Hey Viv, it’s Jen. Just wanted to make sure you got to your train okay. We’re still at the airport. Dee-Dee is currently being strip searched by an Amazon, so hopefully we won’t miss our flight. I’ll fill you in later. Bye!
Watching the typically mild-mannered Dee-Dee get belligerent with the security personnel at Reagan National was one of the highlights of my trip to DC. Getting to third base with a prison guard-esque woman wearing blue latex gloves was probably not a highlight for Dee-Dee. But man, was I tempted to pull out my camera…
DC stories and illustrations to come later this week!

8 Comments; | Filed under: General

It’s not really my birthday yet, but I’m leaving for DC on Friday to celebrate, so I will be partying with some lobbyists and senators and interns all weekend, and wanted to be sure to capture a few important thoughts while I’m in a reflective mood.
As a Pisces, I am the oldest and wisest sign of the zodiac, but now that I’m turning 35, I don’t like to think of myself as old. I prefer the term “mostly dead.”
And while I believe in astrology, I have never been much of a fan of daily horoscopes. This would be why:

Pisces (Feb. 19 – Mar. 20):
The talent you’ve mastered has been neglected of late – get back to it! You’re happier and more fulfilled when you’re practicing your “thing,” and everyone around you will benefit.
– Chicago Sun Times, Tuesday, March 14, 2006

The talent I’ve mastered. Talent. I have mastered. Mastered.
Uh, hello? Little help?
Now, there are all sorts of “things” that I “practice” that make me “happier,” but how exactly am I supposed to know which one of these is “my thing?” Because now, not only is my happiness and fulfillment on the line, but I have to worry about everyone around me? So if I don’t practice “my thing,” none of you will benefit? This is bullshit. What kind of birthday horoscope is that?
God forbid I don’t do that one talented thing I do, because then the rest of you will have to suffer. Some birthday this is turning out to be.
Another thing I learned today, while watching the repeat of the premiere of the new cycle of America’s Next Top Model, is that if I ever go on America’s Next Top Model, I will make sure not to seem like I have any self esteem. Tyra doesn’t like it when people don’t find themselves hideous. Tyra gets very mad when you think you did well in a photo shoot. Tyra will not tolerate anything other than utter self-loathing. The most important thing to know about modeling is that there is always someone prettier and thinner and taller than you, so don’t you ever forget it. And in Tyra’s case, there is always someone with a less bulbous forehead.
Well, I guess the good part about getting older is I don’t have to have a point to my entries anymore. Old people are always starting stories and not finishing them, and I know for a fact that this is a talent of mine, so I look forward to cultivating this gift in my 35th year and beyond.
Oh yeah, and old people also tell the same stories over and over again. Like, did I ever tell you about the time I got locked in a basement? God, what a fright I had. Or when I got drunk and hugged a co-worker? Lordy, lordy, lordy. Oh! I know you haven’t heard this one yet! One time, I paid $7.50 to download really terrible ringtones for my cell phone. I was really reckless when I was 34.
Wait… what was I saying?

