Boner Petite

2011-07-06T17:28:00.001-05:00

Boner petite and the gentleman of Moses are hosting free improv shows fridays in july! 10:30 at The Oracle.

Men are Animals

2011-06-09T00:06:00.002-05:00

Most of my ex boyfriends remind me of otters:

They're good at cuddling.
They're difficult to keep in captivity.
They can crack shellfish on their abs.

http://dailyotter.org/

xoxo
Becca

2011-06-08T20:44:00.001-05:00

Sasstrashchic!

2011-05-03T17:27:00.001-05:00

I wore an adorable dress, which did not come off as adorable. At all. It came off as dumb. WHY is it so fucking cold!

What has K-Fed been up to since the divorce?????

2011-05-02T13:04:00.005-05:00

Apparently about 265!

2011-04-29T07:50:00.001-05:00

Some bum just told me i could be a model! .... I walked away super fast before he changed his mind.

2011-04-28T17:57:00.001-05:00

Calling all BONERS, I'm going to watch Dina and Brad in Stubs at iO, 10:30p. Come!!

2011-04-26T15:49:00.001-05:00

Here. We. Go!

2011-04-26T15:41:00.001-05:00

"This shit is AMAZING!"
-Jo Scott

2011-04-26T15:13:00.001-05:00

Who's gonna kill it at CIF?

2011-04-26T15:08:00.001-05:00

Boners gone mobile!

A new theory…ON LIFE!

2010-10-22T10:50:00.012-05:00

by Jo

The other day I emailed a friend and I got no response even though said friend’s gchat status was green.¹ I started to worry said friend was possibly upset with me so I went to my sent messages and re-read my initial message. Everything seemed fine…but just in case, I forwarded that email to husband Peter to ask if the tone of my email could’ve made said friend upset. No response from Peter….I started to worry said husband was fucking his boss.² I know it seems crazy but it’s true and, honestly, I’ve got a good feeling that I’m not the only one who has gotten this batty over email. And it’s not just email—Facebook had me getting crazy too—it starts innocently with a post to a friend, next thing I know I’m looking at said³ friend’s pictures, someone I know and love, and find myself getting jealous…of a said friend…who I KNOW AND LOVE. “Man, I wish I could’ve gone there…man, that looked fun…man, hope they have that much fun when they’re with me...” I had to get off Facebook altogether because it was also driving me batty!

Anyway, the other day I was thinking about this hold that email/Facebook/texting has on me⁴ and really judging myself and the effect it was having on me…then it hit me—Survival of the MENTAL FITTEST. It’s my newest theory.⁵ I think this next part is going to sound crazy but here goes…

So at one point we had that whole survival of the fittest thing going where only the strongest/smartest would survive the elements. The weak and the dumb would naturally die off, right? Well, that’s not the case anymore. I mean sure, people die, but people LIVE. Man, do they live! Lots of people who, back in the day, would be dead by now are living…it doesn’t matter if your body can’t take the elements. Hell, it doesn’t even matter if you have a body. We’ll put you in a bubble or give you someone else’s blood or build you a new head. We’ve got guns, lungs, and livers and shelters and bombs! We can do anything, we can live through anything—or can we?

It’s almost like what’s killing us now is the pressure we put on ourselves and each other. I mean, what if someone decided they hated me and posted something awful I did for the world to see? Or what if it wasn’t something awful I did, what if it was just too personal, and suddenly it was exposed. I don’t want to say I couldn’t live through that, I’d like to think I could, but then I think of those kids who were cyber-bullied and in their case it’s not a “what if”—it actually happened; they couldn’t live through that. To me, that’s not all that different from someone who dies from a stress-induced heart attack—sometimes we just can’t take the pressures that come with living in America these days. It might sound a little dramatic, but I’m legitimately worried about the future…Trust me, I’m down for change and progress and invention and vibrant social interaction, but what’s happening now...I mean, it’s all happening so fast and some people just aren’t able to keep up. Creating fire—necessary; wheels – necessary; cars—pretty handy; twitter—f-ing ridiculous.

Seriously ya’ll, no other brain in the world is working as hard as the human brain.⁶ We should be doing what comes naturally—foraging for food and migrating during the cold seasons—not living in CHICAGO trying to grow make believe Farmville food. I mean, we all feel that instinct inside of us—no one thinks living in Chicago in February is natural and everyone would love to have their own garden/eat fresh foods. It’d be the coolest...but we don’t. We’ve created this world of computers, and cubicles and schedules and lawsuits and HR and cyber bullies and it’s too late to turn back, we’re just going to keep growing and connecting and torturing each other! Just hang on and stay mentally strong ya’ll, because no matter how connected we all are it’s usually just you and that computer and your thoughts all alone. …So be warned – SURVIVAL OF THE MENTAL FITTEST – your body isn’t your temple, that fucking brain of yours is. Don’t let those green chat statuses or passive aggressive Facebook shit get to you…besides, at the rate we’re going, the robot wars will be here soon enough and we can start worrying about natural things again, like surviving, not how many people liked your dumb-ass status that you spent 8 minutes crafting.

PS-I know I sound like an old, crotchety, close-minded man and/or a bra-less hippy…Sorry dudes, my thoughts are the product of some crazy-ass nurturing…not nature.⁷

Pps-Just to be 100% clear, I fucking love Facebook and shit... I'm just not mentally strong enough for it.

_________________________________________________________
¹Hey old people reading this blog (mom), a green gchat status means said friend was active/online.
²Probably not though, mom; everything is fine.
³SAID!
⁴Has on a lot of people
⁵My last theory was fake people are great. (Is that a theory or a thought? Jesus, I’m dumb.) Anyways, why do people have such a problem with a fake person!? So what if they’re not genuine. They’re always happy, agreeable and complementary. They’re the best. THINK ABOUT IT!
⁶That’s a hunch, based on the fact that NO OTHER SPEICIES has a 9-5 job, is trying to learn another language, taking a belly dancing class and volunteers on the weekends. (Too. Much.) Hey guys, we TALK! I bet dogs, and cats, and bears think that’s cool as hell and ENOUGH.
⁷So is this guy.

How Hot is Your Head?

2010-10-11T14:24:00.012-05:00

a quiz by Annie Donley

When I was in middle school, I LOVED buying Seventeen Magazine to fill out the Quiz of the Week. There is something so invigorating about circling the answer of your choice when asked a seerz teen question. The BEST part, though, is at the end you get your personality summarized by some Seventeen Magazine editor whose copywriting samples couldn't get her foot in the door over at Ogilvy + Mather. Hopefully you know what types of quizzes I am referring to and if you don’t, well try one out for yourself!

1. Your best friend borrowed your favorite comfy American Eagle sweater. She returns it to you, as promised, but it has a huge yellow stain on the front of it! You:

a. Say nothing. Your friend knows what happened and since she is not saying anything about it, she is obviously embarrassed. It’s better to brush it off.
b. Ask her what happened and tell her that you’ll try to get the stain out yourself, but if you can’t, you will take it to the dry cleaners and you would appreciate it if she would foot the cleaning bill.
c. Get fucking Hulk on her. Last week you borrowed that bitch’s adorable black pumps and you returned them to her in BETTER condition than they were when she loaned them to you. You should have known that she wouldn’t take care of your shit. That selfish c*** probably took her fat ass out to Fuddruckers and downed a foot-long coney doused in mustard and used your sweater as a bib. Starting today you devise a plan to sabotage that bitch’s closet when you house-sit for her and her fat ass family when they go to the Wisconsin Dells next week.

2. Your mother has just informed you that after a long struggle with pancreatic cancer, your Grandmother passed away. Your whole family will be going to the funeral (in Gladwin, Michigan) this weekend. Unfortunately Grandma’s untimely wake occurs on the same weekend that you finally scored a date with that total cutie from Geometry class. You immediately:

a. Give your mom a big hug. You know how close she was to her mother and how much it would hurt you if the same thing happened to you. You ask if there’s anything you can do for her, and then go pack your bags. It’s going to be a long car ride.
b. Grieve with your family and then call up your Taylor Lautner look-alike man candy. You explain your situation and see if you can take a rain check on the movie this weekend.
c. Yell, “I’m so sure!” right into your mom’s tearful face. “The second I get an opportunity to lose my virginity, some old lady who I don’t even KNOW decides to die and ruin everything!” You tell your mom you’re not going this weekend and when she tries to push back, you threaten that you won’t use protection this weekend when you have sex.

3. It’s the night you’ve been waiting for – Homecoming 2010! This year’s theme is Arabian Nights and you plan on looking so good, you won’t need a genie from a lamp to grant you any wishes. You and your best friend decide to go stag together (since you two have both just been so busy with choir rehearsals that you didn’t even notice when everyone else was getting asked to go). Your bff shows up to your place for pictures and you both stop dead in your tracks. You are wearing the Exact.Same.Dress. After taking a huge breath in, you:

a. Laugh hysterically. You were promised that this was a one-of-a-kind by the somewhat ditzy salesperson at Charlotte Russe. Obviously your fav gal pal fell for it too! You giggle as you make your way to your closet and pull out a sparkly red number that you bought on a whim this past summer. You knew it would come in handy!
b. Tell your friend, “We look great!” and then plan to eat, laugh, and dance together the whole night. You two are best friends for a reason, obviously, and you’ve always wanted a twin sister!
c. Take one look at your friend and then make your way up your stairwell, screaming and tearing off your dress the whole way. When you get to the top, you look down at your jealous, copycat friend and yell from the banister, “I can’t believe you! Not only are you the biggest LOSER in the school, you are the dumbest one too! I should have NEVER forgiven you for that mustard stain on my sweater!! Get out of my life and come out of the closet, you fat creepy dyke!”

Results:
If in the above scenarios you answered mostly A, then:
You are the sensitive wallflower. You tend to keep to yourself at parties and you really try to live your life by the golden rule. You like to think before you act and your friends and family are your most prized possession. Some people may call you a doormat, and that's OK with you because the most welcoming of homes always have a cute doormat.

If you answered mostly B, then:
You are creative and passionate. When life hands you a lemon, you use it to made a delicious strawberry tart. You have a fresh outlook on life and your idea of the perfect day is to spend it painting a blank canvas on a gorgeous beach.

If you answered mostly C, then:
You probably are a very strong, independent young lady. Watch out, Sasha Fierce! No one can pull the wool over your eyes and you would rather be caught dead than staying in on a Friday night. You will probably make a lot of mistakes in your adulthood to come. Actually, you plan on it.

obsession confession.

2010-09-15T23:26:00.002-05:00

by Rebecca

Things I'm obsessed with:

I'm obsessed with chamomile lavender tea.
I'm obsessed with my yoga instructor, Noah.
I'm obsessed with Paper Source.
I'm obsessed with my hot pink toe nails.
I'm obsessed with sangria.
I'm obsessed with my niece.
I'm obsessed with coupons.
I'm obsessed with the new Target.
I'm obsessed with documentaries.
I'm obsessed with tiger balm.
I'm obsessed with the city of Chicago.
I'm obsessed with you.
I'm obsessed with the Chicago French Market.
I'm obsessed with Dunkin Donuts everything bagels.
I'm obsessed with potted plants.
I'm obsessed with cheddar cheese.
I'm obsessed with seaweed flavored rice cakes.
I'm obsessed with my bike.
I'm obsessed with Hulk Hogan.
I'm obsessed with PNS Explosion podcast.
I'm obsessed with the idea of climbing Mount Everest.
I'm obsessed with Coach, True Blood, Weeds, and the return of Glee.
I'm obsessed with Disney princesses.
I'm obsessed with the word "obsessed."

These are all sentences I've uttered in the last month or so. As I'm becoming aware of my flair for the hyperbolic I'm realizing I should tone it down before someone calls me on my multiple and ridiculous obsessions.

So, please, the next time I tell you I'm obsessed with someone or something... ask me to clarify.

Cubs Fans Are the Worst

2010-09-10T16:48:00.008-05:00

On Wednesday, three of my Houston friends and I went to the Astros vs Cubs game. Rather than give you the play by play, I will try to summarize the horrifyingly amazing journey of a classic baseball fan’s fall from elation to ejection. ………..Ejaculation, emiright!?!

6:15 pm location: in front of Wrigley Stadium- approached by many strange characters including a self proclaimed “yellow fever Brewer’s fan/my fiancé” . Feeling pretty good about this game as I proudly sport my Astros tee amongst a sea of blue.

7:25 location: section 543 row 6 seat 14- Feeling really great about the game. Astros are kicking dick and the Cubs fans that are surrounding me and my friends are semi-annoyed by my heckling. Heckling phrases included:

Cubs suck!

Wells, you suck!

God I Hate the Cubs so much!

I think I’m experience Déjà vu, did this very game happen yesterday?

8:00 location: making my way back to my seat from concession- Feeling fucking great about the game. Astros are still kicking dick and the Cubs fans that are surrounding me and my friends are highly annoyed by my heckling. Heckling phrases included:

Cubs suck so hard!

Let’s go ‘Stros!

(to a fan near me) Oh you don’t care?!? I think you care, hombre. I think you care the most!

(to fan a few rows in front of me) Really?? It’s a baseball game! Sorry I came to WRIGLEY STADIUM expecting to see a good ball game. Didn’t think WRIGLEY STADIUM would be such an ass hole to someone who just wants to see some baseball!

8:04 location: our seats- Feeling uneasy about the octogenarian official walking up the stairs in our direction asking fans along the way “Where they are” Who, asked the crowd? “The fans that are getting rowdy and upsetting people” he grumbled. I confessed right away, “Oh here sir!” I replied raising my hand. Our conversation to follow:

“Young lady, knock it off”
“Sorry about that, will do”
“There is no need to use offensive language”
“I got ya, completely understand”
“I’ve got my eye on you.” (took everything in my power not to say ‘you mean all four?’)
“Question though, can I cheer for my team?”
“Yes, but no offensive language. I think you and I have an understanding”

8:25 location: our soon-to-be non existent seats. Feeling really great about this game. Astros continue the dick kicking. Cubs have yet to get someone on base. Fans surrounding us are completely fed up with the heckling which included:

Cubs, you sissy nannies, get in the game!

Pence, Pence, over the fence!

(to angered fan who had not too long ago thrown pops in our direction) Shut up?!? That’s as bout as good as the Cubs defense!

Wells, you sissy nanny!

8:45 location: making my way back to my seat from the restroom. A Cubs fan near my section stops me and asks, “Hey why were you spoken to from that old guy?” Me, “Oh because I said ass hole I think. I have to keep my language in check” To which the dude responds, “That’s so fucking stupid; it’s a baseball game”. I agreed, “Yea, but it’s all good. As long as I don’t say bitchfuckdamnshitpisscunt I’ll be alright." I felt a tap on my shoulder. Another official. He angrily asked me to collect my things and come with him.

The rest you can guess. I received a standing ovation and a song from the crowd on my way out! I felt so important! All of this attention just for being a sports fan!? Flipping the bird the whole way, my friends were right there behind me in my own little parade of pride.

My whole point of this little anecdote is what ever happened to the thrill of being there live at the old ball game? Wrigley field boasts one of the most classic baseball environments. One could truly fall in love just by sitting there in the stands across from the ivy and CTA red line. Cubs fans, in my opinion, are either too drunk or too cursed to appreciate the sport of heckling. Don’t you want to be involved!? How can you just sit there and watch your shitty team take a beating? I wish I could watch the game in the 1930’s. You cubbies are ass holes.

The Cubs have not won the World Series in 102 years; a longer championship drought than that of any other major North American professional sports team,

Annie

A conversation that means everything to me: Thank you Ad Rock!

2010-08-10T15:08:00.003-05:00

When is your birthday? I had a feeling it was in August. Regardless, I have a few things to say to you whether on special occasion or not.

I believe I met you when I was about 14 years old at YMA. You were way cooler than anyone I had ever met. You had long brownish-red hair with really intimidating/cool black and blonde streaks in your bangs (you continue to always have cool hair...always) I remember being scared of you which really doesn't mean too much because I was scared of everything. BUT you were the first person that I felt in my life to have faith in me and to think I was talented.

16 hours ago · Comment · · See Wall-to-Wall

Michael Hawkins likes this.
- Julia Kobos
  Monumental moments in history with you include:
  
  1. Putting me in Dance/Drama night for my first time (and many times after)
  2. Allowing me to be your intern at various theaters including Stark Raving
  3. I painted yer bod and Jim Davis' - that won't be forgotten by all
  4. Demanding that I start my own videotaping business when I was doing it for free at 17. I remember me saying, "I can't start a business, that's crazy!" and your response was, "Why not? Of course you can. Here, let me help you make a brochure"
  5. Presenting that Bennington College seemed like the best place for me to go.
  6. Preparing me for college auditions. I wouldn't sing in front of you and you pushed my ass because I was such a pussy.
  16 hours ago · ·
- Julia Kobos
  ‎7. Talking to me way too late at night when I was freaking out because I was so physically sick and had to audition the next day for Carnegie Mellon and North Carolina School of Arts
  8. I went to Bennington, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me at the time. I hope you feel your deserved credit for that.
  9. For staying on my fucking ass when I was being a pussy about moving to Chicago. You and Barb and Reuben all rode my dick about it, but it still took me way to long to listen. Yet I still remember verbatim when you told me I was a fucking idiot to stay in Philly and needed to go to Chicago, and your support pushed me there.
  10. For encouraging me to pursue endeavors in Chicago YET when I said I was coming home, you were ecstatic and ready to listen, share, and help and knew that we could do amazing things together back home.
  
  What a circle!
  
