86 Tips?

The End of the Innocence, Part II

2006-09-24T18:02:00.000-05:00

Some interesting things I've been thinking about:

#1: "The opposite of 'love' is not 'hate.' It is indifference."

#2: "True love doesn't end 'happily ever after.' True love never ends."

#3: "It takes two to tango."

Regarding #1, I find this to resonate particularly strongly with me because I definitely don't 'hate' my STBX, but I definitely don't 'love' him either. If I 'loved' him, I wouldn't be feeling the way that I do about him and about my future possibilities with other men. I wouldn't be doing some of the things I am doing. When it comes to the thought of him being with someone else, I say: 'Good luck!' to her. I was his first real love and serious relationship, and by virtue of that it has meant that he hasn't had to try very hard. You can't give your all when you don't even know what questions to ask or what you should be doing. God bless the next woman he comes in contact with, because she'll have to run his ass through "boyfriend bootcamp."

Regarding #2, there are a lot of funny expectations people have. Happily ever after shouldn't be any of our goals. Even after the 'cooling off' of a romantic relationship, the love and intimacy that has been created should still abide. It will allow things to re-ignite over the course of a lifetime. Crossing an artificial 'finish line' like living together, getting engaged, or walking down the aisle doesn't implicitly come with all of the promises, love and intimacy that you would think it would. Any sort of commitment should be because of and based upon those feelings, not to strengthen or affirm those feelings.

Regarding #3, if one of the spouses/partners in a relationship is unhappy or unfulfilled for any reason, the other partner definitely can feel it. Put simply: just because I am the 'initiator' spouse in this divorce, the one to suggest counseling, etc, doesn't mean that my STBX is some kind of innocent victim in this whole thing or that I am the 'bad one.' Just as there are things about him that I wish were different, there are things about me that he would change as well. Neither of us are the other's 'ideal' partner at this point. There is nothing I can do to change this.

Finally. A reality check:
1. I acknowledge that no relationship is going to be 'perfect.'
2. I acknowledge that there are always going to be tradeoffs.
3. I understand that no man can fill my needs if I don't first do that myself.
4. I understand that no one can help me if I don't allow them to do so.
5. I hope that I can someday find someone who I am able to give 100% to.
6. I hope that this new love is able to give 100%.
7. I will remember that it is okay to fall in love, to fall out of love, to move on, and to try again.
8. I will remember that maintaining the status quo, putting on appearances is the easy, cowardly way out, and that the reason what I am doing feels hard is because it IS hard.
9. I know that I have all of the resources I need.
10. I know that I can do this.

Love until later,
Jackie

The End of the Innocence

2006-09-21T18:49:00.000-05:00

July 12, 2003: At just 21 years old, a freckled, optimistic brunette married a tall, almost-law student at around 10 in the morning in a beautiful, old Presbyterian Church. Smiling bravely, she came down the aisle, hoping her smile would bely her fear. She was getting married! What could go wrong? Standing across from him, she hoped she was the bride of his dreams.

June 06, 2006: He graduates from law school. Watching him sit in the large stadium in cloak and hood, tears fall down her face as she considers the price of this degree: countless nights waitressing, a deferment of her education, and not any extra love from him to show for it. Putting on a proud face for his family, she knows she's been a fool. She feels ashamed, and angry. Does this wrong choice really have to be forever?

September 20, 2006: This very same couple sits across the room from each other. Her legs are folded under her body, her arms wrapped around her chest protectively, her body drowning in the large black leather chair. He sits on the couch across from her. Their eyes don't meet. Their words are mitigated by a therapist. They have outgrown each other. They married too young, too soon. She grew up and he didn't. He can't change the things that separate them. She doesn't want him to. Who he and she is will not change. He does not understand how to love her in a way she understands, and she cannot bridge the gap by herself. When she pulls back, the emotional space is empty. They speak calmly about no one's fault, neatly citing reasons from their individual therapy that agree.

September 21, 2006: He packs a bag and decides to get out of the house for a few weeks. She feels relieved as it is a time to have space, find her own apartment, decide on the things that she would like, and prepare to become divorced before 25. If home is where the heart is, the heart is certainly not here.

She longs to set up her own place where she can grow, learn and move from this. Where she'll have her own place for the first time since college. Where she'll have to answer to no one but herself, and settle for nothing less than someone who is going to love her with his whole heart. Where she can find someone to give her heart to, not contingent on any false guarantees. The wedding rings on her hand certainly didn't protect this love that is now gone. The hurt she feels radiates from the fact that she believed in all of the wrong things, the things that promises are not made of. It is wrong to her to be loyal to a hollow promise, a life without fulfillment. She'll find someone that she will choose everyday not because she needs him financially or for security, but for love, friendship and to share her life with. And if she doesn't find anyone--she'll be okay on her own. The difficult thing about finding a life partner is that most of us don't know what we want/need until we try it out and see what DOESN'T work.

Soaking Wet

2006-09-14T20:48:00.000-05:00

We have been having intermittent, torrential downpowers here in Chicago. On the way home from work this week, I was walking demurely with my umbrella, when the skies totally opened up on me. And the umbrella suddenly wasn't helping. Right then, I did something that surprised me. I laughed.

Normally, I would be pissed that my shoes were getting ruined, that mascara might run down my face, that lightning might strike me and I would lose my eyebrows. But not this time. I was amazed by the force, by the sheer power of the water falling from the sky. I marveled at the lightning crackling between the high rises, people's condos becoming tiny skylights as the twilight broke. I giggled, recalling that when I am looking out of my condo during a storm, I feel sorry for the people getting wet below, and now how if anyone was looking out their window, they would feel bad for or laugh at the poor girl with the inside-out pink umbrella.

In love with a DJ

2006-09-04T21:17:00.000-05:00

1. Sisqo v. AC/DC

"She had dumps like a truck (truck, truck)
Thighs like what (what, what)
All night long, let me see that thong." (Sisqo, The Thong Song)

Um, sorry, but I don't know if I want anyone to inform me that my "dumps" look like a truck.
Let's try again, shall we?

"Telling me no lies
Knockin' me out with those American thighs
Taking more than her share
Had me fighting for air.." (AC/DC, You Shook Me All Night Long)

Excellent. I can live with that.

2. George Michael v. Edwin McCain

"I will be your father figure (Oh baby)
Put your tiny hand in mine (I'd love to)
I will be your preacher teacher (Be your daddy)" (George Michael, Father Figure)

Ew George Michael! Just Ew! That whole father figure thing just takes it to the next level of grossness. Quick, how can we get out of this 80's freakshow?

"I'll be your crying shoulder
I'll be your love suicide
and I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life..." (Edwin Mc Cain, I'll Be)

Nothing like a little something from "Misguided Roses" to save the day.

In case anyone's wondering, I'm mixing CDs right now with my macbook. Hee.

Short Mixed Updates

2006-08-29T21:56:00.000-05:00

There are so many posts I could write, you guys. So instead of trying to write a bunch, or only picking one, or just infinitely not posting until I make up my f#&@! mind, I have decided to make this post a series of "shorts."

1. Seriously, Man Overboard (Early August)

So, our humongous cruise ship was pulling into a tropical port two weeks ago, and I was on my balcony, watching the sun rise. With last night's delicious dinner still in my stomach somewhere, the thought of going to the breakfast buffet on the Lido deck wasn't that appealing. Down below me on a lower deck, I see this guy sitting strangely. I look closer, trying to look like I'm not looking. (Hee.) He's sitting on the railing. My heart racing, I start to think about what a bad idea that is, and then shame myself for not being the kind of person who would ever sit on a railing. You can all guess what happened: his ass fell backwards into the drink! A few lifejackets thrown his way and a call to the front desk thingie got his stupidass out of the Caribbean Sea. Jerk.

2. New Job, Complete with Bodily Functions

So, I have a new job at a school. It is much more flexible than my former corporate job where I was laid-off, but also means I get to deal with things like toilet training (ew), crying babies (!!) and sticky toddler hands (ew). All in all it is a better gig and my boss knows that I am prepping to go to med school, and is supportive. It is nice to have more flexible hours and to be appreciated by my supervisor. Also, to have plenty of work to do during the day. I get in around 8 and by the time I look up, it's 3 and instead of thinking "Oh, shit. Two more hours to waste on the internet!" I think, "Holy cow! How am I going to get this done by 5??"

3. On Competition for getting into medical school

Most of the people applying are incredibly bright, good students who have done a TON of community service, and research just like me. God help us.

4. Portions of a Love Letter
"You care about someone and it hurts. You care and it's very good. How much love do you have to give, anyway? How much do you get back? What you do know is that not only do you feel better about yourself, you feel better about people, life, work, and the color yellow. You smile at yourself in the mirror to see how it looks. His attention makes you more confident about yourself. You're amazed that she thinks you're sexy. Knowing him shows you something about yourself, makes you better."

5. I don't want to cook a Turkey for Thanksgiving
I really, really don't. I just want to eat mashed potatoes and yams and not deal with trying to play perfect plastic daughter in law to my in-laws. Are these people kidding me? I will do it anyway but I am not making green bean casserole. No one likes it, anyway. I refuse to spend three hours prepping a vegetable centerpiece that no one is going to touch.

More later,
Jackie

Man Overboard!

2006-08-20T22:09:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone,

I just got back from a 10 day vacation, which included a Caribbean cruise, and yes, I saw a man fall (backwards) off of his stateroom balcony (he was sitting on the railing).

I am swamped trying to get acclimated at my new job (I was laid off at my office job along with a large group of the company), and I am working on applications to a few more schools and trying to follow up on places where I have turned in paperwork but am not yet complete.

So, life is interesting at this point. I'm reading all of your blogs when I can and can't wait to write a longer post. Hilarity will ensue.

xoxo,
Jackie

Breaking up is hard to do

2006-08-11T00:10:00.000-05:00

I loved you, and you have broken my heart. I have been thinking about you for so long, longing to hear from you, working around the clock to desperately gain your acceptance and approval.

University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine, I am talking to you!

You were my first choice school! I turned in all of your paperwork early, busted my ass on the MCAT, wrote you amazing essays (love letters, if you will) and batted eyes at my letter of recommendation writers. I carefully typed things in, dutifully stuck labels on envelopes and tried to smile pretty for an application photo. Upon an acceptance from your school, I would have forsaken all others, even without seeing my financial aid package. I am certainly not trying to gold-dig you.

But, alas, today, you turned the cold shoulder on me. The informal letter I received, thanking me for my "interest", but indicating that I am one of 7000+ applicants, is not sufficient to soothe my feelings for you. But, Pritzker, I have news for you. I have also applied to 18 other outstanding, gorgeous, amazing medical schools(--quite the promiscuous applicant, I know.) And I've been keeping it from you, I'm sorry. I wish I could say that it's not you, it's me, but it is you. I am not used to being the one who is dumped. Good thing I have other options.

You know what? Let's NOT be friends. Next year when I am roaming around at another fantastic medical school, I won't even be thinking of you anymore. Ass.

SO over you,
Jackie

Emotional Bungee-Jumpers, No parachute required

2006-07-31T11:11:00.000-05:00

What in the world does she mean by that title?

Well. Think about all of your relationships: romantic, friends, acquaintances, business, etc. Do you shy away from people that trigger an intense emotional reaction in you? Do you prefer to be around others who you enjoy, but can feel "emotionally in control" around? How important to you is the idea that your friends/family make you feel safe and secure?

There is a time when you decide that the risk of being hurt is worth the risk of being truly close to someone; it is worth the risk for the outcome of actual closeness and vulnerability. This applies to close friendships, love relationships, everything. And I'm not saying you should take a leap with just anyone, mind you, they should be someone worthy of knowing you in and out.

But what about that feeling that causes us to pop back, to recoil when we feel suddenly threatened, that the best way to deal with someone is at arm's length? I would have to recommend that if your gut feeling is to stay away from someone, that you should examine it. Is it that true protective "there is something WRONG with this person/I can't trust this person" or perhaps, is it that "this person scares me because they know me so well, and I am trying to run away from them, to protect myself"? Some people should definitely be kept at arm's length, especially if they are manipulative or untrustworthy. But the others? I think you have to consider them closely.

Being lucky enough to find a friend, a lover, whoever, that makes you want to grab hands and jump into really knowing each other, is worth the risk. Do it.

Actress

2006-07-25T11:58:00.000-05:00

Right now I am playing the lead role in the HIT Broadway Musical:
"Kill me now, my spouse is taking the bar exam!"
Featuring well-loved hits such as, "76 BarReview Books" and "We're having pizza again (Reprise)."

But seriously, folks. It is going to be an interesting couple of days.

Heartbreaker, You've Got The Best of Me

2006-07-18T15:14:00.000-05:00

*Or, why are medical schools losing my letters of recommendation? Already?
*Or, I should stick my head in a fusion reactor. It will be faster.
*Or, If I keep pulling my hair out, if I do get any interviews, I'll be hairless.

You hustle to study for the MCAT. You hustle to get your personal statement written. You bust out the online horror that is the AMCAS (American Medical College Application Service), also known as the primary applications.

Let's stop and do a little math, shall we? (Hammer time, y'all!)
MCAT Prep: $1600.00
Personal Statement Professional Edit: $200.00
AMCAS Primaries (to sixteen schools): $600.00
Total: $2,400.00

Okay. So, two thousand dollars in. You have provided your letter writers with packets with self-addressed stamped envelopes (a ton of stamps, like $50 but who is counting at this point?!?!)

You then get invitations to secondary from schools. They want more essays. Why do you want to go to their school? Oh, and could you send another $70-$100 with those essays? And a passport photo of yourself? Great. Good thing I have a job. Jebus.

After you have your secondary in, you can check your status online. Which letters have been checked in by the school? Which letters are not there yet? Here's what you do when letters you KNOW have been sent (that have made it to other places!) somehow can't be located: PANIC!

Just kidding. You sign up for a central processing thing for your letters, which costs you more money, and time to get it set up. Sure, it is better to just get the letter re-done completely by its author, BUT, this way you don't have to bug them every time. I'm using Interfolio for those playing along at home.

Excuse me while I see if I can get hair extensions or something.

Coming to you live from my new...

2006-07-10T23:16:00.000-05:00

Mac Book!

Woo! My old Gateway crapped out completely. After a 10:30 pm call to our resident computer expert, we determined that the best course of action was to go ahead and get a new computer.

Of course, right in the middle of my medical school secondaries and Matt studying for the IL state bar, this kind of shit happens. Nothing important. :sigh:

I will state for the record that my position has always been that our old Gateway is evil. It certainly had a lot of ticks. Ah, the strange things we had to do to keep it working.

I've got this new computer up and running, the bill safely charged to my credit card. Those silly people at American Express think I have good credit! Ha! They just increased my credit limit, too, just in time for the EVIL gateway to crash. I guess this is some sort of credit-card-company-evil-gateway conspiracy to get me to spend all of my $$, and be forced to pick neurosurgery to pay all of these bills.

Lights, Camera....Action?

2006-07-03T20:21:00.000-05:00

For awhile, I have been thinking about the way our society presents sex to people. Literally, everything people do in bedrooms (or supposedly) is suddenly a public affair. But is what we're seeing, reality?

In women's magazines like Cosmopolitan or Glamour, there are columns detailing positions, romantic ideas for turn-ons, etc. The ads feature couples in tight embraces, with flawless complexions, always dressed in designer clothing.

In movies, we see the "ideal" sex scene: the hunky man and the lithe woman, in a beautiful bedroom with dimmed lighting and loving music. Think about the sex scenes from "Dirty Dancing" or "Ghost" or whatever. You all know what I'm talking about.

In songs, we hear all sorts of things, promises of love and affection and all this.

One of the big problems I have with all of this, while it promotes discussion about sexuality like never before, it also promotes this dangerous image of sex having to be this perfect, romantic thing, that can only take place under the perfect, romantic conditions.

I don't know about you people, but if the only time I had sex was when I was in a pristine, perfect bedroom, with rose petals, sensual music, with my hair/makeup perfect, I think I might still be a virgin.

How many people do you know that lost their virginity in college? In the glamourous dorm room? Or at a party? In the backseat of a car? Who knows where? I am pretty clear that none of us lost our virginity ala Baby in "Dirty Dancing" one summer. With no birth control. With romantic music and perfect sunsets. Most of the girls I know, myself included, love that movie. Wished for the handsome hunk to sweep her away like that, take care of everything. But in reality, the guys who we slept with for the first time, were probably around the same age as us, and didn't know what he was doing any more than we did.

