Apparently, I am now a movie critic.

I am NOT a movie critic. AT ALL. I don't look for meaning or depth in movies. I only want to be entertained for 90 minutes...and I certainly don't like ones based on good literature (little joke for Amber and Alyssa)

Tonight I saw Juno.

The only reason I mention this is because previously I mentioned my dismay with the crap fest of a movie: "Knocked Up" --- and since both are about unwanted pregnancies - I feel the need to mention Juno.

Loved it. Maybe I have a different sense of humor the the general public. But I also know that Denmark is not the same country as The Netherlands so I like to think my humor is more advanced and more intelligent.

On a scale of funny, KU ranks a 3, J ranks a 9.

Besides the humor I think the movie ends on a good note:

a. baby goes to a fit home
b. a teen gets to lead her life
c. childish man gets live out his pathetic dream of loft living

It should be noted that at the end of Knocked Up there are scenes of a seemingly happy existence. The Disney movie, Enchanted, is more realistic than that load of bastard child crap. Yes, that is correct, I 100% believe there is a better chance of a cartoon character turned human emerging out a manhole in Time Square than some dumb bitch that lives in her sister's backyard getting knocked up by some dope smoking loser and living happily ever after in designer clothing. Call me a bitter single 30 year old or call me realistic --- the choice is yours.


I was to be dining on oysters tonight but I decided the snow would be too much of a hassle.

So ventured out to Dominick's to get myself a nice can of soup.

Soup...oysters...what is the difference?

It is dark time and the snow is falling at a pace that is not perfect but terrible. It is dry snow so it is light, not that big chunky-delicate-fall-to-the-ground, won't-you-kiss-me-on-that-midnight-street-sweep-me-off-my-feet kind of snow. (Only two people know what I speak of...but that is okay)

Anyway - there were some little kids laughing and running and sliding up and down the sidewalk. It was cute. I love the scene of a neighborhood: families, snow, christmas lights, So nice. Reminds one of being child. It just makes you smile.

THEN...enter loud obnoxious hip-hop tunes blaring out of a car. Yes...please blare your crappy music while you scream back and forth to your carmates and brush the snow off your car. FYI - if you turn down your tits and ass music you would not have to scream.

You ruined my pleasant moment. Thanks.

Crack Cocaine

This is my crack cocaine.

Today at work we played some silly Christmas gift game. My friend, sitting next to me received this as her gift.

I instructed her NOT to open in. Under no circumstances should she open the bucket. It would not be pretty.

She opened it five minutes later.

One can not just eat a few pieces. Oh no. One must eat handfuls.

I go into some kind of desperate out of control panic when I eat it:

Why can't I stop eating it?
Will there be enough?
What if this is the last bucket of Garrett's on the planet?

I try to tell myself to stop. I stop - I wipe off my filthy cheesed hands and then 2 seconds later I am diving in for more. The cycle continues. The wiping of the hands in vein - only to return to the sweet sweet lovely popcorn 1 second later.

I keep eating it and keep eating it. I can't stop. I am like an addict. Why can everyone else stop and I must keep going?

Later in the day the bucket was placed in the kitchen area.

I could not even do work, knowing my fix was just around the corner.

Several times I got up and marched in there for more. YUM!

I was eating it and looking over my shoulder to see if anyone saw me.

I was like an addict in the corner of an alley hitting the rock.

There was a very unpleasant scene in front of the American Girl Store involving me, my friend Natalie, and this popcorn not too long ago. A homeless man was so repulsed by the shoveling we were doing that he did not bother asking us for change. Imagine that.

I am not kidding. It is the crack cocaine.

Fishy Business

I have decided to purchase a fish friend when I get back from my Christmas Holiday.

I think knowing I have the task of caring for an aquatic animal that lives in a small unfiltered, yet fashionable bowl will help me focus and keep my Adult ADD in check.

What will actually happen is I will forget to feed it, never clean the bowl, and then be annoyed when it dies because I will be faced with the task of removing the body from it's living quarters.


I hate dead fish. Unless I am eating them.

Beet the Ice

I was just listening to the news and I learned the following:

A DEADLY ICE STORM is headed to Chicago.

As my friend, Megan, says: Meteorologists are alarmists. So, I have no fear.

What I fear is...The Beet Juice.

Apparently, they will utilizing not only salt but also beet juice to fight the ice on the roads.


Beet Juice?