  And I can't thank you enough for everything you have given me, offered me. All the times you made me laugh when I was at the end of my rope. All the times you made the difficult sound easy if you just worked at it. For your constant inspiration as an amazing mentor, teacher and friend for most of my life. I love you ridiculously and thank you so much for everything...more than I could ever say. Thank you. Thank you so much. You're still my favorite actress ever. And I mean that. The talent you possess is immaculate and you use it in a beautiful way and inspired me throughout my life to do the same. You are really something Ad Rock. Love forever and ever! - Julia
  16 hours ago · ·
- Adrienne Flagg
  Julia,
  You are an amazing woman. I remember when you were 14 thinking, damn she is rad. She has no idea how rad she is. I cant wait to see who she will be when she grows up. I feel so incredibly lucky to have been able to be along with you for the ride. I have learned as much or more on this ride and I am a better person because of you.
  
  I have a couple moments to add to the list- YMA midnight club and the night you scared the hell out of me in the basement hall way. After I recouped it was really nice to be able to admit my faults and fears. You allowed me to be imperfect. Thank you.
  
  Your honesty in all conversations and your ease at calling 'bullshit'. You are so gifted and pointing out the naked emperors. And you do it with humor and the highest expectation in the goodness of people.
  
  Speaking of imperfect- how about the time I made you step in last minute to the Shakespeare scene. Ugh, I was so afraid I ruined everything rather than letting you see how you could survive anything with grace. I think you did survive that with grace, just sorry it tarnished scripted work for you for a while.
  
  And what about the character pics and descriptions you sent me? I am fascinated how you create the lives of these people that live in you. I love to hear how they grow and develop and as an artist I am so inspired by your talent and commitment to crafting something from nothing.
  
  I am honored that you call me with anything from theatre to boyfriend concerns and especially honored that I can call you too. I love our conversations about life and especially about the work. It is inspiring and I cant wait to have them in person when you move to Portland.
  
  And thanks for you goddamn gutsyness. On all levels.
  
  Your words have come at the best time. I needed a reminder right now as this is perhaps the most difficult time I have gone through. Thanks for putting it all out there. You have given me the greatest gift. My wings are lifted and I am ready to sail on. Deepest thanks dear friend and rad lady.

It's just a picture! Sheesh.

2010-07-31T14:46:00.004-05:00

I recently put up a series of (in my opinion) awesome photos on Facebook from the end of my Senior year at Bennington College.

It has been super duper fun. A lot of people I haven’t communicated with in a while sprung out of the woodwork to say, “Holy fuckin’ gross! We did that!” or “Wow it’s been forever, let’s talk!” and helped recount the stories along from a really fun period in most of our lil’ Bennington lives.

The weird thing to me was, that a lot of people “untagged” themselves from photos. What? You’re embarrassed of something you did 5 years ago? So am I. You didn’t look good in that picture? I weighed 30 more pounds then! You’re too fucking hip now to admit you did something wacky back when you were younger? Pussy.

(yeah I’m topless and I don’t know where or who I got that tie from)

Maybe I’m being a little harsh, but it’s just a fucking picture. I didn’t realize Facebook became so debonair and sophisticated recently. Whoops. I forgot that it’s mostly used by people searching for a serious job and need there headshots up. Or that if you get married, you’re no longer allowed to show moments in time when you didn’t “have it all together”. Sorry for offending you with a picture of yourself. I’ll delete them immediately to save you from future accidental embarrassment.

And to all of you real peoples who let the past be seen and heard, word. We all change, and have changed and will change. I’m happy to know I have. I’m happy to see documentation from the past that we acted nutters and had a great time and that it’s true and real. Love you all.

-Kobot

Annie Just Sent You A Basket of Fruit! Or, Why I Am Obsessed With Retarded Facebook Games

2010-07-29T14:05:00.007-05:00

by Annie

I have recently become part of the Zynga phenomenon. What's that, you ask? You know, the games that take over your facebook newsfeed with what TJ just dug up in Treasure Isle. These games seemed pretty stupid to me from the start and I only succumbed to them because I had to see what the fuss was about. You know, like how you voted for Obama.

Fast forward to two weeks later and I am now managing two different ones (Treasure Isle and Frontierville) and I LOVE THEM! The jist: complete your goals (digging for treasure, chop down trees) while maintaining your home and taking care of friends. It’s essentially the Sims cept facebook badgers you to BUY energy with real money….malarki, facebook. Malarki. But they are so addicting! You know, like the Twighlight series.

Now the weird thing is that I don’t get down with other online games. I really don’t like playstations or the xbox but for some reason, I love life simulations and customizing avatars. I guess I have crazy control issues. That’s it. I have crazy control issues and I like the idea that my avatar has a better life than I do. P.S. TJ does this, ya'll...you know it's cool.

I just looked at that picture again and dwam! I have some nice melons! Way to sneak in those innuendos, Facebook!

Seriously though, have you guys seen my backpack?

Poo-poo pee-pee! Avatarded.

Things said to me last night at South Shore Drive and Yates (Southside!)

2010-07-20T09:30:00.004-05:00

Guy on street: "Hey Mama, you aright?"

--V--"Yea, yea, I'm good, thanks"

Dude in car: "Hey girl you okay?"

--V--Yea I'm good. Somebody's comin.

"You don't wanna give me your number"

--V--Naw I'm cool. Somebodies comin.

"Aight. You have a nice night"

Yup. I fell asleep on the six bus and woke up to some girls on the bus laughing and kind of looking at me. This never happens to me! But I got really drunk with some of my co-workers and was super tired on the way home.

When I woke up I looked around and noticed I was not in Hyde Park. I saw I was near 71st and south shore and decided I should casually get out like I owned the place. I walked to a nearby busy corner and did just that and eventually called/caught a cab.

I challenged the hood. And I won.

This has only recently become funny to me in the last few hours. Because after using all my energy to pretend to be totally not scared that I was in the middle of nowhere on the south side at 12:30 at night-I got home, I woke Austin up and drunkenly told him I almost died but my street smarts saved me.

"I almost died-but my street smarts saved me". Imagine waking up to that. Poor Austin.

Then I proceeded to telling him that my instinct and improv skills took over so that I became some uber confident person that was exactly where I was supposed to be. I felt like when I was talking it was some character and not me. My instinct took over when my drunk mind was dumb.

Commence laughter now! I have a good sense of humor about how dumb this was.

Most of the people who I saw were nice and just seemed to want to help out which was super appreciated.

Thanks to my colleagues for an awesome and ridiculous night-The above photo is just a sample of our adventure Volzer and Bartley go to Chipotle (with a bunch of dude friends) Also I am actually dressed in this photo-i just took a sleeve off.

V out

Turtle brain

2010-07-18T15:46:00.003-05:00

Why the fuck am I all of a sudden obsessed with turtles? I’ve been temping the last few days (after being out of work for almost 2 months) and I keep finding myself youtubing “turtle eating” “turtle in water” “turtle trying to eat” “turtle trying to swim”. What the fuck?

This job is rad. All I basically do is read, chat with the really nice lady who is always here, stare out the window at rich people (Michigan Avenue), and think terrible thoughts about ruining everyone’s life with my existence. Today I caught up on deleting old emails and reading Boner blogs from the last few months I missed. I loved them all Boner’s. The poopin’ and eating and BSBing and Oma and then Chris’ about the guy that was going to jump off the building downtown. And I’ve been reading A Long Way Down (Nick Hornby) the past few days. Plus things have not been the best lately in me brains. I hate when things start adding up. I blame improv. I had to make the connection didn’t I?

Welcome to my brain.

I AM NOT GOING TO JUMP OFF A BUILDING to be clear. I think committing suicide is the most selfish thing a person can do and to me, that is the greatest insult. You see, I have all these “rules” in my head about how people are supposed to act, react, show respect, love, gratitude and the like. It blows, because these “rules” that I don’t feel that I have invented are somehow ingrained in me because from the earliest moment in my life that I can remember, I have always wanted everything to be PERFECT.

Perfection:

· the state of being without a flaw or defect

· paragon: an ideal instance; a perfect embodiment of a concept

· the act of making something perfect

REDICK.

I know. I am NOT perfect. The world is NOT perfect. Most days are not that great. Most jobs are awful. The weather is always so so. I never get what I want all the time. I am very easily devastatingly disappointed by things people do or say. I love it or I hate it. I get mad about really stupid shit. Like this lady was popping her gum in the office constantly and I imagined myself punching her in the mouth. THAT’S unreasonable. And I KNOW I can’t expect anyone to live up to my unattainable goals of perfection that I can’t even myself reach. I inherited this gene. My sister might be the most perfect person I know. My brother is awesome too. But I don’t know their inner troubles. We are a “keeping up appearances” type of family. You make sure you are acting like what the rest of the world wants and never show you have problems bothering you. That is why I was such an angry child/teen/current person…I need to let it OWOWOWOWOWOWOT.TUH BEAST!

Now I feel like watching Dexter.

If only REASON could play more of a role in my brain. I know I’m completely unreasonable and ask/expect too much out of people and life. At the same time, the only things I care about are people being caring, honest, forgiving and open-minded. It’s weird because I am a hypocrite because I know perfection does not exist and is unattainable. I have the best friends, family, and a tubular boyfriend and I respect and love them all completely, with no hesitation, no matter what faults they may have in my mind “rules”. I don’t ever want to hurt anyone. I only EVER since the earliest moment I can remember wanted to be happy and make others (more specifically, EVERYONE) happy. That’s it. Let’s laugh and be joyous. The whole world. You and me. From infants to 100 years old. Let’s all live in Utopia. Cool?

But that will never happen. I have never been an optimistic person either, did I say that yet?

Oh! Whah Whah little baby Julia tortured soul fucking NIN listening brat face girl who wants everything to be perfect! Boo fucking hoo! I make myself sick.

There is a framed copy of this in my current office:

21 Suggestions for Success

1. Marry the right person. This one decision will determine 90% of your happiness or misery.

2. Work at something you enjoy and that’s worthy of your time and talent.

3. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.

4. Become the most positive and enthusiastic person you know.

5. Be forgiving of yourself and others.

6. Be generous.

7. Have a grateful heart.

8. Persistence, persistence, persistence.

9. Discipline yourself to save money on even the most modest salary.

10. Treat everyone you meet like you want to be treated.

11. Commit yourself to constant improvement.

12. Commit yourself to quality.

13. Understand that happiness is not based on possessions, power or prestige, but on relationships with people you love and respect.

14. Be loyal.

15. Be honest.

16. Be a self-starter.

17. Be decisive even if it means you’ll sometimes be wrong.

18. Stop blaming others. Take responsibility for every area of your life.

19. Be bold and courageous. When you look back on your life, you’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the ones you did.

20. Take good care of those you love.

21. Don’t do anything that wouldn’t make your Mom proud.

K. Thanks.

I wonder what it is like to be a turtle. I wonder if they get a lot of anxiety when they can’t bite into that tomato or can’t find a proper mate. I mean, they duke it out with other turtles. Gotta woo the ladies. Gotta get places and it’s usually pretty slow going. I wonder if that frustrates them. I wonder if they see other animals race past them and they get really pissed off and jealous. Maybe I am a turtle! That’s why I feel weird because I’m trapped living with humans. There are too many real problems in the world than to worry about this shit. Ugh.

I now desire to watch Louis C.K.

Welcome to my brain again.

Tonight I have the honor and privilege of going to Pitchfork to see some amazing bands, hang with some amazing friends, and get to see my radical boyfriend. I’m really lucky. I hope you all know how much I appreciate you and all your help. It’s hard for me to ask for help and be vulnerable. I’m a stubborn little asshole. That’s why I’ve been chillin’ in my shell the last few months. I’m gonna come out tonight and give you a kiss.

Love,

Krazy Kobot

Summer in Chicago

2010-07-06T11:19:00.015-05:00

by Rebecca

"I eat too much
I drink too much
I want too much
Too much"*

Let's pack enough living into May, June, July, and August to make this place live-able the rest of the year.

So far, so fart:

I've eaten my first turkey leg and washed it down with a shock top and a fried snickers.

I've played beach volleyball on the sands of North Ave. with a few thousand of my closest sand covered friends.

I've sat on a blanket at Millenium Park surrounded by music, sangria, hummus, and great dancers.

I've done yoga on Belmont Harbor on a sweaty Sunday morning.

I've watched fireworks on the 4th of July over Lake Michigan.

I've embraced my inner teenager at Ravinia while drinking Franzia and losing my mind over Nick Carter.

I may have even rode a bike in my underwear along with a few hundred other scantily clad bicyclists...

I've enjoyed a few beers while reading library books at my neighborhood tap.

I've been to bbq's armed with little more than baked goods and good intentions.

I've made new friends and fell in love again with old ones.

I've paid the low price of $11 to see this guy take his shirt off:

It's early July. I still have August and some of September to get more beer drinking and food eating into my system to store up calories for winter.

Who's with me?

*sometimes you can't help but to quote DMB

No One Else Comes Close

2010-06-17T12:02:00.006-05:00

Everybody,

I am Climbing the Walls this morning! I have crazy butterflies in the tummy, I feel Like a Child, and Everytime I Close my Eyes, my mind can only focus on four things: AJ McLean, Brian Littrell, Nick Carter, and Howie Dorough. Seriously I haven’t been in this boat since 2005 when those guys did it to me for the fourth time. Even though that was a while ago, I feel like they were Never Gone. Tonight, I see the Backstreet Boys with some of my best friends at Ravinia. Panic.

The Backstreet Boys don't necessarily have deep lyrics, but they are catchy, adorable, and fun! With one member overcoming a heart condition and another who lost a sister to Lupus, they are a very positive bunch and I've always enjoyed that aspect about the boys. Their performances made me feel happier because I really believe they love doing it. I can't say that they have changed me in some way, but have been a huge piece of makes Annie Annie. I can barely remember where I was when Princess Diana was pronounced dead, but you bet your ass-mar I remember sitting on my purple floral bedspread tuned into an old radio after school with my best friend and screaming when "I Want it That Way" was declared #1 in the U.S. I wasn't really a teen with angst, but I was a teen who turned off all the lights in my bedroom, layed on the floor, put on headphones and turned on "Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely". Written for the death of Kevin Richardson's father and MAN you can hear the pain in that song. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnhhnh!

I got a crazy amount of grief for liking them my whole high school career but I wouldn't have it Any Other Way. I bought their T-shirts, and pencils and all that shit came with me to school.

I really love them. I love them more than any group I have ever admired. It's mania. I am currently listening to some old BSB and it has got me thinking “man I was a really big fag in high school and I did some really embarrassing things.” Top three embarrassing concert memories:

3. Waiting outside after a concert for their tour bus to pull out of the lot, my friend and I finally saw some people exit from the stage door and we flipped out and ran towards them. Screaming our heads off the whole way, we realized that once we got up to them, it was just the BSB dancers. We didn’t care. We kept screaming and I tried to touch one in hopes of getting some BSB skin cells.

2. During the 2000 Millennium tour in Houston, I drank a LOT of water from my kitchen tap. I thought that since they are using our toilets, our sewage system is littered with their waste so hopefully the water has some of that in it.

1. Balling hysterically during a concert because AJ and I made eye contact once he glanced at my “AJ is my sex god” poster. He was pleased though. He smiled, I tipped my hat to him, and he tipped his back. It’s True. I hyperventilated and a security guard came by with a flashlight to see if I was OK but I was Inconsolable. It was awesome.

I just saw this picture online and cried at my desk:

Boys, you mean a lot to me and all is right in the world As Long As You Love Me. I am making 10,000 Promises to KTBSBPA! See you tonight!!

Your Perfect Fan,

Annie

This happens in real life.

2010-06-07T14:26:00.005-05:00

.

It's a beautiful day today. I decided to eat my lunch outside and enjoy a bit of sunshine. A crowd gathers outside my table and eventually cops and police cars show up. Everyone is looking up and pointing and through the murmur of their talking I learn that there's a guy on the 30-something floor of the building above who's ready to jump. I look up and sure enough, he's hanging there swinging in and out of the window as if he's contemplating the act with the pendulum of his body.

Horrifying.

Where's Superman? Where's the giant trampoline that catches him to safety? Where's the soothing negotiator who tells him there's still so much to live for?

He's just a news event right now and what's worse? Like mine, he's the talk of these people's day. This is news in our otherwise normal day-to-days. He's the "hey honey, how was work?" highlight. He's the text messages sent to friends and the weird thing tourists will remember from their trip to Chicago in the Summer of 2010. He's my blog today.

But he's just up there, all alone. Something so heartbreaking happened to him that he looked at this otherwise beautiful day and decided it's not worth it to see another.

Sir, I hope the spectacle didn't get to you. I hope you're OK. I hope you've decided to give it one more shot. I hope, I hope, I hope.

Grab someone next to you and make some sort of physical contact with them.

.
.
.

Poop Goes in the Toilet - Don't be a Moron

2010-06-03T18:11:00.011-05:00

By Jo

Earlier this month someone on my floor at work posted this on a stall in the women's restroom:

CAN. YOU. BELIEVE?

I took it right down, scanned it (to share with ya'll), and then threw it away. Seriously, who the eff has the balls¹ to write and post that freaking note?

And, not that it matters, but I am not the said "young lady" addressed in that piece-of-crap note.²

Things I hate about this note:

•It is addressed to "whomever the young lady is." As if, all the old lady professionals on the floor couldn't be at fault.³

•It claims the young lady "refuses" to flush the toilet, which is an annoyingly harsh verb.

