In which I delete my facebook

Right now I'm unemployed, right? For the past month I have been (as my mom puts it) living on a shoe string.

There she is...my last possession in the world. She may not be much to look at, she may not provide much padding to sleep on, or substance to eat. But she makes a fabulous belt during the day! Jk I'm not really homeless...but maybe next month!

                      My shoestring 

SO....being jobless I've spent a lot of time on the internet...the cause of and solution to all of life's problems. Oh wait, thats beer.

For the most part I would argue that it is physically imposible for me to go online with out directly typing fac- (and then pressing enter cuz my internets knows what i wants). Its automatic. But as I spent more time on facebook I found more often than not I wasn't so much enjoying myself. In fact, it kinda started eating me alive. 

I don't talk about it a lot, but I may be a slightly jealous person.  Its not like a problem or anything, but it does require a lot of concealer. 

So anyway...I find myself looking at facebook, and comparing myself to all of my friends...even the ones I don't care about! How busy they look in their pictures. How close they are to people I wish I was still friends with. How shes totally gotten prettier since high school...damn it. How he's way hotter than his girlfriend.

But mostly how so freaking many of them are pairing off and getting engaged and married and having happy lives and I'm sitting on my butt in a coffee shop watching back episodes of Mad Men and kind of losing it about the proposed new episodes of Arrested Development. SO EXCITING RIGHT!?

Soooo...I deleted that soul sucking social network we all call the book of faces. I called it quits. Finito...done forever! Shut that book...right in its...face...YA!



Its been easier than I thought it would be...but i guess I'm on day one....I still find myself thinking in statuses, though...statusi? statusies?:

"omg didn't sleep till super late...waking up at 2...again...way to be a productive member of society!"

"at coffee shop...think the barista is a heroine user"

"I'm a horrible person for accusing people of using heroine...shes actually really nice...ignore last status"

"something about Kuma and cat because they are my only entertainment!"

"BEARS PARTY AT THE MILLER'S!"

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND FOOTBALL, BUT EVERYONE IS WEARING PINK!"

"having less points in football means you loose right? i can never keep it straight, but i think we lost"

Phew...I feel like I just opened a valve...so glad I could get all those out! tomorrow night I may record myself, though, to find out if I status update in my sleep when I can't get it out during the day. FUN NEW EXPERIMENT!

I need to get out more. 

Important moments in history

Whenever we face a pivotal moment in history everyone asks the same question:

Where were you when it happened?

I'm not old, so I haven't met too many world changing events, but we all experienced one yesterday that I hope none of us are soon to forget: The rapture.

I think we are more than likely to be talking about that life changing, soul shaking event for years to come, and I will never forget exactly what I was doing when we were all raptured. I was running. I wasn't just running though! It was one of the most eventful runs of my life.

I've just begun running again, so I'm only going about 2 miles a day, which means to humble park and back. If you don't know the Chicago area very well I'll tell you about my neighborhood. I love where I live...but its not...the ritziest of neighborhoods. Most of it is old Ukranian people, and some hipsters here and there. However, as you move towards Humble park there is kind of a tougher crowed. A few blocks west of my house there may be a gang or two...nothing too serious...just a few little rascals scattered about....you know...anyway.

I really love running in humble park, so I'm not going to let their silly drug dealing stop me! (I realize now I'm setting this up to be way more exciting than it actually was...get unexcited).

So event 1: I always run past my bestie's coffee shop on my way to the park. This time she was working, but I was in the zone, so I didn't notice. She ran out of her shop and screamed after me. Rocking out to the fleet foxes can be pretty distracting, though so I didn't hear hear her yell my name at an ear splitting level.

However...the rest of the street did. Once she realized I wasn't going to turn around, but that the rest of the block had she very sheepishly apologized and walked, head down back into her shop.

baaaa

 After her embarrassing moment my run continued and I did my little stint around humble park, being heckled and hit on by homeless men, and raging with jealousy a few times while running past adorable little families. I also passed a Puerto Rican pow wow that I think I'm gonna ask to join next satutrday. I'd love to show off my new cajon skillz! (a cajon is a kick ass drum that you sit on and slap around)

whenever I play it i actually grow that awesome mustache!

