Vanishing act

This is a clip from Hee Haw, a foggy, cobweb filled memory from my childhood. I really don't remember watching that much Hee Haw - but this song sticks in my head like crazy glue.

The best part is the "phht you was gone".

Twitter'd out

Social media is making me feel rather antisocial at the moment.

I got up this morning and logged on to Face Book. Then I checked out what was going on in the Twitterverse. When I got to work, I fired up Outlook and then signed on to AIM. It’s not that I have a problem with all the different ways that we have to communicate with each other – I like them all just fine. I like Face Book for reconnecting with old friends, AIM is an awesome way to communicate at work in a jiffy, email is a necessary evil, and Twitter is, well – Twitter. Most of the tweets I see are random thoughts – blips on the radar that are fleeting at best. It’s a fun way to link to other media that you think your followers would like, but then again, so is Face Book for that matter. But for some reason, on Twitter people tend to tweet the same (mostly snarky) minutia over and over and over again. I am so sick of seeing tweets about:

1. Your workout / exercise routine. Yes, you’re active and fit. We get it. Only you and your trainer are impressed. And that's because you pay him/her.

2. What you are currently listening to. Did you hear something new? Great! Please share. Something inspiring or beautiful? Share that, too. But posting tweet after tweet after tweet that read “I’m listening to Snoop Dogg’s Gin and Juice” “I’m listening to Otis Redding’s Try A Little Tenderness” is just repetitive and boring. And honestly, nobody cares.

3. Same goes for television shows. What’s with the tweets that are just your personal television viewing chronology? “BSmith just watched Mad Men”? (Or whatever other “in” thing you’re watching because you think it makes you look cool). Guess what? It doesn’t and you’re still a douche nozzle.

4. What you’re eating. No one cares. And I don’t want to see a picture of it, either. If I want to know what your lunch was, I will ask.

5. Tweeting that you are eating fattening foods while watching The Biggest Loser. Yeah, this was funny the first 100 times I read it. Considering that 66% of Americans regularly watch television while eating dinner (thank you, A.C. Nielsen) I think the chances are high that they aren’t all eating carrot sticks and cottage cheese - yet you’re obviously thrilled with your amazing, ironic wit. I drink beer while I watch Intervention. It doesn’t make me Jerry Seinfeld.

6. Something your dog did. Unless he taught himself to drive, got a job at NASA and landed a lunar probe – yawn.

7. Same goes for your cat. (Numbers 6 and 7 do not include the adoption of, or the passing of a pet. Those are different and are definitely tweetable.)

8. I hate to say it, same goes for your kid. Yes, you love him. Your family loves him. Everyone else in the world, not so much.

9. “I have the best boyfriend / girlfriend / stalker in the whole wide world!” Gag. ‘Nuff said.

10. “Is”. As in “BSmith is”. Do you think you're being all existential and hip? You’re not. You’re just being a dipshit.

Yeah, that’s pretty much the list for now. I know there will be more to come. Too bad I can’t tweet this entire post (way more than 140 characters), because it certainly is snarky enough to live out there amongst all the other snarky tweets. I’m going to blame today's outlook on a lack of sunlight. Maybe I need to eat some pistachio nuts, drink a diet Pepsi, listen to Jim Croce's Bad Bad Leroy Brown and watch my cats wrestle. Yeah, that should work.

Happy tweeting! :o)

Luck be a lady?

I was sitting in traffic this afternoon on my way home from work - it was at a stand still heading west (the direction I was going) while the eastbound lane was free and clear. As I sat there waiting to move, I was watching two squirrels on the side of the road. They were running and each one had something acorn-like in their mouths, and then suddenly the bigger of the two squirrels decided that he was going to make a break for it and run to the other side of the road. He ran right in front of my car, and as he did a car came speeding down the eastbound lane and I was sure the little guy was toast. In fact, as I saw him leap up the curb, I couldn't believe he made it. I thought “what a lucky frickin squirrel, he should have bought the farm”. Then I began thinking about the concept of luck, and how it pertains to everyone (even crazed squirrels). I mean, some people (like me) believe that luck is a random thing - like a wild bolt of lightning that you can’t predict. Other people believe that you make your own luck; that your outlook and personal choices reflect what gets presented to you. Actually, upon further pondering, I believe it’s probably a combination of the two. Which brought me to another thought. In 2005, my husband Charlie and I went on a trip to Las Vegas - luck capital of the world - and had an interesting run in with luck.

We were going to be in Las Vegas for five days. We already had two under our belts, and as per usual, Charlie had mad luck for those two days. He was up at least a grand. Me - not so much. So we decided to put the bets on hold for a night. It was a Saturday and we decided to go to the Ellis Island for a little cold beer and karaoke. If you haven’t heard of the Ellis Island, don’t worry. It’s a locals haunt and it’s a tiny hole in the wall attached to a Super 8 Motel off the strip on Koval Lane. It’s wonderfully dark and oh so old Vegas, but they have a phenomenal karaoke show and the people who sing karaoke in Las Vegas are some of the most talented singers I have ever heard, bar none.

Anyhoo, we were filling out our request slips and Charlie kept looking at this very tall, distinguished looking man in one of the booths. He kept saying that he looked familiar. The dude didn’t look familiar to me at all. So after about ten minutes, Charlie tells me that the guy looks like Granville Waiters. Now, I knew who Granville Waiters was because he played for the Chicago Bulls when I was in high school. I couldn't have picked him out of a lineup, but I remembered his name because my dad had taken me to a couple of Bulls games when I was in high school. The Bulls really stunk back then (pre Michael Jordan) but they were winning the game Dad and I went to. And back then, Waiters basically sat on the bench each and every game. But when the Bulls would actually pull ahead by a significant amount, the crowd would start to chant “Graaaaaaaaaanville, Graaaaaaaanville….” and eventually they would put him in the game.

