Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Doing my civic duty...

Well, I can't say I didn't jinx myself.

A few months back (late September or early October?), while I was over visiting with my parents, my mother got a jury summons in the mail. It was for November 6th. "Oh. I've never been summoned to jury duty before," I told her, and then went on to explain that maybe I had been, actually, but I was in college, living out of the area. And that was that. Until a few weeks later, that is, when I received my very own jury summons, also for November 6th (apparently the county of Cook, unlike the county of Kane, where my mom lives, doesn't believe in ample warning).

As it turned out, my summons was for "Standby Jury Duty," which meant I had to call the evening before to see if I was needed. I wasn't. However, it seems that if you are not selected for jury duty at that time, your name goes right back to the top of the list of potential jurors. So, a month and a half later, I received another summons--not standby this time--for jury duty on January 22nd.

So, that was Monday. I arrived and checked in, drawing a panel number at random from one of those large popcorn tins--panel 3, whatever that meant. I showed up promptly at 9:00 am, as requested on my summons, and I sat there in awkward silence with 70 or so other people for the next half hour, until someone finally spoke to us. It seems that they wait until 9:30 to give us poor saps a chance to get lost and find our way back to them. Anyway, they showed us some dumb video about how important we were, and then explained how the day was going to go: we were going to sit there in more awkward silence for now. If and when our panel number was called, we would be escorted to a courtroom, where we may or may not be chosen for jury duty. She also explained that it was entirely possible for us to have to sit there in awkward silence until 4:30 p.m., without ever being called. Alrighty then. Sounds like fun.

The movie and explanation ended around 10 a.m. I had brought a book, but instead I mostly sat there and zoned out. At 11:30, the Deputy came into the waiting room and called panels 3-10 down to the courtroom. It was a total of 48 people, from whom they would be selecting 14 people--12 jurors and 2 alternates. I guess the possibility also existed that if they exhausted all 48 people without finding their 14, they could have requested more people from the waiting room.

At this point I'm thinking, OK, I have less than a 1 in 3 chance of being chosen based on the number of people from whom they are selecting. On top of that, I work for a law firm, am related to and friends with lawyers, am 8 months pregnant, and am visibly (and audibly) suffering from a bad cold. I'm the worst of the bad choices, right? How could these people not take pity on me?

When we arrived in the court room, the judge explained to us what was going to happen, and what was expected of us. He then told us the name of the lawsuit and read the charges involved. At that point, it was a little after noon. He decided that he would read the first group of names that they would interview as prospective jurors and have those people come sit in the jury box. I was the third person called. When the jury box was full, he excused everyone to lunch, telling those in the jury box to return after 45 minutes, and the rest of the crowd to return in and hour and a half.

We returned and did our interviews a little while later. It turned out that maybe I wasn't exactly the worst of the bad choices, but I still didn't think I would be selected. I guess I tend to assume that the population at large is living on the right side of the law, but apparently that isn't always the case. I was surprised that 3-4 people of that original group of 14 either currently had lawsuits pending, or didn't know if their lawsuit was still pending. Although, of those pending lawsuits, only one was criminal (apparently the guy had "a whole slew" of charges against him, including criminal trespassing and disorderly conduct). Then, of course, there was the Chinese restaurant owner, who has lived and owned a business in the US for over 20 years, and raised his teen aged children here, who proudly proclaimed that his English was "no very good." That seemed like a convenient excuse to me. But I digress. After interviewing all 14 of us, we were excused for another short break, and would be selected or released upon our return.

I returned with my fingers crossed, but I was the first name selected. The judge explained that the trial would start on Tuesday, and that he hoped it would be wrapped up by Thursday. So, if anybody has been looking for me, that's where I've been all week. Interestingly enough, I don't seem to know of anybody who has actually had to serve on a jury before. I certainly don't know anyone who has had multiple consecutive days of jury duty. So, as much as being an interesting tale, I guess this is also a PSA for what you might expect if you receive a summons for jury duty.

I have to say, I find the trial process interesting. What's kind of annoying is that at this time, we still have not been instructed as to who the alternate jurors are. So, when we go into deliberations tomorrow, 2 people will not be needed. I feel like, at this point, I would be annoyed to find out I was an alternate. I guess I will know tomorrow. And then, when the trial is over, I'll be able to share all the sordid details. Until then, you shall just have to wait with bated breath.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Oops

October 25th, huh? That's the last time I wrote something here? Well, I wish I had something interesting to report, like that my 8-week intensive training course for the KGB is now over, and I will be moving to an undisclosed location in Russia shortly. Or that an excruciatingly handsome man found me wandering around the desert in an amnesic state and nursed me back to health. Or perhaps that I had joined the Peace Corps and was off building orphanages in the rainforests of Costa Rica. But, yeah... Really? It was a big old mixture of laziness and busyness and writer's block, with a healthy dose of home computer problems thrown in.

So, the good news is that Christmas is now over, along with all the familial stress and financial drain that goes with it. I'm seriously considering going to sleep and not waking up until January, but it seems my work and family obligations (you know, like showing up at work and taking care of my toddler...) will not allow for such tomfoolery. Christmas was good though. It appears as though Toys 'R Us had a case of explosive diarrhea in my living room. Eric got entirely too much stuff, but that's ok. It's his last Christmas as the only child/grandchild, so I figure let him be spoiled rotten. I think his favorite gift, though, was his big boy bed that Santa Claus brought him. Well, more like Santa Claus dropped off a big box from IKEA with a million parts in it, and Chris and I spent 14.5 hours assembling it (mostly Chris--I decorated once the bed was together).

Well, I do have a bunch of other things that I'm planning to write about, and a million other pictures to share, but for now, I'm exhausted. I promise to be back before 2 months time. Promise!

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Admission

Sometimes, when I’m at work, I get an overwhelming urge to do something half-assed, because it’s a lot easier, it’s what everyone else would do, and by the time anyone figures out that it wasn’t done right in the first place, it could never be traced back to me. But I don’t give in to that urge. Maybe because I work with my mom.

That feeling reminds me of this:

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

The ultimate in laziness.


I am so grateful that somebody finally invented hot dogs already in the bun, because I just don't know how much longer I could have survived the old routine of opening not only the hot dog package, but also the bun package, and then going through the whole rigamarole of trying to fit the hotdog into the bun. Talk about a time saver! It's reassuring to know that, on my death bed, I will no longer be grieving for the handful of minutes I would've given up over the course of my life, had I continued to make microwave hotdogs the conventional way. Just think of the moments I will save by not needing to fumble with twist-ties! Yes, it's true. The world is now a better place.

And also: dear lord--what is this world coming to?!?

Friday, October 13, 2006

The Kristrilogy

Chris got this "survey" from one of his friends. I thought it was pretty cool, different, and fun to do...so I did it three times. Here are my results:

Creating the Soundtrack for the Movie of Your Life
So, here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button

A New Kristi
Opening Credits:Tiny Dancer-Elton John
Waking Up: Chiquitita-ABBA
First Day at school: The Impression that I Get-Mighty Mighty Bosstones
Falling In Love: Man on the Moon-REM
Fight Song: White Wedding-Billy Idol
Breaking Up: Ain’t Even done with the Night-The Cougar
Prom: Free Fallin’-Tom Petty
Life's OK: Let it Be-The Beatles
Mental Breakdown: Paradise City-Guns ‘N Roses
Driving: Who’ll Stop the Rain-CCR
Flashback: Pinball Wizard-The Who
Getting Back Together: Dope Nose-Weezer
Wedding: Loveshack-B-52s (Which, ironically, has been played at every wedding EVAR)
Birth of Child: Crisis King-Helmet
Final Battle: Standing Still-Jewel (I guess I'm a pacifist)
Death Scene: The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite-REM (Clearly dying in my sleep)
Funeral Song: Just a Girl-No Doubt

Kristentatious Strikes Back
Opening Credits: Wake Me Up Before you Go-Go-Wham! (If I'm ever in a band, I want that band to have an exclamation point at the end of its name!)
Waking Up: Paradise by the Dashboard Light-Meat Loaf
First Day at school: Promise-Violent Femmes
Falling In Love: Here I Go Again-Whitesnake
Fight Song: Maybe Katie-Barenaked Ladies (Ummm...watch out Katie?)
Breaking Up: Penny Lane-Beatles
Prom: Mama Mia-ABBA
Life's OK: Rhiannon-Fleetwood Mac
Mental Breakdown: Simple Man-Lynyrd Skynyrd
Driving: Last Hour-Elliott Smith
Flashback: Hold Me-Fleetwood Mac
Getting Back Together: We are the World-USA for Africa (Various Totally Rockin’ Artists)
Wedding: Riders on the Storm-Doors
Birth of Child: Girls Just Want to Have Fun-Cyndi Lauper (Birth? Fun? Maybe Cyndi and I need to have a talk.)
Final Battle: Can’t Stop-Red Hot Chili Peppers
Death Scene: I Heard It Through the Grapevine-Gladys Knight and the Pips
Funeral Song: Shower the People-James Taylor

Return of the Kristi(For the easy-listening crowd)
Opening Credits: Let’s Get Lost-Elloitt Smith
Waking Up: Footloose-Kenny Loggins
First Day at school: Tell Her About It-Billy Joel (one)
Falling In Love: Layla-Derek and the Dominos
Fight Song: Piano Man-Billy Joel (A. Who fights to Piano man?!? B. two)
Breaking Up: Here I go Again-Whitesnake (Interesting that I get this for falling in love and breaking up--apparently I'm a love 'em and leave 'em kind of girl...)
Prom: Take the Money and Run-Steve Miller Band
Life's OK: Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da-Beatles
Mental Breakdown: Why Can’t We Be Friends-War (It's entirely possible that wondering why we can't be friends would drive me to drink)
Driving: Dreams-Fleetwood Mac
Flashback: Ugly-Violent Femmes
Getting Back Together: Come to my Window-Melissa Etheridge
Wedding: Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door-Bob Dylan
Birth of Child: Peace Sells-Megadeth
Final Battle: Don’t Stop Believin’-Journey (Seriously, Journey. I never stop believing)
Death Scene: Uptown Girl-Billy Joel (three...Dear I-Tunes, we need to sit down and have a talk about your shuffle mechanism and why you've chosen to play 3 Billy Joel songs in rapid succession)
Funeral Song: Hard Day’s Night-Beatles

It's fun...try it. Sometimes the song doesn't make any sense at all, and sometimes its just so apropos.

