machinery for the first time.

15. Men will do almost anything to see your boobs.
I know that they are just two lumps of fat stuck in the middle of our chests, but to men they are an amazing mystery that holds the answer to every question in the universe. Even guys who aren’t boob guys would still do almost anything if they thought it would get them a glimpse at a nice set of hooters. I am a pretty busty chick, and I distinctly remember sitting with a friend of mine who is completely and totally an ass man. He looked up from the TV, turns to me and said “I’m sorry, but can I touch your tits?” After I got over the fits of hysterical laughter, I had to ask “Why? You’re an ass guy.” His response? “Well yea, but look at those.” (For the record, I let him. Points for brutal honesty.) Thus cementing what I suspected all along: all men love boobs. Is your guy going to your little cousin’s piano recital? It’s because he wants to see your boobs. Is your guy suffering through dinner as the only male among your male bashing girlfriends? It’s because he wants to see your boobs. Is he holding your purse while you try on the 4th shirt that is identical to every other shirt you’ve tried on the 8 hours you’ve been shopping? It’s because he wants to see your boobs. Guys will do anything to see your boobs. Knowing this gives you power. Remember, with great power comes great responsibility. Do not abuse this and ruin it for the rest of us.

16. Sometimes men just want to be men.
I have lived alone for a few years now, and because of that I’ve grown accustomed to doing things for myself. Mostly because if I didn’t, they’d never get done. Most guys find it somewhat endearing that their girlfriends can change a tire, or patch drywall. I will never do any of those things with my boyfriend around. Sometimes you have to let a man be a man. There’s nothing wrong with it and nothing weak about it. I’m not saying you should slide off your chair so overcome with lust that you can hardly contain yourself because he opened a goddamn pickle jar for you. I’m saying let him open a jar you can’t get open, thank him and peck him on the lips. Tell him how hot it is that he changes his own oil. (By the way? It’s super-hot when guys change their own oil.) Let him take care of you on occasion. Even if he doesn’t have 14 inch biceps, most men want to feel powerful. Don’t be a helpless idiot, but let him use those muscles he has. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be checking the angry emails I just got from the feminists in the group who think that having a boyfriend open up a jar sets our society back fifty years.

17. Men don’t get Sex in the City.

The entire show is based on four women who make horrible life choices, when they aren’t acting like shallow, superficial bitches. The characters have few if any redeeming qualities, and if anyone could please explain to me how someone who writes for magazines can live in an apartment that big in Manhattan and still afford $1000 shoes, I’d love to hear it as I am clearly doing something wrong. Furthermore, the show expects us to believe that there are men all over New York who want to bang these four women. There is only one woman out of the four most men would even think of putting their dick in, and that’s only if they could gag her first.

18. Fucking a guy does not make you his girlfriend.
Or his fuck buddy. Or anything else. Even if he’s a friend. If you hop into the sack after hearing “I’m not looking for anything”, that’s what you get. If you can handle being fuck buddies, a one night stand, or an if I’m in town and the guy I’m here to see is being a dick so let’s fuck, more power to you. That does not give you any right to ask about what he’s doing, who he’s doing it with and when. You don’t have the right to get mad if he dates someone else, you don’t get to get jealous when you see him at parties. Consider it a business transaction. If you can’t handle it, that’s fine. It’s surprisingly difficult to separate love and sex. Some of us can do it. A lot of us can’t. But it’s against the rules to say you can and then go all Single White Female on him. There’s almost no chance that he’s going to be so overwhelmed by your sexual prowess that he falls in love with you immediately. It’s not going to happen.

19. Men don’t notice 5 pounds.
Or that little bit of cellulite. Or that tiny stretch mark. Why? Because if they are in a position to see these things, there’s a good chance you’re naked. And although you’re used to picking yourself apart in front of the mirror for not looking airbrushed in real life, he’s just happy that you’re naked. Pointing out your flaws to him is not going to make him see them, it’s going to make you look like an idiot. You’re naked. He’s about to get laid. Unless you kick him in the balls, take his wallet and leave, he’s happy. Shit even if you do kick him in the balls and take his wallet, if he’s into that sort of thing he’s still happy. When he tells you that you’re pretty, take the compliment. Telling him the reasons that he’s wrong makes it sound like he has no idea what he’s talking about, and no one likes being told that their taste in their significant other is wrong. Plus, if you’re not nice to yourself, you can’t expect other people to be. Stop being an ass.

20. Looking at porn doesn’t mean he wants you to look like a porn star.
Every single guy I know looks at porn. It’s one of those universal experiences that all men share. I’m not sure when looking at porn turned into “he wants me to look like that girl!” because, well, it doesn’t. Why? Because if you saw some of the porn he looked at, you’d have nightmares for life. It’s the internet folks. There is some nasty shit on it. And your boyfriend has watched it. Not because it gets his rocks off, but out of the same morbid curiosity that causes people to continue watching Whitney. (If you don’t believe me, I refer you to Two Girls One Cup, and I accept no responsibility for the nightmares and uncontrollable vomiting). For the actual porn he watches to get his rocks off? That doesn’t really reflect on you either. Very few guys I know really want their girlfriends to bleach their hair and let 10 random men glaze her like a donut. However, guys do like fun sex. I’m not saying you should bring the Denver Broncos home (although Tebow is super-hot), but shake things up a little bit. Everyone has a little freak in them, let yours shine. You don’t have to be a porn star, or lick your own back, but have a little fun. And get over it. Does your boyfriend cry every time you watch Ryan Reynolds chopping wood in those thin pajama pants that fall dangerously low on his hips in the rain in Amityville Horror? No? Exactly. And god I love those pants.

21. On some level, men equate love with sex. But not the same way you do.
Yes, it’s a little nonsensical. He’s not going to dump you because you didn’t fuck him once. However, men love sex and they love having it. Hopefully with you. And the less you put out, the more he thinks that you might be losing interest in him. Most guys won’t admit this, but it’s true. Just like you want him to constantly show you how much he loves you and all that romantic bullshit, he wants you to do the same. Nothing says “I love you” like a morning blow job. Or an afternoon blow job. Or a blow job in general.

22. Stop ignoring the geeks and nerds.
Yes, that guy with the porcupine haircut and fake tan has incredible abs. Why yes, his arms are amazing and I too want to bite him. The problem is, that guy? Is a huge dick. And while you’re wasting your time with him, there is a sweet, adorable geek or nerd who would love to spend time with you. And I mean spend time with you, not treat you like an accessory. Yes, some of them are a little squishy. Some are a little awkward around women. But these guys will treat you like a fucking princess, will listen to you when you speak, and are good dependable dudes. Men will never understand why women date guys who are flaming douchebags, and then cry when they act like flaming douchebags. It would be like me purposely slamming my tit in a car door. I know it’s going to hurt, so why the fuck would I do it? Here’s the truth: those sweet geeks that you’re crying to? Those are the guys you should be with. I’ve seen more than one geek go from adorably snuggly to looking like he’s carved out of fucking marble. And with one glaring exception, every one of them still remained a loveable geek. It’s far easier for someone who is already loveable to get washboard abs than it is for a gorgeous dickhead to grow a personality. And also? If you only love that geek after he has the abs? You’re a shallow bitch and deserve to get herpes from someone who looks like he was rejected from a Jersey Shore audition.

23. Men do not want to have sex with all of their ex-girlfriends.
Most men aren’t even friends with most of their ex-girlfriends. Occasionally, a guy will keep one around because it’s obvious they were better off friends than lovers. Do you keep in contact with any of your exes? Any of your guy friends that you may have drunkenly kissed one night? No? If you said no you’re a lying liar who should be ashamed of herself. Here’s the truth: If he wanted to fuck his ex, he would. There is absolutely nothing you would be able to do to stop it, so you might as well quit being an insecure psycho every time he talks to anything with a vagina. Am I saying that you should be OK if he has his ex-girlfriend sleep over while you’re on a business trip? No. But should you freak out if they go out for a drink with some friends? Not unless you’re ready for him to do the same thing every single time you want to talk to any of your guy friends ever. This includes your gay friend who loves your boobs but totally doesn’t want you. That’s what I thought. I know you’ve been told your entire life that the sun rises and sets on your ass, but it doesn’t. You are not the first woman your boyfriend has ever seen, so stop acting like you should be. He didn’t do anything wrong.

24. Men don’t talk about sex as often as you think.
Contrary to what popular media might have us believe, men don’t actually sit around, drink beer, and compare their girlfriend’s dick sucking skills. The women I hang out with talk about sex far more often than men, and they are graphic as hell about it. Any woman can tell you just about anything about her closest friends sex lives. They discuss dick size, positions, orgasms, whatever. Men on the other hand? Tend to keep it vague. I know for a fact that men talk, as I made the mistake of fooling around once with my ex’s friend and he said “wow, he was right you are good at that”. That was not a happy discussion with my ex. The good news is we finally came to an agreement once the last of the stuff I threw on to the lawn and set on fire was extinguished. Generally speaking, if there is a group of men talking about your sexual talents, it’s because you’ve slept with enough of them that they no longer give a shit about whether or not you come off like a total whore. You’re the community bicycle, everyone’s had a ride. At that point it’s no different than talking about that one time they all went to Six Flags and rode the Batman ride.

25. Don’t Tease.
Teasing is only fun if there’s an eventual payoff. Girls who tease just to do it deserve to be cunt punched. There is a difference between a little tease while you’re a party, knowing that you’re going to put out when you get home. Or better, when you get to the car. But getting him hot and bothered and then making him “work for it” is a bullshit move. Flirting is one thing, sitting on his lap with your top off and then deciding that you want to wait until you’re ready (weeks later) is just confusing. If you have no intention of making good on your promise, it’s not cute to tease. Don’t start shit you don’t intend on finishing. There’s nothing wrong with leaving them wanting a little more. There’s everything wrong with leaving him to drive home with a raging boner.

But if all else fails? Refer to #15.

I know it's kind of a throwback to when I would post way more stuff like this. Hopefully it didn't shock you too much. Now back to my regular schedule of forgetting to post....

In Which I Discuss My Boobs and My Career

2011-12-04T12:54:00.001-06:00

I've been doing some interviewing, recently. (If you're on my team and reading this, please don't freak out. It'll be fine, it just never hurts to talk to people.)

It's not that I don't like my job, I do. I have a wonderful boss, a great team, and I'm given a ridiculous amount of freedom. That being said, we have a lot of process issues, and ultimately, I'm really tired of working 70-80 hour weeks for not enough money.

I was even OK with the ridiculous hours, until I worked 40 hours in one weekend, and instead of getting a "thank you" from the person who's ass I saved, I was instead forwarded a badly spelled email about how I need to be "more supportive" of the mistakes of the people on his team.

That was the line.

So I figured, what the hell, I'll answer some of the recruiters who call me every day and see what's out there.

Consequently, I landed an interview with a huge company out in California, that pays pretty well. No idea what the outcome is, but things seem to be progressing nicely.

With one exception.

And that exception is my Mother.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my mom. She's one of my best friends, and arguably she's the one I get my sense of humor from. She's an amazing lady, and I wouldn't change a thing about her.

She doesn't necessarily understand what it is I do, and the IT/eCommerce world is foreign to her. However it's in a mother's nature to try to impart wisdom on their children, so without fail, whenever I tell my mother I have an interview, she says the same thing.

"Cover your boobs".

It's not like I run around like those women in National Geographic or anything, but my mom's side of the family has blond hair, blue eyes, and the women aren't necessarily curvy. The women on my father's side of the family have dark hair, dark eyes, curves, and big honkin boobs.

Guess which side I take after?

Because of that, I could have cleavage in a turtleneck. I've managed to reign the twins in for the most part, but they aren't going to go anywhere. This was further evidenced by the fact that one of the first things my new work husband said to me was "I'm sorry, but I can't stop looking at your boobs".

So, in the absence of any other relevant advice, we always come back to my sweater puppies. It doesn't matter the situation, the advice remains the same. The interview I had was over the phone, the first thing my mom said to me was "did you cover your boobs?"

Apparently, you can see them from California. Over the phone.

But, it's not terrible advice. It never hurts to be reminded to cover the twins. Unlike most of the women in the L.A. area, I've never had a nip slip. I think my mom could contract her services out in Hollywood for a shitload of money. But barring that, it's a nice reminder that even though she has no idea what I'm talking about, she cares.

Either that or she doesn't want her daughter parading around like a whore.

I like to think it's the caring thing, though.

2011-11-06T19:22:00.003-06:00

My bad days tend to be a thing of legend.

I'm not sure exactly when (or how) this started, but they are the type of bad that if I was watching them play out on a movie screen, I'd have called bullshit and left the theater.

Last Thursday was one of those days. I woke up late for work because I spent the night drinking with Deanne. In my defense, she had come from Iowa and I see her maybe once a year, so it's totally acceptable for us to be drinking hard liquor at 3 PM on a Wednesday night. Anyway, I digress.

I rolled out of bed and magically made it to the train station on time. And that's when I realized that there wasn't a single car in the lot. Once I got over the initial Oh-My-God-Its-Already-The-Weekend-And-I-Slept-Through-Work-For-Days panic, the conductor told me that there was a freight train derailment and huge fire. There would be no train service for days.

Fantastic.

Anyone who lives in Chicago can tell you that getting there from the suburbs isn't always the easiest thing, and even the tiniest disruption in a commute can leave you hours late in getting to your destination. After wandering the suburbs for about an hour, I managed to find a different train. Ten miles away. Ridiculous.

Wednesday was an interesting evening for me. I got on the train from work and I had my Blackberry. I know this because I distinctly remember thinking "I shouldn't put that there, I'm going to lose that stupid thing". So you can imagine my utter shock when I got home...with no Blackberry.

Fuck.

I figure this is the best opportunity to see if someone turned it into the lost and found, so after waiting 10 minutes in line, some lady finally waved me up to the window.

The conversation we had went something like this:
Lady At The Window: Can I help you?
Me: Yes, I was wondering if someone turned in a Blackberry.
Lady At The Window: What kind of Blackberry.
Me: I'm not sure...it's a little older, company issue...it's easy to identify as it's most likely gone off 9000 times since you got it.
Lady At The Window: Where did you lose it?
Me: On the (Train I take, redacted to prevent stalking) outbound at 1:40.
Lady At The Window: Which car were you sitting in?
Me: The second car from the front.
Lady At The Window: Are you sure?
Me: I'm positive.
Lady At The Window: You'll have to go to window 10, that's the lost and found. He's at lunch.
Me: Wait...I have to talk to someone else?
Lady At The Window: Yes.
Me: So all that so you can tell me that I have to talk to someone else.
Lady At The Window: He's at lunch.
Me: It's 9:50 in the morning.
Lady At The Window: Window 10.

I feel like I deserve some sort of an award at this point for not breaking through the glass in the window an strangling her with my bare hands. As I was leaving the station, a very large black man came up to me.The first words out of his mouth were, and I quote, "Hey baby girl, can you help me get to Wacker Drive".

Having tried to navigate Chicago, I can feel this guy's pain. Unfortunately, I am no help at this point and I'm not having a real great day. I give him a polite "I'm sorry, I don't know."

This is where it gets weird.

Next thing I know, he's got his hand on my shoulder and he's thanking me for stopping. "God bless you, no one else has even hesitated". Then? Then he extends his hand, and before I know what's happening, I'm doing some weird ass handshake I didn't know that I knew. And I'm not talking a fist bump, either. I'm talking there were thumbs locking and fingers wiggling and I'm not entirely sure but I think I might have accidentally joined a gang on my way to work.

After I stopped to get a bandanna, wifebeater and a switchblade, I finally made my way out of the train station, where it started pouring.

Then my mom calls. It's never good when someone starts the conversation with "No one is hurt...but..." In this case? The "but" was "our mechanic took the car for a joyride and wrapped the car around a pole. It's totaled, we can't afford a new one and Jesus knows those inbred hillbilly assholes don't have insurance".

It was just one of those days.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go shave off my eyebrows and have them tattooed back on in an attempt to blend more seamlessly into my new lifestyle, yo.

2011-10-29T08:58:00.001-05:00

A few weekends ago, my dad invited me to go to some company event with him. This company event required me to leave my house by 5:30 AM, so I could be in a place called Vandalia Illinois by 11:30. I'm usually not the "Let's have a fun time with my father's employees!" type of girl, but I AM a daddy's girl, so my choice was pretty obvious.