Yes, beet juice, not to be confused with Beetlejuice, the popular 1988 film staring Michael Keaton. Which, quite frankly, I thought was a stupid movie and I hold strong on that opinion. I strongly dislike it or any other film involving shrunken heads. That is actually all I remember from the movie.

So now the streets will be beet red? Like the streets are running with blood. It will be Biblical. I can't wait until an area Catholic finds Mary in the smearings of beet juice somewhere. A shrine will be built. I look forward to it.

Anyway - I hope they don't go down Webster Avenue with some ice/beet juice truck. That will NOT look cool on my white car. I actually don't care if my car has a beet juice splatterings. The problem is I only get the car cleaned twice per year so that beet juice will be there until March or April and which point...I am not sure it will be removable.

However...if I am getting beet juiced and if Mary chooses to reveal herself...I can only hope it will be on my driver's side passenger door. I would enjoy coming out to my car to find flowers, candles burning, and of course - don't forget the money my sweet Catholic friends.


I am officially off Grey's Anatomy.

That program SUCKS.

It is fine if you watch it, lord knows, I may wander back to that place eventually...I just ask that everyone admits that it SUCKS.

The only other TV program I have ever been this annoyed with this Sex and the City.

YES....every woman on earth - GASP!

Admit that the show is stupid. It was actually funny the first 2 or 3 years. Then it went down the shitter.

UGH! The damn cliches with the shoes and shopping? LAME.

The fact that they are allegedly these strong independent woman -- YET - they can't cook a meal for themselves or plug a TV in the wall.

Gag me. Get real. It is not cute, it is not funny, it is not interesting.

The Barbie Card Catastrophe

It is with the GREATEST disappointment that I inform my loved ones:

I WILL NOT be sending a Barbie Holiday card this year.

This year....Babs looks like a slut.

I like my Babs classy and sophisticated, not whored out like something you might find in the December issue of an adult magazine.

Needless to say, I remain horrified by the entire situation. I think I will write a letter about the card. In fact...I will.

Prepare yourselves for a new and exciting card this year.

...something not involving a plastic doll that appears to have just got done giving a $10 Holiday special hand job.

I Saw...

Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.

I was about 23 when I finally understood this f-ing song. I am slow.

I have a million stories about me doing dumb crap. The humidifier story is my favorite.

I have theory that people that admit and laugh at the stupid things they say, do, and think are happier and more intelligent then people that can't admit they, in fact, don't know everything.

I was a know-it-all in my previous existence. I apologize to anyone I annoyed.

Stop on Red

Today I was out driving about town. I encountered the following sign:


What in God's name does that mean?

I sat in my car, at the red light - wanting to turn right...screaming "STOP ON RED AFTER TURNS!?!?!?!?! STOP ON RED AFTER TURNS!?!?!?!?!?! WHAT?!??!?!? STOP ON RED AFTER TURNS!?!?!?!?! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?!?!??! STOP ON RED AFTER TURNS?!?!?!"

I was not sure if this was some kind of Old English for "No turn on red"

If anyone could tell me what the heck that means, I would appreciate it.

The only thing I could come up with is that you are to stop at the light, if you just turned onto the road, and the light is red....but where would you not have to do that?

Knocked Down

I viewed the movie, Knocked Up, this weekend:

I have some things to say:

1. What was all this buzz of a gross birth scene? I was picturing something like that movie Miracle of Life or perhaps the home video I watched of my friend birthing her child. Something involving more blood and fluid. I was not repulsed by it. This is coming from someone whose stomach turns when you say the word: Hospital

2. Really...it was not that funny. There were reports that this was the funniest movie ever. There were some humorous parts but it was not THAT funny. I would not run around saying it was anything near side splitting.

3. The movie is a complete farce. No self-respecting woman gets knocked up by a guy with no job or hope for a job and decides to keep the baby. The only reason to ever keep a baby in that situation is if that man has been listed in Forbes. "I live at my sister’s house, you have no job, I don’t know you, you smoke 3 lbs of pot daily, time to start a family." What?

Two Annoying Things:

1. The Aisle Sitter.

The bus is full. People are standing. Some selfish bastard is sitting in the aisle seat of a two seat bench, leaving the window seat empty.

I hate these people. Move the F over. Jesus Christ. Are you that rude? Then someone asks to sit there and they act as though they were asked to cut off their arm.

It is not like if you sat by the window and your stop came up, you would be unable to leave the bus. You are not locked into that space until your seat partner's stop comes up.

I think these people should be kicked or punched in the face instead of asked to release the seat they are saving for their invisible friend.