And yet, our society portrays this image of sexual relations that isn't real. Even our porn is bad. I am by no means a porn expert or anything; I have only seen like two. But one of the ones I did see involved a pizza delivery guy. You can just imagine. Can you imagine this conversation in real life with your friend?

You: The pizza guy? You slept with the random pizza guy? But you won't have sex with your boyfriend anywhere but the bedroom, under the covers, with the lights off? Yeah, right. You have got to be kidding me.

Nighttime Reign of Terror

2006-06-28T09:23:00.000-05:00

*Or, Jackie's ex-boyfriend is terrorizing her in her sleep

Whichever title you find clearer. Normally, when I have my period I have strange dreams, probably because I don't have the pill hormones in my body. My own hormones go into a complete frenzy. Well, apparently these hormones find it "cute" to reminisce about my high school boyfriend. Mix this with my anxiety-ridden-med-school-application-self and suddenly my (mostly) benign ex is a complete monster. Not in a beat me up kinda way, in a constant embarrassment and logistical difficulties kinda way. In that I can't get away from you and its MY DREAM ASSHOLE kinda way.

Complete with tux w/cummerbund and bad haircut. (Oh, wait. That memory is ACTUAL, and based in reality. Sigh.)

Who wants to spend all night in high school except...this time, with adult angst? Not me. I wake up so glad to be in my apartment with my handsome, peaceful, sleeping husband, I can't even tell you. Oh. I just did.

It Helps if you look in the right direction

2006-06-21T23:15:00.000-05:00

So I work in the part of the downtown grid where there are tons of one-way streets. If you know what you're doing ( look down the street in the direction the cars come from) you can cross the street whenever you want.

NOW. You would THINK this would be an OBVIOUS caveat, for, oh, I don't know, ANYONE who WANTED to NOT break their legs. Or neck.

I cannot tell you how many times I have grabbed someone by the arm right before they stepped into the street, looking THE WRONG WAY on a ONE WAY STREET.

Now. I believe in Natural Selection. Survival of the Fittest. Certainly if you are on your cell phone and looking the wrong way, maybe that says something about your gene pool. However. I don't want to see you get splattered on my lunch break.

Today I grabbed this woman from in front of a cab that was turning onto the street and, she nearly clocked me. I guess I interrupted her Blackberry conversation. Awesome. About two seconds later, she realized she had been LOOKING THE WRONG WAY and had just stepped in front of a cab that was turning. She promptly started to hyperventilate. I smiled and was like, "It helps if you're looking the right way. Be careful." I said it NICE too.

She started to cry.

Oh Jeebus.

Accounting Error, Or We Thought Jackie Had A Brain

2006-06-20T21:59:00.000-05:00

So, I turned in a spreadsheet packed with figures and calculations to my boss for a quick review.
Normally if something is off, she will highlight it and let me know. Oh, this was not the case.

When I got back from lunch, I discovered said spreadsheet, one number circled, and the words "WRONG! PLEASE REVISE!"written in HUGE letters across the page.

Oh, how the blood started to boil.

The devil wears prada, indeed.

You are what you eat: asking the right questions

2006-06-18T22:59:00.000-05:00

Just because I can't have gluten doesn't mean I should switch myself on to gluten-free crap and move on. I thought the gluten thing would be a huge problem. With Whole Foods nearby, it really isn't that bad. What is surprising is that eliminating dairy (and eggs) has proved to be more of a problem. Dairy and egg products are in EVERYTHING! I shit you not.

Now, I am not writing about these things to get all preachy with you guys. Eat what you want. It is your body. I am just in the process of discovering what is best for me. Read on. There is a point here, I promise.

I think I have been asking the wrong questions when it comes to nutrition my whole life. I have been so focused on things like, "How much fat does that have? How many calories?" as opposed to "How healthy is this? Does it help my digestion? Is this going to make me full? Where did this food come from?"

For example: Diet Coke. Diet Coke is liquid crack. It is sweetened with aspartame, which has a component, methyl alcohol. In your body, methyl alcohol turns to formaldehyde. Ew. We use formaldehyde in the lab. To preserve dead things. We don't fucking drink it. Why have I been drinking this shit for so long? I could buy Evian water or Pellegrino for the same price, and skip the chemicals. Yuck.

For example: Fat Free Snackwells. I used to think, "Oh! Fat free! Super!" and not even turn the box over. Well. "Fat Free"basically means "Assload of chemicals." Some of this stuff I have never seen in the lab. And I was a science major. Not a good sign. A better choice, you ask? Well. I have found some soft-baked gluten and dairy free cookies that only have ingredients I can recognize, none of which are a chemical. The cookies don't have preservatives, but they are a small package (also good). Woo.

I'm Still Alive

2006-06-15T12:24:00.000-05:00

Hey 86 Tips? Team!

In an effort to catch you all up on what's been going on, I am just going to make a list.
I have still been reading you all from work when I can.

Jackies Top 8 Crazy Events of May/June so Far:

**1**Matt graduated from Law School May 20, 2006! Woo! Now he is studying for the Bar exam 24/7.

**2**I am still waiting on my MCAT scores and am poised to send in my application(s). I am increasingly neurotic and strange about this so I will spare you the details.

**3**I completed my 26.2 miles for breast cancer on June 3rd! I became ill after and did not walk the second day. But I did get in my marathon! Woo!

**4**I am getting a project to do in my lab (a colon cancer research lab) soon! Woo! I am there two-three nights a week and often on Saturdays.

**5**A friend bought me a season pass to go to Six Flags with her and the kids. So fun. Yay!

**6**The doctors think I may be allergic to gluten. This has completely fucked up my eating schedule, all of the food in my house, etc. You can imagine, I am sure. I haven't had anything processed (with wheat, that comes out of a package, etc) for days. I am probably on sugar withdrawals and am CRANKY!

**7**I have started to play Oblivion (The Elder Scroll) on our Xbox. It is really, really fun. I am really, really shitty at it since I don't really play video games.

**8**I am going on a Caribbean Cruise this August! Yay! 7 days. It is the first real vacation since my freakin' honeymoon! OMG!

I appreciate very much how many of you have been checking in with me via email. Your love and support is appreciated. I am sure I will have much, much more to blog about over the next year as I work and apply to medical schools.

Love Until Later,

Jackie

Just Stay Home

2006-05-18T14:59:00.000-05:00

Last night, about 9 PM I broke down and hailed a cab to take me the 6 blocks home from the lab I am working in. Tired, and hungry, I just want to get home. It is a straight shot from where I am and where I live.

The cab driver is young. The cab is clean. We are sitting in traffic when these girls in a car next to us (with New York plates) motion to my driver to roll the window down. They ask him for directions. The light turns green. They keep talking to him. Now we're blocking TWO lanes of traffic, respectively. I sit in the backseat, haplessly, while the meter runs and cars whiz past on either side.

Tired and slowly becoming livid, I inform the cab driver that the light is GREEN. These stupid girls continue to ask more questions, and he continues to give them directions and I...I become more pissed and exasperated and THREATEN TO GET OUT OF THIS FUCKING CAB IF IT DOESN'T START MOVING THIS INSTANT!

WHY? Because these bitches are getting directions on my FUCKING dime! MINE! How rude can you be? Someone is in the back of the cab. The person on the passengers' side SAW me.

Try this: A MAP! A GAS STATION! TAKING A CAB YOURSELF! STAY THE FUCK HOME! ASK SOMEONE ON THE STREET!
Instead of: Getting DIRECTIONS on MY DIME! MY METER IS RUNNING! What is the MATTER WITH YOU!?!??!?!

I wanted to give the cab driver and these stupid bitches a boot to the head.
Well, I gave them the finger, anyway. And no tip to the cab driver. Asshole.

The Wait Is Killing Me

2006-05-05T00:26:00.000-05:00

I know I should not be obsessing about what I got on my MCAT examination. Its over.
I cannot change it. Somehow, these facts do not persuade me to quit thinking about it. This has lead me down a slippery slope of worry.

In other neurotic news, I am totally freaking out about this C grade I got in physics, in high school, at a local community college. I know! It's irrational. This grade, my first attempt at college level physics, at sweet 16, is going to count towards my application GPA. For medical school. At 24 years old. Mother f.

My advice to future/current pre-meds: Be Ye Not So Stupid.

Do not take difficult classes before you are ready, because you "want a challenge." This will only f-up your overall GPA when you're applying to medical schools and f with your head. Seriously. Major in something less challenging when you take your pre-med prereqs. (Read: NOT Biochemistry or Engineering. INSTEAD: English, Philosophy, Art.) They call that "well-rounded."

Unfortunately, I thought "well-rounded" meant that I should take Immunology, Virology AND Biochemistry in upper division. I was interested in science. I did NOT want to memorize paintings in art history, worry about the wars in the French Revolution or concern myself with whether Newt Gingrich was a good Speaker of the House, for an entire semester. For a discussion, fine. A book about it? Great! A whole semester of stupid ass lectures!? I'll take T-cells and IHC experiments, thanks.

This meant I got a few B's, a few B+'s and some A-'s instead of the pre-med "Straight A's". I DID NOT successfully protect my GPA from B's. It was plundered very early in my career by "Elementary French." French is obviously not my strong point, okay? I did try out a whole year of Black Studies (hey, black history is all of our history, okay? and who can resist a class about the Civil Rights Movement??!). I did take anthropology, music theory, psychology, ballroom dancing.

But back to the grade paranoia. A C GRADE IS NOT A BAD GRADE ANYWAY!! WHEN DID I BECOME A GRADE SNOB??!? UGH! I was proud of the fact that I got a B+ in a really difficult genetics class. Now, I'm worried it is going to pull down that special GPA that the med schools calculate for me. Don't they know that was a hard, upper division class? That I learned all about recombination? How to think critically? That I was doing the best I could in a complicated class on a curve, with a professor that didn't just hand out the grades?!?

What I hate more than the grade snobs is the excuse makers.

I understand I just made a bunch of them. Yuck.

Take my hand, we'll make it, I swear

2006-04-26T15:42:00.000-05:00

...Woahhhhh ooooo livin' on a prayer! :)

(Tap, tap)...anyone out there anymore? Hello? Anyone?? Bueller? Anyone?!

The next year is going to be consumed by the medical school admissions process. I took the MCAT on April 22nd and now get to wait about 60 agonizing days until I get my score. In the meantime I get to turn in huge packets to letter of recommendation writers, work on essays and smart answers to interview questions and save some serious benjamins. Oh, and troll the Student Doctor network.

How many benjamins?? You ask? Well!

We're talking like $3K to apply to 15 schools, NOT including airfare/accomodations at any out of state schools. I really am livin' on a prayer until I get my first acceptance, can be as early as September or October. Then I will breathe again.

And maybe change the title of this site to "86 tips, MD".
Or maybe not.

I'm going to make it, it just may not be this cycle. Getting in is very competitive. I definitely wasn't one of those pre-meds in college who was a "gunner". Hell, I wasn't even "pre-med". I got a BS (fitting, no?) and did some volunteering, and have some real life experiences, and here I am. Living on a prayer.

She's More Than Just a Pretty Face?

2006-04-07T14:41:00.000-05:00

Today I've been having the (sad) thought that if I was blessed with higher cheekbones, a svelter figure, a more creamy complexion, that others would naturally be nicer to me.

I wouldn't have to try so hard to be "kind" or "sweet" or "polite" or "appropriate"; nor would I need to worry about who I fit in with.

Others would want to fit in with me because I was beautiful. And well-dressed. Beautiful girls are never wont for friends. The Nicole Richie to the Paris Hilton. The Gretchen Weiners to their Regina George.

I am not beautiful or well-dressed. I have a round, freckled face, long auburn hair and a bump in the middle of my nose. I am cute. Smart. Nice. All of those things are the kind of things people say about the kind of girl who is not naturally gorgeous.

I am the girl that walks down the street and doesn't get a first, let alone a second glance.
If I am walking with a friend, it is always her who gets the look and not me. I know that I am not alone. Average-looking girls are invisible as we walk down the streets, a minion with scuffed pumps, Starbucks in one hand, designer knockoff purse in the other.

Try as I might, I can't understand the logic of reapplying lipstick and powder every four hours. Why? More junk on my face just makes it look like trying-too-hard-face.

I could spend a fortune at the gym and in plastic surgery--but then I ask, would I be happy with the new attention? Suddenly people who were never nice to me before would want to be my friend. Men who never looked at me on the street, would look. And it would all be a lie. I would still be the nerdy girl in the Gap jeans with the plain black sweater under all of the surgery scars, the sculpted, personal-trained muscles and the Prada bag.

Don't Be An Asshole Part II

2006-04-04T09:41:00.000-05:00

This morning as I was leaving for work, I tossed the newspaper in our entryway and couldn't help but notice:

"Lawmakers rush to blunt Anti-Gay Church." WHAT?

Turns out the article is about this extremist Baptist church that has been PROTESTING at the funerals of US Military members who have died serving in Iraq.

Now, what does this have to do with gays, you ask?
Well, "You connect the dots," said Phelps (the leader of the Westboro Church), when asked to explain his focus on American military personnel. "This evil nation has taught from the cradle to the grave that it's OK to be gay. Now God is over in Iraq picking off America's kids. They turned America over to fags, now they are coming home in body bags."

Okay. This is where I put the "Don't be an Asshole" philosophy in full effect.

These people lost their CHILD! It does NOT MATTER how the kid died, if they were gay or not, if they were rich or poor or Jewish or Christian or Atheist. We're talking about having a protest at a funeral for someone's child. Holding up signs that say "You're going to hell" is taking free speech from a privilege to full-blown asshole-dom.

Second, a little bit of respect for the military, please. Just a little bit. I'm not saying you have to tie a yellow ribbon around the fucking oak tree and wrap yourself in the American flag. I do NOT CARE what your political beliefs are. If you don't like the war, it is not the soldier's faults. Do not take it out on the Veterans or on the injured or for fuck's sake, at the FUNERALS of the dead. Yes, they chose to be in the military. This does not mean that it is OKAY when they die.

Third, I am not even going to touch the audacity that extremist "Christian" groups have. They make the rest of the Christian groups, even mainstream, look TERRIBLE! Every time they do something like this it may further discourage people, all kinds of people, from exploring the Christian faith. I know this is NOT their intended effect but its happening.

In conclusion, protesting at ANYONE's funeral is wrong. I don't care if that person is GAY or BUDDHIST or IRAQI or something else that offends you. Yes, you have the right of free speech. Someone's funeral is NOT the time to use it.

A little respect for the dead, please.
Don't be an asshole.

MySpace is the New Classmates Dot Com

2006-04-03T12:57:00.000-05:00

Has anyone else noticed that EVERYONE and their DOG has a myspace?

Seriously more than HALF of my high school graduating class has their own myspace.

Remember when classmates dot com wanted everyone to sign up and then eventually pay to all spy on each other? Yeah, that is a big failed attempt now that everyone can have their own free myspace. Sorry, classmates!

Now, don't get me wrong--I don't post on Myspace or anything like that, but it is good to have one so I can be "included" with my graduating class and linked to folks back home.

If any of you have a Myspace--send me an email--chicagojackie@gmail.com with your Myspace link in it and I'll add you to my "friends" list.

In other news, I know this blog has gotten very very boring (hey! there are some good archives) but after April 22 (the MCAT) I will be back in full force and have more creative mental energy.

In the meantime I have been enjoying all of your blogs during my study-breaks. From a college student, to a waitress, to an office worker, to a doctor. Whew. I get tired just thinking about it.

T.W.I.N.K.I.E.S Project: Guys nerdier than our engineers

2006-03-29T10:01:00.000-06:00

Seriously: http://twinkiesproject.com/

I'm just going to put that one out there and walk away.

(What is funny is that I KNOW a lot of those tests!)

Different Day, Same Shit

2006-03-23T12:35:00.000-06:00

My boss loves to talk and talk and talk but when one of us raises a point or wants to talk, he dismisses us. But...it was okay to waste MY time for 20 minutes while YOU went on about whatever.

I sit here and think of more important things to keep from going crazy, like being outside for a picnic or sleeping in a bed with fresh sheets or eating chocolate truffles.

