Ketchup in the Entry

The neighbor across from me is an odd bird.

Incident #1: I could hear him yelling at his live-in girlfriend with whom he had a child. She would be crying, he would be - maybe not yelling - but using an overly stern voice. And he would be using annoying lawyer words when he spoke to her. I too would be in tears if someone I created life with used lawyer jargon in an attempt to argue me out of crying.

Incident #2: Girlfriend moves out and he calls the police to monitor the move out. Girl takes something he doesn't want her to have and he again is using his strange lawyer speak: something about having something on their 'fictional person'...what???

Incident #3: Ongoing: He uses the landing between our front doors to store an enormous Rubbermaid container...which means he must do a side step to open his door. Who lives like that? He also uses this as a dumping ground for various items: FedEx boxes, water bottles and the most annoying: his empty Muscle Milk sat there for a month before he picked it up. Recently I found a CTA card - it had $4 on it. I am glad I took it...even though I don't really need it.

Incident #4: I come home tonight and there are 2 Costco sized containers of Heinz 57 in the entry way. With a note: "Free and Unopened - Dave 3M"

WHAT IS GOING ON? It is very odd to leave ketchup in the entry way. Very strange. It is strange. I live next door to a maniac. If I turn up dead - please have him questioned. Although he was avoiding the summons for weeks that was left in the entryway so he probably won't answer any questions without a fictional person present or some horsecrap.

yes...I read the summons. Just part of it. Sue me.


I like the beach. I know...laugh it up ocean people. Laugh it up at my beach. Whatever - The Great Lakes are 20% of the world's fresh water supply so when you get thirsty and run your wells and canals is the Midwesterners that will be having the last laugh.

I don't care to prance around in a bathing suit in intimate situations. Intimate situations being overcrowded beaches. The North Ave and Oak St beaches of the world do nothing for me.

I like something more unappreciated.

I happened upon MY beach when I first moved back to Chicago. I lived in The LP at the time and took a long bike ride up the lake front path. I got tired and set up camp at what I believe is know as Hollywood Beach or Osterman Beach. It is at about 5800 North.

I was on the south end of the beach.

After setting myself up I took a look around and noted....I was surrounded by men in dainty Speedos. I was the only woman an this beach. Odd....there were two options: I either rode my bike to Europe or I was at the gay beach. Clearly it was the later. It was so hot that day and all I wanted to do was get in the water and cool off. But I knew I could not. These gay men would judge me worse than a 19 year old sorority girl at North Ave Beach. I was on the brink of heat exhaustion, I began to think I would die in my dramatic special overly dramatic way. After what felt like years, the beach cleared out and I made a break for the water. Sweet, sweet possibly hazardous Lake Michigan water.

I was informed later that the south end of the beach was indeed a well established gay playground, while the north half of the beach was the immigrant family beach. So I returned to the north side and this became MY beach.

Why? It is simple. I feel comfortable there. In my twisted mind: if English is your second language - you can't see cellulite or fat. This must be true. Europeans have no shame and I like it. The men: overweight and proudly walking around in what appears to be your standard Hanes cotton brief. But then you note an embroidered palm tree and an exotic words, like Del Mar - proof that it is in fact meant for swimming and beaching in a land not known as the United States. Then there is the women. The over 50 women, clad in bikinis. There have been three times where i have seen a 50 plus woman on this beach rip of her shirt to bear her breasts to Chicago and put on a bikini top. This is why I love it. These visions teamed with the a mixture of foreign tongues: For a moment...I am in fact on a European vacation.

So on this most recent rip to the beach I was having a hell of a time with the sand flies.