2. The Obvious Stater at a Meeting

Some people just enjoy the sound of their own voice. They really think the entire group in a meeting wants to know their opinion on every decision that is made.

Dude - get over yourself.

Yes, we agree that Plan A is better than Plan B. But that is not good enough for you. You must now give a 10 minute speech on why Plan A is the best option. You do not stop at repeating all points previously made, but you then add another recap of your own personal opinions on the matter that are the same you said in the first half of your speech only in different words.

You are not a profound genius. You are a royal pain in the time wasting ass.

In addition we had a little craft project of sorts going on while the original discussion was going on. We were folding little boxes - while you were giving your speech I was unfolding and refolding the little boxes you made because you were incapable of folding them correctly. Perhaps you should concentrate on that instead of thinking up how you are going to repeat everything that was said and state the obvious.

HAHAHA - Anyone?!?! Anyone that I worked with me in AZ - Remember how I would make all new employees erect a file folder box in front of everyone. I was so mean. That was my test to see how well directions could be followed. I was such a JERK. Everyone would get all flustered and I would holler from my thrown "just follow the directions!!!"

What a jerk. My interviews were cake. Then - on your first day I had everyone stare at you while you made a box. Who does that?

OHHH - I am cracking myself up at what a funny boss I was. The multiple choice quiz on why everyone overstuffed the file boxes? The one answer was "I like tight box"..hahahahaha!!!

How I would be all hung over and make my employees drive to Circle K to get me Sunkist soda. Didn't that Lindsay girl get in a car accident that one time I sent her out?

How I told Buffy I'd rather shovel shit then do my job and she gave me a raise and moved me to another department.

Good Times. Good Times.

Whatever...I worked like 12 hour days and was paid a slave wage.

The Wisdoms and the Gap Stay

I went to the dentist today.

I have not been there in over a year because last time he mentioned something about a cavity and I fled.

First...I had to drive to work so I could leave at noon instead of like 11AM. I have nothing to do at work so this was dumb - but really it is all about me being lazy. It cost me $28 to park at work. Dental health and laziness make for an expensive cocktail.

I should also make it clear that although I live in the city, I go to my childhood dentist in Lombard. I travel the distance because he is the only dentist I trust.

I will now refer to him simply as "Dentist"

Dentist understands that under no circumstance will I have my wisdom teeth removed. I will let them rot back there if need be. I am not interested in dry sockets or nerve damage. Although I am interested in a prescription to pain killers. But, more than that - I like my wisdom teeth. They are my favorite teeth. Well, second favorite. My favorite teeth are my front ones.

It turns out my wisdoms have cavities and the gum around my wisdoms are not the healthiest in all the land. So Dentist asks me if I want to get rid of them. I say "NO! I like them"

I wheel and deal with Dentist. I agree to have the cavities filled and he can replace two silver fillings that I have been housing in my molars since the mid to late 80's....as long as the wisdom teeth stay.

Then I tell him that I fear the space between my front two teeth will grow if the wisdoms are removed. I feel like they are the anchors in this classy mouth. And my gap is the PERFECT size. I don't want to mess with it.

So he starts inspecting my mouth and tells me he is trying to figure out how to take care of the gap, as in...to close it up.


I bite his fingers right out of my mouth. (not really)

"no! I like the gap. I am keeping the gap"

He made a face. "Okay" he said "Usually people want that closed up"

"Not me" I say "I wouldn't be me, without my gap...I'd look weird"

Dentist probably thinks I am a maniac....my obsession with my wisdoms and my gap.

But it is who I am, wise and gappy.

Flying with babies

My friend is flying with her baby this weekend and she worries for her fellow passengers.

I HATE people that give people with babies a hard time on an airplane.

What the hell do you want them to do? It is not like you can take a step outside.

Get over it. A crying baby? There are worse things in the world.

Perhaps if you feel you are above the normal population - which does include babies - you should be seated in first class.

If you can't afford to be seated in first class...then you should stop complaining because much to your dismay - you are common, like the rest of us.

Unless of course you have a sweet ass deal with airlines because of your father - then you do deserve to sit in first class. And let me tell you - if you have never been first on international - you are MISSING OUT. It is one sweet ass deal up there. I love it and I can not look back.

Please, God - don't ever let me sit among the commoners when I travel over oceans...please. I can't ever do it. Quite frankly, I find it inhumane.


More on Bus Girl

Apparently that girl who fascinates me with her style of dress lives in my hood.