When we're slow at work the work that I do, do is of poorer quality. I can tell you why. Not because I'm lazy but because I have more time to have to thwart being miserable in the spaces in between working.

Pretending to work is not something I do well. I feel like it is lying. I still feel semi-guilty that I have spent over half of my day checking email, cleaning my desk, re-organizing my files. All of those things are half-assed work.

I'm not depressed, I'm just tired. Too many things everyday in my important life, my moving forward to grad-school-life are left undone because I'm here, exchanging today for a paycheck and feverishly working towards getting into school so I don't have to exchange anymore "todays" for "just a paycheck."

I want to read all of your blogs and leave comments and be a social butterfly but I don't have the energy. I know that it can be said that people make energy for the things they really want.
Well, what I really want is OUT OF HERE when its time for me to go (and not before) and into MED SCHOOL.

That is where my energy is right now. If you need me, I'll be studying.

Love until later,
Jackie

Trippin' on a hole in a paper heart

2006-03-13T22:12:00.000-06:00

Love is an....interesting thing.

As we have seen, it is certainly NOT enough to keep couples together.
What does keep couples together, then? What is that magic ingredient?
I am going to go out on a limb and say Aretha Franklin wasn't too far off when she was asking for a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Respecting someone rules. I personally fall in love fairly easily, and quickly. I didn't have a problem breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting a new one and being enamored all over again in a matter of months. I obviously do not respect my exes as much as I should; if I did, I would have dumped them more kindly and not acted so disgusted in their presence there after. I mean, these guys had seen me naked! And now I was supposed to be nice to them? (I WAS already nice to them; they had seen me naked. Sheesh. )

Perhaps that makes me a bitch. Okay, an honest bitch.

I also love having crushes and being romanced. Heck, I still do have crushes occasionally. So love in and of itself isn't a good measure for me. I'm easily impressed, and entertained by a man.
Could I find someone that I could fall in love with?
Probably. I fall in and out of love easily. So fuckin' fickle.
Could I find someone that I respect more than my husband? No.
Could I find someone that I trust more than him? Probably not.

Now this rule doesn't apply with friends, exactly. I think the rules are harder when I pick friends, and "the rules"* were certainly harder when I considered my husband. I need to totally like the person and respect them. Unlike the boyfriends I could date because they were cool, or smart, or sexy (whom I didn't have to respect to date), guy and girl friends have to be the whole package--likable, respectable and all of those other good things.

*By "the rules" I don't mean that crazy ass-neo-nazi book by those psychos who advise you to wear makeup 24/7 and be a "creature like none other." WTF does that mean, lady?

Area Couple Eaten Alive by Laundry

2006-03-10T23:33:00.000-06:00

CHICAGO, IL: Matt and Jackie Smith*, aged 24, of Chicago, have been found dead in their near north condominium. The Cook County Coroner's office lists the official cause of death as suffocation by dangerous laundry.

The EPA reports that the laundry was at "unsafe levels" for condominium occupancy. "This was an incident involving dirty laundry, well, of let's just say, mythical proportions," Jack Brown, the county coroner commented.

To add insult to injury, the condominium association at the couple's building has issued two citations for the laundry level in the apartment, citing the danger to other residents. At the time of this release, the condominium board president was unavailable for comment, but the citations read that they must be paid, despite the death of the couple. The two were not a favorite of the condominium association after sending an angry letter to the board right after receiving a citation for leaving a stroller in the hallway. The couple have no children.

"They were so young," the couple's neighbor tearfully noted, "and so busy. If they both weren't studying for graduate exams, this would never have happened. This is a terrible tragedy. They were well-loved."

The couple is survived by their two cats, Dirk and Buttons, who avoided the dangerous laundry by hiding on top of the kitchen cabinets.

---------------------------------------------------

Seriously, you guys. If Matt and I don't do our laundry, we are going to be first of all naked and then second of all, totally consumed by the laundry piles in the house. I think I just heard the laundry growl. Oh, joy. Good thing we have plenty of Tide.

Do Him For A Dollar Redux

2006-03-08T15:12:00.000-06:00

Today I had lunch at one of my favorite places: somewhere I used to waitress.

One of my fave girls still works there, and today she reminded me of the game we used to play, "Do Him For A Dollar."

Now, the beauty of this game is that the presumption is that you would sleep with any of the waiters (or certain customers, depending), but it would depend on how much you would either GET PAID or PAY!

This game made many loooong sloooow lunch shifts go by very quickly. Today I was sitting at the counter eating and she says, "New waiter at table 54. I'd pay 3," and walks away.

I thought I was going to choke. I had forgotten about the game entirely. She saunters around the counter and leans in close.

"How about you, J? For old times?"

I didn't need much prodding.

"I'd pay 4." Hey, he was cute, you guys.

Whoever smelt it, dealt it

2006-03-07T22:28:00.000-06:00

I just wanted to make that a post title. That's all.

For some reason, 2nd grade humor is totally cracking me up right now.
Probably because I have been doing so much serious academic and life-planning type thinking, that all my brain can ponder when I've beat it to a bloody intellectual pulp is flatulence jokes.

Heh.

You Have Got To Be Kidding Me Right Now

2006-03-05T22:37:00.000-06:00

Seriously, this is what I was thinking as I trudged through the slush on the sidewalk.

If it is going to snow--and stick--why does it have to be like walking through someone's nasty old slurpee? It is much easier for everyone if the snow is nice and dry (read: not slippery) and packs neatly.

This way there is not a freezing-cold-socks-situation when the gross sidewalk snow-water seeps into one's cross trainers. EW.

Now I didn't fall as I slep, slurp, slushed home from studying but I was thinking I was going to. I hate that feeling. That is all I need, to fall like a retarded turtle with my huge backpack on and spill my $9 take out dinner.

I have PMS and just feel like complaining about everything. Bleh.

You say, they only hear what they want to

2006-02-28T23:44:00.000-06:00

Some people, more than others, strike me as lonely, stranded on their own island, silenced in their own universe.

Look anywhere in downtown-you are surrounded by people on foot, underground in the subway, in the streets, and above you in skyscrapers. Somehow I suppose it is possible for someone to be isolated, separated emotionally and mentally from the rest of the world. Maybe they are happy that way.

Some people are meant to walk alone in life, you say.

This is extremely hard for someone like me to understand. I know the Starbucks guys, the Jewel cashiers, the take-out people at the place around the corner, the front and back entrance doorpeople, etc.

I watch people brush by others without even acknowledging their presence. Some people walk along, rendered nearly unconscious to their surroundings by their music system, or simply by their attitude. Would it kill you to look people in the eye? Pay attention? I have seen plenty of people able to listen to music and be alert at the same time.

I'm not saying you have to be best friends with everyone. My idea is more along the lines of the fact that establishing a connection with those around you, even as acquaintances, makes the everyday routine seem meaningful. Secondly, your active, positive presence in other's days makes theirs a little more interesting too. The little bit of energy it costs you to smile is returned by the validation of the human experience by others.

I am not a party planner

2006-02-23T18:49:00.000-06:00

My heart is pounding. 10 minutes and people will be showing up. And, what am I doing?

Getting out that nervousness through my fingers to type this little irrational message to everyone. "I'm Jackie and I HATE hostessing stuff at my house."

Everyone together now, "HI, Jackie!" Shitballsmotherfucker.

Having people over for this volunteer club I'm in is so stressful. Our little place is just perfect for the two of us. We are geared for two people, very comfortably. Fifteen people in here makes the details-logistics-oh fuck-side of my brain go nuts worrying about things like little towels for people to wipe their hands on in the bathroom and pitchers of water and do I have enough food?

I have to have forks out and napkins and where.....is.....the......ice??

Why isn't anyone here yet? Are they going to be okay with the music? Where is my cat?!?

Pardon me....while I decide where to put these votive candles without burning the house down.

(Fuckfuckcockfuckshit.)

Okay. I think I have hostess-onset turrets syndrome.

Everything is going to work out....I am not Martha Freakin' Stewart y'all.

Loving Top Ramen in so many Ways

2006-02-22T14:15:00.000-06:00

"I brush my teeth, I put the cap back on.
I know you hate it
When I leave the lights on.
I pick a book up.
I turn the sheets down..."(Jewel, You were meant for me)

Heh. So lately in my study frenzy of glory, I have been neglecting household duties left and right. I have been absent minded when it comes to not leaving wet towels on the floor, wiping down the sinks, dusting the TV, etc.

Apparently, I have regressed back to freshman year of college. I personally find it kind of funny.

(My husband is not seeing how cute and humorous this is, for the record.)

He asked me to pick something off the floor and I rolled my eyes at him like a defiant teenager.

"Whatever," I replied, flippantly, shifting my legs in the computer chair and keeping my eyes on my books.

LIKE HE EVER CLEANED UP ANYTHING WHEN HE WAS STUDYING. GOD!

Maybe he's just mad because I want to have Ramen for dinner and because I've been calling nearby restaurants "The Dining Common."

Bend over for your SMACKING (Redux)

2006-02-20T22:15:00.000-06:00

So, the team at IT2M could have been like, "This is a fucking stupid blog by this dumb little waitress bitch." But they didn't! That in itself is a compliment from this team.

The constructive criticism I received from the girls at "I talk too much" has turned out to be a great thing for this blog...Not only did I fix my archives, clean up the sidebar, and get rid of the silly cyber pet, it was a lot of fun--and most of the comments on the post with my review were spot-on, too.

A few things, I just can't let go. Maybe it's the "young and naive in me". Maybe I need a few more spanks.

I love the tacky, bright pink color of this blog. I am not sure why. It looks like it matches to me. If it doesn't, that kind of adds to the kitsch, you know? (My blogdesigner kinda didn't want to make it this bright but I held her hostage and she did it anyway. The poor, poor thing.)

Maybe I have a secret fixation with those plastic yard flamingos. Maybe not.

Anyway, I think everyone should get smacked. Hey, what is the worst that could happen?
Well. They could call you a shit-stain on the blog of life. Or a stupid f-ing twatwaffle. Or something. I don't work for them. I can't come up with good retorts, either.

(Flash back to the 80's)
Some kid: "Jackie is STUPID!"
Me: "Uh...umm...."
Some kid: (Smirk)
Me: "Yo' Mama!"
Some kid: "Jackie is STUUUUUPID!!"

(Twenty minutes later)
Me (to myself): "You're a stupid fucking retard who loves New Kids on the Block!" Yeah. That is what I SHOULD have said. Gosh!"

_______________

Anyway, if you haven't already go say hi to my renter Amber.
You know you want to.
Don't make me come up with a retort.

Garage Tenant and Online Spanking

2006-02-20T12:49:00.000-06:00

If you haven't noticed, go check out Amber at "I want to be Donna Reed", my lovely renter of the week.

A dear friend in real life, A's accounts of married life with kids is much more than an average mommy blog, just like herself. She is intelligent, well-educated and laugh-your-ass-off funny. Her frank perspective on things is a breath of fresh air and I can vouch for the veracity and sincerity of her statements since I know what's been happening to her outside of the blogspot.

Go say hi to Amber and tell her that her cute landlord Jackie sent ya. (Or go lurk. Whatever--even if just to check out the pics of her precious sons.)

In other news, this blog got spanked by the lovely ladies at I talk 2 much. I got one smack, which means they didn't completely hate 86 tips....! They even said the template was "cute. "
I am trying to figure out how to get archives on this site, too--so their feedback was helpful.

I have seen people get ripped a new one--and I didn't--and for that, I am thankful! Wheeee!!

Going Postal

2006-02-19T21:42:00.000-06:00

Ah, renting.

A home where you have neighbors who let their screaming brats roam the halls...a home where your next-door neighbor sets his apartment on fire...a home where you consistently get someone elses' "Newport News" catalogs and 0% home equity line notices in your mailbox.

Oh, but that happens to everyone, right? The post office makes mistakes, doesn't it?
WELL NOT EVERY FUCKING DAY FOR THE LAST YEAR!! WE GET MULTIPLE PEOPLE's MAIL!!!

I swear to goodness, our last name looks NOTHING like "Smithstein" or "Clais" or "Drummond". It doesn't even start with an S or a C or a D!!

I think by the time the mail carrier gets to our box (down at the end of the whole thing), he is like "OH, fuck it. Here is the rest of the god-damn mail. I don't give a shit where it goes."

The kicker is: this person's mail doesn't even have OUR apartment number on it. You would think the wrong NAME and wrong APARTMENT number would be a CLUE that this god-forsaken junk mail doesn't go in our box. But, no.

So then what? I have to leave this junk mail, all forlorn on the mailroom table. I feel a little bit shitty about that since it is credit card offers and stuff---it is the POST office's fault for putting me in this precarious situation, you know?? My neighbors "could have already won $1,000,000", and they don't even know it. Damn!

Anyway. I have started to "rent my blog". Here at 86 tips I SWEAR that I will make sure that you, the renter, do not receive any Publisher's Clearing House, Red Envelope, or "Newport News Magazines" that aren't yours, in your mailbox. Okay?

Alright.

You and Me

2006-02-16T21:14:00.000-06:00

It is interesting how when you are working towards a goal, be it something measurable, something with completion, or something long-term, more of a journey, that the irritating things in life, the little things, are more easily let go.

Work is irritating, but now that I am purposefully moving towards a goal, it puts it in perspective. It means I get to relax and put things in check.

I feel that the progression of a doctor is a journey.

Before, during and after medical school, the successful and ethical physician is on a trajectory of sorts, a path that has no end. Perhaps this is why medical school doesn't seem like it will last for the rest of my life--since it is a transition state, a flux point in life.

In other news, I wish my husband would come home from trial practice. When I got home it smelled like his aftershave and I know he's sharp-dressed and handsome, looking every bit as successful as he is.

I want him to come home and slow dance with me on the ugly living room carpet, me in my old college pajamas and ponytail, physics books everywhere, him tall, polished and poised.

"What day is it, and in what month---this clock never seemed so alive---
I can't keep up and I can't back down--I've been losing so much time--
'cause theres' you and me and all other people, with nothing to do--nothing to lose
'cause its you and me and all other people, and I don't know why,
I can't keep my eyes off of you."
(Lifehouse, You and Me)

Be a "Blogger for Boobies" and get a FREE Webdesign!

2006-02-11T00:03:00.000-06:00

Wow.

Maddie from Girliebits designs has graciously offered to give a blog makeover to anyone who donates $50 or more to my 2006 Chicago Avon Walk for Breast Cancer (June 3rd and 4th---a marathon and a half!).

Here's how to play:

1. Click on this link to visit my Avon Walk site!
2. Hit the "Click here to Support Me" button on the page (it is pink, at the top).
3. Complete your tax-deductible donation online via credit card. (If you would like to donate by check, email me: chicagojackie@gmail.com and I will send you the information. )
4. Leave me a comment on this post letting me know you're all set!!! I will forward the official donation confirmation email I receive to the lovely and talented Maddie, who will put you on the queue for the blog makeover.

The benefits?
1. 40,000 women will DIE this year from breast cancer. 1 in 8 will be diagnosed. Turn around that statistic.
2. Your blog will get that new makeover you've been dying for--and--tax time--you'll get a TAX deduction--now would be the PERFECT time to re-do your blog. $50 is a steal if you shop around. And, Maddie is wonderful (just look at me, miss hag, kari, etc.)
3. I will add a link to your site on mine under "Bloggers for Boobies." After the walk, any walkers on my "Bloggers for Boobies" list who aren't on my blogroll will live there permanently.

**OH--and--my dear friend Amber from real life will be running a contest on her blog "I want to be Donna Reed" where she will make two $50 donations on behalf of her two winners. **

Go check it out. I look forward to your support and to seeing your blog makeovers.

I am currently at 41% of goal ($1,800 to walk) and am looking forward to meeting it with your help.
Thank you for your support for this crucial cause.

Hugs,
Jackie

I know you and you know me and that's all that counts

2006-02-08T12:35:00.000-06:00

I'm reading "For Laci" by Sharon Rocha which is the mom's account of Laci Peterson's life before she and her unborn son were murdered by her husband, Scott. (Scott Peterson is now in San Quentin--death row). The book smacks of a life ended too soon. Parents save kids' paintings and school outfits and stuff not because they think it is going to be the only thing left, but so that the child will have it when they are older. Sad.

I don't understand how Scott Peterson thought he wasn't going to be a suspect!
Hello!

