Ad campaigns, Kristi-style

Being a creative sort of person, I am constantly coming up with ideas for new and innovative ways to advertise the same old crap. It usually goes like this: hear a song, purposely misunderstand and misconstrue the lyrics and, voila! potential new ad campaign! Now, this might be shocking, but please keep in mind that I never studied any type of advertising or marketing while I was in school! Here is a little sample of some of my ideas:

Company: Taco Bell

Song: Let's Give 'Em Something to Talk About

Artist: Bonnie Raitt

Ad: Bonnie Raitt sells out to the Taco Bell empire and changes her song lyrics to "Let's go get some kind of Taco Bell...a nice chalupa with beans as well. Let's go get some kind of Taco Bell. How about now-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow?"

Company: Pizza Hut

Song: Personal Jesus

Artist: Depeche Mode

Ad: This one involves selling out too. A bunch of coworkers are ordering pizza for lunch. No two people want the same toppings. So, Depeche Mode steps in and offers a solution: Your Own. Personal. Pizza.

Company: Some Doctor's Office

Song: (You Make me Feel Like) A Natural Woman

Artist: Carole King

Ad: A tall, big-boned woman with average looks is singing and dancing along to this song as she gets dressed and ready for an evening out on the town. A voice over at the end says something to the effect of: Dr. Paul Magillicutty. A world-renowned expert at Transsexual Sex Reassignment Surgery. Taking care of your sex change needs since 1987. For more information call 1-800-HE-TO-SHE.

Tales from a tired stupor...

First, a little background info on our house: the day we came to sign the lease on our house, our landlords just went on and on about what a great house it is and that it's insulated so well that the utility bills were incredibly reasonable. Well, after living here for a short while, we decided on our own that 1) it was a great house, but 2) that our landlords must live in a tent if this is their idea of "great insulation." In fact, I can remember that last summer (which was a particularly warm summer for Chicago), even with the AC set at 65, it was pretty much impossible to get the house any cooler than 85 degrees during the day. I think at night we could get it down to about 82. But I digress.

Our house is set up with the three bedrooms running down the side of the house. Eric's room is in the front, ours is in the middle, and the back room is the office. For some reason, the front and back rooms do not get the same share of the heat that the middle room gets. So, in order to make sure the baby isn't getting frost bite, we have to turn the heat so that it's Africa Hot™ in our room. This little problem seems to be getting better as the weather gradually gets nicer, though.

So, last night, I fell asleep on the couch in my clothes. I didn't wake up until Chris' alarm went off at 4:something a.m. I dragged my ass into the bedroom and was just barely able to convince myself to change out of my clothes into pajamas. Except that it was Africa Hot™ and my clothes were too heavy to continue wearing.

After laying in bed for approximately 17 seconds, I decided that there was no possible way I was going to be able to sleep comfortably--especially considering that I like the weight of the covers on me while I sleep. I thought, "Hey...maybe I should just open the window." But that would require me to get out of bed... and... I'm... so... t...i...r...e...d.

Then I had an idea: Maybe I could reach the window with my foot, part the vertical blinds and grab the crank between my big toe and second toe. And, like a monkey, I could open the window that way. I mean, the window is only a couple feet away from my side of the bed. Well, luckily, before I got a chance to try that tactic (which probably would have resulted in my falling out of the bed), the alarm went off again and Chris got up. I asked him to go turn down the thermostat, which he did. I'm not sure why I didn't ask him to open the window. I think part of me doesn't want to give up hope that the monkey-leg plan could work someday.

Joy of Parenthood # 37: Super Hero Jammies

Gettin' Real

Not to get all Dr. Phil (or his Sesame Street spoof, Dr. Feel) on you, but this business about all my clothes starting to get too tight HAS GOT TO END. Actually, I should mention that it's my FAT clothes that are getting to tight. And by fat clothes, I mean anything purchased after the million pound weight gain, and subsequent 4 pound weight loss, for a grand total of 999,996 pounds gained since getting pregnant. Since the "9 months on, 9 months off" marker has come and gone TWICE now, it seems that I'm doing something wrong (like maybe not trying very hard...or at all, for that matter). So, I have just over four months before we hit 9 months on, 9x3 months off. Four months is enough time to make a dent. So, you heard it here first. In four months, there will be less Kristi to love.