I saw her out for a run one day. As I saw her approaching I decided that I am an evil person and should consider being nice. I am jerk who is judging her.

I smile.

I get nothing in response.

OK - fine. She is out for a run and can't be bothered.

Perhaps if I was out running she would reciprocate my smile or friendly nod.

This is, after all, the code of the friendly runner. One always smiles or gives a friendly nod to fellow fitness enthusiasts. (I am not a fitness enthusiast - but I pretend to be). I actually HATE people that do not smile or say hello in response to my friendliness when I am running. I would say that only 5% of fellow runners do not return my greeting. I assume these people are fitness snobs and think that I am too fat to be running. They think: Keep running piggy, keep running.

Well - later that week, I saw her at my actual bus stop. Again - I gave her another chance and smiled. This is what I do. I make the world a friendlier place. Normally - people smile in return. Chicago is a surprisingly friendly town. I GET NOTHING. I get a stare accompanied by long blinks, like I opened my mouth and said some kind of nonsense like "I like to eat strawberries in my underwear" to her.

That is it. I hate her. No more chances.

I saw her a few days later on the bus. I was surprised because she looked respectable in a colored shirt and sweater.....until she got up and I noted she was wearing the mullet of attire. She again had her fucking leggins on. Much like the mullet is business in the front, party in the back....this girl is business on the top and clubbin' on the bottom.

Stop dressing like a fool. Stop giving me material you little doe eyed blonde freak.

Reference to the face issue...addressed now

Lindsey referenced a story from my past that I will tell.

This is not the high point in my life and it is not a time I am proud of - but legendary and humorous - hence...it must be told.

This is the great f-ed up face story.

For about 3 months I was running around the greater Phoenix area with a dried up bloody scrape above my right eyebrow.
I theorized that there was some kind of gravitational pull between my that part of my head and the earth. But it is possible that was not true.

Each time the injury healed, it would come back due to another tragic accident.

I referred to my constant injury as "my pretty".

These were all the injuries, not necessarily in this order:

#1. A LEGITIMATE rugby injury. Something involving a tackle gone wrong and the hard as concrete Arizona dirt field.

#2. The Great Cabin Injury:
As all great stories from my past start: I had been drinking. I was on a retreat of sorts with some friends at a friend's cabin up in the elk country of Arizona. I did not see a cooler that was on the ground right in front of me and I proceeded to trip over it. A normal person catches themselves or at least breaks their fall with their hands. Not I. I broke my fall with my face. I sent my bottom teeth through my inside lip and scraped the side of my head bloody.

The next morning I woke up to Aime yelling "Who let Mardy fall asleep with chocolate in her mouth?!?!?!?"

Although that would not be odd for me to fall off to slumber land with chocolate in my mouth, it was not the case. That ain't chocolate. That is dried up blood from my serious lip injury.

I believe this is the trip where I composed the great piano sing along tune "Good lookin' I'm so god damn goooooooood lookin'"

#3. Trapped in a Car:
oh dear, oh dear. How can this even be explained?

It was my birthday. I was in going to school at night at the time and I had no plans for my birthday. I simply planned to meet my roommate, Aime, at the Thirsty Beaver for a few drinks after I got out of class.

When I left class that evening: Mary, Corrina, and Aime were there. Singing Happy Birthday. I was mortified because Mary had on some chaps and was strumming a ukulele. I pretended that I was not this alleged Mardy who was having a birthday.

Onward to The Thirsty Beaver.

I arrived to find all my friends at the Thirsty Beaver. A fine and fantastic birthday. One of the best ever - Thanks Aime!!!

Well...I had been drinking. Too much. Peter, my bartender and good friend kicked me out of the bar - on my own birthday. Jerk.

My friends were certainly not going to stop having a good time so they simply seat belted me into the passenger side of my car. Aime instructed me that I was not in any circumstance allowed to leave the car. Yes, Captain...I will under no circumstance leave the car.


I needed to leave the car, I don't know why. I tried to get out and found that something was holding me back. What was it? I tried and tried. OH! It is this pesky strap this is holding me in. I pull the shoulder strap away to free myself. NO...I do not release the seat belt like a normal person. I just remove the shoulder strap. I go to get out again. I try and try. Nope. Can't get out. I finally figure out that I was being held in by some kind of restrictive lap belt

Again, a normal person releases the seat belt. Not me. I pull out the lap belt and attempt to slither out of it. Slither slither and that was the end of it. My legs got stuck and I slammed my face into the asphalt of the paring lot.

