it doesn't make me old if I enjoy sitting around reminiscing about the "good ol' days," does it?

My first job out of college was at Kinko's Document Creation Center. It was in Rochester and when any number of stores throughout New England / New York got jobs in their store, they were sent to us, we completed them, and sent them back. Because I've always been able to type super fast and they needed a typist for the 3-midnight shift, I took the job that paid $11.00 / hour...at that time, not too shabby for a girl with a pretty useless English degree.

The "cool" people worked the night shift.

Heidi was a short and hilariously funny goth girl; the oldest of the group. Because our boss was uptight about our work matching as closely as possible to what came in, we had to match margins, fonts, etc. and Heidi was "The Font Girl." I couldn't tell what font was used? She'd look at it for a few minutes, tell me try something, and bam, that would be it.

Ross was closest to my age and one of the two gay guys. I was kind of Grace (with much better tits) and he was Will (and just as gay). He's kind of my now-a-day-cute-co-worker; the guy with whom I can be wildly inappropriate at work.

Tom was also gay, in his thirties at the time and a big lumberjack-lookin' guy. To this day, he's one of the wittiest people I have ever met in my life and always had the greatest sense of humor. We went to his house every so often and hung out with him and his partner, Eric, who was equally as witty and crazy. Their dining room had dark, bleeding purple walls and a piano.

Heather was the ecclectic prooreader who was always dark and mysterious in black outfits, her hair always in a bun. She smoked clove cigarettes and smelled delicious.

Sara was my first girl crush. She was also my age and we got along from day one. She had fiery red hair, we took smoke breaks every hour, and the only one I hung out with by myself outside of work. Every so often after we got off work, we'd go to her apartment and sit around with her boyfriend, Rob, who was a film student, watching some crazy-ass film and smoking far too much. She was the one who first got all of us to go out one night after work and it soon became a pretty regular thing for us to go to some bar that I can picture perfectly but can't remember anything about the name other than it was named "Mc" something.

Working the night shift, we screwed off a lot and we each took turns getting to choose which streaming tunes we would listen to. Tom and I mainly loved the oldies but for some strange reason, it seems like no matter what station we were on, Spin, Spin, Sugar would come on and we'd all be lovin' it. One oldies night, Midnight Train to Georgia came on and Tom and I started singing and within minutes, nobody was working anymore and I became Gladys and Tom became my personal pip. From then on, whenever it came on, work stopped and we got our groove back on. Sara's and my favorite was Elvis' Kentucky Rain and Ross and I loved Don't Pull Your Love Out On Me because we couldn't sing the "don't pull your love out on me baby" without smirking.

I don't even know how long ago it was now but when I still kept in touch with them after moving out to Chicago, Tom emailed us that he and Eric were moving to Florida and having a going-away party that he would all love or us to attend. I emailed him back that unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to make it but was secretly planning on coming back to surprise him because I figured it would be the last time I would ever see the man (sadly, so far, that's been the case).

I drove up to Rochester so I'd get there a little later than everyone else and will never forget the look on the man's face when I knocked on their door and walked in. I don't think I've ever been hugged so tightly before in my life. It was strictly a Kinkster's Reunion so we were all there and drank and smoked and laughed the night away.

The best part of the evening was when Tom got up, gave a little toast, and turned on Midnight Train to Georgia. I don't remember where it came from but he threw a boa at me and I performed with my pip for the last time, with the full "woo hoo" train sounds and arm motions in the appropriate places and all.

I remember at one point during the night, I went out on their front porch with my drink, sat in their comfy green loungy chairs to smoke a butt outside, and Tom came out to give me another hug, and somewhere in between our teariness, we told each other how glad we were that I was there.

Every now and then, I find myself thinking about them and wondering where everyone wound up post-Kinkster's; especially when I'm hanging out in my apartment flipping through my tunage and stumble across one of our oldies but goodies. Part of me feels sad as I sit here listening but then I remember that I'm also sitting here with a goofy grin on my face, singing too loudly, and remembering what I consider to be some of the best times I've ever had with some of the best people I've ever known. And it makes me feel nothing but happy.

Dear Mr. Carlin,

Although I'm not on television and today will pretty much be spent in an office, I hereby vow to say the following words at least once today. Just 'cause I can.