When I left Humble park (a little sweatier, angrier and happier at the same time) I experienced a very exciting hit and run. Instantly my super hero skills kicked in and I memorized the plates make and model of the car...like a champ. From watching the whole "hit" part it kind of looked like the offending van was going to get away by driving THROUGH the poor little sedan it demolished. When that seemed like it wasn't going to work out the way he planned he drove diagonally through 4 lanes of traffic and then turned left through a red light....kind of looking like this:

Rather than carrying on the obnoxious business of remembering that license plate number I asked someone for their phone to call 911. After the call was made the very distraught sedan owners came out of the store, and my first adrenaline driven response was "DON'T WORRY I GOT THEIR LICENSE AND I'VE CALLED THE COPS!"

While this response would have been comforting and reassuring in my suburban safe haven of Wheaton, they don't so much like the coppers in the hood...so, instantly the atmosphere changed...I passed the phone back to its owner and decided my best bet was to just keep running...which I did. I also don't think I'll be running near humble park for a while now!

After this we get to a more serious part...sorry i'm gonna get all real on you.

For the past 2 weeks or so I decided enough was enough. I've spent a long time not giving myself enough.  not enough credit, not enough trust, not enough care, not enough love. 2 weeks ago I decided it was time to stop that. It was time to care about myself because I can't keep depending on others to do that. I drink and eat really gross healthy food (i miss the amount of chocolate I used to eat...but lets be real I couldn't give it up all together). This is kind of a big step because I'm starting to realize that I'm pretty freaking awesome, and I have never allowed myself to understand that.

So at the end of this run, the longest and fastest run I have had so far I was pretty exhausted, and incredibly gross looking (and smelling!). I was passed by an older black gentleman with more teeth missing that in place. He turned around on his bike to come talk to me. I didn't hear most of what he said (I was rockin to hard to Karmin...look em up...they be the shiznit) but I heard the last part...and it went something like this: "GUUUURL, I can tell you love yo self!"

I'm not sure if he meant this as a pick up, or just a little compliment, but he will never know how that changed my day...and this whole process I'm going through. "You know what," i thought to myself  "I do love myself!" I don't know if I've ever really been able to say that before. I'm learning more and more what this means, and how that has the ability to change the way I am in relationship with everyone around me, but I was really blessed by old toothless man, and I am so grateful for him. For the rest of my run I had chants of how awesome I am running through my head :).

So thats the story of how I wasn't apocasized on May 21. 6pm came and went and nothing really exciting happened, except that I got ready for a kick ass Ben Sollee concert that totally blew my mind. You should also look him up...hes kind of the bomb. So tell me, where were you during the may 21, 2011 apocalypse?

How you know you're really low on cash

So...My account may have suddenly found itself over drawn today. I really don't know how it manages to do this every semester. I start out with all my financial aid money that is supposed to last 5 months...and it usually last close to that...but at some point I find myself inevitably without any moolah. I really don't mind being on a budget...and I feel like I'm not bad at it, but its just ridiculous expenses that clear me out...anyway...seeing how you aren't my accountant you probably don't need to know this. (haha as if I will EVER have enough money to need an accountant!)

So today I decided what any reasonable person would do when they find themselves low on funds:

SELL BLOOD PLASMA!!!!
(see its pretty and purple as if to assure you that this is going to be a fabulous idea!)


So I thought I'd put together a handy dandy guide to selling your plasma. Its pretty much the steps I followed and it worked out perfectly:

1. Find only donation center in Chicago within a reasonable distance

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Welcome to shadesville my friends! (It doesn't look that bad in the picture...but trust me...it is)

2. Try your hardest to make an appointment with the VERY eastern European woman who answers the phone. Its really ok if you can't understand Helga...English isn't her first language.

3. Drive (what feels like 195849 hours) to appointment. Fill out questionnaire. Read all the pamphlets they've given you on how this can kill you and take a quiz on it to prove you actually read the material.

4. Begin to realize all of the reasons this may be the dumbest thing you've ever done. (hepetitis, passing out, you're really hungry...you probably can't make it the whole hour without having to pee...etc.) But eventually realize you're being a giant pansy and a little needle prick isn't going to hurt anyone.

5. Suddenly notice how everyone around you is...(to put it nicely)...a freak.

6. Think to yourself "I don't want to be this person. I don't want to sell parts of my body...no matter how much I don't need them. Is this prostitution?" you ask, as you make the horrifying realization that you are...in fact prostituting yourself by allowing them to take your blood...and pump it back into your body.

