More Fun Times at Office Outings!

If the Holiday Scientist party wasn't awkward enough, I just had to attend a lunch with the departmental staff. Now, while these people were not AS awk as the scientists, they're up there. Same caliber. So, Tilly's got to get creative and come up with some new lame things to say. Because that is who I am. And that is how I roll.

Initiating some good convo and intellectual trivia of sorts, I turn to my friend from NewMexico and a faculty member:

Tilly: Do you know why sink pipes are shaped like this [moving my finger in a loopty-loop fashion like that]??
NewMexico: Uhhh, no. Why?
Tilly: [Proudly sharing new knowledge just learned this morning after dropping her new pretty stud earring down Fiji's sink] Well. It's shaped like that so you can retrieve earrings and other stuff that you've accidentally dropped down the drain!! Isn't that great?!
NewMexico: Huh. I never knew that.
FacultyMember: [In disbelief] No. No, that's not why! [now beginning to laugh, because before he thought maybe, HOPEFULLY, I was kidding. Realizing I'm not, in fact.] It's to prevent sewer gases and odors from entering your bathroom and thus your home.
---------------------Blank stares. Blank stares. Blank stares.----------------------
Tilly: Hahahaha! Oh. Yeah. [Defeated] That's probably right.
FM: Probably? No. That IS why.
Tilly: Ok. Well. In MY mind, they're like that to save my earrings.
FM: Well, that's fine. In YOUR mind. But the real reason...
Tilly: YEAH. Yeah. I got it. The gases, yadayada. Thanks.

Then I proceed to brag about how Amy Grant was my first concert. Which, they OBVI thought was pret-ty cool. Then I'm all:

Tilly: Yeah, and I had this sweatshirt with her picture on it. It was awesome.
NM: Really. Wow. Sounds great.
Tilly: It was. [waxing nostalgic] It really, really was.
NM: Uh huh. Well, did it have her face on it?
Tilly: Actually, it had her WHOLE body on it. I think she was wearing leggings.
NM: Whoa. Just, whoa.
Tilly: No, wait, I think I was wearing leggings. Yeah, yeah. I was.

But, I DID have this pin.

Holy Head-Bobber

So the Scientist Work Holiday Party was last evening. And somehow, with my amazing powers of persuasion, I managed to convince Fiji to accompany me to this bound-to-be-awkward-event. Oh, and awkward it was indeed. No, it wasn't that awkward when we first arrived and I made a b-line to the wine, and EVERYONE noticed AND commented. Nah, it wasn't too awkward when we were all standing around the table of food, and I dropped my plate, then my fork, then my cookie, and proceeded to pick it up and pop it right back in (counting aloud, "5-4-3-2, GOT IT!"). No, it wasn't so awk when my creepo boss arrived and blatantly gave Fiji the 'ol once over. My DAD didn't even dissect him as such. Naw, it wasn't too awkward when someone excitedly described, "It looks like some sort of alien space ship!!Ahhhhhh!!" No, no, not awkward AT ALL. But...it WAS awkward was when we were all sitting around in a circle in the living room in COMPLETE SILENCE for at least 10 minutes (that's being generous) STARING at the DOG chew it's bone. Now, that? THAT was awkward.

Shortly thereafter I gave Fiji the blink slash wink and once we were able to gather ourselves from our subsequent laughing attacks (because THAT wasn't awkward either), we thanked our hosts and bid the scientists adieu. Which, apparently, turned out to be a good two hours before anyone else left. Oh, the HORROR.

Some of the Feej's questions included:

"What was wrong with that guys neck?"
"Was he stoned?"
"Holy head-bobber!!"
"Twitch much?!"
"Was he double-jointed or something?"
"Uhhh, bloody gums?"
"She was pregnant, right?"

We laughed the entire way home.

Performance Excellence

Just one thing, realquicklike...if anyone ever suggests/asks/requires that you attend any sort of seminar with a title even slightly resembling "Performance Excellence," avoid it at all costs. Sprain your ankle. Dentist appointment. Cat died (don't actually kill it, just pretend). Parents visiting. Feign sick. Come to think of it, just puke on their head. Right then and there. That should do it.