40 Comments; | Filed under: General

“Now that I finally got that You’re Beautiful song out of my head, I’m happy to say a really good one has replaced it.”
“Oh yeah, what?”
“Din Da Da.”
“Huh?”
“You know – from Breakin’? Or is it from Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo? You know it: Din da da, dun doe doe, din da da, dun doe.”
“Never heard of it. Those are actually the words? I don’t think I ever really saw either of those movies. We didn’t have cable until I was older.”
“Nat! Tell me you’re joking! How is it possible that you have never seen Breakin’? It’s such a good movie! There’s like these two really good breakdancers – Turbo and Ozone – and they meet this rich white girl, Kelly, who’s studying to be a professional dancer. She falls in love with one of them – I think Ozone – and then her parents get mad. Ozone calls her Special K, and she wears fingerless gloves. It’s so good.”
“Yeah, sounds like it.”
“And it’s got the classic storyline that all movies should follow – ragtag group of neighborhood kids has to set aside their differences and band together to save the teen center. Big dance numbers and then it’s all din da da, dun doe doe, din da da, dun doe.”
*** Later that same evening, in car on way to bar ***
“Din da da, dun doe doe, din da da, dun doe. Hey – I should see if I can download that song off my cellphone.”
“Can you do that?”
“I don’t know – I never tried.”
“Maybe they have it as a ringtone.”
“Ohmigod! That would be the most awesome ringtone ever! Can you imagine? You call me and my phone just goes, din da da, dun doe doe, din da da, dun doe. Awesome.”
*** Ten minutes later, still trying to figure out how to download ringtones ***
“Well, it doesn’t look like they have Din Da Da, but they have In Da Club. Oh – I’m gonna download Push It! Wait – do I really want to spend $2.50 to have Push It as my ringtone?”
*** Twenty seconds and $2.50 later ***
“This doesn’t sound like Push It at all!”
“Seriously, Jenny – that’s the worst version of Push It I’ve ever heard. Do not even set that as the ring for when I call you!”
“Don’t worry, you’re still the theme song from Facts of Life.”
“Facts of Life? That’s even worse! Give me a better ring than that. What did Dee-Dee get?”
“Uh, lemme see. Oh, she’s Asian Jingle. Do you want to be crickets?”
“No, I want to be something good. Download the Doobie Brothers Black Water for my ringtone! I wanna hear some funky Dixieland, pretty momma gonna take me by the hand…”
“By the hand, hand…”
“Take me by the hand…”
“Pretty momma! But seriously, Nat – is it really worth another $2.50?“
“Are you putting a price on my friendship?”
“Oh, for the love of… fine. You’re Black Water.”
“And you should see if they have Rock Me Amadeus! That would be so cool – doo doo dee, doo doo doo doo, doo doo dee. Amadeus, Amadeus! Amadeus! Amadeus, Amadeus! Amadeus!”
“I don’t know if I want my phone singing in German. Just creeps me out a little. Oh wait, unless it was 99 Luft Balloons! Doo doo doo doo doo. Doo doo doo doo doo doooo. Dee bee daa bee baa beeda baa, bada bee bada bee ba bada bum… 99 eins zwei drei! 99 luft balloons go by!”
“That’s a psycho ringtone.”
“Like Black Water is cool?”
“You’re the one who just paid $2.50 for it, not me.”
“So that’s how we’re playing it, Nat? Fine, let’s see… Contacts… L, M, N, Natasha… Assign Personal Ringtones… okay… Black Water… Delete… and… Greensleeves… ASSIGN! YEAH! Hey, who’s that calling me? Oh it’s just Ye Olde Natasha McGreensleeves. Hey Renaissance woman, where’s your lute? What’s that? You want to go out for a turkey leg and some mead later? Uh, let me get back to you on that. Ha!”
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about me calling you anytime soon.”