7. Start explaining to the Russian woman that you are more than likely a horrible candidate. Your conversation will probably go like this:
Helga: "how many peersings an tattoo yo hhave?"
Me: "Oh, um kind of a lot..gosh..i guess 6 piercings and 2 tattoos?"
Helga: "Oh ok...less dan 10 ees goud"
Me: "Um...Also I went to Haiti...like really recently...theres AIDS there...and Malaria"
Helga: "ees dat Afreeka?"
Me: *sad exasperated sigh* "no..."
Helga: "did yoo be seek?"
Me: "...no...but I also...um just got a tattoo...like recently"
Helga: "ees it healthy?"
Me:"...ya...i guess"
Helga:"dats fine...but it looks like yoo veins are deep...we can steek you but eef eet not vork we only geev yoo $5."
Me: "so this probably won't work?"
Helga: "maybe...maybe not...but we try"
Me: "Um...I don't know if i...um want to...for $5...um...I don't...um..."
Helga: "are yoo scared? Don vorry...eet ees fine"

Thats Helga...except with out the cowboy outfit and with scrubs and a paper lab coat (ya...they spare no expense with their lab coats there!)

8. From here you will be ushered out into the waiting room with what you can only assume is a room full of drug addicts. And all of them are very creepy men. One may be looking at the tv screen (that is turned off) and yelling profanities....While here feel free to contemplate your life and how you may have gotten to this point. You should also probably decide to get help with budgeting.

9. Decide that this was a horrible idea and that you really don't want hepatitis. Now...you could go tell the people that you changed your mind. OR you could slowly put on your coat as if you are cold and then bolt from the room and don't stop running until you are in your car.

10. Now this last part isn't necessary, but if you want to replicate my experience you would need to get really flustered and turn the wrong way which makes you drive through the worst part of town that you promised yourself you would never drive through again...but again...thats totally unnecessary.

Now that you have a step by step guide, I can't wait to hear about your experiences with the life giving i mean drug...creating...process that is plasma donation!

zee french man from ze upstairs of ze hood

So, I'm officially in Chicago. I've been here for a couple weeks which is why I haven't blogged so much. Being an extreme extravert I need some sort of outlet to get all my funny out (or else I explode and its messy...the last time was in '97. Made mom real angry. She was cleaning notallison chunks off the walls for weeks. Teach her to ground me to my room!) Now that I have 3 roomates (thats right, 4 of us) in an ADORABLE 1 bedroom...I pretty much have a constant influx of people to spurt my rambelings too.

But, I think they have heard enough of ze frenchman (pronounced franchmah) since they know his special brand of crazy (the wonderful brand, like Kleenex brand tissues). So I thought I would chronicle our friendship here.

So I live kind of in between the hood and eastern Europe in Chicago. Its great, and most of our neighbors are adorable old eastern European couples and the other half are gangstas. Don't worry I still have my large dog...who wants to befriend all of the gangstas and has made a serious effort to lick them to death...Thanks dog. But anyway, most of my neighbors are pretty cool, and one of my first days here I met ze franchmah.

He is CLEARLY a chatter. I can't really see him without being sucked into a half hour conversation, which would be so great in the summer. But in the sub zero snowpocolypse of Chicago...its less pleasant, and I get tired of not being able to feel my extremities. But really, hes great. He offers to do things all the time and name drops as much as he can, but the best part is he TOTALLY makes good on his offers! When he offers to make us food (did i mention hes a chef? thats right! FRENCH. CHEF.) he comes down that evening with a multiple course meal for all of us. We invite him to a party, he INSISTS on paying for and cooking all of the food. and the wine. "Well I don't know if zix bottles of wine are enough...maybe I bring zeven". He offers to get me a ticket to France through his company...I leave April 8th. All in all this guy is CRAZY. crazy, awesome.

We had our house warming party last night and everyone finally got to meet him. I feel like everyone left askind "where the crap did you find this guy?"

So I thought I would just post some of my favorite franchmah quotes here so you can enjoy him almost as much as me (but no french food for you, bitch. Thats all mine!)