Enough of Not Enough.

Lady Pedro contributes...

Ok. Ignoring the fact that I am rapidly becoming “bitter single girl,” I have some things to say about boys. Well, not all boys. Let’s be fair here. Not all boys are lying, cheating, life-ruining, shady mcshaderson ass hats.

But a lot of them are.

Let’s discuss one in particular. In every effort to protect the innocent, we’ll call him Don. Don and I met a couple of years ago through mutual friends. Don’s a funny guy. People like to say I’m a funny girl (I use the passive voice in an effort to be modest. And because I think those people are morons). Regardless of our compatible senses of humor, Don and I get along. Like, a lot. And I’m thinking … this is a surprisingly cool guy. AND … I know like all of his best friends. I know his history … where he comes from … his past relationships … his LIFE. I know he’s not a child molester or a sexual deviant or an identity thief or a grave robber. This has … potential. Our mutual friends claim we’d be great together. His twin brother tells me he wants to be my brother-in-law. Forgive me, but I get swept away.

And then the timing isn’t right. And he lives in a different state. And he’s a little … irresponsible.

But this is me. I am equally parts idealistic and cynical. So when I actually LIKE someone, and can’t immediately find 27 things wrong with them, I start talking them up in my head. “I like Don. I like him a lot. He’s funny. He’s from a similar background as me. He has a college education.”

“Don might move to Chicago! Don and I drunk dial each other and it’s HILARIOUS. We are completely falling in love and we will have a magical future together.”

Fine, I’m an asshole girl. I do all the things you’re not supposed to do.

And then … Don moves to Chicago.

At first I’m cautious. “PLAY IT COOL!!” I tell myself. Too bad I’ve never played anything (ANYTHING) cool in my entire life. And then one night, we all go out and once again I get hammered and … bad choices are made. (Again … the passive voice. I don’t want to admit responsibility!)

Ok it’s fine. We’re hanging out, nothing is too serious, things are going well. REALLY laid back. But we’re having fun. I’m thinking, “I could do this. I could be a cool, obsess-free girl!”

And then suddenly, I am faced with reality. Reality rears its ugly head in the form of an out-of-town girlfriend.

That’s right. He has a girlfriend. A GIRLFRIEND. Somehow, Don has turned me into the Other Woman. I’m a cliché and a slut! This is ME … the girl who didn’t lose her virginity until after college. Who’s never brought a random home. Who has judged friends who’ve hooked up with unavailable guys.

I do the only thing I can. I delete Don from my phone and my life.

But it’s not that easy. Don’s in the group of friends. Don hangs out all the time. I see Don and he’s sweet and funny and he ASSURES me that he DOESN’T have a girlfriend … that it’s all a misunderstanding … that I’M the one he wants to be with.

But now, I can’t trust Don. I start searching for clues everywhere. And the proof is out there, thanks to the wonder that is the Internet. You post pictures with that girlfriend? I’m gonna see them. You tell our mutual friend (and my ROOMMATE) that you’re not bringing a date to the wedding you’re both going to and you bringing the GF? It’s getting back to me.

So not only is Don a liar, but he’s an idiot also.

And then time passes. I’m totally over Don. I tell my friends this. A lot. So much that they’re sick to death of me talking (obsessing …) about it. What does Don do? His man-radar (Madar?) kicks in. He can sniff my “over it!” pheromones out in the air. And he creeps back in.

“We’re OVER!” he promises once again. Yes, I am stupid. Yes, I do the ONE THING I promised I never would. Yes, I become THAT GIRL.

I give him another shot.

And what does he do? He f*cks it up. He promises me that this is something serious … more than just a hook up. He says that everything will be perfect when we’re dating. I get swept up. Again.

He is Mr. Gentleman one minute, acting all jealous when I talk to another guy at the bar, and Mr. Inaccessible the next, not responding to texts or voicemails (this from the guy who’ll harass me with “YOU CAN’T IGNORE ME!” if I don’t respond to him within an hour). I start freaking out again. I start looking for clues … is she back in his life?