So the DJ at Ellis Island decided to do what he called “Kamikaze Karaoke”, where he would call up five or so singers, pick a song of his choosing and make them all sing together. Charlie got called up on stage, and so did Shorty (the Granville look-alike). Everyone was laughing and commenting on their bad rendition of We are Family and I leaned over to Shorty’s friends and told them that my husband thought he looked like Granville Waiters. With the widest eyes I have ever seen, they told me that, yes, that’s Granny (as they called him). His friends seemed taken aback that anyone would even recognize him. However they were very sweet when they asked if Charlie would like an autograph (to which I replied “ARE YOU KIDDING? OF COURSE!) After the guys were done singing, Charlie got his autograph and had a really nice conversation with Granville. (Who couldn't have been more gracious, by the way). Later in the evening after we were all sung out, we said goodnight to Granville Waiters and his friends and went back to our hotel.

The next day we laughed about our night and thought it was one of the oddest Las Vegas moments we had experienced (except for the night Charlie got propositioned by a hooker at the Hard Rock). But we soon discovered that another thing had happened that night. Charlie’s luck ran out. From that moment on, he couldn't catch a cold let alone a break. As his winnings dwindled for the remaining days, he came to the only conclusion there was. Granville Waiters stole his luck.

My luck remained the same - in the crapper - for the entire trip until the last night. Every trip to Las Vegas we ever had ended the same way with our famous “last night luck”. Together, we hit a $1.00 Wheel of Fortune machine for $1,000.00. A nice little amount to go home with.

So do I believe that luck is as random as lightning or do we make our own luck? I’m still not sure about that one. But I am sure that if you have some luck, stay away from Granville Waiters. He’ll steal it.

So goes life, so goes the truck

I saw this on The People of Wal-Mart. Classic.

I Guess Mommy Got The Truck

Punk'd

I think everyone has been to a wedding where as the best man gives his toast to the newly married couple, hijinks ensue. When my friend Val got married in the 1980's, the best man punked the groom by telling a story about how the groom had borrowed the best man's keys to his apartment and wanted them back. As the story unraveled, supposedly the groom had copied the keys and given them to a young lady. With that, 30 or so women all got up to "return" the copied key. The last lady had to be at least 80 years old.

Now, it's much easier to punk the groom, especially if you have mad Photoshop skills. Check out the video below. It's the video montage that played at a couple's wedding, created by one of the groomsmen at the request of the groom. The only instruction given to the groomsman was to make the video "different" - the groom said he didn't even want to review it first.

So this is what Ben and Joanna got from their friend, Adam. I take it Joanna has a good sense of humor. If this happened on Bridezillas, there would have been blood.

Best Wedding Slideshow Ever from Olde English Comedy on Vimeo.

Oh look, a giant loser

I don't know how I missed this one, but this selfish douche cheated on his wife and this is what she made him do to repent. I have a feeling it won't be the last uncomfortable humiliation he will experience at her hand. You can see the article here. Personally, I hope his privates wither up and fall off, yet he walks around for the rest of his life with a phantom boner that he can never, ever satisfy.

A case of anal warts would be good, too.

The candy man cometh

If you are in the area of Michigan Avenue between Illinois and Wacker Drive tomorrow, stop by Pioneer Plaza (in front of 401 Michigan Avenue). Mars Snackfood, the makers of M & M's, Snickers, Milky Way, Twix, Dove and 3 Musketeers will be giving away free samples of its candies. Why, you ask? It seems that Mars did a survey to find out which American city is in need of a little chocolate joy, and Chicago won.

And if you like NASCAR, get your sugar fix and racing fix at the same time because Kyle Bush will be handing out the sweet samples.

Yummy!

UPDATE: The bags of candy that my coworkers got yesterday from the Mars giveaway were obscene! I assumed that they would be handing out mini candy bars and just a few to each person. So wrong! They were passing out full size candy bars, and the folks passing it out were just loading up people's bags. Seriously, some people were walking away with two big plastic bags full of candy. I guess they're set for Halloween.

Unfortunately, I did not get over there to witness it. Being glucosely challenged (yes, I do realize that glucosely isn't really a word), I figured I'd stay here and work as opposed to a trip to Northwestern in a sugar coma.

Word of the day! vol. 2

Calumnious - ca·lum·ni·ous adj.

Containing or implying calumny; slanderous or defamatory. Used of statements harmful and often untrue; tending to discredit or malign.


Use it in a sentence, today!

Stuck in 1985

I have had a song stuck in my head since yesterday. It got there while I was walking through Walgreens and heard it on the piped in music. First of all, how sad is it when songs of your youth wind up as Walgreens white noise? Or you stumble across one on the oldies channel? It's that slap in the face that says "Hey dummy! Yes...you ARE middle aged". I'm not bothered by the fact that I'm 42, because I don't feel like it. But then I watched the video below (for the aforementioned stuck song)and just thought....HOLY CRAP. People used to look like this a long, long time ago. 24 years ago to be exact. Geritol, anyone?

So enjoy the trip down memory lane. If the song gets stuck in your head too, don't blame me. Its 1980's hooky goodness is to blame.

(Love the side ponytail, by the way.)

Bad day

This guy is having a really bad day.

New links! New links!

While hopping around the Internet recently, I came across this delicious site, Passive Aggressive Notes.com. I bet there's a member of my immediate family who could fill that site with enough submissions for a month.

Passive Aggressive Notes looks like it could be as addictive as my most recent find, The Summer of Benny. (Who I would love to meet, btw). Any blog that has the expression "mushroom stamp" in it is alright in my book.

Check 'em both out. Don't say I didn't warn you.

It's a wonder that anyone got laid in the 80's

Make sure you check out the guy wearing the pelt and Viking hat. Rrrrrow!


Dating Montage
Uploaded by smithy00101. - Independent web videos.

Meanest. Song. Ever.

Word of the day!