" I teach ze karate to ze kidz in ze hood. You know...We just want to teach zem ze rezpect. ze zelfcontrol. Zometimes we are not zo zuccessful. zometimes zey get into ze gangz and ze maryjawanna, but moztly we just zay thingz like "lizen to you mammi and you papi, rezpect others, only fight if you have to, don't zell ze maryjwanna" zoze kidz are zo beautiful. Zo smart. Zey are zo little wit zeir little pigtailz.

I am zee blackbelt. If you don't believe me I'll show you" (at this point he runs out of the apartment up to his apartment to get his karate stuff and comes back to show us all of his uniform...no really sir, we would have believed you). "Zee! I am ze blackbelt!"

Here is a picture of ze franchmah. Only ze franchmah is less asian and not named mr. miagi and i doubt he probably has people wax his car. But imagine that man only less squinty and thats totally him. I have asian friends...i can say squinty. Don't judge me.

The other day he came over to drop something off and he ended up staying...for several hours. Thats ok, his alien conspiracy theories are pretty entertaining, but my favorite quote of all was this:

"My mama is 88 and papa is 106. My mama had zixteen children. YA! 16! you know, in zoze dayz we do not have television. My papa have nozing to do but come home and mate with my mother"

What do you say to that? I don't even know...but I laughed pretty hard. That------------------------------------->
is a picture of what I imagine his family to look like...although they sound less mormon. Oh! also they lived in a castle...TAKE THAT DUGGERS! they didn't even have to build thier own home with 27 washers and a cannery in case of zombie apocolypse...be honest, we know thats why you did it!

My favorite delivery of things was a few days ago. I'm not really sure what makes him bring the things he does...but its always pretty entertaining. He brough us a dozen roses (we're all single and lonely on valentines day and he felt we needed flowers...aw how cute), orange juice, a bottle of wine, six packs of strawberry gum and a bag of size 10 men's socks.

"ze zocks, zey are for you. zey are franch...very good quality. i zought maybe you want zem. alzo...I brought ze ztrawberry gum...becauze itz what all ze kidz are chewing zeze dayz."

haha thanks, franchmah...you're so up on todays kids :)

ENOUGH ALREADY!

I couldn't decide between that title and "Life: you're doing it wrong". I felt like the afformentioned was more appropriate until i logged into facebook to see that every single one of my 556 friends are engaged. Every single one. Even bomb, who is 14 years old, and one of my 12 year old previous campers. Ok...that may be an exaggeration, but seriously...I don't think I can handle any more engagement rings.

Some of you (like how I say that as if I have a huge range of readers?) may say that this is just overwhelming jealousy...but seriously I think I have every right to be angered by this epidemic of loving couples. Lets just take a look at the facts of my sad life that is quickly spiraling towards "crazy-cat-lady" status.

1. I live with a hooker...who is just barely the weirdest of the oddies that I've had the pleasure of abiding among over the past 5 years.
2. My dating history is a ridiculous gay non boyfriend (or maybe 2) and a psychopathic cheating lying 30 year old creeper...more on that at a later date...maybe...
3. All my friends graduated and left me sad and alone
4. We discussed what social pariah means, right? check first blog if not.
5. I've picked a major and a career that results in negative meeting of eligible men. Negative. That means they see my teacherie sweaters, and throw the nearest woman at me to distract me and allow them to get away unseen. Ok, thats not entirely true...its only true if you aren't engaged by the time you graduate. Don't worry...every other woman in my graduating class is already engaged/married and has a litter of children...every other woman.
6. While I haven't gotten a cat quite yet (I probably won't because to be honest they horrify me almost as much as that girl from the ring...you never hear them coming, they're just there and I know they are just waiting for me to keel over or pass out so they can eat my lifeless body...more on that later) I do have my one friend...my dog...good news is he is far to stupid to know he would have any other option except to love me forever.

 Ok thats all the sad facts I can list right now. Do you feel bad for me yet? Good...you know how you can help. Stop with the freaking engagement rings and the wedding cakes and the UNBELIEVABLY gorgeous wedding gowns. Seriously...how am I supposed to remain the most beautiful one of my friends with you people always showing me up in those? gosh.