If a married woman comes up missing, the HUSBAND is like, the FIRST person they look at.
What is so scary about that is that your husband is the one that you trust to protect you and to take care of you in so many ways.

The thing that makes me feel a little better about Laci is that it seems like she knew her mom and her mom knew her. They were close. She had people who knew her and wouldn't betray her. She also had two very close friends who knew her.

I guess my point here is that it is important to have people who really know you--and you know them--that is what "being alive" really means.

Work=Force times Distance... (Not this shitty desk job)

2006-02-02T14:17:00.000-06:00

I am a total cokehead now.
By 'coke' I mean...physics.

I have been writing out little equations on notecards, outlining notes, and thinking about kinetic energy and the like.

I am a recovering physics-phobic.

I would see a physics equation and my brain would reject it immediately, like the equation was written in swahili.
I have put myself through physics-anxiety-recovery (amazing what a few years of growing up can do for you) and have decided I can figure (basic) physics out and that my math skills are not THAT bad.

And if I can't figure it out, my pal Nick, who was a PHYSICS major (such a genius) has graciously offered to let me torture him with my misguided musings.

Time for another hit of crack...erm...Physics.

Hold your nose and say it very seriously: "Paging Doctor Barbie!"

2006-01-29T22:17:00.000-06:00

I'm applying to medical school.

(WHAT?! WHA....? You ask.)

I was pre-med in college and even took the MCAT....I know. Crazy.

Why, you ask, why didn't I just GO then?

Well, for starters, I wasn't 100% sure. I was 21 when I graduated from college and wasn't ready to commit to medical school quite yet. The possibilities of what was ahead of me seemed too infinite, the responsibility too great. Medicine isn't something you should jump into "not sure" about. And I was too unsure of myself. Little problem there.

Medical school can't be the snooze button on life, after all.

I didn't get to hit the snooze button; I got to support my husband through law school. Learning what it meant to make a living for two people meant taking some lumps. (My humps! My lovely lady lumps! Check it out!)

The first step is this test: besides my GPA, the first way to show the admissions committees that the medical school boards will be no problem for me since I can handle a standardized test. And torture. Torture being the most appropriate, applicable criteria.

The results of this test will change everything: financial aid, which schools I can expect to be considered at, everything.

If you need me, I'll be online at Kaplan taking practice tests and studying physics.

Anyone seen the movie "flatliners?"

Life as a "Three" out of "Four"

2006-01-26T19:24:00.000-06:00

At the office job we had reviews.

All my life, I've been a "straight-A" student. Honor Roll, honor society, honors classes, you name it-- I've been asked to join it.

I realize that the above makes me sort of a snob. (This is not what I'm going for.) I am not naturally brilliant (sorry!) but worked extremely hard in school and saw that the spoils of working hard, working smart, getting my shit done and being organized meant good grades, accolades, top scores, nothing to worry about.

So why would this...
___ Exceeds Expectations (4)
_x_ Meets Expectations (3)
___ Below Expectations (2)
___ Unsatisfactory (1)

....Rattle my cage so much?

Because in my mind there has never been a "meets expectations" in anything I've done. I am profoundly irritated about this and feel like an idiot for feeling that way.

WHAT RIGHT DO THESE PEOPLE HAVE TO JUDGE ME AND COME UP SHORT!?!? JUST WHO IN THE FUCK DO THEY THINK THEY ARE DEALING WITH HERE!?

Life is unfair.

What kind of person commits suicide?

2006-01-24T23:30:00.000-06:00

"There are no beautiful suicides,
just cold corpses with shit in their pants."
Anonymous, from Postsecret

I am not going to pretend that I am one of those people who never contemplated suicide.
Actually, I made a semi-serious attempt, mostly to get attention, in high school.
I didn't actually want to die.

I don't consider myself someone who can seriously understand what someone who is very, very depressed feels when they want to actually kill themselves...make an elegant, detailed plan and then carry it out.

I've been looking at webpages that families have set up to remember their dead children, reading the recount of their stories of finding the cold corpses in the house, at school. Most of these kids didn't have "goth" makeup on their faces, they did well in school, and for some of them...no one that knew them knew they were unhappy. There are a lot of myths about the "kind of people" that commit suicide. I think that by understanding that depression and suicidal thoughts plague EVERYONE and that NO ONE is immune from this, just others feel these things to a heightened degree. We can help by all understanding better and not just saying "gosh, that won't ever happen to me or my kids or anyone I know because they are this type of person with this type of job and this type of thing, etc..."

You can learn more about suicide and prevention and about how to help someone at a lot of websites.

Sorry to be "Debbie Downer" lately you guys, I have just been thinking about a lot of things that people generally don't like to talk about.

Crowded Subway Thinking

2006-01-22T10:37:00.000-06:00

Part of my myth about myself (everyone has one, it is something we tell ourselves about ourself that is not quite true, or rather something we would LIKE to believe about ourselves) is fundamentally that I am a smart, fun girl and that I don't need others to think that I'm attractive since being "Smart" and "Fun" is attractive in its own right.

Further, the internal myth continues that my heart cannot be swayed by overly romantic overtures or random compliments, which follows because us "independent thinking girls" can't be swayed by red roses, sweet words crooned by guitar, men in hard hats, etc.

I can't believe I'm outing myself on the INTERNET on this--my aloof, steely mythical self is screaming in horror right now.

I know people that know me very well (and definitely ex-boyfriends, etc) would call BS on my "not needing other's approval" or even on me being "not sentimental in a traditional sense." That's the problem with myths about one's self: they only are something we (falsely) believe about ourselves for whatever reason.

Well, I'm calling BS on myself. Let's look at the facts.

1. My #1 most played song on itunes is "Your Body Is a Wonderland"/John Mayer followed closely by "You're Beautiful"/James Blunt and "Crash"/Dave Matthews Band.

2. All of my pjs are girly. All of them. Matching.

3. I have all of the jewelry I've received from anyone at any time, in my jewelry box.

4. If I had one of those "Men At Work" calendars I would totally look at it.

If any of you would like to disown me because of the previous four admissions, I will understand.

Who has a myth about themselves they'd like to bust?

Getting to the Root of the Problem

2006-01-19T22:34:00.000-06:00

Today at 11:30 am I had a drill in my mouth.

My second root canal.

I could feel the heat of the drill as it shredded through my tooth. Nervously, I tried to distract myself by wiggling my toes in my shoes to "Beethoven's 9th."

I had mashed potatoes and chocolate pudding for dinner tonight so....I guess all is not lost.
And Matt came home from the store with a grin and a handful of yellow daisies.

I taught him about how yellow means get-well-soon.

Going to the dentist is not as bad as I remembered. Sitting in the chair I relaxed and breathed and thought about how much more patient I have grown as an adult person. Maybe I was just more patient this morning because I was:
(a) in excruciating pain and at these people's mercy
(b) hadn't had a venti anything from Starbucks (no caffeine jitters)
(c) actually got 8 hours of sleep last night.

This post is lame and I need to take more codeine.

Chewbacca: SOLD! for $51

2006-01-17T09:26:00.000-06:00

Hi everyone,

Just a quick update (from work, omg) on the auction. Chewbacca is going to my high bidder at $51! Thanks to everyone who bid on this item and to the bloggers (see "bloggers for boobies") that have made donations to my Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.

It was my first time selling something on ebay--I don't think I set up everything quite right but live and learn right? Now I can't say I'm an ebay virgin anymore (the 24-year old ebay virgin?)...

More updates later!

Jackie

LAST DAY! Don't Stop Till You Get It: Chewbacca for Charity! LAST DAY

2006-01-11T23:01:00.000-06:00

Chewbacca on Auction for the Cause: Click here to check out and BID in the OFFICIAL ebay auction!

ENDS TODAY! Win the original hard-partying wookie for a great cause: Breast Cancer.

Thank YOU to those who have already bid--it is a FIERCE bidding war right now--10 bids!! WOO HOO!! Remember, shipping's on me.

For Breast Cancer? YES! For the Cure.
As many of my long-time readers and real life friends know, I've been volunteering in downtown Chicago in an oncology (cancer) unit for almost three years now. The most incredible thing about cancer patients--and--their families and friends--is their amazing grace, hope, and support. These patients and families are definitely my inspiration for the Chicago Avon Walk for Breast Cancer!

I am hoping to complete my fundraising by early March so I can turn my focus solely to physical training for the marathon and a half: 39.3 miles!!

All funds go to the Avon Foundation Breast Cancer Crusade, a 501(c)(3) public charity, whose mission is to provide access to care and to work toward finding a cure. 2.1 million raised by last year's Chicago walkers went to local Hospitals, Cancer Centers, Clinics and Universities!

You can learn more about the cause at www.avonwalk.org and at my personal walk website.

If you would rather make a straight donation and not bid on the boob-lovin' wookie, please remember ANY amount, large or small, that you can donate will help me reach my goal, is greatly appreciated and don't forget--is tax-deductible!

Chewbacca for Charity, y'all! Thanks again for your support.

Much Love,
Jackie

Someone to Watch Over Me

2006-01-09T23:03:00.000-06:00

Guess who was a girl scout?
A bona fide, official girl scout--yep. Me.
I remember going to the official store and getting a green sash, a boat-shaped hat and a button down with tiny blue faces on it. They were ugly and came starched, folded in plastic. I was so proud. I wasn't the only one.

Every time I see one of those cookie ordering sheets hanging haphazardly on someone's door, I remember how exciting it was to have people fill in a "2" or, gosh, a "4" in the rainbow-colored columns that represented the different types of cookies.

Despite the fact that both of my caregivers were already retired, I had a "someone" who took my cookie sheet to work: My 'uncle', Tim. He worked for Raytheon, which I understood as big space-ship for scientists which made sense since Tim was completely magic to me. (I understand now that he worked in hazardous waste removal, which is a fancy way to say "chemical company garbage man".)

I am grateful that no one pointed out to little me or made a big deal about the fact that he wasn't one of my grandparent's sons. When he was still alive, we focused on the important stuff: he was the one who gave my folks a break now and again and would whisk me up the California coast to a world of Domino's Pizza, arcade games and miniature golf.

Today, I saw a girl scout cookie poster hanging on an office door, half-full. I thought of you, Tim. Thank You for being that someone that proudly displayed 'your niece's' cookie poster on your door.

You sold way more cookies for me than I could have sold going door-to-door; which of course, wasn't what was important. I got to have your support, the doting kindness of a man who didn't have any children of his own, and you got to be the younger working-type dad to my other two: the grandfather I affectionately call "papa" and the father I never knew.

I am luckier than most: I lost my father, but I got an awesome full-time "poppa" and a fun part-time "uncle."
And, I was the top cookie seller in my troop, four years in a row.

It Hurts to be Beautiful, Obviously

2006-01-07T18:45:00.000-06:00

"Ow! Its burning me!," I indicate, semi-helpfully to the colorist at the salon.

"I don't know WHY it would be burning you. Maybe its the ammonia. Are you allergic?',
she says, all nonchalant, smoothing her black apron. (Of course, it isn't her head that's burning.)

"I don't THINK so. Ow! Can you rinse it?"
"After 15 minutes."

Oh, Christ.

15 minutes and a blowdry later, my haircolor looks perfect and very pretty--definitely bombshell brunette! However--my scalp is all puffy and feels hot. Ow. I KNEW that "magical" hair beauty serum was burning my scalp.

Of all the things us girls worry about happening in salons, like the stylist's idea of "just an inch" being about three f-ing feet, I NEVER dreamed that ANY solution they would put on my head would actually burn. My scalp itches just typing about it, in fact.

At least I've never gotten a nail fungus from having my nails done. Some of those little places don't clean their materials, and....ick. I just don't want to think about it. I have no idea how germophobic people live. I'm not germophobic but when I get to thinking about the stuff that happens...yech.

I wonder how people eat in restaurants, after knowing about some of the things waiters get away with when they are pissed at a table. Or, worse, when a cook is pissed at his manager.

Who wants a dessert spoon that I shined for your picky ass using my apron and the dirty dishwater?
(That's what I thought.)
I'll hand it to you, smiling, knowing that you're jealous of my new and improved gorgeous golden brown hair.

Ms. Communication

2006-01-04T23:05:00.000-06:00

Amazing how a simple miscommunication or missed meaning can cause a sudden rift.

It leads us to ask questions like, "Why are we fighting over a....ball-point pen!?" or "Is this really about... a pie?"

A close friend and I had a bit of a disconnect this evening. She was supposed to join us and another friend for dinner and after a short phone conversation with a slight dispute about dessert, and me sending her three voice mail messages, didn't hear from her again. (Maybe her phone died?) I know she was invited to do something with someone else, too. Maybe she's with them, instead?

Our last conversation was almost 5 hours ago, but the LV (little voice) inside of me still momentarily whispers, "Maybe she'll show up anyway. She's just reeeeeee-ally late." There is a part of me, the RAP (rational adult part), that knows that she's not coming.

RAP: She didn't even call back! She is definitely NOT coming.
LV: Maybe her phone died. Maybe she got REALLY stuck at work.
RAP: Stop making excuses, little voice. You're being overly optimistic!
LV: What if something really did happen and she's not okay? What then? I'm worried!
RAP: She would call you, or one of your mutual friends would call to let you know, of course.
LV: I'm sad--Why is this happening?
RAP: You already said you were sorry. You left messages. You've done everything you can do.
LV: Doesn't make me feel any better--I'm confused.

I don't know what I'm going to say to her when we talk next. Am I allowed to be upset about the fact that she didn't show up and didn't call after we had the initial call? She didn't say she wasn't coming in the initial call. I didn't think it was unreasonable for me to expect that she was still planning to come.

Should I just forget the aftermath and focus on what about the initial call upset her so much as to no-show and not call?
......

I just tried to call her and get her on the phone one more time right now, thinking that if I could get her on the phone and talk about this, I wouldn't need to post about it. If you're reading this, I didn't reach her.
Damn.

Check Your Flippin' Health Insurance, Already

2006-01-02T22:32:00.000-06:00

January is always an interesting month for me.

Yes, it is the month of the year when I get to go see the "woman-doctor" and not make faces as said ob-gyn puts a piece of metal similar to a stapler up in my "lady-business."

To make matters worse, with only 4 more white pills in the pack (and seven green inactives), I realized with horror that the doctor I went to last year doesn't accept my current insurance. His receptionist (non-helpfully) gave me the run-down of fees for my exam--almost a whole month's rent. Cripes. And to have them torture me and then exclaim, "My, what a tiny cervix you have. Well, okay, all set. Now roll over so I can knead your breasts like dough. Okay, great."

No. Fucking. Way.

And with the time ticking between this pill pack and my next prescription, I had to take matters into my own hands.

As an aside, let me explain why it is so dire when you're about to run out of pills: it isn't the sex, captain obvious. (There are condoms for that, Einstein.) It's the spotting. There is no amount of explaining that will clarify what spotting is and how awful the whole thing is if you're A MAN or have never experienced it. I would rather rob Walgreen's and hold the entire pharmacy department HOSTAGE than go without the pill pack. Luckily, I've got an appointment (phew) for next week just for a consult so I can get some pills and the wonderful exam (Have you seen my stapler??) towards the end of the month. So I guess I don't need to "pack heat" just in case the local pharmacist gives me any lip.

Happy New Year, Indeed.

***86 Tips Public Service Message: All joking aside, there is no excuse for any female over the age of 18 and/or sexually active to not have an annual exam. Just. Do. It. Be healthy. Take control of your reproductive health. Go here for more information. ***

...And to All, A Good Night (Holiday Hiatus)

2005-12-18T16:10:00.000-06:00

I don't have any brilliant stories or quips for you all before the year is up--that is a LOT of pressure.

I am incredibly thankful that there are 75 sites that link to 86 tips. As I have said time and time again, when I started this blog to bitch about my waitress/office life, I didn't imagine for a second that there would be a world of readers out there who would want to read my mis-adventures.

That whole being assertive thing? Oh, yeah. I have decided to give myself permission to take a hiatus from today until January 1, 2006. I might pop in before then, but otherwise, you'll just see me in the comments, kicking back and just reading and responding to emails when I have a chance.

I've looked through some of my 2005 and a few of my personal favorite posts this year have been:

The Patron Code of Conduct
An Interview, By Melina
On Going to the Gym
My Lipstick, Myself
On Being Stiffed

Everyone have a great holiday!