Monday, October 02, 2006

Taking what they're giving...

Oh how this "work" thing interferes with my blogging. Not only do I not have much time to write anything, but I'm completely zapped of any type of creative energy. And non-creative energy, for that matter. I'm lucky if, by the time I get Eric in bed, I have enough energy to sit on the couch and do sudoku puzzles until my eyes are so dry that it's painful to blink. Sometimes, though, I just sort of sit there in a daze thinking of things that I could do if I were only more ambitious. Like that hat I started knitting right after I knit that one hat that one time, and then immediately realized that it was too itchy to wear. (I've never knit anything besides that hat. In the knitting patterns book I have, it says something like, "Don't attempt this hat until you have a few easier projects under your belt." Ha! I showed them.) Anyway, so, there's hat no. 2, which currently looks nothing like a hat, but more like maybe an inch or two of knitted yarn. There's also a plethora of scrapbooking stuff that I've bought and fully intended to use for Eric's scrapbook, which is great, and so cute, and also one page long, with that one page containing only his name. And most of the stuff I have for his scrapbook is stuff I bought before he was even born and, oh, have I ever mentioned that he's almost TWO AND A HALF?

So, what is my point, you ask? My point is this: before I worked full time, I had so much more time to think about knitting and scrapbooking and how snapshots of my life could more closely resemble a Pottery Barn catalog, if only I had infinite time and money, and well, desire to make snapshots of my life more closely resemble a Pottery Barn catalog. If I wanted to, I could've sat around for hours (where by "hours," I'm referring to 4-minute intervals) and planned out how I would make caramel corn balls, wrapped in wax paper, tied with a little black ribbon and decorated to look like a ghost, which I would then give as Halloween treats so the other neighborhood moms would think, "Oh, how darling, she's really got her act together," and would then go home and promptly throw my concoction into the garbage, because, let's face it, how do we *really* know it's safe and razor blade free? BUT INSTEAD, I don't even have time to properly punctuate, which in my book, ranks right up there on the embarrassment scale with incontinence. So, there you have it, folks. No time for punctuatin', plenty of time for rampant lunacy.

Eric says...


HAPPY ROCKTOBER!


Thursday, September 21, 2006

You and me, we go in style.

Whenever I hear Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie, I can't help but think of a guy I used to work with. Actually, we were both promotions interns for a radio station at the same time. His name was Bill, but we started calling him "June" because he was a Junior. He was a really funny guy, but he had a bit of an abrasive sense of humor. He was always setting somebody up to be the brunt of his joke. Sometimes it was kind of annoying, but I have to admit, he was funny...even when it was at my expense.

Bill and I worked together every Tuesday, and we were the only interns there that day. Tuesdays were generally Corporate Takeover day, which meant that Bill and I were usually faced with the task of hauling a bunch of swag to the office of whichever company had won the weekly contest. Our weekly trips were always an adventure because we always had either bad directions or were headed to a hard-to-find address, or both. Bill always drove because he was a smoker, and I wouldn't let him smoke in my car. He was definitely one of those guys who would never admit or even acknowledge the fact that he was lost...and we always were.

I can remember one time, in particular, when our travels took us to downtown Chicago, about as far east as you can go on Randolph without being in Lake Michigan. The thing that we didn't realize was that Randolph was a one-way street heading west. And there was also a Lower Randolph (screwy Chicago and its screwy lower streets...). To make a long story short, we circled around the Grant Park area no less than 10 times, each time ending up on Lower Randolph when we wanted to be on Upper Randolph, with Bill getting more and more agitated with each loop we made. By the time we finally figured out how to get to the building we were heading towards, he had eaten a bunch of the candy bars and stuff that we had brought to give out.

The other thing I remember from that particular trip was that he told me, as we passed over a drawbridge on the way back out to the west side of the city, that he'd like to be the guy who sits in the tower and occasionally has to raise and lower the drawbridge. He insisted that he would like either that job, or the graveyard shift at any gas station, because he wouldn't have to do much and would have a lot of down time to play his banjo. That's the kind of guy he was.

One of my favorite moments from my internship involved Bill and I traveling either to or from a Corporate Takeover. Once we got over the initial weirdness of the, "Um, do you care if we don't listen to the radio station that we are currently working for," Bill would station surf to the point I wanted to smack him. Then he would inevitably settle on something weird. One day, he paused on the Oldies station and Cracklin' Rosie came on. At that point in my life, I don't remember having strong feelings one way or the other toward that song. I certainly didn't mind it, but I fully expected him to change the station. Instead, he turned the song up REALLY loud. And then proceeded to sing even louder. Then I joined in, and for the next 3 minutes, we did nothing but drive and sing Cracklin' Rosie at the top of our lungs. We must have been a sight to behold. When the song finished, he turned down the radio and said, "Sorry. I just really like that song." And then we proceeded along as if nothing had happened.

When our internships ended at the end of 2001, we parted ways and I haven't seen him since. Occasionally he'll cross my mind, along with all sorts of other people that I wonder what the hell happened to. Today I heard Cracklin' Rosie on my way home from work and it prompted me to run a google search on him to see anything turned up. As it turns out, he's doing quite a bit of improv these days, which of course makes me insanely jealous. But I'm happy for him--I bet he's really good at it. And I wouldn't want the song Cracklin' Rosie to remind me of anyone else.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Why me?

The other night, as I was on the way home from my birthday party (more on that later), I needed to stop and get gas and pick up milk for the King. First of all, when I went into the store, I swear to god that the two Indian men who were working in there were speaking to each other in a series of clicks and guttural noises. No shit. When I brought the gallon of milk up to the counter, the man swept it up, scanned it and put it back down in one swift motion. Except, when he put it down, he misjudged the distance to the counter, and slammed it down really hard. Next thing I knew, there was a little puddle of milk on the counter. I pointed out that it was leaking, and said I was going to grab another one. As I was selecting a new milk gallon, he started screaming to me, “No, lady! It’s not leaking! It’s not leaking. You take this one!” I told him that I’d prefer a new one anyway and walked back to the counter. Upon my arrival, I noticed that there was now milk all over the entire counter, which was funny, you know, because according to him, the gallon wasn’t leaking. He was trying to clean up the mess, and still insisting that it is fine, and that I needed to take the leaky one. Finally, he picked up the gallon, and we could both clearly see the spot from which the milk is leaking. Then he said, “Oh. You’re right,” and instead of finishing my transaction, he carried the milk to another part of the counter, covered the leak with duct tape (duct tape!) and put it back in the cooler. THEN he finished my transaction.

I’m sure that the gallon of milk with about 6 oz. missing, and a big duct tape patch is going to be a big seller. I’ll bet he put it right in front, and pushed the other ones back, too. It reminds me of when my brother and I used to play old maid as little kids. Before we really got the concept of strategy, when it was time to draw from each other’s hands, whoever had the Old Maid would pull it up really high so that it stood much taller than the other cards, then we would clutch the remaining cards in a death grip so that they couldn’t be pulled from our grubby little hands. Seriously, though, I wonder what that guy was thinking. He’s obviously not a very good business strategist.

Friday, September 08, 2006

My cuppa tea...

From Nora's 5 things meme; inspiration: Kaptain Klepto

Five Prime Numbers
23
47
71
Kristentatious
5

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Feeling Violated

The people in my office building are serious violators of what I believe is the unspoken universal bathroom code: never EVER sit in the stall directly next to an occupied stall unless that is your only option. All of the bathrooms in our building have three stalls. I always take an end stall so that, should someone else come in to the bathroom, they can leave the standard one stall buffer. But, nobody in the building ever observes this standard courtesy and it’s starting to DRIVE ME NUTS. That’s all, thank you.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Help for the clueless

I finally have a real desk…you know, with drawers and stuff. So…here’s the big question. What sorts of things do people fill their drawers with? I’ve been surviving with the bare minimum because my former, temporary “desk” had no drawers. I had a cup of pens, and little tiny stacking tray contraption which held things like post-its, binder clips and white out. I also have paper clips, tape, a stapler, scissors and the ever important rubber thumb (which I found yesterday and took for comic value). What other things do normal people have in their desks?

