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Monday, January 30, 2006

Well, I can't say I wasn't duly warned.

When I was little, my grandma used to always tell me, "If you sing at the table, you'll marry a crazy husband." Now, let it be noted that she would tell me this while I was singing, so I guess there was never really any hope for me. Plus, hello? have you met me? Was there every really a chance that I might marry someone normal?

So, Chris? He's a little bit looney. You might not guess it upon initially meeting him, but he's definitely got a whole bag crazy just waiting to be unloaded. Anybody who met his alter ego, "Uncle Raul," last summer knows what I'm talking about. And anybody who didn't have the pleasure of meeting Uncle Raul, I wouldn't even know where to begin explaining that one. And that's all I have to say about that.

Because we're both mostly nuts, we like to come up with off-the-wall theories and think of all the reasons that they seem to be true. One of my favorite theories (and I think I have to give Chris credit for this one) is the theory of different famous people that we believe are actually one in the same. I'm not going to tell you all of them, because I know you. You're going to go around telling people like it's your own damn theory, and that's just not right. But, I will tell you two of my favorites.

1. Rod Stewart and Barry Manilow. Two names, one bad haircut:








Now, come on. Tell me that's not the same man. And. AND. Have you ever seen them together? Think about it. Plus, I like the way they always remember to flip the negatives between Rod and Barry, so that it looks like his part goes a different way. That's an especially nice touch.

2. (We just came up with this one this weekend)
The Beach Boys and Slayer.








Now this, although it may come as a shock to you, is not based on the uncanny physical resemblance. This is based on the fact that Chris was learning to play the intro to some Slayer song (can you tell I'm a big fan?) on the guitar and realized that it sounded a lot like the music for California Girls. Plus, once again, have you ever seen them together? Have you? That's because they're the same damn band!

So, there you have it. Stay tuned for further insanities.

Friday, January 27, 2006

Further Joys of Motherhood

Mmmm, corn!




Here's one of the running lists that Eric has inspired me to keep:

THINGS THAT PASS THROUGH THE HUMAN DIGESTIVE SYSTEM INTACT

-Corn*
-Roasted Red Peppers
-The occasional Cheerio
-Spinach

I'm certain there are more that I can't remember right now or have yet to discover.




*This should not be surprising to the corn lovers among us.

Can you dig it?

So, today I was just driving along minding my own business, ladies and gentlemen, MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS. I pull up at this stop light, and the guy behind me decides that he doesn't need to stop until he's fucking sitting in my backseat. Or close enough. Too close for comfort--that's for sure. Anyway, one of the unfortunate side effects with Mr. Hippocket is that when I look in either my rearview mirror or my side mirror, all I can see is his bigfathead.

So, once again, while I'm sitting at this stoplight, MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS, I happen to look in my rearview mirror and notice that Mr. Bigfathead Hippocket is second-knuckle-deep in his own lovely nose. And I didn't want to look, but it was like a train wreck. The sheer horror of the situation kept drawing my attention back to it. I couldn't help but think, "Man, he's really cleaning that nostril out!!" After a couple seconds, I couldn't allow myself to look any longer. I flipped through a few songs on Mypod and tried my best to keep busy. "Don't look, don't look, don't look," I kept telling myself. And I really didn't want to look. But I couldn't help it.

After a minute or so, I decided it should be safe, and I did the cordial thing--check to make sure everything came out all right. And, if this was even possible, it looked like maybe he now had two fingers up the nostril this time. Now he was like a circus freak. I couldn't look away even if I wanted to. The light turned green and we both proceeded to enter the expressway.

As we both waited to pay our tolls, I happened to glance up again, thinking surely after three minutes he couldn't possibly have anything left to pick. Wrong. What did I see? The spin cylce, ladies and gentlemen--he was actually twisting his finger around in the nostril. Dear lord!

Now, it's worthy of mention that we were in a very high traffic area. It's not like we were on a one-lane road. There were cars on all sides of his car, but he apparently didn't care or thought he had one-way windows. And, on the tollway, right near the toll, there are really no lane markers. You can reach out and touch the cars on either side of you because they are so close. He might as well have been sitting in the lap of the passenger in the car next to him.

After about 5 minutes, I got through the toll and lost track of this guy. I bet he's still picking now. "What's the point of this story?" you're probably wondering, and rightfully so. The point is that I had to witness something truly disgusting and now I need to share it, so that rather than being a voyeur, I can be a victim.

Friends, I implore you, don't pick and drive. It's so unbecoming.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

To thy Happy Children of the Future...



Me: Eric, can you say, "Go Illini!"

Eric: "Go ni-night?"

Me: Go Illini!

Eric (who thinks I'm trying to put him to bed in the middle of the morning): NOOOOOO!

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

TAGGED!

I was tagged by Natalie, Queen of Hilarity!

