Archive for June, 2009

Things that are almost victories…

Can we say it for sure yet?  It might be… It could be… But is it?  Might the senate actually have 60 Democrats?

With a little help from Arlen Specter and the Minnesotan Supreme Court, it looks like it might actually be so.  From the decision:

For all of the foregoing reasons, we affirm the decision of the trial court that Al Franken received the highest number of votes legally cast and is entitled under Minn. Stat. § 204C.40 (2008) to receive the certificate of election as United States Senator from the State of Minnesota.

He’s entitled to the seat… is that like saying I’m entitled to a puppy because I acted like a good girl and did all my chores and watched my little brother, but in actuality you’re going to make me wait another 5 months?  Or can we go to the pound today and pick one out?

You know… not that these past 7 months haven’t been fun and all.

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Things that need a reality check

Courtesy of CNN, Jenny Sanford makes a statement regarding her husband’s recent disappearance and infidelity:

I believe wholeheartedly in the sanctity, dignity and importance of the institution of marriage. I believe that has been consistently reflected in my actions. When I found out about my husband’s infidelity I worked immediately to first seek reconciliation through forgiveness, and then to work diligently to repair our marriage. We reached a point where I felt it was important to look my sons in the eyes and maintain my dignity, self-respect, and my basic sense of right and wrong. I therefore asked my husband to leave two weeks ago.

This trial separation was agreed to with the goal of ultimately strengthening our marriage. During this short separation it was agreed that Mark would not contact us. I kept this separation quiet out of respect of his public office and reputation, and in hopes of keeping our children from just this type of public exposure. Because of this separation, I did not know where he was in the past week.

I believe enduring love is primarily a commitment and an act of will, and for a marriage to be successful, that commitment must be reciprocal. I believe Mark has earned a chance to resurrect our marriage.

Jenny Sanford.  Please… just… just…

This man chose to spend his time during your trial separation – WHICH WAS INTENDED TO “STRENGTHEN [YOUR] MARRIAGE” – bonking his Argentinian mistress!

By disappearing. Unsubtly. To a foreign country.

Instead of doing something which would actually prove that he was committed to making this marriage work, he actually flaunted the fact that he doesn’t care.

You are so right.  He definitely has earned a second chance.

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Things that are so painful they’re almost hilarious

I want to be the person who designs the graphics for weather forecasts.

After 72% of Chicagoans complained righteously about the lack of warmth well into May and June, the weather has struck back in full force with You-Get-What-You-Ask-For-SUCKAS!-Vengence, and it has been painfully, painfully hot the past several days.

Apparently in order to show us Chicagoans that it is getting even hotter (no, really, really!), accuweather has instituted the SMOKING THERMOMETER:

SMOKING THERMOMETER

SMOKING THERMOMETER

DANGER!  DO NOT VENTURE OUTSIDE OR YOU WILL SMOLDER AND EVENTUALLY SPONTANEOUSLY BURST INTO FLAMES MWAHAHAHA!!!

I love it.

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Things that inspire me

My sister’s friend Matt started this Jesuit middle school at the age of twenty-six, based on the nativity model.

The faculty is made up of people who basically all have masters and four PhDs, and who choose to work insane hours 11 months a year for wages half of what they could be making at a public school.

This year, Chicago Jesuit Academy graduated their first class.  And this video gives me chills. And makes me want to cry. And figure out a way to save the world.  Because realizing Matt did all of this at twenty-six makes me feel like a twentysomething slacker.

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Things I should not do

I should not update my blog while drunk.

I’m already a terrible speller, so I shall now rely solely on those little red squiggly lines to tell me when I spell things ghastly improperly.

I should mention that I don’t really drink. In college, I was basically a one-day-a-weeker, if that.  Since college, I’m about a once-every-two-to-three-months-er.  So it takes about 2 glasses of wine to get me drunk, theseadays.

Since polishing off a half a bottle of wine (and working on bottle #2), I have done the following:

1) Text my college crush, who I was convinced I was over until he emailed me abotu 3 days ago out of the blue.

2) Told my roommate even more details about my embarrassing hook-up from senior year’s Cinqo de Mayo party. Probably more than she wanted to know, but I love her.

3) Watched an episode of the Colbert Report. Man, if that shit is funny when you’re sober, when you’re drunk, it’s fucking hilarious.

4) Spelled about 2/5 of this post incorrectly.  Red squiggly lines, how I love thee.

Okay, I’m off to read an article in the Atlantic about whether Google is making us smarter (fingers crossed for YES or I by brain is fucking screwed).

Then Newsweek.

Oh my god I’m such a nerd. I’m drunk and I can’t even stop being dorky.

<Insert nerdface here>

PSSST I DON’T KNOW WHAT A NERDFACE LOOKS LIKE.

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Things that are happy

My roommate and I apparently officially have a nickname at Subway.

Last week we had one of our semi-weekly dinner dates at the Subway near our house.  It’s about a 10 minute walk over, and is usually a nice break  for my roommate from being a walking, talking, full-on Study Nerd, and the break in the evening often results in lots of nonsensical chatter and general joviality.