For this I am surely going to hell.

Last night, I went out to eat with my friends at Wildfire. We all had delicious steaks as our entrees. Mmm. Steak. Anyway, I took home a little medallion of my "Filet Medallions, Diane Style," to savor at a later time. I figured that since my loose connection to Catholicism racks me with guilt and prevents me from eating meat on Fridays during lent, perhaps I would save it until Saturday, when I could eat it for lunch. Unfortunately, when I got home...um...after midnight, I was hungry. And oh how that steak looked so good. So I pretended that it wasn't Friday because I had not yet gone to sleep. Please don't tell God.

I have blogger's block.

So today I'm just going to do a little review of some random things that annoy me:

-Kidnapping vans (vans with no windows other than the windshield and the driver and passenger door windows). I understand how these might be useful to some people--you know...those carrying crap that nobody really wants to look at, and those hauling a gaggle of Vietnamese slaves...but I hate driving behind them because I can't see anything.

-the dirtiness of my house, which I'm going to work on when I finish this post

-crappy weather

-fast food places that serve you cold fries--like, cold before they even put them in your bag, not like they got cold on your drive home.

-little yappy dogs

That's all for now. I'm trying not to dwell on the annoying.

ADD IT UP

You guys, when it comes to cleaning, I'm pretty sure I've got some form of ADD. I've got nothing but the best of intentions when it comes to cleaning the filth pit that I call my house (OK, not so much filth as general mess). Me trying to clean goes a little something like this:

First, I convince myself that I just need to focus on one room at a time. So, maybe I pick the kitchen. I start clearing out some of the clutter, throwing things away and putting them back where they belong.

Brain Dialogue: "Oh look--cold medicine from when we were sick three weeks ago. I'd better go into the bathroom and put that in the linen closet." [off to the bathroom I go]

"Dear lord! Would you look at what a mess this bathroom is? I know I'm working on the kitchen right now, but if I could just pick up a few things in here, I'm sure it would look MUCH better!"

So, I pick up the clothes that have gathered on the floor, and I start to clean up the vanity when I happen to glance into the mirror.

"Wow! These eyebrows need some serious grooming!" So, I do that for 10 minutes. "Oh look--there's my dental floss. Better floss my teeth! La la la la la. love in an elevator..."

Then it occurs to me that I was supposed to be cleaning--focusing on the kitchen, as a matter of fact. So, I go back to the kitchen. I trip over a toy on the floor, and I take it into the living room, where I notice a new magazine that I haven't read yet. I start flipping through the magazine. Five minutes later, I head back to the kitchen with a renewed sense of purpose.

"You know, maybe I should just wash the dishes. That way I won't be as easily distracted." But, before I start the dishes, I remember that there was a cup sitting next to the computer, which I had better go get so I can wash it. Unfortunately, in the process of getting the cup, I come too close to the internet force field and ohmygodit'sbeenatleast30minutessinceIcheckedmyemail!!!!! Easily a half hour passes before I realize that I'm thirsty, and I return to the kitchen without the cup that I was getting in the first place.

I think I'm going to write a book in the style of Laura Numeroff. It will be called, "If you give a housewife a cocktail."

Touché

My grandparents were visiting from Florida this weekend and ended up taking the family out for...um, dunch (?) yesterday afternoon. Chris and I don't really go out to eat with Eric very often, because, well, we're not that brave. My parents take Eric out to eat way more often than we do, and they just go on and on about how great he is in restaurants. So, I leave the restaurant-going to them.

Anyway, Eric's behavior yesterday was actually about as good as any toddler can be expected to behave at a restaurant. The first thing he noticed was how great his (cute, but) sinister laugh sounded with the high ceilings of the restaurant. He laughed like that for the first ten minutes or so. I figured, well, he's kind of loud, but I'd rather listen to a loud laughing baby than a loud crying baby. Next, he discovered the crayons. He colored on the provided paper for about 12 seconds. Then he tried to color on his head. Then he ate the crayons. A few minutes after that, I rescued him from his highchair and let him stand on the booth seat and look out the window.