•The following words irk me:

"stumble upon” – Annoying
"after every bathroom use” - If the person who wrote the bitchy note knows when/how often the "culprit" goes to the bathroom, why don't they just confront them the next time they go? FOR THE LOVE!
"for the sake of others" - No bitch, do not speak for me. Do. Not.

I found that note on the bathroom stall to be more offensive than a toilet full of shit. Why? Well, it's a effing bathroom. I expect there to be poop! It's not pleasant to walk into a stall that has poop waiting for me already but guess what, I can make it disappear with a freaking push of a handle OR I can use another stall. I DO NOT expect there to be a judgmental note from some sad sack who has too much time/attitude on her hands telling me when to flush, where tampon applicators go, to remember to wash my hands or how many twat tissues I'm allowed to use. No bitch. Do. Not.

Just, please, assume everyone already knows the basics. We do (doo!⁴)! I have no idea why sometimes the basics aren't followed but seriously, others' notes are just a reminder that there's someone at that place who is an asshole.

Side note, ya'll, why are people's minds blown when a bathroom smells like shit? AHHHHHHHHH! It's a pretty natural reaction, one that I've had myself, but please, for the love of all that is holy let's all be more considerate to each other about each others’ craps and farts. Again, and not that this matters, but I'm not talking from personal experience....I just can't stand it when someone walks out of a bathroom and someone else screams about how much it smells. So mean! It’s an effing bathroom. Let’s all expect it to smell bad! Look, I’m sure if everyone in the world could pay a poop tax to make sure their poop smelled like Doritos or something everyone would but we can't control it so we definitely should not be faulted. Anytime, anyone⁵ farts and apologizes I'm constantly trying to reassure them it's fine. Do I like the smell? No. Do I fault them? Absolutely not.⁶

Leaving shit is fine. Leaving a shitty note is fucking annoying. It's a bathroom, moron, shit happens.

___________________________________________________________________
¹Although, since this was in the women's restroom we know no balls were had...but, you know, figuratively..who has the balls?!
²I am constantly flushing things. Constantly.
³Old people are constantly crapping. Constantly.
⁴I’m supes sorry about adding “doo” after “do.” Lame, I know. I just couldn’t help myself.
⁵With exception of Peter, who is just rude and disgusting.
⁶With exception of Peter, in which case it is his fault.

What Happened last night!?! A Hang-Over Guide

2010-05-17T14:13:00.012-05:00

by an expert drunk

I am hung-over today. I have a severe case of the shakes, I feel like I am constantly moving but my head isn’t coming with me, my eyes feel like loaded .45s, and I really want a hug.

Thankfully this feeling is not new to me so I thought I would share with you some of my favorite hang-over remedies because I care about you.

Beer Hang-over cure

Stumble out of bed and knock over something on your way to the bathroom (preferably something breakable that belongs to your roommate) and have a good chuckle to yourself when that happens. Piss orange. Check yourself out in the mirror and say aloud “Oh, fucking nice”. Push your hair around in attempt to make yourself look less like a wildebeest, but then think that you actually look kinda cool and if anything, it’s a conversation starter. Today’s tasks should include:

Grease food diet
Drinking a Bloody Mary
Reminisce on how hilarious Jeremy’s Matt Stover impression was last night
Hog farts (not a Harry Potter pun)
Laying on an inappropriate surface (i.e. a small window sill, three people sitting next to each other, a dog)
Getting really excited about really gay plans like going to Trader Joe’s to purchase groceries for a picnic
Cuddle someone against their will aka rape cuddle aka ruddle

As you go into the evening, crack open another beer. It’s 11pm now and you’re fucked up again. Great job!

Cheap Wine/Champagne Hang-over cure

Attempt to continue life as normal with a perma-scowl on your face. Be weary of talking to your crush today because even though your head is hurting, your heart is hurting even more. You’re going to be physically vulnerable today. Get a fountain drink and a package of powdered donuts from 7-11 for your commute to work. You’re going to find that you have an odd desire to be caressed by strangers but just refrain. Keep to yourself on the train then once you get to work, you can hug your favorite co-workers while you groan to them “I’m so hung-overrrrrrrrrrr”. If your job ain’t like that, then use your whole day to get caught up on your secondary tasks (i.e. filing) while nostalgically thinking about how good it felt to cuddle with your first love. Feel really bad about yourself and go hug your co-worker anyway, even if your job ain’t like that.

Eat something nutritious for lunch- like a salad- but do it really carnivorously making sure to drop lettuce on your desk, floor, and lap. Cry that you can’t do anything right. After you finish your lunch, hydrate. You are still going to be hungry but don’t go for seconds. You’re going to be hungry all day today. Google image a beautiful celebrity like Zoe Saldana and wish that you had the chance to be more photogenic. Shit it’s 3:45! Finish up your work in 20 minutes then for the last 55 minutes of work, Google romantic restaurants in Chicago but don’t go to one tonight.

Eat cake in your bed when you get home tonight and put on a movie like Mannequin and fall asleep next to your cake plate and make-up stained pillow.

Hard shit Hang-over cure

Lock yourself in your room and masturbate. You don’t want to be around people today and you really shouldn’t. The best thing to do is just stay in bed and tug your lug/drill your Jill. Even if you aren’t tired anymore and feel really tempted to get out of bed and do something productive, don’t. Don’t even hydrate. Just stay in bed, imagine Robert Pattison’s huge vampire crank, (it’s huge) and after you get it on with yourself you will want to fall asleep again. That’s what people do after orgasms, right? Fall asleep?

OMG Zoe is soooo cheap wine hung-over here

If you see me today, please hug me.

Songs I love listening to on repeat

2010-05-13T11:49:00.002-05:00

By Victoria

I get song cravings. It's like wanting french fries but it's zero calories. Here are some I've been currently craving:

"Lay Lady Lay" by Bob Dylan

"Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol

"Where is my Mind" by the Pixies

"Hard" by Rihanna

"Perfect drug" by NIN

And Pandora is my breakfast buffet. Yum.

Really I'm just hungry because it's lunch time!

I'm going to go eat Thai food!

Grandmas and Growing up

2010-05-06T16:45:00.003-05:00

By Victoria

So after a long hiatus of having no time to blog because of work (for which I have gotten a lot of shit for and sincerely apologize!) my life returns to me as the busiest part of the admissions season settles down.*

I called my Oma (my Austrian grandmother) today and I haven't heard someone so excited to speak to me in a really long time.

"Hallo? Oma? Diese ist Viktoria! Wie geht's?"

"Ah Viktoria? Wie geht's gut! Please do not be telling me you are in Austria?"

Austin and I are goign with his family to Moscow for a coupel weeks in June and I finally got to plan a quick hop over to my visit my Oma in Austria. She said "You can come whenever you want I am just sitting at home and I am not doing anything until I am with Niko (my baby cousin). I am just really looking forward to this"

She speaks pretty solid English actually. And she was so happy I'm coming to visit.

I know it's simple but it's moments like those that really puts things into perspective for me. Those simple calls or loving emails from friends (which i am lucky to get a lot from given my affiliation with a certain cohort of frequent love emailing women) can really turn your day around. So I echo Jo's shout out to friends (and family) that give us all those warm fuzzies, because life only gets more fascinating the older we get and who better to remind us of that then those we love?

I've been thinking a lot about "the future." Some of this is brought on by my immenent move to New York City** some by speaking to my Oma who I only see every couple years, and some because many of the TV shows I follow have this as some kind of central theme either right now or frequently: LOST, Battlestar Gallactica, and a new found interest Greek*** All this thinking of the future though is just making me all anxious and restless, like the Breakfast Club or Ferris Bueller's day off-there's just too much teen angst. I just want a plan. Like a solid plan I'd be happy with-but I also want to be a "live free or die" kind of person too. You know, like the people who everything just kind of awesomelly falls into place for them kind of person, the one who ends up with some killer job that perfectly suits their interests, without even trying?

I will continue of my quest to try to have both. It may be a paradox, but I think I also like to live in the grey area.

Vpawn over and out.

*Seriously most times of the year are busy for admissions. I think most of us wish we were paid more like the consulting hours we work (at least in the fall and winter!)
**Was in NYC last week and don't want to be a bummer but I absolutely love it. I felt alive in new and exciting ways
***Greek, about students in greek life on a campus somewhere-dramatic and fun but great little life lessons-its a bigger school kind of thing that I totes missed out on. Like I learned what a lavalier is or what monkey humping is. ABC family (its on Hulu) check it out.

A Song, A Movie, and Friends…

2010-04-30T20:38:00.033-05:00

By Jo

THE SONG
For the last four weeks I have spent hours at work listening to Mariah Carey’s song 100%. Seriously, I can’t STOP. I’ve listened to it, no doubt, at LEAST 200 times.¹ It’s sick. Basically, one day I needed a little Mariah so I did as I do, I went to her official website (mariahcarey.com), which plays songs on a loop and this 100% song started playing. Apparently, Meems wrote it for Precious but it was used for the Olympics, released on February 9. It didn’t hit my ear till March but man, did it HIT.

I. AM. HOOKED.

…And it’s not always just playing in the background, ya’ll, sometimes I’ll stop, shut my eyes, and sing it. Let those fucking words PERMEATE.² Lame, I know, but basically, I heard this on a day when I just felt deflated, just one of those, what’s-the-point days. We all have those, right?... Not just improvisers who make believe while their high school and college friends are making money, babies, and homes. Certainly my muggle³ friends question things too. Sure, their what’s-the-point days hit them as they’re laying in their king-sized sleigh bed and their kids giggle hysterically at their sub par jokes,⁴ but they still question their choices too. I’m going to assume we all do have those days and that I’m normal (not depressed).

To make a short story longer, who cares about what’s-the-point? If you’re putting in all you can into ANYTHING, ANY GOAL YOU HAVE (big, small, greedy, selfless), that’s something. Even if you don’t reach it if you give 100% always and you “walk out a champion either way.”⁵

THE MOVIE
…which leads me to the movie I saw about a year ago, Man on Wire. Man on Wire is a documentary about a French dude named Philippe Petit, who decided he wanted to walk across a tight wire, harnessed between the World Trade Center Twin Towers, and did it!

Personally, I couldn’t relate to him in any way—he’s thin, French, and wanted to walk across a wire. That’s not me. I’m all USA-ian, thick around the edges, and want a yacht,⁶ but I still loved that damn high wire movie.

I think most fans of the movie/critics are impressed with this guy’s drive, i.e., his 100-percent-ness, which is impressive. I mean, he just decided he wanted to walk across the Twin Towers and then made it happen. Baller. But what really struck me was the support he had from a handful of his friends. Unreal. This documentary has some awesome pictures/videos from when Philippe and his crew were planning for the big event but the interviews of his friends 30 years after the fact? Amazing. It wasn’t their dream.⁷ It was just their friend, who was giving 100%, and they supported⁸ him...and shit got done. STRENGTH IN NUMBERS. In my opinion, regardless of his drive, Philippe simply would not have succeeded without his friends.

THE FRIENDS
…which leads me to friends. They’re important. If you’re reading this, you’re a friend (there’s no way a stranger would’ve made it this far in the post), know this: any dream you have, if you give it 100%, I will too. Let’s do this. And if you don’t have a dream you’ve always got a friend, me.

My favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life, says it best, "Remember, no man is a failure who has friends.”⁹

^{And THAT’S the point.}

_______________________________________
¹No exaggeration…18 times tonight alone
²I can’t shorten the song any more than this …EVERY word counts. “…suddenly I am no longer confined to a life that's defined by limits. I don’t need no permission to live it, imma break through the door till I get in, everything that I got imma give it 100%, and I ain’t stoppin' till I reach the finish. I’m a believer, not just a dreamer, I’m givin’ everything I got. I’m a go-getter. 100 Percent-er. Undoubtedly, I can reach the top. And I ain’t gonna let nothing discourage or dissuade me, 'cause I’m walking out of here a champion either way, babe. I am givin it 100% So go on put your ones up.” HOOKED.
³Nonimprovisers
⁴Muggle friends, please KNOW that I know that was cheap and your jokes are not sub par. I know that you’re funnier than me...just more practical. And by “more practical” I mean you don’t wikipedia J.Lo after your husband is sleeping and compare her life choices to your own. (She’s done so much with her life!!)
⁵AHHHH! THIS SONG! I LOVE IT! MIMI!
⁶It would be SO AWESOME!
⁷It wasn’t even a practical dream! …and by “practical” I mean, “yachts, TV contracts, People magazine covers, yachts, having J.Lo and Beyonce’s cell numbers, yachts.”
⁸Bone Town residents, no matter what you do on and off stage you’ve got my support. (You too, Peter.)
⁹CLARENCE!

Pizza and Time Travel

2010-04-09T12:54:00.000-05:00

Hello Friends!

I recently co-wrote a play that’s premiering at Chemically Imbalanced Theatre and runs April 9th through May 23rd. It’s called Ring Around the Guillotine. It's about a pizza joint waitress from the 80's who's sent a time-travelin' to a mythical fairy tale France where she meets a handsome-yet falsely imprisoned-poet. Through a set of hijinxy happenings and wacky mishaps, she learns of her destiny to save this prisoner and ultimately Magical France. There, now it's ruined.

...or is it?

Boy, if I could only find a way to travel back in time before I wrote that stupid synopsis that gave it away.

Maybe...if I...

%(*#&#($@#&)#@)(*#()@&*%&$*#&%(#&%#(&%(#&%(#*&%(#&(*

Hello Friends!

I recently co-wrote a play that’s premiering at Chemically Imbalanced Theatre and runs April 9th through May 23rd. It’s called Ring Around the Guillotine. It's about a pizza joint waitress from the 80's who's sent a time-travelin' to a mythical fairy tale France where she meets a handsome-yet falsely imprisoned-poet. Through a set of hijinxy happenings and wacky mishaps, she learns of her destiny to save this prisoner and ultimately Magical France. There, now it's ruined.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

DAMN YOU, MANUFACTURED NOTION OF DESTINY!!! WHEN WILL YOU SET ME FREE?!?!

By the time you read this it may have been too late. Join me at Chemically Imbalanced Theatre - the theatre is BYOB so forget not my cold brewski, fair Gents and Maidens! (1420 West Irving Park Road Chicago, IL 60613) every Friday and Saturday at 8pm and Sundays at 5pm from now until May 23rd to determine the course of this blog.

Tawfik out,

%(*#&#($@#&)#@)(*#()@&*%&$*#&%(#&%#(&%(#&%(#*&%(#&(*

.
.
.

%(*#&#($@#&)#@)(*#()@&*%&$*#&%(#&%#(&%(#&%(#*&%(#&(*

Wait!

Seriously though, there aren't enough words to describe how proud I am of this show. It has been one of the most terrifying and rewarding experiences of my life and I shed a lil tear last night at the preview simply because of how proud I am of what it's become.

I'm just so impressed by everyone in it and I promise you'll have a good time, and here's why:

1. It's hilarious. Duh.
2. Mystery and intrigue
3. Love triangles
4. GREAT music
5. Princes, and Queens, and Magic, and Poetry
6. The best all-around cast since my skiing accident

And finally,

7. 80’s nostalgia, Medieval nostalgia, and the false sense of superiority you’ll get as audience members from the future.

I must leave you. You know what to do.

Tawfik out,

%(*#&#($@#&)#@)(*#()@&*%&$*#&%(#&%#(&%(#&%(#*&%(#&(*

.
.
.

You're so vague

2010-04-07T14:17:00.016-05:00

by Annie

Two people get up to do an improv scene together

Ron: Brandy, you look terrible!

Brandy: Yea, I guess I’ve stopped caring what I look like anymore.

Ron: Look, I know it’s been tough lately, but don’t let that get the best of you.

Brandy: I try not to! But seriously, what’s the point of brushing your hair anyway?
It will just get messy again in the morning.

Ron: Well I can think of several reasons to brush your hair, for one it will make you feel better.

Stop. Anyone else bored? Who are these people to each other? Where are they? What is afflicting Brandy? What is the audience thinking-do they know that the improvisers don’t know the answers to these questions?

You’ve probably heard it a thousand times, but the audience knows more than you think. A wise man once told me that the single audience member is not a credible critic but the audience, as a whole, is genius. If we as performers are confused in a scene, rest assured they feel the exact same way.

Recently, Boner Petite did a two hour workshop with a veteran improv audience member. I say veteran because it’s safe to assume that he sees 3-4 improv shows a week. While he is not an improviser, BonerPetite thought it beneficial to have a muggle direct us and give notes. It was interesting to hear what he “fucking hates” or what makes him “want to leave the fucking theater” specifically.

As an exercise, he had us do two person scenes where one person was given a secret objective for the scene. These assignments purposely induced vagueness into the scene (i.e. You can only talk when you are asked a question, or You have just come out of a coma after one year, or You are Helen Keller…to name a few).

Rather than let the person with the agenda get away with not adding to the scene, our objective as partners in these scenes was to help paint the picture for the audience; to clear the air of any ambiguity. What resulted was a more defined environment and strong character development. Take, for example, Player 1 who could not speak unless asked a question:

Player 2: Thank you for having me over this afternoon. I brought some wine. Your place looks so pristine.

(silence)

Player 2: Is that a new Oxford window treatment?

Player 1: Yes, it keeps the light out. (she crosses to a wall and starts to rub it)

Player 2: (watching her) Oh look at that vase! Are your grandmother’s ashes in there?

Player 1: Yes, it’s been 1 year.

Player 2: She looks lovely!

Stop. We know who these people are to each other, their state of being, where they are, and we can practically see this living room they have painted. Player 2 (because she’s a badass Boner) added in those much needed details that Player 1 could not.