The clues are there, just like I expected. He’s invited her to the show that he asked me to, and then never brought up again. One of my friends sees him at his office holiday party with HER. I tell myself that it’s over. This is the last time he’s doing this to me.

Suddenly, I’m the girl again. The pathetic, weepy girl. The one I promised myself I wouldn’t be again.

But this time, I know. I know he’s selfish. I know he’s insecure. I know he’s a life-sucking rat bastard. And I can’t change him. No matter how great things are when we’re together, it’s not enough.

*By Lady Pedro*

Gotta Have You

Gray, quiet and tired and mean. Picking at a worried seam. I try to make you mad at me over the phone. Red eyes are fire and signs. I'm taken by a nursery rhyme. I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home. No amount of coffee, no amount of crying, no amount of whiskey, no amount of wine.

No, no, no, no, no. Nothing else will do, I've gotta have you.

The road gets cold, there's no spring in the middle of this year. And I'm the new chicken clucking open hearts and ears. Oh, such a prima donna, sorry for myself. But green, it is also summer and I won't be warm 'til I'm lying in your arms. I see it all through a telescope: guitar, suitcase, and a warm coat. Lying in the back of the blue boat, humming a tune....

The Weepies are my friend.

The O.C. is Deep. For serious.

So last night, seeing that motherloadingcrapblasters "Grey's" is not on until January, I watched the O.C. I mean, it's not like I don't like the O.C. per say, it's just, you know, Marissa died. Coop really pulled the show together. And now that she's gone and shown her boob in the back of the limo while she's changing into like 17 different bebe dresses while her ambiguous lady limo driver sneaks a few peeks, she's really disappointed me. Come on. Seriously? You decide to kill off Marissa Cooper in order to wear bebe dresses? I mean, don't get me wrong. I like bebe as much as the next lady, but she turned her back on Ryan when he really needed her. (But not really, because, you know, they were doing the whole "friend" thing.)

Wait, wait. Back to my point. So I watched the O.C. and Ryan and Taylor fell off the roof and into a "lite coma" slash "alternate universe." Which is interesting and odd, because just the other night I had a dream that I was in an alternate universe that SUCKED. As a result, yesterday I was fighting a funk and have just barely escaped. I know it was a dream--an unrealistic and unlikely dream. But still. I rarely remember my dreams, and therefore, when I do, it is hard for me to forget them. They shake me. More than they should. And then I analyze the fuck out of them. And drive myself crazy. And now that there is another person in my life that is affected by my funks, I also proceed to drive him crazy. But not crazy because I'm all talking about it constantly. Crazy because I'm NOT talking. About it. Or anything else, for that matter. I hole up in my head. I don't really think about much else. I don't really eat (which, come to think of it...). I just reside in my cramped cranium, obsessing about a DREAM. A meaningless dream. (But, really, maybe, honestly, it might mean something. Maybe?)

Then he picks me up from work and surprises me with flowers and lets me sit quietly, smelling them, for the majority of the ride home with a small smirk of a smile growing, playing the same three songs on repeat until I am sufficiently satisfied. Even though HE is the one with the sinus infection and HE is the one that feels like shit and HE is the one that deserves the pampering. But, yet, he knew about said dream and knew that I would talk about it when I could and when I was good and ready and he was strong enough to let it sit. Let me sit.

Anyway...my point is that the O.C. is infinitely deep. It's like, Ryan and Taylor had to enter the alternate universe in order to "close the book" on their unresolved issues before they could totally and completely move on and potentially be together (or start to be together). And that is what I feel like I have been doing. And that is why me and the O.C. are so tight. That and because they also love Sia and played her AGAIN last night.

So, in conclusion, the O.C. is not only where my little brother resides, but it is also home to very deep people in very intense life situations who attend very important and fancy parties/fundraisers in reality and also in alternate universes which is basically, simply put, a replica of my life.

Ahh geez

You know what's fun? It's super fun when you happen to be chugging from a bottle of FIJI water and someone comes into your office, which apparently startled you to no end, and you therefore remove the bottle from your lips, yet forget to stop pouring it into your mouth, so, in effect, you proceed to DUMP water all over your shirt. Nice. Classy. And oh so FUN!!