I rented a cute little car, woke up early, and drove out to the middle of butt-fuck Illinois. And I mean buttfuck. The jail in this place is across the street from the highschool, I would assume so the teenagers can see a snippet of their future if they stay there.

Once I finally found the place, I pulled into the parking lot and there is a bus there. My father's employees are mingling, and I'm being introduced to a shitload of people I will never remember. Shortly thereafter I'm shuttled onto a bus, where the tour lady starts talking.

"Our first stop will be at the Rusty Penny".

What the hell is the Rusty Penny?

"A bar down the street."

And that's when it occurred to me

My father is taking me on a pub crawl.

Holy fuck this is amazing.

That my friends is exactly what happened. My father took me on a pub crawl that started at 11:30 in the morning. These people are hardcore. I knew I was in over my head when a 50 year old woman lined up 12 shots at the first bar, killed them all and then washed them down with a beer. (She hung until the end of the crawl, too.)

We actually saw a bunch of adorable bars and had a good time. And that's when shit got weird. I realized I wasn't far from my friend Jimmy from college.

The problem is that by this point I was too lubricated to make good choices.

Honestly, the next thing I remember? Waking up on my friend from college's couch. In downtown St. Louis. I woke up in another state.

The more concerning part is that the person who's couch I was sleeping on was at the time in a different state than me. I had to go through my FourSquare history to figure out where the fuck I had even been. Turned out, my dad decided that I should have more fun, and encouraged my friend to take me and get me trashed.

Essentially, my father let me go to party with a guy he had just met and had no way of knowing and wished me luck.

I'm totally telling mom.

2011-10-27T20:56:00.001-05:00

So, you've probably wondered where the hell I've been.

No real excuses, life kind of exploded. So I neglected my blog because I'm a bad person, but I really do promise to try harder. Why?

Mostly because this blog has been good to me, and I have it to thank for my career as it stands now.

I also have it to blame and honestly, my career has been sucking the life out of me.

Anyway, just a quick post to promise to post tomorrow.

And it will be worth it.

Or not.

There's really only one way to find out.

2011-07-12T20:49:00.002-05:00

So, it has not been a relaxing vacation.

I've been pulling a ridiculous work schedule trying to become rich as hell and more famous than Jesus, and eventually you wind up burning out.

So I figure, what the hell. Go to California, see my favorite boy and his roommate who looks kind of like a red headed Jesus, if Jesus was totally awesome.

If you've read my twitter, you'd know things did not turn out well.

In typical Clare fashion, they exploded less than 15 minutes after I touched down in San Fransisco.

This, dear readers, is a record for even me.

So I'm blogging this from first class on my way home, trying not to cry. Speaking of, where the hell is that flight attendant? I'm fucking out of wine.

I am not about to air my dirty laundry all over the internet, but I'll give the broad strokes.

I fly 2000 miles from home to find out I've been lied to, and then the person who did it proceeds to ignore me almost the entire rest of the trip. I can't entirely blame him for this. I know, how could this possibly be my fault, as I am an even tempered angel?

Well let me tell you.

After he admitted he was a lying sack of shit on the car ride, I got quiet. Not the silent treatment, but I wanted to be very careful of what I said next, as I have a tendency to say what I mean when I'm upset, and usually it's soul crushing and horrible. (I know, shocking right?)

He says "Youre quiet again."
I respond with "I'm thinking."
He says "Want to think outloud?"
I respond with "I don't think you want me to".

We ride in silence for awhile, and my brand new phone keeps sliding off my knee. In a show of testicular fortitude I didn't know he could possess with what are essentially no balls he says "maybe that's not the most secure place for your phone".

I'm not entirely sure what got into me at that point.

I looked at him and witout breaking eye contact proceeded to throw my $500 smart phone at his windsheild during rush hour traffic and then said in a very soft, very calm voice "Better?"

So you can't really blame him for avoiding me.

The trip was somewhat salvageable. I did spend quite a bit of time with his best friend/roommate, who is a pretty awesome dude. Either that, or he is owed something huge for babysitting me the entire weekend while his friend hid in his room from me.

I just need a vacation. I need to relax. I need to have fun.

However, I did learn a very important lesson. I sent 3 text messages from my phone in that car ride, and less than 45 minutes later I had no less than 8 places to stay 2000 miles from home, and 3 offers from people to fly me back immediately. I have the greatest friends any snarky blogger could ever ask for. There aren't any words for how grateful I am to those people. Namely Eric and Buffy, O'Leary and Wyly, Wil, Vanessa, Irene, Shane and Con, Travis, Jessica, Spring and Mary. I love you all.

There is a far bigger problem with this situation though.

His roommate, who really, I owe more than just cookies, got me hooked on 3 new TV shows. (Ok they aren't all new but they are new to me). Like I have enough time for this.

It's like his revenge for putting up with me all weekend.

So, thanks all for the concern. Ill be alright, I'm chilling in First Class on a Virgin flight, ready to go home and bury myself in work and every X files episode ever made. (Thanks Nick, thanks a lot.)

2011-07-08T14:41:00.003-05:00

I am currently on a flight from Chicago to San Fransisco.

Because I am terrified of flying, I have decided to give you a play by play of how this flight has gone so far.

12:28 My cab arrives. Early.

12:32 Sweet Indian cab driver convinces me to get in the cab, while watching me chew on Klonopin.

12:38 I call my boss. I'm not entirely sure what I was calling him for, but it was really, really important, and not at all related to the klonopin I've been eating.

12:43 We arrive at the airport, somehow. I giggle because I can't feel my head. I pay the nice cab driver.

12:50 I spend 5 minutes explaining to the sweet lady at the counter that I am not "Mr" anything and they have obviously made a mistake. We get it sorted out.

12:52 I make it through security. In two minutes.

12:53 They pull me aside for a body scan.

12:53 I decline.

12:53 They explain that the radiation isn't bad.

12:54 I explain it's not the radiation I'm worried about, its the chance that a picture will leak out and I'll find what is essentially a naked Xray of my tits on the internet.

12:55 A (kind of cute) Russian TSA lady explains to me how that pat down works.

12:55 The far less attractive now Russian TSA lady takes my Klonopin away.

12:55 I decide she is a bitch.

1:03 The Bitchy TSA lady finally finishes grabbing at my crotch.

1:05 She puts her glove in the machine and something beeps.

1:06 She still refuses to give me my Klonopin.

1:07 I decide that I fucking hate the Russian TSA lady.

1:08 They pull me into a private area where they proceed to grope at my adorable Fredricks bra. Why? Because I'm wearing something that is adorable and looks like a corset. I have huge boobs, it has support, what do you want from me.

1:13 I am finally freed and allowed to put my shirt back on.

1:14 The TSA lady declines to take me to dinner. I resist the urge to tell her that I'm not that type of girl and the least she can do is treat me like a lady.

1:15 I get to my gate, where I realize I tipped my cab driver $23 because Klonopin makes it so I don't know Math.

1:30 We board. I am sitting with a Chinese family. 3 on my left, 2 on my right. I'm the middle seat. Shit.

1:31 I tell her I understand that they are a family but I am TERRIFIED of flying and if you put me beside the window, I will freak out.

1:32 Her child starts reading the emergency card, and asking over and over what happens when we crash.

1:33 I somehow resist the urge to cram that fucking card down his little fucking throat.

1:34 The Chinese family passes 9 different items back and forth across me.

1:35 The little bastard has to pee.

1:35 I get up, pick up my laptop, step aside, and get glared at by the water buffalo that has managed to wedge herself into the seat infront of me.

1:40 The little bastard comes back.

1:59 I order a blue moon with a splash of orange juice.

2:03 I down the blue moon, and chase it with a Klonopin.

2:06 The little bastard has to pee again. I get up move my laptop and beer.

2:07 The manatee in the seat infront of me glares at me again. To which my adult response is a very grown up "Look lady, I'm not happy either."

2:09 The little bastard comes back.

2:11 I realize that I'm so high right now that It's not actually 2, it's 3.

2:14 I finally stop laughing hysterically at this development and realize I'm high as shit, and now have the munchies.

2:15 I try to figure out how to order a goddamn sandwich.

2:19 I give up.

2:20 Kid SCREAMS IN MY EAR IN FUCKING CHINESE.

2:20 I tell kid that the plane ran over Santa.

So, that's where we are at so far. I'm 1334 miles from San Fransisco, 35947 feet in the air traveling 475 miles an hour and rocked off my ass.

More later if I dont go careening towards the earth to my death.

2011-06-16T08:57:00.003-05:00

Another professional athlete has come out and made a statement (and what is quite honestly a really poorly produced commercial) about gays and their right to marry. He is of the impression that gays shouldn't be allowed to marry because of the opinion of an influential minority. Coming from a black professional athlete I think we should listen to him.

Hear me out before you start sending me emails about how gay people deserve the same rights as the rest of us. Professional athletes and famous rappers disagree. Who am I to argue? I've read that website that details the gay agenda, I am on to you sneaky homosexuals.

Most people are going to dismiss this man as just another homophobe who doesn't have a clue what he's taking about. This is categorically untrue.

For starters, this man is an American hero. During a foot ball game he caught a ball, causing the other team to lose. Clearly he should be given the same respect as our war veterans for this phenomenal feat of athleticism. He caught a ball people. Keep that in mind when you address him.

The rest of you are going to say he clearly knows nothing of homosexual relationships. This is also untrue. Every...many...of the days this brave, respectable man willingly chose to shower in front of other big, muscular men before proudly wearing an outfit made entirely of spandex in flamboyant colors usually only seen in cereal commercials or at pride rallies. Furthermore this man wore that outfit proudly, despite the fact that it had knee pads sewn in.

It's in this outfit that this hero to our country would train hours on end to ensure that he was the best at handling gigantic balls. It's during this training that he would be tackled to the ground by other men, also wearing bright colors and knee pads. If he did an exceptionally good job he was treated to a firm slap on the bottom by any number of grown men.

He would then retire to the locker room to once again shower with other men and get his sore, aching muscles massaged by someone with nice strong hands.

That, my dear readers, is why we need to listen to this man and what he has to say about gay marriage. If this man wants to speak about whether they have the right to marry he should be allowed to, as he clearly has been an active member of the gay community for some time now.

I for one will not sit here and tell an American hero and obviously homosexual man that his opinion on gay marriage isn't valid. Will you?

2011-06-11T18:21:00.002-05:00

I've been sick lately. Nothing I'm not used to...a little bit of bronchitis here, a few asthma issues there. It's the same routine every time: I wheeze, the doctor puts me on steroids and in a few weeks I'm back in top shape.

The problem is what happens in those few weeks. Steroids do not bring out my best qualities. In fact, they tend to highlight one of my worst. Something about steroids turns me from the quirky-crazy fun chick into my real self.

It turns out my real self is dangerously insane.

I think the worst part about this insanity is that it manifests itself through tears, usually about shit I absolutely don't care about. I figure it's only a matter of time before they lock me away, so I figure I'd give you readers a list of the things I've cried over in the past week.

Things I've cried over in the past week (aka: Why I Will Die Alone)

I miss my dog.
I need new sheets, but I can't find the particular color of green that I need and consequently my entire apartment looks like someone's college dorm.
My Wii ate the save point from the game of Super Mario Brothers 3 I was playing, and I have to start over.
The space bar on my personal laptop has started sticking for some reason I can't understand, and now the entire computer is ruined and I have to get a new one.
My favorite people at work are unhappy, and for a good reason.
I required Cheez Its to get through some of my side projects, but the only thing I had in my cabinet were Cheese Nips. No, they are not the same thing, how dare you even ask that?
Every time I tried to play Assassin's Creed Brotherhood Multi player I would get booted from the host. Now I will never get to level 50 and no one will ever take me seriously because my characters don't have all three of the extra colors for the costumes that don't actually do anything.
My friend was going to see me today, and I haven't heard from him yet, thus he obviously doesn't care about me at all despite being a busy guy with a lot going on and his world somehow not revolving around the greatness that is me.
When my dog went to get her haircut, another Pomeranian named Toby was running around and barking and no one was stopping him. My Pom is going to learn bad habits. Toby's Dad had to come get him and his haircut had to be postponed.
One of my friends needed another friends number. Because obviously they are all hanging out without me because they secretly hate me. (And at this point, can you really blame them?)
Penguins of Madagascar is never, ever on TV when I am home. Which is unacceptable because it's the greatest show ever. The people who don't air more episodes are assholes.
Chris refused to get me Jack In The Box. I also didn't ask Chris to get me Jack in the Box, Chris lives over 2000 miles away, and Chris had no idea any of this was going on. However, that doesn't get me a spicy chicken sandwich.
My ex boyfriend is in Chicago and he didn't ask me, and he should have because obviously I am in charge of everything.
Someone drank my diet coke out of the fridge at work. Which they did on purpose. Just to hurt me.

The list is far from complete, but I think it's a good enough example of why I will almost definitely die alone in a house full of old newspaper and cats.

Add that to the list.

2011-04-08T21:35:00.002-05:00

It's been an...exciting few weeks.

By exciting I mean "two pretty life changing events have occurred, and there's a real possibility that I'm scarred for life".

Last Sunday I was up late, and I look over to my second floor balcony...to see someone staring back at me.

Usually, having a big black man visit me in the middle of the night would be like Christmas for me, but considering I didn't know this guy, it didn't go over well.
I high tailed it into my bedroom, locked the deadbolt and called the cops, and he was detained after he jumped off my balcony.

Somehow he's still not in jail. Because god hates me.

Turns out he lives above me, and he climbed down his THIRD STORY BALCONY onto mine. Which isn't doing much for my being able to sleep at night. It sounds crazy, but all the sudden I just can't do anything anymore. I can't eat. I can't sleep. Even going to work is almost impossible. I assume that this will pass, but right now? Pretty rough stuff.

Which is totally magnified by the fact that I recently went to California and was introduced to Rock Band 3. Yes, I know Rock Band 3 has been out for awhile, but it's new to me so shut it.

I have been obsessed ever since. Which isn't the worst thing to happen, until you realize exactly how much Night Ranger that game requires. I've listened to that song roughly 904 times, and it's still stuck in my head. And what's worse? I'm starting to like it.

This is my nightmare.

2011-02-13T14:06:00.002-06:00

Wow. This year is already going by quickly...it's already almost Valentine's Day.

I know you're probably expecting some bitter diatribe about how Valentine's Day is a holiday fabricated by greeting card companies for the sole purpose of guilting us into buying things for people we generally take for granted as if one sweeping gesture once a year is an acceptable time frame for telling the people you love that you in fact love them.

I'm one of those crazy ass people who loves people despite some of them doing absolutely horrible things to me. I'm hard to get to know, but once I love you, you're pretty much screwed and unless you light me on fire, there's a good chance I'll love you forever.

Actually, that's not true. My best friend once lit me on fire, and I still consider him my best friend. And he considers me his, even though I kicked him in the face in retaliation.

In the past 6 months (next Saturday), my life has changed pretty dramatically. I refuse to wait once a year to tell the people who are important to me that they are.

However, I've been really sucking it up in the forgiveness department. Valentine's Day always brings up all the old relationships. Usually in the form of people calling me to tell me that they're sorry and they miss me.

After that, I don't hear from them for another 364 days.

Which means one thing: They didn't really miss me, and they weren't really sorry. They were sorry they were alone on Valentine's Day. Or they missed me this one particular day of the year.

I know that I'm not always the easiest to approach. So I decided that this year would be different. All the people who miss me because they are lonely on a stupid holiday contrived by a greeting card company can fuck themselves.

For the people who genuinely do want to rekindle some sort of friendship, but are afraid I will make them bleed out of their faces if they approach me again, I'll talk to them.

It might not be comfortable, it might not be the flowers and candy bullshit that this holiday was created for, and it might not be what people consider normal but I've been trying to be more like Mackenzie. She could forgive anyone for anything, so there's no reason I can't either. If more people acted that way, I think Valentine's Day would suck a lot less for most of us.

That being said: if you're one of my guy friends you better pony up for some flowers or get ready to listen to me bitch for the next year.

2011-02-06T10:09:00.002-06:00

Unless you've been living under a rock, you probably know by now that Chicago is buried under 19 feet of snow and it's really damn cold.