I thought it would be fun if every so often I post a word of the day. I love finding new words, or words that I don't use that often and trying to work them into daily conversation. So, my first WOTD entry is:

Malignity - 1) quality of being disposed to evil; intense ill will, and 2) wishing evil to others

There's today's word - use it in a sentence today!

It's Not My Birthday

Yesterday we celebrated my sister's 36th birthday. Of course we had her favorite birthday dinner, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. Mom cooked the whole thing and it was delish.

So I took a few pictures of our day and of the kids, too. My nephew Niall must have been playing with his ball of fungus, because I don't have any of him. (Yes, he really has a ball of fungus - basically a large puffy mushroom thing he got from his other grandma's back yard - it's about the size of a volleyball).

My sister's birthday always marks the end of summer for me. As I was driving home from her house last night I couldn't believe that it was dark by 7:00 pm. Fall is almost here and then it will be winter. My birthday is in the winter. In fact, I can't even imagine having a birthday that didn't contain a Christmas tree, cold weather, sweaters and Christmas carols. Most years, my family was putting up the Christmas tree on my birthday weekend - so birthdays with outdoor picnics, water slides and bugs really seem out of place to me.

Even my parents birthdays are cold weather birthdays. My father's birthday is in November and my mother's is in March. For the longest time only my sister had a warm weather birthday. Then she started making people of her own, and had my nephew in July. (Her other two are February and March - keeping with tradition!)

Anywho, here's a few of the pictures (click to enlarge) from her day. Happy birthday, Eisenhower!

Mom, Dad and Britt - Mom and Dad have a funny look on their faces because just as I snapped this picture, a glass behind them tumbled off the counter and smashed to the ground.

This is the fabulous Stella getting ready to be fabulously cranky

And here is Stella again wearing home grown tomato seeds on her face.

And I can't forget the Divine Miss Em.

The Oprahcalypse

Here are some pictures I took throughout Oprah Day in the loop. Note the Port-A-Potties in the middle of Michigan Avenue. That's class, Mayor Daley, pure class. Click on each image to enlarge.

Oh no Ms. O

Tomorrow is gonna stink on ice.

The abominable Oprah Winfrey is taking over Michigan Avenue. The very avenue that I work on. She's filming her season opener in the heart of the city tomorrow and is shutting down roughly three blocks of the Mag Mile because, well....she can. She's Oprah.

They blocked off Michigan between Ohio and Wacker Drive today, and it will remain like that through Wednesday AM. If you're not from Chicago, you have no idea how enormous that is. You can check out the map, here. The street in front of my building will be completely blocked off to traffic, to allow for all the Iowans and housewives who will fill the street all a twitter. And the city says they are going to keep people off the sidewalks, unless of course, there are so many people that the street can't handle it. I have also heard that those of us coming and going on Boul Mich will be subject to security checks. SECURITY CHECKS. While I go get my lunch from Subway I will be subject to search? Nice. All for Ms. O.

Mike Royko couldn't have pulled this off. Hell, Phil Donohue couldn't have pulled this off. For that matter, there's no way in hell Daley would have allowed this for Dan Akroyd, John Belushi, any of the Cusacks and Kanye West combined.

But Oprah, Ms. Winfrey, please feel free to fuck up the city at your will.

I will post pictures of the debacle tomorrow. I'm sure there's going to be plenty of plaid shorts, gaping mouths and fanny packs.

To be continued....

Overheard on the train today

She: I need money.

He: Yeah?

She: I don't have any money. I just realized I
have none.

He: You should never walk around with less
that fifteen-hundred

.
I gotta get some new friends.

Love Rollercoaster

Today is our annual company picnic at Six Flags Great America. It's an event that people at work really look forward to; and a fun family day altogether.

However, it's going to be 90 degrees out today, and sunny. I know, I know - there's a lot of you out there that wait for and love summer scorchers. I just can't get behind that.

First, I'm white - and I just don't mean that I'm not black or Asian or Hispanic - I mean I'm so white that I'm practically see-through. I have inherited my father's blindingly white Irish skin, which burns to a crisp at the mere thought of going into the sun for a day. The best I can hope for is freckles. My father has so many freckles that they have all blended together and he actually looks tan.

Secondly, I hate to be sweaty. 90 degrees and humid guarantees sweat. And I'm going to be in large crowds all day and they'll be sweating. I guarantee I will be thrust into a melange of body odors that will make my eyes water. Good times.

Third, they don't sell beer at the park. 'Nuff said.

Last, I'm afraid of roller coasters. This wasn't always the case. I LOVED them as a kid. Even into my early 20's. I don't know what happened between 21 and 38, but I became terrified of coasters. The last time I went to Great America, I couldn't wait to get on The Eagle. We waiting in line for about 40 minutes and then got on. The coaster started up the first (and biggest) incline and immediately I knew this was a huge mistake. But there was nothing I could do. Up, up, up we went - as my stomach climbed higher and higher into my throat. Then we reached the top, where the coaster stalls for just a second so you can get a really good look at how high you are........and then plummets. I seriously thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest. I buried my face into my husband's shoulder and waited to die. Really.

So, I'm off to the amusement park today. I don't think I'm going to be very amused. I feel sorry for my mom and my sister. When I'm hot and sweaty, I can be a royal bitch. I know, it's hard to imagine, isn't it?

Wish me luck.

Nothin' beats a great pair of L'eggs

When did L'eggs give up their standard plastic egg packaging? I don't wear pantyhose anymore, but I saw them in Walgreens a while back and they're in a pointy box now. More triangular than egg shaped.

L'eggs were a staple in my mom's bedroom in the 1970's when I was growing up. There were always a few of those white plastic egg tops lying around. Me and my sister would snag them (no pun intended) out of her room. Then we would put them in our shirts and pretend we had gigantic boobs.

Careful what you wish for, girls.