When the food came, he went back into the highchair. One of the first things he did was accidentally knock his cheeseburger off the plate and onto the floor--cheese side down. So sad. I took him out of the chair again and he sat on Chris' lap and ate off of other people's plates. At one point, Chris tried to get him to try a bite of his pickle. Now, Eric isn't exactly Mr. Adventurous when it comes to food, so it didn't really surprise me when he turned up his nose at the pickle. But Chris persisted. "Come on Eric, just try it--you might like it! Do you know who likes pickles? Monkey likes pickles!" (For the record, Monkey also likes taking naps and having his diaper changed and taking medicine, etc.) I chimed in, "Oh, that's right! Monkey looooves pickles! They're his favorite!" Eric looked at Chris, then at me. Then he reached down, picked up Monkey from the bench and smashed the pickle into his face.

We were outwitted. By a less-than-two-year-old. Ouch.

A fun link for a friday afternoon...

http://www.anonymouscoworker.com/2006/03/17/my-ragingly-catholic-ancestors-are-vomitting-with-disdain/

Why, oh, why did I not discover http://www.anonymouscoworker.com earlier?

PS "this morning i ate an englishman to keep the spirit of the irish alive."

O'Meal

In honor of St. Patty's Day, I'd like to share a funny bit about my little leprechaun:

Over the past couple of months, Eric has become quite obsessed with oatmeal--or, o'meal, as he calls it. I mean, he has always liked it, but now he's taking it to extremes. In his mind, o'meal is an acceptable side dish with any meal. In the morning, he'll wake up and say, "Waffle. Milk. O'meal." At snacktime, he'll ask for, "Juice? Fishies? O'meal?" Today at lunch, he had a hot dog and grapes. He kept telling me, "Hotdog yummy! Grapes yummy! O'meal??" So, tonight for dinner, I think I'll make him macaro'meal and cheese.

Scary-oke!

OK...just an itty bitty little rant about the karaoke place that I made us go to last night (because it would allow me to kill two birds with one stone). The only thing this place has going for it is a quasi-convenient location. It is located next to Jessica's restaurant, which allows us to eat yummy food for really cheap, and then Jess can come over when she's done closing.

But, seriously, we've given this place several chances now and, if anything, it's only getting worse. They have a relatively new karaoke DJ and, I must say, this guy is the Mayor of Shittytown. He seems to be developing a few loyal subjects--let's call them Shitheads. Seriously, this guy. just. sucks. We got there before he even started, and he barely even called us all up to sing--and there weren't that many people at the bar!!?! Poor Jessica only got to sing because she went up, like 16 times and asked the guy if she was going to get to sing yet. I'm telling you--this guy is doing part karaoke, part teen dance party. Every karaoke song he plays is followed by some crappy song in its entirety. Meanwhile, this guy is meandering around the bar, copping a feel on the scantily-clad skanks he can get his hands on.

To give a comparison--this week we showed up at the very beginning of the night, with 3 hours of karaoke to come. 2 of us got to sing pretty early. Another one got called up as he was walking out the door, like two hours later. The fourth one was called shortly thereafter, but she had just left. The fifth one sang the very last song of the night. Last week, we went somewhere else. We showed up about 45 minutes after karaoke had started. We all got to sing twice--AND THERE WERE MORE PEOPLE THERE.

Well...I think I know where we are going next time.

I'm of the belief that my name can be accurately represented by two X's.

I believe this because:
1. I'm crazy and allowed to believe anything I want.
2. I have written the following resolution, which I believe to be legally binding:

WHEREAS, my full name is Kristen; and

WHEREAS, "Christ" (.:"Krist") can be represented by the letter X, as seen in X-mas; and

WHEREAS, the letter X represents the Roman numeral ten.

NOW, THEREFORE, it is hereby resolved as follows:

RESOLVED, that from the above information, XX is an accurate representation of the name Kristen.

FURTHER RESOLVED, that I shall be allowed to call myself whatever the hell I want to call myself.

Just a Reminder:

The ides of March are upon us!