Sweet. I am classy. Another "pretty" is born.

I was wild and out of control.....now I wear pearls.

It is good to have a past.

You've missed me...admit it

You’ve been wondering where I have been. Haven’t you?

Well – I’ll tell you.

I was robbed. Yes…robbed.

Someone welcomed himself into my apartment and helped themselves to such things as my computer, my camera and all my finest jewels.

A tragedy? Yes.

Am I over it? Yes.

Better than having a leg chopped off. That is what I always say.

Well – actually, I always say “Better than having one really short leg”

This is my philosophy in life.

It is “Mere’s One Really Short Leg Outlook on Life”.

Feel free to incorporate this into your own life.

When things seem shitty – I say to myself:

Well, this would be a lot worse if I had one really short leg.

Just one. One regular leg and then perhaps my other leg was so short it ended at my knee. A sort of flipper leg – but a bit longer.

This is how I don’t get trapped in a cycle of self-pity and depression. Everything is worse with one really short leg.

Wa wa wa…I was robbed. Lot worse to be robbed and have one really short leg. Wa wa wa wa, I have nothing to wear today. Well – whole lot worse to have nothing to wear and one really short leg. Wa wa wa…I am fat. Worse to be fat with one really short leg. Wa wa wa…I didn’t win the lottery. Would suck to not win the lottery and have a really short leg.

Wa wa wa….I am single and thirty. No one wants to marry me. Then I say – well, this would be a lot worse if I were single, thirty AND had one really short leg.

But then I think. NO. NO, to this one. I would probably be involved in some kind of one really short leg subculture and go to Really Short Leg Conventions and meet a fine young man there that also has one really short leg. The pool is smaller so it would be easier to find a mate. This is where midgets have it made. They just go to midget meetings and find a fellow midget. You look around; you see what is out there. These are your choices and that is that.

Full sized and full-legged people have the whole world to search through. An entire ocean of freaks to sift through. Midgets have a small pond. Seems easier to me.

Don’t worry – I am still happy I don’t have one really short leg.

For Kelly

This is my friend's boyfriend. Not really. But whatever. He is the great Jonny Wilkinson, he is good looking, English and plays rugby. What more could a girl want? Maybe a few inches on his height. More on the Rugby World Cup later..I've got a two year old's birthday party to get to. But do watch the England - Australia game. It was a good one.

Something is afoot at The DMV...

I lost my drivers license sometime last week. It is probably in my apartment somewhere and I will find in any day. But…I gave it a week and nothing came up so I went to the DMV.

Something weird is always going on at the DMV.

So I get there and get my number and what not. Wait forever, pay my $5 and then take a seat in the next area where I wait for them to actually reprint it.

I note there are a few interesting individuals in the area and I sit away from them and do not make any sort of eye contact. If you pretend like you can’t see the insane then most of the time they can’t see you.

This cross eyed black man seated 20 feet from is trying to get my attention and yelling across the waiting area at me. He says something. I can’t make it out. All I hear is “secuse me .... interested ..... sex ...... black man”

I believe he is asking me if I would be interested in having sex with a black man but I am refusing to listen to this. This cannot be correct. This is not what one should be yelling across the waiting area at the DMV.

It is also ironic because there is what appears to be a white hooker sitting two seats from him. Do I look like a hooker? No – but I am pretty sure the trashy woman, tweaking out, talking about Oprah, in the jean shorts and black wife beater sitting a mere two seats down from him, has turned a trick or two in her life. This man is barking up the wrong tree.

He continues to attempt to get my attention and finally I acknowledge him by looking at him.

“Excuse me – do you have any friends that might be interested in having sex with a black man?”

WHAT ON EARTH is going on?

Why do the crazies love me?

Why? Leave me alone.

So now the 7 people that are in this area have ceased conversation and are staring at me. Is it socially acceptable for me to say no? All other people in the area, except the white hooker, are black. Even the black employees have stop to hear my answer. Can I say no? I just don't want to talk to him anymore. I want to stop this madness. If i say no, will I start a race riot?

I shake my head with a very serious face and made the “mmm-mmm” noise for no. This was a perfect time for my “I don’t speak English” routine but I did not even think of it because I was too busy thinking about how no matter how I answer this I will be in trouble. I am either going to have this guy bothering and freaking me out or I am going to have Jesse Jackson staging a protest at my front door tomorrow.

Then I turned my head as to no longer look at him.

But this did not stop him from continuing the conversation.