Jive talkin'

So I took yesterday off work. I had a lot of running around I had to do - shopping, errands, etc. My hair turned out super cute, but that's because it was raining. In my life, super cute hair = rain. No exceptions.

Anyway, a lot of times when I have little short trips to make, I leave the television on for my cats (don't judge) so they won't feel lonely while I run in and out of the house. So I got myself together and ran out.

When I got back home, the cats were watching Maury Povich. Maury was hosting one of his scintillating "He denies my baby" episodes, in which each segment end with either "YOU ARE THE FATHER" or "YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER".

So as I am unpacking my Miracle-Gro and other items, this woman is explaining to Maury that she and Baby Daddy have 4 kids together, and recently he began denying each and every one of them. He claimed a man came to their door and demanded to see his kids, prompting Baby Daddy to assume that his woman had stepped out on him at least 4 times to get knocked up with each one.

The woman started yelling and screaming stating that all four of her kids look just like Baby Daddy, and they all look so much alike that they look like....

Wait for it....wait for it......

Qua-drip-lets.

To think I thought that educational system in this country was failing our children.

Oh man....I'm so high right now....

Thank you to Sylvia. Oh, and Syl? You're a towel.

So. Flippin. Tired

I want to go home. I'm tired. I need more sleep. I woke up an hour before my alarm was set to go off because I had to go to the bathroom. Got back into bed and laid there wide awake for about 40 minutes before I started to drift off. Sweet, sweet floaty dreams.

Then the alarm went off, which sounds like melt-down time at Chernobyl. Aah! Aah! Aah!

Geez it's terrifying. So here I sit, lacking sleep after having been blasted awake and I can't focus and all I can think about is my pillow.

Happy Monday!

I hate the word inappropriate

Everyone needs to lighten up. I'm so sick of people getting their feelings hurt over words and then complaining that the speaker said something inappropriate.

I like comedy. I like what some would call inappropriate comedy. Except what I consider appropriate chuckle fodder may not be your cup of tea. So move on. Don't listen. I heard this gem from Larry the Cable Guy the other day and laughed for what had to be 6 hours....

"If you're late for Special Ed, is it proper for the teacher to call you "tardy"?

That's good stuff right there. And I thought about putting it on my Face Book page, but then thought better of it. What if someone gets offended?, I thought.

I can't believe I actually thought that. It's not malicious. It's not hate speak - it's just dang funny. But my reasoning behind it was I have co-workers included on my list of friends, and what if a very simple attempt at levity came back to bite me? (Like that never happens in the world). I really, really hate living in a world where I have to censor myself because someone may have an axe to grind and decide to get "offended". I'm reminded of an episode of The Drew Carey Show about a panel cartoon of a crinkle-cut fry trying to hit on an earthworm. It sent his office into a tizzy.

The wonderfully witty columnist and author Erma Bombeck once said "when humor goes, there goes civilization".

Here, here.....and amen.

Stone cold sober as a matter of fact

Yes. The bitch is back. The selfish bitch who made a handicapped man stand on the bus while her huge tote bag took up a seat in the "priority seating" section was at it again this morning on the 120. What a tool.

I hope the handicapped people in the world rise up and beat you senseless with their walkers.

PS - I think I was totally busted by the dude on the right while I snapped this picture.

Hey Deformities - I'm talking to you!

I stumbled across a freaking hysterical website the other day called Engrish.com. Basically, it's a collection of signs and advertising from other countries written in English, and boy do they miss the mark. One (or several) wrong word can change the entire meaning of what you are trying to convey. Check it out, but be warned - it's addictive.

Here's a couple of my favorites:

The sights you see when you don't have a gun

I'm seriously angry.

This morning during my usual commute that consists of a car, a train and a bus, I encountered one of the most blatant acts of outright selfishness that I have ever been witness to on the CTA.

I got on the 120 out of Ogilvie Station, took my seat and riffled through my purse for my office keys. Once I found them (in a heap in the bottom of my bag) I looked up to see this -

Ok - so I'm no Ansel Adams, but what's going on in my blurry, clandestine photos is this double-chinned bitch is sitting and reading her book (in the priority seating section, mind you) and has a ginormous bag next to her (I'm not referring to the lady on the other side of her, either). And said giant bag is taking up the entire seat to her left. Now, if you've ever traveled on the Metra train, you are aware of the "seat hogs". Those assholes who put their bag or other crap on the seat next to them so no one can sit there. But let me tell you, it doesn't fly on the CTA. The buses are too crowded for that crap. Yet, Blondie here decided her huge pleather bag needed its own seat.

But that's not even the infuriating part. Look to the background of the picture. See the dude standing there? He's holding a cane.

HE'S FUCKING HANDICAPPED, YOU BITCH! HE'S STANDING AND YOUR $10.00 TARGET BAG HAS IT'S OWN SEAT.

By the time I got off that bus I was seething. What kind of ridiculous bitch doesn't even offer up her seat to a handicapped person? If he preferred to stand, that's fine. But Ms. Mememe never asked.

So when I finally got into the office, I decided two things. 1.) I'm gonna put her selfish ass on my blog so my 4 readers can enjoy her tremendous act of selfishness, and 2.) I'm going to send in a reader submission to R.O.C.K. on the C.T.A. (One of my favorite blogs of all time, yet I have never submitted before). The heights of rudeness that guy records are legendary.

Have a great day - hopefully you won't run into anyone like this today. But who are we kidding? You know you will.

Do you mind if I shove my wienermobile into your garage?

The Oscar Mayer Wienermobile crashed into a home in Racine, Wisconsin last Friday. The puns are flying so fast a furious through my brain right now, that I can't even type them. Needless to say, that's one destructive wiener.

UPDATE: Didn't the driver know how big his buns were?

UPDATE: In this case, size DOES matter.

UPDATE: "Two local Wisconsin men pray at the alter of the fallen wiener..."

UPDATE: Ace and Gary inspect the damage to their superhero-mobile.