I don't know whether to hug them or shake them.

The other night, my friends introduced me to this SNL skit. How did I ever miss this? Oh, that's right, I don't watch SNL a lot these days because sometimes it just hurts. But this Christopher Walken gem is definitely worth watching!

Anyway, I'm glad they told me about that, but I CAN'T BELIEVE that no one mentioned this sketch! [Warning...this is one that you might want to watch discreetly around little ears or bosses...unless your boss has a great sense of humor.] Chris brought this one to my attention, and for that, I thank him. That is some funny stuff right there!

Whistleblower.

The office manager caught me last night in a moment of extreme had-it-up-to-here-ness. I had just finished my undesirable typing work from Alice and was about to leave, when she asked a dreaded question related to the project I'm supposed to be helping with. The project involves sending a couple hundred boxes of files to an offsite storage facility. Being that the company employs a file clerk, it would seem that his primary duty would be to work WITH FILES. He seems to think otherwise, although he's really tricky about it. He kisses all the right asses to get away with doing very little and not get caught.

Anyway, I'm supposed to help the file clerk get the boxes organized and ready to go. "Help" being the operative word, I thought. Except, he seems to think that I'm supposed to do it all. Or, rather, he keeps saying that he's going to work on it, yet, mysteriously, nothing is getting done. He's also coming up with some of the best excuses in the land as to why he's not working on it. But, nearly every day when I come in, he wants to come up to me and talk about how much I worked on the files the night before. Here's the deal, though--I was hired to work 3 hours a day (though I usually work more). Most days, at least 2.5 of those hours are filled with work for attorneys, which is my primary job function. Then I have about a half hour of undesirable typing work. So, there's three hours (usually more) right there. At most, I have maybe a half hour a day to work on these boxes. At this rate, it will be 2007 before the boxes get out the door, if things continue as they are.

So, when the office manager asked how the file project was going, I unloaded on her. I've been REALLY busy with work from the attorneys. I'm spending a lot of time daily doing work from Alice. We've got a file clerk who does nothing but sit on the computer all day long. Also, I let her in on the reasons said file clerk has been giving me regarding why he hasn't worked on boxes, including the one about how he can't bend over because HE HAS RINGING IN HIS EARS. Come on. She was pretty surprised to hear all this, and said she was going to take care of these things. Consider the buck passed back.

PS I know it sounds like I hate my coworkers and/or job, but that is really not the case. Most of my coworkers are great and, for the most part, I really enjoy my job. It's just that recently, I've been dealing with the two biggest slackers in the company. It's maddening.

Helping the world spell better, one vowel at a time.

It seems that more and more frequently, people are finding my website by running a google search for the word exercism. While it makes me sad that people at large spell so poorly, it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling that in my "exercism" post, I reveal the correct spelling of the word they're probably looking for. I really hope they catch that, and are re-googling.

Hmmm...if I wanted to be really helpful, I could always go back to that post and hyperlink the word exorcism to a google search for that term.

On second thought? No, I really don't want to be that helpful.

Scared to think what could be going on inside my stomach.

Last night, Chris and I were drinking our beverages of choice out of the same type of cup. Incidentally, they were those red bumpy plastic cups that remind me of eating at Pizza Hut when I was a kid. Anyway, for a while we were both drinking Mt. Dew, but by this point, I had switched over to chocolate milk. Mmm. Chocolate milk.

My cup was sitting on the kitchen counter, next to the fridge, with about an inch of milk in it. Chris went into the darkened kitchen, saw the cup on the counter, thought it was his cup and poured Mt. Dew into it. What happened next is the part that worries me a bit. The combination started foaming like a science experiment. In the end, the concoction ended up with the chocolate milk on the bottom of the cup, separated from the Mt. Dew, which was the middle layer, with a thick foam on the top. It was really gross. Considering that I had drank the same combination of beverages, I hope my stomach doesn't explode!

In other news, while I was making breakfast this morning, Eric went into the office and turned on the TV. Then he came running back into the kitchen shouting, "Football! Football!" It turns out that Rudy was on this morning, and Eric and I caught about the last fifteen minutes of it. So, naturally, I spent those 15 minutes choked up and snivelling like a baby. It was great. And all the while, Eric was running around yelling, "Football! Touchdown! Rudy! Football!" Dear lord, I hope my heart doesn't explode too.