I am sure that this clumsyness has NOTHING AT ALL to do with the fact that a "quick dinner at the cute mexican restaurant below Fiji's" turned into "a bottle of wine and 2 margarita's and 2 Fat Tires at our new weekly jaunt to Matilda's until past my bedtime" again. Nope. That is completely and totally unrelated. Uh huh. Yep.

And Miss Mizzou is in town with her crazy hic friends and I have gladly accepted the roll as "Chicago Tour Guide" for the evening. Because, you know, I know all the haps.

p.s. That picture is Matilda. For those of you non-Roald Dahl-fans. For shame.

Merry Christmakwanzakkuh (slash My Lady Bits Will Remain A Mystery. For those that have yet to see them, that is.)

You know what's awkward? It's awkward when you (and your new BF) are invited to several Christmakwanzukkah parties and at these parties there will most likely slash definitely be people there that you have been "intimate" with in the past. Aghh. That's just awk. Because you know, it's not like he thinks I've never been with anyone else or that we haven't talked about it, because, honestly, we talk about everything. But at the same time, no dude wants to not only know FOR SURE that his current lady has been with ANY other guy (although he totally knows that she has) and then not only KNOW that but then like SEE the duder. You know? Alls I'm sayin' is that I'm not going to the various holiday parties being thrown/attended by people who've seen me naked. Is that REALLY so weird or strange or unreasonable?! No. I think not.

I mean, I didn't even like it when the lady busted in on me while I was in the sauna naked this afternoon. So, I got up and left. I mean, she saw my goods. They are precious lady bits and I like to protect them at all cost. I also didn't like it when I was jumping up and down while trying to get the water out of my ear all the while still trying to cover myself with the handtowel they provide at the gym and lost my balance and fell down. That hurt. And was not pleasant.

You know when you almost slip in the shower and then think to yourself, "Self, that would be SO embarrassing if you slipped and fell and knocked yourself out and finally after about 5 hours your awk roommate would figure out that something was up and come to check on you and find you naked and unconscious and have to either:
1. Give you mouth-to-mouth (SICK)
2. See your lady goods (NO!)
3. BOTH (Oh HELLS No!)
4. Let you die (Eh. You had a good run for a while there.)"

So you go with #4. That is just so wrong on so many levels.

So there's that. And in conclusion, no holiday parties will be attended with people who have seen my lady bits. Done and done.

The Second Car

This morning on the train, a confused gentleman was lost and needed directions to the nearest hospital. He had a suitcase and a duffel bag, implying that he was most likely about to be enduring an extended stay. No one knew what stop he should get off, and apologized politely for their lack of knowledge. Then he asked Fiji, who didn't know the exact stop either. So, he got out his phone and found the phone number. He offered the information to the man, whose phone was apparently dead. So, he called the hospital himself. And passed on the directions to the man, who was obviously appreciative. We continued our journey to work and he spoke softly on the phone to his sister (who seemed to be having some sort of crisis) while I read my book. As the stop for the hospital was approaching, he asked his sister to hold on a second, and gently reminded the man. The man thanked him and got up to wait by the doors (which appeared to be a difficult task with his bum leg). And I just looked at Fiji...

And fell deeper in love. And respect.

I know that it wasn't that big of a deal. But at the same time, it was. To me. It just says so much about the character of this man that I met in the second car of a train in a city of 2.9 million people.

Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

The night before Fiji left for Betty Ford, I was pouring myself a hefty (PBoo-style) glass of wine in his kitchen when he slowly meandered out of his bedroom and began walking towards me, holding something in his hand, obviously in plain view for me to notice. I did not take the bait. Not because I was being a bitch, but simply because I was preoccupied (see reference to large glass of wine above). As he got closer, I look up, finally able to tear myself away from my Pinot Noir, and realize he is giving me a "look."

