June 24, 2013 § 6 Comments
I’m standing at the corner of E. Randolph and Michigan Ave. in a part of Chicago known as the loop. I’m waiting for the bus. It’s January. If you’ve ever stood on a Chicago corner in the dead of Winter waiting for public transportation and decided to make a bold scream-cry declaration to absolutely no one in particular that, “YOU ARE MOVING TO CALIFORNIA BECAUSE YOU AREN’T ABOUT TO DIE OUT HERE AND BECAUSE YOU HAVE SOME FUCKING SENSE OF SELF PRESERVATION!” then you may have an idea of what I’m talking about. Or if you’ve ever woken up in a bathtub full of ice missing your kidneys then you might also have an idea.
This particular Chicago day was the coldest they had had in a decade. It was -9 before factoring in the wind chill and with the wind chill it was -33. Which is fucking cold, people. It’s real fucking cold.
Seconds before I found myself on that corner I had burst through the turnstile doors and ran for my mother-lovin’ life to catch the bus and I’d reached the stop just in time to miss it. The busses came in 15-minute intervals. Another 15-minutes, I thought to myself. Oh.God.No. I stumbled back into the corner of the bus stop overhang and huddled down, moving slowly to conserve heat.
15 minutes isn’t long if you are waiting at the bar for a late dinner guest or if you are paying for an awkward public massage at one of those mall kiosks but when you are freezing your fucking ass off 15 minutes is a lifetime. And the longer I waited the more the unapologetic wind that whipped off the lake to bitch slap me in the face felt less like the elements and more like a metaphor for my life.
A gentlemen sauntered up to the bus stop. He offered me a reassuring look of encouragement as if to say, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll all be ok…maybe.’ It was a welcome distraction. I returned his gesture with a nonchalant nod meaning, ‘Crazy weather we’re having but what can you do? Also, are we going to die out here sir?’ Only a few minutes had passed and I was already about to break.
Next a woman wearing a jacket made completely of luxurious dead animal fur joined us. Now I know killing animals for the sake of fashion is something that should be avoided but as I stared at this woman I noticed she looked slightly less cold than the rest of us. And I have to admit if a beautiful rare silver fox had suddenly appeared before me I might have slaughtered it for the sole purpose of warming my hands inside its dying carcass.
Somewhere in between my daydreams about murdering innocent woodland creatures and the bus arriving is where I made my scream-cry declaration to move back to California. Under normal circumstances my two fellow commuters would have most likely laughed politely and shifted away from the small psychopath who makes life decisions by yelling them to strangers but we had just endured the same cruel 15-minute fate which means we had bonded in a way that would typically have taken several months of forced awkward small talk. So my new friends were oddly reassuring and made an effort to make me feel as if I had correctly panicked.
And then the bus pulled up and just like that we were saved. Once aboard, it was clear I wasn’t going to die but it was also clear that I would be moving back back to Cali Cali.
Beautiful Cold Chicago. I Love You But You’re A Cold Hearted Bitch:
May 23, 2013 § 2 Comments
I am a horrifically bad server, maybe even the worst ever.
One Chicago Summer I got a job at a very popular bar directly across from the Cubs stadium because I thought taking the Summer to kickback at an easy breezy job sounded awesome. A lot of things sound awesome. But the reality fell very short of that. Although I did learn a lot about myself. Like the fact I have a very limited skill set. A skill set which does not include the majority of things required to be a good server.
If you need proof of how impressively bad I was then you should take into consideration my tips. After tipping out the bartenders, the bussers and occasionally taking a cab home my earnings more often than not came up in the red. And if you know anything about business you know that making negative amounts of money is not ideal.
And now I would like to share with you some thoughts I had while working as a server which I’m going to go ahead and assume are similar to the thoughts most servers have at some point or another.
Dear Martini glass:
You suck at your one and only job, which is to contain liquid. By the time I sashayed through the crowd of drunk patrons while holding a tray of you above my head I would every time without fail arrive at my destination with a wet tray and only about a shot’s worth of liquid remaining in each glass. You fail at your life’s purpose.
P.S. Join a support group, work on yourself and come back to me when you are a sippy cup.
Dear Table I’m Ignoring:
There you are trying desperately to get my attention and there I am leaning up against the bar pretending I don’t see you. Oh I see you. I just know that I’ve already done enough to fuck myself out of a tip so at this point in time you are dead to me. Let’s be civil about this. I’ll bring you your check, you’ll leave me a dollar (cause fair is fair) and we’ll both walk out of each other’s lives forever.
P.S. Don’t pretend that being ignored by a server is some kind of human rights issue.
Dear Drunk Guy:
To the naked eye it may look like I give a shit about what you are saying but the truth is I decided that I hated you the second you walked in the door. The only reason I’m smiling and nodding is because I’m afraid if I add anything to this conversation it will go on longer than it already has.
Oh good, you left me your number along with your shitty tip. I’ll be real sure to give you a call especially since you ate up all that time I could have been spending with tables who might have actually tipped me.
P.S. When you attempted to discreetly put your arm around my hip while asking me about the menu I made a mental note to do my best to over-serve you to the point of death.
Dear Manager Who Is Younger Than Me:
I know this is your job and all but you are taking yourself way to seriously. Go ahead look around, you see all those cute waitresses in the tight black shirts (our mandatory uniform). Well not one of them is ever going to sleep with you if you keep acting like a punk. Also, when you asked me if I could use my down time to wipe off some of the tables you started to smell like a victim to me.