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Off-campus lunch for high schoolers is the worst idea EVER.

Oh my god. Shoot me now if this is what lunch time has in store for me for the rest of the school year. Most of the school districts in the vicinty of my office just started school yesterday or today, and all of them, apparently, have off-campus lunch privileges. Yesterday, there were about 40 HS students all crammed into the cafeteria section at Target. They were loud and obnoxious and running all over the place like idiots. Today I went to Jimmy Johns, in the other direction from the office. Different school district, same deal. Except Jimmy Johns is a narrower space, and all these kids had on backpacks...so I almost got taken out by somebody's math, chemistry and history books about 12 times. Seriously, it's the first day of school. Do you really need to carry a full back pack to lunch with you? If this is what the overacheivers look like, I'd hate to see how the less academically motivated kids act in public.

Oh man...I'm getting old. I just hope my kid doesn't act like a moron when he grows up.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Tis better to be 5 minutes late than to be 1 minute early

I have a problem. It involves getting to work early. I just can't do it. I can get to work on time or late with no problem, but I just can't be early. For example, it takes me about 10 minutes to get from daycare to my office. Let's say I drop Eric off and get back to the car at 8:47. I would not physically be able to resist the temptation to stop and get coffee. You know, because I have three minutes. Even though it probably takes 5 or more minutes to get coffee. And then, not only am I walking into the office late, but I'm walking in late with coffee. Which always makes a good impression, I think. Today at lunch time, I went to Target. I made a couple of returns, ate lunch there and picked up a few odds and ends. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 12:40. Last time I was at that Target, it took me a hundred and forty-two minutes to check out, so I decided to head to the check-out aisle. Due to a combination of both my watch and the check-out lanes running fast, I got in my car at 12:42. I sat there for a moment and thought, "I have a few extra minutes. What else should I do?" It was the first time in a long time that I really couldn't think of anything to do. I contemplated stopping at Starbucks or Baskin Robins and getting a frapuccino or the Baskin Robins equivalent. But, I was still full from lunch, neither of those places were really on my way back to the office and I didn't really need extra calories or $4 hit to the old pocketbook. So, I came back to the office, talked to the new attorney for several minutes about where there was to eat in the area and now I'm blogging. So, you see, I'm still not working. But when you're sitting at your desk, typing away, nobody seems to question you. Unfortunately, next week, I'm moving to a new desk, which is on the main drag here in the office, and my back and computer will face the aisle so that all who walk by will be able to clearly see what I'm doing. I'm not looking forward to that at all. I do not like the feeling of people looking over my shoulders. And I do not like having to be productive at all times. Yuck.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

It's not because I don't have anything to say...

No, no, don't be fooled by the lack of posts--I still have plenty to say. I just don't have time to say it, that's all. I've been having a hard time balancing work and family and house cleaning and everything else, and lately, sleep wins over blogging. But, most likely, I've been talking in my sleep to make up for it. Hopefully I say interesting things and you all enjoy them immensely. Nothing would make me happier.

In other news, that kid that I have--the one that I never write about anymore? He's still cute and stuff. He's turning into a big boy, and all too quickly, might I add. Although we've had very cute monkey bedding for his "big boy bed" (meaning a twin or full sized bed which conspicuously lacks rails with which to prevent him from having a middle-of-the-night free-for-all in his bedroom, or worse, trying to come into our bed) for a few months now, I think we've decided to hold off on moving him into a new bed until sometime this winter. Yesterday, though, I made the first step in turning his crib into a more boyish, rather than babyish, bed. I bought him Cars sheets and a fleece throw from Target. Last night, I removed all of his adorable pastel jungle animal bedding from his crib and put on the cars.

At one point, because I'm not a masochist, I took off one side rail on the crib, so that I could reach the mattress without the added fun possibility of puncturing a lung or rupturing my spleen. After I got his new sheets put on, but before I put the side rail back up, Eric came to investigate. I think his initial thought was that we would be leaving the side rail off, and to tell you the truth, Chris and I actually contemplated the idea. Once we saw that Eric's take on the situation was, "Cool! Now I can jump off my bed!!!" we decided against it for the time being. Actually, in the near future, I do plan to take the crib rail off, but not until I can find a shorter bed rail that I can attach to the bed to keep him from falling out at night. I tried the crib rail at the lowest setting, but that seemed just low enough that he would try to climb over, but just high enough that he would possibly get stuck or hurt himself.

In any case, Eric seems to be very excited by this new development. Both last night and this morning, he kept telling us, "I got a race car blankie!" Although, he does still seem torn by the excitement of the race car blanket and the familiarity of his old "bonkie." Not wanting to hurt bonkie's feelings, he's been carrying them both around the house together. Hopefully they'll get to be friends.

Well, something's telling me that now would be a good time to get back to work. I do have more to say, though. Just remember that.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Hair styles of the ill-advised

This morning, as I was driving to work, I was stopped at a red light next to a hispanic woman. I glanced over and saw that she had her hair pulled back into a tight, high pony tail. By having her hair pulled up like that, I could see that she had the bottom inch or two of her scalp (neck) completely shaved. She also had shaved off her "side burns," except she went a little too high, giving the appearance of both an awkward hair line and a five o'clock shadow where she had shaved. It was a really odd look, and beside the strange haircut, she didn't appear that she was trying to make any kind of particular statement with her clothes or makeup. What makes people do those kind of things? Maybe she just couldn't get the pony tail high or tight enough with all that hair? I can certainly understand that.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Good grammar costs nothing

I hope, hope, hope that the lyrics of that SOS song by Rihanna are "Y-O-U are making this hard," and NOT "Y-O-U-R making this hard."

And also, the question Chris and I pondered on vacation: would a self-loving black person be caught dead eating at the Cracker Barrel?

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Farewell my friends

I'm vacation bound, with no or extremely limited web access. Have a nice week!

Friday, July 28, 2006

Ample warning

Last night I put 15.56 gallons of gas in my car. The tank holds 16 gallons. The question I have is this: at what point, exactly, did my fuel light plan to go on to alert me to a lack of petrol? I know it works, too, because it definitely came on last time I needed gas TWO DAYS AGO (OK, fine, I only put in a third of a tank then...and then drove a lot...but, still.)

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

My baby looks like Jackie O.

And I look like Shakira, Jamie Lynn Spears AND Christina Aguilera (as well as Marcia Cross, Drew Berrymore and Ashley Judd...I'm not sure how much I trust this website...).

Who do you look like?

http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/tryFaceRecognition.php

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Why I should be fired

(Not because I'm blogging from work.)

Because I say things like this: (in reference to a person who claims to have been wronged by one of our clients)

Let me get this straight. Not only is this guy part black, part white and part Native American, but he's also part Asian and a practicing Jew? Are we sure he's not also on the endangered species list?

Maybe I should be in sensitivity training with Ozzie Guillen.

If I could turn back time...

I wish I had gone to this university: http://www.liberty.edu/studentaffairs/index.cfm?PID=1378

Those are some good rules and regs right there.

Pet Peeve

It always makes me mad when people driving company vehicles with the company name and phone number plastered all over drive like complete assholes. I'm always tempted to call the number and turn them in, but then I think: What if the number on the vehicle is the cell phone number of the driver? And what if he then tries to run me off the road?

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

What a ripoff.

I just went to Panera for lunch. I had a bowl of french onion soup and a lemonade. The grand total came to $7. For soup and lemonade. That kind of makes me sick. I mean, why does any restaurant that is able to promote their food as being halfway healthy get to charge up the ass for it? I don't think I could possibly order $7 worth of McDonald's food for myself and eat it in one sitting. If I went to Portillo's, I could get a beef and cheddar croissant with french fries and a coke for around $7, and I wouldn't be able to finish it. And I can think of a bunch of other crappy food that would be cheap and abundant too. But $7 for soup and lemonade (which barely made me full and, by the way, probably wasn't especially healthy either)?!? What is this world coming to? No wonder so many people are so fat. It's just easier and cheaper that way.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Africa Hot in Here

Happy Monday, everybody! Hey--guess what! The AC in my office building is not functioning! And guess what else! It's 93 degrees outside! Oh, but it feels like 103. Actually, I don't find that to be very accurate. I was just outside at lunchtime, and it definitely feels hotter inside the building that outside. Please, oh please, let us go home. Nothing is getting accomplished, save for lots and lots of complaining and sweating. The powers that be (and get to say "Go home") still have hope that the AC units will be restored today (actually, one unit is working--two are not, but it is either not enough to notice, or it doesn't affect our part of the building). Seriously, though, it's after 1 pm. There's no way that this building could possibly cool down by 5, even if they get both broken units up and running. It's just *that* hot in here. Africa hot, as a friend used to say. Or, maybe that should be, "As a former friend says." Who knows. Anyway, it doesn't change the fact that I'm miserable. Although, in an act of kindness, the partners did send the clerk to 7-11 this morning, and he came back with Slurpees for everyone, as well as a variety of Arizona canned teas and lemonades. And that did help, for as long as the slurpee lasted. OK....back to the grindstone. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for an early release. But I'm not holding my breath, because I'd surely pass out.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Items of interest.