Having lived in the Midwest my entire life, I'm somewhat used to my winters being cold, wet and shitty. But this is a new kind of cold, wet and shitty.

I was fine with it, until it came time to dig myself out.

Turns out that the asshole who parked next to me decided a great place to shovel all the snow that was blocking his way was directly behind my car. I walked out to a pile of snow that was about four feet wide and six feet tall.

Which is bad snow etiquette but not the biggest issue if you have a shovel.

Which I don't.

Because I live in an apartment. Why the hell would I need a shovel?!

It took me 2 and a half hours to dig it out, with a hurt rotator cuff. Thank god the maintenance guy took pity on me and stopped to help me dig out. Which he decided was worthless, and reattached the plow to his truck to plow the snow out of the way.

That's how you know you're an asshole. When you pile so much snow behind some one's car that they have to be plowed out.

Chris is always bugging me to go to California. I used to think it was because he wanted to see my boobs. Even if that is the case, he might actually be on to something.

2011-01-30T12:14:00.005-06:00

There are a few things about life that you convince yourself of as an adult. For example, when you're laying naked in front of your doctor while he pokes various things into your orifices, you tell yourself that he is a professional and he sees this all the time so you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You convince yourself that when you're at the gym, your trainer is more concerned with your form than the fact that you gained 37 pounds over Christmas. You tell yourself that your bartender knows that you are just tying one on and isn't whispering to his wife that you're an alcoholic when he sees you at church.

Despite our insecurities, we convince ourselves that this is the truth so we can carry on with our lives.

I tend to run at 100 miles an hour, all the time. I work, I have a side job, I write, and I'm working on some super secret side projects. I've been keeping up this pace since college, and I never thought that it would catch up to me. I keep my body fueled with a very specific combination of nachos, Diet Coke and Twizzlers, and it's worked for me for almost 10 years.

I was at work on Thursday, and all the sudden I got dizzy. I blew it off, decided it was my blood sugar, and immediately remedied the situation with an emergency Twizzler. It didn't help.

I figured I was tired, and went back to work.

It was only when I almost passed out walking across the office that I realized something was Wrong with a capital "W". Thank the lord for my friend Mary*, who was kind enough to walk me to the clinic on campus, if only so she didn't find me passed out face down in the parking lot in a pile of snow.

Some poking, prodding and a few tests involving needles later, I got my diagnosis.

Exhaustion and dehydration.

To which my response was a simple "Exhaustion and dehydration? Who the fuck do I look like? Lindsay Lohan?"

Turns out, nachos, Twizzlers and a gallon of Diet Coke do not a healthy diet make. It's been a few days and I'm almost feeling back to my normal spunky self. I'd be lying if I said it didn't spook me a little bit. So I decided it was time to get back on the "taking care of myself like an adult" wagon.

Alie over at Hyperbole and a Half wrote a great blog post about how she decides to be an adult, makes it approximately one day, and then burns herself out. She then rebels, starting the vicious cycle all over again. I am equally guilty of this, but this time is different. I don't ever want to feel like I felt on Thursday again.

The first place I went was the grocery store. Time to stock up on food that doesn't have nacho cheese listed as the main ingredient and Gatoraide.

In her post, Alie writes "For a little while, I actually feel grown-up and responsible. I strut around with my head held high, looking the other responsible people in the eye with that knowing glance that says "I understand. I'm responsible now too. Just look at my groceries."

I'm concerned with making sure I make lasting changes, so I started where I always start: Lots of fruit, vegetables and chicken. I threw my purchases onto the belt and waited while the cashier scanned my order.

I had always convinced myself that the people who work at the store don't actually look at what you're buying. Much like doctors, dentists, trainers, and the person who waxes your bikini, they've seen it all before and they don't actually give a flying shit either way.

The cashier hit total, and smiled at me.

"Yours is the healthiest order I've seen all day".

At that second, my world changed. We were lied to. They do notice what we buy. Flash back to the time I bought stain remover, hand lotion, condoms, sugar free chocolate syrup and batteries in one transaction. Facepalm.

My life might never be the same. Now that I know the truth, I will never be able to buy all of my items at the same place. God forbid I need condoms or tampons, I might have to leave the state. Never will I be able to go to the gynecologist without wondering who I'm being compared to. I may never get anything on my body waxed again ever.

But, one good thing came from this.

If I was the healthiest order she had seen all day by process of elimination, that means every other order was less healthy than mine. Which means only one thing.

I won.

I won at being an adult today, and the rest of you can suck it. I'm going to sit here and bask in my well deserved glory.

The only thing that could make this better? Some nachos washed down with some Diet Coke.

*Who I owe so much thanks to. You're such a great friend, and I appreciate you so much!

2011-01-17T13:38:00.002-06:00

So it’s been awhile since I updated this, but I swear to god there’s a really good reason why. And not just because I’m busy working at MySpace for a few months, giving them content. (No joke. I told you, big website!)

The real problem is, I’m getting old. Well, not that old. I’m still in my 20s, and even when I’m no longer in my 20s, I’ll be telling people I am until the day I die. The reason I’ve not been around much is that I managed to hurt myself. Again.

I was minding my own business on the Metra, when my stop came up. Which is what usually happens when you’re riding a train. When I ducked out from my seat, I also picked up my laptop bag. This in itself is not an unusual activity, especially since the Metra authorities have asked me a few times now to stop leaving my belongings on the train.

This particular time, I’m not sure what happened. Perhaps I bent funny, maybe my laptop suddenly increased in weight, or maybe I’m just getting old, because the next thing I heard was a very distinct ripping noise.

It took me a second to realize that 1. It wasn’t my pants and 2. I was in horrible pain. My back had never hurt so much in my life. Having never hurt my back I had no reason to think this wasn’t the case, even with my past medical history of never having anything normal happen to me ever.

Fast forward to two days later at the doctors office. I’m sitting there while some sweet old man asks me to push against his hands. A thorough beating with the reflex hammer later, he tells me the news. It’s not my back, it’s my rotator cuff.

I hurt my rotator cuff picking up my laptop.

I even asked him “Who the hell hurts their rotator cuff?!”

His response was a very simple: “Usually, professional athletes”.

I left with a sling, a prescription for heavy narcotics and a note to get out of work.

And that my friends, is how my dream of being a professional baseball player was crushed in one single movement.

My apologies to the Braves, who were sure to draft me this year.

2010-12-06T19:59:00.002-06:00

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?

2010-12-05T13:33:00.002-06:00

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.

2010-12-04T15:00:00.002-06:00

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.

2010-11-07T11:31:00.004-06:00

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.

2010-09-17T21:15:00.002-05:00

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!

2010-08-31T13:32:00.002-05:00

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.

2010-08-13T17:46:00.002-05:00

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.

2010-07-19T14:29:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-07-12T14:24:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-07-07T12:28:00.002-05:00

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.

2010-06-28T15:51:00.001-05:00

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.

2010-05-19T12:19:00.001-05:00

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.

2010-04-10T08:04:00.001-05:00

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>

2010-04-03T14:00:00.001-05:00

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?

2010-03-19T23:49:00.001-05:00

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.

2010-02-15T15:38:00.001-06:00

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.

2010-01-01T16:44:00.001-06:00

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.

2009-12-29T12:08:00.001-06:00

I hope everyone had a good Christmas, or whatever holiday you Godless heathens celebrate.

Yet again, life kicked me in the butt. My Fancy New Job In The City gave my entire team their walking papers...2 weeks early. And to sweeten the pot, they told us this 4 days before our end date, and the week before Christmas.

I've been happier.

However, I got exceptionally lucky, and managed to fanagle myself a new job with another huge health care company for similar money. I started today. So there was no down time, really. I could've started yesterday, but I had to drag out Christmas just a little bit longer.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the job yet. My last job spoiled the crap out of me: casual dress, flexible hours, and a great team of people to work with. So being thrown back into a super controlled enviornment kind of makes me apprehensive.

But there's only one way to find out I suppose.

I know it's only my first day, but I really miss my old team.

2009-12-11T15:44:00.001-06:00

I know it's been a little bit since I've updated and I swore that I'd be better about it, so here we are.

This whole commuting into the city thing can be kind of a mess in the winter.

If you want the truth: Chicago is a cold, windy city and in the winter it's cold, windy and wet.

There are fewer things I hate in life than being cold and wet. Except maybe being cold and wet and outside.

The problem being, if I'm running late for work, the walk from the Clark and Lake Station to the Red Line to the Pedway to my office will make me really stinking late. A little late, I can handle. This is Chicago, everyone is a little late. I try to avoid the "Holy shit is Clare even coming in today?" kind of late, at least until they hire me on permanently.

So there are a lot of cab rides. Usually, I'm not opposed to just running from Clark and Lake to my office, but there is not a chance in hell I'd do it in the winter.

I could be chased by a mob of people holding torches and pitchforks, and I still wouldn't run outside in Downtown Chicago in the winter.

Earlier this week, I decided to snag a cab as to not be ridiculously late.

I slid in and said "<Address of my work> East Wacker, please".

The cab driver nodded, and promptly turned left instead of right. It was about then that I noticed the Jesus station on the radio. Whatever, his cab, his choice, right?

I said "I'm sorry, I wanted EAST Wacker, not South Wacker"

While still heading in the opposite direction, the cabbie then asked me if I knew Jesus.

"Not personally, no. You need to turn left, you're going in the wrong direction. I wanted East Wacker".

He nodded, and while still driving in the wrong direction, proceeded to ask me if I've been saved.

"Yea, Jesus, real cool guy. EAST WACKER. You need to make a left you're going the wrong way!"

"HAVE YOU ACCEPTED JESUS AS YOUR LORD AND SAVIOR?!"

And somehow, some way, that was just it.

"Jesus wouldn't let you pad the fare. GOD DAMN IT I SAID EAST FUCKING WACKER!"

Little did I know, that in the world of Bible Thumping Cab Drivers, the phrase "God Damn it" is a secret password? Apparently, it is because the minute those words came flying out of my mouth he pulled the cab over to the shoulder and demanded that I get out.

I would be lying if I said it didn't take a second to register.

He repeated himself "get out of my cab".

I looked at him, and said "I bet Jesus never kicked anyone out of HIS cab". Then I got out and slammed the door.

I got kicked out of a cab in Chicago. I just kind of stood there for a second thinking, well, that was a first. The good news is, the cab I hailed immediately afterwards knew where my office building was, and spent the entire ride telling me inappropriate Tiger Woods' jokes.

Second cab driver, you are awesome.

2009-11-25T09:10:00.001-06:00

Happy!

My iPod is no longer missing.

My coworker, sick of my constant bitching and moaning, used the magical powers bestowed on her by the pilgrims to find my iPod.

She just walked by, tossed it on my desk, and kept walking.

HOORAY!

2009-11-25T07:50:00.001-06:00

I was having such a good day, too.

I love my new job and I love everyone I work with, which is why I am eternally pissed off.

Let me tell you a little story about an iPod.

I've had the same iPod for literally five years. It is full of music from a hard drive that I have sitting in a tower I can't use until I get a new power source, so it's stuff I don't generally have access to at home. Yes, it's my own fault for not fixing this little problem faster.

My iPod is old. It's big and clunky, and as far as iPods go, it's kind of a dinosaur. It's seen a lot in it's time: college finals, three jobs, two moves, four published magazine articles, about seven different flights and the worst breakup of my life.

It has survived me dropping it in a puddle, accidentally throwing it across a parking lot, and being carried around in my purse with everything else I own. It carried me through numerous workouts, and a broken heart I thought would never heal.

It's old, it's beat up, but I still love it, even if it only holds a charge for about an hour.

Work has been ridiculous lately, so we've been pulling a lot of hours. Thus, the trusty iPod comes out. Somehow, a little heavy metal makes 15 hour days just go faster.

So you can try to imagine the pure joy I felt when I walked into work today and realized it was gone.

Last night I was in such a hurry to go the hell home, I forgot to bring my iPod with me. I left it plugged in, sitting on my desk. Which I admit is my own fault, but we've all accidentally left things at work.

I came in this morning, at 7 in the fucking morning, and found the headphones laying next to the charger, with no iPod in sight.

How thoughtful, they left me the fucking charger and headphones for an iPod they stole.

I hope they needed it more than me. I really do, because there are songs on that thing that are irreplaceable (some from a friend of mine that he sent to me in college. I can't exactly buy that on iTunes).

Obviously, I don't think work is an appropriate place to leave expensive pieces of technology. But I also like to think that we live in a world where if someone was to accidentally forget something at work, it's not considered open season for whoever happens to wander by. I guess I was mistaken. Thank you for ruining what little faith in humanity I had left.

Enjoy my iPod, you sack of shit. Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

2009-11-08T18:23:00.001-06:00

I am not a nice sick person. I've never been a nice sick person. I'm a "leave me alone" sick person.

I am fine with that.

I am sicker than hell right now. It's put me in a chipper mood to say the least. When I say sick, I don't mean like "oh, Clare has a cold". I mean, I have fluid in my lungs, a fever, and this is the first time in two days I haven't been totally out of it. I've got a cough that can rattle windows, and the sheer amount of steroids I have surging through my system either make me a shoe in if anyone needs a Lou Ferrigno impersonator or if any Major League Baseball teams are hiring.

Today I finally got off the couch, and managed to somehow make it to Walgreen's. It was a quick mission: More soup, some orange juice, a box of Kleenex, and despite my thinking its hippy crap, a vaporizer. I've never been a huge fan of vaporizers. With my lungs, a vaporizer is kind of like putting a band-aid on a gunshot wound. It's not going to do much good, and you look like an idiot. That, and I rank it's medical usage right up there with magic crystals and herbal supplements. Some people swear by them. I prefer my drugs to be prescription grade controlled substances that are quality assured and handed to me by a professional with an incredibly expensive education.

But what the hell, I'm desperate.

So, I'm standing (or doing my best) in line, holding my arsenal of medications and coughing and hacking up a lung. The problem with having even a little fluid in your lung is that it makes an obnoxious rattling noise, and leaves me with a cough that sounds like it belongs to a 400 pound man.

I was waiting for my total, when the most uppity cunt I have ever seen stepped up behind me. She looked me up and down and then started whispering loudly to her husband about how I have no business being out in public with what is obviously the swine flu. She prattled away about how I am the example of everything that's wrong with our world, that people only care about themselves and we are all selfish.

And honestly? I'm just not in the fucking mood to listen to this shit.

I turned to her, and said "Excuse me? In case your wondering, my doctor diagnosed me with pneumonia. Which isn't contagious. Just incredibly uncomfortable. In the 24 years I've seen this particular doctor, he has never once misdiagnosed me. However, you are right people are selfish. And on the off chance that he is mistaken, and I do have the swine flu, I'd like you to be the first I celebrate the occasion with."

At which point I coughed into my hand and proceeded to blow it into her face.

I would be lying if I said that at the moment, I didn't wish I had Ebola.

2009-11-05T10:01:00.001-06:00

I have never been a particularly good sick person.

Even when I was little, I'd tell whoever it was that was trying to take care of me to leave me alone and go back to bed. I'd be so insistent that eventually even my mother had no choice but to actually leave me alone.

The problem about my fancy new job in the city is that it is in the part of Chicago that everyone thinks about when they think of Chicago. It's right by all the notable things that you see in movies. Just in my commute I pass numerous landmarks that are famous. The Chicago Theatre, Millennium Park, Navy Pier, and State Street are a couple of them. Most of it depends on the traffic and time of day.

But my all time favorite street to pass through is Michigan Avenue. It's hands down my favorite part of Chicago. I could sit here and lie to you and say it's the spectacular buildings in the area. That it is just a beautiful and convenient place to get to. I would be lying. The buildings are beautiful, but so are half of the buildings in Chicago. And anyone who believes that anywhere in Chicago is easy to get to has obviously never had the pleasure of navigating our public transit system.

The reason the Magnificent Mile is my favorite place in the city is the sheer abundance of ridiculously priced luxury brands. Nowhere else in the city can you be surrounded by Tiffany and Co, Gucci, and Prada. You can walk from Louis Vuitton to the Coq d'Or at the Drake Hotel for a drink. I could spend hours at Cartier, staring at jewelry that is fit for a movie star or queen, and then wander over to Ferragamo. After that I can wander over to the Intercontinental Hotel and munch at Zest while gazing at people who make four million times the money I do.