P.S. I’m sorry I lied to you about having experience. I had no experience whatsoever. Don’t get me wrong I figured out what the fuck I was doing but only after I spent a good amount of time blindly poking the POS touch screen like a limp dick virgin.
Every day I left that bar I would think to myself, maybe tomorrow will be better. But that wasn’t the case and needless to say I didn’t last the whole Summer. By the end of it I was begging to get back to a 9 to 5. Any 9 to 5 would do as long as I wasn’t surrounded by yelling, screaming, crying assholes.
Now instead I am one of those yelling, screaming, crying assholes. Everything has come full circle.
To All The Servers Out There. You Deserve a Metal. Each And Every One Of You Are Saints:
April 19, 2013 § 4 Comments
Something has come up that demands my attention. Apparently men and women have a history of misunderstanding each other when it comes to what they really want. I’ve spent my life quietly observing the inner workings of both sides so I can clear things up.
Women – want to be with someone who will buy them things, play with their hair and tell them they are pretty.
Men – want a close loving relationship with someone who is hot and will leave them the fuck alone.
Both – want someone who is good in bed.
I’m pretty sure that right there just qualified me to be a marriage and family counselor. Which is a career I totally respect but would never do. Only because I’d rather spend my day listening to a baby monitor in my own little corner of hell than spend the day listening to other people’s relationship problems.
Dysfunctional is the new functional. Problem solved. I’m glad I could help.
Which reminds me, can we talk about something else now?
You Had Me At…Nevermind:
April 11, 2013 § 2 Comments
What Not To Say After A Hook-Up
- I’m prone to pregnancy scares.
- I’m paralyzed from the waist down.
- Next stop, Tiffany’s!
- I used my imagination to make the best of it.
- Were you abused as a child?
- My boyfriend is a drug dealer.
- You couldn’t even tell I’ve birthed something? Right??
- WHAT IS THIS AMATEUR HOUR?
- You’re going to be such a good dad.
- I’m going to die alone aren’t I?
- I recycle condoms cause I care about the environment and when I say, ‘recycle’ I mean ‘re-use.’
I Think I Could Fall Madly In Bed With You
March 21, 2013 § 2 Comments
Someone, please hug me.
Lately I’ve been busy, too busy and that makes me kind of stressy. I don’t like it. All I want is for my life to be a rom-com montage. Is that too much to ask?
Rich people have rehab but what am I suppose to do when I’m about to crash land into a downward spiral?
Well first, I start by reminding myself that it is scientifically proven that stress makes you fat.* So if I want anyone to love me, I need to step away from the cupcake.
Also, when I see people who seem to have all their shit together I reassure myself by assuming they are addicted to prescription pills. And those pills most likely have side effects like low sex drive, dysentery and itchy scalp.
But I’m not alone.** Cause you are here! And we are BFF’s, right??? It’s just you, me and Macaulay Culkin. He’s best friends with us too, but don’t get side tracked, we need to brainstorm. What do we do? How do we get through this yucky stress stuff?
Some people deal with stress by shoving a q-tip in their ear.*** Others by napping. I heard 12 hours of sleep cures almost all of life’s problems.****
In addition to naps, I’ve prepared an inner monologue that I think will really help. This is important so I’ll type slowly – Calm the fuck down. It’ll be ok. Or it won’t. But either way, stress looks bad on you and you are bumming people out. So bury all those feelings deep down inside, maybe as far down as your daddy issues. Take a deep cleansing breathe. Exhale.
Why Does My Vision Board Only Contain Pictures Of People Sleeping?
*According to infomercials I’ve seen
**Said, Michael Jackson (But really in the end, and maybe even now, you are truly alone)
***I’m referring to that episode of GIRLS when Hannah’s stress induced OCD causes her to jam a q-tip right into her eardrum.
****Except for disease, poverty, ethnocentrism, war, childhood trama, fear of intimacy, PTSD, stupidity, your failed marriage, erectile disfunction, third degree burns, infertility, dying alone, drug addiction, asthma, broken bones, diabetes, death, coma, the majority of phobias and a lot of other shit.
February 19, 2013 § 5 Comments
Sunday I opened the freezer to find just one lonely 1/2 gallon of sherbert. And on top of that, this sherbert was in semi melty-form. Thanks to my fridge which only works half of the time. (Damn you, fridge selling guy on Craigslist!)
But being the savvy problem solver I am, that didn’t stop me. And instead of doing what a non-problem solver might do (throw away a perfectly good 1/2 gallon of melty sherbert).
I invented (and also, ate) something I call “Sherbert Soup”.*
I know, the name is pure genius right? Only maybe its a bit misleading cause ‘soup’ may imply that I heated it up, which would be gross. No, of course I didn’t do that. I just ate it exactly the way it was, kind of like gazpacho. Except replace ‘whatever-the-hell-is-in-gazpacho’ with sherbert.
On second thought, I’m not sure if this whole thing was a ‘win’ although it really did seem like it at the time…
But Really, Have You Gone To A Trader Joe’s On A Sunday?**
*settle down, boys, this girl’s taken
**If you haven’t gone to Trader Joe’s on a Sunday, let me just tell you. It’s a nightmare.