That got me thinking. If we are capable of carrying a scene where one person is practically ²debilitated we should do that more often. I mean, my partner on stage is completely capable of responding (unlike Player 1 in the above scene) and adding details to our scene so if I come in with the intent to add to the scene….you see what I’m getting at here.

We are capable of creating MAGIC, people! MAGIC!!!

In a similar exercise, two players are asked to perform a solid scene and then asked to drop a huge exposition bomb about 4-5 lines in (i.e.“you’re fired”, “I can’t be with you anymore”, “You have cancer”).

Once the bomb is dropped, count the lines of dialogue between the two characters roughly, in your head. How does the rate of dialog change as the scene play out? The answer, to quote Bill Arnett:

"When one actor introduces a specific piece of information, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, the rate of dialog increases. The actors have something to talk about.

Conclusion? When you add a piece of information to a scene it will cause the scene to grow, to be more massive, to weigh more. If our scene is a bonfire, we can help it by throwing more wood on it. All of the reactions, responses and implications of your little piece of information will contain much more “improv” than the original piece of information ever did."

Your audience-they get it and they are listening! Give them details. I know I don’t want them to walk out of the fucking theater.

For more amazing Bill Arnett quotes, visit his blog.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1 (noun)A person who possesses no magical skills or abilities (originated from the 'Harry Potter' novels).

² Helen Keller

Poor Parenting

2010-03-27T15:28:00.010-05:00

By Jo

The other day I was thinking, I’m

really glad I never had to ask my friends, "don't flush the toilet unless you number 2.” A friend of mine lived in one of those flush-for-poops-only houses and it was the worst!

Other things I’m glad I never had to encounter growing up?

• Entertaining guests
Wait, does that only happen on TV/in movies? The kids “entertain the guests.” Dude, I never had to do that.

• Money for Chores
Housework was just expected. (Olden days, ya’ll.) Paid for chores? Please, I’ll slap my unborn child across the face first. Be a human—make your bed.

• Being Rich
I've found that the people I love best growing up were poor. I mean, I like my rich friends too (especially ones with yachts), but if you got free lunch in elementary school, carried around a plastic bag¹ with generic Kool Aid that you ate by sucking it off your finger,² and your Christmas toys came from the church, chances are you're fucking cool.

• Braces
Actually, I did kind of want braces. …I used to do that thing where you straighten out a paperclip then put it in your mouth like braces. Is that a thing? I think it is. I did it.

• Summer Camp
No wait, I actually wanted that too.

• Knowledge of my Parents Beliefs
Sweet, huh? I got to form my own beliefs.³ I have a friend who teaches high school and a student, who was 14 at the time, said she was “a republican.” Annoying. Her parents, no doubt were republicans...not the student! What a douche! Man, I’m glad my parents don’t vocalize any of that stuff. (Honestly, I don’t have a real good idea of my parents motto, beliefs, sayings….I’m a douche too!)

• Expectations
Dude, my parents don’t give a fuck. They never pushed on grades, excelling, sports, manners, nothing. Anything I did or do is…whatever. They BARELY ever ask me how things are going/where they’re going. Parents that don’t care and don’t need to live vicariously through you? The best!⁴ Seriously….one of the only things I can remember them actually parenting me on was getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. I was basically a professional bed wetter until pretty late in the game. That’s as high as their expectations went for me—using a toilet when I needed to pee…and you better believe I flushed that mother.⁵

_____________________________________
¹No fucking WAY it was Ziploc (YOU WISH)- just a regular bag with a loose top that folded over.
²Ladies and Gentlemen, the ORIGINAL Fun Dip. Respect.
³Which are still in formation….
⁴Dude, sucks for my kids. Lord knows I’m gonna be all up in their business. (But I really hope I’m too poor/busy to care…thank God I’m an improviser (odds are good I’ll be poor/busy).
⁵Also, I got a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut pizza every week I went without wetting the bed, hence the chubby-ness. Ah well, luckily we were too poor for my eating habits to really get out of hand. In closing, be poor (in finances, not skillz).

Music n' Babies

2010-03-20T02:07:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow afternoon we are having a baby shower for the magnificent MIABP (missing/in/action/because(boner)/pregnant(petite) Rachel Showalter and her awesome husband, Ben May. For the future children of Rachel & Ben, a delicate task was asked, "Make a CD to jumpstart their musical education". Well, this was not an easy task for old Kobos. Music means everything to me and on top of that, I only get 120 minutes? Factoring everything that 2 brand new individuals NEED TO KNOW!?!?!?! And is Tupac cool? Questions circle. Yikes.

My picks sprung from 3 areas:

1. New songs that rule hard and are kid-ok AND that maybe, just maybe, Ben & Rachin' Hard On (as we call her) - being the musicologists they are, perhaps DON'T know;

2. Blew my load as a child, therefore, ingrained as a must to new-be's; and,

3. Ought to make the parents laugh.

Funny thing happened on the way to making the CD:

Whoah. Just how much these songs mean to me personally. I hear 'Cecila' by Simon & Garfunkel and I'm immediately in the backseat of my Dad's Roadmaster clapping my hands on my thighs. "The Bed" by St. Vincent and I'm lying in my bed in my old apartment off Berwyn last July in amazement of all the new, great songs a special fella gave me...it started to choke me up.

As if birth wasn't hard enough, their minds have to be shaped too?!? Hope Malcolm, Gideon, Rachel, and Ben enjoy.

So much love,

Kobos

When I'm With You - Best Coast

La La Love You - Pixies

Human Nature - Michael Jackson

Venus As A Boy - Bjork

Let's Save Tony Orlando's House - Yo La Tengo

The Bed - St. Vincent

Golden Lady - Stevie Wonder

China Girl - David Bowie

Cecila - Simon & Garfunkel

Kim & Jessie - m83

All My Friends - LCD Soundsystem

You Gave Your Love To Me - Weezer

Brand New Cadillac - The Clash

I Want To Break Free - Queen

Let's Go Crazy - Prince

Brothersport - Animal Collective

True Colors - Cyndi Lauper

Fake Plastic Trees (amazing live version) - Radiohead

Mommy Complex - Peaches

This happens every time

2010-03-16T10:54:00.001-05:00

.
.
.

Greetings from Virginia!

Boring, overly priced, God-awful Virginia¹

Really, though, it’s not the VA’s fault (psych), it’s my own for agreeing to visit my family again.

Oh right, I left that part out. Let’s start over:

Greetings from Virginia!

Boring, overly priced, God-awful Virginia. I’m here visiting my gypsy parents and I’m just having the worst time.

Don’t get me wrong, my parents are the shit. When we’re apart, I miss them dearly. Sometimes over-the-phone guilt trips just don’t cut it anymore and you need to be there for the real deal. So I get suckered into leaving Chicago for a few days and meeting them wherever they may be at the time for some home cooking and spooky flash forward images of myself as my mother’s replica. One word that should be two: housecoat.

Here, dear reader, I’m aboust to let you in on some-deep rooted fears of mine.

4. The lady from the Progressive commercials
3. Fury things with tiny feet
2. Becoming my Mother
1. Becoming Jane

There, now I’m vulnerable.

The scariest part of the second one is it’s blinding plausibility. Yes, sure, we’re all scared of becoming our parents. Yes, sure, sometimes it’s not so bad. And yes, sure, no one is safe and everyone you know is a copy of a copy of some ol’ chap or dame from sepia times.

Yes. We all become our parents.

Sick.

Usually it’s not an issue that’s on my mind’s forefront². But as soon as I spend any time with the folks, it smacks me straight in the face like Robert Pattinson’s weiner.

For that brief time that I’m with my mom every couple of months, I stop being this triple-H Chicagoan (happening, hot, and hip) and become this angsty teenager slamming the door to her make-shift room screaming “you guys just don’t understand!”³

This happens every time.

Mostly it’s because we disagree on most things and I think she’s crazy⁴. But really it’s because I see little bits of me in her craziness and my angsty retaliations are really over-blown bouts of self-loathing when I realize that that’s what other people may see in me. Yeesh. Yikes. Shudder. Puke.

I have a plan though. All I’ll need to avoid this metamorphosis is to:

1. Never grow old
2. Never get married
3. Never have children

So far, so fart.

I’m looking good.

So while you’re out in The City That Gets Some Sleep Sometimes dying rivers green and puking on the sidewalks of Wrigleyville, I sit here in my mom’s Loony Toons sleep shirt watching Nights in Rodanthe while she’s on the phone with her girlfriend having a “who do we know that’s dead” conversation.

Miss me, Chi, like I miss you.

So, so terribly.
.
.
.

Tawfik out.

________________________________
¹Direct all “I’m a Native and I’m mad about this” complaints to ctawfik555@gmail.com
²That spot is reserved for Robert Pattinson’s weiner.
³There there, little one, you'll always have Korn.
⁴But I love her. Duh, I came out of her chooch.

Missed Connections

2010-03-12T18:07:00.000-06:00

by Rebecca

I'm obsessed with Missed Connections right now. I get it... you see someone, you miss the opportunity to say hello or make an introduction or whatever and there's that split second of regret. Then you get home and can't stop thinking about that cutey who gave you a double take like you were the caloric content of a white chocolate frappucino at sbux (610 calories for a grande, removing the whip cream saves you 130 calories).

"You were the guy who made my coffee and had six arms.
I ordered the latte and asked you to draw a heart in it."

So, sure, get on the ole lap top and type a sweet message about how you'd like to connect with that cutey you locked eyes with for that brief, loaded moment at the Potbelly's. He did make a delicious sandwich, after all. Total husband material.

"You were the 8 ft tall inflatable sandwich man.
I was in the sweatshirt and jeans playing hard to get."

This is just a message of encouragement to all you out there. Keep writing your missed connections. Love is waiting to find you, and you never know when to expect it. Like free burrito day at Chipotle.

"You made my burrito and gave me a side of guac for free.
Marry me. Now."

Truths Told, Promises Made

2010-03-11T11:38:00.011-06:00

By Jo

TRUTH:

This Saturday night, I’m asking you to make a choice to get LUCKY.¹ That’s right, choose luck at Boner Petite’s Luck Be a Lady show, Saturday night, 10pm, The Playground. The show is a regular old 3-act improv show (Neapolitan, Michael Pizza, and us)...don’t let the title fool you. “Luck Be a Lady” has nothing to do with improv and EVERYTHING to do with fun! Wear green, be a lady (or want to get lucky with a lady) and come ready to laugh!

PROMISES:

Each improv set will fucking blow you! i.e., blow you away! LUCK!

If you come to the show wearing green, you WILL RECEIVE!² LUCK!

If you’re a single person, with Midwestern values, and a good sense of humor, who is looking for love, COME TO THIS SHOW. If at least two people (with compatible sexual preferences), read this and come WE WILL HAVE MADE A MATCH! LOVE! LUCK!

If you live in Chicago and want to take advantage of live theater but don’t have a lot of money (recession, and all) come to this show, it is $10 freaking bones, people! LUCK!

If you had a bad day at work this week, come to this show. If you haven’t had a bad day, you’re lying! Or, you’re out of touch but you’re probably lying… everyone hates work! Anyways, you can also come, improvisers LOVE liars! LUCK!

If you want to see Rebecca dressed as an Avatar, you’re SOL³…you should’ve come to last week’s show. FUCK! (Guess you should try to make it out so you don’t miss out again.)

Seers,⁴ come and have fun with us! We’ll be the luckiest!
_________________________________________________
¹Okay, okay, luck and choices don’t really go together…just go with me. I mean, just go to the show Saturday.
²Don’t you worry about the whats…that’s our job, you just sit back and enjoy. (HOT!)
³Which is the opposite of this week’s LUCKY theme!
⁴(Seriously)

Woman Problems

2010-03-05T14:28:00.015-06:00

by annie

As the youngest child and only girl of three, it’s no wonder that I appreciate the finest things in life: laughter, beer, and dinner. My older brothers were always there to make sure that the only people who were picking on little Annie were themselves. Don’t get me wrong, I got it pretty mild in terms of sibling rivalry. I didn’t have the fist fights or hateful yelling and, if anything, they were more bullied by me because I used to tattle the SHIT outta them.

What I do take away from my brothers are cassette taped sessions of the three of us farting into a recorder, the ability to harmonize to almost any song (my middle brother and I used to really fag it out to the Aladdin soundtrack), and a deep, unconditional appreciation of the Nintendo GamePad.

Also, my older brother once slapped me across the face with a piece of lunchmeat ham. I tattled.

Now I’m not sure if it was my boyish upbringing that created this stereotype, but I always play the “dude”. This goes all the way back to my Pocahontas LARPING sessions with the neighborhood kids on my street. I was always suckered into playing the part of John Smith. Always. I couldn’t be beautiful Pocahontas with her long flowing black hair, or any other fat female engine in the tribe. Nope. I couldn’t even get by with the fucking raccoon.

In turn, I really got used to flirting with girls and some days-I swear-at night, I could feel myself growing a tiny pair of delicate balls.

Well, some things never change.

Lately I have noticed that most of my improv scenes consist of me walking around, thrashing my arms about, bobbing my head back and forth shouting “come on baby, I love you!” over and over in a low, raspy voice. I can’t stop! I feel uncomfortable/unwatchable playing a female. You dudes are just so easy…to stereotype.

Out of all the countless dude scenes I have been in, I can only recall TWO instances of being complimented for playing a believable guy.

WHY!?! The male psyche has been a lifetime study of mine! I practically LIVED it!! When I’m offstage, I know better than to think that dudes stand around their dude friends spewing rape fantasies and scratching flys. I know that guys REALLY are just like us, only funnier.

I'm tired of seeing woman play off the wall dudes and I am ashamed that I am one of those.

Can't a bro get a break!? Come on ladies; let's do them some justice onstage and play it like it is:

<--Awkward

COME SEE OUR SHOW AT THE PLAYGROUND, BEACHES!! I'll be playing the dudes.

-Anal

Get off my dick!

2010-02-18T00:42:00.013-06:00

.
.
.

Today I got reprimanded at work for "excessive use of the word 'cool'". Seriously.
I work in a company that sells trips for old people and I described something as being a "pretty cool train ride."
THAT'S IT! I didn't say it was dope or hot as shit or too ill to function. Nope - Just nice, wholesome, non-threatening 'cool'.

Someday I'm going to be a boss of some sorts and although my desire for attention and constant struggle with self esteem and figures of authority may mold me into a skeezy creep desperate for approval, I will NOT become a douche nozzle on a power trip because I will remember what it was like to be one of the little people.

Listen bosses, you should know that most of your employees don't give a shit about your feelings or "the big picture" or being a fucking team player. Because all of that is garbage talk that creates self-manifesting power dynamics. The reality of it is that your boss is someone else's bitch that's forgotten what it feels like to be a self-motivated cog.

But you know what motivates me?

Guilt.
Letting people down.
Emotions.
Feeling important.

That's all any of us really want and I'm 10 times more likely to do something for someone who is pleasant to me than someone who's a dick because I don't care if I let a dick down (just ask my boyfriend! ... Woka-woka-amirightoramiright? ... Seriously though, wanna go out?); but let a friend down? Fuck that. Guilt would eat me alive.

So let me feel smart, Mr. Boss Man. Let me feel important, Mr. Boss Man. Let me feel like a logical and feeling human being who's also doing their job and you can bet that I'll do it a lot better, faster, and with more joy and I'll have you to thank.

Take 'em out, D. You're the only one who got it right.

Tawfik out.
.
.
.
.
.

Ash Wednesday

2010-02-17T13:03:00.013-06:00

By Jo

Today is Ash Wednesday and, for me, that means, today is the day I go to church¹, get ashes put on my head, and then walk around marked. Being marked is, I guess, traditionally seen as negative but I always like walking around with my ashes on Ash Wednesday. Better yet, I love seeing all the people with ashes on their forehead! (You’re not supposed to wipe them off.) You’re a Catholic? Cool! I get you! Now, not only do I know you’re wearing cute pumps, but I also know that you drink, have a love-hate relationship with your mom, and can memorize shit like the Lord’s prayer, REALLY well. I know, I know, I just horoscoped you, since those things are applicable to most people, but whatever! The point is I feel a kinship but that’s not even the point of this blog…..

Besides getting ashes rubbed into your forehead, Ash Wednesday marks the first day of lent, which lasts until Easter when the Easter Bunny is resurrected. (Hilarious…me, not religion.)

Anyways, lent...I’m getting closer to the point…

If you’re a nonreligious girl who has decided to give up any sort of food for lent then FUCK YOU! I hate you. Please, for the LOVE OF GOD², just fucking tell people you’re on a diet. Do not, DO. NOT. pretend you care about God. Girls going on a “lent diet” is, without a doubt, one of my biggest pet peeves. I cannot tell you how many girlfriends in college, who were not religious, gave up chocolate or fried foods or ice cream for lent and how badly I hated them for it. Just say it’s a diet, don’t say “lent”! Lent is a serious thing to people like my mom, who could care less how she’ll look in her Spring Break crop top.

I mean, I guess when anyone fat gives up some kind of food for lent, I’m always thinking, “Are you really sacrificing?” or “Are you dieting?” but that’s not really fair since lent really is about fasting from food/ festivities/ fun/ fucking/ Florida/ fanfare/ fog/ foxtrot/ fighting (you know, anything that starts with “F”). That is what it is about. I just don’t approve of people who don’t care about lent but use it as an excuse to “diet.” It sets me off. Furthermore! FUTHERMORE! My priest always said that during lent you should put on a happy face³ and avoid talking about what you are sacrificing. I guess bitching about your sacrifice might result in sympathy, which ain’t the point⁴…and that’s my point.