1. shit
2. piss
3. fuck
4. cunt
5. cocksucker
6. mother fucker
7. tits

Of course, my truck driver mouth tends to spit out most of them throughout the course of the day with the exception of #4, which I never use in reference to another person simply because I don't consider it an insult. Really, when's the last time you heard a bunch of guys sitting around saying, "you know what I really hate? Cunts. I'd be perfectly happy to never be near one again. I think I'll turn that word into a horrible, ugly insult."

Please. If you'd like to insult me, please do it a little more intelligently. K, thanks.

So really, that leaves me very little context with which to work. Which leaves me forced to be even more wildly inappropriate at work than I usually am and use it as yet another word for hoo-ha, bajingo, vajayjay, naughty bits, etc.

Fun!

on this, the most important of days

I shall embark upon Operation Silence.

Which will involve my search for the perfect job. One that allows me interaction with others only when I want it. I will be in an environment that allows me to completely ignore arrogant, obnoxious, loud little boys trying to pump up their already nearly ready-to-burst egos.

It will involve doors that I'll be able to close to drown out distractions.

It will not involve any form of the evil that is the speakerphone.

Most importantly, it will involve the saving of my sanity.

oh, how i love that which is clever

Some people here at work play on a volleyball team during the summer and last night, they had a game. How did it end, you ask?

Our company's team beat off in the shower.

Oh, wait. No. Our team beat another team. Whose name is "off in the shower."

Which I think is pure. giggle-inducing. genius.

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

I've rarely ever had nightmares. I can actually count them on one hand. But when I started working at the hotline, I noticed that I started having them. And we're talking "guy in a suit from the Chicago Board of Trade mysteriously appears in my apartment to tell me to drop the rape charge I have against his coke-snorting trader buddy and just to be sure I understand, does something funky with my eye, flipping my eyelid inside out and leaving me permanently looking like I have a glass eye" kind of nightmares. That was the first time I ever woke up from a nightmare and actually felt scared. I walked around my apartment, flicking on lights and looking behind shower curtains and shit. As time has gone on, I've had fewer and fewer but every now and then, I have one that isn't quite as bad and at least, doesn't actually wake me up in the middle of the night.

But when I woke up this morning, I realized I had a...mixed up nightmare / dream last night involving this guy: (for you LOST fans, it's Keamy. Rawr!)


Soldier Boy-esque Keamy


Pretty Boy Keamy

It was odd for several reasons:

a. Although he's a tasty little treat in that pretty boy, chiseled kinda way, that's not at all the "look" I generally tend to be attracted to. Give me a too-smart-for-his-own-good geeky boy any day of the week.
b. I just about never have dreams about celebrities.
c. It was just plain odd, as dreams tend to be.

I was in what used to be my grandmother's house, which is now my cousin's house. My uncle was there, along with Keamy, and some other people, who for the life of me, I can't remember. Keamy was sitting in a chair and somehow, I wound up on the floor next to the chair, him with his arm wrapped around my neck and the gun he used in the episode where he killed Ben's daughter pointing down at my shoulder. He asked me some questions, which I apparently answered correctly, because he eventually wound up going from "badass, I'm gonna kill you" to "look at me weep with emotion," he told me he couldn't kill me, and let me get up. I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and came back out to find my uncle watching tv and Keamy sitting in the same chair, also staring at the tv. As soon as I started getting ready for bed (aka: appropriate non-attired ready for bed), my uncle disappeared, Keamy got out of the chair and adult fun commenced, which I won't write about because c'mon now...a lady never talks.

Now, I'm assuming the violent aspects of the dream possibly stem from the fact that I had a hotline shift last night and a few calls, which were a bit more than "hey, can I have a phone number to somewhere?" And I'm assuming the sexual aspects of the dream possibly stem from the fact that I left work nearly 20 minutes late because I was having a workplace-inappropriate, sexualized conversation with a co-worker, which I wound up thinking about on and off for pretty much the rest of the night.

It's not exactly...desirable that I dream about violence but I occasionally do. It's desirable that I dream of naughty, adult fun and occasionally I do. However, I don't much care for dreaming about them together. Mainly because I analyze everything. I want to buy this instead of that? Now, why exactly is that? I woke up 20 minutes later than I usually do? Oh my god, I wonder what's going on subconsciously that made me do that? Now and then, it's an okay trait to have. But mostly, it's just plain fuckin' annoying.

So when I wake up from a dream like that, I think, "hmm, fairly low-key violence but still...violence. Then, complete disregard for said violence, almost as if it didn't happen. And then, sex." And although he wasn't at all involved in the adult fun portion of the dream, thank whatever god may or may not exist, what in the fuck did my uncle have to do with anything?