1. Weezer announced their breakup.

2. Today at lunch, I watched a bus boy wipe down a table by pushing the large chunks of crumbs and a big blob of some kind of sauce-looking thing off the table and directly onto the seat of the booth--except some of that stuff just stuck right to the edge of the table. And then he didn't wipe down the seats or the table edge. And then people sat there.

3. I need a pair of pants that are comfortable. I mean, pants that are appropriate to wear to work on casual Friday (i.e. no pajama pants). Everybody on earth should have access to comfortable pants, but I don't. I just simply can't find a single damn pair of pants in any store that work for me. It's just not fair.

4. I had half of a plain doughnut with chocolate frosting today for breakfast. (One of the Boss-men brings in breakfast treats every Friday.) That made me very happy! I wonder if it was from Spunky Dunkers? I doubt it, but that would make me extra happy!

5. I am not looking forward to the next 5 days of forecast 90+ degree temperatures!

6. I bought these shoes: (In a different color)

I have only worn them a handful of times and they are already gross and stinky. As such, I cannot recommend them to anyone, despite their cuteness. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

7. Have a nice weekend!

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

I'b dyeeg.

Sometime around the 25th of June, I came down with a cold. I caught it from Eric who caught it from some daycare host monkey. And guess what, as we rapidly approach the beginning of the 13th of July, I still have the damn cold. Only, over the past few days it decided to stop getting better each and every day and, in fact, has taken a sharp turn for the worse. So I finally went to a doctor tonight. He visited with me for all of 12 seconds and presrcibed me amoxicillin, which he hoped would thwart the plans of the tonsils that are staging a coups against the rest of my body. We'll see. But, in the meantime, it huhts when I swawwo. :(

I really do have things I need to blog about, but right now I'm too busy not letting my head explode. And also, working. Yes, that's right folks, I'd like to write interesting things, but I'm too busy doing my part to make the law happen correctly. But mostly, it's the part about the potentially exploding head that has me scared into blogging submission.

Please, please send your get well vibes this way. I'm pitiful and whiney and my husband is getting sick of me.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Coming out of the closet

Ya know, all my life, I've never really paid much nevermind to NASCAR. As far as I can remember, my parents have always been rather ambivilant about racing, but somewhere along the way, I decided that NASCAR was a sport for the rednecks to enjoy. Once, when I was in college, my friend Jessica begged me to go to this townie bar with her for one of her journalism projects. We were going there so that she could write a story about the band that was playing, but it turned out to be a NASCAR bar. It just so happened to be the same weekend that Dale Earnhardt died. I barely recognized the name. Anyway, at one point, a member of the band asked for a moment of silence in his honor. Thing was, I was chatting with Jessica and just plain didn't hear him request the moment of silence. It was one of those things where one minute the bar was loud and booming and the next minute you could hear a pin drop...oh, and me talking. I had no idea what was going on, but it's never good to be the only one talking, so I shut up. After a few more seconds of silence, the band member said, "Thank you. It means a lot to me. He was a personal hero of mine, but I know not everyone here's a racing fan," and then looked pointedly at me. And then everyone else looked at me too. You know the pace picante sauce commercials? That was the moment that the lead singer of the band announced that my salsa was made in New York City.

Anyway, last weekend, Chris had ESPN on, and a NASCAR race happened to come on. We decided to leave it on so that Eric could see the race cars. But. It became...sort of...addicting! I put Eric down for his nap and came back to watch some more. The race part I can take or leave, but have you ever watched a pit crew in action? Damn--it's pretty cool! It's like someone pushed the fast forward button on these people. I imagine that if the TV audience could hear them talking, they would sound like chimpmunks. Also, I happened to notice that some of those race car drivers are pretty damn good looking! That alone is worth the price of admission!

So, it's like this. I'm not rushing out to by NASCAR gear, but I am admitting it here for all the internets and my 5 readers to see: NASCAR ain't so bad.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

On changing the roll of toilet paper.

As far as partying goes, I suppose I was a bit of a late bloomer. My friends and I were really tame in high school. I wouldn't say we were big dorks or anything, but we definitely were not in the partying/drinking crowd. When it came time for college, several of us went to the same large, nameless state university. (Go Illini! Oops.) I still remember our first few weeks there like they were yesterday. They went something like this: "Hey 17-year-old girls, want to come to a frat party?" Us: "Yeah, totally!" (trying to pretend like we're so cool and we do this stuff all the time). Then we would go to the party and 6 of us would be terrified and trying to pretend like we knew what we were doing. We would stand around in a circle and whisper about whether or not we should get beer/whatever mixed drink of dubious nature was coming out of the gigantic gatorade cooler. Finally, two or three of us would grow balls and go get a cup of some frosty adult beverage. Note: that's a cup. As in one. TOTAL. And then six of us would drink from it and try not to make the beer face after every sip.

After a couple months, though, we started to get the hang of things. I don't remember when, exactly, I first got drunk, but I do remember everything else. My friend Adam, who was a year older, lived in a house on campus with several other guys. They had a house party one weekend, and I went with my then boyfriend Brian and my friend Jessica. I was drinking some kind of lemonade and everclear mixture which was not quite as offensive to the palate as the Natural Light of the frat party scene. After a cup or two, I started feeling VERY outgoing and happy. I couldn't stop smiling and laughing. Or peeing. The first time I got in line for the bathroom, a couple of British girls came up behind me and asked, "Is this the queue for the loo?" which, of course, at the time was the cutest, most hysterical thing ever said to me. Also note: as this was my first time drunk, I had not yet experienced the sensation of "breaking the seal."

On my next trip to the bathroom, I was in line with several guys. I happened to strike up a conversation with the bloke standing behind me, in which I revealed that it was my first time drunk. He asked how it felt, to which I replied, "I think I'm cute when I'm drunk! Do you think I'm cute when I'm drunk?" He explained that he had never seen me sober, but I did appear to be pretty cute when I was drunk. We continued chatting about nonsense until it was my turn. When I came out of the bathroom, he grabbed my arm before entering and told me that he and his friends were sitting in the front room of the house and I should definitely come find him. I asked if it was OK if I brought my boyfriend. I'm like that. Flirt, flirt, flirt and then drop the bomb.

So, on a high of having some random college guy telling me I was cute and that I should come find him later, I decided that it was the appropriate time to start asking everyone at the party if they thought I was cute when I was drunk. Apparently I was cute to a point, and then I just became annoying. Yeah. I can see that.

As the night wore on and I continued to get...uh, cuter and cuter, I began using the bathroom more and more frequently. On one of my trips to the bathroom, I noticed just before doing my business that there was no more toilet paper on the roll. I looked under the sink. None there. I looked in the medicine cabinet. None there. Then I looked on the shelf on the wall, and there was one lonely roll. Except. Keep in mind that I was in a house that was inhabited by men. Mostly of the tall variety. And I'm 5'5". And this shelf was mounted at about 6'2". And the roll of toilet paper was the only thing up there, and it was all the way at the back of the shelf. So I jumped and I pawed at the toilet paper over and over until I eventually got the damn thing to roll off the shelf. And I was drunk. For the first time ever. And did I mention that I was also cute?

So, I came out of the bathroom and I hunted down my friends. And I told them with a grand sense of accomplishment, "I changed the roll of toilet paper!" Except I didn't explain the part about the shelf being really high and me risking life and limb to reach it. Not that it would have mattered, probably. I mean, I was boasting about changing the roll of toilet paper for christ's sake. Of course I have been teased mercilessly about this since. I've kind of tried to accept it as my super power--the ability to change the roll of toilet paper while drunk. Now I do it whenever I can at parties. And people take pictures of it, as seen in my profile picture. It's a tough task, but someone has to do it.

Random thoughts on this lovely Wednesday morning

Hell0 All.

My how I've missed you.

You know? This working full time thing is really for the birds. I'd much rather be basking in the sunshine. And still getting paid. Yeah. Perhaps I should look into independent wealth. It could be for me. Really.

One thing that's bad about the 4th being on Tuesday is that today feels like Monday all over again. Except it's humpday. Happy Humpday.

On Sunday, my parents took Eric on a little trip up to Galena and Chris and I had the day off. Chris won "tickets" to a concert. A local radio station (the one I interned for!), does these "Live from Studio X" shows where they take a band that is in town for a concert and they have them do a small, private concert for a limited number of people at an undisclosed location. So, we went to see Los Lonely Boys. They were really good, but it was a very short concert--it was being recorded for a radio show that will air at a later date. After that, we watched the Cubs kick the White Sox ass. Well, I don't know if you can really call it an ass-kicking when both teams scored in the double digits. But the Cubs won nonetheless. Finally. It could be the last time this season. Oops. I didn't say that.

I want to go on vacation. In three an a half more weeks, we're going to Michigan. I want to go right now.

Why is it that people who work as cashiers often act as if the value of the coupon you are presenting to them is coming directly out of their pocket? It drives me nuts. I mean, I occasionally use coupons, but whenever I do, I'm always hassled about it. Do I look like I'm trying to rip off the company? I'm sorry that my $1 off diapers coupon offends you so, but get over it. That's all I have to say about that.

Now I'm hungry. Thank god it's lunch time.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

I'll tell you what...