_________________________________________________
¹Actually, that’s me 5 years ago…the “now me” just thinks about going to church to get ashes.
²But not really, “For the love of God,” because you’re not religious and probably don’t believe in him.
³Catholics, ya’ll! We lie…FBI style.
⁴I should be a priest. “That ain’t the point…what is the point. …you get the point…on point.” I feel like the kids would really dig me.

Looking forward

2010-02-11T14:21:00.002-06:00

I was reading FREAKONOMICS last night–the section that poses the question, "Why do drug dealers live with their Moms?" Crack dealers are compared to aspiring actors and entry-level office positions–the incentive is to get to the top– to "make it". So, you put up with getting underpaid or not paid at all in the beginning and battle to get to a point where you are way overpaid for what you are doing. (The leader of the Black Disciples was banking 100k a year, untaxed). Boom. And! Most people never make it to that point! Crack dealers are more likely to die in their line of work than to ever make my office salary. Boy, do I feel advantageous!

Everything is great or horrible depending on what you compare it to. So a person could choose to think, "I’m better off than a crack dealer, life is grand!" but I don’t hear that much. Since motivation, circumstance and luck all play a huge role in how ones future unfolds, it is clear why people are so obsessed with game shows, celebrities and stupid fuck reality TV like American Idol and The Bachelor–everyone wants to be rich or famous and has big dreams and wants it all right NOW! It is true that people can get rich in a day FOR BEING AN IDIOT! Oh America, it could happen to you! It’s hard when most people struggle to make their dreams come true and others suck lollipops on TV and are millionaires. But this is starting a new conversation: Art v. entertainment. Who am I to judge? Look at what I’m into? Moral relativism.

So when I start down this path of thought (on the daily), I try to step back and stop hatin’ and start creatin’. Compared to Donald Trump, I’m sad, sad, embarrassing poor. But! I used to live in Kensington in Northern Philadelphia—my life is but a treasure now! Scared money don’t make none, CREAM, mo’ money, mo’ problems...all relative. One of my favorite quotes, "Fuck getting money for real, get freedom." - The Roots. I ain’t rich in money, but I’m rich in true friends (crack). I win! And I get to work with most of my friends (on the nightly). Boom. When my friends are happy, I am happy. Keep me happy, beasts.

I’m saving what I have right now ($6.83) to ensure that spring/summer 2010 is the best EVER! It’s going down y’all. Festivals bring the joy! Pitchfork...is going to be amazing. Not to mention Lollapalooza, LA & Chicago Improv Fest, and Del Close Marathon in NYC? Thank you credit cards (fuck you credit cards)! Can we please all go somehow!???

Boner Petite has a run at The Playground Saturday nights at 10 p.m. starting in March so get ready! We want you to open for us! We will be FUN-RAISING to help us on our way to the LA Improv Festival so be ready for some crazy fun/events/gifts (crack) on top of our generous wealth of talented friends playing with us (you). You make it worthwhile, friends. You make Chicago winter bearable. You help me stay motivated. You help me let loose on the goose. Thank you. For realz love comin at choos.

-Kobot

Hang in there........

2010-02-05T15:50:00.005-06:00

It's almost the weekend, babeee's!

A-fuck-ya!!!!

The Hurt Locker Hurt Jo Jo

2010-02-03T09:24:00.011-06:00

By Jo

First, this is a blog that has one specific request…I want your donation.¹ For art! I’ll get to that though…first, back to the title of this blog.

The Hurt Locker. Everyone has seen this movie, right? I saw it 4 days ago and since then have pretty much questioned, well, everything.

Oh sure, those of you who have seen me in the last four days are probably thinking, “Hm, that’s funny, Jo was at Clark Dog on Saturday and didn’t question a thing except for how many calories are in a fried pizza thingy.² That doesn’t seem like someone contemplating life.”

First, stop judging me!

Second, I’m an actress…no, I’m an improviser…no, I’m a liar. I asked about the fried thingy to bide my time until I could go home, be depressed.³

I don’t want to get into the whos, or whys, or hows, because I’d get schooled,⁴ but seriously, why is this still happening? People are dying. And I’m trying to work a pizza thingy into my caloric intake for the day? Shit is fucked up, ya’ll.

Look, I don’t want to seem dramatic, because I know no one wants to die, and I know that everyone does die, and I know war has always been happening, blah blee, blue… but this ridiculous. Everyone saw The Hurt Locker, right? How depressing. That isn’t the way life is supposed to be lived. Everyone should be able to think about ordering a pizza thingy. It’s not fair.

But then again, if everything was fair, what kind of life would that be? Everyone and everything the same? Pretty boring. No inspiration, no motivation, no passion…? All of those things are so beautiful.⁵ I love those things. I don’t want them to go away. Those things make things better…those things make everything else make sense.

And it’s in that vein that I’m throwing the weight of my Hurt Locker epiphany behind an ambitious creative project that I am a part of. I have four good friends who are trying to raise money for a live Internet Comedy Show. A show which I’m going to write countless funny sketches for, a show that will, hopefully, inspire others not to kill or go to war. Okay, I think it might just be funny and that’s it, but know that it is a project that is jam packed with love, and motivation, and inspiration and I love those things. Everyone does, right?

Please donate to them. Not even a lot. $5. $10. Any little bit helps! Their goal is $5000 and they’ve $1400 more to go.

_________________________________________________
¹MONEY! I want your money! The money you work hard for! Gimme, gimme, gimme! (See why I used the word “donation”? “Money” just reads wrong.)
²Too many, Jo, too many. Stop at “fried.”
³Poor, poor Peter. I’m sure he was contemplating plenty last weekend too, specifically, “Why can’t this nut job simmer and go do make-em-ups with her little improv friends.”
⁴I am so dumb. Bee. Bop. Boop.
⁵JESUS CHRIST! Do you see what Peter had to put up with all weekend? I was a mess…I was a deep, deep, damned mess.

B to the E

2010-01-18T15:22:00.013-06:00

by Annie

My mother was the ultimate housewife. Staying home with the kids was a job in itself, but she went above and beyond by keeping the house tidy and keeping her body tiny. I tip my hat to her because I’m sure it was hard work; work I have little desire to attempt. I am afraid, however, of how scary good I would be at housewife-ing because I picked up on some of mom's June Cleaver tricks. Today I would like to share one of those with you. Please get out your pen and paper for notes because this is a gold mine. The pearl of all pearls. Ladies and gentleman….Body Electric.

Before reading the rest of this, please just view the video for a brief 20 seconds. I really believe you will get a good summary of what my life was like at home with mom- torpedo triceps in belted spandex, lipstick on floor mats, and hips hips HIPS! (I am referring to that Amazon of a woman on the left side of your screen behind Margaret, the leader)Damn baby.

For the Donley household, Margaret Richards and her Body Electric crew was the epitome of 80’s work out routines. My mother recorded every televised 25 minute workout onto a VHS and you better believe we still own a VHS so she can still do them today...religiously. As a child, I would eat my Cheerios at the breakfast table while she sweated to Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston (Richards had good taste).

To this day, I can’t listen to “I Get So Emotional” or “Speed Demon” without running the ENTIRE workout routine in my head. I’m not even freaking kidding. I didn’t just watch my mother do these tapes. I too succumbed to the electric bod once I was a freshman in high school and I swear by it still. I think Body Electric teaches the best form and has great, challenging exercises for those major problem areas on women (you will never see Margaret with chicken wings).

Dudes, wait! Don’t think you are left out of this power movement!! Margaret makes sure to sprinkle some leg warmer-loving bros in her videos. Thank God for that too, cuz those finger suckers motivated me even more. Look at how effing happy and healthy they look. I WANT FRIENDS LIKE THESE DICK PATTY MUNCHERS. Can we all just go hang out at mall and scour the department stores for size 2 Esprit jeans?!?

Aw man, I just got a GREAT idea for a Christmas gift…DVD set of all Margaret’s old shit for my mom!!!

….although those old tapes are pretty sentimental. On one tape Margaret is pumping her huge biceps to some ridiculous song and then all of a sudden there is a cut to an episode of “Inspector Gadget”. I recorded over that shit one day. A-FUCK-YA BABIES!!!

"Go go gadget inner thighs lookin good!!"

If you made the resolution to put on some muscle mass and tone down your tummy this year, I highly recommend Body Electric.

I leave you with the poetic lyrics of Body Electric’s original theme song:

I sing the body electric
I celebrate the me yet to come
I toast to my own reunion
When I become one with the sun

And I'll look back on Venus
I'll look back on Mars
And I'll burn with the fire of ten million stars
And in time
And in time
We will all be stars

I sing the body electric
I glory in the glow of rebirth
Creating my own tomorrow
When I shall embody the earth

And I'll serenade Venus
I'll serenade Mars
And I'll burn with the fire of ten million stars
And in time
And in time
WE WILL ALL BE STARS

Dream Diary, Jan 14 2010, 1:00 AM

2010-01-14T01:27:00.019-06:00

by Rebecca
dedictated to every Boner who loves Twilight

My dream:

So I'm dating Edward Cullen... but he has to leave, like in New Moon, but unlike in New Moon he leaves me because he's got to go on a world wide movie premier tour for his new movie, "New Moon".

You see, in my dream, Edward Cullen is the actor Robert Pattinson but his secret-that only I and a few of his closest vampire friends know-is that he's actually really Edward Cullen, the vampire.

Oh, and in my dream E.C. is blonder, more muscular, and has to alex mack his way under doors to get to me.

And believe me, he gets to me.

When I hear he's back in my town in rural Vermont, promoting New Moon, I use my best "come hither" mind powers to get him in my house and in my shower. He can't just walk through walls so he has to melt under the door leaving his clothes on the floor where he melted out of them... He quickly redresses, E.C. is nothing if not modest, but for some reason, he leaves his belt on the floor.

Anyway... we're interupted by my dad, but for some reason he's actually a step dad (let's be clear, my parents, in real life are happily married... I have no step dad but in my dream I do, and he's this guy). My step dad goes on to lecture me about how my mom wants me to save myself for marriage. WTF!?! I'm actually 26 in my dream which is augmented by two things:

there are screaming teens running all around town looking for Robert Pattinson, who plays E.C. on screen, but, as I know, is actually... really... E.C. the vampire.
I have a 9-5 job that stresses me out.

So, my step dad leaves me in peace to shower and get ready for the premier of New Moon and E.C. reappears from the shower mist he disappeared into while my step dad was lecturing me.

He watches me shower. That's it, just WATCHES me.

Oh, and my shower is one of those old clawfoot numbers with a wrap around curtain but for some reason the town's teenage girls who are all running around my yard can see directly into my bathroom window, although I have the blinds closed, and keep laughing that they can see me naked. They can't see E.C. for some reason... but he can see me. And he can hear my thoughts, natch.

I get out, dry off, and dress in jeans, a stupid graphic tshirt and some lame denim jacket. I, apparently, am Bella.

And that's when E.C. informs me that he has been reading my thoughts and knows I've been dating someone else. He asks me who this L.W. fella is. And when he does my mind immediately goes to "oh, those abs" and something about great...well... relations with the guy E.C. is asking about. He can read these thoughts... he knows I've been with someone else (and have enjoyed it) and he is PISSED!!!

I don't defend myself, although, all I can think is: Jeeze, dude, you're great and all but you've been on the road for the past year promoting your movie "New Moon" and you haven't bothered to check in so what gives you the right?

But at the same time I'm thinking: this is E.C. and there's something strangely attractive about the fact that we've kissed twice, total, ever and he can melt under doors to watch me shower.

And then I wake up.

Lessons learned:
1) With some highlights and a few trips to the gym, I could actually find Robert Pattinson attractive.
2) My dad's so great that I couldn't replace him in a dream. I had to create a step dad just to get Charlie Swan a cameo. My dad's still a better police chief of a small town than Charlie Swan could ever be.
3) Can't keep my mind from wandering to a certain someone's abs...
4) The steam in your shower may actually be Edward Cullen. Good to know when you need help scrubbing your back.
5) In my dreams my mom expects me to have my v card (v for virginity, not vampire) until marriage... or until the release of Breaking Dawn... whichever comes first... (Breaking Dawn)
6) Although Edward Cullen/Robert Pattinson has an all access pass to teen girls, he prefers the mature career woman.
7) I like Twilight more than I think.

"OMG, he just called me a spider monkey!!! I LOVE SPIDER MONKEYS!!!"

Ludacommuta

2010-01-13T12:21:00.003-06:00

I consider commuting during the Chicago winter a daily achievement. When it’s this cold outside, people get real, real (Believe it!) The average human desire for respect of personal space and comfort is completely shot. It is definitely the worst for those of us in the morning workday commute slot. Dry, cracked fingers poke and prod there way into the already overstuffed sardine tin that is your train car. A symphony of 60 or so faces emitting sniffles and coughs plays in the background (if you are lucky), and drips on your sleeve (if you’re not...by far). Tension builds as purses spill and gym bags jab into your ribs with every bump and thrill. The 10 people who were lucky enough to get a seat are either dead asleep or tsk tsking at you for accidentally bumping into their feet. The train doors finally open, not sure if this is your stop (but hopin’), can’t see out the doors beyond the sea of bodies and can’t hear the recording over the disease-filled sneezes and lodi dodies. It's not. And 16 more people think they can fit, molest their way to a spot. The last 5 minutes felt like 30 and on that scale (the dirty, dirty), you’ve got an hour and a half until you reach your shit (office/restaurant/Gelateria). Somehow there is always a lewd, breathy dude who didn’t brush his teeth pressed into your backside: the daily grind on the way to the daily grind. And he just stepped on your foot...hard. Yo' ass scarred. Try not to think about his dick in your behind.

By the time you squeeze out of the train tube, wait in line to get through the turn-style, and finally hit the street, a confusing mixture of freedom and hatred looms in the air (skeet, skeet!) cause you ain’t hit home plate yet cous’gotta compete on concrete. Now it’s time to deal with drivers. The street survivors. Hoo-rah. They have been stuck in traffic fo-ev-a, while you were cramped in your train car and somehow, even though they haven’t been smashed against strangers for the last half hour, they are more angry than you. They still have parking to do, so when you see a fatty in a platinum caddy, better back it up fast. The whole city is united with the same motivation, but that motivation is pure personal frustration. Poop blast. Everyone is projecting their misery with furrowed brows, passive aggressive scowls, and the occasional string of obscenities spring out the jowls.

Fighting asshole with asshole is only gonna make the shit fly. I’m guilty of it too; I can’t lie. So Chi: I’m really gonna try. Mama don’t cry. Papa, things will be all right. And if I don’t succeed, someone sends a sneeze and I makes them bleed, Lord know I tried. Believe me when I say it, (but cover your mouth so you don’t spray it) Commuters, I wish you all a safe and pleasant ride.

WHAT THE F, AMERICA?!

2010-01-07T23:35:00.016-06:00

Last Sunday I was minding my own business on the couch reading a script for sketch fest and Peter was watching football. I don’t mean to name drop "sketch fest" on ya’ll’s As but I was reading a script and it’s important to know because if I just said, “on the couch reading” you would picture me reading…and I wasn’t, I was trying, unsuccessfully, to memorize lines. The point is I was distracted—like a kid in church. Anyway, I’m sitting on the couch (distracted) and a PSA comes on - I hear serious music and some guy with a deep voice. I honed in because I’m, generally, a concerned member of society and wondered "What, pray tell, is this PSA for?" (Also, because I was distracted.)

It was for a program sponsored by the NFL and United We Serve called Play 60.

What’s Play 60?

Well, it’s a program that encourages kids to play/exercises 60 minutes a day.

WHAT. THE. FUCK!

There’s a team of people who have decided to put time and energy into a program that motivates KIDS to PLAY?!?!?!

I’m not an old crotchety lady,¹ I swear, but for 30 seconds I turned into the old guy from Up and went bat shit crazy.

Really.

Really?—AN INITIATIVE TO GET KIDS TO PLAY!?

Money was spent, a website made, and the President filmed a commercial to remind KIDS to PLAY?!

WHAT'S HAPPENING!?

Kids play. It’s like, the most natural thing in the world. It’s like sex and having babies and breathing….all those things would happen without all the books and instructors! I mean, yes, I know that some kids don’t get out there, and some people aren’t successful in the sack, and that there’s complications with babies …blah, blah, blue.

BUT does there really need to be a reminder video about doing something that should come so naturally?

Exhibit A:

YES, okay, I guess we do need a reminder....

I don’t know, though...I’m not the smartest but it just doesn’t seem right. I really believe we’re (yes, we, it’s collective) doing something wrong if the President is reminding kids to play.

What’s next, a PSA reminding old people to die?!

DIE 80—
“Please, old people, we know we’ve given you the drugs and machines to live till you’re 150 years old, but we’re jackasses. We should’ve spent time enjoying life—seeing live theater, volunteering, playing with our kid²but we didn’t. We spent our lives figuring out a way to keep old people living, which was dumb because now the world is overpopulated with people, (people we were too busy to play with when they were young so they’re obese and worthless), and, well anyhow, could you just remember to die around the age of 80? It’s your role as an old person. Die 80!”

...mark my words, it might happen.

To be fair, today I watched that Play 60 commercial in full (the whole thing and with full attention) and I did think it was great.³ Just sad...I’m going to go tie some balloons to my apartment and go back to South America. Where the kids play!

_______________________________________________
¹Although, I CAN’T WAIT until I am. (It’s a life goal.)
²For at least 60 minutes a day.
³Obama can do NO wrong. None.

Wrap it UP!

2009-12-31T14:12:00.003-06:00

by Jo

Wrapping up the Boner Petite Blog with the last blog of 2009!