Can't....stop......laughing..........

She may not be news to you, but she's new to me

This is Amy Rigby. She's an AMAZING singer/songwriter that I currently have a mad girl crush on. She's oh-so-talented and beautifully cynical. I don't know why I have never run across her music until a few months ago, but now I can't get enough. Her song "Are We Ever Gonna Have Sex Again?" is a sassy, truthful look at domesticated bliss. I couldn't find a YouTube video, so you will have to settle for just the audio - here. Just click the arrow on the player on the right hand side of the screen. Enjoy! And if you get hooked like me, don't say I didn't warn you.

He's gonna lose his job at Shotz Brewery

Eddie Mekka, Shirley's main squeeze Carmine "The Big Ragoo" Ragusa from the 70's sitcom Laverne and Shirley was busted for a DUI last weekend in Las Vegas. Nice mug shot, Carmine. You look like a pedophile.

Perhaps he was hanging out with Joyce DeWitt, joy riding and guzzling down 40 ouncers while blasting Boom Boom Pow. I know it seems unlikely, but I paint quite a picture, don't I?

So Shirl - this is your night in shining armor? And remember how he was always singing the line "you know I'd go from rags to riches"? I never knew the rest of that song was about a failed field sobriety test.

Look away, Boo Boo Kitty, look away.

You can read the whole story on TMZ.

I ran to Minneapolis where it's cold, I figured I'd keep better

The Rhoda head-scarf totally needs to make a comeback. It's perfect. It's colorful. It's funky. And if you're having a bad hair day, it's your best friend. Come on, ladies! Let's do it!

Closing time at the Regal Beagle

Joyce Dewitt, who played Janet on Three's Company went an got herself a DUI on the 4th of July. You can't beat a great mug shot, and Joyce has delivered. She was arrested for being under the influence of alcohol, but looking at this picture I would suspect crack or meth. Geez - she looks like she's seriously tweekin.

I hope Jack or Chrissy or Larry were able to bail her out, because those cheap-asses the Roper's will let ya rot.

You can read more about Joyce's holiday follies here.

The show must go on (freak or otherwise)

Well, the Michael Jackson freak train has officially come to a halt. I really don't want to go over and rehash what has been hashed and hashed again, except to say, shame on you Jacksons. Every last one of them is messed up thanks to Joe Jackson's endless pursuit of the spotlight for his children. It's the one piece of parenting that Micheal Jackson did well - and at just about every turn (not counting some bizarre baby dangling) Micheal kept those kids well out of the spotlight. He made sure they sported masks and wore blankets (hence the child nicknamed "Blanket") over their heads to protect their anonymity.

So what's the first thing that clan of freaks does the minute they get their hands on MJ's kids? This...



Exploiting the sorrow of an 11 year old who just lost the only parent she's ever known? Shame on them. Seriously.

It's not a sham. Wow.

I've never really given Billy Mays (the OxyClean pitchman) any thought other than to wonder "why is he yelling?" But word of his death this weekend was sadder than I expected. Probably because I never wondered if the guy was married (he was) or if he had kids (he had two, a son in his 20's and a daughter who is a toddler).

Then there were interviews with people who knew him personally; every one of them talking about what a gentile and kind man he was. I was kind of touched by their love of their friend.

It's not like I'm an asshole ALL the time. It's just Billy Mays was someone I never gave a whole lot of thought to until he was gone. I didn't even realize that he had a reality show on the Discovery Channel called "Pitchmen".

So, I guess I will say goodbye to waking up on the couch in the middle of the night to hear Billy's fast-and-furious sales pitches, replete with blood stains galore and wood floors that look like they have hosted a thousand barn dances. In a strange way, I will miss that.

But what I really hope and pray is that Billy's passing won't be like Hercules fighting the hydra. I can't stand there being one of these fucking ShamWow dip shits in the world, let alone a multitude.

Vince Offer, Vince Shlomi.....whatever your name is - you're no Billy Mays. You never will be. You're destined to just be a gigantic annoying tool who beats up women.

Randomly unoriginal

I read a number of blogs, and every so often all bloggers experience a point where they don't know what to write about. They usually do one of two things ~ write about how they have nothing to blog about, or list the songs they're listening to on their iPod while it's on shuffle.

Without further ado, here's what my life has sounded like this morning...

I Feel the Earth Move - Carole King

Moviestar - Stereo Total

Friday I'm in Love - The Cure

Too Much Heaven - Bee Gees

Super Freak - Rick James

Mr. Cab Driver - Lenny Kravitz (yow!)

Bodhrans On the Brain - Black 47

Have a Good Time - Paul Simon

Trouble - Pink

Little Willy - Sweet

Whole 'Nutha Thang - Keb' Mo'

Candyman - Christina Aguilera

Turning Japanese - The Vapors

I Wanna Be Sedated - The Ramones

Superman - Lazlo Bane

Boom Boom - John Lee Hooker

I Want You - The Future Kings of Nowhere

Cobrastyle - Teddybears

Cumbia del Sol - The Blazers

Gold Digger - Kanye West

The House is Rockin - Stevie Ray Vaughn

Low - Flo Rida

and playing right now.....Solsbury Hill - Peter Gabriel

That's it so far. Maybe this afternoon I will will post a "Random #2". Have a great day, everybody!

Dancin' in the streets

I love Aretha Franklin. Specifically, I love the song "Respect". I have absolutely AWESOME memories of that song, the best one being the night that my friend Sue, and her friend Sue and I got stuck in a HUGE traffic jam on the Kennedy expressway in front of the Rosemont Horizon (now the All State Arena) after the Amnesty International concert let out on the night of June 13, 1986. The traffic was so thick and no one was moving, so we decided to crank up the tunes. We were singing and dancing in our seats when "Respect" came on the radio, and all at once we decided to get out of the car and dance. We were dancing and singing in the middle of I-90, which was funny enough, but then other people got out of their cars and danced with us! It truly felt like some crazy scene out of "Fame".