It's a nice little slice of retail heaven right here in Chicago. Even if I don't shop there for fear that a purse will throw me into a debt that is rivaled only by my student loans, I still love it and can't think of a single place I'd rather be. It's an adult game of dress up. No one there knows that I can't afford a single thing I look at in the stores. Until they read this anyhow.

The problem with passing these things on a daily basis is that they become ordinary. Things seem to lose a bit of their magic when you are shuttled past them every day on your way to or from work or school. So when I left work early yesterday because I wasn't feeling well, the Magnificent Mile was more like "the Longest Street Ever Between Me and Home".

Being a shitty sick person, I hailed a cab to take me to the train station and settled in while my cab driver, who looked like he came straight from a police line up drove down Michigan Avenue.

We were almost at the Drake when I realized how sick I really was, and it dawned on me.

I had the cabbie pull over just past the Drake hotel, where I proceeded to, at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Wednesday, hang out of a cab and throw up on to the Magnificent Mile.

It was only when I looked up to close the car door that I saw the group of Asian tourists standing six feet away from me, staring open mouthed in my direction.

I did the only thing I could think to do in that situation. I smiled, waved and said "Welcome to Chicago!"

I'm sure the pictures will be showing up on the internet shortly.

2009-10-30T15:04:00.001-05:00

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. Ever since I was little, there was something magical about a night where I was allowed to run amok through my neighborhood while pretending to be someone else. An entire day devoted to wearing anything I wanted, combined with the excuse to buy loads of new and exciting makeup was just too much for me to handle and it quickly became my favorite holiday. The shit loads of free candy also helped, as I am impossibly addicted to all things that contain enough refined sugar to kill a horse, but I digress.

Ever since then, I've loved it. Even at twenty-seven, I still cherish going to the store and buying screaming red lipstick, fake eyelashes that are a mile long, and various other sparkly and glittery trinkets. This year more than any other since I've been back in Chicago, I was looking forward to buying a million pounds of candy and a bitching costume and making this the epic holiday that I adored.

I arrived home with a few (dozen) shopping bags full of all of the things a good Halloween requires, and logged into my computer.

And had the following conversation with a good friend of mine:
TweekerchickQC: I just got home from shopping! I'm so excited!
GoodFriendOfMine: ....
TweekerchickQC: It's almost Halloween! I'M SO ASITED.
GoodFriendOfMine: ....
TweekerchickQC: GUESS WHAT I'M GOING TO BE!
GoodFriendOfMine: A cripple?

And that is when it occurred to me.

It is impossible to make a walking cast look cute. Or scary. Or sexy.

What happened to your foot, you ask? (Or not, but yet again I'm the only blogger I see around here so pipe down, asshole.)

Absolutely fucking nothing happened. I've been walking an assload more than I used to because of my Fancy New Job In The City, and the dress code here is a little less casual than my last job (still casual though), so most of that walking has been done in heels.

Very tall heels.

Very sexy heels.

But very tall heels nonetheless.

I assumed that I had twisted my ankle by falling off of a heel or something, but I couldn't remember anything actually happening. I walked around for a few more days¹ before winding up in such blinding pain that my own mother, who one time told me I was overreacting about a cold and refused to take me to the hospital (it was pneumonia, by the way), insisted I go to the Emergency Room. After waiting while I watched some woman explain to the doctor that the reason she was holding her child's arm over his head was because he cut himself and may have nicked the artery in his little finger, and she was the single solitary reason he had not bled to death right there in the emergency room, I finally got back to a room.

After being poked, prodded, x-rayed and twisted into various contorted positions, the doctor looked at me and pulled his glasses down on his nose. He puffed his cheeks out, causing him to look like Santa if Santa was the most stereotypical Jew on the planet and put his clip board beside me.

"How you have managed to walk on this for a week is amazing".

Turns out, I have tendonitis and a 3rd degree sprain. (Did you know that sprains have degrees? I did not. Apparently, "3rd degree sprain" is a Latin term for "pump her full of drugs and send her careening through the streets of Chicago in a 10 year old Malibu".) The one thing I told Dr. Santa Weinstein was that I couldn't function in my Fancy New Job In The City on crutches, and I couldn't be on drugs that made me so ridiculous I couldn't function.

He insisted on crutches. I asked if there was an alternative. He said I could use a cane just like "That doctor on TV". After an interesting discussion in which I explained to him in excruciating detail what part of his body I'd cram a cane up if he didn't knock off the shit I left on crutches with a prescription of OxyContin. I was not amused.

A different doctor later gave me a walking cast.

Which has ruined Halloween. Halloween is the night of sluts, skanks, sexy costumes, booze and candy. It's college all over again, and I can't participate because I can't mix booze with any of the pain medications I'm on, and there's only one costume a gimpy leg works with, and I don't have the time to fashion a fake gun so I can go as that chick from Grindhouse. It is impossible to make a walking cast in any way cute or sexy. Trust me, I've tried.

This sucks. Send candy.

notes

¹Fine, it was a week. Happy Chris?

2009-10-29T06:27:00.001-05:00

As I have just found a fancy new job in the city, I spend a lot of time on the CTA. This is not because I live in the city a nd find it easier to get around, and it sure as hell isn't because I have finally decided I give a shit about the environment¹. It's because I leave for work at the ass crack of dawn and driving in a city full of cab drivers with death wishes and people who have such little regard for thier own safety that they will walk in front of a moving fucking vehicle and take it on faith that the driver will stop instead of running them over just doesn't sound like a whole hell of a lot of fun to me.

That, and the City of Chicago got all sorts of pissy last time I tried it².

So, for the well being of everyone around me, I did the responsible thing and started taking the CTA to work. This seemed like the logical, safe plan that kept me from running over various pedestrians and saved me a small fortune on gas. Which is true.

Until I realized that other people ride the CTA blue line.

Generally, I am alright with other people, provided I don't have to look at them, talk to them, be near them or share anything with them. So you can see how the blue line is problematic. Then I realized³ that I have a blog that I haven't updated lately, and what a perfect platform to solve this problem.

Following is my 8 point plan to ensure that we can all continue to ride the CTA happily⁴:

1. I have called numerous stores around the city and suburbs of this great City of Chicago. There is not actually a shortage of soap, deodorant or toothpaste. This should be good news, as there are numerous passengers on the CTA who have not yet heard the news. The best part about soap is when used on a regular basis, you don't stink to high hell causing the cute brunette blogger beside you to hide her nose in her sleeve. For the record? Those were not tears of joy you saw. My eyes were watering because you stank like rotten garbage. The tears you saw after that were genuine, from the realization that my hair, clothes and purse all smelled like your particular brand of body odor and despite my best attempts I would not be able to go home for another nine hours to wash your stink off of me.

Soap is your friend. Toothpaste is your friend. Deodorant is your friend. For the love of fucking god, use them. All three. You are going to be wedged in a metal tube that speeds through an underground tunnel, and some of us don't feel like smelling like ass because you don't shower.

2. Don't ever touch me. This should really go without saying but sadly it does not. One happy Tuesday morning, I managed to haul my chunky ass onto the train a little bit early, and was all excited to start my day. Until I felt someone touch my hair. I have a lot of hair, and assumed that it was in someone's way. I moved my head and tried to tuck it into my coat, and again I felt a little tug. I turned around to find some scary old man smelling my hair. When I told⁵ him not to touch me he then proceeded to pet my hair.

Needless to say, I got off at the next stop.

This is an important rule in my plan. Don't touch people you don't know. I thought this was common sense.This is good for the safety of all passengers, because had that creepy old man touched me again, the train would've been delayed indefinately as he would've pulled back a bloody stump instead of a hand and I'd be explaining to the cops what happened.

3. Another train is coming. If the train you are trying to get on is so full that you have to propel yourself through the doors with a running start, and then suck in your stomach so the doors have room to close, it's probably best you wait for the next train. It's coming. I promise. When the conductor says "There is a train immediately following this one", generally it means "there is another train immediately following this one"⁶. You can wait for that one. Chances are you are not so important that you absolutetly-postiively-are-going-to-die if you have to wait for two minutes. If you're running late? Those two minutes won't likely matter. Welcome to Chicago.

4. If there is an elderly passenger, a woman with 3 kids and groceries, or someone in five inch heels⁷ and you are using an empty seat as a place to put your shopping bags, back pack or feet, the other passengers should be allowed to kick you until they reach their destination or you reach yours. This also goes for men who feel the need to sit down and spread their legs wider than someone who is giving birth. You're taking up two seats, this is not a pornography shoot and no one wants to see that. Furthermore, there is no way that you are so...well endowed...that you need to give Little Elvis and his back up singers that much room. I call bullshit.

5. Turn down the volume on your iPod. There is one person on earth whos taste in music I give a shit about other than my own, and he doesn't live in Chicago. Your taste in music sucks. No one wants to hear it. Turn that shit down. If you can't hear it if you turn it down , that is because by blasting that shit that you call music at decibels that rival that of a runway at O'Hare has permanently damaged your hearing. Good job, Corky.

6. The train is loud. But it is not so loud that you need to scream to your boyfriend while he's sitting right beside you. If everyone on the train gets up and moves the minute you open your mouth, you've either violated the first point of this plan, or you're obnoxious. Usually, its some combination of the two. Use your inside voice.

7. If you are a bigger person, more power to you. I love you, and Santa is my GUY⁸, but for the love of Christ stop sitting on me. Don't get me wrong, I will gladly scoot over and give you some of my seat. I am a giver like that. But lets face it. My ass isn't small, and I only have so much to give. If you can't work with the seat and a half, please get off of my lap, I can't breathe.

8. If you are getting ready to swipe your CTA pass and it is not in your hand, get the fuck out of line.There are 45 people behind you listening to that pleasant announcer claim that there is a Blue Line Train headed toward the Loop arriving shortly, and you're clogging up the works by digging through the years of recipts, results from STD tests and only God knows what else in that monstrosity you call a purse. Step out of line, let the rest of us get to the fucking train already. If we miss it, we all know another one is coming, but some of us want to get going so we can settle in and try to find a spot away from the more...fragrant...members of this community.

As you can see, I am not an unreasonable person. With just 8 easy steps, I can make the CTA a better place for everyone, instead of debarking every day with a new found respect for soap and the laws that require you to wait before purchasing a fire arm.

notes

¹Perhaps if it wasn't so fucking trendy I'd have a different assessment. Until then, I offer the following agreement: you stop blathering about it, and I'll stop wishing that your Prius would randomly burst into flames.

²You drive on one sidewalk, and all the sudden you're worse than Osama Bin Laden.

³Read: felt guilty

⁴Lest I have to choke a bitch.

⁵Fine. It was more of a high pitched shriek.

⁶I know this beacuse I have yet to see anyone starve to death waiting for the el.

⁷Which are ridiculous to wear in the city but look fabulous thank-you-very-much.

⁸Techincally anyone who gives me presents that doesn't expect me to sleep with them later works for me, but let's not split hairs.

2009-10-02T17:52:00.002-05:00

My last day of work was on Wednesday.

Thursday morning I got a call offering me a job, and more than twice what I was making. I was unemployed a grand total of 2 hours.

Those two hours sucked though.

However, it is a 3 month contract to hire, so I really have to keep my nose clean until they make me a permanent offer. As Brian so kindly put it, it's kind of like Kindergarten. As long as I don't eat the glue I should be good.

I should be ridiculously happy, and I am. I'll be out of debt by February or so. However, money isn't the only thing in the world.

I find myself in the same bullshit situation. Life is going pretty fabulously right now, and then the one person I always fall for comes back around. I try not to let him get to me, but for some reason I'm incapable of doing so. It just seems like no matter what I do he's always got me wrapped around his little fucking finger.

One of these days I'm going to bite that finger completely off.

Anyway, I feel like a kid in a candy store. Once the debt is all paid off, I'm going shopping. Buying a bunch of things at Victoria's Secret, a PS3, a new car, a gym membership, a new couch, and about $9,000 worth of shoes.

I'm stoked.

Keep your fingers crossed that I don't accidentally eat the glue.

2009-09-08T10:24:00.004-05:00

If you are in or around the Chicago-land area today, you have probably heard about Oprah shutting down the Magnificent Mile just to show the world that she is in fact more powerful than Jesus.

I'm glad I don't work downtown at the moment, because I'm sure it's a hot mess. However, I just landed a 3rd interview at a place that is actually located at One Magnificent Mile. If I worked there today, Oprah and I would not be getting along.

Also, I just scored having the 50 Mistakes published in a US magazine. When I know more details, I'll share them. The good (and bad) news is that it's a new publication. I'm currently writing up some samples so they might let me write for them on an ongoing basis. Which just seems like a lot of fun. Sex in the City but with better shoes and less herpes kind of thing.

It's because of this that I had someone ask me how I would know if I've really made it with this writing thing that I've been muddling my way through.

Because she has chosen today to show what extensive power she holds over everyone on Earth, Oprah has been doing interviews on every damn radio station in the city. I caught the tail end of one interview where she stated that she would do a shot of tequila- lime no salt- because that's how you know it's a party.

Holy shit, Oprah takes her tequila the same way I do.

That's when it hit me. That's when I figured out my litmus test for success, if you will. Screw being published. Screw TV.

When I can look you in the eye and say "I've done tequila shots with Oprah", that's when I'll know I've achieved my dreams. Why? Because it's damn near impossible to even meet her. You have to be successful to get on her show, and even then she's highly selective on who she hangs out with. If I ever find myself in a position to do tequila shots with someone powerful and filthy fucking rich enough to shut down the Magnificent Mile at her whim?

I think that would be a pretty good indication.

Plus, it just sounds like something I'd do.

2009-08-28T09:02:00.007-05:00

The thing with job interviews is that you never know exactly what you're going to get. Kind of like a blind date. Despite what you've heard, there is always a very real possibility that your prince charming is going to wind up being some middle aged balding guy with his chest hair poking out of the top of his shirt and a habit of calling women "Toots".

When your date turns out to be, say, a tall dark and handsome lawyer who wears Armani, it's a pleasant surprise.

I went on a job interview yesterday, that I honestly didn't have high hopes for. The job ad gives you the same bullshit: flex time, loft space, creative environment, etc.

So I assumed that I was walking into what would more likely than not be my own personal hell.

Turns out, the hiring manager is a great guy. The team I'd be working with consists of this awesome chick, a guy who reminds me of Jack from Will and Grace, and a really good looking Tool fan. I mean really good looking.

I sat down for the second phase of my interview, and the first thing one of the team members did was make a dick joke. I was floored. Someone just made a big penis joke during my interview.

I belong here.

That facet of the interview went well, and then it was time to meet the CEO. Everyone I had met up until then had been pretty awesome, and by all accounts he's a pretty decent guy too. He sits down, wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt and leans back in the chair.

He kind of locked his fingers behind his head and said "I have one question for you".

Ok, hit me.

Folks, I am not making this up.

"If you had a gigabyte of data, and every character was one byte, how many stories tall would it be if you printed it out?"

To which my response was "...What?"

So, I did what I could. I told him theoretically the math you'd use to figure it out. He then stretched his arms out over his head a little bit and said "Ok, do it."

"....do what?"
"Figure it out."
"...here?"
"Yes."
"But I kind of lack the resources I'd need to ans..."
"Use what you know from your everyday life. Ball park it."
"...can I phone a friend?"

Apparently, no, I could not phone a friend.

After about 20 minutes of making my hiring manager do the basic math for me while I tried explaining the numbers I had and how I came up with them (I finally wore him down into settling on a font size and other such things), I finally came to the answer of about 18 stories high.

No one said a word.

Of course, this is my hell. I've had nightmares about this. Of course they aren't saying anything. They're wondering how I've made it this long in my life without being able to do basic math. (Random aside: I'm sorry to Dr. Fenwick. I was wrong when I told you I'd never have to use this shit.)

The CEO finally looks at me and laughs, and said "No one ever gets that right. Good job." He then shook my hand and walked out.

I looked at the hiring manager, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

I finally said, 'So what's the answer to that question?"

"Between 18-20 stories. Good job."

I was actually fucking right. What is up NOW, bitches?!

I couldn't do it again if you paid me.

2009-08-20T10:01:00.002-05:00

There is some good news!

In October, I will be officially unemployed.

I know, you're probably thinking "How is that good news?", let me tell you.