Tilly: What? ?
Fiji: [holding keys eye level]
Tilly: What? Those aren't mine.
Fiji: Yes. Yes, they are.
Tilly: No. No they aren't. Mine are right there. [pointing to my work bag]
Fiji: No, I think these are yours.
Tilly: Dude. Seriously. They are NOT. I have never seen those before in my LIFE.
Fiji: Babe.
Tilly: What?
... [blank stares]
... [blank stares]
... [wheels turning...]
Tilly: OH!! I get it!! You are giving me KEYS to YOUR place??!!
Fiji: I really didn't think it would take you that long to figure out. Maybe I should just... [dangling the keys in my face and then pulling them away.]
Tilly: No! NO! I get it. I do! Hand them over! NOW!
---------------------------------------------

Then he goes away for a week, during which time I was supposed to actually USE the keys to water our Christmas tree on the roof and get a timer for the lights, etc. But, yeah, I, uh, never made it over. Anyway, then he goes and loses his keys in CA or LA or somewhere along the way, and I am forced to hand over MY keys. That I NEVER even got to use. BLAST!

And seeing that I was so irresponsible with my "duties" and everything, who knows if I will ever get them back. That and he hasn't brought it up again. So...bygones.

*btdubs, I was totally listening to "Two Step" yesterday. No matter what I think of DMB now, I will always love that song, as well as "Christmas Song."
*However, if I had "Opposites Attract," I would have been listening to THAT.
*Fiji had Paula Abdul posters in his bedroom growing up. Not sure if I should be mentioning this. Oh well.

Tilly Takes L'Opera

So, the big surprise date was a downtown dinner at a classy adult restaurant at a (reserved) corner table followed by "Romeo & Juliet" at the Opera. Yup. Tilly went to L'Opera. Tilly had some champagne at L'Opera. Tilly only nodded off once or twice at L'Opera. But so did Fiji, and so did the millions of old people surrounding us. It was warm and loooooooooooooong and beautiful and entertaining and loooooooooooooooong. Like almost 4 hours long-long. Apparently "Blanche" behind us had flatulation issues, which Fiji recommended her getting checked out. Poor Blanche. But seriously, there were SO many old people with their opera glasses slash binoculars. They were just so OLD. ["You can't take her stuff. She's just so OLD."]

While I was using the restroom, a woman (who was also old--Surprise!) refused to accept that someone was occupying that stall and repeatedly tried to open the door whilst peering through the small gap between the door and wall making EYE contact with me, yet still tugging at the door. Then she asked a woman passing by if someone was in the stall, to which the woman responded, "Well, the door is closed, so I'm going to assume so." WTF? Then when I came out to wash my hands, she looked at me bewildered and astonished. Why? I. Don't. Know. Then I had to chug my Sapphire & Tonic because the bells were chiming, apparently signifying that the show was about to begin. It was neat.

During L'Opera, I found additional activities to complete (I'm a serious multi-tasker), which provided endless entertainment to my date and endless annoyance to the woman seated next to me, who repeatedly exclaimed "BRAVO! BRAVO!" at the conclusion of the show to MY endless enjoyment! Anyway, I managed to:
1. be unable to unwrap the tiny fragment of candy cane in my pocket (which only took me 5 minutes of scavengering to locate)--So Fiji was forced to complete the task, pass it back over, and then have me stuff the entire thing in my mouth without thinking to SHARE it with him. Then I bit it and handed part of it over. FINE.
2. be unable to find my FIJI water bottle. Once I finally did, I knocked it over so he had to pick it up and unscrew it for me. And I gulped it down. Apparently, my swallows are quite loud.
3. not find my lip gloss in my HUGE bag, so I had to ask to borrow his chapstick.
4. make a loud, farty noise in the process of squirting out my hand lotion, and then somehow manage to make a raucous just rubbing it in. I have no idea. Honest.
5. Drop my program. Twice.
6. Laugh uncontrollably. At what? I can't remember. But DANG. It sure was funny at the time. But unfortunately it was during the part where Romeo kills Juliet's cousin. Whoopsies. And that made Fiji laugh. And you know how when you're trying not to laugh, but you can feel your companion's body shaking because they are laughing and that as soon as you get yours under control, you FEEL them laughing and all is lost. It's just a lost cause. I thought I was going to have to get up and go out into the foyer to get it out. Ahhh, laughing attacks. They're the best. Especially at inappropriate times.

