i was always worried about his inevitable second chin

so up front i have to warn you, i'm just not as funny as my partner in blog crime... but here's what i got:

we all know that feeling. that wake up and look at the clock and think to yourself, "that can't be right" feeling. so you blink a couple of times, dimly aware that it's a little too sunny in your bedroom. yup. it's 7:15. you were supposed to be at work at 7:00. and yet, it's 7:15. then it begins. "MOTHER &%*$@#&!!!!!!" so you run around like a chicken with your head cut off, trying to decide how stinky you really are, running out the door half dressed with most of your stuff still strewn around the apartment (as opposed to in your bag where it's supposed to be). how many of those days end up going well? at least the sox won.

my subject refers to thing that i resentfully said over dinner with my girlfriends the other night. the point wasn't really the maligning of the ex-es but, what with the aforementioned smoldering resentment, i couldn't resist. i would feel bad about it, but for the amusing consequence of one of the gals laughing so hard that she snarfed water all over the place.

number one favorite thing about post-season baseball, immediately followed by presidential election: easy way to avoid reality television. a little too much anxiety though- i don't have any fingernails left.

grammar girl goes postal

with all apologies to some of my favorite musical artists, lyrics i wish had never found their way into songs: anything about party people getting down. (et tu, ozomatli?) and definitely anything about setting your spirit free. spirits should also not sing, fly, or soar.

i think any subject of writing, whether it be lyrics, poetry, prose, or anonymous e-manifesto, belongs in one of two categories. either it is poetic, and deserves to be treated as such, without cliche, or it is not. i'm not saying we shouldn't talk about the little things - i mean, clowns? upn? who am i to judge? but i say: celebrate the mundane! who needs party people getting down? why dress it up? how about pointy-shoed girls wearing hoochie pants all lined up coatless in the cold looking for something they can't have? how about scruffy underemployed twenty-somethings in the middle of nowhere milling around a parents'-basement-cum-bachelor-pad swilling pbr and talking about the bears? it's priceless just like it is. although it is harder to rhyme with basement-cum-bachelor pad...

did i already mention my feelings about inappropriate uses of "you go, girl"? maybe i'll save that for another time.

send in the

clowns.

this is a subject which has come up briefly before in this blog, but as most people do not work with clowns on a regular basis, i think it bears further discussion.

we have a clown troupe that comes through regularly to entertain children (and staff), and every time they come through i feel a little confused. how is one supposed to feel when seeing clowns? the professional part of me feels a little warm and fuzzy that we're child friendly enough to provide such entertainment. the child part of me is a little distressed, because i want the clowns to be a little more colorful, maybe all piling out of a small car or wearing rainbow wigs or something. these are more down-to-earth punk-looking clowns who just happen to have red noses. think pseudo-professional hobo clowns. the post-gen-x part of me likes the punkness of the clowns. the cynical part of me likes the fact that they help everyone take their jobs less seriously. the insecure part of me wants to talk to the clowns but can't because i worry i'm not funny enough for them. the schoolgirl part of me loooooooves that my blogmate has a crush on one of the clowns. it's even better than my college roommate who dated (in succession) a circus juggler who hit on her at the mall and a psychiatrist-trapeze artist who got exercise by wandering around the neighborhood on stilts. better than that, because although those situations were certainly unique, a crush on a work clown is like a crush on a minor tv personality, say, the restaurant guy that the mom is dating on gilmore girls. attractive, but no barometer for what he's really like. for all we know, restaurant guy and the cute clown are deviants or raging alcoholics or mama's boys (you pick which is worse). the psychiatrist-trapeze artist on stilts really was out there, but you could at least talk to the guy, even if it was "so... how are those stilts going for you? when is your next bungee-as-art performance?" how do you strike up a conversation with a clown? is it socially acceptable to just stare at his red nose, or is that offensive like women not wanting men to talk to our breasts? do you address him by his clown name? do you want to know his real name, or does it take away the magic if he's not "dr. dufus"? what does it do to your fantasies when they involve a guy named dr. dufus?

distressing.

toto, i don't think we're in kansas anymore

while talking with my boyfriend and some of his friends last week about their favorite songs, one of them mentioned a song he wants played at his wedding someday. since when do guys get together and talk about wedding songs?

while at a family wedding recently, my parents easily handled all of us cousins in taking advantage of the pre-dinner open bar. since when is my mother a better partier than i am?

while packing my lunch for work today, i completely forgot the dark-chocolate-covered espresso beans i'd meant to bring as a treat. since when do i forget about dessert?

something is wrong.