It gives me ample time to either find a job suitable to my ridiculously random skill set, or gives me ample time to sit at my parents house and write my book. Either way it seems like my life will be a hell of a lot less stressful, once you take my current financial clusterfuck out of the equation.

I think a lot of my friends are waiting for me to absolutely snap. I got bent over by a credit card company, and rightfully so. Turns out, when you're not paid on time, and then not paid the full amount, after a few months you fall out of favor with your creditors.

Who'd have thunk, right?

I do have an interview today, to do something that I'm really goddamn good at. It's one of those things that when I started doing it 10 years ago, I was doing it for fun. I kept it up, and suddenly 2 years ago it's the New Hot Job. Of course, I didn't realize this as I was busy sitting back thinking "People will pay me for this? Seriously? And I get to keep my shirt on the entire time?"

A little part of me hopes they offer me the job today, so I can walk back into my office, take my pictures off my desk, toss them the keys and tell them to mail me my next check.

So yea, another turd in the sea of shit that has become my life.

However, I have faith it'll get better.

If not, I suppose I can always take up stripping.

2009-08-16T10:22:00.003-05:00

What a lazy Sunday.

I have a lot of work to do for my job, and a lot of work to do for an upcoming interview I have. I'm really excited, because I would love to have this job. LOVE.

But I'm trying to not get my hopes up.

Anyway, I was going through my usual reads and I found the saddest blog post from my buddy thesuit.
Turns out, while he was rocking out to Incubus, his condo was burning. Makes me want to cry for him, because all the sudden I have all these feelings I don't know what to do with. (Must be a PMS thing). Anyway, keep him in your prayers. He's special to me, and I can only hope some attractive rich woman sees what happened and decides she wants him as a pool boy.

Hey, weirder things have happened.

2009-08-12T22:17:00.002-05:00

Obligatory birthday post!

I'm not sure if it's the martinis I had with my heterolifemate, or the chocolate cake I got from a coworker, but holy crap I'm in a great mood considering I'm now old.

I always hoped things would be a little different by now. It's kind of sad being twenty seven and still struggling to make bills, but I figure it's just a matter of time until things turn around. If not, there's always alcoholism.

Anyway, I wanted to thank everyone for all the good wishes in my email, on facebook and on twitter. You guys are amazing and I love most of you. :)

Time to pass out in a puddle of diet coke and leftover cake.

Tomorrow is going to suck. I'm too old for this!

2009-08-05T08:47:00.003-05:00

Life has kind of sucked balls lately. I've been doing some reevaluating, and I've decided this is not exactly how I expected my life to turn out. Working at a job that doesn't pay me enough when they do manage to pay me (15 days late last month!). A few less publishing credits than I'd like. A few more gray hairs than I'd like. A few less significant others than I'd like.

The significant other thing is more my own fault than anything. On the "nurturing and caring" scale, I rank somewhere between Hitler and animals that eat their own young. I doubt that will change anytime soon, so it takes a special kind of guy.

All of that is actually, now that I write it down, not that big of a deal. It's all shit that I am totally capable of changing. Which is why I work my ass off. Because I believe it won't always be this bad. I also believe that the Geico caveman is the worst advertising idea in the history of the world, but they continue to be on TV, so it's pretty obvious that I've been wrong before.

My birthday is coming up in exactly 7 days. I'm turning 27! Whee. The plan is the same I have for every year: go out with a few friends and anyone else who they decide to bring (I honest to God do not care who shows up as long as they aren't one of three people I will punch in the face on sight and aren't assholes). We will most likely go out for dinner somewhere (again, doesn't matter where, my favorite restaurant is in Iowa, and it takes a real bitch to make everyone drive to Iowa for your birthday).

Then we will go to the city*, where I will get so drunk one of two things will happen. I will either get drunk enough to think I am the hottest woman in the entire room...nay the entire city, or I will drink until I stop feeling feelings.

Either way, the night ends with my friends dumping my drunk ass off at my place and me waking up with no clue how I got there, or why I have a hickey there. The only thing that could make it better would be a concert where I got to punch someone in the face again.

*I was going to announce the name of the club, but for some personal safety reasons I decided against it. Read: Stalkers ruin the fun for everyone, good job.
However, if you want to know where we're going and want to stop in or tag a long, ping me at TweekerchickQC on AIM or on Gmail, and if you're not stalking me, I'll probably fill you in on the details. If not, that's a big hint that you're the asshole I'm talking about.

Anyway, fun link for Fun!
I give to you: Goths in Hot Weather.
It's exactly what it sounds like. People dressed like Goths in hot weather. Why it's amusing as it is, I can't tell you. But it is.

2009-07-24T13:28:00.004-05:00

Since I lost Internet, I had not been keeping up with my promise to post some of my random linkage.

My bad.

Here, check out Post Cards From Yo Momma.

For all of us who miss our Moms, it's a collection of conversations other people have had with theirs.

One of my favorites:
Me: I don’t know what to get my husband for his birthday
Mom: Well, I don’t know if the standards are higher in New York, but in Oakridge, a 6-pack and a blowjob would do. That’s all men around here want.

2009-07-22T12:07:00.002-05:00

Ugh. I haven't had a lot to blog about lately so I just haven't. Oh, and the not being paid on time ever resulting in my internet being cut off definitely put a crimp in things for awhile.

Then work sucked the life out of me for awhile. Nothing quite like almost being laid off, responding with "no, I don't think so", and managing to in the span of 24 hours become "a valuable part of the company".

I deserve a plaque for that. Apparently, it takes a serious set of brass testicles to look at someone who just told you that they didn't want to employ you anymore and say "No."

Extra points because they then asked if I would work part time. Again, I said "No, I don't think so."

Apparently, when other people get laid off, they actually do things like...leave.

The entire situation is giving me gray hair and it's making me more a bitchy, miserable person than I was before. Nothing says "Happy Tuesday" like going home, drinking three glasses of wine and sobbing hysterically to my poor, sweet ex boyfriend who made the mistake of calling me in the middle of it.

I say that's what he gets for calling me anyway. But he gets points, he did make me feel loads better.

In case you're wondering? Having to worry if today is the day they're going to lay you off sucks big huge donkey balls.

So does the fact that I am the only person on earth who can wind up with a streaky tan using gradual tanning lotion. I didn't think it was possible, but it is. Part of my leg is so white its blinding, and the 'gradual tan' the rest of me has sets it off beautifully.

Anyway, I have Internet at home now, so I'm back!

I know, I missed me too.

2009-07-02T08:43:00.002-05:00

Just popping in to wish everyone a happy 4th of July.

I'm going to be in Indiana with my fat Pomeranian, so I hope you all have a fun, safe holiday.

Don't blow off any of your fingers.

And check out Passive Aggressive Notes. It's one of my new favorite sites and it's hilarious.

2009-07-01T08:39:00.002-05:00

I used to think that I had the worst luck with dating.

Actually, I still think that. Put 49 well adjusted highly successful men in one room with one highly successful working addict with mental problems, and 99% of the time I'll automatically pick the addict as the hottest in the room. It's my gift, I find dysfunctional men. This also makes me a brilliant recruiter because I can just tell but I digress.

My friend Rachel Chang? Totally beats me.

Everyone has dated someone older before. It's one of those things that make us all human, and tie us all together. That and pornography. Generally, you realize that dating a forty-year old when you're twenty just isn't going to work and you part ways. (There are notable exceptions, shut your hole).

Unless you're Rachel Chang.

If you're Rachel, you go about your daily life, buy a house, and meet your neighbors, only to discover that your new next door neighbor is the forty-year old you probably shouldn't have dated in the first place.

So what does she do? Calls me for support. You'd assume she'd know better by now.

Since I couldn't give her any advice through the hysterical laughter last night, I'll do it here.

There are two obvious ways to deal with this.

You either have to set fire to his house, or move.

Good luck.

Anyway, here's my link for the day, from the Foggy Monocle. I ADORE that website, but this is my favorite entry ever.

Poke around the rest of the site, it's great.

2009-06-30T08:40:00.001-05:00

A friend of mine suggested I go through my long random list of links, and post a new one every day to keep him entertained.

Every day.

That's a lot of, well, effort. But I can't say no to a cute guy so here we go, at least until I forget.

First up, John Daly Motivational Posters.

2009-06-29T08:39:00.002-05:00

It has been a craptacular week in terms of people dying.

My ex boyfriend felt the need to IM me to let me know that Billie Mays died.

Dude. It's always someone.

This sucks.

I've never been one of those people who cries when celebrities that I've never met kick the bucket. But for some reason it tears my heartstrings just a little bit when people who you can tell were super nice guys bite it early.

If they keep dying off like this, we're going to be left with people like Tila Tequila or whatever the fuck her name was and the cast of Flava Of Love. Do you really want that? I think not.

Anyway, time to send off some queries. Wish me luck!

2009-06-28T14:47:00.002-05:00

I'm learning the hard way that it's not always easy to be friends with your exes.

I'm that idiot who always dates people that I've established really great friendships with prior to us fucking it up by dating, so when things inevitably go bad, it's never a clean break. Ever.

Generally, I've done a pretty decent job of staying friends with my exes.

But theres always that few that you still have some passion with, and no matter what you do the same fights keep creeping out of the wood work.

Part of me wants to remain friends, to try to get back what we had.

The other part of me isn't functionally retarded and knows that it's impossible and the problems we had as a couple aren't just going to disappear. I wish they would, though.

The same arguments start getting old. I'm still a bitch who isn't pretty enough for him, and he's still a worthless sack of shit with no redeeming qualities that can't satisfy me in bed.

It's the same old shit over and over again, and it's kind of sad.

Maybe I should adopt the same idea my friend did: I have enough friends, there's the door.

Boo for being a fucking softie.

2009-06-27T13:02:00.003-05:00

I am in what seems like a never ending fight with AT&T.

I will lose that fight. It's because of this that I'm typing this blog from the lovely Bensenville Public Library, which has apparently never heard of a chair with any type of padding. Jesus H Christ, sitting in the parking lot would be more comfortable but I digress.

Unlike most of the assholes in the planet who like to call themselves writers, I hate writing in public. There is nothing that screams "Untalented, pretentious asshole" more than lugging your laptop into a public place and setting up shop on the hope that one, just one person, will stop and ask what you are doing so you have the chance to say "I'm a writer".

Actually, no you aren't, you're a pretentious dick, but again I digress.

Writing in public sucks for a few reasons. One, there is a guy snoring and it's throwing off my concentration. Two, I can't really rock out to music in the library (I won't wear headphones in public.) Three?

They insist I wear pants.

I can't write with pants on! Did Paris Hilton create her empire with pants on? Did Bill Clinton lead this country with pants on? Did Jenna Jameson become Jenna Jameson with her pants on?

I think not.

If they can't do their jobs with their pants on, how can I be expected to write with pants on?!

I can't work under these conditions, and I shouldn't have to.

I will be writing a letter to my Congressman.

2009-06-26T09:13:00.003-05:00

So, unless you've been living under a rock, you know that Michael Jackson died.

Kind of a bummer, I really enjoyed some of his music.

That being said, Farrah Fawcett died yesterday too, and if I were her, I'd be right pissed that the King Of Pop took some of my "Died before my time" thunder away.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think that either should be ignored. They were both icons.

But I made the mistake of watching the news and had to suffer through fifteen minutes of Michael Jackson's death. Look, it's his place in Gary, Indiana. Look, it's a bunch of people who don't have all their teeth standing outside of his place in Gary, Indiana. Look, it's someone no one has ever heard of talking about how much he liked Michael Jackson. Look, it's some drunk white guy stepping between the reporter and the camera in Gary, Indiana.

Farrah Fawcett was mentioned as almost an after thought, and on one network not at all. Well played, guys.

I dunno, the media circus surrounding celebrity deaths has always kind of bothered me. It's impossible to grieve for your loved one with a camera in your face. Standing a reporter outside a place where a famous person lived when they were seven isn't news. It's obnoxious.

Can we get back to real news, like President Obama killing a fly in a fit of murderous rage, already?

2009-06-24T12:19:00.002-05:00

Busy busy busy busy busy.

I've been so busy writing that I'm exhausted. I've been in meetings for Something-Awesome-That-I-Can't-Openly-Discuss-Yet, polishing up my proposal and query letter, waiting for a new contract and trying not to fall asleep at my "real" job which is sucking the life out of me.

I just want to wake up and write.

That's all. Perfect job for me.

All this other going to the office and getting yelled at sucks balls and I'm sick of it. Bah.

But good things are happening! Soon enough, I suppose.

Now, someone bring me some sesame chicken and a nap.

2009-06-22T09:15:00.000-05:00

Sorry sorry, I know I am a little late with this one.

My internet is shut off at home until the next time I get paid (God knows when that is), so I'm kind of stuck using the net at work only. It sucks balls, but I suppose it's a lot of uninterrupted writing time.

Anyway, I know I'm a day late, but Happy Father's Day to all the Daddys out there.

2009-06-18T09:34:00.002-05:00

Whee!

I'm super excited. I'm still in the middle of what I'm going to refer to as the Great Literary Agent Hunt of 2009, but there's some good news!

Turns out, a rocking author/speaker/TV/Whatever else she does person wants to use an excerpt of my stuff in her upcoming book! I'm pretty stoked. I don't want to give away too much information yet, but when I can I will.

It is nice to know that someone seems to think my writing is worth publishing, in any capacity. Especially someone who lives in Australia. It's one thing for people in your own circle to say you don't suck, but for someone I have no ties to, who lives on the other side of the world saying I don't suck? Well shit, I'll take it.

2009-06-12T19:33:00.003-05:00

You don't have to hang around here long to know that I've got some serious asthma, and some other weird ass lung issues that cause me to be somewhat miserable a good portion of the time.

I don't feel sorry for myself, it's just one of those things I deal with. I don't go places with smoke, I don't allow people to smoke in my car, but generally I'm not an asshole about it. It's not the rest of the world's problem that I have crappy lungs.

That being said, I'm still kind of an asshole. When I can't breathe it makes me crabby, which I'm used to. But god help everyone if I haven't had any sleep. I turn into a colossal bitch, and I have been known to make people cry. I'm not kidding. I made a politician tear up because I was tired, and god damn it he started it. I do not fuck around when I'm tired.

In my apartment complex, it's against the rules to have any sort of grill anywhere near the building. No one ever really listens, and that's fine. However, there is this particular Mexican family that lives in an adjacent building that likes to grill right under my windows.

The first time, I nicely asked them if they could move about six feet to the left. And when I say "nicely", I mean just that. I am always nice at first. I told them I wasn't trying to be a pain, and I explained my lung situation and how the smoke gets into my apartment and makes me very sick.

He tells me they are almost done. Fair enough.

It happens again. I ask them again, very nicely, if they could inch it over. Again I explain that I have very bad asthma, I am very allergic to the smoke and I will wind up in the emergency room.

Again he tells me that he's sorry, he forgot. Does not move an inch.

The other day, he's grilling again. I don't know if that's the only way he knows how to cook or what, but again right under my window.

And again I walk down there and ask nicely if they could move just six feet over from my window.

This time, he looks at me and promptly tells me to fuck myself.

Well OK then. I walked back upstairs, while he proceeded to grill under my window for four fucking hours. I don't know much about this kind of thing, but I'm pretty sure after four hours whatever the hell you were cooking is done. He could've stuck an entire cow on that thing and it would be done in less time.

And because of that, I was up all night doing breathing treatments and popping steroids so I could stop wheezing. Trying to prevent a trip to the Emergency Room.

This does not make me happy. Staying up all night strung out on steroids is only fun if you're a profesional baseball player.

As I was hauling my sick ass to work, I noticed. The grill was still there. Under my window. But Paco was nowhere to be found. He left it under my window. Insult to injury.

Now, I am not a vengeful person. I am one of those people who is nice until I'm just not anymore. And I did ask him nice three times. The forth time I do not ask and I am not nice. But I'd never do anything to anyone else's property that I'd admit on a public forum.

All I know is that the grill is now missing, and I can only assume that someone who was angry with the owner maybe left a note saying "Please Pick This Up" on it after dragging it over to the dumpster. But that's pure speculation as I'd never, ever do anything like that.

So I think my neighbor learned a few important life lessons that day.
1. You should pick up your things after you're done using them.
2. Being a good neighbor only makes your life easier.
3. Don't ever piss me off when I'm sick and tired. It only ends in tears.
4. Don't pick on people who wake up earlier than you do.
5. You should be careful who you tell to fuck off.