All in all, it was a spectacular evening with an utter gentleman whom I adore. [SICK.]

See. I'm so classy.

Bitches and Shit (a.k.a. Bitches Ain't Shit But Hoes and Tricks)

Relationships are great. Don't get me wrong. However, there's that one (or so) part that kinda stinks. And when I say "kinda" I mean TOTALLY. That part happened to me last night in the form of a nice sushi dinner that unfortunately came with a side of BITCHcrabbypantsSUCKASS. Her name, well, we'll call her Bland. Because, fuck, she is nothing if not bland. Milquetoast, if you will. But even more than that, she just sucked in general. At life. Worse than me. She was complaining even before we sat down. Awesome.

And then she didn't want any sushi, even though she "usually LOVES it." Last night she just wasn't "in the mood." Nor was she in the mood for any of the 2 bottles of wine we brought. Nor was she in the mood to, you know, have a good time. Or smile. Or participate in the conversation whatsoever. Mainly, she just pouted, glared at her handsome and charming and joyful and friendly boyfriend whenever he would crack a joke or say anything at all, really, and checked her watch. I attempted to initiate conversations with her about college, work, family, music, hometowns, etc. etc. Fiji laughed when I pulled the SECOND bottle out of my bag 30 minutes into dinner. Anyway, she was just a bitch. It was obvious that she had no interest in being there, although her BF was very interested in hearing all about Fiji's new land acquisition in Costa Rica and intends to join the venture. FUCK. If I have to vacay with her I will shoot myself in the toe.

Turns out that now that I'm 1/2 of this couple we have to compromise and stuff. And occassionally I will be forced to endure dinners with bitches that his friends are dating/married to. The thing that really gets me is that Fiji's friend, Pilot, is flipping hott and funny and flies planes (with the Feej) and has a good job and is from CA and was wearing a Volcom jacket (I am obsessed with Volcom) and was just a nice, good-spirited guy. What he sees in her? I don't know. How does that happen so often? Nice guys with bitches and shit. Plan "Dump That Bitch" starrrrrrtttts... NOW.

Anyway, after enduring all that, I broke down and smoked. Sorry ya'll. Nobody's perfect. Least of all me. Then Fiji and I trekked down the street to a little bar called Matilda's which is now my fave spot. Every song that came on was life-altering and tear-inducing. It was either that or the 2 bottles of wine and 3 Fat Tires I consumed. Something like that. And they had space heaters in the bathroom. So that was nice.

And tonight is "date night" and it's a surprise. He just told me to dress nice. And no jeans. Who IS this guy?

Obsessed MUCH?

Am I really listening to "Twelve Days of Christmas" by John Denver and the Muppets right now?

Why, yes, yes I am.

And I got the new(est) Decemberists album, and I seriously cannot bring myself to turn off my Christmas music. I mean, it's December 5. I've got 3 more weeks of this. Yet, I love it.

Oh, and I have been searching for days for a stinking advent calendar and I can't flipping find one that I want. Is it SO much to ask to have a little baby Jesus in a manger on the damn thing??! Is it!?! IS IT?! Borders and B&N had the same ones..."Mittens and Kittens" and some other one with kids making a fucking gingerbread house and waiting for Santa. What the H do Mittens and Kittens have to do with advent?? I mean, I get that, you know, we're all being PC these days, but WTF?--they were selling menorahs and had a whole table full of cool Hanukkah stuff. Which is great. So, how's about we just throw me a little bone and have an advent calendar with the nativity scene on it, and it's really not necessary to have the crappy milk chocolate poop pellets inside. Honestly.

(Heh, heh. Ten Lords a Leaping. Heh.)

Love/Hate/LOVE

You know what I love? I love it when I get to work late and my boss is even later. So really, as far as anyone is concerned, I was here on time.