And where the hell I was going with this entire post in the first place? Not a clue, really. But what the frick?

and now, I give you...

a snippet from my soon-to-be-written book, Get on the Bus...and the Etiquette That Should Follow.

1. If you're forced to stand, move to the back.
I know you want to be near the door so you don't have to push your way through when you're ready to get off. I know you hate being ass-to-ass with strangers but it's the bus...that's how morning rush hour on the #22 works. If you move to the back, it's pretty likely you'll be close enough to the door in the back so that you won't have to claw through people to get out. It'll be okay, really.

2. If you decide to stand up front, do not stand directly in front of the card reader.
Part of the joy of having the Chicago Card Plus is that you simply wave it in front of the card reader and you're on your merry way to (hopefully) sitting down. Do not stand directly in front of the reader so that when someone gets on the bus and attempts to pay their fare, they can't because you're standing there completely oblivious to the world around you. And when they say "excuse me," don't look at them as if they just inconvenienced you by asking you to move 2 steps so they can go about their day. It's common sense, really.

3. Backpacks. Oh, dear god, the backpacks.
We live in the city. A lot of people carry them. However, this doesn't mean they have to be glued to your back for the duration of your commute. If you have a backpack that is stuffed full of everything you own, the courteous thing to do is to take that backpack off so you're not shoving it in someone's face the entire ride. Especially if you're standing and there are a gazillion people standing with you. Take it off, hang on to it, and hold it at your feet. People will thank you. I'll thank you.

4. If you insist on chatting on your cell phone, do it semi-quietly.
If you're in the middle of the bus and I'm at the front of the bus with my headphones on (which I tend to listen to a bit on the loud side) and I can hear you on your phone? You're talking too loudly. I don't expect everyone to enjoy the peace and quiet like I do in the morning but I don't care what boy you hooked up with on Friday night and I don't care that you couldn't decide what outfit to wear this morning or that you forgot to call your father yesterday. Please use your indoor voice.

5. When a very large woman who has somewhat of a tough time walking gets on, don't say to the person sitting next to you, 'and people looked at me as if I was rude to get on with this suitcase? The way I see it, it's the same as someone that size getting on, ya know?'
No, I don't know. Because it's not the same and here's why. You have a thing with you. A possession. The overweight woman who just got on is a person. She's not carrying a thing with her, she's carrying herself. She's a real, live, breathing person who ought to be able to get on the bus without some bitch whispering to the person in the seat next to her and chastizing the overweight girl for not weighing whatever magical weight it is this week that doctors are saying is "normal." She has as much of a right to ride the bus as you do and she's just as entitled as you are to common courtesy from others. I hope the airline loses your precious luggage.

5. Don't look at me as if to say, 'Huh. Why'd you do that?' when I thank the bus driver.
He or she just provided me with a very valuable service. Do they sometimes do it as if their secret passion in life is NASCAR? Sure. Do they sometimes do it as if they're secretly 90-years-old and can barely see over the steering wheel? Sure. But they just allowed you to read for a bit or listen to some music and relax or catch up your emails or any other number of things you wouldn't (or at least, shouldn't) have been doing had you driven yourself to work. Karma, my friends. Karma.

6. Push your own god damn door open.
If I'm behind you and you're the first one in line to push those doors in the back open so we can all get off, don't stand there and wait for me to do it. It's not my fault you can barely manage to hold yourself up on your 3-inch heels while balancing your 13-gallon handbag on one shoulder and your cell phone on the other. I'm not your fucking door woman.

Expected publication date: unknown.

ah, youth

Strawberry Shortcake, Care Bears to Receive Makeovers; Childhood Spoiled

If they start messing with Jem



or She-Ra



I'ma start gettin' pissed.

oh, for fuck's sake

Media Charged With Sexism in Clinton Coverage

Yeah. Um, when calling out the media on the overwhelming amount of misogyny and sexism thrown at Hillary Clinton throughout her campaign (which, by the way, this article covers about maybe 1/1000th of it), I suggest you don't use A HEADLESS PHOTO OF HER TITS.

You might have just as well ended your article with "P.S. Here's some more. Love, The Media."

What the fucking hell.

Here's a photo for you, New York Times:

Most of the time, I love words

Other times...not so much.