Lets get some things straight about me: I am not a big fan of insects. While I lay their annoyed with every fly that landed on my body, I pondered some big questions. My peasant skin: was it failing me? Or was this just more proof of my peasantry? Perhaps although my very white skin could deflect UV rays, it at the same time, was sensitive to insects landing on it. Was this just more proof? Perhaps my ancestors needed to be aware of tics and such. Those with nonsensitive skin died off to Lyme Disease, West Nile or whatever deadly disease you get from bugs that make them so highly dangerous and intolerable to the most courageous of man. This highly superior sensing technology skin is why I can't camp.
Now don't be that insane campers that mistakes the non-camper for someone that hates trees and landscape and has no respect for the outdoors. Nothing could be further from the truth. I just don't want to sleep with it. I do not want to make love to the sweet outdoors. I want to enjoy it and then go back to civilization: pronto. I want to know there is running water and a shower moments away not 7 hours away. I can not commit myself to endless days in nature. I don't hate nature. I just can't do it. I wasn't raised that way and I have never learned to like it. I tried. In a half assed way? Yes - but I tried. But it never worked. I hate myself for it. I feel like I would be a cooler person if I camped. But it is not me. I am miserable and uncomfortable the entire time.

Plus - let's look at the facts. I have a way of attracting unconventional illnesses and drama. I have had the shingles three times, I was stung by a scorpion in my own bed and I got amoebic dysentery from a bean you really think I want to tempt the fate of the outdoors? Bears will find me and rip my head off given the opportunity. I will be involved in the first recorded case of a rabid deer heard attack. This is the kind of luck I have. I attract crazy people - I will attract crazy animals and insects. Believe me...I will. And really - I think this day at the beach proves that crazy insects love me...or maybe i am just a big 'ol baby.

So at the beach: I am flailing about at every fly. The odd part was these flies were mentally challenged. Or perhaps I was a magician. If one landed on my hand - I flung my hand and looked at my still there. I flung again...two flies. Abra cadabra. I was like a magician doing the trick where one white dove is on his arm, he waves his arm and the one turns into two. What the heck? Am I magic? After this occurred several times I considered trying to walk across the lake. Maybe I am the offspring of God - what could explain this magic?

I looked one else was flailing and fitting like me. I thought: well..they were all here longer than I. Maybe the flung enough earlier and the flies learned to stay away...........oh great - I am out of my mind. Now I am assuming that somehow the flues can be trained in a matter of minutes. I am ridiculous.

Mind over matter. I give it up. I will not let the flies ruin my time. I will ignore. I put my book away and just laid on my back. I could feel them one me. Nope...NO...I can't feel them...I am ignoring them. This did not last long. I knew what I looked like. I looked like a one of those Ethiopian children with flies running amok on their faces from a 1980's charity commercial featuring Sally Struthers. There was a fly playing in my eyelashes at that moment, another screwing around on my elbow, two on on my left hand and there were at least 12 on my legs.

That was it.

I sat up, armed with my book I went on a killing spree.

After the insurgents...I noted that the casualties were somewhere in the high teens. I was proud...a gentleman on a towel 15 feet from me said "Flies?"

" one seems bothered but me"

"oh you just have to shoo them away and it is fine"

"well...that wasn't really working...they still came - it is like they are glued to me - perhaps I smell of manure"

I became highly annoyed that he did not show any amusement in my joke...this lead me to believe that I do in fact smell of manure.

That fucking fly loving, hippy, tree-hugging bastard pissed me off. Did he not see me flailing around like I was having a epileptic seizure prior to this event?? He certainly did not care then. He only cared when he saw the god damn fly genocide going on. He should have been grabbing my tongue 20 minutes ago. Instead he insinuates that I smell of cow shit and makes me look a fool. A foolish baby that can't handle some flies.

Clearly the man has no sense of humor and I can not be in the company of him or his fly friends.

So...I left

Flight Attendant

Sometimes...I dress like a flight attendant.

Not like a Southwest Airlines FA in khaki shorts and a polo. No no.

I am talking about a classy FA or one from yesteryear.

In the past I have sported a scarf either around my neck with a collared shirt or just tucked under my collar and hanging free. Either way - something about that scarf says: I can locate an emergency exit even if it is behind me and I will make sure your seat buckle is fastened low and tight across your lap even if you are asleep. I will wake you up and make a big deal about it. Safety, after all, is my number one priority.