“You see, I have only once made love to a white woman, but that was…back in high school. I really do believe I have been hooked ever since and I would like to experience it at least one more time”

Luckily my license was printed not long after that and I left.

Why do these things happen to me?

God is fair

I am not a religious person. But let me tell you…God does not want me to be thin. If I were – I would rule the world. I am good looking, I am intelligent, and I am one of the funniest people I know. Actually - I am the funniest person I know. And – I know funny people. I know funny. God keeps me fat to even it all out. I read a quote once where Eric Clapton described himself as “an ego-maniac with and inferiority complex”. I am not sure anything could describe me better than that. I am absolutely the BIGGEST egomaniac with a HUGE inferiority complex.

ASU Periodicals

Why do I even get the ASU College of Business magazine? I do not subscribe. It is all glossy print and fancy. Is this what my tuition dollar is paying for? I really could not care less who is where in their life. I do not know who you people are – nor do I care. I really could not care less who got married or had a child. Chances are that if I did – I would be in contact with these people. Who the heck are these losers that have no friends that actually send in the information to be published in this periodical? Hooray – you got a job with a company I have never heard of. Hooray – you got married, Hooray – you created life and it was on purpose. Hooray – you have no friends and are sharing it with everyone on the planet Earth that graduated from the god damn ASU college of business. You even went to the trouble of publishing a photo. You are officially a loser. I bet you graduated summa cum laude and feel the need to share your next accomplishment. Congrats. Dude – we went to ASU. I graduated with a decent grade point average and could be found 7 nights per week drunk under a table at The Thirsty Beaver with my top off. You are a genius…what? Did you actually study? I am not impressed.


I went to the park today. When I got there it was only me and some other woman in this gated off area. I fell asleep in 2 seconds…this was not my intention.

Maybe 45 minutes later I woke up to find myself sweating and my arm was soaking went with my own drool. Apparently I could not be bothered to swallow while I napped.

I am also confident that I was snoring – as that is what I do.

When I sat up, I found that now there were about 15 people in the small gated area. They were probably happy to see the snorer go.

So essentially, I’m that really hot girl in the park you wish you were hanging out with.

Law Office Sluts

There is a girl that rides my bus that intrigues me.

She dresses like a fool.

I know she thinks she is trendy – but really she just looks silly.

There is a fine line between high-class hooker and trendy. FINE.

For one thing: she teases the hair up in the back so it is in some kind of faux beehive. So half her hair is down and the other is bubbled out on the back and it is fixed with bobbies. But it is ratted up and nasty back there. It is not a good look for the day time. I suggest she keeps that look for when she is ‘clubbin’.

Her hair is what originally got my attention. I was sitting behind her on the bus and I could not stop staring at what appeared to be matted doll hair.

Of course she has very very very blonde hair. Porn blonde. I am not one who can talk because I am currently sporting something between Playboy Bunny Blonde and Porn Blonde. But whatever…mine is not a knotted up Barbie hair.

Today she was wearing the following:

Black leggings that ended mid calf.
What appeared to be a large white collared shirt that went down to slightly below her knees
A giant belt perhaps? It was a piece of elastic maybe 10 inches thick around her waist and had metal clasps in the back.
Of course a large Coach purse.

I assume she works in an office and I am lead to believe she works the front desk at a Law Office. Why do I think this? Because there is a small law office on the same floor as my office and a slutty/trendy girl worked the front desk.

This is the only 9-5 employment available for poorly dressed sluts in any downtown area.

It is not like I just did not like law office girl because she dressed in a fashion that was out of taste. No…she was evil. When I saw her in the bathroom I would say hello. She would look at me and walk away. I had to pass her stupid little face every time I went to and from my office because they had clear glass doors. I would smile, she would sneer at me in return.

One day she was fired or quit.

She was replaced with another slut.

That one was replaced with another slut

I have an idea law office – stop hiring sluts.

I really need to get a secret spy-tech camera so I can photo bus girl. This would be so much better if I had a photo of her.

Chicken in the City

Yesterday I was riding my bike on the lake front path.

I ate about 47 bugs. The bugs are in full force and my nose was of no use to me because some sort of allergy has taken control. This made my consumption of bugs larger than normal as I was forced to breathe out my mouth…I did not have to eat dinner that night. Which is nice. Nothing like saving a dollar.