Then there's the love/hate stuff. I love/hate it when my BF has been gone for a week and the DAY he gets back, my frenemy arrives. One week late. And thus ruins my life slash makes my day. Thus, the little bitch has always been and will always be my frenemy. Kinda like the LiLo/Paris/BritBrit/Nicorexic/love/hate/need symbiotic relationship thing. Yeah. Just like that.

And then there's the real hate hate. I hate it when my creepo boss invades my personal space. I mean, back the FUCK off dude. Seriously. There is no need for you to be creeping around my lady space (not THAT lady space, just my general personal space). So, in order to protect the zone, I open up my lower filing drawer all the way, blocking him out and keeping my space my own and he almost tripped over it trying to get into my space. Hahahahaha! Then I'm all, "Oh...I'm sorry." But I don't even pretend that I'm going to close it, so he is forced to back up and AWAY! Don't fuck with me, scientist.

I hate the BCS. Yep. Hate. In the words of a wise, wise woman, "Gators drink wine coolers. I hate everyone." This coming from the nicest woman in the world. This was literally the first time I have ever heard her say "hate." Literally. Uh, did you catch the literal-ness of this situation? Literally.

But, then again, there's still more love. I love love love Amy Grant's "Home for Christmas" album. LOVE. Amy Grant was my first concert. And I had poster's of her on my bedroom wall. And one time my Mom's friend said I looked like her. At that very moment, I could have died a happy child.

Winter Wonderland SLASH Slosh City

Welp, apparently Mother Nature finally got the memo that "HEY, it's DECEMBER. This ain't no stinking Georgia. This here is Chicago. The Midwest. It's COLD." And, not gonna lie, I kinda like it. I mean. It's freezing. Check. It's windy. Check. It's BITTER. Check. It's snowing/sleeting/hailing. Check. And I have to walk almost a mile from the train to my office with the brutal wind blasting my face with ice pellets. Check. But hotholyhellfuckingshit I love it. I mean TODAY I love it. Because this is really the first snow. The first cold. The first painful sign of winter. But I guess that makes me a masochist, because DANGGG it hurts SO good.

La la la.

Now, come next week, I may (slash WILL) be singing a different little ditty.

In other news:
1. Dear Co-existor: You suck. Like SUCK. At life. Worse than me. And that's saying A LOT. Why the bloodybleedingblast would you go OUT into the HALL outside MY office to take/make personal calls? And then PACE in front of my office. And take liberty to have plenty-o-LOOK-SEE's. WHY? Please. Please PLEASE. For all that is sane and sacred in this world that is patiently/impatiently awaiting the return of little baby Jebus. Shut it. SHUT. IT. I do NOT care that your in-laws arranged your trip without your consent. And I do NOT give a flying fuck that your ankle is sore. And I do NOT want to hear you bicker with your wife (who he mentioned to me the other day was Asian[WTF?!]) about your nephew's basketball game. I mean, just die. DIE. Oh, and I sure hope that herpes outbreak clears up realquicklike. And another thing-- Happy Holidays! Let's do lunch! Or maybe a gift exchange!
2. Dear Man-Walking-Behind-Me-All-The-Way-To-The-El-Last-Night: You are one SCARY muthafucka. For serious. Everytime your shadow would grow larger and seemingly devour my little shadow, I almost cried slash peed my pants. Then I would laugh because your umbrella looked like a sword. And that was frightening. Why you had to walk SO closely behind me? I do not know. Why you did not just pass me? I haven't a clue. Why you raced me up to the platform when no train was arriving? No idea. Happy Holidays to you as well.
3. Dear Scientist in the Kitchen: Uhh, whispering? Was THAT really necessary? I am just minding my own bizness, filling up my Fiji water, living my NORMAL life. You know, you can continue to talk with your little GF about whatever it is that you talk about. I don't even speak your language. Honest. And guess what else?!?! I DON'T CARE. I don't WANT to know. But don't patronize me by whispering you condescending nitwitassclown. Happy Holidays!
4. Dear Dude-Wearing-Shorts-And-A-T-shirt-This-Morning-In-The-Blizzard: Uhhh, DUDE? You're really doing that? Really??! Wow. Just...wow.

I love this day. I do. I really really do. And I love all of you.