However - today I had on a red dress with some white trim around the neck. I tried to describe this with words...but alas - I just could not. So I took a photo. I did not include my head because I look particularly wretched at the moment. I am not sure what about the dress says flight attendant. I think it is the combination of synthetic fibers and the solid color with white trim that really put me in the mood to hand out ginger ale and slip an extra pack of honey roasted peanuts to the passengers I deem worthy.

The fact is - I like dressing like a flight attendant. I think it is cheerful and zippy. Most of all - I think I like it because I secretly desire to be a flight attendant.

However I yearn to be a flight attendant pre-1975. When they did not let poor people on airplanes and there was a lounge for adult entertainment like cigar smoking and heavy drinking. When being a flight attendant was not a just a job - but a jet setting lifestyle and to keep that lifestyle you had to weigh under 120 lbs. The threat of loosing my job would really aid in my weight loss goals. Really - this could be the entire reason obesity is on the rise. Millions of little girls no longer need to live up to this completely legitimate employment practice and instead of eating a carrot to keep thin - they are shoving donuts and cheeseburgers in their mouths. A shame.

But that was the flight attendant of the past. It would never work out for me in today's world. I would be stuck in some shitty khakis running the coach cabin on the O'Hare - Newark trip for 12 years.

This is not what I am looking for. I am looking for something more romantic. In my fantasy first, I am thin. Second, I want solid synthetic fabric and maybe a pillbox hat. I want to sit on the lap of an international business man, throwing my head back and laughing at what a hoot that charter flight from London to Casablanca was.

It is completely normal...these desires of mine.

Another thing I don't get:

Are these two for real?

Are they serious?

I don't watch this reality TV show they are featured in as I do not have cable. But I am forever fascinated by people that act like they are cool and the world is laughing at them. So then I assume it is all a big act/publicity stunt. Because - no one is that dumb. Right? No one that useless takes themselves that seriously right?

It entertains me.

What is more bizarre is this song. Yes...the only song currently on my blog. Listen to it. Just listen. Don't listen too long. You will shove something sharp in your ear if you do. Is this for real?

I mean is a joke...right?

Douche Bags and Drool

Today on the way home on the L, I was trying my hardest to stay awake. I have had two unproductive nights of sleep. Which is odd for me. Perhaps I should just ride the L all night. It seems to put me to sleep.

I had to stay awake. I was in a aisle seat so I knew if I fell asleep I would either find my head nuzzled in the crotch of the woman standing next to me or on the shoulder of the man seated next to me. I kept falling asleep and awaking two seconds later.

I gave up and just let it go. Then I woke up because I felt something wet between my boobs. My head was down, my chin to my chest, my mouth open with a hearty stream of drool flowing from my mouth into my shirt.

I am hot.

I went for a bike ride on the lake front path. I don't even know why I go to the path. It irritates me. There are the obvious annoyances - like people that INSIST on walking, biking, running side by side.

Today there was a man riding his bike in what would be my blind spot if we were driving. uuuuuuugggggghhhhh.....why would you do that. Either pass me or get behind me. I'd slow, he would slow. I would speed up, he would speed up. He was all up in my pocket, if you will. I did not like it.

However there is one thing I really hate more than anything: Rollerbladers.

1. Rollerbladers have very wide strides and I can't fucking stand it. It is always a near accident when I need to pass the side by siders because inevitably a god damneded rollerblader is coming in the opposite direction taking up their lane and the lane in the opposite direction. They are bent over like Olympic speed skaters and it is super nerdy and they should be issued a ticket of some sort for the whole display.

2. There is just no way around it. I am sorry...if you rollerblade, you are a douche bag. There is no word that describes a rollarblader better than douche bag. Who the heck rollerblades? It is 2008. Let's get rid of this whole rollerblading thing. It is so mid-90's. Do they even sell rollerblades anymore?