So, in response to his suggestion when I asked him the third time to please move, I feel the need to say the following:

Fuck me? Fuck me? Oh no, my little bean eating friend. Fuck you.

2009-06-11T21:50:00.004-05:00

Well shit!

I was having a bad day and being all crabby and bitchy, because it's what I do.

Some people paint, others sing, I bitch about random shit.

But Brian Smith, (Not Bryant!) ruined that. Because that's what he does, he's a ruiner. He ruined a perfectly good bad mood.

Nothing like sitting around and getting a text message of "I just saw your blog on TV".
Which generally means one of two things: The FBI is looking for me or...ok fine, it only means one thing.

Turns out Brian got me an early birthday present and got me Tweekerchick.com.
And, in a tribute to the greatest song ever made, he also got me Bigbootybitchwhothinkssheistheshit.com

Yea, he's hard to love sometimes.

Anyway, the show is pretty bad ass. This particular one is how to break out of police grade handcuffs. Not that I'd ever know anything about that or ever have any use for that particular skill stop looking at me that way.

If you want to skip to awesome check out the 7 minute mark, but I'm putting the entire thing because if you're reading my blog, chances are the info will come in handy.

By far one of the coolest things that's happened to me.

I've got some seriously awesome friends.

Thanks Brian, you're the best.

Now I have all this extra energy to write that book (FINE. Find and agent and write a book, rub it in), and hopefully get back to work at Tame The Bear!

While you're here, check out Blood Guts and Shiny Things. I've really been digging it lately.

2009-06-08T09:00:00.002-05:00

So I did it.

I busted my ass all weekend, and wrote sixty-seven pages of a proposal. It seems like a lot, but when you're writing a book with fifty chapters, it's really not.

Anyhooter, it was a long weekend. Went through 2 cases of diet coke, and I ran out of coffee early in to Saturday morning. The sad thing, is that it's still not done. However, now that I have the chapter outline out of the way, the rest is smooth sailing.

At least that's what I Thought.

Sixty-seven pages. Two pages longer than my senior thesis in college, done in about 48 hours (taking into account the amount of time I screwed around on the Internet instead of working).

I finished at 9:14 PM.

And I was thrilled.

Nothing sounds better than printing that bad boy, taking a purple pen to it, editing it and being done with it so I can find someone to buy my book.

I was wrong.

Sixty-two pages into the print job, things are fine.

Page Sixty-Fucking-Two comes along, and I run out of toner. No biggie, I always keep another on hand. Pop the new one in there, click resume...and nothing.

Cancel the job and start a new one for pages sixty-fucking-two to sixty-fucking-seven.

Nothing.

Wash rinse repeat.

I do this a few times and finally, FINALLY something prints.

It's pages sixty-fucking-two to sixty-fucking-seven!

Well, sort of. Now it's only printing roughly every other line.

My eye has been twitching since. Any ideas?

2009-06-07T08:47:00.002-05:00

I'm going to finish my book proposal today, come hell or high water.

The part that's taking forever is the chapter outlines...there are fifty chapters! Yes, I know, I've done it to myself.

I have finally put my finger on what's taken me so long.

Meeblings.

They have ruined any chance I had of productivity for awhile. Cute little addicting things that go "Meep!"

Don't say I didn't warn you.

2009-06-06T13:51:00.003-05:00

I've been spending more and more of my time on Twitter , and because of that I've been lucky enough to chat with more than a few literary agents, publishers, editors and what have you.

And they have subsequently scared the bejeezus out of me.

Jesus Christ on a Crutch, they can be terribly scary people (Unless they are planning on representing, publishing, etc. me, in which case, total kittens. All of them.)

If you've ever met me, you'd know that I've got a set of brass plated balls the size of Miami, and it takes a special kind of person to give me pause. They've managed to do it.

Their blogs and tweets are intimidating to say the least, especially if you're a newer writer. It's always a new blog post on what some other writer did terribly wrong, as a lesson to the rest of us. I suppose they aren't paid to be sunshine and butterflies, and I'm sure a good majority of their day is filled with sifting through misspelled bullshit. At the same time, for a writer who is wet behind the ears, they can be the most terrifying people on earth.

Common sense says if you have a good idea/manuscript/proposal/set of boobs you should have no problem presenting it to an agent. Common sense also says I should stop wearing five inch heels three weeks after I broke three of my toes, but you don't see me doing that either.

My proposal is an adaptation of a piece I wrote that was published internationally, has had over a million readers on my dinky little blog alone, and has a following on Facebook that's 40,000 strong. (Forty-thousand people! Humbling, really.) I know that my book will be faboosh, and even better, marketable.

Knowing that doesn't make it any less intimidating sending it off to industry professionals to tear apart though.

The truth is, writing a proposal for other people to tear apart is scary. Writing a book is entirely more personal than I had ever anticipated, and at some level, it's really difficult to separate myself from the manuscript. It becomes an extension of yourself, and the idea of putting that out there so other people can judge it makes me incredibly nervous. However it's par the course, and I'm alright with that. I'd be concerned if it didn't scare me. Good things can be scary. Good things that can get you out of a shitty job and into a position where you can do something you love every day can be worse.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a proposal to finish and a Zanax to take.

2009-06-06T09:52:00.003-05:00

I don't know if anyone caught the newest Burn Notice, but holy shit was it fab.

I never wanted my blog to be one of those sites where people come and talk about TV in such a serious way that it sucks all the fun out of it, so I'll keep it for what it is as a whole: Mindless entertainment that will only make my ass bigger.

That being said, the season premiere was so fucking good I felt like I needed a cigarette afterwards. Michael Westin is our generation's MacGyver but with way better hair and Armani suits, and for anyone who likes good looking men, you can't beat him in a prison jumpsuit working out. Just saying.

Plus, it's got Bruce Campbell. How can you go wrong?

Let me tell you. Fiona.

I love the character. She's bad assery, and I would not fuck with a person who would throw a block of C4 at someones head, regardless of it's stability.

However, can we get her to eat something? Please?
She is getting so thin that it's almost distracting to the story lines.

The show is in it's third season, she can afford a burger by now, Jesus H Christ. She's a great character and it would really throw a wrench in the works if she starved to death.

2009-06-05T08:41:00.003-05:00

I am not having a good morning.

Which is really nothing new or exciting on a work day, but I digress.

I was doing my hair this morning, because I got it cut in a way that dictates I have to blow dry it every fucking day. Not my best call, but it's uber cute.

Long with chunky layers and side swept bangs. Very Ashlee Simpson when her hair was good. But again, not my point.

I know I live a high stress life, mostly because I'm just like my mother and if there's something on the planet to worry about, I'll find it and freak out about it. When you get us together, it's like a race to see who can give themselves a bleeding ulcer first.

This morning while I was busy making my bangs all side swept, and worrying whether or not I'd ever get a new contract, sell my book proposal, finish the book proposal, find someone who will tolerate me, get married, and find the perfect shoes something in the mirror caught my eye.

I have a grey fucking hair.

Well, I had a grey fucking hair, as my initial reaction was to scream "What the fuck?!" and pluck it out so fast I almost went back in time.

I am not happy. I'm turning 27 in August, and I don't feel that old. Not even close. But apparently the wrinkle on my forehead (That no one can notice but me but as soon as I get on my feet I fully plan on Botox-ing the shit out of), and my hair think otherwise.

I will not age gracefully and you can't make me.

Suck on that.

2009-06-04T08:40:00.002-05:00

I've been cranking away at the book proposal, if only so I can get the hell out of my job. Why, you ask, do I hate my job so much? (Maybe you didn't ask. But I'm the only blogger around here, so pipe down). Because it's sales.

I suck balls at sales. The next person who tells me that they can teach me to be good at sales is going to spend the rest of the workday sewing up the new orifice I will tear them. There seems to be some misunderstanding. It's not that I hate sales because I'm bad at it. I'm bad at it because I hate it. I don't want to be good at it.

So, dear Literary Agents, Publishers, Etc:

Please save me from this hell.

Kisses,
Clare

Until then, I've been tinkering around the Internet, and I found some awesomely hilarious links that I will share with you here so it appears that I've actually written something of substance, which, if you've read this far you can tell that I certainly have not.

The first one is just what the title says. Goths in Hot Weather.

For my readers that are as mean as I am, here are the 10 most inappropriate Helen Keller things online. I can't believe you'd laugh at those. What the hell is wrong with you?

I've finally found myself a nice, good man in Chicago I'd be willing to date.

I'm super stoked about Drag Me To Hell, because I dig horror movies, and I love Sam Raimi even more. So here are his 5 Most Disturbing Moments. Sadly, Emo Spideman seems to have been left off of the list.

And finally, to make your work life a little more colorful, let's let the CIA take us on a little trip.

2009-06-03T08:25:00.002-05:00

I was laying in bed last night when I realized that there's something I really hate that seems to have escaped my post from last night. How I missed this, what with recent media events, I'll never know but I'm fixing it now.

Whether it's the fact that she is a huge famewhoring cunt, or the fact that she pimps out her children, marriage and family for media attention, or just her stupid face, I can't tell you, but Kate Gosselin deserves a nod on my things that piss me off.

I'm pretty sure it's mostly the blatant exploitation of her children for a quick buck that pisses me off, considering that if Octo-Mom has taught us anything it's that it's alright to be devoid of all talent, style and redeeming qualities as long as you are fertile enough to have more than six kids in one sitting. I suppose sponging off of your offspring and ruining any chance of them growing up as normal well adjusted human beings is a hell of a lot easier than a nine to five, but the rest of us don't have to be happy about it. I can't wait until they turn into teenagers, band together and revolt agaisnt her using a high priced lawyer and divorce her stupid ass just like her husband should. Oh snap, I went there.

So Kate, if you ever happen to read this: You're a bitch and no one likes you. And by the way, your hair looks stupid.

2009-06-02T17:50:00.003-05:00

Ive had a hard time finding things to write about because I've been so wrapped up in my book proposal. However, my friend over at Insatiable Blathering inspired me to start writing today with her list of things that piss her off.

So here is my list.

Shortened considerably. After all the Internet is only so big.

1. My Boss pulling me into his office for a lecture when I'm obviously on my way to the bathroom.

There are two things in the office when you walk down that hall. The door to leave, and the bathroom. Do I have my purse, sunglasses and car keys? No? Then I'm going to the goddamn bathroom, leave me alone. If you pull me into your office again when I'm going to the bathroom, I will pee in your office. Do not test me.

2. Not getting paid on time.

Believe it or not, convincing Com Ed not to turn off my power, Dish not to turn off my TV, and ATT not to axe my Internet is not my idea of fun.

3. The Black Eyed Peas.

Really? Boom Boom Pow? It sounds like names a frat boy would give his genitalia.

4.Heidi Montag

I don't know what it is about her. Maybe it's that she's not that cute and is still hotter than me. Maybe it's her douche baggy boyfriend. Maybe it's that she just wimped out of a reality show, when the proceeds go to charity, because it was too hard and she's a sniveling bitch who has never had to work for anything in her life.

Regardless of the reason, this picture of her makes me laugh my fucking ass off every time. Thanks to Matt-T over at Stealing Happy Hours for letting me steal the picture.

5. Not having dental insurance.

Twenty six years, totally covered. The minute I work at a place without dental? I chip a tooth. In front. Thanks God, I needed that.

6. Cops who ask me if I know why they pulled me over.

Here's the thing. There are measures in place to prevent people from incriminating themselves in a court of law. However, get me on the side of the road with a police officer, and suddenly every criminal activity I've ever engaged in comes flying out of my cake hole. After I run the list of legitimate reasons he probably pulled me over (ie: I was speeding, I didn't use my turn signal, I crossed 4 lanes of traffic, and I didn't yield back there) nine times out of fucking ten it's something I have no idea is even wrong. Like the fact that my tail light is out. Again.

By that point, it's too late to change your answer. Trust me, I've tried.

7. Family Guy jumping the shark.

I definitely preferred Family Guy over American Dad, but I was wrong. Family Guy seems to have turned into a half an hour game of "Let's see if we can beat Stewie being queer into the ground and then make horribly offensive jokes just for the sake of seeing if we can get away with it. Fuck being funny!" The notable exception being the most recent episode, and the only reason that gets a pass is because if you want to get technical about it, Stephen King was the genius behind the entire episode.

American Dad has been passed the torch, which makes me wrong and I hate being wrong.

8. Being told "You don't understand what I'm saying" when I disagree with someone.

Here's the thing. I'm not stupid. I understand what you're saying. I comprehend it. I just think you're wrong. And how much of a dickhead are you to imply that if I think you're wrong I'm obviously too stupid to get what you're saying?

Here's the answer: A huge dickhead. Huge.

Wow. I feel a ton better now. Time to write more of the proposal so I can quit my shitty job and spend my life entertaining the masses!

2009-05-29T20:32:00.002-05:00

I have been at my parent's place for the past week or so (save a quick trek to FL), and thus far it's been pretty uneventful.

My Dad has been in Southern Illinois working, so most of the week it's just me and my Mom, in the country outside of Indianapolis.

All we have for protection is a 7 pound Pomeranian (fine. 9 pounds, but she's got a thyroid issue), and a Shih Tzu that is afraid of everything, including but not limited to loud noises, the remote control, when people snap their gum, and squeaky toys.

What could possibly go wrong?

So last night when I woke up at 3 in the morning by my mom saying "I need your help", I naturally assumed that something was very wrong. I rolled out of bed, and realized a few things in very short order, the first of which was that the gun cabinet was all the way across the house.

The second being that I don't have the key.

Far be it for me to leave my mother in whatever situation was currently unfolding, I grabbed the knife I keep in my purse and snuck down the hallway to the outside door.
And yes, I keep a knife in my purse stop looking at me like that.

Just outside the door stood my mother, staring at one side of the fence, wielding a flashlight.

On the other side of the fence stood my 7 pound (Fine. 9. But she's fluffy.) Pomeranian, and my Emo Shih Tzu, cornering what is the biggest goddamn possum I've ever seen.

There's not much I know about possums. I know enough to know that they are nocturnal, this one was bigger than my 7 pound (Fine, 9. But she's sensitive about it) dog, and this one was pissed the fuck off. And my dog was not about to let this go. Which our purposes was not a really good thing because I have a general rule about being within about twelve feet of any wild animal that's snapping its teeth and hissing. Call me crazy.

Turns out my dog's comfort zone to angry potentially rabid nocturnal marsupials is about eleven feet and six inches closer than mine is.

A half an hour of her barking at this thing while it hisses and snaps passes. I bribed her with squeaky toys, a ride in the car (which worked on the other dog, which I will now refer to as "my favorite"), a promise that her favorite person was here, and even that it was time to eat.

Nothing.

There stood my 7 pound (9. But really, she's got a glandular issue) Pomeranian, saving the house from the Evil Possum Of Doom at 3 in the morning.

Finally, I got out the bag of treats. Shook it a little bit, and true to form she came barrelling at me as fast as her little chicken legs would carry her. I scooped her up and carried her inside, where she spent the rest of the night staring at me like "How dare you use my weakness against me". Turns out that inside that little 7 pound (Fine. 9. She's fat, ok?!) body, is a fat kid. Thank god for that, or I'd still be out in the back lawn trying to convince my retarded dog to come inside.

So that's been my vacation thus far. Instead of writing my book proposal, I've been dealing with an overweight dog and a rabid possum.

I should've gone to Vegas.

2009-05-20T08:42:00.002-05:00

I got my ass kicked.

For any of you that have met me, you probably have been waiting for this day for a long time. You're all good friends.

I went to the Music As A Weapon tour, and rocked out to Killswitch Engage, Lacuna Coil and Disturbed. I am a huge metal freak, and I am an even bigger live music fan. To me a good heavy metal show is the closest thing you can get to talking to God. With pants on, anyway.

It was bad ass all around, but things got a little wild and I left with three broken toes, a hairline fracture of one of the small obnoxious bones in my hand, and a black eye. I honestly don't know where the shiner came from, you would really think I'd remember getting socked in the eye, but I digress.

My toes are all taped and I am walking with a limp, my fingers are taped and wrapped, and I have a black eye, so right now I just ooze sex. I know, you're probably touching yourself right now. Stop it, you'll go blind.