Four jobs that I have had: (in no particular order)

Legal Secretary
Radio Station Promotions Intern
Assistant Event Coordinator at a golf course
Waitress

Four movies that I can watch over and over again:

When Harry Met Sally
A Few Good Men
This is Spinal Tap
Grosse Pointe Blank

Four places I have lived:

Chicago, IL
Urbana, IL
St. Charles, IL
Elk Grove Village, IL
(Looks like I need to get the fuck out of IL!)

Four TV shows I love to watch:

What Not To Wear
Desperate Housewives
Grey's Anatomy
CSI (Las Vegas only)

Four websites I read daily (or I at least check on daily):

http://bbs.babycenter.com
http://www.dooce.com
http://www.crazyauntpurl.com
http://www.weather.com/weather/local/60631?lswe=60631&lwsa=WeatherLocalUndeclared (I MUST know the forecast!)

Four places I have been on vacation:

Dayton, OH. On vacation. Seriously.
Hilton Head, South Carolina
Cozumel, Mexico
Orlando, Florida

Four favorite foods:

Pizza
Mashed Potatoes
bruschetta
mushrooms

Four places I'd rather be:

somewhere Mediterranean
somewhere Caribbean
Hawaii
Starbucks (That's just for you, Dr. V.)

Four people to tag:

I don't know if any of these people will ever read my blog to see this, but I'll tag them anyway...

Heidi, who I know has spare time at work and enjoys the surveys. :)
Nora, because she usually obliges these types of requests.
Dr. Xavier Vortex Dvorak, MD.
and, um, somebody else.

thankyouandgoodnight. yes, it's 1:30 in the afternoon.

Monday, January 23, 2006

I'm just going to put this out there for you so y'all aren't shocked if it turns out to be true.

So, this weekend I developed this nasty hacking cough. I don't think I caught it from anybody, or am particularly contagious. It's just one of those things that tends to happen occasionally when you are a person who suffers from chronic-post-nasal-drip-for-no-apparent-reason (yes, that's the technical medical term for my particular affliction). I'm not going to get into the whose-its and what-nots of my malady, because, well, it's gross that I even mentioned it in the first place. But, I seem to have developed this side effect that's worthy of mention.

You see, I have this really sore spot in my abdomen. At first I thought I strained a muscle with all the hacking and whathaveyou. But now I think I've figured out what the problem really is. You see, this particular sore spot is directly beneath my ribcage on the left side of my body. I can point to the exact spot that hurts--it's about the size of a quarter. Yesterday that spot felt strained--today I'm actually experiencing a burning sensation. I think I remember reading somewhere that this is the exact location where the aliens implant their babies in human hosts.

That's right. I'm pretty sure I've been impregnated with an alien baby or babies. They probably burned a hole through my torso whilst I slept. Then they were able to cover the outside with a high-tech skin patch, but the inside still burns, you see? It's all making sense, right? It's a little Twilight Zone for my liking, but I guess that it's just my fate. Do you think it's ok to drink when you're hosting alien babies? Because I might need a drink over this one.

Well, who woulda thunk it?


I learned some really shocking information about myself the other night at work. It went down something like this:

Steve: Hey, do you want some of this fancy chicklet-like-gum I have that comes in this neato tin box [See Exhibit A]?

Me: Sure, I'll try some.

Steve: Say when. (Proceeds to dump about 12 pieces in my hand.)

Me: Too late. (I start putting pieces back in the neato tin box)

Steve: Yeah, if you could not lick the pieces before you put them back, that would be great. (I immediately start pretending to lick each piece. When I finish, Steve shuts the lid on his neato tin box). Hey--thanks for that DNA sample. The results should be available shortly.

...a couple minutes pass...

Steve: (pops his head out of his office) Hey, Kristi? Your DNA results are back. It turns out you have Downs Syndrome. I'm sorry to be the one who has to break it to you...

Me: Are you making fun of my disability? Because I'm protected under the law.

Exhibit A: Neato Tin Box













P.S. Steve didn't actually say "See Exhibit A," although such declarations are to be expected from his ilk.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

A recipe...for disaster

Keeping with the Starbucks theme, I would like to point out that all Starbucks drinks have recipes. You know--two shots of espresso, 4 ounces of steamed milk, 2 shots of vanilla...that sort of thing. So why is it that Starbucks beverages can taste wildly different from one barista to the next? I mean, I can understand some variance--they're human after all. But when I get a sickeningly sweet caramel macchiato from one barista and a bitter-to-the-last-drop caramel macchiato from the next, it makes me think that Starbucks isn't really doing a great job of teaching their employees the recipes.

Today's experience falls under the category of you-know-your-drink-is-going-to-suck-when... I nearly always order a caramel macchiato when I go to starbucks. That's my drink. Sometimes I change it up, but not usually. I ordered the old car-mac today and was presented with this question: would you like whipped cream on that? Um, no. Whipped cream is very much not in the recipe. Thanks for playing. A properly made caramel macchiato should have a nice-sized dollop of foam on top. Why would I then want to top my foam with whipped cream?