There are a lot of nutsos in the world, do you know that? It seems like basically every charge of discrimination that is filed against one of our clients is done so by someone who thinks that the whole world is against them. And they are all-consumed by the idea that they have something to prove. We've got a guy who leaves crazy 10 minute voicemails about the family curse that dates back to the early 20th century which caused his employer to discriminate against him by letting flying bugs into the building, among MANY other equally crazy things. We've got the client who claims she was discriminated against based on her disability, but doesn't want to release any records documenting her disability. We had a college student who was kicked out of school for various reasons (according to her, out of an act of discrimination), and sent correspondence offering her professor sexual favors in order to be let back into class. Just a bunch of crazies.

Anyway, one of our brilliant hot-shot attorneys (who may or may not have paid me call him that and who also may or may not comment anonymously on this blog), just had a multi-count charge of discrimination thrown out entirely (because, like most of our charges of discrimination, I'm sure it was mostly unfounded). And I happen to have a funny story about this lady to add credibility to my blanket statement that these discrimination-charge-filers are indeed crazy.

When I used to work here in the evening, part of my job was to answer the phone after 5. This particular person, who had filed a claim against our client, called one evening and didn't identify herself. Because I've dealt with her before though, I knew who it was. Here was the conversation we had:

Crazy Lady: Hi. I'm tyring to send an 8-page letter to your firm. How much postage do I need?
Me: Well, unfortunately, I'm not sure. If you're worried that it'll be more than a standard letter, you could either take it to the post office or just put several stamps on it to be sure you're covered.
CL: You don't know? I thought you guys were supposed to know how much it costs to mail stuff to your own office.
Me: (unsure how to proceed)
CL: Well, then, I'll just have to take it to the post office myself.
Me: OK, sorry about that.

Then...5 or so minutes pass and she calls back.

CL: Hi, this is Crazy Lady, may I please speak to Attorney X?
Me: I'm sorry, Attorney X isn't in the office right now, whould you like to leave a message?
CL: Can you tell him that I called and that I won't be mailing his response out until tomorrow. I put it down in the mail room first thing this morning and got it stamped and ready to go, but nobody took it to the post office for me. I imagine I won't be able to get to a mailbox myself until tomorrow sometime. So, you just let him know that I'll be sending at 8 page letter to him, but not until tomorrow. Thanks. Bye bye.

It was like we never had the conversation 5 minutes earlier in which she needed postage advice. They're crazy. They're all crazy, I tell ya.

Snot Funny.

Last Friday, Eric came down with his first daycare related sickness. He made it two whole weeks! Woohoo! I've been calling this illness the "daycare drip." Basically, copious amounts of green, slimey snot have been sliding out of his nose for the past several days. Fun. Chris and I have caught it as well. Double fun. Everyone in the house is an irritable, miserable prick.

Yesterday, Eric woke up an hour early for no good reason. He woke up before my alarm clock went off. I quickly got him dressed for school and made him breakfast. He requested to watch TV, so I thought he would sit nicely (i.e., slightly comatose), eat and watch TV and I could get ready for work and we'd be ready to go nice and early. Instead, he whined and complained and cried the whole time about the indignities of life including, but not limited to, the fact that snot was coming out of his nose and touching his skin.

Everytime I left his sight for a moment, he would scream out in the most irritating, high pitch whine he could muster, "Oooooh nooooooooo! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" And then I would come running back to find out that something of very little consequence had pissed him off. Again. Like, his truck was just out of arm's reach and he didn't feel like leaning to get it. And while he was focused on his truck, he got thirsty, but his milk didn't anticipate his thirst and jump up out of his cup into his mouth. Therefore the cup of milk must be thrown. And now it was out of reach. And oh dear sweet lord, what was this vile liquid coming from his nose. SOYLENT GREEN SNOT WAS TRYING TO EAT HIS FACE! AND! OH GOD! IT GOT ON HIS FINGERS! MOOMMMMMMMMMMMMYY!

I can't wait for him to get better. Now that the snot is getting slightly better, he has developed a cough. In fact, I might have skipped the snot part and went straight to the cough myself. Anyway, it's the middle of the night and I just served Eric a cocktail of a half dose of benedryl and a half dose of cough medicine and he's finally peacefully resting. And I'm wide awake. Because it's too hot. And the air is touching me. And Chris' alarm clock has been going off for 20 minutes straight and if I don't go into the room and kick him in the ribs, it will go off for another 100 minutes while he sleeps peacefully and classic rock is broadcast through the house. OK. I'm going to put my rib-kicking shoes on. Oh! Wonder of wonders! The music stopped! And now I can hear that the birds are chirping too loudly. Oh man. I've got to try to get some sleep. Send some wellness vibes this way or something.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Oh Dear.

First I'd like to take a moment and thank those loyal readers who commented on the white pants/polka dots incident--both in person and via the intranets. I'm glad to know that you care and you have my back, so to speak. I would also like to dispell any rumors that I was referring to myself either a) not having friends at work or b) wearing white pants with polka-dotted granny panties. Not only do I just so happen to have a legion of Kristentatious fans fierce enough to shut down an army of critics, but I also work with my mom. I think it's required by law that your mother inform you of such fashion atrocities (not that you have to listen to her). Also, in regards to wearing white pants, I once saw or read some self-proclaimed fasion policeman say that women who wear a double-digit size should NEVER wear white pants--advice I heed. Although, I still have a pair of size 8 white linen pants from pre-Eric days, and if I ever get back down to that size, I'm going to wear the heck out of them. Oh yeah I am. As for the offender, it was one of my bosses here at the law firm of Chaysat & Buelance-Downe.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Why it's important to have at least one friend at work:

You need someone who can tell you that your polka-dotted granny panties are totally visible through your white pants.

Yeah. That's why.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I just want to bang on the drums all day.

OK, I just got back from lunch and I'm noticing that all the people who left before me are not back yet. OK, that's fine. It's not like I really care, but. BUT. I know that the one day I do decide to take some liberties with my lunch "hour," everybody else will be back on time and they will collectively raise their eyebrows at my tardiness. That's just the way it goes. It's just my luck (which is bad, in case you were wondering. Case in point: no matter what check-out aisle I choose, it's always the slowest. The equipment malfunctions, the person in front of me decides to do an "instant credit" to save 10%, or they have they have an item with no tag, and no matching item can be found...).

OK, so today's quick rant: (OK, I've been saving it since Saturday, but whatever)

Father's Day Cards

The way I see it, you have two options: sappy or funny. OK, my dad's not really a sappy kind of guy, so I go for funny. But the problem with the funny cards is that none of them are geared toward my dad. He's not completely inept when it comes to fixing things (in fact, quite the opposite is true). He's not into fishing very much. He's golfs a little bit, but is not obsessed. He's not an extreme disciplinarian. He's not a major tightwad. He's not obsessed with TV or the remote and he doesn't even have a recliner. So, right there, I just ruled out every possible funny card choice. But, this year I actually did find a suitable card-a card for the man who is obsessed with maintaining his home and fleet. Yay! My dad will probably get the same card for the next 17 years.

Monday, June 19, 2006

He may seem sweet and innocent...

...but my baby is turning into a conniver. It's true, he's mastering different ways to both postpone the inevitable and speed up the unbearable.

For example, at one point this weekend, Eric and I went to Target just to go. Pretty much what happened is I said, "Eric, what do you want to do?" He said, "Wanna go bye-bye." So I asked, "Where do you want to go?" And he told me, "Wanna go Target." OK. So, we went to Target. Since I didn't really need anything, we started out by looking at all the things he wanted to look at. So, after 97 million hours of looking at bikes and helmets and TVs and baseballs and basketballs and footballs AND soccer balls, not to mention trucks and cars and choo-choos, I finally managed to trick him into going to look at something that I wanted to look at. And do you know what the little stinker told me?

E: Wanna go home.
Me: Just a minute, Eric, I'm almost done.
E: Hungry! Want something to eat!
Me: Eric, you just ate a little while ago. We'll leave in a minute.
E: Thirsty! Want milk!
Me: Soon.
E: DC! (DC is a ratty old bib that Eric hauls around everywhere.) Want DC! DC WHERE AAAAAAARE YOUUUUUU?
Me: Eric, DC is in the car. We'll go out to the car in just a minute.
Eric: Want to go get DC! Let's go get DC! Yay!
Me: Eric! Knock it off!
Eric: (insert pouty lip and fluttering eyelashes) Tired. Wanna go home go night-night! [at 4 p.m.]

OK, so there's one example. This next example is similar but different--a stall tactic. Yesterday afternoon we were at my parents' house and Eric needed a nap. My parents and grandma were sitting on the patio outside the basement door--two levels below the bedrooms. I think Eric and I were inside playing on the main level when I finally managed to wrangle him for a nap and take him upstairs. I got him up to the room where he would be napping and I changed his diaper. He then told me, "Want to go say night-night to Daddy." OK, like a sucker, I totally fell for it, not foreseeing the chain of events to follow. We went back downstairs to say night-night to Daddy and which point he told me, "Wanna go say night-night to Gigi," (my grandma). Then I thought, "Well, that's kind of sweet--Gigi will appreciate that, especially considering the not so warm reception he originally gave her." So, I took him outside and down the rock-stairs, where he proceeded to completely ignore Gigi and tell me, "Wanna run down the hill." I wouldn't let him, so after that tantrum subsided, he told me, "Wanna go see the fishies in the pond." At that point, I insisted that he take a nap and carried him kicking and screaming up two flights of stairs back into the bedroom. I sat down on the bed with him and he immediately said, "Wanna go say night-night to Poppy and Nonny," who were all the way back down stairs. Not only that, but he also wanted to watch TV, play basketball and go outside. Oh, and he was hungry too. Probably starving.