2010, ya’ll! New beginnings, ya’ll!

It’s upon us!

Personal Goals for 2010
• Make time for Muggle friends¹
• Work on British accent
• Work on any accent
• Become less obsessed with Twilight²
• Laugh less in improv scenes³
• Laugh more at work⁴
• Don’t feel bad for fatter/uglier/older people than me (it’s self righteous and rude)⁵
• Add a couple of new recipes to my stock party recipes list
• Sleep with less people on my way to the top⁶
• Really try to figure out making LIVING FOREVER happen!⁷

Group Goals for 2010
(Please note, I haven’t discussed this with my homegirls yet…but I think they’ll dig.)
• Take over the world!
• August 2010—The Del Close Marathon, Chelsea Star Hotel, Chicago REPRESENTING!⁸
• Add a new dance routine to our stock of dance routines
• Sleep with more people on our way to the top⁹
• Continue to grow together as friends and improvisers
• Pray together more.¹⁰
• Rev up the blog submissions!

In closing, Boner Petite friends and fans, thanks for making 2009 such a great year. We have the BEST time performing together and the fact that ya’ll are down to laugh with/at us is such a gift.

As a thank you, please prepare to get BLOWN away in 2010 by, Boner Petite! (Again, I haven’t confirmed that blowing line with everyone yet…but our group mind is cray cray solid so assume it’s true.)

LOVE!
Jo

________________________________________________
¹Muggles- People who aren’t witches and/or friends who don’t improvise.
²It’s bad ya’ll. Pathetic and bad. Just Bad…but beautiful too.
³It’s so much fun though!
⁴But seriously, on this one, odds are low…in fact, my odds of becoming the head writer at SNL are better. My odds of hooking up with the fictional character, Edward Cullen, are higher. ….but I’m gonna give it a shot.
⁵The ONLY person who can/should get away with pitying us commoners is Beyonce. Trust.
⁶I kid.
⁷Please email me if you have any leads.
⁸The Del Close Marathon is like more than half a year away and I’m ALREADY hyped for it! NYC, bitches!
⁹I kid.
¹⁰I kid again…I just can’t stop sometimes

Aunt Teen's Creamy Chocolate Fudge

2009-12-18T08:22:00.005-06:00

by Jo

I have no idea who Aunt Teen is but I know her niece (a friend from DC) and Wednesday night I made Aunt Teen's fudge like it’s my JOB.

One thing about Aunt Teen's fudge? It is awesome. So awesome that I don't feel guilty consuming it despite its caloric/fat content. (And I feel guilty about most things that go into my face. ...I'm a girl, what can I say?)

Aunt Teen's Creamy Chocolate Fudge

INGREDIENTS:·

1 (7 ounce) jar marshmallow creme
1 1/2 cups white sugar
2/3 cup evaporated milk
1/4 cup butter
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups milk chocolate chips
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped nuts
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

DIRECTIONS:

Line an 8x8 inch pan with aluminum foil. Set aside.
In a large saucepan over medium heat, combine marshmallow cream, sugar, evaporated milk, butter and salt. Bring to a full boil, and cook for 5 minutes, stirring constantly.
Remove from heat and pour in semisweet chocolate chips and milk chocolate chips. Stir until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth.
Stir in nuts and vanilla.
Pour into prepared pan. Chill in refrigerator for 2 hours, or until firm.

27 Is Mine

2009-12-17T11:39:00.003-06:00

I had a nice chat with a friend yesterday about getting shit done. Like, really getting it done. I do a lot of talking about projects and things I want to achieve which is good and necessary. Now it’s time to do it. I have been talking about doing my first solo rap album for about 2 years (That's me and Emerald aka Brew Masta Squeek when we had a duo in Philly, Dem Shorty Booz). I haven’t done it yet for multiple reasons:

1. I don’t have the tools or skills to record anything.
2. I waste a lot of time debating about concepts and am very judgmental of my own ideas.
3. Mostly, it scares the shit out of me (Julia). Meanwhile, Miss Buttah can’t wait to get her fuckin’ dick heard.

In the spirit of the season, as well as the spirit of being reliable (thanks Gary), here is a diddy I wrote last year and never used (see 1-3...Miss Buttah thinks I’m a pussy). It scares me to even post this...(Julia).

SNOW BLOW ME

Yo yo yo! Chicago!
It's Miss Buttah, back from the gutta
Don't need no icy hot stuntaz, no frontas
We talking X-Mas 2008
Get it straight!
Merry Christmas to all y'all misfits
Now lets do this
Hahahahhaa!

It's the most wonderful time of the year
It's cold outside but it's warm in here
Take off your boots and sip some cocoa
My pussy's frozen to the bed so let's get loco

Heat it up like chestnuts on an open fire
Get me hallelujahin' like the Vienna boys choir
Prove to me that you're willing and able
Spin your tongue like a ole' wooden dradle

When that Old Saint Nick rides his sleigh into town
And all my dumb kids skating on the playground
I put my fatty pink cookie in a dish
So I can get my wet n' slappy Christmas wish

CHORUS
Snow blow me
A holiday treat
Snow blow me
Taste the meat
Snow blow me
It's too cold to cum so better hop to it
It's a tough snow job but somebody's gotta do it

Whether you been naughty or nice
1 or 2 hours just won't suffice
Crawl down in my chimney love surprise
Have you melting just like Frosty in between my thighs

I've ridden Dasher, Dancer, Prancer cause I'm a Vixen
But tonight's about my vaginal holiday tradition
I'm shooting comets and arrows like Cupid on Donner and Blitzen
My clit’s worked up like elves before Santa's expedition

Get that candy cane away from me!
That tiny thang is blasphemy!
Rock around that pre-trimmed Christmas tree
That's how you treat a lady on Christmas eve!

CHORUS

TALKY PART
You stupid ass bitch
You went and ruined it.
I was about to pop one out and you went and got greedy on me didn't you?
What choo crazy from all that egg nog motha fucka?
Mistletoe can't fuck a ho.
Don't you know the greatest gift of all
is when a bitch cum all over yall!?!?!

CHORUS

Get back to the x-mas zone.
................................................................................................................................................
It’s time to stop being a pussy(Julia). I’m getting a computer this month and I’m learning to record. 27 is mine. 2010. Miss Buttah: What a Mess to drop. That’s my word.

Meh-rry Christmas

2009-12-13T09:58:00.003-06:00

Every year I tell myself that Christmas is going to "finally mean something again this year" and every year, it gets to be 10-15 days 'til the big day and I feel just like I do every other sorry-ass day of the year.

I haven't bought any gifts--or if I have, I did all my shopping online because I hate people, and all I have to show for it are confirmation emails from Amazon.com. There's no tree decorated in my living room, just the nagging feeling that if I get one now, it'll just be dead when I come back from Virginia. I've received 17 Christmas cards, yet have sent none. I put "Fat Daddy Claus" and "Hard Candy Christmas" on my iPod, but get sick of them after listening through once. I think it would be nice to make some cookies, but eating a stick of butter would be easier.

Basically, I have waited too long to start celebrating Christmas, so what's the point of starting now?

(This is the point in my seasonal depression where I secretly wish for some George Bailey-esque epoch of feeling wonderful will occur.)

Sigh. It sucks not being able to drink.

Tips for guys

2009-12-11T10:48:00.011-06:00

By Rebecca

In honor of Local Make Out Month.

Let's face it. Guys are dogs and they will do anything to get into your pants*. Especially if you want nothing to do with them.

When I was living in Single Town, USA and was technically fair game for guy's advances they were mildly annoying. Now that I'm seeing someone, the lecherous guy trying to get me to sit and talk and have "just one drink" rates on my fun scale down near having my annual pap.

Translation for you men: it freaking sucks.

Just because you're itching for some action doesn't make it ok to take up my time and annoy the crap out of me. See those people in the corner I was on my way to talk to? They're my friends. I want to hang out with them. You begging me to just have a beer is not only lame, it's scary. If you want me to have a beer THAT bad, what's in the beer? Stop it.

Hint: If I say I'm dating someone, whether I'm lying or not, it's a sign that you should leave me alone. Don't ask if I'm lying, that makes you look desperate and you're questioning my integrity, which is rude. Don't make any comments about the guy I'm dating, positive or negative, you don't know him and I'd appreciate it if you keep him out of it. This is about me and you and about how you should shut up and let me go on with my life.

Hint: Gentlemen, believe it or not, ladies are humans too. We like the things you like, sports, food, reading, movies... Why not start a real conversation and then see where it goes. That way, whether or not the girl is available, you will have had a real conversation about something and if it ends in her walking away then you've not lost anything and you won't have made yourself look like a total tool bag.

Hint: Just because I put on decent clothes to walk out the door doesn't mean I did it just to impress you, guy in bar. Actually, I probably got dressed up to impress my female friends who actually know the difference between a wedge heal and a stiletto. Get over it, you are not the center of my world and I'd appreciate it if you didn't act like you were. Oh, and take off that shirt that has cursive text and eagles on it. You look ridiculous. Pick up a NY Times and pretend you're an interesting human being.

I Want a Guy with a Scar on His Face

2009-12-04T16:27:00.011-06:00

by Annie

Being single in this city is sofa king great. I feel like Midwestern men are exceptionally horny and can I just say…….. “YES!” That means all I need is a slightly decent sense of humor and I’m in ! In reality, I probably don’t even need that sense of humor but it doesn’t hurt when all you’ve got to work with is small tits.

Tawfik and I have declared December as Local (because we don’t care if people outside of Chicago are doing it) Make-out Month. Our wish/goal/dream is that everyone we know will be inspired to get sloppy with that special someone, someone they know, or someone they DON’T know. What better a time to be single than Local Make-Out Month?!

Ok I know what you are asking yourself right now, “Sooooooo Annie, how many!? I mean here it is, 4 days deep into (that’s what she said) Local Make-Out Month, gimme all the skanky deets!”

Well dear reader, I have some bad news to report. So far my accomplishments have totaled a giant goose egg. Last night I began thinking about the reason behind this shortcoming (really). And guys, I think I have a thing for the bad guy.

FACT: my fav Backstreet Boy has and always will be AJ McLean (you know, the one w/all the tats and earrings)

FACT: I like it when dude’s don’t have the time of day for me, yet secretly stalk me without my knowledge. “You really should stay away from me” –E Cullen

FACT: if a dude buys me a drink, I will love him for life. If he WON’T buy me a drink, the rest of my evening is a high stakes challenge to win his attention. Just thinking of the satisfaction of that reward (getting the drink) turns me on like a vampire in an operating room.

FACT: Local Make-Out Month doesn’t buy this bad guy excuse. Local Make-Out Month doesn’t discriminate against the nice guy. The nice guy would actually be a GREAT catch this month because if anything, he will make-out with you even if he doesn’t want to (because he doesn’t want to be liable for hurting your feelings).

Alright, so as we go into the weekend I realized that I need to stop this ridiculous obsession with the bad guy. Tawfik, this stops now. Leaving my options open this month (and this month only) doesn’t put me in the ‘desperate’ category does it?

Fuck you. I’m single bitches!!!!

Tiger Bad. Twilight Good.

2009-12-03T18:45:00.004-06:00

By Jo

I hate to write a blog about Tiger Woods about the book Twilight¹ but just hear me out.

First—Tiger:

What. The. Fuck.

I’m not going to act like I know or care about the guy but, SERIOUSLY? Seriously, Tiger? Jesus.

Again, and to be clear, I don’t know a lot, if anything, about his situation. But let’s look at the facts:

He has money, fame, a beautiful partner, and his JOB is playing golf.

...and he couldn’t make it work. What does it take!? Again, I have no idea if his wife is a bitch or a witch or a man. I don’t know, I don’t care, but when I heard that he was cheating on his wife I was like, “Really? Really, what does it take for someone to be happy?!”

I mean, we, normal people², we have shit to deal with and sometimes shit doesn’t work out …but if we had money and fame and adoring fans and were getting paid to do something we love we’d be happy, right? We’d be content. We’d be able to love our Swedish model/nanny wife, right?

Maybe not.

My point is, what’s it all about? What’s the point? I’m talking big picture, what’s the point in life?³

Because to me, if someone with money, and fame, and a good job can’t cruise through life, how the FUCK am I going to make it?

I’m working my ass off to try to get better at something I love so that maybe I can get paid to do it, and then I’ll feel secure financially and I’ve got Peter already so my thought was that I’d just live happily ever after.

But why would I think that, when Tiger couldn’t make it happen?

I mean, if I really thought about it I’d say the only thing that really matters to me is being surrounded by people I love….and I am…so why then am I pushing for something else? Hmm. I’m blaming this one on the Jones’. Can everyone just simmer and be happy so the Jones’ cease to exist?

Second—Twilight:

I’m. Obsessed.⁴ Everyone. Is.

And why not? Let’s look at the facts:

It’s a love story…and one of the people in that story is a non-aging, eternal-living, vampire.

Two of my biggest fears in life? Dying and aging. Something I love? Love.⁵

Duh people love this book. Duh. It’s ALL about love…

My point is, that’s what it’s all about. It’s about love. Hmm. I guess I should stop pushing and simmer too.

MAD LOVE

__________________________________________________
¹And I think people would hate to read a blog about the two….and by “people” I mean “Peter” but I’m going for it.
²I’m guessing Boner Petite's blog doesn’t have a celebrity following.
³It’s embarrassing how much this Tiger thing has affected me.
⁴It’s embarrassing how much I have let Twilight affect me…Some of the things that have come out of my mouth in the last week and a half since I started that series? “Peter, will you look at me like a vampire. PLEASE!” “Babe, could you just put your hand on my pussy while I read this last chapter?” “I’m really, no joke, starting to think vampires are real. Seriously.”
⁵I love love so much. I want everyone in the world to be happy and in love. I mean, really, who doesn’t love love? It’s the BEST feeling in the world…better than getting your way, or holding your ground, or proving a point. You get it. Make love…not war.

All I need...

2009-12-01T13:03:00.002-06:00

Uh ohs. It’s gifty times again! Yuck. I love to give gifts, but I hate feeling forced to do it AND I hate when people feel forced to give as well. Like when your aunt you have never spoken to sends you a sweater from Eddie Bauer. Although it is a sweet gesture, I have to be honest and say - No! You don’t know me! Save your $70! Donate to a charity or something if you have all this moola to throw around!

It is my yule tide wish that people will cool their collective jets. The pressure people feel during this season is gross. The purpose of holiday celebrations is to be happy with those you love. To remind you, if you need to be reminded, to appreciate what you have. I don’t understand jewelry, boats, or worshipping a god, but that is me. The pack I run in doesn’t exchange Cartier watches, rather, we share a bag of Fritos on the Brown Line. See? Giving all year round is easy.

My friends are the best part of my life. It is the gifts from these people that mean the most. Like a simple card or picking up the tab at Potbelly’s. That’s the kind of shit I cherish*. My all-time favorite gift was given to me last year by Kelly Chicoine. It is an old, used cigarette roller tin with a picture of Tupac on it! It has remained on my desk at work since and it makes me laugh every day.

Laughter is the best gift ever. So this year, family, my plan is to sing along to my old favorite California Raisins Greatest Hits tape that you hid from me in my youth because I was driving you crazy singing along to it non-stop into MyFirstSony. Hilarious! And friends, you’re all getting one of these.

Wheeeeeeeeeooooh! Love to all. Peace in the Middle East...PLEASE? Ahhhh!

-Kobos

* 2nd best gift ever. Emerlee, you are the best.

Rachel Showalter is...

2009-11-23T13:49:00.004-06:00

So, as some of you are well aware, I am currently 13+ weeks pregnant with twins.

Are you done?

Ok, good. I know it's a tough pill to swallow--much like the gigantic horse pills that my doctor jokingly calls "prenatal vitamins" (vitamins should be gummy and shaped like Hanna Barbera characters, no?).

But, fear not, I have had some time to adjust to this bombshell and so shall you. Take comfort in the fact that you can talk about me to everyone else now--a luxury I have not had for fear of breaking the 1st Trimester Don't Ask Don't Tell rule.

And though it may prove to be a testament to how ridiculously addicted to social media I have become, I gotta say the hardest part about keeping mum (pun intended) is not having been able to share my honest Facebook updates.

Here are some of the updates I've had to sit on (along with my hemorroids). See for yourself how my pregnancy has been progressing:

Rachel Showalter is chock full of fetus
Rachel Showalter swears to god she will throw up on you if you don't wash your hair
Rachel Showalter was really sad to wake up to pee (again) because she was dreaming about eating brownie batter
Rachel Showalter thinks buttoning one's pants is overrated
Rachel Showalter has constructed an office bed
Rachel Showalter WILL RIP OUT YOUR FUCKING THROAT!!!!!!!
Rachel Showalter No one does flatulence like a pregnant lady.
Rachel Showalter Can anyone recommend a support group for alcoholic moms?
Rachel Showalter goes to bed at 9:30 now.

So there you have it. It has not been an easy road thus far, and is bound to get crazier as the trimesters go by. Look forward to me growing the size of an 18 wheeler and disappearing from all social circles over the next 6 months. Will keep you posted.

Rachel

PS: Key facts for the curious: due date is May 30 (though twins usually come early) and Ben is the father.

Making a List for You to Check Twice

2009-11-23T07:33:00.002-06:00

by Rebecca
born December 12, nineteen eighty something.

I've never really felt like I've had a handle on my birthday wish list.

I can think of things ALL year long that I really really want but if I start making a list, I inevitably lose it by December.

This year, I've actually done a decent job of remembering the things I want. But I miss those days when all of your best friends sit around while you tear through ribbons and bows and tissue and wrapping paper and then proudly display your treasures.