high school movies and political satire- but not in that order

while a lady i work with plays me alicia keys at 5:30 in the morning, i reflect on the cultural happenings of the week.
the winning quotation: "i feel like there was all this political satire that was potentially funny," the sad truth being that after a night at the theater (the artsy minimalist kind) our little circle of non-artsy more pragmatic types found that most of the humor was just beyond us. said another friend, "yeah, you really have to hit me over the head with it." in spite of not getting it, the play was very good, complete with cool punk theater and girl with stinky dreads sitting in front of me. seriously though, the decor in this place was fabulous.
all this followed by a lengthy conversation about high school movies and why we love them. not only the john hughes films of the 80's, but contemporary high school movies, totally irrelevant to our generation. these adolescents are much more scandolous than molly ringwald and anthony michael hall. scantily clad, misbehaving, rich, stylish teens... but we love them. we decided that love for high school flicks runs through our veins and we just can't resist.
back to the grind.

blog candy

so how many adjectives do you take in your coffee? the issue at hand: whether schmoofy lattes are rendered socially acceptable when they are seasonal. is it somehow OK to order a nonfat decaf pumpkin spice latte because of it's association with autumn and halloween? clearly, ordering a soy halfcaf sugar free vanilla double latte is just annoying. for the sake of argument we're leaving out the fact that all things pumpkin flavored are cool by virtue of their urban hippiness.

speaking of urban hippies. the campus is crawling with very cute, slightly shaggy grad students these days. they only seem to surface at this time of year, messenger bags slung over shoulders, grey t-shirts, fleece vests. not birkenstocks, exactly- something less smelly. you picture them pouring over t.s. elliot or noam chomsky or something in the little coffee shops (more grungy and cool than the pumpkin latte places). oh right. we don't have any of those... the coffee shops i mean. but we do have the urban hippies- at least in october.

sometimes the truth hurts

i can't believe i had to hear about the tragic downfall of our favorite breakfast joint on my very own blog! perhaps my blog-mate and i are suffering a breakdown in communication (or this is really just a cutsie vehicle for us to amuse ourselves with our own babble).
but really, enough with the closings! first the cool gelatto place with the trendy ikea furniture and really yummy flavors like coconut and bacci. the best part was that you only needed to buy five to get a free one.
going back to come back in for a moment, i never even got to swipe one of their cool blue pint glasses.
fortunately there's a new yummy ice cream place close to where the other one was-- i'll try not to consider that the one brought on the demise of the other. they have banana milkshakes.
haven't really found the right breakfast booze venue here in chi-town.
apparently my life as an endless grad student doesn't render too m any good stories. ooh. but there was the time that my (ex)boyfriend's cat jumped out of the car window at the wendy's drive through into the wendy's kitchen causing quite a stir.

rock the vote

so, over the weekend i was running thru a local arboretum when a turtle had started to cross the road in front of me. i stopped to watch, then another runner stopped to watch with me, and it soon became apparent that the cliche about turtles being the last to finish the race or whatever is grounded in reality. going nowhere fast. problem was that there were cars on this particular path... so the two of us flanked the turtle so he wouldn't get squished. then a third runner stopped further up the road, motioning cars to slow down. then the first cars came by and stopped to watch the progress... by the end of the journey there were 12 people safeguarding this turtle.

i was feeling very proud of my little community that could band together to protect our slow-footed friend... until i heard a tragic story: my favorite breakfast place is about to be torn down to make room for more lake view condos. i ask you: what is more important? another overpriced condo? or a place that makes the best hollandaise sauce a veggie benedict could ask for, and pairs it with a bloody mary for only $1??? i think the facts speak for themselves. so i turn my cause from the turtle to the table: anyone reading this, please join me and save the come back inn!!! can we form a citizens' interest group or something? people for the ethical treatment of breakfast booze?

things that are annoying

the car on your street, parked TOTALLY crooked. you picture a drunk blond girl, staggering home from a night with ritzy martinis in her hand that accessorize her ass-tight jeans and pointy shoes who really too tired to try anymore and just gave up with the parallel parking endeavor half way through and just left the friggin' car that way. but maybe you've just got the story wrong and there's a compelling to walk away from a car in mid-parallel-park to stick out into the street for 3 days.

paralyzed boys who send unsolicited endearing emails and then fail to deliver... then you get to unload your woes about said paralyzed boys to the episodically insightful boyfriend of a friend who reads you the riot act about how pretty and smart you are and how men should be falling at you feet. WELL, THEY'RE NOT. you're quietly admitting to yourself (and probably your inner circle of 9 closest girlfriends) that, liberated or not, you're about ready for that engagement ring already and he's still standing there under the burrito sign, unable to decide he actually likes burritos.

it's also annoying that for the apparent 6 times a day that the simpsons are on, they never seem to on at the moment that you need to be rescued from your girliness by a good half hour of crass (but let's face it- side-splitting) humor.

his name is wally and he likes to mambo

so after meeting the polish soul brother who wears his bass a little to high on his chest and makes disconcerting orgasm faces while he plays we rode home in silence for a while until we found ourselves on the topic of a certain clown that we know.
actually, we don't know him. that's the problem.
but really, since blogging is all about honesty, only one of us has any desire to know the nameless clown. i mean... know him.
so our conversation was led down the path of what it means exactly- to be de-clowned. is it about taking of the enourmous shoes and red nose... or is it dirty?