Seriously, it's no wonder I'm exhausted.

So sorry, blog.

I meant to write something sooner. Really, I did. But I've been too busy discussing with Heidi which Smithe brother is the hottest. It passes the time, you know. And now, back to my regularly scheduled job. (But if you're still speaking to me, a little later I plan to share my thoughts on the crappy selection of Father's Day cards available.)

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Working hard or...

So, the tech guy was here this morning. I had to ask him 1,000,072 questions because I had a new computer this morning when I came in. Well, new to me, at least. I think they just ordered enough new computers to be able to retire the oldest computers in the fleet. Instead of getting a brand-spanking-new machine, I just got somebody's old machine, which was better than the old machine that I was using. Anyway, along with the computer, I inherited some of the old owner's settings and documents, which could potentially be bad because the former owner was the office administrator, who had access to all personnel records, ect. At one point, I was joking with the tech guy that someone was going to track my movements and find out that not only was I looking at coworkers' private information, but also, due to an assignement that I'm working on for one of the attorneys, I've been on all sorts of terrorist websites. Uh-huh. That looks good. So, tech guys says, "Oh, look through your internet history? Yeah, I mean, it stays on your computer for however many days, but nobody here is ever going to bother to look at that." Really??? Wit Spot, here I come!

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Rat race.

Well, I have survived my first couple days at work, but I'm just...so...tired. Plus, I don't think I should blog at work. I mean, I don't have much else to do right now, but something tells me that blogging would be a bad idea. Maybe next week. Heh heh. Anyway, I'm going to bed now, but in case anybody was wondering, yes, Eric and I have survived our new schedules.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Have you seen this site?

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/


It's so interesting to me. The guy who runs it has recently published a book. It seems like there were more "secrets" to view before the book was published...but whatever. Hmmmm....perhaps I'll think of something to share one day.

Friday, June 09, 2006

Dear Nike, What is with the cloven hoof shoes?



In case you're wondering, yes, they do come with the cloven hoof socks. I actually tried a pair on today since, as you all may have suspected for quite some time, I do indeed have cloven hooves. They were odd, yet I might be interested in owning a pair purely for a conversation piece. (Dear shoes, please call me when you are on clearance.) I was going to use my camera phone to take a picture of myself wearing these shoes, but I had a couple of problems. One is that I know how to make pictures go in my phone, but I do not know how to make them come out. The other problem was that some woman was standing right next to me FOREVER and she wouldn't move. And, for some reason, I would've felt funny taking a picture under those circumstances. Anyway, to conclude, we should all be happy that Nike has finally stepped up to the plate and created footwear that will allow us to look more like cattle.

My grandma wears gold lamé.

I'd like to take a moment and commend my Nana for being so fashionable. At nearly 80-years-old, she is still on the cutting edge--what with the shiny, strappy sandals and the gigantic gold, silver and bronze lamé purse with all the flower appliques. But the truth is that Nana has been wearing those shoes and carrying that purse since the 70's. She also wore "pedal pushers," or "clam diggers," if you will (none of this "capris" business), back into style. Maybe I'm lame, or destined to be unfashionable, but I can't help but look at gold lamé and think "old lady." I've only seen a couple of these lamé items that I could possibly be convinced to own. But what's with the gladiator sandals that I'm starting to see everywhere?!? Please tell me this will be a short-lived fad!

Thursday, June 08, 2006

The Gap doesn't appreciate my curviness

This morning I took Eric for a test run at daycare. He was there for half a day, and he did wonderfully. According to his teacher, he didn't even notice I was gone. Part of me is happy that he did so well, and another part of me is like, excuse me? Didn't notice that I, HIS MOTHER WHO HAS CARED FOR HIM EVERYDAY OF HIS ENTIRE LIFE (minus two or three days), was gone?!?! But anyway, he did fine. Hopefully tomorrow goes as well.

While he was at school, I went and got my hair cut. It looks pretty much like it did before I got it cut, only slightly shorter and, well, freshly cut. Then I decided to pop into the Gap for a quick look around. I grabbed a couple things to try on, but they just did not work out for me. The Gap is now marketing some of their women's jeans as "Curvy." I've been meaning to try a pair of Curvy jeans on for months and months now because, hey, I'm curvy! How ideal! Except. The Gap and I have different ideas of curvy. The difference is that my idea of being curvy involves having hips, while the Gap's does not. Apparently, to the Gap, curvy woman=woman shaped like 13 year old boy with very large ass. I also grabbed a pair of khaki pants to try on without realizing that they were "boy cut." I know I'm not boy-shaped, so I tend to steer clear of "boy cut" things. Anyway, my point is this: the boy cut khakis and the curvy jeans fit me the exact same way. How can that be? Anyway, I did not have time to fully explore the Gap merchandise and perhaps find something more fitting (no pun intended). Maybe I'll try again tomorrow, when I have more time. I've almost always had awesome luck finding cute stuff on deep discount (a winning combination).

I noticed something else at the Gap that made me smile. I guess they recently changed the names of their jeans across the board because they now have men's jeans called "Straight Fit." You know--as opposed to "Gay Fit" which are tighter, far more fashionable and, incidentally, only available in a 28-inch waist.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

You know what's weird?

The fact that the phrases, "Are you serious?" and, "Are you kidding me?" have morphed into, "Are you seriously kidding me?" And frankly, I'm not sure what the correct answer to that question is.

Sleepyhead

OK. This alarm clock thing? It's just not working out for me. I think it might be the fact that I haven't regularly used an alarm clock since 2003 combined with the fact that I've trained myself to completely sleep through Chris' very loud, very early alarm. And also that I can't figure out how to set my alarm clock correctly. Well, actually, I should say that I can't figure out how to unset it. It has a dual alarm--one which I set to go off at 6:45am with the radio, and one which Eric set to go off at 7am with the "nature sounds" setting. I can't figure out how to turn that setting off, now that it's set.

Yesterday, I somehow set my alarm wrong and it didn't go off. The setting that Eric achieved by merely mashing his wee little hands all over the clock, however, did go off. But, like I said, it's tuned to some kind of nature sounds. Who's going to wake up to the sounds of birds chirping? If I were able to wake up to birds chirping, I wouldn't have bought an alarm clock in the first damn place!

So, let's review: yesterday, my alarm was set for 6:45, but didn't go off. Birds chirping started at 7, but didn't wake me up. I woke up at 8:22 in a panic. Eric was actually still asleep, which is unusual these days. Today, my alarm actually did go off--I very vaguely remember that. Then, at 7, it switched from blaring music to the dulcet tones of birds chirping and the waking up process ceased. Eric woke up at 7:15, which caused me to roll over and snooze the birds. I dragged my ass out of bed at 7:20.

Also, I'm trying so hard to go to bed at 11pm, and it's just not working! I mean, I'm exhausted by 11pm, but for some reason, I can't get myself into bed until at least midnight. I'm tired.

Oh, and another thing? The expressway entrance that I've been using in order to bypass the majority of the tollway construction is closing next Monday so that they can reconstruct it. So, not only do I have to start driving at rush hour (currently I drive at slightly off-peak travel times), but I can't even avoid extra delays by using my shortcut. Before the construction project started, it took me 20 minutes to get to work, getting on the expressway at the entrance closest to my house. After construction, if I got on at the entrance closest to my house, it took 20 minutes just to get to the toll booth (5 minutes under normal conditions) plus another 15 minutes after that, for a grand total of 35 minutes. Then I started using an alternate entrance and was able to avoid the construction bottleneck and get to work in about 25 minutes. I didn't anticipate my alternate entrance being closed. I have no idea how it's going to take to get to work now. No idea at all. Good thing I'm doing a couple of test runs. God, I can't wait until the construction is over!

Monday, June 05, 2006

Wanna be in a movie?

I just discovered this over the weekend. It's pretty cool--I wish I had something good to trade!

http://oneredpaperclip.blogspot.com/

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Meet my new arch nemesis

I bought a new alarm clock yesterday. I still haven't completely figured out how to work all of its features, but I have come up with a name for it (him): Newman. Say it with me: "Hello...Newman."

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

If lust and hate is the candy...

I've been blogligent. But I swear, I've got good excuses--lots of them! Honest... I ran out of gas. I, I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. IT WASN'T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD.

Since I start back to work full time in a week and a half, I'm trying desperately to train myself to sleep and wake at appropriate hours. No more staying up until all hours of the night doing sudoku puzzles until my eyeballs burn and I can't see through the tears. No more sleeping in until Eric wakes me up. I somehow have to be able to get up before him, get ready for work, then wake him up and get him dressed and fed and out the door. Sounds like fun--like handling a slithering eel.

I'm also trying to break all my bad habits. I somehow need to turn myself into one of those people who washes their clothes and then irons them and hangs them up or folds them and puts them away. And someone who always has clean dishes, rather than a constant pile on the counter, some of which probably date back to 1972. But! Our landlord is finally going to replace our dishwasher--yay! I'm hoping for a strapping young lad named Rico. But a Ken(more) will do just fine.