The strange part of my journey was that I saw a chicken. Yes, a chicken on the path. Two people were standing by it. I could not figure out if it was perhaps their pet and had it out for a walk or if they were trying to get to the bottom of this chicken scandal. I thought maybe it was some kind of escaped pet, but then I remembered that I do not live in Arizona where one can have a god damn farm in their back yard. Well…maybe that is not true but it seemed like it.

Then on my way back it appeared as though the chicken moved to the other side of the path and was in a tree. There was a crowd of people staring at the chicken in the tree and a Park District official was riding up on a vehicle of some sort. Probably a chicken catcher automobile.

It was weird. I was hoping it would make the 9PM WGN news…”Chicken in Lincoln Park”…. but it did not.

It is clear to me that this city is stricken with animal racism…perhaps one would call this speciesism. When a coyote is having its way about the city it is all over the news. All day talk of the coyote, the next morning, the next evening. They have footage of city officials chasing it about. When a chicken is not the loose – not one mention.

A chicken can’t get a break in this town.

Pam Anderson

Last night I had a dream that there was a disaster of some sort and there was a need too seek refuge for an unidentified amount of time. Hence one needed to pack things up to survive on.

With me were: my parents, my sister, Kelly Hallett and … Pam Anderson, of course.

Everyone except Pam and me was dicking around. I am not sure what they were doing but only Pam and I were attempting to pack things into these two bags.

Everything I packed made no sense. I knew it made no sense to pack such things as: a stuffed animal, a toaster, a jalapeƱo plant and perhaps a lint brush…but it was like I could not control myself. I thought – why am I packing this star shaped Jell-O mold? But yet I could not control the urge to do so and Pam was not complaining.

Then Pam and I were trying to close the bags of useless items and everything would just fall out. No one else was helping – just Pam.

After everything was packed up I decided to bring an extra change of clothing – but I carried that.

Then I woke up.


Riddle me this:

Why do boys go to the trouble of asking you for your number and then never call?


Do you boys honestly think this is some kind of polite thing to do?

I say: Hello and Good Bye. Don't go to the god damn trouble of asking me for my phone number if you have no plans on calling.

Yes, yes...I am capable of having a conversation and that is all out of someone. I need no hope of further communication. I need not have your tease with the phone number request. I will not run after you - demanding to take my number.

Oddly - my expectation for people is rather low. If I were knived in the streets by a gang member and then beat in the head - I expect that I will eventually come to and be bothered with the task of finding my own way to a hospital while my credit card is used to purchase cigarettes, large amounts of gasoline and ten bags of Fritos. I do not expect the help of a passer by-er. No, no..I do not.

Such as - if I find myself speaking with a male suitor - I expect him to leave and not ask my name, my number nor any other information about my life. I am owed nothing...such as with the gang member.

In fact - I'd rather you steal my credit card and make the purchase of Fritos so at least then - I will know you are an ass.

Hence - please - do not ask for a phone number unless there is an intention of calling.

There is some kind of grand statistic: 19% of men actually call after getting the phone number. WHAT IS THE REASONING? Why bother? Why bother digging the phone out your pocket and putting the phone number in? Do you delete it after walking away? Did I ask you to take my number? Certainly not. So why bother?

Is this some kind of catch and release program?
Am I some kind of fish?

The Chicago Mail System

...is one of the wonders of the world.

I arranged to have my mail stopped while I was gone. Not really for my benefit as I would have to be bothered with the task of picking it up. I did this more as a service to my postal carrier. He need not have the burden of shoving 10 days of mail into my small mail receptacle. I am a courteous reciever of post mail, I respect all my civil servants. But oh, no. This does not work. I come home to my mail shoved and squished and in general disarray.

I should have left a note for my poor mail carrier.

This is how The Chicago Mail System works...a system of notes. Yes notes. We snub the use of computers and electronic means of sorting, holding and forwarding mail. Oh no. No computers for us. We use notes.

You may wonder how I know this.

Because I actually thought having my mail forwarded from my old address to my new would work. Of course I had all of my bills and such changed to my new address but there are those things that are forgotten.

When I moved to my new residence I noticed I had not one piece of mail with the yellow sticker saying it was forwarded. I remembered past residences of my old apartment would fetch and call for their mail....claiming they did fill out the forwarding and it did not work. I thought they were liars...until it happened to me.

I called my local post office to see what the deal was. They said "ok! We will put a note in the mail carrier's bag". WHAT? A note in the bag? You are actually putting a note in the bag??? Is it 1932?

Anyway...I got once peice of forwarded mail. The day after the alleged note was put in.

A note? Really, it is absurd.

Fool with a capital F

I missed my flight to Spain this morning. MORON.