I was at the gas station the other day, bruised, limping and gimpy, and this guy kept staring at me. First he looked at my foot, then my hand, then finally my eye. He did this three or four times, really taking it in.

He looked a little harder at my hand, and squinted a little and looked at my eye again.

Finally he walks up to me, takes it all in one more time, pauses, and says...

"...So you're married?"

Not going to lie, it took me a second, but holy shit if I didn't fall over laughing.
Kudos to you random gas station guy, you made my day.

2009-05-14T22:51:00.004-05:00

Yes, I know. I'm a shitty blogger.

However, I've been busy! Yet another writing gig fell through (sensing a theme here?) so I decided fuck it, I'm going to write a book.

Yea, I know. But in my defense, I chose the one thing I wrote that's a clear winner to start with. That's all I can say at this point.

Because my only marketable quality is writing, it's either this or be stuck in a job I hate that underpays me like whoa. (Sometimes I think I'd take a job at McDonalds over this, if they would match my 401k, and I was allowed to be hired back. I'm not. Long story for a different time.) They say living off of Ramen builds character, I say I have enough character, I'd much prefer cable.

However: Finding a lit agent sucks balls. Finding a publisher sucks balls. Etc. You'd think it'd be easier, considering I found out there's a group on facebook about the 50 mistakes that has, I shit you not, 36,000 people in it (That is not a typo), and there was that whole being published in popular magazines thing. But who's counting?

I guess if it was easy, everyone would do it.

I've gone through so many websites even trying to make a shortlist of agents that I kind of want to die. Chances are, they will all tell me to fuck myself. But I have no doubt at some point, I'll find the perfect one. Who will look at my proposal and realize that I'm the shit.

And before anyone tells me that writing doesn't pay, I say fuck you. It pays for some people, the key is being one of them. Somehow, when I start thinking of my day job as just a temporary thing until this book thing pans out, it doesn't seem as bad.

I know I say this a lot, but I will try to update more! Pinkie swear.

2009-04-05T16:17:00.002-05:00

Holy crap it's been awhile! I've been crazy busy over at Tame the Bear.

Not much has changed in my life really. Got laid off, only to be rehired, then laid off again. Shortly after that I spent quite a bit of time explaining to men in black suits that I was only kidding when I told that particular employer if they didn't knock it the fuck off I was going to go on a shooting rampage. Everyone knows I'm far too lazy for a shooting rampage.

Instead I was kicking around new career paths. So far I've not had much luck, but I hear with this economy that is typical.

Stripping seemed like a good plan, I mean good cash money every night? Then I realized that it required actually taking off my clothing in public. I barely get naked in the shower, and barring that no one is going to pay to see my pasty ass naked. So much for that idea.

I tried to take my diploma back to my college. I figure, I don't use the thing anyway and if I return it maybe they'll give me back some of my $100,000. And I was wrong. And no longer allowed on the premises.

I found a job that would be perfect for me. Apparently, some people will pay you thousands to look pretty and show up at parties. Unfortunately, this only applies if you're Paris Hilton. In my case, turns out the only way anyone is going to pay me to show up at a party is because I'm part of the waitstaff.

In my next life, screw this. I'm going to make sure my talents are marketable ones.

Hope you guys are all doing well and the recession hasn't kicked your asses as much as it's kicked mine. Remember, it's only temporary and things will get better. And if they don't? There's always that shooting rampage I mentioned before.

2009-02-22T19:04:00.002-06:00

I know I've not been updating a lot. I suck ass sometimes.

Got laid off from my favorite job and that sucks major balls.

But I DID just sign on to start writing somewhere else.

Obviously, I'll still be posting here (if I ever remember, shit), but you can also get TweekerChick goodness over at www.tamethebear.tv

Bookmark it.

2009-02-11T09:20:00.000-06:00

I'm excited today!

Instead of going to the office, I get to go downtown.

It's strange. I am going to spend the day working, and working sucks, but sometimes the change of scenery is great.

Afterwards, I am going to wander around the city for awhile.

If anyone sees me wandering the city after midnight, I'm lost, hail me a cab home.

Yay!

2009-02-01T10:35:00.002-06:00

I just spent a good part of my morning watching a show called "Secret Lives Of The Mega Rich" on VH1. Now, I'd be lying if I said I didn't like my fair share of trashy television, but I'm starting to think I should shift my trashy television viewing habits away from watching things about supremely wealthy people.

Why, you ask? (Or maybe not, but like I've said before, I don't see any other bloggers around here so pipe down).

Because no one ever died from watching insanely thin people piss away money on shit that they will never be able to afford.

I spent my morning watching a flaming homosexual drop $220,000 on a shopping spree. I watched the CEO from Bodog casino spend as much on a vacation. I saw 5 million dollar car collections, hotel rooms worth forty four thousand dollars a night (More than I make in a single year).

I then spent the rest of the morning pondering what makes them so much different than the rest of us (besides their bloated wallets and sense of self importance).

The more I thought, the more I realized that there's nothing different about them. Nothing. If you ignore the ones that are born into it, they just seem to be an exceptionally lucky group of people.

That being said, I totally want to be lucky! The only other defining factor is that most of them seem to have a decided lack of common sense. There was a pool with gold at the bottom. Shit, half of my jewelry isn't real gold.

Fuck those people in their asses.

Unless I somehow get lucky and find myself surrounded by them, in which case we can just pretend this never happened.

2009-01-26T11:38:00.004-06:00

So, I was talking to Puzzy this morning and he managed to point something very important out to me. This whole Governor of Illinois impeachment trial starts today, and I think I owe it to my readers to share in the knowledge I have received.

Thankyou Puzzy, for making so clear what I couldn't put my finger on before.

Just sayin.

2009-01-24T18:59:00.003-06:00

It's a pretty well known fact at this point that I am at my best when I'm single.

However, my friends aren't necessarily the same. Bless them, I adore them, but it really does take a special kind of person to not only work best single, but prefer it. They always tend to be on the lookout for the next new and exciting dating fad. Speed dating, blind dates, and now, Internet dating.

It was inevitable, and they are having some pretty decent success. Thus it was a matter of time before one brought it up to me as a good idea. And being a good friend, I have managed to not laugh in their faces. Internet dating is not exactly the best idea for someone like me, it's only a matter of time until someone connects it with this blog and then the 50 things and you find my parts dismembered in a trash bag behind Dominicks.

This is the part where I learned a very important life lesson. It doesn't matter how much logic you use, if you're up against four twenty-something women who think they are right, you are going to lose. And I did. To stop the lecturing about how I'm not getting any younger, I caved and agreed to start working on a profile.

I made it 30 seconds and quit. They give you this whole space to describe who you are and what you want, and I realized that if I was to actually tell the truth, I really will be single for the rest of my life.

Describe yourself:
5'7'' brunette with a bad attitude who likes to work out consistently for a week, quit for two, and start again for another week. Likes nature provided it doesn't require actually spending any time outdoors. Likes going out, unless its a week day, I'm tired, or there's a Burn Notice marathon on. Generally too busy to see you during the week, and too exhausted to on the weekend.

Love going to clubs, but refuses to drive in the city and will most likely wind up impossibly drunk making out with the homosexual bartender who looks like Carson from Queer Eye. Prefers an intelligent guy, hopefully one that is smart enough for a lively debate as long as in the end he agrees that I am always right. I also enjoy cheap beer and expensive shoes. Still best friends with most of my exes, most of whom are incredibly attractive.

I am also best friends with the guy I lost my virginity to, and I refuse to stop kissing him on the lips as a greeting despite the fact that we in no way want anything to do with each other sexually. I also perpetually chew gum, have bad asthma and have been known to destroy entire cities when denied the exorbitant amounts of diet coke it requires to keep me marginally friendly. I'm cold all the time, even in the summer, and no I will not turn down the heat/the air conditioner on.

I also yell at my TV, talk through movies, and make fun of people like it's my goddamn job.

Describe what you're looking for in a partner:
Michael Westin

See where there's a problem?

2009-01-03T11:10:00.003-06:00

I had a moment last night.

I was told at 11:00 AM on Friday that I had to work the entire weekend and I had to cancel my trip to Iowa to see my best friend.

Needless to say, this did not thrill me.

So I called my best friend to apologize. The conversation that followed was so hilarious that I actually wrote it down verbatim.

Clare: Hey Shawnie.
Shawn: Hey.
Clare: I am SO sorry but my boss is a giant fucking DILDO and I have to fucking work all fucking week...
Shawn: Clare.
Clare: I'm so sorr...
Shawn: CLARE. I'm in the middle of a toy store, and you're on speaker.

Whoops.

2008-12-31T10:27:00.002-06:00

It's New Years Eve!

It kind of snuck up on me this year.

Sadly, this year will not be spent with Bond, Dennis, The Dolphin and others. (They will have to get stranded on the side of the road with someone else this year).

This year will be spent getting Drunk with a Capital "D" with a friend from College. You will never find a better drinking buddy than this guy, and I'm eternally excited because we are almost physically incapable of behaving ourselves when we hang out.

And I need that kind of debauchery.

Anyway, Happy New Year guys. Be safe tonight, there's more partying to do in 2009.

2008-12-30T19:28:00.001-06:00

So I'm at work, and the filing cabinet is locked.

No one seems to have a key to what is possibly the shittiest padlock I have ever seen. (I have luggage that is more secure, but I digress).

The CEO and head of marketing were arguing over OMG WHAT DO WE DO, and quite honestly it was throwing off my flow with this website I've been working on.

So I walked over there while they were arguing, picked the lock with one paperclip (It was that shitty of a lock) went back to my desk and started typing like nothing happened.

They were AMAZED by this display of talent (Seriously I didn't even have to bend the paper clip. I can pick a lock but this took absolutely no skill short of shoving a paperclip in and turning).

"Where did you learn that?!" Well, my parents locked up the booze when I was younger, and people put far too much faith in padlocks.

I don't know what got into me, but my response was "My cellmate taught me".

He does not think I am funny.

2008-12-30T12:15:00.002-06:00

I'm stalling.

Not that this is new or exciting.

It's crunch time at work and I can't seem to get motivated to finish this stupid website. The worst part? It theoretically won't be difficult at this point.

Instead? I played bloons all morning and then picked a padlock. The padlock wasn't even protecting anything, I just wanted to see if I could still do it.

Pathetic.

If I was like this during college I'd still be there.

2008-12-29T09:07:00.001-06:00

Yea yea, I'm a few days late, but I was in Indiana with no Internets or cellphone reception.

Eat it.

Anyhooter, Merry Christmas, or whatever it is you celebrate.

When I was little, I thought that Christmas was when Jesus came out of his cave. If he saw his shadow, it meant 6 weeks of Easter.

Good news for all of you church going folks, Jesus didn't see his shadow so you're only on the hook for one Easter Sunday.

I hope Santa brought you everything on your list this year!

2008-12-17T22:14:00.002-06:00

I am being an emo, emo bitch today.

I need to update this more often, but the holidays have kicked my ass.

Laid off, unlaid off, contracts, family crises, websites to fix, etc, and I just haven't had any time to even think lately.

Then I realized last month, that my best friends little girl, Skylar, is 1.

ONE.

As in, 365 days old. (More now). And It occurred to me, that I haven't seen much of her.

Some Aunt Clare I am.

Moving back to Iowa isn't an option, and my family is in Indiana, so being in Chicago is pretty well right between them, but right between them doesn't really mean too much when you're not with them.

It's probably the typical holiday stress, combined with a smidge of Seasonal Affective Disorder. (Yea, yea I know. I used to think it was crap too, and then my mom pointed out that my otherwise happy go lucky Grandfather gets the same way. I was pissed. I can't even get a real mental illness.) But right now, I want my best friend.

And that's not to say that I don't love my friends here, I do. They are ALL great. WONDERFUL. But it's not the same as Shawn. And sometimes when the world feels like it's closing in, the only thing that will fix it is a Shawnie hug. That's the greatest part about my best friend. He's got these super long arms that like, wrap around you nineteen times.

At least I know they miss me too. I have it on good authority that when my friend D left here last time, she teared up. When her fiance asked her about it, she threatened to leave him on the side of the road, so if she asks, she's never cried and I have no idea what the hell you people are talking about.

It's usually not such a bad drive, but my car is leaking oil now and I don't have the four million dollars it will cost to fix it, so I'm pretty sure it won't make it. So bless my friend Steve's heart, he's driving me out to Iowa this weekend. He's driving his car, in the winter, to Iowa so I can see my insane friends that he's never met.

I do have a lot to look forward to, because on New Years, one of my FAVORITE people from college is coming to party. Only, I have no idea where we'd go. Obviously, around the Chicagoland area, and the holidays have not left my checking account in a good place, so anything that's not nine thousand dollars would be super.

Any ideas, Interwebs?

In the mean time, I promise I'll take some midol.

2008-11-18T10:04:00.002-06:00

So, today is Tuesday, which means it's the best day of my week.

Why?

Because I can finally figure out What the hell is going on in this week's episode of NCIS.

Yes, it bothers me that much. And the show has been removed from all spoiler sites, which is slowly killing my soul. The thing is, I'd watch it anyway, but I can't wait to know what happened! It's the one show I never miss, and not just because I want to see Michael Weatherly without a shirt on holding a gun. Because that would be shallow.

Moving on.

I'm in the market for some new writing gigs and that seems to be taking up a majority of my online time, which sucks balls. That, and I'm kicking around the idea of a screen play.

No, I've never written one.

No, I have no idea what I'm doing.

No, it wasn't my idea.

Yes, I think I can pull it off.

I hope.

No, I don't have any titles picked out. Although I do kind of like "TweekerChick: The Movie". All 6 people who read this thing would definitely line up for that one.

I'm eternally happy that the election is over. However, now I get to listen to endless bickering about how Obama is going to take all of our guns and money. Like with the Iraq situation and the current economy, he's going to sit his black ass in the White House and say "Yep. The guns? Gotta go."

Who knows though, I've been wrong before.

Ugh. I should probably actually do work today.

More updates soon!

2008-11-03T09:37:00.003-06:00

I'm supposed to be working but instead I decided to post here real quick.

Don't forget, election day is tomorrow. Get off your asses, leave your Mom's basement for a few minutes and vote. It is important.

Don't believe the hype, either

2008-11-02T19:20:00.002-06:00

Halloween is my favorite holiday, ever.

And not just because of the lame excuse everyone gives. "I like it because I can dress up and be something different!" "I like it because no one judges me!".

Fuck that.

I love Halloween because it's one gigantic party, and because everyone is dressed like an idiot or a slut, they all loosen up.

This Halloween, I decided that I was going to celebrate the way the Pagans intended. By dressing like a slut and drinking myself into a coma.

I went to a dive bar with a big group of girls and had a great time.

I spent most of the night having my ass grabbed by the random hot female bartender who looks like Christina Applegate. The rest of the night was kind of a blur, fueled by a shit load of beer.

I vaguely remember making out with a pilot, a Greek, and a girl. And a pickle.

I made out. With a pickle.

And I gave him my number. Which is not something I usually do. He's called me 6 times since Halloween. I barely remember talking to him. If I was drunk enough to give a total stranger my cellphone number, there is no way in hell I'm going to remember what we talked about.

He wants to meet up sometime and hang out. Which creates a problem.

What exactly do you say to the pickle you drunkenly made out with? "Hi, you look less green and phallic today"? Only me.

Next Halloween, someone take my cell phone away.

2008-10-29T09:20:00.004-05:00

The more I hear about the Fall TV Lineups, the more I realize it's all the same shit rehashed over and over again. Sure, there's the Show That Started It All, but shortly thereafter there are 29 shows just like it with a little twist.

So after some tireless research* I came up with the mix of shows every network is using this fall for it's lineup.

*A highly scientific study done while I was stranded on the couch for a week with pneumonia and nothing better to do.

1. Some person somewhere has some sort of abnormality or special ability. Will this person who lives a normal life just like the rest of us despite being leaps and bounds more beautiful than any of us manage to overcome the fact that they're different and use their ability for good? Or will they slip in to evil? This show tends to be punctuated by the phrase "I'm not normal!" or "I just want to be normal!". Which tends to be enough for normal people to want to reach through the television set and strangle them.