I'm also weaning myself off of soda (again). Remember that diet I mentioned, oh, a couple months back? Yeah. I don't think the mere mention of it burned many calories at all. So, I need to get down to business. I saw some pictures this weekend from a wedding I stood up in a few summers ago, before Eric. I was comparatively svelte. Then I saw a picture of myself taken on Sunday, in which I looked like a linebacker. Yikes.

So, yes, I'm basically attempting a total life makeover in the next 12 days. Wish me luck!

Thursday, May 25, 2006

I'm beta testing a new weight-loss patch.

And also, waxing my upper lip.

McHijinks

The sign outside the McDonalds near my house reads, "Don't forget to try our new Asians."

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Kiss it.


I am cutting and pasting this directly from my email from Illinois Tollway.

100 Days of Heat

Police now have motorcycles for easier access and speed enforcement in tight work zones.

Beginning Memorial Day weekend, Illinois State Police District 15 will turn up the "heat" with special enforcement details for 100 days ending with the Labor Day Holiday weekend. Called “100 Days of Heat,” the effort is a comprehensive traffic safety program during the busy summer construction and travel months. The effort includes the ongoing Operation Hard Hat details to catch speeders in work zones. That’s where police pose as construction workers with radar equipment. Systemwide efforts are also in force to ticket speeders, DUIs and overweight trucks using unmarked police cruisers, aircraft, portable weigh stations and officers on motorcycles, a first for the Illinois Tollway. And, don't forget the photo speed enforcement vans coming soon. So, the "heat" will be on this summer!



First of all, what's with the tone of excitement over all the new ways we can potentially be caught speeding by the Illinois State Police? This is not exciting! This is an impetus for mutiny!

"That’s where police pose as construction workers with radar equipment." Are you kidding me? First of all, this is Chicago, where every hour is rush hour. If by some stroke of luck I am able to speed, through a construction zone, no less, by god I'm going to be speeding. And chances are, if there's so little traffic that speeding is possible, there aint no construction happening. So, good luck with that one, Illinois Police. Secondly, there's a Village People joke in here somewhere.

And let's not overlook this: "And, don't forget the photo speed enforcement vans coming soon."

Aww, come on, you're going to be taking pictures of me? Guess it would behoove me to apply makeup as a speed down the freeway--nay, the payway. At least I'll be cute when I'm caught speeding. That always helps.

You know what I have to say to all this? Bring it, Erik Estrada. Bring the Heat. You'll never catch me. I'm crazy like a fox.

Death By Cuteness

I guess that's what toddlers have going for them. For every occasion upon which they make you want to claw your own eyes out with a grapefruit spoon, there are at least two occasions in which they make you want to nibble on them until your teeth ache from their sweetness.

Right now, Eric is Super Talker Boy, so I get to hear a lot of toddler logic in action. And most of it is just way too cute. I mean, the English language is complicated to master. I think maybe we could take a few lessons from the toddlers' perspective that the simplest explanation is the best. I wish I could remember all the cute things Eric says, but I think it would get a little old if I posted baby witticism on my blog every day (ummm....oops). But, here are a couple of recent things that I thought were especially cute.

A few weeks ago, Chris mowed the lawn for the first time. Eric watched him out the window the entire time, chanting, "Daddy mow the lawn," fifteen hundred and seventy-three times. When Chris finished the front yard and headed for the back, Eric left his post on the living room couch and hightailed it to the kitchen so as not to miss anything. Once again, "Daddy mow the lawn. [beat] Daddy mow the lawn. [beat] Daddy mow the lawn," etc. When Chris mowed around the tulip bed, he bumped the tulips a few times and they would bend over and spring right back up. Eric stopped chanting, "Daddy mow the lawn," and said in a whisper, "Daddy mow the flowers." When Chris was finally done and turned the lawn mower off, Eric announced, "All done, mow the lawn!"

Then today, Eric and I were driving home from his music class. Whenever we go anywhere in the car, Eric likes to shout out all the attractions he sees. This is especially fun because we often drive a stretch of the expressway where the El line runs between eastbound and westbound traffic. For as long as we are driving next to the train tracks, Eric likes to tell me, "Choo-choo tracks!" over and over and over again. One time, as we were merging from one expressway to another, there was a lot of traffic (ha! sorry, this sentence makes it sound like traffic is not the norm--I wish!), and I told Eric, "Look at all the cars down there!" And now he says that to me ALL THE TIME. Also, there is a lot of road construction nearby, so we spend a lot of time discussing heavy machinery. Actually, we discuss all vehicles of interest--particularly school busses and motorcycles. Eric also likes to yell out, "Water park!" when ever we see something vaguely wet--pools, sprinklers, lakes, puddles, etc." But today, as we were driving home, several things caught Eric's eye. "Baseball field!" "Football field!" "Golf ball field!"

And come on, "golf ball field" actually does make sense, right?

Saturday, May 20, 2006

In case you mistakenly thought I was popular.


I got a new cell phone yesterday! Mine phone was pretty beat up, and I was eligible to renew my contract and get a new phone, so I did (and Chris did too, but hasn't activated it yet). You know how when you get a new phone, it's kind of exciting to hear whatever stupid ring tone you've chosen for it for the first few days? So, I anxiously awaited my first phone call. And waited. And waited. And waited. And am still waiting, actually. Well, that's kind of a lie. Last night, I called my own phone number from work, just to make sure that it was actually working. It was. On my way home from work, I called Chris and told him how sad I was that nobody had called me on my new phone yet. Moments later, his stupid old phone dropped the call. And he didn't even call me back. And my mom! Even my mom hasn't called me! And she's always calling me! I mean, it's not like I'm that popular, but it's unusual to go 24 hours without a phone call. I guess it's like that Jimmy Buffett song--if the phone doesn't ring, it's me.

Dear Britney Spears:

So, you're getting a lot of flack for your parenting skills, are you? Well, here's my advice to you: visit a certified carseat technician. Have SP's carseat properly installed, and make sure you use it correctly. It's really not that hard, and he really will be so much safer. Proper carseat use will take a lot of the heat off. As for the rest of the stuff, don't worry about it--it happens to everyone. Babies are slippery and wiggly; people trip all the time; etc. Those things are accidental. Accidents, by their very definition, are uncontrollable. Unfortunately, you're in the limelight, so everybody gets to see and hear about everything you do. Let me tell you a little story about the worst accident ever involving a newborn. Not my newborn, mind you...OK, I'm lying. It was my newborn.

When Eric was two or three months old--not sure exactly, but it was definitely the summer of 2004--Chris and I decided to go for a walk with him. We walked all around the neighborhood with him safely strapped into his carseat, which was snapped into the stroller, like in the picture (of some totally random woman and baby that I found on the internet). We went to rent some movies from Tower Records at Clark and Webster. Then we went across the street to the 7-11, and we got Slurpees. Mmm. Slurpee.

We went to pay for our slurpees, but we didn't have any cash on us, and their credit card reader was broken. There was an ATM in 7-11, but I made Chris run across the street because our bank's ATM was in the Tower building, and I was sick of paying the $5 in fees for taking out $20. I stayed back at 7-11, with Eric and the Slurpees. Damn, those things were cold! Our stroller had a tray with two cup holders, so I set the slurpees in them. Well, actually, I put one of the slurpees in one of the cup holders, but the other cup holder was an odd size that approximately 1% of the world's cup population could fit inside. So, I moved our keys and cell phone to that cup holder and set the other slurpee on the shallow tray between the two cup holders.

It took a few minutes before Chris got back, so I was killing time flipping through magazines or something. Chris came back, paid for the slurpees and then opened the door so I could push the stroller out. Without thinking twice, I steered the stroller over the sizable threshold and out the door.

As if in slow motion, I watched as the unsecured slurpee teetered as I went over the threshold--forward towards Eric, then back towards me and then forward again, gaining enough momentum to fall out of the tray. As soon as the cup hit Eric, the top popped off and he was completely covered in Slurpee.

He got this confused and surprised look on his little face and then let out the cry to end all cries. I don't remember exactly how we set about cleaning him up. I think we were still in the stage where we couldn't leave the house without 14 changes of clothes and 72 diapers. But, how do you change a baby on the sidewalk outside of 7-11 when your only place to put him is a stroller covered in red slurpee? I'm sure it's a predicament we have all found ourselves in at one point or another. Anyway, all I do remember is carrying him home from there, and all of us being very sticky. And also, swearing off slurpees for the rest of my life (or at least until further notice). I also remember that everything involved in that snafu would forever be stained pink.

So, see Britney? It could be worse. At least you haven't dumped 20 or so ounces of red ice on your baby. Yet. But accidents do happen--even to the most careful of people. Don't sweat the accidents. But do fully secure your child in the car. There's really no excuse for that. Take care.

Sincerely,
Kristi

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Yum.

Well, I just came across this link again today, and thought I should post it for anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of seeing it before.

Be sure to click on the right arrow to scroll through all of them.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Apolitical

(Because I don't think president bashing becomes me.)