Anyway....all is good. I will now go sleepy super early as not to make the same mistake again. FOOL!!!!

hfgreuiofahben k

I just spent my entire evening talking with some man with from a country I had never heard of....a country that is a Danish territory. whatever --- he bought me beer. I care not for geography...I care for my drinks being bought.


I am currently in a small town in northern Denmark. I am related to 75% of the people that reside here. I do not kid.

The Scandanavian people are mostly good looking. I am good looking. The Scandanavians also do not steal. I do not steal.

If you are good looking in any manner and you are not a theif...chances are you can trace your roots to Scandanavia.

If you can not trace your roots to these fine countries...you are a hideous ill mannered theif. I'm not sayin' ... I'm just sayin'

I am also kidding. Geez...don't take me so seriously.

If you have a baby here = 1 year off work, paid by the gov't. Sign me up. I want to be a paid baby machine.

Unlocked Bikes

Apparently in Denmark people just leave their bikes unlocked on the streets. Yes, unlocked. Imagine living somewhere - where you could leave your bike unlocked and no one would steal it.

Obviously due to my current bike situation I am bitter about this.

I want to move here. I want to live somewhere, where the people do not steal. I would exchange the 2 hours of sunlight in the winter for no stealing. I hate filthy theiving Americans. HATE THEM. Why do people steal?

UGH! Hate them.

I have heard that the Danes hate the Thai people that live here. That is fine with me. I can learn to hate the Thai as long as it does not interfere with my eating of the Thai cuisine. I am fond of any dish that involves a wide flat rice noodle.


My bags are in Germany. I am in Denmark. wa wa.

I'm so mad I'm going blind...

Someone stole my bike.
Let me give you my bike history:

Freshman year college: I had a bike. It was destroyed because it sat outside the Palo Verde East Dormitory. This did not surprise me and I really did not care.

Sophomore year: Bikeless year. I was using my roommate’s bike and I as a rode home after a night of debauchery I was hit by a car. There I was…half under a mini van on Apache Boulevard…yet still on the bike, foot on the pedals, just lying there under the mini van. I paid $70 to get the bike fixed.

I get new bike sometime…not sure when.

Senior Year: hippies stole my bike. This is why I have a small hatred for hippies. You see, my friend and I had the same bike. I had my bike at her place. I went to retrieve it and it was missing and the damneded hippies tried to say my friend’s mangled bike was mine. NO. My friend was hit by a car on that bike and it was mangled beyond recognition. Hence – I knew it was not my bike. Stinkin’ thieving hippies.

The Huffy: This is my pal. I actually love her but she is a shitty bike. She has seen me through it all. But she is lame. I actually toted her from Phoenix to Chicago. Yes, I toted an $80 bike 1800 miles. Stop laughing. I still have her – but she is rusted and icky.

Bought new bike 2 MONTHS ago and it has come to my attention that it has been stolen sometime this week. I am pissed.

I have posted a sign in the bike area asking for it to be returned.


Go Devils

ASU is #7 on Princeton Review's "Top 10 Schools Where Students Rarely Study". Well....duh. Quite frankly, I am disappointed it is not number one.


Should I just make this thing public ????

I has been brought to my attention...

That I have a thing for guys in bands. Yes...I do. It is true. I am currently after one. I predict this will last until the end of the week when I leave - then my man ADD will settle on something else.

Fried Chicken

Earlier today I was in the ghetto. It took me some time to actually get out of the ghetto. My companion and I had to walk, get on a bus, take a cab - it is as though they don't want you to get out of there. The over exposure to the ghetto left me with one feeling - the desire to eat fried chicken. That is correct, something about the ghetto just gives me an appetite for the greasy grade 4 chicken cooked in boiling oil. YUM! Please don't hold the trans fats.
I need an editor.....I am just one mistake after another on this thing...

This is a photo of me post-Summer Soiree. I do beleive I had too much to drink at this point. Luckily for me and the rest of Chicago, my feet were killing me so I was unable to run wild in the streets.

*I am completely aware that I look like a polack in this photo. Do not be alarmed if someone that looks like this shows up at your door, mop in hand, to clean your house.

I decided to start a blog. I was once told of this blogging long long ago..when I lived in a place called: Arizona. I no longer reside there.

Anyway - there are three reasons I have started this:

1. My friend has one and I felt the need - I am a follower

2. I am funny and my funny thoughts should be available at all hours

3. I refuse to be 30 and have a myspace.