Things that made me smile today.

1. http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2397532802194226883
2. http://youknitwhat.blogspot.com
3. http://www.snarkywood.com/
4. Notice ye not the less than cleanliness of my bathtub, but rather, the little fauxhawked midget.

5. Tulips, people. TULIPS!

And hosta!

6. Take that, Cookie Monster!

7. Does anybody really know what time it is? [Editor's note: Since this caption seems to be confusing people, Eric is wearing a watch with his jammies.]

Sort of rambling and totally not thinking this through...just writing what's on my mind.

Everyone's negativity (mostly my own) is starting to get me thinking. For the most part, I believe that thinking negatively or thinking positively is a choice. I definitely believe that there are people out there who have less control over that choice, where one thing can start a snowball effect because, for whatever reason, their body was not given adequate coping mechanisms. I know people like that, and what I'm saying here does not apply to them. This is also not some Tom Cruise-esque, take vitamins and exercise and everything will be alright rant. It's just a "most people have the power to control their own destiny to the extent that it effects their emotional well-being" thingie.

I cannot speak for the world at-large, but I believe that Americans specifically are trained to think that life is supposed to be good and easy at all times, and that if it's not, you're doing something wrong and you should be medicated to bring you back to a place where things are good and easy. And I don't necessarily agree with that philosophy. I believe that life brings us challenges so that we can learn and grow from them. And things are not always going to go your way. And you need to learn to cope with that, whatever way you can. And sometimes really shitty things are going to happen to really good people, without warning or explanation. But, for the most part, people are built to recover from really shitty things. I personally feel that you need to do your best to take care of your body and your mind and take life as it comes.

I feel like I'm constantly listening to people who are unhappy in their jobs. If you are a person who is truly unhappy with your line of work, let me lay out your options for you: find a new job (easier said than done? yes, but completely possible nonetheless) OR keep your current job and take into account the lifestyle it affords you. Do you have a roof over your head? Are you able to pay your bills? Do you have freetime outside of work to pursue things that do make you happy? Do you have money to pursue those things? Maybe it's a matter of switching your focus from what it is about your job that you find unfulfilling to what you can do outside of work to find the fulfillment. But, if you hate your job and you're there ALL THE TIME, or, you don't make enough money to do anything outside of work other than worry about money, you really don't have options. You need to get a new job.

This is something that I have thought about lots and lots since having a baby and switching gears. At some point do I want to pursue a dream job? This dream job, which may or may not exist, by the way, will undoubtedly require a lot of time and effort on my part to get and maintain. OR, do I want to work a job--any job--which allows me to spend time with my family and pursue hobbies outside of work. It's totally possible that it's easy for me to think this way because I have existing "hobbies" and they include fine arts, which is not an area that I ever expect to be able to make a career out of (but wouldn't it be cool if I could?).

Right now, I feel I'm at a cross-roads. Chris and I are pretty much at a point where our only options are to increse the in-come or decrease the out-go. We've done a lot of the latter, but it's still tough. It's a daily struggle for me to decide what I'm willing to do without in order to keep Eric out of daycare (not because I think daycare is inherently evil, but because, since I've been home with him this long, it just tears me up to think about not being with him every day). I know first hand that it's hard to keep a positive outlook when it seems that the only way things can possibly get better in one area is by making them worse in another area.

What is my point with all this? I don't know. But I needed to get it off my chest. Life is a crap shoot. You never know what tomorrow might bring. You might win the lottery. You might get hit by a bus. Do you want to spend what is potentially your last day on earth drowning in negativity?

I apologize to my coworkers who read this because they already hear me bitch about this daily.

Let me paint you a little picture here, and tell me what you think.