I want an audience. That's always been my m.o.

So, now that I have your attention, here's my 2009 birthday wish list:

Sticky Notes: the recession's making post its in my office a hot commodity.
A stylish brooch: because now that I have to wear suits I realize why Madeleine Albright liked to bedazzle her lapels.
Paper Source gift card: nuff said.
Candle Holders: cuz I wanna burn stuff.
A funky apron: I want to cook more and look good doing it.
Coasters: because I'm becoming an uppity adult who wants to protect her furnishings.
A spoon rest: So when I'm looking good cooking I'm not leaving sauce puddles on my stupid counter tops.
Anything I can serve food in/on that's pretty: Because my WORLD FAMOUS mashed potatoes deserve better than to be spooned out of the pot I whipped them in.
Anything you make yourself: Because I love you all.
Pictures of my niece/god daughter: But only if you already have them. Don't get creepy and start paparazzi-ing her (and yes I just used paparazzi-ing as a verb).
Donations to no kill animal shelters in your area: cuz I like it when people give back.
Donations to no kill homeless shelters/food banks in your area: cuz I've heard there are people out there who don't like pets... they shall remain nameless... and let's face it, it's a recession, everyone could use some help.
Chocolate: duh.
Letters of adoration about yours truly: double duh
Ben and Jerry's coupons: ridiculously duh.
Hugs: TRIPLE duh!

That's enough for now.

And, do I know how tacky it is to openly request gifts in an open forum? Yes, I do!

But, every bride* and pregnant woman** is allowed to do it! And, since, NEITHER of those titles will apply to me in the conceivably near future, I feel like I get a break. See: Sex and the City, Season 6, Episode 9, A Women's Right to Shoes, when Carrie gets her Manolos taken "accidently" at a baby shower.

If you can't get me any of these things for my birthday? Don't worry. Hanukah is the exact same time of year.

Peace!

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

* I love brides.
** I double love pregnant women!

Dewey Girls Never Tire

2009-11-20T11:39:00.006-06:00

As a sophomore at Bennington, I was moved to the house of Dewey and placed in a room with a Junior, Kathryn Smuztler. She had been dicked over in the housing lottery and apparently, was prepared, with the help of all the Dewey girls, to make me miserable and drive me out.

Dewey was shut down my Freshman year (apparently, for getting too out of control) and tales of "what it was" were always floating around. Dewey’s description was basically, "A loud, smoking house"...it was mostly built on reputation for being outrageously debaucherous. When I arrived, it certainly lived up to it.

Upon first meeting of the Dewey Girls, I was quite intimidated. They were always together, whether walking to class or hanging out in their rooms, all stupidly beautiful, all always smiling and laughing. They would work all day, party all night, and I’d cry myself to sleep as my walls bounced to Munizeh (in #12, THE room in Dewey) next door blasting "Shake Senora" at 5 a.m. on a Thirsty Thursday.

They really knew how to enjoy life and have fun; I found this daunting. I was very "small-towny" and scared of everything and they looked so free and fearless; how does this work? It didn’t take too long before I was staying up until 6 a.m. on a Tuesday singing along to "Under the Sea" in #12; grinding out the night to that Reggae Hip Hop Mix, popcorn fights to B.O.B., cracking up to mattress rides down the steps, staying up all morning to guard Dewey from Kilpat’s attack, flipping all the bikes over Thanksgiving on the lawn, every Bakanol, every Rollerama, every Sunfest, not to mention of course, all the crazy cool collaborations and projects that were created.

How much fun I had and how much I learned from these ladies will never be forgotten. How inspiring they all were as individuals, as a group of friends, as artists. They showed me how to open up, let loose, and have fun. That you should take risks. Especially when you know that you have the coolest and most supportive friends all there for you no matter what (probably lying in a bed of sloth chain-smoking Winston Lights and ready to hash it out). It’s really just the friends. You can do anything when they’ve got your back.

Knowing that most of you will be together tonight in NYC to celebrate Kathryn’s birthday makes me really happy. I miss you all the time and wish I was there right now.

Kathryn, you’re one of my dearest friends. Thank you for always being there over the years and years. Even though we rarely get to see each other anymore, when we do, it always feels like not a day has passed. You’re one of the most kind, fun, and brilliant human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. The kind of lady who wakes up in the morning with a huge smile on her face. Gives the best advice. Who makes every old T-shirt look AMAZING. Who isn’t scared to shake it like a chicken wing on the train :) Happy 27th birthday! I love you very hard. I’ll be pouring out some shots for you and for good old Dewey tonight.

Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin’ world go round.

That night was whack yo! Peace!

Love,

Juls

SOMEBODY Figure Out How to Make a Time Machine…PLEASE!

2009-11-20T09:06:00.005-06:00

By Jo

Wednesday morning
7:15am
Red Line, South Bound, Standing Room Only
Most people look pissed. ...
I don’t. I’m reading Twilight so I’m thinking about how hot I’m going to make my next make out session with Peter.¹

It was a morning like every other morning then the train stopped at North and Clybourn and I hear three teenagers, who start to exit and yell, “He’s got swine flu, let us off! This boy is full of swine flu, move out of our way!” (Teenagers laugh hysterically.) Then the “swine flu” boy says, “I don’t have swine flu, these guys are crazy!” (Teenagers laugh more.)

No. One. Responds.²

I OPENLY cackle³ because those teenagers joking about one of them having swine flu to get people to move so they can exit the train is FUNNY! I take comedy classes—I know!

Teenagers exit.

Silence. People judge me for responding…then people judge me for reading Twilight.

Silence. I exit and go to work and sit in a cube.

What would I GIVE to get off that train with those kids and shoot the shit? They were the coolest! My right arm…

You know how everyone always says they hated middle school and high school? I didn’t. I fucking loved that shit. Sure, trying to fit in, be cool, learning how to become a woman…blah, blah, sure it was “hard.” I’m not denying there were some downs, but man, THOSE UPS!

One time my best girlfriend from 7th grade and I went to Wendy’s…which was the first stop of maybe 5 fast food restaurants in our quest to see how far we could stretch $5 that day. Anyways, we get something minimal and sit to eat. Once at the table, Kathryn, my friend, proceeds to have a “seizure” and I come to her aid.⁴ COMEDY! It seems a little immature typing it out now, but it was so FUNNY! FUN. I would never do something like that now….

So what happens? When does it get less fun? I’m not sure.

I mean, being courteous/self-aware is important, but not responding to someone making a joke, or small talk is just WEIRD! Why does that happen? When does that happen?

Who knows? (That’s where the time machine comes in.)

What I do know is that we’ll have our day again. Old people can do whatever the FUCK they want!

__________________________________________________________
¹I don’t kiss and tell but yeah, I kept it real.
²You know what, yes it sucks that we’ve all got to go sit in a cube and make awkward conversation with our supervisors while these teenagers get to go to school where the nurse gives out FREE condoms, gym is a class, and you’re brain is being stimulated. IT. SUCKS. …but let’s not jealous (yes, I’m using jealous as a verb). Smile. Be happy. …have an emotional response. Be. HUMAN!
³That’s right, I’m a human.
⁴I can’t believe I chose that story for my “up” story. …it was fun is the point!

Visual Ecstacy

2009-11-17T12:59:00.025-06:00

by Annie

I was using the online thesaurus today and I stumbled across this little jewel:

A visual thesaurus that helps you understand a word?! As if a list of similar words isn't enough, thesaurus.com has gone and done something genius for the visual learner. well. fuck. ya.!!!!

This is such a great tool that can be used to help us communicate in a different, possibly quicker and more comprehensible way. Awesome right!?

But why stop there? We could use this for a multitude of "awkward" scenarios. To name a few:

1. Instead of passive aggressive emails that come from your boss:

2. To which you could reply:

3. Or a note to your beloved:

Do you see what I'm getting at?

Love you, beasts!

You can never go home.

2009-11-13T13:54:00.007-06:00

I'm super excited and nervous.

On the weekend of December 5th I'm going home. For a wedding.

Now, when I say "home" I mean the place I lived from birth until I went to college. Miami, FL. Why must I make this distinction, you ask. You see, my awesome parents moved to Hinesburg, VT shortly before I graduated from college. So even though I grew up in Miami, I have no physical home there. Except for the one that's currently inhabited by some strangers that bought my parents' place before the market went bust and paid wayyyy to much money (if you ask me).

Things I'm looking forward to while I'm "home":

1) Seeing my paternal grandparents: My grandma and grandpa are THE BOMB and it's always a bit trippy to see loads of pictures of me when I was ridiculously young scattered all over their place. I still can't believe I got talked into wearing huge 8o's glasses when I was five. Visiting the grandparents also means lots of food and lots of catching up.

2) The weather: Currently, in Miami, it's 74 degrees and sunny. I plan on doing as the locals do and wearing tank tops and jean skirts the entire time with nothing but flip flops. I'm considering showing up to the wedding I'm going to in cutoffs and a bow tie (it is black tie afterall).

3) The water: everyone in Miami who's worth a lick has a pool. I plan on going in one, which from a native Miamian stand point is ridiculous to do in December. They think it's too cold. I've learned from living in Chicago that as long as there's sun out and the water isn't frozen over and there aren't any e. coli warnings, you should at least stick your feet in. I'm doing it. And while I'm at it, I'm going in the Ocean. THE REAL OCEAN!

4) Food: I absolutely miss a ton of places. Hungry Bear subs, the Big Cheese, La Caretta, Cuban coffee, omg...

5) Family: Sometimes a stressful bunch, but altogether awesome.

6) The people: Miami residents are as far from Midwesterners as possible. The more I've lived in Chicago the more I realize how buttoned up and conservative people are. Which is great, of course, but in Miami the climate makes it feel like vacation 24/7, 365 and everyone exudes sex and frivolity. I want to drink too much and wear small clothes and get sun in my skin and dance till dawn just to get up and do it all again. That city has a movement that Chicago lacks and a pulse that can't be replicated.

7) My friends: I have a family here now, and I love them. But it all started somewhere and that somewhere was Miami. I can't wait to see all my old school peeps.

So wish me luck. I plan to make the best of my time in the city where the heat is on, all night on the beach 'til the break of dawn but the fact of the matter is, I've got an agenda with rehearsal dinners and bouquet tosses.

xoxo
Rebecca

Christmas Music

2009-11-12T11:43:00.005-06:00

By Jo

I love Christmas music. I love it.

If I had my say, Christmas music would play year round. Unfortunately, Peter has the rule, “No Christmas music until after the Thanksgiving.” It makes sense, really, it does, but seriously, what a DOUCHE!

One place Peter can’t dictate? My work…more specifically, my headphones at work. He can’t dictate what I listen to on them. As a result, I’ve been listening to Christmas music nonstop since November 1, 8am-5pm.

There’s a Chicago channel that plays Christmas music around the clock and I LOVE it!

What are my favorite Christmas songs, pray tell?

Easy. Check it:

1. I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas—Bing Crosby singing it…nice and slow. I listened to this song while we lived in Suriname CONSTANTLY and cried almost every time….I actually think this song is what caused the no Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. (Peter is a dick!)

2. Destiny Child’s 8 Days of Christmas—8 days and not 12? I know it’s weird but you know what, those girls are not selfish. Best present in their eight days of Christmas? “On the third day of Christmas my baby gave to me, a gift certificate to my fa-vor-ite CDs.”
Sidenote: DC’s Spread a Little Love on Christmas Day is a CLOSE, CLOSE second….I especially LOVE this part:

Spread a Little Love on Christmas Day!
Do you have my back on Christmas day!
Yes I got your back on Christmas day!
Do you have my back on Christmas day?
Girl, I got your back on Christmas day!
You got my back? (I got your back.)
You got my back? (I got your back.)
Got my back? (I got your back.)
Got my back?
Listen!

I effin love the idea of “having someone’s back” on Christmas day.

3. Mariah Carey’s All I want for Christmas is You—Let’s just forget about the fact that I love MC. Love her, I mean, right up there with Beyoncé love her….but let’s just focus on the song. Oh. My. God. It’s fun and upbeat and it really captures the true meaning of Christmas: relationships. It’s about people not presents! Go Mariah.

4. Carol of the Bells—I sang this song in high school choir so I know all the words and, as you can imagine, I feel like a total bad ass when it comes on and I can sing through the fast part: “Gaily they ring, while people sing, songs of good cheer—Christmas is here!” Also, this is the song that plays in Home Alone when Kevin McCallister is preparing to face off with Marv and Harry (AKA “The Wet Bandits.”)

5. Twelve Days of Christmas—This song is kind of like the electric slide of Christmas music. It’s long, everyone knows all the parts, and nobody really wants to go through the entire song but they do because everyone knows the song. Anyways, it’s clash-tick¹ Christmas.

6. Christmas Time is Here—I love the piano at the top of this song and I love how quiet it is…plus it’s in the Peanuts movie. It’s beautiful. I love when this song comes on my iPod; it makes me want to curl up in a ball right in the snow and cry. (In a good way.)

7. Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer—I mean, I am in comedy and this song has one-liners all over the place. Plus, a reindeer with a clown nose? Hilarity.

8. Baby It’s Cold Outside—The Clay High School Swing Choir, which I was in (and which was cool²) sang and danced to this and it was awesome. I mean, being in high school and singing a song about staying at dude’s place and having another drink?…This song is about hooking up! “I oughta say ‘no, no, no, sir’ at least I’m gonna say that I tried.” Naughty, naughty swing choir.

9. The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)—From Wikipedia: “written by vocalist Mel Tormé and Bob Wells. According to Tormé, the song was written during a blistering hot summer. In an effort to “stay cool by thinking cool.” DUDE, I totes feel that! This song is so smooth and soft…and “cool.”

10. It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year—Because it is the “most wonderful time of the year.”

___________________________________________________
¹(classic)
²Okay, people are constantly laughing when I tell them my high school’s swing choir was cool….BUT. WE. WERE. If the cast of Gossip Girl went to my high school they’d all be in swing choir. (Sidenote: I’ve never seen Gossip Girl, but I’m pretty sure I’m right on this.)

Tittie Bars…How to cope when your man wants to look at some fat-ass titties…

2009-11-05T09:33:00.002-06:00

By Jo

Peter, my husband, went to a strip club for a bachelor’s party about a month ago and because I’m wack-job crazy, I’m still wack-job upset about it.

Why? Seems ridiculous, right? It’s just boobs and naked girls.

Wait. It’s BOOBS AND NAKED GIRLS!!! BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS! NAKED GIRLS NAKED GIRLS NAKED GIRLS NAKED GIRLS!

Oh yeah, that’s why I’m still upset—he went to hang out at a bar where ladies are FUCKING NAKED!¹

All dudes, including my near-flawless Peter,² need to either:

A) Not go to a strip club when invited.

OR

B) Look their wife in the face and be honest. Just tell the truth and say, “Look hon, I know this is probably not the best decision, no, I know it’s not. Especially seeing as how you, like a lot women, have a bad body image, but I’m going to go to an overpriced bar and look at naked women. It’s not a tradition thing. I just want to see naked girls. You know—the kinds that are 30 lbs lighter than you and still four cups bigger up top. Anyways, I know it’s not the best decision but I’m gonna do it.”

JUST TELL THE TRUTH! (It’s so much easier for me to get mad/win a fight when all the information is out there.)

This whole, “All the other guys are going...I’m not even that excited about it….it’s just a tradition.” All that? That’s a lie. In fact, I HATE when dudes say dumb shit about it being a tradition. Why? Church is a tradition, sacrificing lambs is a tradition, and Peter partakes in neither. Traditions are traditions because people WANT to do them. They WANT to see more boob than you offer. They want to do them.³

So how do you, the wife/girlfriend/friend, cope with your tittie-hungry dude?

• Silent treatment.⁴
• Get a boob job.
• Fuck someone and call it a tradition.
• Call his mom and tell her where he is going.
• Sew your vagina shut.⁵

All of these options are flawless. Try one or all….

But on the reals…

I know Peter was just going to support a high school friend’s bachelor party. (I mean, I’m pretty sure I believe that.)

BUT! It doesn’t change the fact that he now knows what full sized boobs should look like, which kills me.

I wish that from the start I had just said, “no, don’t go” but I didn’t because I didn’t want to be the bitchy wife. Should’ve. Could’ve. Would’ve….when in doubt TELL THE TRUTH!⁶

WOMAN: “I don’t want you to go.” (TRUE)

MAN: “But I want to see boobs.” (TRUE.)

WOMAN: “No.” (TRUE)

Just do it. It’ll save you some pain….and your vagina from being quilted shut.

___________________________________________________
¹“Fucking Naked” as in “ready for sex at any given moment cause they’re naked!”
²Flawless, like a double D tit—Double D Pete.
³“Them” can be use interchangeably—strippers or traditions.
⁴Technically, the silent treatment is “bitchy” but for this one case scenario we’ll call it “coping.”
⁵This one hurts both parties involved but the message is clear: Closed for business.
⁶i.e., be a bitchy wife/girlfriend/lover

Party Etiquette: Miss Manners is back, bitch!

2009-11-02T13:50:00.005-06:00

On Saturday, Annie and I threw the biggest party, I personally, have ever had. Unless you count college, which I don’t. I learned many things from the experience; about myself and about the people I choose to consort with; and most importantly, the people I never want to see again. There are only two kinds of guests. Respectful and asshole. We had quite the mix on Saturday night.