31 Comments; | Filed under: General

I just don’t get it. I mean, what part of, “I got drunk and hugged another co-worker tonight,” do you not understand?
I know I’m a hypocrite. I know it violates nearly everything I stand for. But what do you want me to say – that I didn’t do it? I’m not going to lie to you. I’m not ashamed. Well, yes, actually I am, but that’s not the point.
It’s only Wednesday, and this has been one of the most stressful weeks of my entire working life. So maybe I convinced my out-of-town co-worker to come out to dinner to my new favorite restaurant (Avec – which you must all go to, now. E.V.E.R.Y.O.N.E. of you. Now!). And maybe we drank a bunch of carafinas of wine. And perhaps, just perhaps, one carafina of wine equates to half a bottle, and maybe I drank two and a half carafinas, which equates to… wait… let’s do the math… carry the one… I DRANK SEVEN BOTTLES OF WINE TONIGHT!
But why is that wrong? I don’t understand why everyone is judging me. Do you not recall that I was trapped in a fucking basement for 60 of the longest minutes of my life this past weekend? (And yes, I spelled out the whole swear… I’m that drunk.)
And here’s what else happened. My awesome and well-intentioned out-of-town co-worker expensed our expensive dinner, which means my company got me fat-bellied drunk tonight. And I noticed that my delightfully sweet but small-town co-worker left kind of a cheap tip, so I convinced him that he needed to go to the bathroom before getting on his plane, and while he was in the bathroom, I gave the waiter some more money, telling him that there was a mistake on the tip. He was confused at first, then smiled, and touched my arm in a way that told me that if his inclination didn’t lean in a different direction, he would most certainly have married me right there.
Since this is soon to become the only restaurant I ever eat at, I must treat the wait staff well, and they will return the favor in kind.
There was a moment tonight when I had the most perfect bite of pasta Bolognese, preceded by the most perfect forkful of artichoke and mushroom salad, followed by the most perfect sip of some Spanish red whose name I cannot recall, and at that exact moment, I felt jealous of myself. I wanted to be me so badly that I almost hated myself. Why did I deserve to be so happy when I was so very stressed? It just wasn’t fair.
And yet it was.
So now I am home, fat-bellied drunk on the company dime, and so green with envy that I can’t even look at myself. I hope you can all come with me next time. I promise to hug you.

16 Comments; | Filed under: General

You really never know how you’re going to react in a life or death situation until you’re actually in one. Some people panic. Some people freeze. Some people become heroic. I mostly just kicked.

It was Saturday afternoon around 3:00pm, and I was doing my laundry. After pulling my clothes out of the dryer, I hugged them briefly for warmth, then folded them neatly in my basket. As I headed out of the basement and pulled on the door handle, it wouldn’t open. I yanked a few more times, rattling the door more violently. It then became all too apparent to me that the latch on the outside of the door must have slammed shut when I closed the door, locking me inside.

I was trapped.

In the basement.

In winter.

In a little red hooded sweatshirt.

My first thought, immediately after “Oh you have got to be f*cking kidding me,” was, “If I ever make it out of here alive, I’m so blogging this.”

I didn’t have my trusty notebook with me to record the experience, but I’ll try my best to recap my thought process as I endured what was both the longest and shortest hour of my life. Any bad swears are due to the post-traumatic stress disorder that I’m probably suffering from right this very moment.

************************************************************

Clean laundry – yay! Oh god, it’s so warm, and smells so good. I almost want to crawl inside the dryer. A lot of cats die by crawling into dryers. Didn’t Kerry’s cat die in the dryer? How do I have five unmatched socks? God, that drives me nuts.

[Balance laundry basket on hip, then pull on door, which doesn’t budge. Set laundry basket down to pull again with two hands. Still doesn’t budge. Think about it for a moment, then realize that the latch must have flipped shut when I closed the door.]

Oh f*ck.

You have got to be f*cking kidding me! Okay, just step back a second. This is so not a big deal. I’ll just kick the door really hard and someone will hear me. Yeah, right. Just like they heard my apartment door being kicked in when I was burglarized last year.

F*cking morons.

[Kick the door for about 10 minutes. Listen every few minutes for any signs of life outside. Hear nothing and resume kicking.]

Maybe I should try Morse code. Three fast, three slow, three fast is S.O.S. Who the hell knows Morse code? I mean, everyone knows Morse code for S.O.S. but who would actually pay attention to it?

[Look around basement. There are no windows, only storage lockers, benches, a broken stove, washers and dryers.]

A broken stove? What can I do with a broken stove? Coils, steel, metal racks… think, dammit, think!

Okay, maybe there are some tools down here. I’ll just have to break the door down. Crap, I’m totally gonna have to call my landlord to tell him I broke the door down because I was trapped in the basement. Godammit. I hate calling him. Then he’s gonna be all, “You did what? And hey, did you even pay your March rent yet?”

[Walk back up to door and slam shoulder into it, thinking this might jiggle the latch loose. This hurts a lot, and is nothing like when Bruce Willis does it in the movies. Return to girly kicking and door rattling.]