So I have decided to make myself feel better I am going to design my wedding. And I'm going to post it here in all its glory for everyone to see. First:

The Engagement Ring:
This beautiful specimen is perfect. It is beautifully representative of boobs...don't tell me its supposed to be my eyes...that ring is DEFINITELY boobs. And its a fabulous reminder that I am in fact a girl...just in case I forget at some point...which I am prone to do.







 



The Dress:
I don't feel like it is a real wedding if the flower girl doesn't run away from you screaming "SNOW BEAST! SNOOOOOOOWWWW BEEEEEAAAAAASSSST!" (if she adds a comment about a boobie on my finger that would be great too). Also, the diamond studded swim cap will allow me to seamlessly transition into my entirely underwater reception. Its gonna be in a swimming pool...but a diamond studded one...you know, I like to keep it classy.

The Shoes:
Forget the fact that I am incapable of walking in high heels...look how pretty! I could have 4 of my own corsages! Just like prom. Also...don't these just say "dance the night away"?

The Flowers:
I am nothing if not FIERCELY patriotic (I really need the sarcmark here). So I can see no other bouquet or color scheme more appropriate than this one. I will be walking down the isle to the song "proud to be an american" because at least I know I'm free.








Now the last thing I would want is for this blog to incite jealousy in any of you...so feel free to take any or all of my ideas. I didn't include all the details for my fabulous wedding here so that you can't make an exact replica...you know...I got to keep some goodies in the jar.

There really is no nice way to ask.

Hey roommie...hows it going? I was just wondering...um...have you been like low on cash or something lately? Oh, theres no  REAL reason I ask...Just wondering. I mean...mainly its because of the endless flow of guys that you have in your bedroom. Its gotten up to about 5 or 6 so far last night, and its just a little concerning thats all. Now I have one of 3 conclusions I can jump to:

1. The strange residue I find in my pot every once in a while, the one that is a little rainbowie...i think its meth residue. I've never actually seen meth cooked, and i don't know if it is cooked in a pot. For some reason I always in vision a cauldron, but, I guess MY pot could be a good cauldron  substitute for your meth concoctions. I also don't have any idea what meth residue looks like...but rainbowie doesn't seem unreasonable. However...it seems like these shady characters are in your bedroom a little too long for a "pick up"...so I'm thinking its unlikely.

2. Um...If your low on money...I can see you choosing to sell other things...the men emit a smell when they leave that lead me to believe this conclusion is the most likely...but I'm really hoping I'm wrong because this is the saddest of the 3 options. Please get an STD test.

3. You're a secret agent. You only come home drunk at 2 AM every night to throw me off the scent. The men are actually informants...very shady, large, scary, informants. This would explain the tenancy to carry guns...In reality this means my apartment is the safest place for me to be. I have a government employee with me every day, and I'm assuming you know some sort of martial art as well...i feel safer already. This also means your position at the tanning salon is just a cover. Nice one...I'm sure no one else will ever guess your real identity.

I think I'm going to choose option 3. Mainly because A) i'm a little ashamed that I've been able to live with you for 4 months and only slightly suspected option two and B) If I think about the other two options it weirds me out a lot... I guess it doesn't really make a difference since I'm moving out tomorrow...but congratulations for being my weirdest room mate yet. You had quite the competitors, but first prize definitely goes to you. Your mysteriousness went beyond intriguing...into a place where I really don't want to look, and forces me to stay in my locked bedroom with my large dog (whose actually a giant pansy, but you don't need to know that).

Just a suggestion...when I'm broke I buy a lot of eggs and peanut butter. It saves money and gets the job done. Don't eat them together though...thats just weird. 

LOOK HOW STUPID!

I love stupid things. Stupid animals, stupid people, stupid questions (yes they exist...i'll post a conversation with bomb later) everything stupid! Until today I really thought my dog was about as stupid as pets get...his 45 minute staring contests with mirrors and carpet squares are very impressive, but I just got a new pet, that I am positive is stupider and I had to introduce him: (i'm thinking his name should either be Harry or Floyd) *disclaimer this isn't really him, but it looks just like him since i can't get a picture of him online right now*

Now, I don't actually have any proof of stupidity. But, LOOK AT HIM! he really can't be all that bright right? Love.

*UPDATE* I decided to let the kids name the fish, since it was actually for my third graders. It was my last day of student teaching, so it was my gift to them. They decided to name the fish after me....thanks guys...I'm honored...