Imagine that a co-worker of yours says, "Hey, [insert your name here], I forgot my wallet today, do you think you could spot me $5 for lunch?" Would you then expect to buy that person lunch daily until further notice?

or

Imagine that your neighbors went on vacation, and asked you to bring in their mail while they were gone. Would you expect that to mean that you would be getting their mail every day henceforth until either you or they moved?

or how about this

Imagine that your friend's car broke down and you offered to drive him or her to work until it got fixed. To you, does that mean that your friend is going to call Victory Auto Wreckers and the guy with the big watch is going to come take their car away forevermore, since you have so kindly offered to be their lifetime chauffeur?

Here's the deal: back in December, (yes, December), the receptionist at work took two weeks vacation (hmm...must be nice). While she was gone, she got behind on some of her non-phone-answering duties. When she came back, the office manager cornered me right in front of the receptionist's desk and explained to me that the receptionist (Let's call her "Alice," because that is very much NOT her name) was behind on her work from being out for two weeks, and could I help her get caught up by doing some undesirable work involving the typewriter. Well, a) didn't really give me a choice there, did ya, and b) of course I would help her get caught up.

Well...hmm...here it is March, and apparently Alice is not yet caught up on two weeks of work from December. Except that you and I both know that she is "caught up," and the undesirable typing work is now mine forevermore. And it REALLY irritates me. And I don't know why. I mean, if the office manager had asked me right off the bat if I would take over the undesirable typing work in perpetuity, it's not like I would have said no. I may not have felt like I actually had a choice in the matter, but I wouldn't have said no. And then I would have known not to wait for an end of the undesirable work, and I would not feel frustrated daily when a stack of things to be typed mysteriously showed up on my chair.

So really, what it boils down to here is that I feel that I have a very strong work ethic. But not everyone does. And maybe Alice's isn't as strong as mine. And maybe it doesn't always feel fair that many people are able to coast by doing the absolute minimum, while I would be embarrassed to not do as much as I absolutely could. So...it's time to release the anger and stop being petty. It's time to come to terms with the fact that I am just better than most people. Haha...just kidding. But it is time to come to terms with the fact that, because I'm willing to give more, more will always be expected of me. And sometimes that sucks--especially when you see the people who get away with doing less playing solitaire at their desks trying to pass the time.

Anxiously awaiting the vernal equinox...and karaoke night.

My husband pointed out to me the other day that my posts of late have been somewhat...how shall I put it...negative. He suggested that I might need a vacation. I think he might be right, but unfortunately I don't see that happening anytime soon. Oh well.

I think my recent bout of negativity is directly related to two* things. First of all, it's winter, and I hate winter. It's cold and dreary and blegh (to be said with as much emphasis as you can muster, so that it sounds like a cat dry heaving). The closer it gets to spring, the more I feel like it will never ever arrive and the grouchier I get. [Imagine Alvin the Chipmunk voice] I can hardly stand the wait, please springtime don't be late!

So, that's reason number one. Reason number two I believe correlates directly to the fact that I have not gone to karaoke the past two weeks. In fact, I have not done much of anything in the past two weeks. But that's all changing tomorrow, when I make my triumphant**, long-anticipated*** return to the mic. Plus, even better--or equally good, depending on your stance--is that before hand, Nora, Sue and I (and possible other karaoke/food lovers??) will be eating at Maggiano's. Don't be surprised if I eat tiramisu for dinner, and then again for dessert. And then I shall be happy as a clam--and a very happy clam, at that.

tirammmmmisu.

*or more

**or not

***by me alone

I forget what eight was for.

The other day I came across some Violent Femmes music on the pod. I ended up listening to the song Kiss Off several times over. Why? I'm not really sure. It just reminded me of times gone by--of college, when things were simpler. Or maybe it was just that different things were complicated. Whatever.

When I was in college, I was in this group called Star Course my senior year. All (and I do mean all) of my friends were in the group and by senior year, I figured I might as well join, since it would give me access to better parties. Star Course was the organization that put on the smaller University-sponsored concerts.

One of the problems that I encountered with Star Course was that, since we were putting on concerts of not-so-well-known bands, half the time nobody knew what the band members actually looked like. And sometimes that caused embarrassing confusion.