Let’s see, what else is down here that I can use? Here’s a wooden table leg. No, probably not. Bed frame? It’s heavy enough, and if I got a running start, it just might work. But as a last resort only. I could always just wait for someone to come down and do their laundry. But no one does laundry on Saturday night. I’ll be here until Sunday afternoon.

Oh god, I’m so thirsty.

There’s got to be something here that I can use to get out.

[Open random unlocked storage lockers, looking through neighbors’ crap. Broken lamp, ceramic plant pots, Christmas lights, game of horseshoes…]

Horseshoes! I could use those for something, definitely. Like a hammer. What am I hammering? Something. The broken stove maybe? What does that even mean?

Hey, that’s kind of a cool antique dresser! I sure wouldn’t keep it down here, though. It’s covered in cobwebs. Is that a dead cockroach? F*ck.

[Scan the basement walls. Look to see if windows have suddenly appeared. Notice a little crack in the third panel of the door. Did I do that? Look at the fuse boxes on the west wall.]

Fuse boxes! I could cut the electricity, then surely someone would come down here to check the fuses. Or are they all so stupid they would just assume it was a blackout, and light some candles? Yes, these people are all that stupid. I hate these people. I should smash all their stuff. Except that antique dresser – I’m just taking that if I ever get out of here alive.

[Kick door really hard, thankful I wore heavy shoes today.]

Oh, god. I’m dying of thirst. I’m really glad I went to the bathroom before coming down here, though. What if I had to pee on the floor, or worse? Oh, I don’t even want to think about that. Is there any food down here? My mouth is really dry.

[Hear car going through alley. Run to door and resume kicking.]

I think I hear a car slowing down. Oh, I can kind of see something through the crack. Hello?! Hello?! Oh crap – it’s pulling away. They’re pulling away! Damn you!

[Kick really, really hard. Alternate patterns of kicking. Kick to the beat of Push It. What seems like an eternity passes until I hear signs of life outside.]

Hello?!

I hear someone! Someone’s walking this way!

Hello?! Can you open this door please?

[Door opens, and I see my neighbors from two houses down. I don’t know them, but always wave to the man when he’s walking his fat-bellied dogs.]

Oh my god, thank you! The latch shut when I closed the door! I’ve been trying to MacGyver my way out of here for the past hour!

************************************************************

We shook hands and laughed, and I decided to never to do laundry again. I thought about how important it is to be nice to neighbors and wave to them when they are walking their fat dogs. And then I immediately called Natasha to tell her my tale. We spent the next 20 minutes playing through various fantasy sequences where my lack of human contact turned me into a savage:

“I love how you started going through everyone’s stuff after only being locked in for like five minutes.”

“I had to! I could’ve been down there for days! I was trying to figure out how I could short-circuit the whole building. Or carve a hole in the door, push a metal rod through, and wiggle the latch until it flipped open.”

“What if you went all Rip Van Winkle, and when they found you, your hair was really long, and your nails were like claws?”

“Totally! Or I would’ve turned all Lord of the Flies, and as soon as someone came through the door, I would have killed them with all the booby traps I had created from two bicycle tires and a milk crate.”

“And then you’d be eating bugs and catching rats to survive. Why did you just turn into Gollum?”

“I almost did! And I was so thirsty down there!”

“Aren’t there wash basins in your laundry room?”

“Uh… oh yeah, I guess there are. So I wouldn’t have died of dehydration, that much we’ve learned. But I almost forgot how to talk, I was down there so long. I was like Nell… tay ina winnnn…”

“Did you find a beachball and draw a bloody smiley face on it like Tom Hanks in Castaway?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I was all, WILSON!!!”

“Well, I’m glad you survived. You should always bring your cell phone with you to the laundry room from now on.”

“No doubt. All right, I need to go get some food. It’s like, you don’t even know how good food tastes until you’ve been deprived of it for so long. See you later!”