Alright lovelies: Remember to TIP in restaurants when you get good service and try, try, try to be PATIENT with waitstaff over the holidays: it is an overwhelming and extremely busy season.

See you in 2006! I heart each and every one of you.

<3, Jackie

Doll graphic credit: Thays.com. Really cute dolls! Wow!

Slide, Slide, that's the plan (Gotta brand new bruise on my ass)

2005-12-15T23:36:00.000-06:00

Last night, I was reaching for my strawberry daiquiri-scented philosophy body wash when I suddenly lost my footing.

It happened so fast!

My left foot turned and I hurled backwards haplessly, falling over the edge of the tub, taking the shower curtains with me and uninstalling the shower rod, too.

Dazed, I realized I was sitting on the fluffy yellow bathmat, my legs dangling over the tub, water running everywhere.

Ow.

Coulda been worse. I coulda fallen the OTHER way and hit my head.

Can you imagine? Matt would have had to call the paramedics and in the mean time, find a way to cover up my wet, naked, unconscious ass.

The moral of the story? Get those anti-slip bath stickies.

Be safe in the bathroom, kids. Anyone else ever slip in the tub?

Scenes from a movie I don't live in usually

2005-12-13T23:34:00.000-06:00

There are a lot of things that I realize first hand from being on a volunteer staff at a hospital. Things that I wouldn't witness from watching TV programs about medical wards, or movies where there are Emergency Rooms.
Its the ever-rolling film of the drama that is human life and death, in which all of us are in the credits.

And....action!

*Some people have to spend Christmas in the hospital. They don't walk the sidewalks to see the twinkly lights, their houses don't smell like pine, they aren't worried about flight arrangements, slippery snowy sidewalks, whether saying "Merry Christmas" offends their stuffy co-workers, or potential family scuffles over turkey and gravy. In my own day to day scuffles, I need to remember that I get to enjoy small freedoms and little gifts everyday.

(Please, God, teach me to be appreciative. To look and see the world with my eyes open.)

*Obviously, no healthy person knows how long they are going to live. Some sick people know how long they are going to live.

(Please, God, teach me to be patient. To breathe in deeply and understand my body.)

*I am able to walk out of there, to make the throbbing pulse of the hospital stop after my shift is over. Some of the people in those beds will never "walk out of there." They cannot make the hospital "stop" so they can "get off" and "go on with their life."

(Please, God, teach me to be thankful. To understand how lucky I am.)

"I'll spread my wings,
and I'll learn how to fly,
Although its not easy to tell you goodbye....
out of the darkness
and into the sun
I won't forget
all the ones
that I love
make a wish
take a chance
make a change
and breakaway.."
"Breakaway", Kelly Clarkson

Santa, Baby, Hurry

2005-12-09T20:50:00.000-06:00

Elbow deep in cake goo, I realize that I'm going to need flour.
Sifted flour. Damn Williams-Sonoma fancy-ass recipe. Who am I kidding?

"Honey? HONEY! Hey!"

"What."

Pointing to our closet of random wedding-gift boxes, I insist: "Can you get that box down? I think its a flour sifter."

Handing me the box, he notes that the thing needs batteries. Well, shit-balls. In my house, I just don't keep boxes of batteries sitting around. Almost everything we have runs on electricity or plugs into the computer, ala ipod or cell phone or TV or....you get the point. No walkman to rob the ol' energizers from.

Now what? And risk holiday baking ruin? Admit that I should have just BOUGHT a baked cake and saved myself the agony? Throw all of that expensive batter with those fresh ingredients down the sink? NEVER!

What in our house has batteries? What? What?
Suddenly it hits me.
The "Bedside Toy Box" to the rescue!
Heh.

Laughing, I extract a AA battery, rinse it off, and find baking success.
Outstanding.

In the background:
Twinkling lights
A chill is in the air
And carols everywhere
Close your eyes, it's almost here

Candles and cards
And favorite movie scenes
The smell of evergreen
As special as it's always been
And.... I
have a dream, or two
And....Maybe
they will come true

"A Christmas to Remember", Amy Grant

A Very Good Birthday, Indeed (Floral Hat Trick!)

2005-12-07T21:56:00.000-06:00

This morning, I woke up to fresh flowers from my husband, cinnamon rolls and hot coffee. At lunchtime, I had sandwiches with Nick at Lawry's (and managed to not bite him!), and when I got back to my desk had fresh daisies waiting as well!! A little later, I got a call from my doorman letting me know I had *another* bouquet of flowers (see left). I couldn't imagine who they were from and was very excited to see they were from our good friends Amber and Brad.

She also wrote a very nice post about the two of us.
Amber is definitely the older sister I didn't have.

I have gotten a lot of nice calls from friends and family members today as well.

It's kind of lame to have your birthday on a Wednesday. Maybe we'll have to party this weekend?
Matt has finals so we're trying to be tame.

Thanks, everyone.

24 Turns Around the Sun

2005-12-06T22:50:00.000-06:00

I've tried to put together two kitchy lists about my little self and am finding them to be boring and trite. (I forgive myself because I am exhausted yet excited and soaked to the gills with Theraflu...)
So this post is going to be a mis-mash of whatever I want. Feel free to squish birthday cake in your faces while you're reading, if you want.

It's my party, and I'll put up non sequiturs if I want to!

*I was born on the fortieth Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day, 'cause I'm the bomb. (Just kidding!!) Pearl Harbor Day was a sad and terrible day in American history. I feel more sorry for folks that were born on 9/11, actually. It didn't used to be a horrific day in our history, anyway.

*Someone's born everyday. (Weird, huh?) I couldn't get over the fact that OTHER little kids also got a "December" birthday candle on our Kindergarten wall.

*My parents thought I was a boy, having pre-picked out the name "Peter," based on eighties-ultrasound technology. But...I came out all girl, hence they were forced to pick a name on the spot, forever adding me to the collection of Jacqueline (Kennedy) Onassis namesakes. Of course I HAD to see her exhibit when her dresses were at Chicago's Field Museum. (Actually, I went to see it twice.)

*Adventurous, Stubborn, Outgoing and Proud, I am definitely a Sagittarius. As I get older, I can definitely see why I'm a "Fire" sign.

* I still listen to Lisa Loeb's "You Say" and think its about me. I do only hear "what I want to" and I do "talk so all the time."

*I feel like I've made a lot of progress in my life in the past six to nine months, like I've been through a quarter-life crisis and survived. Others look at me and see someone so young, but I have been through many things already and have so much more to do here.

*I wish I knew where I would be in 20 years so I could start heading towards that now. I realize that knowing wouldn't change my fate or my destiny, even. I'm at the point where I am strong enough to jump off of a cliff and fly, instead of squish, where I'm the only one who can push me out of my "nest." What will I jump for?

Headstrong, I'll Take You On

2005-12-01T20:48:00.000-06:00

I hate the general argument string used against "sensitive" people. We all have heard some variation of the following: "People are only as powerful as you let them be over your feelings."

I am going to call BULLSHIT on that one. Some people are very manipulative, vindictive and backstabbing. Every once in awhile you come across someone who is able to push your buttons in a way that was not before possible.

1. But is the answer more emotional armor? More "steel on the outside"?? My problem with putting up more protective walls around myself is first that being guarded is a lot of work! Second, being aloof makes it hard to be close to somebody or a few people that you SHOULD trust and SHOULD be close to. It just doesn' t make sense for me, anyway, to put up huge, looming emotional-protective-walls just to have to take them down when I'm with my husband or a good friend, in the timespan of a day, or even a few days.

2. Is the best defense a good offense, to be just as confrontational back? Again, for me, its not really my way. I feel like I'm all bark and no bite. I could talk a lot of shit, but am not sure I could back it up. I wish I could be more manipulative and more terrible than the manipulators, just to give them what they deserve, but its not in my nature. Until then, angry songs only really will keep me revved up to go on the treadmill.

Back off....Ill take you on
Headstrong....to take on anyone
I know that you are wrong
Headstrong were Headstrong
Back off....Ill take you on
Headstrong....to take on anyone
I know that you are wrong and this is not where you belong
I cant give everything away
I wont give everything away
-Trapt, "Headstrong"

Catering to Rotten People

2005-11-28T23:45:00.000-06:00

I have long loved trying on other people's thoughts for size, shape, quality and texture.

I'm sure that anyone who understands this concept enjoys the sheer pleasure of reading something that previously you were only able to express as a feeling. Let me digress. As I may or may not have mentioned, I have been seeing a therapist to help me work out my anxiety and anger issues. What I've been learning is that I've been a f-ing doormat my whole life and am trying to be assertive (Is that OK with everyone? j/k). I've been focusing on not being empathetic towards those who are toxic or hurtful to me. They do not deserve my consideration, or the power to hurt my feelings.

Anyway. I read this on Omni's blog and then read it over and over and over:

"...American culture is very much dedicated to catering to rotten people. We seem to have lost total sight of the fact that the proper way to deal with a bad person is to reject them, get away from them, be openly critical and condemning of them, and, if you're in a position of power, kick their butts over and over until they either get lost or get squared away; instead, we fall all over ourselves to coddle and appease these turds, which is of course done at the expense of the virtuous, and particularly of the victims..."

You know what? Waitstaff, customer service associates, public servants: the feeling formerly known as rage and self-loathing: see above.

I am DONE catering to rotten people.
(Tap, tap on the microphone)

You guys? I thought I was the one with the problem! I have spent a small fortune on Amazon.com buying titles like "When Friendship Hurts" and "The Highly Sensitive Person." I have sat through COUNSELING, on lunch breaks.

There is NOTHING wrong with me. NOTHING.
When the F did I start giving people that didn't deserve it...credibility?
Why did I approach them with honesty when what they required was...scrutiny?
I used to believe that people innately are good. I was wrong.
Children innately are good.

As we get older and get to make more choices, I guess some of us don't choose as well, and then we let those poor choosers tell the rest of us who we are and who we should be and how we should feel.

Let's Get Physical, Physical

2005-11-24T11:14:00.000-06:00

Late last night I was playing with the TV and found the women on the "Oxygen" network to be talking about one of the most interesting topics: Faking It.

You all know what I'm talking about. Let's go with three examples.

1. I had a friend in college who didn't understand that an orgasm was something physical that happens to you. At some point during sex, after a few minutes, she related to us that she believed that "it was time" for her to throw back her head and moan, groan, etc. To her, that little theatrical show was the orgasm.

I remember staring at her blankly.

"And, then....what?" I asked.

"And, then my boyfriend comes," she said, laughing.

All of us were silent, suddenly very interested in our shoes, our hair, our lattes.

"What, you guys? What?," she kept asking. Anyway.
My point is: She was unintentionally faking it.

Now, I don't think very many of us can plead ignorance of that kind.
Anyway. I saw something on the Tyra Banks show that reminded me of that little conversation.

2. Faking that you like somebody. For many, this would mean your boss or someone at work. If walking by their office makes you want to sing "Smack My Bitch Up" (see dooce.com), then you know what I mean.

3. Faking manners. Politeness at its core is a little bit dishonest. For example, eating foods you don't like to save somebody's feelings, or men waiting to sit down before all of the ladies are seated. In the first case, you're pretending to like something you don't, in the second, you're pretending that you don't want to sit down right then and stuff your face. I'm sure there are better examples.

Here's to trying to be honest....without giving others the smack-down.

She's a Biter (oops)

2005-11-21T19:01:00.000-06:00

Today, I was enjoying lunch at a restaurant I used to wait tables at, with my friend Nick, who works in the same neighborhood as me and is excellent mealtime company.

I had arrived before him and was perched at the counter, chatting with one of my server friends and sipping iced-tea. I had explained to this server that I was waiting for a friend, but that I would like a separate check.

[This is because Nick (very generously) usually pays the bill for both of us...and I wanted to split it for once!]

Well, Nick threw his credit card at the server so that he could pay both of the bills. The server unwisely decided to count to three and put the bill down and let us duke it out.

And, not being one to go down without a fight, I reached for my bill and luckily had my hand on the bottom. Clutching it, I tried to wrestle it out of his grip. Since he's much stronger and a MAN, for goodness' sakes, I was losing. There was a point where I was holding it away from him and he had one hand on it and his wrist was across my face. At this point, I did what any logical female being overpowered would do: I wrapped my teeth around the convienient flesh.

And bit. You can see the pictures of my teeth marks, in his arm, at his blog, if you would like.

I would like to state for the record that I: AM NOT SORRY THAT I BIT HIM!
He should have let go of the bill.
__________________________________________________________________
Update- 9:32 PM: I AM sorry that I bit him. It was mean. I should have learned not to bite in preschool, I guess. You can go over there and comment on how big of a bitch I am now, if you would like. I would vote for "Team Nick" versus "Team Jackie" right now, too. You hear that sound? Yeah, it's the sound of me groveling.
In other news--I have worked on my blogrolls a little. I really do read through all of them, it just takes me a while. I have added a group of "Outstanding Tippers" which is a combo of 86 tips Early Adopters (first linkers!) and blogs that I simply love. I have deleted blogs from my blogroll that I simply do not like, or that do not update, or that do not link back to me. Any blog I link to is a blog that I read and would recommend to others. My blogroll helps me to pinpoint who has a new post, anyhow.

Your Holiday Gift Tried to Kill Me

2005-11-17T23:33:00.000-06:00

Is anyone else pissed off that every store front is decorated for CHRISTMAS already? I've already gotten a bunch of catalogs with holiday pictures on them and little fancy santas and stuff.

It's not even Turkey Day and already, am overwhelmed with gold bows, christmas trees, holiday sparkles, floral arrangements with holly berries and....ick. (I know, I'm the fuckin' grinch for just bringing it up.) Make no mistake, I absolutely adore the holidays, wrapping gifts, the snow, the christmas celebration. But why do we have to rush into things? Why can't we get through November first? The advent calendar with the chocolates can wait.

At the restaurant, the holiday songs start mixing in with the normal pop-rock around Nov. 15th. You're on a business lunch? Hope you like "The 12 days of Christmas" after Ashlee Simpsons' latest. And the waitstaff? Stir-crazy! In one shift, around the third time through the same music track selections, I want to "Deck The Man" who just sent his food back, not "Deck The Halls." By the second week of December, any waiter who hasn't yet had a near-brush-with-death by shopping bags and packages is a rare specimen.

Sorry that your new cashmere sweater is swimming in iced tea. Maybe you shouldn't fucking put that HUGE ASS Ann Taylor holiday limited edition tote where I need to STAND to take your order and deliver your food. (Not that THAT particular example ever happened to Chicago's finest waitress.)

Anyway. On a side note--I f you want to spread the "holiday spirit" go say "Hi!" to one of my real-life friends, a new stay-at-home mom, starting a business, trying to do laundry...who just started blogging.

We Are Family (Sort of)

2005-11-09T22:20:00.000-06:00

I was just thinking about the blog White Trash Mom and decided that she could be the official "Mom" blog of 86tips.

Then I was thinking, who would be the dad blog? The brother? The sketchy neighbor? The husband? The boyfriend? Who who who?

If you are not on the following list, it's because you don't have a post or haven't sent me an email that makes me particularly feel a certain way about ya. Remember that if you're on my blogroll, I read your blog and am proud to call you my friend. So, no hurt feelings, okay?

I had a LOT of fun putting this together. We're the....blog family (snap, snap)....do do do (snap snap).

Who's coming to my house for turkey??

Here we go peeps--

CAST OF CHARACTERS: JACKIE'S BLOG FAMILY
(In order of appearance)
Blog Dad.....John......Catholic Packer Fan
Blog Mom...Michelle...White Trash Mom
Blog Granddad...Old Whig
Blog Grandma....Omni at Omniverse
Blog Husband....Johnny at Not that you care
Blog Boyfriend (Affair)....Brice at Satori Designs
Blog BIG Sisters....(I always wanted to be the baby)
Marisol at Miss Hag
Kari at Creating Havoc
Annie at One Thing I Hate about Today
Deanne at a-b-c-dee
Blog BIG Brothers....(Yes, this family is prolific...)
Nick at Where is Hawkins
Mister G8s at His Upper-Left-Hand-Corner
Groove at Cosmo Blog
Blog Aunt....Maddie at Girlie Bits
Blog Uncle....Scoot at Daily Ramble
Blog Crazy Next-Door-Neighbors (The keg parties MUST stop)
Kickball Superstar, Tammy, Melina
Blog Crazy Next-Door-Couple
Hof and A*

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2005-11-08T19:16:00.000-06:00

So this weekend I'm headed to the old homestead for a family party. Lucky me gets to take a RED EYE flight back on Sunday night, and then I get to WORK on Monday morning. Who wants to be the lucky person who sits in the office with me?? Huh? No volunteers? Oh.
Anyway, here is a previous post that I wrote, after my last red-eye back from California, when I was livid with these people for torturing not only me, but their kid and the whole fucking plane. Enjoy.