When the song ended, we had a good laugh and everybody got back in their cars. To this day I can't hear that song without that specific memory and a Cheshire cat grin on my face.

Which is specifically why I HATE THESE FRICKEN CRICKET MOBILE COMMERCIALS. Not only are they annoying as hell and run incessantly, but they have ruined and cheapened one of the greatest songs of all time.

I hope Aretha has some ear plugs; I know I need a pair. And maybe a fork so I can poke my eyes out.

Tick-tock, tick-tock...

Well it's officially summer, with the summer solstice occurring yesterday on Father's Day - which also made yesterday the longest "day" of the year. Yesterday we clocked in the most amount of daylight we will see all year. You know what that means, don't you? We're on the downside now. From tonight through December 21st, the amount of daylight is getting shorter. Just having this information depresses me. All winter I look forward to the days getting longer. I really begin to notice it around February, when I get off the train and it's dark, but you can still see a little sliver of light in the west that promises to be a little bit bigger day by day until its completely light out when I get off the train and doesn't get dusky until around 8:45 pm.

Now the daylight is going to get shorter from this moment on. Most people won't even really notice at first because it will begin coming off the sunrise. The sun rose today at 5:16 am. It will set at 8:30 pm. But on Wednesday, June 24th the sun will rise at 5:17 am and set at 8:30 pm. One minute gone. It's negligible, to be sure, but its happening, and I hate it.

I have never been diagnosed with seasonal affective disorder, but I'm pretty sure I have it. The short days and long nights of the late fall and winter bother me more and more the older I get. I also have less tolerance for the cold. (That's another post). All the darkness makes me feel like a mole, or a mushroom. I get home from work and the lethargy sets in and I don't want to go anywhere or do anything that requires me to go out. It feels like the middle of the night from 4:30 pm until 7:00 am the next day. It's exhausting.

I guess I'm just going to have to suck it up and move on. Bitching and moaning does absolutely nothing about it - as well as does nothing for my psyche. I am going to enjoy the summer daylight for as long as I can - but I will be secretly keeping track of the ever-shortening days, and the approaching darkness that will inevitably follow. Man - winter sucks.

Hot town! Summer in the city...

First I must preface this post. I hate sweating. Always have, always will. This is probably why I am not a professional athlete. Or the owner of a sauna.

So, it's been unseasonably cool in Chicago so far this summer. I'm sick and tired of hearing people complain about it. "Where's the summer?" they moan. "This is JUNE?" they whine. I keep my mouth shut but the fact of the matter is, I like it like this. It's been in the high sixties and low seventies and its warm enough not to have to wear a jacket, but cool enough that my hair doesn't fall into limp, sickly little strands the second I go outside.

Yesterday all the weather complainers were quiet. It warmed up into the high 80's here in the city (thank you Lake Michigan) and hit 90 in the suburbs. I was supremely unhappy. Walking up the stairs to the Metra platform, I could feel the temperature rising with each step I took. Where I enter the station is cool and air conditioned. Once you head up to the platform (which is covered, but basically outside) it's all over. And you can only imagine what the throngs of other commuters smell like. It's vile.

Today promises to be worse. Today's going to be swamp-ass hot. They are predicting a high of 90 again, but it rained last night, and there's a nice cloud cover dialing the humidity up to 100. The train ride into the city wasn't so bad. It's still relatively cool out. But tonight - ugh - I am dreading the train ride home. Days like today produce a noxious smell that can only be described as a melange of nasty armpits, ass, and sweaty scalp.

Here's your summer, folks. You asked for it. Heck, you begged for it. Personally, I know at some point I will be sweating like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. Yeah, it's not pretty, especially with my hair all limp and plastered to my face. But enjoy it nonetheless, swamp-ass and batwings be damned.

I have a sad story to tell you, it may hurt your feelings a bit, last night when I walked into my bathroom, I stepped in a pile of...

I don't know if anyone remembers my post from last July about the PHENOMENAL deal I got on shaving cream at the Jewel. It was a 10 for $10 sale, and I figured, what the hey - I'll use it. Well, I'm sad to say that I cracked into the last can of the stuff yesterday. But it's good to know that 10 cans of shaving cream will last me exactly 1 year. Why that's good to know - I have no clue. And if you find it good to know, get a life.

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone

I really hate people sometimes.

Every morning I park my car in the train station parking lot at Arlington Park. I usually get there a few minutes earlier than I need to be, so I can riffle for the $1.50 parking fee, make sure I have everything I need (this doesn’t always work – I still forget things like my umbrella…) and put on my lipstick. For some reason, I put on all my other makeup at home, but lipstick goes on in the car. Anyway, I digress.

So a couple of weeks ago I’m sitting in my car when I see this silver car pull up into one of the stalls reserved for handicapped folks. Now, I will tell you that nothing bothers me more than people parking (or idling) in the reserved spots when they don’t have the proper license plates or a placard that allows them to park there. So I immediately check the plates. Nope, no handicapped plates. So I look for the placard that hangs off the rear view mirror. Yep, it’s there. All is right with the world. However….

As I am sitting in my car, I see the driver of the silver car parked in the handicapped space get out of her vehicle. She appears to be somewhere between 40 and 50 years old. She didn’t require any special equipment, i.e. a walker, a cane, crutches. She wasn’t sporting a cast or a brace of any kind. Then she opens her drivers side back door, and grabs her enormous backpack, a laptop bag and a tote bag. She proceeds to load up her back like mule and then heads for the train platform. No limping, no slowly and carefully considered footsteps…nothing. This bitch just heads for the platform, and then heads all the way down to the other end! If you know how long Metra platforms are, they’re freaking long!!!! She was easily walking for ten minutes before she staked out her spot on the platform (yes, I watched her the ENTIRE TIME). And get this – once she gets to her friggin spot, she doesn’t put down any of those bags. There had to be 15 pounds of crap hanging off her body. She certainly didn’t look or behave like someone so incapacitated that she needs to park in the handicapped stall.