I just hope someday someone finds the self-portrait I drew on the wall using laundry detergent and spider legs. Otherwise it’ll be like I was never really there.

32 Comments; | Filed under: General

I didn’t set out to become your sworn enemy. I mean, does anyone, really? I can’t imagine anyone wakes up and says, “Today I want to make at least one person hate me. Hopefully more.”
It’s not like that. It’s just that sometimes we have to do things that we know might hurt other people, but our reasons for doing that thing are really valid and outweigh the risk of making you hate us. And also, maybe I am still harboring a bit of resentment over the whole Turkish Delights thing, but that’s really not the point.
Perhaps it will help you appreciate where I’m coming from if I provide a bit of background. For the past three days, about every hour or so, I have caught myself humming a little tune. A musical interlude to break up the monotony of my day. Just a simple refrain that swirls around in my head. Over. And over. And over. And over.
And then I’ll be pulled into an important business meeting, and I’ll start thinking about deliverables and action items and takeaways, and I’ll get back to my desk, and then it will start all over again.
You’re beautiful.
You’re beautiful.
You’re beautiful, it’s true.
That’s it. That’s all I know of the song. And that’s all I know of the song because that’s all they play on the ad for this mofo’s new CD, now on sale at Wal-Mart. And in the ad, which I assume is a clip from his video, he sings in this whiney sensitive boy slow-mo look at me singing in the rain crap while he slowly unzips his little hoodie. If I hadn’t made a resolution that 2006 would be all about more love, I would kill this man and mount his head on a pole for all future whiney boy singers to behold. Like John Mayer and his mush mouth.
So anyway, this got me thinking. Barring a frontal lobotomy, how could I get this song out of my head? I emailed my friend Natasha for advice:
>>>You have to sing the whole song all the way through.
>>>But I don’t know the whole song. I don’t want to know the whole song!
>>>It’s the only way.
>>>Well, what if you just gave me another song? Like, what’s a song that gets stuck in your head all the time? Maybe I can just take that one instead.
>>>DAMN YOU!! Now you made me think of the songs I’ve been trying to get out of my head!
>>>Look, Nat. The damage is done, so just give me some ideas.
>>>Fine. Push It by Salt n Pepa, but mostly just the intro “doo doo doo / doo doo / doo / doo doo doo doo doo.” And also the “yo yo yo yo baby pop yeah you, come here give me a kiss.”
>>>Good one! That’s way better than “You’re beautiful…” DAMN IT! Now that’s back in my head! Yo yo yo yo baby pop. I’m gonna ask Dee-Dee, too. Later!

>>>Hey Dee. What are some songs that get stuck in your head and you can’t get them out?
>>>Pretty much every song Nat sings when I ride to work with her.
>>>Such as…?
>>>”Turn around, every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes. Turn around. Every now and then I fall apart! And I need you now tonight! And I need you more than ever!” You know the rest. Oh yeah, and Black Cat by Janet Jackson.
>>>Bonnie Tyler’s a genius. But what the hell is Black Cat? I don’t think I know that one.
>>>You know it. You’ll know it when I hum it for you and it gets stuck in your head for three days…
After chatting with Nat and Dee-Dee, I decided that I should adopt the same attitude about annoying songs that I have about syphilis: if I’m going crazy, I’m taking someone with me.
Which is where you come in. I now firmly believe that the only way to remove an insanely irritating song from your brain is to put it into someone else’s, and perhaps replace it with another, hopefully slightly less irritating song. Behold – this week’s OPINION POLL! I’m actually going to offer fewer choices than normal because I think the most important part of this poll is for you to exorcise your own personal song loop demons.
So please don’t hate me if, later today, you catch yourself humming “You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, it’s true,” over and over again like a crazy person. I had to save myself.
Question: Which annoying-as-all-get-out song gets stuck in your head and plays over and over and over again until you want to stab forks in your ears, but that wouldn’t even help because they’ve traced the song and it’s coming from inside your brain?
1. You’re Beautiful, by that mofo
2. Total Eclipse of the Heart, by Bonnie Tyler
3. Push It, by Salt n Pepa
4. It’s a Small World, by Walt Disney
5. Theme song from the Menard’s commercial (“You save big money, you save big money, when you shop Menard’s!”)
6. Other (please explain)