Here is a partial list of "The Worst Ideas Ever":
3. Poking one's eye out with a sharp stick
2. Blowdrying your hair while in the bathtub
1. Bringing a child under the age of 5 on a Red-Eye Flight.

Okay, so these fucking people behind us didn't even buy a seat for their terrible devil-spawn.We paid full-price for each of our seats and got their screaming brat at 3 am for free.

Who does that to their kid? Seriously. I understand it is NOT the kid's fault that his parents are a couple of fucking morons that should have been sterilized years ago.

It is not the kid's fault that his parents didn't bring him a blanket, stuffed animals or any toys to help him feel better during an overnight flight. (Trust me, kid, I'd rather be in your "Thomas the Tank Engine" bed, than on this plane, too.) It's not your fault your parents didn't buy you your own seat where you could have laid/sat down instead of crawling uncomfortably back and forth across their laps.

It's not your fault they don't have the skills to get you to shut-the-fuck-up on this red eye flight. I could understand better if you were a little baby. But, you weren't. You could walk and were wearing little shoes. I bet you're about three years old.

To top it all off, the father (?) asked me if I could move my seat up a little bit. I told him I would be happy to as soon as he got his kid under control. He didn't like that very much...but you know what? The entire fucking plane doesn't like that YOUR KID is keeping all of us UP RIGHT NOW. In the MIDDLE of the night. He's lucky I didn't say that.

There was another little family a few rows up from us and you know what? We didn't hear a PEEP from their THREE small children. That mother had those babies under control. They were prepared.

People like those other assholes should ride the bus. Everywhere.

I think I'll start my own religion (not)

2005-11-05T21:16:00.000-06:00

Okay. I have been getting some outstanding information from readers.
You all are awesome.

I'm taking Annie's suggestion, which was something I hadn't considered:

To me, one of the most important aspects of a religion is its history, its roots and foundation.

I'm really interested in why people choose the religion they do. In our 20's and 30's and beyond I believe we should exercise the old free will, by looking up, around, and saying, "Gosh, what else is there? Why do these people pick this? Even if I think that's a terrible idea, there are other people that obviously, do not."

So far I have come to the following hypotheses:

(If you belong to any of these groups noted below, I am asking that you email me some informative links or your own personal experience.)

1. I'm not sure about religions that I'm finding were founded by other people.
(Or, "You can't just make up a religion!!!")

Scientology. Founded by a science fiction writer, L. Ron Hubbard. A bunch of stuff about "Dianetics."
Christian Science. Founded by Mary B. Eddy. Kinda a weird twist on Christianity. Don't take medicine which sort of freaks me out. What about medical science you guys?
Baha'is. An interesting mix of a lot of religions-"all religions lead to the same truth". Started by this man Bahullah who they regard as a prophet, and follow his writings.

2. I'm not sure what this religion is about, or cannot get a straight answer.
(Or, "Hey! What's going on here?"

Unitarian Universalists. The official website says some of their followers are Christian and some are not. Whhhhh-at? I appreciate the tolerance of the statements. Seems more like a place where all beliefs are respected.

Anyway, I'm still on the war-path on this religion thing. Your comments and input are greatly appreciated.

In other news, I got like, 5 cute outfits today. It's been so long since I'd been shopping.

World Religions

2005-11-04T00:08:00.000-06:00

Okay, who saw the movie, "The Village?"

It was a lame movie. One of the ideas behind it made me think: using fear as a tactic to keep your children physically and emotionally where they are, because you think its better, safer for them.

Back in the day, the folks warned little Catholic me about various cults like Christian Science, where the "evil" followers lure people into reading rooms, and brainwash them. They had me so frightened that I didn't even walk on the same side of the street of the reading room not far from my high school, for fear I'd be "snatched" by those people. Actually, I felt sorry for the Christian Scientists, as I clasped my fingers around my St. Christopher medals and wished they weren't going to hell for not believing in Jesus. And the Virgin Mary. And believing their books were better than the Bible. And, and, and.

The Baha'is were "weirdos" and the Jehovah's Witnesses didn't make it past our doorstep, possibly getting "accidentally" doused with sprinklers. Holy water, folks. I'm sure.

(I could turn this post into an episode of South Park and say something offensive about every non-Christian religion. I could probably even tell you some Jewish jokes. I like to keep it as short as possible.)

I think that the strongest argument for being a Christian for me personally would be the ability to say, "I have studied and considered each of the major world religions trying to put my childhood biases aside. I have seen the rest, I choose this."

To me, that is the definition of free will.

That being said, if any of you are practicing Christian Scientists, or Bahai's and know where I can read a little bit about the religion (from my computer is best), email me and let me know.

I'm probably going to end up Christian anyhow. (I love me some Jesus, team.) But, I want to know some facts about religions just so I can be educated on the topic and replace the childhood nonsense with some actual knowledge.

Who Farted?

2005-11-02T22:53:00.000-06:00

So, upon returning home to our lovely condo (which we are renting), we received an obnoxious notice from the association stating that we had left our STROLLER in the hallway in front of our unit and of COURSE this is a VIOLATION of the Condominium Declaration.

Oh, hells no! My blood started boiling in my tired-ass veins. I took to Word like a m-f-er.

I attached the notice, to the following letter and stuck it under the association office door, informing the dark office that they could put the following in their crack pipes and smoke it:

To Whom It May Concern:

We are in receipt of your letter dated 11/2/2005 indicating that you have observed personal property in the hallway by our unit, namely, a stroller.

Kindly observe on our residential lease agreement and accompanying documents on file at your office, which would indicate that the only occupants in unit xxxx are the two of us. We do not have any children for whom the use of a stroller may or may not be a necessity. In fact, if we did have children who did require such a vehicle, we would store it in the rather spacious hallway closet in our tier x model, of which floorplan we are sure you are familiar.

While we appreciate the photocopy of the relevant page of the Condominium Declaration, we are in receipt of said Declaration in its entirety, which was received with our leasing documents. That being said, our signatures on the aforementioned leasing agreement indicate that we have not only received, read and understood the leasing agreement, but the Condominium Declaration as well, and are aware of the prohibition mentioned on page 13 regarding the abandonment of ones’ personal property in any and all common areas.

Perhaps it would be wise for you to inquire with our neighbors in unit xxxx, whom we have observed to have a small child, and a stroller. Perhaps they are the ones who should be accused of not understanding the Condominium Declaration and should receive said notice.

Sincerely Yours,

Livin' on the edge

2005-10-30T11:55:00.000-06:00

How do I summarize the 1,348,921 crazy things that happened to me last week?

I can't, really.

I think I'll make a top ten list of things to "catch you up"**:

Jackie's Top Ten Things from Last Week:

Waking up with bronchitis. Excellent. Still hacking. (Anyone want odds on whether I'm going to cough up a hairball next?)
At the day job, being called on an assignment that goes from 8am-8pm, everyday.
Having to dress up for each of the six days of the week. What a colossal pain in the ass!
Wondering if the cold or the way I feel when I take DayQuil is worse.
Knowing that I'm not the only one up all night from coughing and sneezing (We only have a one-bedroom, people.)
I overpaid some credit card bills, lost my ATM card, and my phone bill payment--late.
I lost two pounds! I have an odd relationship with food.
I'm not wearing my wedding band anymore. The diamonds in it came loose. It's being repaired. (So, I'm back to being only engaged. Maybe I'll fly to Vegas? Who wants to get married?)
I killed the coffeemaker.
Top Ramen isn't as bad as I remembered.

**The interesting thing about this post is that I know that these are not unique experiences.
I'm sure all of you have been through most of the above. That's what makes this whole blogging thing so interesting sometimes: a shared experience in the mundane.

Love until later,
Jackie

Getting Ready for an 80's party this Friday

2005-10-19T23:42:00.000-05:00

Girls Just Want To Have FUN

So I'm going to an 80's themed party this Friday. One of those all-you-can-drink things. It's a benefit of some kind.

The only parts of my wardrobe I've totally decided on is the bright blue eyeshadow and some wet n' wild lipstick. You know it's hott, people. Don't lie.

I have a bright pink, off the shoulder slouch sweater and I'm thinking I'm going to pair it with a neon blue tank top. And leggings. Black leggings. Side, high ponytail. Converse. Leg warmers.

My friend thinks I should channel Sarah Jessica Parker, ala "Girls Just Want To Have Fun."
I do kind of have that preppy thing going on.

Who loves "Girls Just Want To Have Fun"?? Who wants to think of ways I can pair stuff I already have to make it TOTALLY 80's!

Come on, snoop through my closet. You can do it.

Just don't steal my "B is for Biatch" shirt. Or my Louis Vuitton.
Anything else, you can borrow, darling.

Front-Running-Bandwagon-Jumping-Sons-of-Bitches!

2005-10-18T22:46:00.000-05:00

The White Sox finished 17th in attendance this year, with an average attendance of almost 29,000, about 70% of the ball-park's capacity.

(The best attendance record? You guessed it: the finest team money can buy: The Yankees.)

Back to the White Sox.
Apparently tickets for the World Series sold out in 18 minutes.
WHERE ARE ALL OF THESE FANS COMING FROM??

Before you send me hate mail, hear me out.
I am not a huge sports fan. I don't say that I am, and haven't anywhere.
My husband, Matt, is a HUGE Cubs fan.
He is NOT pretending to be a Sox fan, all of a sudden, for example.
You know WHY? Because he's a CUBS fan. That's why.

You can't just decide that you're a fan of a team because they are winning.
That is kind of like selling out. At the very least, it is dishonest.

Lets get some of our favorite customers here at 86 tips into the mix with a few examples, shall we?

Does anyone think that the Catholic Packer Fan would suddenly be a Chicago Bears or a Vikings fan if either team made it to the Super Bowl? I think it would be a cold day in hell before that would happen. (Hi, John!)

The real Sox fans, whoever they are, were out there this season, finding plenty of seats to sit in at each game. They wore the black and white. They do whatever people do at Comiskey.

(I'm not going to pretend to know. Like I said, I'm a Cubs-fan-in-law. Really, I'm a Dodgers fan. But that's another story all together.)

People that were fans before the Sox won the American League Pennant have the butts that should be in the seats come game one of the World Series.

I guess the other argument is that since the teams are in the same town, we should root for whatever Chicago team is winning. But would a Yankees fan root for the Mets in the World Series? I'm thinking not. (Maybe Marisol or G8s could advise us.)

I'm happy for my friends Nick and Kristy who are Sox fans. I think its exciting to be a fan of a team that's winning. But they were fans before.

Part Three out with the Wookie

2005-10-17T20:42:00.000-05:00

Chewie downs another unsuspecting guest's heineken.

After we polished off lots of fabulous tapas, (and.....a few more pitchers...)
the fantastic crew of chicks and dudes decided to go back to college times and head to John Barleycorn's, which we affectionately know as "John Frattycorns." The loud music, casual atmosphere and club-style beats make it a popular spot to get down with your bad self, or with all of your bad girlfriends without having to worry *too* much about sketchy dudes.

(For the Record, Chewie had to stay in various girl's purses while we busted a move on the upstairs dance floor, so he wouldn't get lost or abducted.)

I think he puked in my purse.
Oh well. I still took him home.

Birthday Madness Starting at Moes' Cantina

2005-10-17T20:41:00.002-05:00

Chewie High-Fives the Bud Light he just downed. Watch that Sangria!

So, as many of you know, I won Kickball Superstar's caption contest to win the hardest-partying wookie the world has ever known: Chewbacca!

I took him along to my friend Lindsay's birthday get-down.
(I was sure he would love all the twenty-something lovely lady lumps.)

Don't worry: Soon, I will have a contest, where YOU will get a chance to PARTY with our hairy ally too!

Part Two of the Evening of Wild Wookie

2005-10-17T20:41:00.001-05:00

No, Chewie, that's MY Sangria!

So we started out at a tapas place, Moe's, which is in Wrigleyville for you Chicago buffs.
A big table in the back and a few pitchers of Sangria later, we were feeling pretty psyched.

(Chewie was getting a lot of attention from the ladies, as well.)

86 Reviews?

2005-10-16T21:14:00.000-05:00

From Jennifer Garrett's Blog:
(She's reading 100 blogs and writing 100 reviews. Yay! I can't believe I got picked, y'all!)

Saturday, October 15

No tips. No tips of any kind.
To be a waitress is a hard thing. Because, let's face it, people are crazy. And they are super crazy when they are hungry. Take my friend Rachel, for instance. Normally, a very sweet girl. Tonight, she didn't get her burger in a timely fashion, and she got a little cranky. Girl needed some food and how. Luckily, our waitress was cool and mocked Rache instead of killing her (when the Rache was out of earshot, of course).

It's dealing with crazy bitches like us that fuels Jackie over at 86 Tips. Pay careful attention to the code of conduct. And please, whatever you do, don't stiff your server. And while the restaurant commentary is great, it's the regular stuff that kills me, because, I, too, believe that folding my laundry counts as foreplay.
________________________________________________________________________________

No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn

2005-10-13T22:41:00.000-05:00

Or, why Al-Qaeda should enlist 20 something, well-dressed white women to infiltrate high-rise buildings.

Allow me to elaborate. Be afraid, be very afraid.

At any high rise building in the metropolitan area....
...I can waltz right up, in my shiny black shoes, a long camel-colored felt coat, tiffany necklace clasped carefully around my neck, non-chalantly listening to ipod while I wave at your doorman and he smiles or winks and lets me right through.

No questions. No problems. I have discussed this with my girlfriends who come to visit, and have noticed it when I go to other's people's homes and "high-security" towers.

Me: "Did the doorman stop you?"
Girls: "Nope."

The same is true at major offices, law firms, companies.

Employees wear badges, but not all the time. Obviously the practice is not enforced well. People "wear" their badges on their handbags, their belts, their collars, and not at all. Temp badges aren't given to the new people consistently. No guard wants to harass a pretty young lady who grins at him and may be a new hire, right? That would make him a JERK.

Its amazing what happens when you look a certain way, dressed in office attire, walking with purpose and carrying a designer bag!

(Too bad for the evil guys, I don't want to be a human bomb and that I probably can't kick any ass even if I wanted to.)

I'm just saying.

It scares me that certain people can get by (or NOT) "security" features because of the way they look, the age they are, the way they're dressed, what they are carrying in their hands (grocery bags make you look like a resident, natch.).

This is why that racial profiling idea doesn't really work. Lucky for the doormen, office security and the FAA, I would NEVER EVER do anything to hurt other people.

But that doesn't mean that EVERY 5'7 work-a-day brunette isn't up to something.
And, it doesn't mean that EVERY middle-eastern, middle-aged man isn't to something, either.

I don't know what it means. I guess it means "Coming soon to a high-rise near you: preppy young counter-terrorists." Just kidding. I don't know. (Ducking because of tomato throwers)...

Anyway.

(Oh---if you're interested in having your blog re-done by Maddie you better tell her soon--she's offering a **special** deal for my favorite customers here at 86tips.)

What do you mean, they didn't leave any money?

2005-10-11T23:09:00.000-05:00

The first time I got "stiffed" I was 20. I cry over by the damp heat of the dishwashing station, not knowing that the tiny mist from the machine was depositing my mascara on my cheeks.

I hear the spraying stop. Two curious sets of eyes now peer at me.
These guys don't speak english and I don't speak spanish.

A small rotund man with a mustache, old enough to be my father, who I know is named "Julio" and makes $8 or so an hour to spray the shit off of people's dishes comes around the stainless steel station and pats my arm.

He kisses his hand and touches my cheek. "Shhhh," he says, shaking his index finger at me and smiling. "Shhhh." I manage a weak smile for him.

I go to the ladies room in back and scrub the mascara off of my face.

The quiet eyes in the "Back of the House" already knew me.
Julio's son, Juan, was the busser that I always tipped out rather generously.