I mean, we’re outside… we’re walking… we’re enjoying each other’s company… we’re about to treat ourselves and consume utter deliciousness that we didn’t prepare ourselves.  What’s not to like? It’s basically one of the best parts of my week.

We continue our goofy sarcastic banter as we walk into Subway, and begin to order our sandwiches when one of the sandwich-maker-guys notes, “Wow. You two are really happy, aren’t you?”

Naturally, we look at one another and laugh, because, well, we, um, laugh a lot around each other. I should interject here that I have a vivid memory of the first week I met my roommate where we were racing down a slippery mountain in pouring rain and soupy fog, wearing rain pants and hiking boots, falling every twenty feet, and laughing hysterically while doing so.  Apparently we convinced people we had ADHD.  And this sums up fairly well our relationship with each other. Also, we do things like this.

We’re not super-cool dorks at all.

Fast forward a week later, and it’s time for Subway again.

We walk into Subway, say “Hi!” and are immediately greeted by the same guy who notes, “Oh. You’re those happy girls, aren’t you?”

So this guy has probably served several hundred people by now, and yet, he is still able identify us as “The Happy Girls,” from one word we say.

When we walked out, he told the Happy Girls to come back and visit them again.

Hee, we have a collective nickname.

At first I was thinking maybe we should work on being morose when we go on our Subway date nights, but on second thought, I’m a total dork, so… no.

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Things that are both creepy and embarrassing

As previously discussed, my computer/internet is not what one would call “top of the line.”  For this reason, when I know I will need to use a computer for personal use for a lengthy amount of time, I will often stay late at work and utilize the privileges of fast internet and large hard-drive space.

Tonight, I decided to abuse said privileges to register for my Grad School classes and listen to one more painful Cubs loss. As per usual, my meandering takes much longer than I’d expect and at one point I look outside and realize, to my shock, that it is in fact pitch dark.

With further use of my high intelligence (and inspection of a clock), I discover it is actually 9:30pm. My automatic “Oh, crap” mode snaps in, and I attempt to finish what I can before total patheticness sets in, when all the sudden, things get creepy.

See, now, at work,we often have people over inspecting the roof for various reasons: leaks, HVAC stuff, solar panels, etc. Therefore, I am well versed in what it sounds like when someone is walking on our roof.

And tonight, my brain abruptly registers this dull sound.

Thump.

Thump.

Ba-bum thump.

I pseudo-ignore it for a few minutes while I clean up, trying to imagine it’s thunder, the wind, my overactive brain, whatever.

Thump.

Ba-dum bum. Thump.

Shit.

That is SO not the wind.

Okay, so sometimes people break into our office building, steal some shit. Whatever. It’s petty shit, right? We’re not in the greatest area, but it’s not terrible… at least it’s better than it used to be when we had a prostitution ring semi-regularly use our parking lot for transactions. It’s probably some kids, who somehow scaled the wall to the roof. They’ll leave, right? They see there’s lights on, right? I’m not in any danger, right? RIGHT?

Thump.

Ba-dum.

Bum.

Thump.

Okay.  Shit. My brain is going into overdrive, so I might as well call 311, and see if they’ll do a welfare check on the building. Then again, maybe I’m overreacting.

Ba-dum-bum-bum thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Okay, fine, I’m not overreacting. I dial.  311 decides my call IS an emergency and puts me through to police dispatch. I explain my situation, and pretend I’m not as freaked out as my brain is, and ask ever-so-nicely if they’d just possibly send someone over to check out the roof of the building. They agree, and after I hang up I have to decide whether or not I’m leaving or staying put until the cops get here.  After all, it’s just a welfare check, and this IS Chicago – it could take hours for them to arrive.

Ba-dum.

Thump. Thump Thump.

Ba-thump. Thud.

Right. Okay.
Staying put. Check.

I call a couple of people from work to keep myself calm and inform them of the situation, and, much to my surprise, after only about 5 minutes, three Chicago Police Officers show up.

On bicycles.

I graciously unlock and open the front door and talk to one of them while the other two circle the building. I 30-second sum up the past petty crime, the walking sounds on the roof, the fact that I’m in the building by myself when normally no one is at work this late. Mr. Police officer looks at me, and very kindly says:

“Oh. That does sound creepy, but are you sure it wasn’t the fireworks?”

Um.

Oh.

Okay.

Shit.

It’s a Wednesday night. In Chicago. And there are fireworks at Navy Pier in the summer at 9:30pm. Every Wednesday.

That’s why the footsteps sounded so constant. And started so suddenly.

Shit.

Shit.

Mr. Police Men are very kind and not insulting at all as they offer to wait until I go inside, lock up, and get in one of the work trucks to drive home.

So. Um.  Thank you Police Sirs, for indulging my extraordinarily overactive brain for Things That Go Bump In The Dark.  Also, I think you’re pretty awesome for riding bikes while fighting crime.

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