28 Comments; | Filed under: Opinion Poll

1. Turkish Delights
Why, oh why, dear Internet, hast thou forsaken me? Why did no one tell me how disgusting Turkish Delights would be? Why did you all tell me that they would be every bit as delectable as they appeared to be in Narnia? Why did you promise me that my life would feel complete with Turkish Delights?
Okay, actually, they weren’t totally disgusting, but I think the texture got to me after a while.
My brain was like:
“Hmm. That first bite was firm, but chewy. Good. Okay. I can do this. Oh! And there’s a pistachio – how unexpected! [swallow] Oh, now the second bite tastes sweeter for some reason. Did I get more of a hint of honey with this one? Yes, maybe that’s it. [swallow] Well this third bite is… is this even the same candy? What does it feel like… a rubber eraser? Head cheese? Oh, oh gross. That coconut feels like fur! [throat closing]”

2. Fat Tuesday
Co-worker #1: “Hey everyone! I brought in paczkis for our department! I had to wait in line at 5:30 this morning to get them.”
Co-workers #2-15: “Ooooh! Aaaaah! Yayyy!”
Me: “What’s a paczki? Is that like a tchotchke”
Co-workers #1-15 and the elevator repairman: “WHAT?!?!? You don’t know what paczkis are? Only the most traditional Polish Fat Tuesday jelly filled treat! What’s wrong with you?”
Me: “Uh, well… I… my mother was a heathen gypsy?”

3. Dr. Travis
Why do I care about The Bachelor: Paris so? I told my friend Natasha that I couldn’t join her at her apartment for a Bachelor finale party because I had to work on an important presentation for work. But then I ended up watching it anyway and calling her during every commercial break.
Best line ever [spoken through intermittent sobs]: “When you look at someone, and realize that you’re staring back at your soul… aboo hoo hoo!”
I am convinced that this bachelor is the spawn of Maria Shriver and a pit bull. Just look at the jaw on that kid! If he latches onto you, he’ll crack your skull.

Based on the natural physical evolution of previous Bachelors, I predict that next season we will see RoboBachelor: Silicon Valley – which woman can jumpstart his heart?

18 Comments; | Filed under: General

He’s been screaming at her for the past hour, and she’s almost at her breaking point. She tries to get him to be quiet, afraid of what the neighbors must think. Why does she put herself through this? But then she remembers – sometimes when he’s asleep, she watches him breathe, wonders what he’s dreaming about. He can be so sweet at times.
“You want to leave? Then go already! Why don’t you just f*ing go?!”
He paces back and forth across the living room, ignoring her questions.
“What the hell is keeping you here? If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you walk out the door? And take all your shit with you, while you’re at it.”
He walks back over to where she is sitting on the couch, and she thinks that maybe he’s calmed down until the screaming starts all over again. This time she’s had it. She stares right back at him and laughs, cruelly.
“Oh that’s right. You can’t walk out that door, can you? Because you don’t have opposable thumbs! Scream all you want, but you’re not going anywhere, are you?!”
He paces in front of the door some more, tries to peer underneath the crack, then stretches up to rattle the doorknob.
“Tapping it’s not gonna work. Just turn it, you big baby! All you have to do is turn it to the right a little. I don’t know why you’re yelling at me – I’m not stopping you!”
He gives up, for the moment, and she hears the crunching sound of him eating some food in the kitchen.
“I should, you know. I should let you leave.”
He’s drinking some water now.
“You think it’s fun out there? You think there are bowls of food just lying around on every street corner? You wouldn’t have the first clue what to do if I actually let you outside. I mean, look at how fat you’ve gotten. Christ, it looks like you’re pregnant!”
But deep down, she knows that she’s really trying to convince herself of this. In reality, he would do just fine on his own. He’s very resourceful and quite charming when he wants to be. And he’s not afraid to ask for what he wants. He is the squeaky wheel that will always get the oil.
He tries to leave her every chance he gets. He’s made it down the stairs a few times, but she always gets him back. She thinks about not chasing after him this time. Still, though, the thought of losing him terrifies her. She tries to reconcile.
“Look, just come over and sit with me, will you? Come on. Come here, please? I’m sorry I said your ass looked like an Easter ham. You’re really in pretty good shape for being neutered.”
She strokes his face and holds his thumbless hands. He lays his head on her chest and they fall asleep together.