Yesterday, Eric and I were getting in the car to go to his music class. Usually, when we go for rides in the car, Eric gets his "guys," which are his pacifier, stuffed monkey and "DC," which is this ratty bib that Eric loves. So, we were getting in the car, and Eric immediately got excited about something, threw the guys on the floor and started chanting, "MUSIC! MUUUUUUUSIC!" and pointing at...what? I thought maybe he was just excited about going to his class. He kept saying it, so I put the radio on, thinking that would make him happy, but it didn't. We went to his class, and when we were on our way back--the same thing. As soon as I opened the car door, his face lit up and he started yelling "MUSIC" again. Except this time, he was able to grab the object of his desires: the umbrella. And he sang into the umbrella the whole way home.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

And also...

Does anyone else remember that junior high joke about blower's cramp?

Q: What's this? [Then make this face: ]

A: Blower's cramp. Do you get it?

Apparently W does.

OK. That's all for now.

Rhetoric

So gas prices are on the rise again. They're holding pretty steady around $3/gallon in these parts. $3/gallon--can you believe that? I remember when I was first driving, prices were much closer to $1/gallon. I'm absolutely certain that I've paid less than a dollar per gallon for gas since I've been driving. I can remember filling up in Mahomet, IL circa 2000 for $.999/gal. That wasn't that long ago--not long enough to justify a $2+ dollar increase. But I digress. So, as I was saying, gas prices are on the rise again--bitch, bitch, moan, moan, grumble, grumble. Who the hell wants to pay $3/gallon for gas?!? Then comes the announcement: gas prices expected to reach $4/gallon in the next few months, and, oh my god, we're so lucky to only be paying $3 now! See, it's all about the spin.

So, who wants to take a stab at spinning this?

Maybe a little bit crazy.

OK, so it's midnight-thirty, and I just got back from the grocery store. First of all, I should be in bed, and asleep, for like three hours now. Secondly, I had one of those moments at the grocery store. You know, one of those realizations where you think, if somebody turned the corner and walked down this aisle *right now,* they would see me and think that I'm totally nuts. And not only would they think that, but THEY WOULD BE RIGHT. Why, you ask? Well, here's why. Because it's midnight, right? And I'm at the grocery store, in the bread aisle. And I'm searching--scanning every shelf, stepping on the bottom shelf to see what's on the top shelf, pushing stuff aside to see what's behind it, scavenging--for whole wheat hot dog buns. WHOLE WHEAT HOT DOG BUNS. Because, you know, hot dogs on whole wheat are SO MUCH better than hot dogs on plain old white buns. Yeah. What's wrong with this picture?

Monday, May 15, 2006

Karaoke Club Minutes

Date: Thursday, May 11, 2006
In attendance: Kristentatious, Greenfish, Vernessica
Should've been there: Sue, Erica, Racer X, La Fraise (maybe we should call her "FORX"...as in, "Forxy Lady")

7:30 p.m. K + G meet for pizza at Vernessica's restaurant. OK. It was more like 8:00 p.m.
8:00-9:15 p.m. Eat delicious pizza goodness and chat
9:15 p.m. G and I depart for the Sponge Reef. Yes it is as cheesy at it looks.
9:40 p.m. Arrive at Sponge Reef and notice that it is way more crowded than the same time last week. There are at least five more bodies in the bar. It should tell you something about the size of the, um, Reef if five more people constitutes "way more crowded." Also, unlike last week's minutes of deafening silence between songs because there were only a couple of people singing, this week there was already a pretty sizeable karaoke rotation when we got there. It seemed like everybody already had a stack of requests in. Also, at this point, the time line becomes blurry.

Greenfish and I picked out some songs and turned in our requests. Also, within minutes of our arrival, a group of four people came and sat at the table next to ours. Because of the coziness of the establishment, our cabaret-style tables were almost touching. It was unfortunate that they were so close, because it made it harder for us to talk about them discreetly.

There were two couple, one older couple and one younger couple. We got the feeling that one member of the older couple was a parent of one member of the younger couple. Except, we couldn't exactly figure out who belonged to whom. Father and son, both out with their fiancees/wives (it looked like both women we wearing rocks)? Mother and daughter out with their men? I finally decided upon mother and daughter hooked up with father and son (hence daughter married to her step-brother....it seemed like it could have been accurate). They seemed very nice. The older man sang a decent version of Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues, while the younger gal reminded me of Sue in that every song was her favorite.

While we sat there waiting for our songs to be called, and waiting for Vernessica to arrive, Greenfish and I flipped through the book and decided to make a list of songs to be sung by Racer X at a future date.

In no particular order:

Broken Wings by Mr. Mister
Cum on Feel the Noise by Quiet Riot
Don't Stop Believing by Journey (this must be sung as a dedication to Big Dave)
More than a Feeling by Boston
Don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult (Note To Greenfish: Secure a Cowbell)
Be Still my Heart by The Postal Service
Summer of 69 by Bryan Adams
Roxanne by The Police
Also, Message in a Bottle by The Police

We stopped there as we thought that list of songs could tide us over for a while.

Also, Greenfish and I need to remember to sing Oh What a Night sometime, in honor of Camille, my French Exchange student from HS. And Vernessica needs to sing Can't Get You out of My Head by Kylie Minogue, with a dedication to Racer X.

Finally, our songs were called. Greenfish went first with "Like a Prayer" by Madonna. (Later, Vernessica would call when she was on her way over and ask me to turn in the same song for her. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't meant to be.) I sang next--99 Red Balloons by Nena. As I was waiting for the song to start, the KJ handed me a stack of small papers. It turned out to be all of our song requests from last week. Of course, by distracting me, he made me miss the intro to the song, and it's never good to miss the beginning of your song. Oh well. I really like that song, but I never noticed how many long pauses it had before.

Vernessica finally arrived and got called to sing pretty quickly. She sang Sheyrl Crow's My Favorite Mistake, which was a source of great excitement for the girl sitting at the table next to us.

The rest of the night is starting to get kind of fuzzy, but I do remember the following things:

Some guy sang Africa by Toto and totally showed up Racer X's off-the-cuff version from the previous week (for the most part I would say that they are equally good singers, but this guy made the synthesizer/xylophone noises during non-singing moments, which I'm sure Racer X could do better if only he'd thought of it).

We also discussed Vernessica's love life and made a list of Dating Guidelines for her to follow:
*NO COKEHEADS
*No guys with girlfriends or wives
*No Bass players (Sorry, hun, but you need to break a pattern. My apologies also to Racer X, but I'm sure this rule will allow your Forxy Lady to breathe a sigh of relief. You know, because I'm sure that she has always seen Miss V as a big threat.)
Also,
*No Gay Guys (Always a good rule to follow. I should know.)

Hmmm...the only other thing that I can remember is that Greenfish sang Joy to the World by 3 Dog night, which is one of my absolute favorites. Yay karaoke!

I know that this week, Greenfish will miss karaoke because she is going to be in Vegas, doing things that stay in Vegas. But several other people have expressed interest, including Sue, who believes she will be done with her take-home final and be ready to go out!

Dear Grey's Anatomy,

First of all, shame on you for making me wait until tomorrow for your exciting conclusion! Secondly, please don't leave me!! I've never been one to beg, but if that's what it's going to take, I'll do it. You can't leave me for an entire summer! Nooooo! I don't know what I'll do without you! Waaaah! I'm going to go cry myself to sleep now. At least we still have one more night together...

Love,
Kristi

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Is it just me?



Is it too much to ask that those electronic bank signs just show me the time and temperature, and that those are preferably both accurate? Seriously. I don't need to know that I can call Guadalupe Ochoa for fabulously low car loan rates. I don't need to know that your bank offers Totally Free Checking! when I can already read that in the gigantic signs that cover each and every window of the bank. I don't need to know that you're having an Upcoming Event for New Customers last weekend. I just want to know the damn temperature. That's all.

Thinking about this reminds me of a separate but (possibly distantly) related quirk I have. When I'm driving, I always have a compulsive need to do something totally distracting and unnecessary at the worst possible moment. For instance, if I'm trying to merge onto the highway between a semi and some asshole who's trying his damnedest to make sure I don't get in front of him (even though HE'S the one who decided to drive in the merge lane), I will absolutely NEED to change my radio station right then. Or, I'm exiting at a clover-leaf interchange and somewhere in the middle of the 360-degree-turn it becomes truly ESSENTIAL that I make a phone call. Or I'm driving through a parking lot where people are walking all over the place and coming out of nowhere and there are full-fledged parking spot wars between cars and, oh my, it seems like the treble and bass on my radio are a little askew and it MUST BE FIXED. Or (and here's the connector), I'm exiting the highway to go to work and I see the temperature flash on the annoying bank sign on the other side of the expressway. Right then, while I'm decelerating and driving the windy exit ramp that ends in an abrupt merge, I just have to compare the bank sign temperature to my car's thermometer (there's a button for that mixed in with all the thermostat buttons). What can I say. I'm a weirdo.

Just terrible.

And today, on his first full day as a two-year-old, Eric laid down on the floor in Target, right at the top of the escalator and had a full-blown, sobbing, screaming fit. "WANNA GO SEE BASSETBALLS! WAAHH!!!!" Of course, I was just trying to be nice by letting him walk out of the store instead of being stuck inside of the cart. Additionally, we had already looked at the bassetballs. And the baseballs. And the bikes. And the helmets. And the twucks. And the teebees. I'm looking forward to a fun year.