One of my friends at the Jeeb just came in and told me she's been laid off. Tomorrow is her last day. This brings the total of Friends Who Have Been Laid Off From The Jeeb to 473. Why I am still here continues to be a topic of intense speculation.
In related news, the CEO is also leaving. Bummer! As you know, I've invested a lot of drunk time and tight shirts into this relationship. Now it looks like I'm going to have to rely on things like "talent" and "ambition" to keep my job.
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For the past week I've been working on a campaign to sell a food I HATE. My suggested tagline of "Ugh! How can you eat that?!" was soundly rejected. Also denied were "I think it's nasty but go nuts" and "I'd rather chew on used Kleenex."
Sometimes I wish I had married rich.
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Talk about milking your birthday. Yesterday Hoontar took me for a belated birthday lunch; dinner was yummy tapas and sangria subsidized by my Hot Russian Friend in honor of my birth. So far, 31 ain't a kick in the face.
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Is anyone planning to see United 93? I cannot imagine a more distressing way to spend $9 and two hours. If you find me in a theater this weekend, I will be watching Stick It. "It's not called gymNICEtics." Genius!
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A real phone conversation that happened two minutes ago:
BOSS: Hey. What are you doing? TR: Typing. BOSS: Typing what? TR [desperately wracking brain]: Oh, um ... just, you know, work stuff. BOSS: Well, I need you to do something for me. TR: Can it wait til after lunch? I'm really busy. BOSS: I guess. Let me know when you have a second. TR: Will do! [hits Publish Post button]
Too bad I'm having one last liquid lunch with the CEO and I'll probably come back tanked on the company dime. Ha!
Instead of going to see Rhett on Thursday night, I worked until 9PM. Friday was a vacation day. I spent it in the waiting room of the Sears Auto Center, watching episodes of Maury while they put new tires I can't afford on my car.
My life is so glamorous and interesting.
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Logged some serious time with the Babies of Unbearable Cuteness this weekend in D-Town. I'm a big fan of kid's birthday parties that feature sushi and beer.
You know it might be time to consider a diet when the corner panhandler casually points out that you've gained a few pounds. I think his exact words were, "I hardly recognized you! Girl, you've put on some weight!"
Thought I'm not cool (or rich) enough to own one, I understand how people listening to iPods can get way wrapped up in the music and forget that they are, in fact, out in public and not A) at a concert, B) alone in their living room, or C) an actual rock star.
All over the city you see iPods attached to people who are head bobbing, hand tapping, foot tapping, lipsynching, humming, sometimes even indulging in a little air guitar. But rarely do you see someone air keyboarding along to their favorite song. And do you know why? BECAUSE AIR KEYBOARDING WHILE YOU WALK DOWN THE STREET MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE AN ENORMOUS ASSCLOWN.
At first I was kinda digging that an otherwise normal-looking dude would think nothing of hammering on invisible keyboards while he strolled to work through downtown Chicago. But when I walked past him and he keyboarded my bag right off my shoulder, shit stopped being funny real quick.
Also seen on the street this week: a man playing the harmonica while driving down Irving Park Road, and some guy who kind of looked like Dave Grohl.
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Last night on our way to dinner, we were waiting for a traffic light when a man approached my car carrying a ragged box of M&M's. I braced myself for the inevitable sales pitch, but the man just peered into the car, looked at me, looked at Concert Josh and said, "You better marry this girl before she beat you up." Then he continued on his rounds.
I guess I had on my Desperate & Mean face.
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Rhett Miller tonight? Perhaps. What we need around here is some decision music.
You know how you see those news stories about groups of co-workers throwing five bucks in a pool for lottery tickets and winning a multi-million dollar jackpot? It's heartwarming and all, but how much would you hate to be one of their other co-workers, who didn't chip in five bucks and ended up with zilch? Especially if they asked if you wanted in but you didn't have any cash on you, or maybe you decided save that fiver for a stop at Mickey D's on the way home instead. How do you even come to work the next day? Or ever again? How do you not physically DIE of jealousy?