16 Comments; | Filed under: General

I’m sitting in the food court at the train station, carelessly flipping through what is a very uninteresting newspaper. Across from me sits a table of young professionals – five in total – and I suspect that wherever they work is most likely their first job out of college.
It is their enthusiasm for lunch that betrays them – like they are still expecting there to be recess as soon as they finish their cartons of milk and scrape clean their pudding cups. The two men: bright-eyed, with just a hint of acne, and necks a bit too skinny for their big-man shirts and ties. The three women: bubbly, with nighttime makeup, and more than a bit of discomfort in their skirt suits.
Seeing these youngsters in their business attire reminds me of when I first met my friend Dee-Dee. We had both just been hired on as interns in the marketing research department at a company in Milwaukee, and were eager to make a good impression. Me with my nude pantyhose and long skirts, and Dee-Dee with her shoulders. Well, shoulder pads, really, but the image of her grand entrance into the office was that of a Donna Karan linebacker sashaying down a catwalk.
I was in earth tones and tasteful pearl earrings, but Dee-Dee meant business in her head-to-toe black. On her initial tour of the company, she was mistakenly led into the CEO’s office as he was meeting our new General Counsel.
“Dave! So nice to see you again! Great to have you as part of the team. We’re going to have to get you involved in our annual golf outing – we could use some fresh blood! And hello, I’m sorry… I don’t think we’ve met yet…”
“I’m Dee-Dee… the new intern in the marketing research department.”
With her powerful handshake extending from her even more powerful suit, it was clear from that moment that Dee-Dee would quickly climb the ladder at this company.
Years passed and dress codes grew lax. Professional Attire led to Casual Fridays which became Business Casual Always and finally Jeans Fridays. But still, Dee-Dee kept the suit. It hung in her closet like Excalibur, the source of her strength and symbol of her rise to power. She couldn’t give it up, nor the flowy chiffon pants that she and her college roommate Natasha bought on sale at Banana Republic in 1990, convinced that they would cut them up and sew them into curtains for their first apartment.
A few years ago, when Dee-Dee was rearranging her apartment, she decided to finally clean out the closet in her spare bedroom. Natasha, who had long since traded the rolling meadows of Milwaukee for the towering skyscrapers of Chicago, was in town for a visit. I was at home watching TV when Nat called me in a semi-coherent panic, yelling at me to come over to Dee’s house immediately. I expected to discover a fire or flood, but instead, found a fashion show. Natasha’s eyes were puffy from crying, as she sat in a heap of clothes on the floor of Dee-Dee’s bedroom, a half-empty bottle of wine at her side.
“Ohmigod! Jenny – get in here now! Dee’s trying on her old work clothes!”
I walked in just as Dee-Dee was buttoning up her pirate blouse. I immediately let out a most unflattering cackle, and made a bee-line to the closet. Rifling through her clothes like a madwoman, I threw one outfit after another at her.
“Here – put on this paisley vest with that collarless shirt! No wait – this short jacket with the gold buttons – try this one on!”
There were bursts of hysterical laughter followed by long periods of silence as we tried hard to pull air into our lungs. By the end, every square inch of Dee’s floor was covered with a period piece of some sort. Just as we started to pack things up and put them into bags for the Salvation Army, Dee-Dee yelled for us to stop. She crawled deep into the darkest corner of her closet and emerged bearing the pièce de résistance: hounds tooth plaid stretch pants. I blacked out shortly thereafter.
The table of young upwardly mobile professionals is laughing loudly, nearly choking on burgers and Chinese food. Lunch is still a thrill for them. One of the men has packed a lunch from home and takes big bites of his sandwich followed by gulps of Dr. Pepper.
I look down at my Caesar chicken wrap and blame Dee-Dee for my own inability to pack a lunch. During the near decade that we worked together, I can count on one hand the number of times we brought in our lunches. Even when I would try to be healthy and save money, Dee-Dee would tempt me with soup and sandwich specials at the local deli, or sushi lunch boxes in the strip mall. I grew to need the physical escape more than the food itself.
I am finishing up my lunch as the table of future executives crumples up wrappers, straightens ties, and shuffles back to work, laughing the entire way. I continue flipping through the paper and notice a headline: “Stretch pants are back!”
And so the cycle continues.