Then I realized something else. The handicapped stalls aren’t numbered. Every other parking spot in the whole damn place is numbered so the greedy bastards who run the lot can collect their booty every day. But not the handicapped ones. They’re FREE. You don’t have to pay to park there if you are in a handicapped slot. Before everyone jumps all over me saying “the handicapped shouldn’t have to pay for their parking, they have suffered enough!” let me tell you that I agree wholeheartedly. The HANDICAPPED shouldn’t have to pay, but damn it, lazy douche nozzles should!

So, in a rare moment of clarity and mercy, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and thought, “Maybe she has something that is extremely debilitating when it flares up, like rheumatoid arthritis, or shingles – who knows? Be grateful that you don’t”. And I went on my day and didn’t give her or her handicapped spot another thought. Until the next day….

WHEN SHE DOES THE SAME FRICKIN THING AGAIN. And the day after that. And the day after that! This parking-stealing bitch has no shame! I have seriously daydreamed about following her down the platform with a megaphone, yelling “This woman steals from the handicapped, and doesn’t pay for parking” while pointing a giant foam #1 sports finger at her. Oh how I would looooove it. What’s slowing me down is the lack of a megaphone. Or a giant foam finger. So I will have to settle (for now) with this post and sharing a picture with the world of her broomstick, um…er….Hyundai.

Oh yeah, that bitch can kiss the fattest part of my ass. (Thank you, Jen Lancaster).

When the walls come tumbling down

Last fall, my mall closed. Randhurst Mall located in Mt. Prospect, Illinois shut its doors for the final time. So what, right? It's just a mall. A brick and mortar example of our insatiable consumerism. Ok, I get that.

However, Randhurst was so much more to me. I grew up in the era of the late 1970's / early 1980's. Soda pop still had sugar in it. Every summer day was spent at the pool with your best friend (and without any parents) - not online. And when you felt like being social, you went to the mall. Everything was happening at the mall and heck, all your friends were there, too. You weren't there to shop, you were there to see your friends, goof on your enemies, eat a Slush Puppy and chase boys. That was about it. Randhurst was that for me. I knew every inch of that place - every store, every place there was to eat, where ALL the bathrooms were, and what new stores cropped up in what old store's places.

My first job was at Randhurst. My junior year I got a job in Craft Corner's art store on the lower level near the moccasin shop and the Tartan Tray Restaurant. (It was more like a cafeteria from what I remember). I remember when the Tartan Tray closed down and a flood of roaches suddenly infested the art store...eww.

My senior year I got a job at Lerner on the main level of the mall (movin' up!). I liked working at Lerner, except for when older ladies would come in and want to buy their daughters something. They would say "she's about the same size as you....you know, busty". Ugh. If I had been able to suck in my boobs at that point I would have.

I was working at Lerner on Mother's Day 1984 when a former mall employee went mad and started shooting up the place in the middle of the mall. My mother called the store HYSTERICAL because it was on the news. Everyone (staff and customers) was huddled up in the dressing rooms in the dark (police orders). An hour and a half later, we were escorted out of the mall by the police after the gunman killed himself outside Chandler's Shoes.

I bought my first high school dance dress there. The shoes, too. We used to pick up WLS Top 40 Survey lists at the record store (also where I bought all my 45's - Shawn Cassidy - yow!) and eat soft pretzels from Hot Sam's.

Anyway, when I heard they were going to tear down Randhurst and put up a "lifestyle mall" (whatever the fuck that is) it made me sad. I wasn't sad to see the shops go. The mall had been struggling in the past decade. I hadn't set foot in the place in years, and I don't live that far away. I was sad because a brick and mortar part of my childhood would be totally gone.


BTW - the picture above is from early 2009. It's coming down. Goodbye, old friend.

Some shows should not have Memorial Day marathons

This weekend A & E was gearing up for a new season of their show "Intervention", as well as the premier of a new show called "Obsessed" which is about people suffering with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). For two days, they ran an "Intervention" marathon. One, after another, after another, etc. I was riveted. Then I was bummed. I mean, really bummed. Now it's Tuesday morning and I can't get one of the stories out of my head. It's a story about a woman named Leslie, a suburban PTA mom-type. Boy-oh-boy can that lady drink, and drink, and drink. The sad part is, when she can't get her hands on vodka, she drinks mouthwash. MOUTHWASH. She drinks enormous bottles of it. Here's the kicker - she does it in front of her three kids. I really can't stop thinking about this family. Anyway....if you want to check out her story and see the madness for yourself, here you go.

I'm gonna pass on watching it again. I find it seriously disturbing.

Sha-wing!

Another one for the WTF file.

This is a Jesuswitch. Gives a whole new meaning to "turn on the lights".

Whoever designed this should be locked up.

So done with the likes of you

Some days the old adage "you can't please all of the people all of the time" is truer than others. Today is one of those days. I swear, there are people in this world that LIVE to pick you apart and expose what they feel are your faults. They pounce on you like a fat lady on an eclair. They do it without the benefit of facts or a basic knowledge of what they are criticizing. I don't get this kind of mentality. Do they get off on thinking that they have given something more thought than you? Does it make them feel important? Knowledgeable? Better than you? Truly I'm baffled - and spent. I don't like people who operate this way. And basically, all it proves is that they shoot off their mouths without facts, which proves them fools.

Baby Got.....um....uh........

An old friend of mine told me today that today is her son’s 17th birthday. Seventeenth. During the summer of 1992, I was 25 and unemployed. The first George Bush was president, and my girlfriend’s husband was also out of work. So, for a couple of days a week I would go over to their apartment and babysit her two kids so her husband could look for a job. It was a long summer, but the arrangement worked out well. We could both look for jobs and I could pad my unemployment check a bit while I looked.