So, during my short Star Course experience, we put on a Violent Femmes concert. I helped with load-in/out and security that day. During load-in, I was putting some stuff on the stage and ended up in a conversation with another Star Course girl and the dude who was setting up the drum kit. Among other things, we talked about this leg of the Violent Femmes tour, and where they were headed next. Drum Dude kept saying things like, "I don't know what we're doing after this. I don't know where we're playing next." And I kept replying things like, "Oh, I heard they're playing in DeKalb next." Because, clearly the person I was talking to was a roadie, and clearly HE personally would not be playing in DeKalb next, right? Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that Guy Hoffman was setting up his own damn drums? I mean, isn't that what roadies DO? I don't think he was terribly offended, or maybe didn't even notice. I figured it out on my own much later in the day, and was retrospectively embarrassed.

After the concert that night, we had the post-party at our apartment. The band members and crew were usually invited to the post-parties, but were usually to cool to go to college parties (as you might imagine). Well, on this particular night, I do believe the Violent Femmes roadies were lookin' to get a little bit of co-ed ass. A few of them came to our apartment and proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk (or maybe they already were). One of them fell down the stairs leading up to our upstairs neighbors' apartments and cracked his head open on the brick planter box across the sidewalk from the stairs. My roommate Heidi had to drive him to the hospital for stitches. I don't remember exactly how the rest of the story goes, but it involves him escaping from the hospital and the rest of his roadie friends feeling bad for him because it was his turn to drive the bus the next day. And apparently they showed no mercy when it came to driving the bus.

So...that's kind of a fun story from my college days. Actually, thinking about that caused me to remember another embarrassing situation I had involving not knowing a rockstar from a hole in the ground. After college, I briefly interned at a radio station, in the promotions department. We put on a "Live From Studio X" concert with the band Cake. I was in charge of carding people at the door to make sure they were on our guest list (you can see where this is going). The thing was that not only did I try to card somebody who was with the band, but since he walked right by me into the room, I had to go chase him down, at which point he flashed me his backstage pass. Turned out he played bass with the band. Who knew? He was pretty hot too...too bad I ruined my chances with him. (ha.)

By the way, this post should be titled "Wherein I try to make myself sound WAY cooler than I actually am."

Kristi's Driving Advice: Installment One

Dear Driver who is several cars back at the red light and feels the need to honk the moment the light turns green:

Do the world a favor and drive off a cliff, asshole. We can all see that the light is green. See how we are starting to move? But, since you obviously don't get it, let me fill you in on a little secret: because you honked, we are all now driving extra slow, just to piss you off. Way to go, smart guy.

Basically, the way I see it is that you have two options: leave earlier so that you are not in a hurry, or come to terms with your lateness. I, in a moment of zen-like clarity, chose the second option.

I would offer a third option, wherein you would develop the technology to teleport or make cars fly, but it is already clear to me that you don't have the brains that god gave a piss ant. So, we'll have to work around that. But, for the love of all things sacred and holy, PLEASE LAY OFF THE FRICKIN HORN.

Much love,

Kristi

Bite Me

This week deserves a Bite Me post because, you know, it's just been one of those weeks.

To The Baby Eric, who has suddenly decided that if the sun is up, he should be to...Bite Me (here...let me stick my finger in your mouth)

To life, for sucking sometimes...Bite Me

To random fevers and runny noses and coughs and other isolated maladies that show up with no other symptoms...Bite Me

To Chris and I, for being stupid enough to buy two cars in the same month (of different years), causing all of their annual fees to be due at the same time...Bite Me (chomp. ow.)

To the neverending construction on the Kennedy/Northwest Tollway...Bite Me

To the newscaster who announced gleefully the other day, "Well, we're coming upon Spring and, therefore, construction season!" and then went on to detail all the new construction projects that would be starting soon...Bite Me

To the lady who stands outside the door of the Starbucks that I go to when I get my weekly Starbucks treat, selling Streetwise, talking loudly on her cell phone and standing so close to the door that it's hard to go in without tripping on her...Bite Me (because I'm only a couple Starbucks away from being right there with her)

To the offsite storage file project at work...Bite Me

To the IRS and their stupid taxes...Bite Me

OK, that's enough biting for now. But I reserve the right to add more if I so desire. Feel free to add some of your own...