Let's take a look at this lovely CNN article today:
Victim or vixen? Contrasting views at R. Kelly trial.

#1: Let's start by remembering that in almost every article you read regarding this trial, at some point they say something along the lines of, "on the tape, Kelly is having sex with a girl as young as 13" or "Kelly's sex with a 13-year-old." Which is erroneous right there. You can call it whatever you'd like to call it, CNN, but a grown man doesn't have sex with a 13-year-old girl, he rapes her. He may not be dragging her into the bushes or beating her face in and he may not be a stranger who pulled her into an unsuspecting van off the street. But he's not having sex with her. He's raping her.

#2: Now, let's look at the definitions of vixen, since CNN seems to think vixen / victim is an "either / or" situation.

A. Vixen: a female fox
Okay, irrelevant since beasiality is an entirely different topic. Although, still, I'd like to point out that once again, here's an oh-so-handy comparison between women and a sly, sneaky animal who's out to trick you. 'Cause really, that's what all of us with tits are tryin' to do.

B. Vixen: an ill-tempered (argumentative, belligerant) or quarrelsome woman. A malicious woman with a fierce temper. Shrewish or malicious.
None of those things automatically put a woman into a "non-rapeable" category. I can be ill-tempered. I can be argumentative. I could be malicious, I don't consider myself to be, but I could be.

And you know what? I can still be raped.

And it still wouldn't be my fault. And I still wasn't askin' for it 'cause I had a short skirt or a low-cut top on. And it still didn't happen because I've had sex before and if I've had it once, hell, I'm ready and willing to have it anytime anywhere with anyone. And it still wasn't because I was sneaky and sly enough to snatch myself a guy who just wasn't strong enough to resist my feminine wiles.

It would simply be because despite all of those things, somebody made the choice to rape me.

vacation, all I ever wanted...vacation, had to get away

Sometimes, all I really want to write about is work-related venting or work-related-not-appropriate-for-everyone's-online-eyes, stuff and I forget that I really can use this space for just about anything else I want.

Plans are coming together for what the parentals and I will be doing when they come out next month. We never try and plan out every day because let's face it, that's no kind of relaxing vacation (at least not to the three of us) but we do like to get an idea for what we'll be doing. On the list is...

- Going, at least once or twice, to Zanies. The first year they come out, we went and nearly pissed our pants, the guy was so funny. Last month when my mom and aunt came out, we went and again, saw a hilarious comedienne. So it's become somewhat of a "must do" when Mom & Dad come out. We also got some free passes when we girls were there so the three of us can go twice this summer and wind up only paying as if two of us went once. See, math can be fun!

- Spending a night at the theatre seeing Jersey Boys. My dad mentioned that he wanted to see this forever and a day ago. I'm not really sure how big he and my mom are on live theatre but I know the music is the clincher for Dad and Mom seems to be pretty open to trying out just about anything. Live theatre is one of those things I'd throw money on all the time if I had more of it to throw around. So this should be super fun. Plus, I dig the oldies.

- A Chicago Trolley & Double Decker bus tour. We took the downtown one last year, where you can get on and off the bus at any of the designated pickup stops scattered through the downtown area. This year, we're going to do the Ethnic Chicago route, which takes us through Chinatown, Little Italy, West Loop / Harpo Studio, and Greektown. I've eaten once in Greektown, I've eaten several times at the restaurant across from Oprah's studio, but have never roamed around the neighborhoods. Ever since they started coming out here, my dad and I have wanted to stroll through Chinatown so this should be the perfect time. Especially considering that on July 20th, the Chinatown Summer Fair will be going on, which should be a great atmosphere in which to walk around the neighborhood.

- Since it's the only time my parents come out and have a car while they're here, we really have no choice but to take a trip to Swedish Heaven.

- I think the steakhouse of choice this year will be Ruth's Chris. As a lover of all things cooking / food-related, my dad likes to try out a nice steak place while they're here and we checked out Chicago Chop House last year. There are tons to choose from but Dad's mentioned that he'd really like to try this place out this year. My aunt said when she went to one in New York City, it was "the best fucking steak I've ever had." Here's hoping they serve chicken too.

Even though I'm staying in the place where I live (you may now commence with the REM singing), it's still an awesome vacation for me since:
a. I won't be at work
b. I get to hang out with my parents
c. I get to do the touristy things I don't usually do on my own

I wish I could go all Hermione on Chicago's ass and make it July already.