I am now closer to 50 than 25, and I have no idea where that time went. I certainly don’t feel any different than I did then. I can still party like a rock star (well, a rock star who has to get up at 4:30 am), I still go to concerts, I’m still fashionable, and I still get carded on a pretty regular basis. But there is one thing that is definitely different between the 25 year old me and the me of today.

Backfat.

There. I said it. My name is Kirstin and I have backfat. They didn’t tell us about backfat when we were kids. They didn’t pull us aside and say “Yes dear, you will menstruate for roughly 35 years, and somewhere around the 30th year, you will get the backfat”. I would have remembered that. I would have been looking closely for the hideous “bra bulge” to come. I wouldn’t have bought clingy knits if I knew this. At first, I thought it was my bra. I figured I needed a new one. Nope. Then I thought perhaps it was just the top I was wearing. Nope. I had to come to the conclusion that it is just me being betrayed by my own backside.

Well, now I have to figure out some exercises to eliminate this backfat, but I am afraid that ultimately, the backfat will win. As I look around the grocery store or shopping mall at women older than me, most have some amount of backfat.

Ooooh, duuuude, this sucks.

I guess for now it’s just me any my Kymaro New Body Shaper. Ugh.

Chuckle for a sleepy Monday

Whenever I need to laugh, I can always count on Janice.

Never too old to be an enormous douche!

See this old fucker? He nearly killed me.

I was going to the store, and minding my own business, cruising along in the left hand lane of a 4 lane street. As I passed the car in the right hand lane, I signaled so I could move over - I had to make a right about a block and a half ahead. Well, this decrepit piece of shit decides he doesn't like that idea and speeds up so I can't get into the lane. SPEEDS UP - like he's God of Hicks Road - all powerful and only HE says who enters what lanes.

So, I almost smash right into his driver side door, then correct and get back in my lane, wait for Doctor Depends to pass and then get back in the right lane. He then pulled into a local restaurant parking lot to pick up a bite. Being an asshat makes a man hungry!

I got stopped at the light where I needed to turn and I got out my camera and took a few pictures, so everyone can enjoy his douchbaggery. You should have seen the look on his face as the flash on my camera kept going off. He stood there frozen like this - with a look on his face that I could only describe as....Alzheimer's. Buh-bye Doctor No.

Me has returned!

I like language, specifically the English language. It has been said that English is the hardest language to learn due to all the “exceptions to the rules”. It’s also been said that it’s as melodic as listening to a cat fight. Nevertheless, I am fascinated by it.

I grew up in a house full of readers. Everyone read constantly. To this day I can not remember a time when my mother wasn’t involved in a book. Not to mean that every spare moment she has is spent reading, but there is always a book in the works and one waiting in the wings.

As little kids, my parents read to us every night. I don’t know how they did it, reading some of the same old stories over and over to our unwavering delight. My grandmother belonged to a children’s book club in the 1970’s, so there was always a fresh supply of great books – Mog the Forgetful Cat, Hooray for Captain Jane, Here Comes Tagalong, A Child’s Garden of Verses, etc. We devoured every word – slipping into some alternate reality of imagination. Even when it was considered “uncool” to read so much, the public library remained one of my favorite places to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Now, I have always liked language – let’s be honest here – because it came easy to me. Frighteningly easy to me. Do I think it’s because I possess a gargantuan I.Q. or that I’m smarter than the average bear? Nope, I believe it’s because of the books. (In fact, a very good friend of mine once accused me of “throwing my vocabulary around” – whatever that means). The books that we read as kids exposed us to proper sentence structure. As well as my parents correcting us when we would say things like “I did it on accident”, or “I got the flu”. My parents didn’t want us to go out into the world equipped with a sub-par vocabulary. They knew that the hard reality was, people judge you the minute you open your mouth. Trust me – boy, oh boy do they.

Anyway, growing up, English classes, language arts classes, even spelling came easy to me. Most of the time I didn’t know why a sentence was wrong (dangling participles and whatnot) I just knew it by ear. Bad grammar sounded wrong. Improperly used grammar has the ability to make me cringe just like the first three weeks of American Idol. (Yeah, it’s that bad). I also love that you can pick apart the English language and discover a word's meaning by its parts. It’s kind of like forensic reading.

So, imagine my horror this morning when I heard an anchor at a top 3 market network station utter the following:

“The four females were held captive in this house…”

The four WHAT??? Females? “Female what?” was my question. Now I know there are many, many people who use this word – an adjective, by the way – as a noun. I am not one of them. But the mere fact that I heard this uttered by a Chicago newscaster on a network broadcast made my blood boil. Female hostages, female complainants, hell – female bears would have worked. But just to use plain old “females”? Nuh-uh.

This is my plight, the bane of my existence, if you will. I am doomed to forever roam the earth having my ears assaulted with things like:

- “Don’t disrespect me” or worse, "He disrespected me".
- “Irregardless”
- “So I go, what do you mean by that? And she goes nothing…”
- “between you and I”
- “He denied my baby” (Denied your baby what? Food? Love?)

There are many, many more. In fact, I’m sure I will hear several within the next few hours. I understand that any language is like a living thing, growing and changing with society’s needs. If it didn’t, we would still be speaking like Shakespeare. But throwing the rules of grammar out the window certainly doesn’t instill confidence and it doesn’t help us sound like we know what we’re talking about.

Just remember, bad grammar is like bad breath. It’s offensive and even your best friends won’t tell you that you have it.

A mama is a mama

I know I haven't posted anything in a while, but I promise - I will. But I wanted to share this with everyone in light of last Sunday being Mother's Day. I spent the day at my mom and dad's, with my sister and her kids. It was a beautiful day and and we had a very nice time, and a wonderful dinner. I hope your Mother's Day was all you wanted it to be - or not to be, THAT is the question.

Enjoy!