19 Comments; | Filed under: General

These past few days have been really trying on me emotionally. In a span of 48 hours, I renounced my US citizenship, became a Canadian, was alternately embraced and mocked by my Canadian brethren, and fell into a deep spiral of depression fueled by the resulting identity crisis.
There has been a lot of heated political debate on this site, so I wanted to calm things down a bit and open up the forum to everyone, because this should be a place where we can come together not as Americans or Australians, Belgians or Brazilians, but simply as people. Open your hearts and just imagine it, will you?
So to switch gears from talking about me and how I feel about my new citizenship, I want to spend some time talking about me and how I feel about grocery shopping.
It all began last weekend: while gathering all the necessary ingredients to make my world-famous turkey chili, I caught myself staring into the baskets and carts of my fellow shoppers. Now, this cart-staring isn’t a new phenomenon – I do it whenever I grocery shop – but something was different this time. I guess this was the first time I realized that I was doing more than just satisfying idle curiosity.
By examining the contents of other people’s baskets, I was unconsciously forming a snap judgment about whether or not I was attracted to that person. What I also discovered was that there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what attracted me and what repelled me. Case in point:

Red grapes – attractive

Red Delicious apples – not attractive

FrankenBerry – attractive

Frosted Flakes – not attractive

Pepperoni pizza – attractive

Hamburger pizza – not attractive
At first glance, you might think that I’m only attracted to someone buying things I like to eat. I considered that theory myself for a while, except that I don’t always like the things I found myself attracted to. Like, for instance, I would never in a million years eat FrankenBerry cereal, but would be completely charmed by someone who did.
I wanted to test my theory, so I started walking around the grocery store and casually perused the contents of everyone’s carts. What I found was that, regardless of their appearance, social status or apparent mental stability, I had a visceral response to people based solely upon the contents of their carts.
Category 1: Wildly Charming

Grape Nehi

A single coconut

Pop Tarts with sprinkles

Sprinkles

Nilla Wafers

Blueberries

Carrots with stems

Pabst Blue Ribbon
Category 2: Not a Second Glance

Orange Crush

Cantaloupe

Pancake batter

Chocolate frosting

Windmill cookies

Strawberries

Bag of baby carrots

Bacardi Breezers
Category 3: Jury’s Still Out

Goober Grape
For some reason, I simply cannot categorize this one. It seems absolutely repulsive as a food item, but it’s just so weird that I found myself oddly intrigued by the fact that someone was actually buying it.
So all this analysis leads me to my latest Opinion Poll! Tell me your secrets! Voice your opinion! Bare your soul!
Question: Which of the following grocery items would attract you most to the person in front of you at the checkout counter?
1. Marshmallow Peeps
2. Count Chocula cereal
3. Star fruit
4. Root beer
5. A single coconut
6. Shoe polish
7. Brussel sprouts on the stalk
8. Other (please explain)

26 Comments; | Filed under: Opinion Poll