As it turned out, the drink was OK. Not the best I've ever had, but certainly not the worst. The award for worst drink ever goes to the girl who forgot to put the espresso in my cup. It's going to take something really special to top that one.

Dear Fellow Starbucks Patron:



When I walk into Starbucks with my well-behaved toddler in tow, please kindly refrain from looking at me like I just took a shit in your venti non-fat half-caf latte with a shot of vanilla. It's not the end of the world. You will survive the unpleasant experience of having to be in the same room as someone under the age of two, I promise. What's that? His talking is bothering you, even though you can't even hear it because you're wearing headphones and pretending to read The World's Most Important Book while giving me dirty looks? Get over yourself. A.) He's not talking any louder than the chick on her cell phone two tables over and B.) He's WAY more entertaining than her. Seriously. Oh, and here's a little news flash for you: Starbucks is not a library. People are allowed to talk. Maybe I should repeat that, because a lot of people don't seem to understand it: STARBUCKS IS NOT A LIBRARY. So, kindly keep your dirty looks to yourself. Thank you . Buh-bye.

Kristi

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Karaoke, or, 12 minutes* of my life I'll never get back.

I'm hopefully going to karaoke tonight after work, and I don't care what anyone says, I enjoy it. I like to think I'm a pretty decent singer. I could use to work on my stage presence a little bit, though. I think I have decent stage presence when I do the Improv, but karaoke is another story. I have a difficult time accepting the fact that there are actually people out there listening to me sing, allbymyself, and I tend to concentrate on not messing up the lyrics or the tune. I think I'm a more entertaining performer when I sing a duet.

That being said, I plan to work on my Karaoke Entertainment Value (KEV). I feel like my KEV should be high, but I know it's not. I do get the occasional crazy, middle-aged, unemployed guy telling me how great I am, but that really just creeps me out.

Not too long ago, I went to karaoke night at a bar I don't usually visit. One guy who sang was just an amazing performer. He was absolutely hysterical, and very engaging. It turned out that he was the lead singer of a band (which, come on, that's kind of unfair, but whatever). I visited the band's website later, and it mentioned that their singer learned his audience pleasing techniques at the Second City Training Center. Then it made me all mad, because I trained at Second City as well, but the only audience pleasing techniques I got only work on crazy, middle-aged, unemployed guys. To be fair, I think this guy might have been an entertainer to begin with--a class clown type. Either way, I need to work on my technique. It will definitely help me attain my goal of becoming a Rock Star.



* Equals approximately 3 karaoke songs, which I hope to be able to sing tonight

When I go to jail for committing internet coupon fraud, please send care packages.

Hey! Want to know something really cool? Well, to bad, I'm telling you anyway. I currently have 798 Free Digital Prints available to me from http://www.shutterfly.com! 798! I can't even imagine possibly using that many free prints before they expire (most within the month of January, but some are good until March). How did I come about 798 free prints, you ask? Well, it's sort of funny, really.

I lied, cheated and stole.

That's right. I said it. The good news is that Shutterfly apparently has no rules against lying, cheating and stealing--I even read the fine print. The even better news is that I know several fantastic attorneys (hi Mom). So, when my mother disowns me for lying, cheating and stealing, I have some back ups (Hi Tina, Steve, rest of HLERK). If they too decide not to get wrapped up in my sordid affairs, I know a handful of promising law students (Hi Sue! Jill! Tomas! Todd!). The way I see it, I'm in the free and clear, but. But. Should something happen to me, please think fondly of me while I'm in the slammer. And welcome me back to your world with grace and acceptance like you did Martha Stewart.

You see, here's how it happened. Shutterfly has a myriad of codes floating around the internet for free this or that. Through my League of Information Sharing Mothers (LISM), I happened to come about, oh, 20 or so different codes for free prints. 30 free prints with this code, 10 for that code, 50 for yet another code, etc. Not only that, but Shutterfly also gives 15 free prints to new members, plus 15 free prints to old members who refer new members.

SO...it's not like I need nearly 800 free prints, but I developed this sickness, which was directly related to their lack of rules regarding internet ethics. I referred people I knew. Two of them to be exact. My husband (whose account is entirely maintained by me), and, ahem, myself, by using a secondary email account I have. So, I should mention that I have another 30 pending free prints, which will be released to me once my referrals make their first purchases.

So, there you have it folks. Unethical as all getout? Sure, but come on, they were totally asking for it!!!

Friday, January 06, 2006

"This DVD has Kid-Friendly Instant Play!"

Where by "instant play" they mean, "right after the FBI warning, production company advertisement and 3-minute commercial which will cause your child to lose any and all interest in this particular DVD." Gotta love it.



P.S. As an update to my last post, I'm still alive and HAVE NOT been to the ER. Yay!