This morning I gave Dylan my last two bucks for lunch money.
If my co-workers win the Megamillions Jackpot tonight, that will be the piece of pizza that cost me my sanity.
Yesterday Concert Josh flew to New Jersey, where he'll spend a week doing some work training. With the kids packed off to Grandma's house for spring break, we'd planned to spend some time together on Saturday. Until I called him and we had the stupidest fight EVER.
Tequila Red: Do you think we could go out to the 'burbs? I have my eye on a rug at Penny's. [shut up, it's cheap and cute] Concert Josh: I don't think I'm gonna have time to go shopping with you today. Tequila Red: Oh. Concert Josh: I still have to pack, plus there's this pork roast I want to cook. Tequila Red: ... Concert Josh: Hello? Tequila Red: Are you frigging kidding me? Concert Josh: What? Tequila Red: You're going out of town for a week and you're blowing me off for a PORK ROAST. Concert Josh: Well ... Tequila Red: A PORK ROAST. Concert Josh: But it won't be good by the time I get back from Jersey. Tequila Red: Yeah, and I might not be your girlfriend by the time you get back from Jersey. Concert Josh: Babe ... Tequila Red: Hey, are you sure it's not a pork butt? Because you're being AN ASS. *click*
Happily, the roast issue was quickly resolved and we did get some non-swine time together before he blew town. Also, I made him sign a waiver saying that, in the future, I do in fact take precedence over all packaged meat products.
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Guess who's going to to Dallas on Tuesday for a Big Important Meeting? Yeehaw, y'all!
I wonder how big I can make my hair. They like that, I hear.
When the pizza delivery man dropped off our food last night, the first thing I noticed was that his right arm ended just below the elbow. He was still pretty agile though, quickly loading me down with a liter of soda, a paper bag, the pizza box, and a credit card receipt that needed to be signed. As I juggled the items and struggled to scrawl my signature across the receipt, I came thisclose to saying, "Ha ha, I need more hands!" Thankfully I caught myself in time.
And then my boyfriend's voice floated in from the living room.
I've always gotten on well with the neighbor upstairs - he's very charming and funny and he's a cop, which is always a useful connection to have in Chicago. Plus, he's sMOkin' hot. I won't tell you there weren't occasional naughty thoughts involving shiny silver handcuffs. But lately any and all fantasies about Hot Cop Neighbor have been of the "lashing him to a tree in the backyard, smearing him with peanut butter and then letting the squirrels have their way with him" variety.
Recently he got married. I think that's swell. Laundry Hog Roommate moved out (yay!) and the lovely new wife moved in. But it soon became clear that she had some conditions before she agreed to share residency. Namely, a gut rehab of their apartment.
So for the past month I have endured constant hammering, sawing, sanding, pounding, a giant section of my dining room wall torn out and never repaired, and just the other day, a buzzsaw that started up at 7:45 AM. On a SUNDAY. ON MY BIRTHDAY.
Also there is a dog who enjoys a hobby called Barking One's Head Off Every Damn Second, and the impending arrival of Hot Cop Jr., whose nursery is directly above my bed and who, I expect, will join the dog in a lovely barking and screaming duet that should last for approximately the next two years. Living in a box under the Kennedy Expressway would be more peaceful.
Complaining is out of the question, however. No current lease + the lowest rent in the neighborhood + free heat = GRIN AND BEAR IT.
And quietly sell stuff from their storage room on Craigslist.
I doubt anyone even bothers to read this on the weekend - especially lately - but HELLO I turn 31 in nine hours. So my favorite spicy chiquita Crystal helped me put together a little birthday shindig. It'll be at Tapatia on the corner of Ashland and Roscoe at 9pm and anyone who feels so inclined is invited to attend. Just look for the tipsy redhead in the boobage shirt yelling, "BUT I STILL FEEEEEEL THIRTY!"