2. An elite team of forensic scientists/investigators/detectives/hyper observant people solve crimes that puzzle the FBI/CIA/local cops in less than an hour, with time for the foregin/exotic looking team member to rebuke the frat boy team member much to the joy of the nerdy computer geek team member in a way that makes the tough yet lovable team leader smile warmly instead of telling them to get the fuck back to work.

3. A bunch of gorgeous women will spend an hour of your time sitting around drinking expensive coffee, and chatting about relationship issues that no one actually has. The premise for this show is simple and foolproof. Take The View, make the actors more attractive, and in between bitching and moaning about things no one cares about, throw in a steamy love affair with the gardener, so the normal women all over America who live in a huge house in Suburbia and sleep with their gardeners can relate. All one of them. Apparently the pilot for the more realistic show of "single women who live in shitty apartments and make bad decisions after drinking" was axed by the network.

4. A team of psychics will cavort around in the dark, informing all of America about their Solar Plexus, and overreacting when they hear static over a radio. The real excitement comes when one of them looks at the thermometer and notices...THE TEMPERATURE HAS DROPPED. This is must see TV, people. It's not every day you get to see someone in flowy netural colored clothing so affected by the climate.

5. An elite team of people who have very important jobs as surgeons/nuclear physicists/police men go about their normal day, which are so ironic and hilarious the rest of us wonder why we never became surgeons/nuclear physicists/police men because the job is so obviously simple, they have the entire day to play hilarious pranks on each other.

6. A handful of super successful executives live at the office, which is apparently located in a magical land where the secretary sleeps with you and no one seems to notice that you keep a bottle of bourbon in your desk.

7. A group of quirky friends with a variety of odd low paying jobs somehow manage to live in a very nice loft in a major city despite being paid next to nothing, and muddle through and subsequently destroy relationships most of us would love to have, finally settling on one of their equally quirky and original friends to settle down with, and then break up with, and then settle down with again.

8. Finally! A game show involving nothing but pure luck and basic intelligence, allowing any asshole with a mullet and enough knowledge to finish the sentence "Duck Duck _____" to make more money in a half an hour than you will in your entire life, and then piss it all away on scratch off tickets and booze.

9. Police men from various parts of the world are filmed doing their jobs. Which, if this show tells us anything, involves more encounters with topless coeds than it does actual criminals. Keep up the good work, guys. I'm sure the cops who get shot at on a regular basis appreciate your sacrifices.

10. A man/car/employee/criminal is busted cheating/slamming/stealing/robbing on his girlfriend/into another car/from the store/a bank on hidden camera. The ensuing cluster fuck is caught on film! If it's a really high class show, a psychic will be involved.

And they say being a TV executive is hard, I've got this shit on lockdown.

2008-10-28T11:17:00.002-05:00

I'm penning a longer post for today, but you might notice I had to change the format for the comments. Nothing major, you now have to be logged in to leave comments.

Yea, I'm not a fan either.

However, I've had some problems the past few months with some harassment, and what the authorities refer to as "stalking". Hopefully I'll be able to loosen the reigns again soon, because I hate to stifle the voices that like to tell me that I'm wrong.

That being said, if the situation doesn't clear up, the next step is to moderate all comments, which is something I want to avoid. Mostly because I've never deleted a comment that painted me in a bad light, and I don't feel like dealing with those accusations now.

That and it's a whole lot of fucking work I just don't want to deal with.

2008-10-24T17:17:00.002-05:00

Life has been interesting lately, I know I haven't been around.

I need to find a new part time job (layoffs), I've been sick, and a few minutes ago my boyfriend decided to dump me.

Awesome timing.

It's partially my fault: I'm busy all the time lately and I've not had time for myself, not to mention anyone else.

I'll give him props, it was one of the more creative breakup speeches I've ever heard. He's not blaming me but he's not taking any responsibility for himself. That works, I suppose.

Maybe it was one of those things, maybe we are better off as friends and instead of dealing with that I subconciously acted like an asshole.

But I can't get too upset I suppose. Sometimes life sucks.

I just wish he'd stop being salty about it.

2008-08-20T11:29:00.001-05:00

For the past 8 years (literally) every single month I go to my doctor and get the same 5 prescriptions. They are the same thing every time: inhaled steroid, ritalin (2 bottles, 5 and 10 mgs), an albuterol inhaler, and allegra D. The inhaled steroids, and Ritalin are some pretty heavy scripts.

I went in yesterday with my little stack of prescriptions, written by the same doctor at the same time like he does EVERY MONTH FOR THE PAST 8 YEARS.

The pharmacist goes ahead and fills the steriod, the ritalin, and the allegra D.

She then tells me that she can't fill the inhaler (Which I absolutely 100% CAN NOT be without)

We have the following conversation:
PharmacyLady: I can't fill this the signature doesn't match.
Me: It should, call my doctor.
PharmacyLady: I did.
Me: And?
PharmacyLady: They said they signed it, but I need a valid prescription.
Me: If they signed it wouldn't that make it a valid prescription?
PharmacyLady: If they signed it. I'm not convinced they did.
Me: Can I have the prescription back then?
PharmacyLady: I can't give you back a forged prescription.
Me: Excuse me?
PharmacyLady: This is obviously a forged prescription.
Me: You're actually going to let me walk out of here with steriods and speed, but not an inhaler.
PharmacyLady: Its not valid.
Me: You're right. Fuck oxycodone, valium, vicodin, xanax, percoset...Ive been forging ALBUTEROL prescriptions for 8 years and getting high off of it. I mean really, THATS the primo shit. Call the Feds, you caught me.

I then took my toys and left. Called my doctor who has known me literally my entire life to get a new one.
"Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you, did you tell the pharmacist you've been forging prescriptions for 8 years?"

You've got to be kidding me.

Speechless. I am. Speechless.

It was a joke, which I thought was blatantly obvious by my use of the phrase "That's the primo shit". Seriously, like I'd forge albuterol. If I'm gonna get blown off of illegally obtained prescription meds, I'm getting high off of acne cream and antacids, bitches.

2008-08-18T10:41:00.001-05:00

Today is awesome.

I just had a long, meaningful conversation with key people in our organization.

There were charts and graphs and awesomeness.

It was about a half an hour long.

So you can imagine my joy when I got back to my desk and found out that my fly was unzipped.

At least I wore underpants today.

2008-08-18T08:27:00.004-05:00

Part of the problem with getting old is the realization that you can't actually do all of the things you were told you could as a kid.

My generation (most of us anyhow), grew up being told there was absolutely nothing on the planet that we couldn't do. So you have fear of enclosed spaces and heights, it's OK Billy, you can still be an astronaut. It's no big deal that Sally looks like she got hit in the face with a shovel, she can still model! As long as she puts her mind to it.

That's the phrase it ends with. "Put your mind to it.".

The more I think about it, the more that phrase is a phenomenal load of bullshit that people have been feeding into for years.

And lately, it's really been chapping my ass. I have been looking for a new career lately, and I'm always met with the same response when I tell people why.

"You can be good at sales, you just have to put your mind to it".

By that logic, I could also be a brilliant neurosurgeon, Lindsay Lohan's next girlfriend, or a nuclear physicist.

Not gonna happen.

It occurred to me that I started this job to get out of sales, and they forced me back into it because of the market, despite my telling them honestly and openly that I sucked balls at it. So I'm getting tired of feeling guilty for sucking exactly as much as I told them I would.

Instead of putting my mind to it, I've decided to put my mind to something else: moving on to a place where I'm happy. And that, my friends, is a gigantic pain in the ass.

Maybe I've been in recruiting too long, or maybe I'm just bitter, but I have the absolute hardest time giving a flying shit about the interviews I go on. It's not that I don't want the job, I absolutely do, but I have apparently reached this point in life where they are no longer any source of stress. I was more stressed out on the commute to get there than I was during the actual interview.

Maybe that's a good thing, maybe that's the universe's way of telling me that I'm doing the right thing by moving on to something I actually want to do.

Either way, as long as I don't have to hear the phrase "put your mind to it", I'm in.

(Check out the links later on today, I'm in the process of updating them.)

2008-08-16T04:00:00.002-05:00

Hey there!

I haven't done one of these since college, but I am drunk and I am blogging.

And it is awesome.

Kudos to Steve, who lets me be drunk and amazing at his house

steve rocks my socks that way.

YAY for steve. I had tequila.

That is all.

2008-08-15T11:44:00.005-05:00

I just had a very disheartening discussion about my blog with my friend Eric.

Not only do I not post enough, it seems, but I have done him a great disservice.

In his own words:

[11:44] Eric: You need to update your blog.
[11:44] TweekerChickQC: It Is.
[11:44] TweekerChickQC: I updated yesterday.
[11:44] Eric: Incorrectamundo.
[11:44] Eric: In all your entries throughout the entire blog, I find myself mentioned exactly 0 times.
[11:44] TweekerChickQC: Awww.
[11:45] Eric: If Dicky McBoner can get mentioned, so can I.

My most sincere apologies if anyone else was offended by this grievous error.

2008-08-13T13:27:00.004-05:00

I've never been one to make a huge deal out of my birthday.

I don't demand candles, or a huge cake (unless Jeffery Donovan or Vin Diesel is jumping out of it, in which case I want my goddamn cake), or presents.

All I really care about is that the people I care about give me a call, an email, an IM, something.

My birthday was yesterday. Again, it was almost a non event. I saw The Dark Knight (incredible movie, see it, seriously), had a few drinks and went to bed. Nothing huge.

I got a shitload of emails, IMs, forum posts and text messages all wishing me a happy birthday, which is awesome. Well, awesome as long as they weren't from Mikey, who has resorted to starting every one of our conversations with the phrase "HA HA YOU'RE OLD!" and "God loves me best!"

Not one of those emails, IMs, forum posts and text messages came from my friends back home. Not. One. Understand, I've known some of those people for going on 12 years now. If I was to forget their birthday there would be absolute hell to pay. Not one of them called me. Not even my best friend (who is apologetic as hell). The rest? Haven't heard from them.

And I am pissed.

For 364 days of the year, I deal with their issues, neuroses, bullshit and drama which a lot of the time is the result of their own actions. I'm supportive even when I want to strangle them. I take calls at all hours of the night, I give good solid advice and I don't blow smoke up their asses.

To make matters worse? I made it easy for every one of them. A few days before my birthday I even reminded them. I mean for fucks sake.

One day a year, just one, I expect them to pick up the phone first. That's all. I don't want a parade, I don't want diamonds (ok thats a lie), I don't want parties and cake, all I ask is that they flip open the same fucking cellphone they call me on to unload all their stupid, bullshit, petty problems and let me know that they appreciate me, just for a fucking second. Just a "hey, thanks for listening to me ramble on about my engagement/best friend/boyfriend/girlfriend/job."

It may sound selfish, but if I'm not important enough to call once a fucking year, then I'm certainly not important enough to field phone calls about their daily lives, engagements, weddings, best friend, boyfriends, girlfriends, jobs, and so on. It all seems so clear now.

I wrote a few days ago about knowing who my real friends are, and I apparently do now. And when I stop answering their calls? They'll figure out who their real friends are. I'm through giving a shit about people who care less about me. Call it a birthday present to myself.

2008-08-11T17:50:00.002-05:00

I recently got a crash course in figuring out who my real friends are.

My Grandpa Max was taken to the hospital about 2 months ago with a massive aortic aneurysm. Things were not looking good, the place I was getting ready to drive to was flooding badly and I was not ok.
Insult to injury, I had to break plans with my Sexy Friend who I will refer to from here on out as Sexy Mc Longrod. Why? Because I want to.

My Grandpa Max taught me to drive a stick shift when I was 10. He used to chaperone field trips with me and my sister when we were little, and would give us all the answers to those stupid worksheets and let us run around and learn on our own. He's the best Grandpa you could ever ask for, so I was so far from alright that it wasn't funny.

So what does Sexy Mc Longrod do? He drives 2 hours from Bloomington to give me a big hug. This despite the fact that I hadn't showered. That, readers, is a good friend.

He just wrapped his arms around me and let me cry for a good half an hour. He didn't say anything, just scratched my head and kissed me on the top of the head. Which is what I needed.

Somehow we got started talking about family. And I told him the truth, that my Daddy was a Navy Seal.

The conversation went something like this:
SMLR: Your dad was a SEAL?
Me: Yep.
SMLR: He's probably watching us right now.
Me: Yep. From Texas, he's got the cross hairs on your forehead right now.
SMLR: :Looks left, looks right, pokes my boob:
Me: I'm sure he'll be calling in a few to tell you that the bullet is on it's way from Texas.

Then, and I swear to god this is true, my cell phone rings.

It was my father, who has never in his life called me for anything ever, calling to see what I was doing.

I'm surprised Sexy Mc Longrod didn't dive off the couch and hide.

That alone is not why he's an awesome guy.

This is why.

I don't cry, ever. I don't ever let people see me cry, so I hate it. And when I went to drop him off at the car, I warned him "Don't you ever tell anyone about this".

His response?

He looked me right in the eye and said "Or what? You'll cry about it?"

And that's why he's awesome. Because for a second there, everything was fine.

Thankyou, Sexy Mc Longrod. Couldn't have gotten through it without you love.

2008-07-19T21:09:00.002-05:00

I was supposed to write my entry on my sexy friend who took care of me when my Grandpa took ill. Actually, I was supposed to write my entry on my Grandpa being sick.

But it's going to have to wait.

Why?

Because now I'm sick.

Despite it being fucking the middle of July, I have managed to acquire bronchitis and a bitching sinus infection. And let me tell you, I am one big ball of sexy right now. Nothing says "do me baby" like phlegm.

I'm usually a pretty good sick person. I have been since I was a little girl, my Mom tells me stories about how I'd be about 5 years old, sick, telling her not to worry and insisting she went back to bed. She said I was so stubborn about it she'd eventually go back to bed. Even at 5 apparently there was no point in arguing with me.

However, this sinus infection has knocked me off my ass. I can't come up with any sort of original thought, and I kind of want to jab a pencil into my head to let some of the pressure out. (Don't worry, I'm not going to. And for those of you about to make the obvious joke, don't. I'm sick and I bite).

Plan for the rest of the night: take a handful of pills and go back to sleep.

I'll be back at it soon. Pinkie swear.

2008-07-09T19:51:00.002-05:00

I finally got to meet up with Ben and his friend I'll call T, because I'm sure he doesn't want name checked on this little blog here.

It was a great time. We got into the city late after seeing my friend Bdub, and met up with Ben just as the bars were starting to close.

For most people, that means "Time to go home". Unless you're me. Then it means "Find a bar that's open until 4." Which is exactly what we did.

Because it took so long for us to finally meet up with each other, I was pretty well loaded by the time I saw him. I almost want to apologize to them, because lord only knows that I am a force to be dealt with when I have a pushup bra and a blood alcohol level over that of zero.

It was the typical Chicago night, girls dancing on a stage making out, me going into the bathroom with all my clothes on, leaving with my shirt off and a hickey, me kissing everyone I saw and asking Ben if it was considered cheating if it was with a girl, you know, the normal shit you have to deal with when you give me tequila.

Despite all the debauchery, the best moment of the night happened at the end. All the cute little blonde girls in their cute little trendy outfits were pouring out of the bars and trying to hail cabs in shoes that were way too tall for them while trying not to throw up.

And then Ben said what is quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever heard about my city.

"I have never seen so many trashy women in one place."

And that is what he gets for hanging out with me.

Hopefully he comes back to visit so I can dance on the bar with him.

2008-07-09T19:47:00.001-05:00

You guys are probably wondering where I've been.

I've been pretty sick recently, and then my grandfather was in ICU for a bit. In the mean time, Ive been trying to get my finances and such in order.

No worries, I've been writing in the mean time, I just haven't typed it all out yet.

2008-05-22T16:04:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow is going to rock so ridiculously hard.

I've been a reader of This Blog for quite awhile now. After a few emails back and forth I got to know the guy behind it (as well as you can between emails and the occasional IM).

So you can imagine my excitement when he said he's coming to Chicago for a Sox game. Do the Sox suck? Of course they do. But that means I get to meet up with one of the funniest guys on the planet.

Fucking score.

Like one of my friends said. "He's survived cancer, Clare. Don't you think he's suffered enough?".

If he wants to hang out with me, I think its obvious that the answer is "No."

Hopefully one of us gets a good story out of it. Both of us if we manage to stay out of the clink.