With Juan's help, I could manage five or six tables fabulously because he would run my bread, my waters, and clear my dishes unobtrusively (an art). Our turns were quicker, but not rushed. If I was asked to work a double (a second shift) at the last minute, I would immediately ask him if he was up for it. He never said no.

Our orders were correct because if there was a problem with the food, I would tell him and he would tell the cooks in hurried, jovial Spanish. I would watch, smiling and nodding as if I was willing the words to come out of his mouth.

Our blonde manager never understood how I could ask the kitchen for something and get it immediately while she would ask and have to wait. She'd huff and she'd puff. Hee. She was something else. A real piece of work.

Other tables *usually* make up for the amount that a terrible table stiffs you.
You take the hit and you move on. I think I still did okay that day, anyway.

Workin' It: A blog redesign

2005-10-10T19:11:00.000-05:00

86 tips has a new design, thanks to up-and-coming site designer Maddie of Girlie Bits.

She was super-duper PATIENT with me, as I requested about 18 small changes after I saw the first mock-up and then approximately 20 more after the second mock-up.
And, she still managed to surprise me: a little skyline on my haloscan comments, no blogger bar at the top, and fun little martini glass designs everywhere! Weeeeee!

If YOU would like to get YOUR blog re-designed by Madster, AND you mention "86tips", you will get a 10% discount off of your new blog look. Yay! (I don't get anything from the referral but the joy of you readers having an exciting new design catered to your tastes. ) Alternatively, you could email her at: maddiemad [at] gmail dot com.

She has a cute little button at the bottom of my site, too. Prices are reasonable and service is outstanding. She works to get it right from start to finish. The project really took a shape of its own as I saw sample pages and then thought more about what I wanted. If you don't know what you want, its cool. I'm sure she can find something that would work for ya.

Thanks, Mad.

This waitress is LOVING her new uniform. The only problem is it reminds me how much I ADORE Martinis!

Dude looks like a lady! And other drunken musings

2005-10-08T22:24:00.000-05:00

So we're back home for a few minutes because we want to watch the first half-hour or so of "Saturday Night Live" with Jon Heder from Napoleon Dynamite hosting.

Tottttalllly sweet.

Tonight at dinner I saw this lady but Matt said it was DEFINITELY a DUDE!
I was like, "No fucking way, that's a chick."
Matt was all, "Sorry sweetheart, that is a dude."

Fast-forward, y'all. Try as I might to not break the seal, I couldn't help it. I had to use the loo.
So guess who was in the bathroom with this "dude" at the same time?
Yep. Yessiree. Me.
I was putting on some lipstick and she asked me about what color it was because she thought it was cute.
Up close and personal, I could TELL it was a dude.
The voice was the clue. Oh, and the adam's apple.

How do I feel about this?
I feel fine. I was wrong, it wasn't a lady it was a dude but I say, whoever you're dressed like is who you are.

Let's keep it simple for the drunk-ish 20-somethings, okay?

I smiled and let the dude/lady have one of those extra sampler thingies of lancome lip glass that I had in my purse.

If that person believes they are a lady, I'm okay with that.
Lip gloss and more cosmopolitans for everyone.

OH! I'm getting my blog redesigned again. The new look should be up soon. Hellllls yes.

Pardon me while I go and milkshake it. I'm feeling sober enough to edit this post so it means I need another drink. Cheers.

the polar express

2005-10-05T22:27:00.000-05:00

Does anyone remember that book?

It's a holiday story about a train, and they eat candies with white nougat centers, and its snowing, and, and....giggle. LOVE kid stories.

I've ordered it for our friend's son. His birthday isn't until November but I can't help it.
Buying kid things is so much fun! Don't get me wrong, we don't want to have our own "magic pregnancy" ala Tom and Katie (TomKat, y'all), but I love buying kid stuff.

Actually....if I could just pop out a five year old kid instead of a tiny, gooey, pink screaming baby-martian-thing, that would suit me just fine.

In other news, I have been taking NyQuil for the-cold-that-wouldn't-end and have been having some very odd dreams, including but not limited to:

1. Jesus talking to me out of the hole on a Tide Detergent Box (!!!)
2. My mother teaching polka lessons, wearing a polka-dot dress (my mom rides a harley, y'all)
3. Me riding in the pouch of a kangaroo, upside-down (In Australia, DUH!)

So, I'm about to take my next dose now and I'll dream a little dream of each of you.
In a really fucked-up situation, we all can be sure.

**Weight loss update! September '05 total: 5.2 pounds gone! I RULE!**

baby i'm the lucky one

2005-10-04T22:15:00.000-05:00

shhhh....right now I'm on the computer checking email and paying bills...annnnd...

If you were a fly on our wall, you would already know that in between "The Amazing Race" and "Law and Order: SVU" we've ran up and down the cold marble hallway trying to time the commercial breaks with our wash and the dry cycles.

Fifteen minutes ago, we brought up our laundry in a huge, warm lump stuffed precariously into our hip-shaped basket. I'm sitting here in our cat-hair covered swivel chair, about to turn to go help fold clothes when I notice Mr. Handsome, all 6 feet 4 of him, sitting indian-style on the floor, watching football and idly folding my baby t-shirts into perfect little squares. Now he's smoothing my jeans.

Do you think I should tell him that I hang those shirts up on hangers? (No).

Who votes that folding my laundry definitely counts as foreplay? (Me! Me!).

I heart my white trash mom

2005-10-02T22:42:00.000-05:00

Okay, if you haven't seen white trash mom, you should check her out.

I grew up in a fancy "suburb" of Los Angeles, California and went to a high school where it wasn't uncommon to see other students with brand new BMW's, or shiny convertibles, you name it.

The girls wore real diamond earrings (not those plastic ones from Claire's) and had fancy new cell phones and wore $300 designer jeans from Neiman Marcus. They would know exactly what to wear and exactly what to say at a fancy party or a gala event. They were the trophy wives of the future. Going to college was "something to do" rather than "something to help me have a career."

They lived in mansions that usually had two cute little ranch-style houses near the back, one for the "help" and one as a "guest house." Because when you have seventeen rooms and ten bathrooms for a family of five, you can't possibly accomodate any house-guests. Gosh, no.

Their fathers owned companies, were stockbrokers, lawyers, top surgeons.

Every year in the fall, I got a few more pairs of jeans, some shiny new sneakers, and whatever cool shirts I thought I needed, all from JC Penney's or Nordstrom Rack.

We saved plastic bags from the grocery store and used them as trash can liners.

My mom put "Mr. Bubble" in my bath water when I was little, didn't get her hair and nails done every week like the other moms, baked cookies from that little tube of dough and knew how to braid my hair long after wearing it back in simple plaits was cool.

Anywhere else, we would have been considered middle class, even upper-middle class.
But here, compared to the glitterati and the polished new-moneyed daughters, we were white trash.

I didn't realize it until about half-way through high-school when the lovely captain of the cheerleading squad passed me a note in our required family health education class.

"Jackie", it read in her bubbly handwriting, "Are those Tommy Hilfiger jeans?"
"Yes, they are", I wrote back carefully, making sure my handwriting looked as feminine as hers. My heart leaped. The cool girls noticed that I was wearing something that was 'in'! I watched her open the note, raise her eyebrows and pen back:

"That's unfortunate. They are so incredibly junior high. Why do you embarrass yourself like that?"

My cheeks stung and my pride hurt. I knew those girls had more money, fancier things and glitzy lives. But did they have to rub it in my face?

I didn't realize that the same kind of intimidation was happening on the mom-front as well.
You go, white trash moms.

Put that store-bought cake on a cake plate and let those pta-running bitches know that you baked it. Hells, yes.

your body is a wonderland and my nose is a faucet

2005-09-29T23:20:00.000-05:00

Seriously, now.

When is my nose going to stop running?
Will one of you wonderful readers please catch it? ( I know, ba-domp, Ching! Bad joke!)

Really. I am a total weakling or this is a super-human virus which is going to devour Chicago.

If I still lived in Southern California, where the weather didn't take snide little dips into frigid, maybe I wouldn't have these problems.

In LA, I got to breathe green or orange air. I think I'll stay in Chicago.

I am a total weakling. In other news, I nearly flooded the condominium (Which we do not own, mind you).

Maybe I should send in a picture of a toilet with a dookie in it to post secret with the following scrawled across:

"Our toilet started to overflow like crazy.
I am the one who over-dookied and over-flushed it.
The maintenance man thinks it was my husband.
There is no way that could have come from me, right?"

Of course this sanitation and cleaning debacle comes on a night when I'm trying to:
1. Clean/Tidy the house already because the in-laws are coming to visit (the OUT laws? Hee!)
2. Fix a picture book for the above visitors
3. Stop my fuckin' nose from running. And my throat from hurting. Damn!
4. Post to my blog
5. Pay some bills online
6. Call my parents, who probably think I'm dead or extremely busy doing #1-#5. Probably the former. Damn.
7. Just lay in bed and REST like I'm supposed to be. But, noooooooooooooooooo.

If you need me, I'm the one shooting snot-rockets out of that high-rise. Look out below!

I won a contest!

2005-09-26T21:28:00.000-05:00

Seriously, y'all. I won a caption contest on Kickball Superstar's Site.

The picture KS got from fark.com is a riot!

We're going to Sullivan's and to Rockit as soon as we get Chewie, who will party with us like it's 1999!! (I will be sure to post pictures of the wookie in my purse, in my cleavage, in my martini, partying hardy! That was part of the contest rules.)

This will mean that the hard-partying wookie will need to be passed onto someone else. Maybe I'll have a contest. Maybe I'll just send him to a blogger friend of mine. I can't wait to get him in the mail.

(Yay! Something in the mail besides a BILL! That would be a change!)

I don't ever win things. This is why I was so excited. I played "Milkshake" and "My Hump" and "Safety Dance" and really worked it in my living room. That's right, the Safety Dance. Oh, hells yes.

Tonight, I am editing my blogroll as well. Sites that do not exist anymore (so sad), sites that do not link to 86 tips (unless they aren't a linking kind of site) and sites that aren't updated at least twice a month are getting 86'ed. It's harsh but it's gotta happen.

Oh! And...If you have linked to 86 tips....and you're fabulous...and I haven't noticed it for whatever reason, please comment or drop me an email! I will come by and check out your site and will most likely add you to my blogroll.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be down in the mail room, waiting for Chewie to arrive. Please send chocolate and martinis. Thank you.

Subway Baby

2005-09-24T20:41:00.000-05:00

If you don't know where you're going, you can still ride the subway.
There are maps, of course.

I like to ride the subway (the "El") facing 'backwards', which is, facing opposite the way we're going. That's right. I'm looking into the past. And I like the way the force of the train compels you to stay in your seat.

All you need is $2.00 and you can ride. You can even get a free transfer.

I'll listen to my ipod and if you want to sit next to me, that's fine.

Bonuses: I'm wearing deodorant, I won't encroach on your side of the plastic seat, and I don't really feel the need to chat. Oh, I am wearing clean clothes. Well, I kind of smell like FOOD if I'm wearing restaurant pants/shoes. Sorry. BUT! I might have food. Do you like food?

My order of preference for seating partners (when it's full enough that people have to double up) is:

1. A professional man, preferably in his 30's, clean-cut, average joe
2. A cool chick, preferably in her 20's or 30's, who doesn't scare me
3. Anyone who is wearing a local college sweatshirt and has a backpack
4. Someone who isn't as drunk as everyone else.

If all of those seats are taken, I'll stand. (Of course, facing where we came from.)

You can always tell when someone doesn't want to sit by someone else, or when someone has shat/peed themselves on the train. Yes, it's rush hour and a WHOLE car is empty, except for the offender, who is probably "asleep" under a row of chairs. Yes, it's sad. Try the next car, buddy. Can't hack it?

Go back to po'dunk, Iowa or wherever your lost ass is from. Oh, and take that Cubs hat off. You're not fooling anyone.
Oh, and "Have a nice day."
__________________________________________________________________
86 Tips Mini-Comment "Challenge":
In the comments, if you want, why don't you finish the sentence, "If you don't know where you're going...."
___________________________________________________________________________________

Neglected 6th Table in the Corner

2005-09-20T23:51:00.003-05:00

Mentally weary, I see out of the corner of my eye that you're sitting down at a table just beyond my section. You've got to be my sixth table. I could rush over and greet you quickly, but that would put me out of the rhythm that I'm in. I got the four tables before you all at the same time. That's right, sixteen people sat down all at the same time. Before you did.

You're excited to see me. You remember-I waited on you last time. I smile apologetically. I apologize for the wait. You feel okay, just a little bit frustrated because I didn't come over right away like I normally would.

My busser brushes past me briskly, balancing bread, water and silverware in one hand and a few salads on the other. He is my only help, a big help, but still.

This blog has lately been the "neglected" table in the turn of my life.

(If you want to read a great story you can go see Marisol or Mr.G8s. The two of them are fantastic writers! Or you could check out Annie or Kickball Superstar.)

To let you in on what I'm working on, I have been:
*Working on starting a new chapter of a Volunteer Organization I'm in
*Working on getting information on grad schools and careers
*Learning to cook healthy food
*Working on losing some weight and getting some exercise (besides personal training)
*Trying to be more social--meeting up with new and old friends for dinners, lunches, drinks...

I love blogging. I do. I am a total homebody. I know that I am in this growth stage of my life and can't really tell you exactly what it's all about because I'm in the middle of it. As soon as I can get this in bite-size pieces and reflect on it, I will be able to wax poetic on the ramifications this has had for my soul...or something like that.

As always your comments, emails and general readership are greatly appreciated by me.
Talk to you soon! I'm going to sleep.

Learning to Balance

2005-09-20T00:05:00.000-05:00

Or, "I can be your friend when I'm not exhausted from work, when I haven't burnt a roast in the oven, when I have the time to work out two hours a day (and still have energy for sex) and when I have food in my refrigerator."

If I held myself to those rules I wouldn't have any friends.

But I have noticed that when we do go out to friends' houses or meet friends for dinner 3-4 nights out of the week, it is like something is lacking--just being at home.

Just being.

But if we don't go out, it is like we aren't really seeing our friends, either. There is something about sitting over a boring glass of wine and wishing you were at home watching hubby flip the channels between sports games.

Saturday Looks Gray

2005-09-17T00:33:00.000-05:00

(Alllllrighty then, 86 tips? Readers.
I realize that I need to put up a post because my last one was Wednesday.
Butttttt (hee) you know what? It's Saturday night and I'm tired, tipsy and ready for bed. )

I just wanted to say hi anyway and wish all of you an awesome weekend.

Chicagoans: get outside--our nice warm weather is waning, people! The mornings are getting grayer and much-colder-looking which makes it so hard to get up in the morning. Does that happen to anyone else? When it's gray and foggy outside, who just wants to pull the covers up tightly, not worry about a thing, and sleep until one feels like waking?

(This hangover isn't going to help, either....why am I such a flippin' idiot? Damn beers. I should have stuck to getting other people drunk, off my hump.)

To further make matters in my Saturday morning more complicated, I'm going to the Cubs game tomorrow and sitting with the Bleacher Bums--we have to leave the house at 10 am---blech.

Now Playing:
Pussycat Dolls
Black Eyed Peas
Limp Bizkit
Young MC

Get over the Hump!

2005-09-14T21:07:00.000-05:00

Whatcha gonna do with all that ass
all that ass inside dem jeans
I'ma make make make make you scream
make you scream make you scream
Whatcha gonna do with all that junk
all that junk inside that trunk
I'ma get get get get you drunk
get you love drunk off this hump
(Black Eyed Peas-My Hump)

Okkkay... so I'm not really sure about this song but it's catchy. I had it in my head all day and couldn't figure out all of the words. Grrrr! I'm pretty sure its a fabulous-shake-your-ass-and-work-it on the dance floor kinda thing.

For me that makes it a fabulous-shake-my-ass-and-work-it in the living room kinda thing. I mean, it's Wednesday night, people.

And, I'm getting over the hump by shaking mine.

Stink Bomb

2005-09-12T21:13:00.000-05:00

The hallway in our condo building is shaped like a capital I. The elevators are right in the middle of the stem of the "I." As soon as I step out of the elevator and begin to walk down the hall I am assaulted by a salty, strong smell.

Someone is cooking seafood, asian-style.

And it smells god-awful. Stink-bomb, people.