in other notes... seriously, saw a great band tonight. reminded me of my former life's career goal to go on tour with james brown. on further review of my non-existent musical ability, i thought it might be more reasonable to one day play the cowbell in a band someday. until i saw this band with a nationally renowned cowbell player, and cut short my dreams. back to the office. :)

no joke about the band though. bad-ass middle aged latinos (and token pole), guayaberas and all. even those of us who ruthlessly mock the painfully white salsa geeks couldn't keep our asses in our chairs.

count pointer-count

my turn, although the less creative of the pair...

oldest child of two working-class dying-industrial-city-native types, i moved around a lot before finally graduating from a high school in which the teen pregnancies outnumbered the college bound. naturally, i fit in fabulously, by which i mean was just plain obstinate. i decided that i would only read modern literature that nobody else had read and which i really only pretended to understand, refused to pollute my mind with mass media, etc. god forbid i might watch football. it would have all been fine, really, except that goths don't exist in a town where everyone works at the truck factory. which is probably for the best; i've never been very good at make-up and the white face paint would have just stained the black clothes.

10 years later, here i am, reading cosmo, watching sitcoms on the wb, and calling my girlfriends in crisis because i don't have the perfect pair of shoes for a party this weekend.

what 8 years of higher education will do.

points of disagreement

gilmore girls
the cars (especially tonight she comes)
beer that tastes like molasses
sheet and blanket vs. duvet cover alone
where one of us should spend her weekends
whether or not the other's local bar is cool enough for us
appleton, wisconsin
goat cheese
well-fitting pants
whether one of us should fall in love with off-road biking

are these my favorite movies?

boogie nights
eyes wide shut
ghost world
welcome to the dollhouse
in america
french twist

going solo

so i here i am, one half of the new, extra-girly, email geek team, venturing out on my own.
destined to be nerdy, the child of 2 brainy college professor types, i spent the first 12 years of my life in chapel hill, north carolina. uprooted to nashville just in type for the awkward junior high years, undergrad at university of texas in austin... campus to campus. i was powerless to resist the draw of life as an academic. who knew defending a thesis would be so intimidating. might as well put if off a little longer. that's the great thing about graduate school- you can do it forever.
made an important discovery about reheating coffee this morning. heat up the black coffee a little too much an then add cold milk, rather than adding the milk first and reheating it in it's doctored state. you get less of the icky reheated taste. who knew?
mission for the day: $10 haircut at the punk supercuts equivalent, stock up on $3 wine at trader joe's, return overdue library books, climbing gym.
mission for the season: find ridiculous autumn-y harvest festivals with pumkins and cider and stuff... maybe even a hay ride. learn to cook soup with sophisticated ingredients like leeks or squash. paint the living room.
what next?

wisdom, the sequel

14) frosted tips are specific but not sensitive for gay men
15) when the hot guy is fishing for an invite, even if you're not the one interested, take one for the team and get his number
16) girls really do tell each other everything.
17) all size 8s are not created equal

people to stalk

fungal scholar who lives downstairs
sheepish indian man with motorcycle
charming indian neurologist with girlfriend
shaggy grad students
the guy at miami flavors who fed us with a spoon
cute bike shop guy
fine arts professors living in wicker park
anyone with real estate in lincoln square
urban hippies with messenger bags and fleece
smelly french man on plane
duck lady in new orleans
reclusive film director (without angst)
pleated-pants-wearing-sweater-tucked-in snitty man who yelled at me

opening day

so how do you separate fact from fiction? did he really say that we were dating or did that just get extrapolated later? how many pregnant women can one highly specialized work force tolerate before it all just falls apart? are we really this bored?

welcome to the colloborative effort of two circus clowns (or something like that) who really ought to be sleeping. instead we've decided to unleash our collective proclivity toward filterlessness onto the unsuspecting public. perhaps we can inflict on you the uneasy sensation that we so often feel: vulnerable in a way that makes you uncomfotable.

no really. there are two of us. unrelated. un-entangled. too much spare time... or maybe not enough. here's our wisdom for the day (some is borrowed and some is our own creation)...

1) once your pants come off it's a whole new kind of awkwardness
2) there are no secrets in the age of google
3) beer beats fancy martini any day of the week
4) women can be sexy and drink bourbon at the same time
5) no matter how independent you think you are, AAA is a good thing
5.5) you can't roller skate in a buffalo herd
6) it's possible to get lost on a circular trail
7) don't ever throw a steaming hot turkey carcass into a plastic trash bag
8) you don't have to be jewish to make matzoh ball soup
9) there's nothing good about an office park
10) sometimes it really is just about the conquest
11) you have to ask yourself if you want the girl (or boy)
12) hot dog restaurants are only good from a distance (resist temptation!)
13) hmm... sounds like your alternator

that about does it.
tune in next time for the shallow girl's guide to trail running.
otherwise known as "don't ever leave your car in berwyn."