Quickly I fumble through my purse, desperately searching for keys. I'm breathing through my mouth now.

I open my door and breathe in the smell of candles and febreze.

I bet my neighbors would think MY house stinks.
That thought really gets me.

I wish we weren't so fragile

2005-09-11T23:03:00.000-05:00

I wish I didn't know that the people on flight 93 crashed into a field in Pennsylvania, going full-speed (over 500 mph).

I wish I hadn't seen the footage on CNN that day.

I wish I could have gone on about that day at work as the high-ponytailed, bright-eyed manager of a small-town Baskin Robbins, knowing that later that my boyfriend (eventual husband) would come in for a large vanilla cone.

I wish I hadn't gotten a call from the owner of the Baskin-Robbins, telling me to secure all of the freezers and go home to my family.

I wish she hadn't sounded so scared.

I wish I didn't cry so easily when I see the images, when I hear the interviews, when I read about plans for memorials in the Tribune.

I wish that Americans had learned that we were not prepared for a terrorist attack and could have done something before it all happened, something that would have saved some lives.

I wish I could be more patient with airport screeners, they are doing the best they can to keep us safe.

I wish that I could live in a world where the promise of safety that my husband's hug, my granddad's smile, my mother's kiss gives, was a binding promise, a gift to keep me safe against anything.

I wish I could give that kind of safety to my future children or to anyone else's children that I love.

I wish love, peace and understanding to everyone whose life was tragically changed or touched by the events that occured on 9/11.

I wish help and kindness to the lost who were flushed out of New Orleans.

I wish that bad, unspeakable, horrible things wouldn't happen to people. I didn't say "good people" because nobody deserves what happened to all of us.

Binge Drinking!

2005-09-09T00:12:00.000-05:00

You Are a Strawberry Daiquiri

You're a fun, playful drinker who loves to party.You may get totally wasted, but you're always a happy drunk!

What Mixed Drink Are You?

Okay, so I had to lighten up the mood around here. That blogging challenge was depressing, team.
Have a good week. Can't believe it's already Friday at work.

I was an hour late to work today because I overslept my alarm.
Wish I could say it was too many daiquiris.
I think I was just tired.

The Green Mile

2005-09-08T23:32:00.000-05:00

Ah, the Blogger Challenge. This time it comes to us from Hofzinser. For the prompt, click on the link.

I'm going to argue against the use of the death penalty for convicted murderers.

Life imprisonment is a better form of punishment for convicted murderers than capital punishment when considered from three standpoints: economic factors, innocents convicted and deterrent to future crimes.

From an economic standpoint, capital court cases are longer and, and therefore, more costly than cases where life imprisonment is the highest punishment being considered. A major factor to consider is that cases where accused murderers are convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment do not suffer as many appeals.

Death penalty trials cost an average of 48% more than the average cost of trials in which prosecutors seek life imprisonment. (1)

From a somewhat moral standpoint, acknowledging that our court system sometimes convicts innocent defendants; it is simply irresponsible and a tragedy for our government to administer capital punishment to one who has simply not committed the crime in question. If the defendant is sentenced to life imprisonment and then is found to be innocent, they are alive to receive some justice. With more advanced scientific equipment, techniques and apparatuses, it is becoming possible for crime labs to gain evidence from samples in a way not previously available.

Since 1973, 121 people in 25 states have been released from death row with evidence of their innocence.(2)

Finally, as a deterrent to future criminals, the death penalty fails miserably. There has been no correlation found between the number of people executed and the number of murders committed. Obviously, killing people to show that killing people is wrong simply does not work.

Authors John Sorenson, Robert Wrinkle, Victoria Brewer, and James Marquart examined executions in Texas between 1984 and 1997. They speculated that if a deterrent effect were to exist, it would be found in Texas because of the high number of death sentences and executions within the state. Using patterns in executions across the study period and the relatively steady rate of murders in Texas, the authors found no evidence of a deterrent effect. (3)

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Please feel free to follow my links to a site that I found with lots of helpful information regarding the death penalty.

Midnight Red-Eye Flight

2005-09-05T15:50:00.000-05:00

Here is a partial list of "The Worst Ideas Ever":

3. Poking one's eye out with a sharp stick
2. Blowdrying your hair while in the bathtub
1. Bringing a child under the age of 5 on a Red-Eye Flight.

Okay, so these fucking people behind us didn't even buy a seat for their terrible devil-spawn.
We paid full-price for each of our seats and got their screaming brat at 3 am for free.
Who does that to their kid? Seriously. I understand it is NOT the kid's fault that his parents are a couple of fucking morons that should have been sterilized years ago. It is not the kid's fault that his parents didn't bring him a blanket, stuffed animals or any toys to help him feel better during an overnight flight. (Trust me, kid, I'd rather be in your "Thomas the Tank Engine" bed, than on this plane, too.) It's not your fault your parents didn't buy you your own seat where you could have laid/sat down instead of crawling uncomfortably back and forth across their laps. It's not your fault they don't have the skills to get you to shut-the-fuck-up on this red eye flight. I could understand better if you were a little baby. But, you weren't. You could walk and were wearing little shoes. I bet you're about three years old.

To top it all off, the father (?) asked me if I could move my seat up a little bit. I told him I would be happy to as soon as he got his kid under control. He didn't like that very much...but you know what? The entire fucking plane doesn't like that YOUR KID is keeping all of us UP RIGHT NOW. In the MIDDLE of the night. He's lucky I didn't say that.

There was another little family a few rows up from us and you know what? We didn't hear a PEEP from their THREE small children. That mother had those babies under control. They were prepared.

People like you assholes should ride the bus.

First Class Snob Wannabe?

2005-09-01T19:52:00.000-05:00

Hello. This is me, after I finished packing my new favorite makeup bag. It's from British Airlines First Class....and contained some awesome goodies like face spray, a toothbrush, a little tiny tube of toothpaste and a eye mask. Nick brought it for me from when he went to Africa.

(LOVES IT! Especially this cool black and white picture of London on it. Hi, Deanne!) For more pictures of me being an ass, taking pictures of myself with the makeup bag, see my flickr badge. Good times.

So we're flying coach on American to Los Angeles this weekend to move my brat of a kid sister into college.

I'm sure I know how it's going to go already:
Me: "Good luck at college, sis. Now don't forget you have that super-box of Trojans, just in case, well, you know! Take this DayQuil if you feel sick....don't drink tequila before a big midterm, have two calculators in your bag all the time, wash your sheets every week, and, and..."
Her: "I'm not a ba-by! I'm almost eight-eeeeeeen!"
Me: "Urmmm, of course, right.

I can't believe she's going to college. Hoo-boy. I'm pretty sure what's going to be the fate of her high-school boyfriend after she lands at college (Simulated conversation over IM):
LilSis: "Ummm...Ron? I'm at college now and I think maybe we should see, you know, other, like, people?"
LameBF: "What? What the fuck?"
LilSis:"I'm just not that into you. Sorry. XO! :)"

Who DIDN'T break up with their high-school bfs/gfs when they moved into the dorms? Helllll-o. Only total losers didn't. And the ones who stuck it through first semester...broke up in the spring. It's not just about the hooking up with random people your age and mostly your socioeconomic class, it's about being free to grow into a whole new person. Okay, maybe it is about the hooking up.

For me, I just needed space to breathe.

I actually know a few people who dated through college and are happily married now. They are the rare exception to the rule. Everyone else, dump those high-school flings, move into the dorm and check out that freshman face book!

It's a whole new level of sexy when you shlep into the dining commons after 7 am chem on Monday wearing:

1.Little cutoffs that say "College Name" on the butt, or boxers rolled at the top
2. A tank top with a little hoodie sweater if it's cold
3. Thong sandals
4. Hair up in a ponytail, no makeup....

And you hear the hottie from down your hall in your dorm say hello, him smiling and checking you out.

My inner voice started out sounding like, "Oh, Jackie! Why couldn't you have gotten up earlier and worn some ACTUAL clothes and blow-dried out your hair after your shower and put on some mascara?" and ended up like, "Oh, well, Jackie. You're here, he's here, might as well work it. Besides, if he thinks you're cute like this, he can just wait until he sees you all cleaned up and ready to par-tay!"

Even if men and women are in different dorm buildings, it still is like all of us "live together" because of the level of casualness. In high school, everyone I knew would go to school in outfits, full makeup and hair. In college, everyone I knew would go to school in pjs during the first half of the day and then some sort of dress/swimsuit/shorts kind of outfit for the second half.

No, Kitty

2005-08-31T23:54:00.000-05:00

Buttons gets the lovin'!

Something I like about this picture is that I'm actually wearing my floating heart necklace. The chain on it is so tiny and fragile. God forbid I go to sleep with it on and snap the chain.

Simply put, I kind of hate objects I have to be really gentle with and careful around and can't just enjoy without worrying.

Perfect, expensive china sets? I say, use 'em. If one gets broken, oh, well. It's not worth getting in a fight over. (I won't have anyone to cook for if I divorce/murder hubby over the broken china and I personally cannot eat on the fancy plates if I'm dead. Heh. What if we move and a mover drops the box with all the dishes in it?) And we've never, ever eaten on them? I'm not sure which is the bigger shame.

Anyway, I have had some requests for the Chicken Piccata recipe. I would post it, but.... the Chicken Piccata was kind of awful. We tried it, I didn't realize it would be so...lemony. Good thing we can get awesome pizza any time of the day. I guess if we would have cracked a bottle of wine we wouldn't have noticed that we don't like capers. You don't know, unless you try.

Remember that I'm a waitress, not a cook.

We Belong Together

2005-08-29T18:14:00.000-05:00

Well, can I just say that I had the shittiest day at work today....since I can't really talk about it on here: see dooce. If you'd like to email me a shitty work story or just vent, feel free to remit it to chicagojackie (at) gmail.com.

I'm changing into my workout clothes and listening to itunes, checking on the ol' blog and all of your blogs, too. And....you guys made my day. All of your comments for my post yesterday, "All I Want Is You" really cheered me up!

Thank you so much.

Spy on me-Up for tonight: Jackie tries to cook Chicken Piccata. Jackie watches "The Wedding Date" with Debra Messing. Jackie works out without injuring self. (V. good).

Myron Says Hi (Now Playing):
Free Falling/Tom Petty
It's Raining Men/The Weather Girls (Amen!)
Bitch/Meredith Brooks
A Thousand Miles/Vanessa Carlton
Summer of '69/Bryan Adams
Seasons of Love/The RENT Cast (I know, so sue me. I love it.)

All I want is you

2005-08-28T22:29:00.000-05:00

I caved and bought ipod shuffle. (I love him and have named him "Myron" like my pink mini ipod that had broken).
Now there is no excuse to not go to the gym.

When the husband calls I like to inform him that I'm out on a rendevous with hot sidekick Myron, who has already been in my pants, thank you very much. (Okay, in my pocket...) BUT, STILL!

Other than that, the weekend has been wonderfully chill. I'm sure work will erupt into total hell so my universe can re-balance, and hell doesn't freeze over. I'm going to ignore this impending cosmic doom for the rest of the evening, kick back, and enjoy "SNL's Best of Adam Sandler."

Here are a few shout-outs to my Chi-Town world:

One of our good friends is moving and gave us two beautiful bar stools. You know who you are. Thanks, honey! They look perfect in our kitchen.

Last I heard from my friend Nick, he was stuck in Nairobi. Seriously, Where is Hawkins? It's time for you to come back. If you don't follow his blog, he's the one who went to climb Kilimanjaro. Shoot, he's been all over the freakin' planet. We work in close enough proximity that we can take lunch breaks together. I miss you! Get home safe, already.

Now Playing:
Damn I wish I was your lover/Sophie B. Hawkins
Why Can't I?/Liz Phair
No Scrubs/TLC
All I really want/Alanis Morissette
Stay (I missed you)/Lisa Loeb
We Belong Together/Mariah Carey
Seasons of Love/RENT Soundtrack (I heart Rent)

Secret Lover?

2005-08-25T18:12:00.000-05:00

Another dream.

Seriously, about every 28 days, for 3-4 nights, I have these same dreams. I'm sure they are completely hormone-induced. But, whatever.

For the duration of the day, I feel giddy and strange. Like I'm completely addicted to this person, this feeling, that doesn't exist in reality. Why did I have to wake up this morning so early?

(No, I'm not doing crack. Nice try, however.)

So, I'm going to tell you all, like you were my freakin' psychologist, about these dreams...I'm going to lay back in my chair and you can write on your clipboards....

The dreams aren't overtly sexual but they are sexy. They are all about me and this man. I'm not sure how to describe him. He's more of a feeling than an image, but as an image, he's an odd conglomerate of my husband (Tall, handsome, brown hair) with a shorter, blond man (kind of like my ex, Sean but not really), with a thin torso and bulging biceps. He isn't someone that I know in real life or in blog-life, but is reminiscent of some that I've known, casually or seriously.

His large hands are perennially wrapped around my waist, his fingers coiled protectively into my side. I can feel his upper arm muscles between my shoulder blades. His eyes show perpetual amusement and he is always smiling. Maybe he's gay or bi. I don't know. But he's...beautiful. And amazing to me. We don't ever have sex in these dreams, but I am sure he has an astounding penis. We just don't ever get to that part of things. I'm sure we do do those things, but the dream is never that part. We're perpetually outside, in the sun, walking places. Places with palm trees that smell like the ocean.

Okay. Sigh.

So I feel a little bit disloyal having these sorts of dreams and then thinking about them all day. It's like I have this strange emotional attachment to this idea, this figment of my little hormonal imagination.

And now all of you have seen my lame little dream, too. Heh.

Wear Deodorant. Please.

2005-08-23T21:54:00.000-05:00

So, we're sitting in one of the lovely little bistros within walking distance from our home.

I'm enjoying some grilled alaskan halibut and bright orange sweet potatoes. Mr. Handsome is eating his filet, flattening his mashed potatoes all over his plate, excitedly reviewing his court cases of the day.

A group of people walk by.

Suddenly, we're left sitting in a cloud of cool, crisp B.O.

It will pass. It will pass. No such luck.
The offending people are now sitting right behind us. I can see the offending man. He's old enough to be my father, well-moneyed, and probably right off the golf course. Ew. Seriously. Ew! Ew! Two words: Speed stick. Please. I don't know what's worse, the woman in the party who's taken a bath in some spicy floral scent or this man who has taken a bath in his own juices.

The man trying to "wash" the cars outside (Yes, the skinny tattered soul with the dirty rag) smells better than this guy sitting behind me. Blech.

Our server comes by. She takes one look at my face and one sniff. A smile spreads across her face.

"I was done eating anyway," I laugh.
"You are now, I guess," She ventures.

Matt pinches his nose and eats the rest of his steak.

Boring Downtown Life

2005-08-21T19:20:00.000-05:00

"Lovvvving you, is easy 'cause you're bea-ut-i-fulllll....do do dum doooooo"

Or something. Just kidding.

This weekend we saw "The Aristocrats." The above song has nothing to do with the movie. (Sorry.)

We chose to go to a Saturday matinee because all of the visiting tourists were busy staring at the planes for the Air & Water Show. Yes, that means more people, in full force, stopping in the middle of the street, strollers in tow.

Tourist: "OOOOH! Does little Bobby see the p-lane? Oh, WOW!"
Me: "Oh, fucking A. I have a hangover and you're in the middle of the sidewalk."

I admit it, the stealth bomber planes are cool. They look like UFO's. I have been amused all week because our property manager put up signs about how planes will be "buzzing" the building and that no one should feel alarmed.

It's frightening that the world now thinks of planes as something that you would intentionally crash into a building. I'm sure some total schizophrenics/bi-polar patients have had this idea/fear for years. (Sorry, terrorists, I don't think it's an original thought. Better luck next time?)

Patient: "I'm telling you, doctor, I don't go into high rises because planes might hit them."
Doctor: "Don't worry, now, we'll up your anti-psychotic so you'll feel muccccch better, m'kay?"

Oh, and can someone please explain to me how 9/11 and Iraq are related? I think I missed that memo.

Anyway. "The Aristocrats" was pretty funny but proved to me how immune I really am to things that should be truly shocking. Rape, incest, bodily functions, gay sex, sucking, licking, choking: I was like, "Wow, that's really terrible. Sigh." The only jokes that actually shocked me were the ones with racial slurs. That still always shocks me. It's interesting what we've become "accustomed to."