To begin, a condensed list of damages:

a. hole kicked in wall
b. wine glasses broken
c. cigarettes and bottle of wine stolen out of my closet in my bedroom
d. beer spilled all over my speakers and sub woofer
e. lights ripped from ceiling and turned into a jump-rope
f. puke splattered all over the entirety of the bathroom
g. people screaming at me that we were "out of beer"
h. cops arrived and entered the apartment.
I. guests playing "DJ"
j. strangers
　
Damage/etiquette Breakdown:

a. RESPECTFUL: The fellow who accidentally kicked the hole is a really good guy. He handled the situation exactly how one should. He ‘fessed up to the hosts and offered to fix it/pay for it. This IMMEDIATELY made it not a big deal. (Kelly can you bring your yoga ball so we can plaster the hole?)

B. ASSHOLE: We have a package of plastic cups from Cost-Co....my only question is WHY? Why would you go out of your way to search for our nice wine glasses only to put that terrible "what we have left sitting here" concoction that I made in it? (Orange juice, Captain Morgan’s rum, Ginger Ale, limes, and ice) The really sad thing is, that drink was drunk in a matter of minutes.

C. GIANT FUCKING ASSHOLE: How fucking dare you? ‘Nuff said.

D. N/A - This is just one of those party situations that always happens, and always sucks. What can you do.

E. N/A - It was sort of funny. It’s just that the amount of time and effort Annie and I spent decorating and to watch people rip EVERYTHING they could get there hands on off the walls hurt a little.

F. ASSHOLE: Again, these things happen. I believe there were multiple persons at fault here. Still, Annie and I had to clean it. I wish you hadn’t attempted to use the toilet brush, what it looked like when I discovered it is continuing to haunt me, not unlike my brown line experience months ago.

G. ASSHOLE: If only my actual friends showed up, this wouldn’t have been a problem. As much as I wish I was rich enough to supply 100 people with endless booze, it just isn't how it is. Every decent guest KNOWS that you always bring something to a party, UNLESS the host specifically asks you not to for some reason. A few people had to make multiple beer runs throwing down their own hard earned cash so YOU ("YOU" being some random fuckfart who I hate) could open up a can, take a sip, and then forgot where you put it and open another.

H. ASSHOLE: Yeah, really. The cops came. And waltzed into our apartment. They were sort of too nice. I was skeptical that they were real coppers. One even turned to me and said, "this is a really nice place!"...weird. The only thing that made it obnoxious was that some guests were jumping down my throat while we were trying to "be cool" around the CPDers. "What’s going on!?!?! What the fuck should we do!?!?! Is this over?!?!?! Should I leave!?!?!?" My internal response, "I DON’T FUCKING CARE WHAT YOU DO. WHO ARE YOU ANYWAY? WHY ARE YOU WEARING MY HAT? SHUT THE FUCK UP AND TRY TO ACT NORMAL YOU BRAIN DEAD FUCK BITCH!" -Luckily, the cops left and we saw them honk and drive by later, but they never came back in.

I. ASSHOLE: I put together multiple play lists for a reason. Funny thing is, the song you are playing right now IS INDEED on the play list, you just need to wait for it, so calm the fuck down and try to enjoy yourself as I hide my mouse because I’m apparently a control-freak about music. (Should have followed Papa Pete's wise party post-its) Whoops. Also, special note to a dude I now officially hate: your commentary on my music is lame. Leave if you don’t like Jay-Z - YOU’RE the asshole. Brush your shoulders off.

J. ASSHOLE: 2 things: 1. If you were not invited by the host, 2. If you do not know the hosts in any regard, then it is your duty as a decent human being to introduce yourself to the people who live in the place you are partying at. Or else, you simply appear to be using us. Strangers who don’t give the slightest fuck that they are in your home, eating your food, and stealing your friends drinks...are, you guessed it, FUCKING ASSHOLES! I never forget a face. FUCK YOU.

I know that many of you are thinking, "Yikes! Julia is a psycho-bitch. Don’t have a party if you can’t take the heat, baby! It’s just how it goes! I’m pitching a fatty-ass tent just thinking about you in that leotard though! But you’re a bitch! Take a chill pill. Yeah!" I too, was surprised at just how angry I got about people’s behavior. The truth is, I know who my real friends are. And none of them were dicks. And it was only because of all of you wonderful people that I still managed to have a pretty good time (THRILLER FOREVER!!!)

You know who you are and I love you. That party was for you and I really hope and only care that you had a good time. To all the rest of you, thanks for reminding me how cool it is to be a good guest. Because it’s really fucking cool. You should give it a try.

Peace from the Beast,

KOBOS

To the window, to the wall!

2009-11-02T12:35:00.015-06:00

This weekend's party was a success!

Halloween Memories Haiku:

Hole in wall, trashed 'fridge
Cops came but the party lived
Richardson passes out

Special thanks to those who really put in some thought behind those costumes! Some of my faves:

Mr. Bubbles
Mr. Pacman
BonerPetite logo chef
Clown Jesus
Un-PC Blind Man
The Lady from "The Birds"

You guys make me live forever! My version of heaven is dancing all night with you on a cloud of jell-o shots. Imagine!

Love forever!

Annie

Hallow's Eve

2009-10-30T14:14:00.005-05:00

I refuse to let October have less blog entries than Spetember.

Happy Halloween, beasts!

Love, Annie

CHANGE MONTH

2009-10-23T12:00:00.004-05:00

My good ole’ friend from college and I have called the month of October "change month!" for many years now, as without fail, October is always a big one. It’s always when I move, or start a new job, or get a stupid haircut. Coupled with the fact that the weather gets shitty, it seems October is the go to month for transitions and reassessment.

GOALS, GOALS, GOALS. Everybody is talking about ‘em.

Verdict: This fall/winter is going to kick fucking dick! These last few weeks have been outta control. After a year of living by myself, I now live with the Don. I got promoted at work. I’ve got new projects, teams, shows, ideas comin’ out my rears. Vacation set for next month. Planning Halloween and Thanksgiving extravaganzas, catching up with ole’ friends, making new ones, focusing on why my idols are my idols. Most importantly, remembering WHY I moved to Chicago.

I had to write an artist statement in a class during my last term in college. Well, what I said 4 years ago is still true today and I trust it will remain true til’ the day I die. I said I want to collaborate with like-minded individuals creating a tight group where we all feel free to express our ideas. Always maintaining integrity. Never compromise; never sacrifice our ideals for money, cash, or hos. Remain truthful. Respect, love, and admiration for the work and the world we put it out to. Doing it for the love of it. Trying new things. Taking risks. Nothing to prove and nothing to lose when it comes from the heart. Big shit poppin’ and little shit stoppin’.

After a few years of floundering and confusion, I moved to Chicago, and for the first time in my life, saw the pieces start to fit. I’m living my dream right now. I feel so fucking fortunate to be here; to know and work with so many unbelievably cool, different, talented people. I’m dumfounded everyday. I fucking love this, and I can’t wait to take shit to the next level. RESPECT.

Ain't No Sunshine

2009-10-22T11:13:00.012-05:00

by Jo

The other day,¹ I was walking to the train at the Red Line’s Grand stop, and a dude was singing the song, “Ain’t no Sunshine.”

It’s a really simple song, and I’ve heard it a thousand times before, but for whatever reason this line just smacked me in the face:

“Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long anytime she goes away.”

Wow. How great must “She” be? I love her.

You ever have something that you’ve heard of or known about just hit you in the face? I feel like that’s been happening to me a lot lately. Honestly, I have mixed feelings about these little baby revelations. On the one hand, it’s like, “”YES! I get it!” but on the other it’s like, “How could I have missed that? I’m an adult.”

It’s not just little things, like song lyrics…sometimes it’s big stuff like, life. I’ve known for quite some time that we start out alone and we leave alone, but for whatever reason it hit me like a ton of bricks a few weeks ago. No matter what happens in life, it’ll be just me in the end. Depressing.

TRUE STORY: I’ve stayed alone ONCE, one night, in my life.²

It makes me ill to think I’m going to have to face whatever afterlife there is alone.

Great, it’s 5am Thursday morning and I’m thinking about death...how the F am I going to make it through the day? Well, if Peter was up right now, he’d tell me that worrying about something that is inevitable AS WELL AS something (afterlife) that I can’t be sure about is dumb. He’d tell me “to work with what you know; live in the now; why speculate endlessly about what’s next? You can’t control that.” Hmm. That’s kind of comforting—even though Peter is sleeping, it’s like he’s with me. I guess I can cope without him…it’s preferred to have him up with me³, but I guess what’s important is the fact that the people who matter to you have influenced you enough that you carry them with you always. Ton of bricks.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone.
It's not warm when she's away.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long anytime she goes away.

Wonder this time where she's gone,
Wonder if she's gone to stay
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And this house just ain't no home anytime she goes away.

And I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone,
But ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone,
And this house just ain't no home anytime she goes away.

Anytime she goes away.
Anytime she goes away.
Anytime she goes away.
Anytime she goes away.

___________________________________________
¹Fact: I say “the other day” a lot when telling stories. Fact: Sometimes I mean it literally as “the other day”….sometimes it means “12 years ago.” Peter finds this very confusing.
²And even then, I sat in a chair until 6am and then passed out when it was light outside. It was not peaceful.
³Cause there ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone.

A Letter to Don Draper

2009-10-21T12:47:00.004-05:00

Dear Don,

You’re kind of an ass hole. I get it. I usually don’t go for ass holes but alas, here we are.

I feel like I can change you, Don. I know, I know, I bet all your mistresses say that. But this time it’s DIFFERENT, OK. Let’s make this work!

I’m a straight up feminist but what I’m about to say is the one genetic flaw in my people’s second X chromosome that makes perfectly nice girls like myself willing to put up with your wacky, chooch-grabbing-to-show-her-who’s-boss, kind of ways. It’s not just your fancy square jaw, or your ever-present five o’clock shadow, it’s your utter ambivalence and emotional distance that makes me splooge in my pants slightly so.

Why won’t you let me in, Don?! I want to get to know you!

I bet you have your goofy moments like everyone else. I bet you’re an awkward dancer* or a sleep-farter, or had serious backne as a teen. I bet you love board games and would Tivo Glee if you lived in this century. Are you scared of mice? Would you scream like a little girl if you saw one? I AM! Maybe we have that in common! LET ME IN!

Goddamit, you’re fascinating! I hate you but I love you. PAY ATTENTION TO ME! Let’s fight all the time and have hate sex afterwards, cool? Cool.

I’m a sexually confused young lady and fancy only the Nancy-iest of sissy boys. So you can imagine how confused I am by all of this. I know! Right? I’d straight up switch to the other team entirely if it weren’t for the slight twinge of “ouch, my heart’s boner” I get every time we have a Netflix date together. It fucks with me, Don. It really do.

Ugh! I just want to live in your suit pocket. I bet you smell like sexy smoke and wood-choppingness. I don’t even like that shit! What’s wrong with me?! What are you doing to my utie, D? I’ve evolved beyond this primal bullshit, I like NPR and wear glasses, ok. I don’t give a shit about this**! You know what, I’d be confident and great at my job too if I got to drink scotch all day! So fuck you and your smoldering, slightly squinting stare. We’re DONE! I’m OUT.

Wait wait wait wait...I didn’t mean it. Let’s talk about this. Hold on, don’t put your hat on yet. Let’s bone.

And that’s how all of our arguments would be settled. Forever.

.
.
.

Tawfik hopelessly out.***

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

* Pshhhh, Don Draper Don’t Dance!

** But I do. I really, really do.

*** Editor's Note: I'm not caught up on the third season yet. This may all very well change. But I hope not.
.
.
.
.

Ignorance is DANGEROUS!

2009-10-20T13:30:00.018-05:00

by Annie

I would like to tell you a story that I heard 3 years ago from my ex-roommate, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth had a good friend whom she hung out with on a weekly basis. One life changing night, her friend woke up with excruciating cramps/stomach discomfort. She quickly drove herself to the emergency room.

The girl called Elizabeth from the hospital in the wee hours of the morning sounding very worried and very scared as her pains got exponentially worse. She asked Elizabeth if she could come to the hospital to be by her side as she awaited the results of several tests that had already been run on her. Of course, Elizabeth obliged.

Now picture this. Elizabeth arrives to the hospital moments later to see her good friend writhing in pain on a hospital bed. As Elizabeth tried to console her friend and refill her water, two nurses burst through the door of the room with worried looks on their face. They begin gathering the girl’s fluid bag when one says, “We’ve got to move you to the OR immediately. You are having contractions.”

Without realizing what the nurse has just explained, they wheel Elizabeth’s friend out of the room and she watches on as the girl is pushed down the long hallway into an elevator. The nurses wheel her bed around so the girl’s face is in clear shot of Elizabeth and just before the elevator’s steel doors tightly close, the girl screams, “GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME!!!!!!!”

Oh.mi.God.

Upon hearing that story, I was immediately skeptical of the whole fiasco. How could you not know that you are pregnant?!?! I knew my friend Elizabeth was not lying when she told me this and even though Elizabeth is an actress (I did not spare you any drama from the first time I heard the story above), who could/would even make that shit up!?

So that was the first time I had ever heard of this ghost pregnancy phenomenon. Recently, my co-worker told me about a similar situation with a gal she knew who went into labor ON her toilet.

W.T.F.

Ladies, my first thought is this: If you are letting a guy spooge inside of you, or you are getting into hot tubs where a guy has just jerked off, would you please test yourself before you wreck yourself!?

Then I think 'SURELY this type of thing has happened way more than 2 times.' Check this out:

It is a bit more rare to not know [you're pregnant] until you’re in labor, about one in 2,455 births. Though when you put that into perspective, you learn that you’re actually three times more likely to give birth without knowing you were pregnant than you are to give birth to triplets! (1 in 7,225 pregnancies) In fact, when researchers extrapolated the data to a country like Germany, it found that about 300 mothers a year would not know they were pregnant until they started labor.

I’m trying to put myself in this position before I pass judgment, but I know if I was pregnant without realization that kid would die of alcohol poisoning and/or hypertension due to salt overload from tortilla chips before it had a chance to become a fetus. Lifestyle: my birth control.

Damn it, girl. If you miss your period, get a test! Get a test, get a test, go get tested, get a test!!

P.S. The girl and her baby girl in the story mentioned above are doing fine. The child is now 5 years old.

Source: Denied and concealed pregnancies. Journal of Psychosomatic Research 2006; 61: 723-30.

Alright, I'm makin like a fetus and scaring the shit outta you when I bust through!

A Glimpse

2009-10-15T06:11:00.006-05:00

by Jo

Ya'll-sies,

I would like to apologize for not writing a post for the last 3 weeks...I've just been crazy busy. How busy? This is an actual video from my apartment last night (no joke):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljtuGoIIKGs

It's Official...

2009-10-12T13:21:00.003-05:00

by Rebecca

...I'm getting old.

My weekend:

Friday night:
Dinner with my Uncle, drank two beers
In bed by midnight after watching an episode of *Glee

Saturday:
Brunch
Cleaned my room!
Watched more episodes of Glee
Watched Gators beat LSU and drank two beers at a friend's place, pet a cat
Went home watched the Office and Gattaca

Sunday:
Made berry pancakes with chicken sausage and pure Vermont maple syrup
Watched snippets of musicals: Music Man, Cabaret, Annie, Hello Dolly!
Watched LOST

And why do I say I'm getting old? Because my weekend involved 3 key components:

Cleaning
Cooking
Drinking less than 3 beers per day.

I don't think that's EVER happened before. Add to those 3 the fact that I watched a bunch of TV on the internet and I think that maybe I'm not just getting old, but I'm turning into a normal as well.

Jeeze, I even mailed out a THANK YOU note! A THANK YOU NOTE!!! I have a book of forever stamps in my purse as we speak... goodness gracious.

Ugh, I also sent my old cell phone in to be recycled. Environmental awareness. Fail.

I plan on making up for all this by having a bender this upcoming weekend.

But I think planning things is just another sign that I'm on the downward slope towards adulthood.

Gross.

----------------------------------------------
*Glee is awesome, Kobos.

Because My Memory Sucks

2009-10-11T21:07:00.003-05:00

Recently, I've become painfully aware that, due to premature aging and/or increased use of ambiguous substances*, my memory has gone to shit. Now, I'd like to attribute my black holes of high school/college/early 20s/last week to the fact that I have become more "present-moment" in my daily approach to life perhaps because of the weekly regiment of make-em-ups rehearsals, classes and shows. And there may be some truth to that. After all, why worry about the past or future -- you can't do a damn thing about either right now and while you're feeling all sorry for yourself, you just wasted a precious present moment.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, improv destroyed my memory.

Well, it is precisely because of improv that I feel I should make an attempt at reviving the dormant stories of my past. Something about drawing from life experience being truth in comedy, etc. So starting tonight, I will regale you with stories of my long-lost youth.

Humor me, son; your ol' Gran has learned a thing or two...

* * *

When I was 8 years old, my grandmother died and I moved in with my mom. My grandparents had been raising me until then because my mom was a good Catholic and got pregnant in high school. We lived in a subsidized housing complex in Luray--the county seat and therefore "the city" as far as I was concerned (they did have a movie theater and 3 stoplights)--and my memories of the time we spent there are a mixed bag of emotions.

For one thing, it was cool living with my mom. She was only 26 at the time, and much more like a sister than any authority figure I'd known. We watched "Alien Nation" and "Unsolved Mysteries" and one time she let me watch almost a third of "The Night Life of Jimmy Reardon" before she realized it was about River Phoenix's penis**.

But it also kinda sucked because it was a new place to call home. One completely different from the warm, familiar ranch style house I'd always called home and still dream about to this day. My mom had a new girlfriend, too. One who came over after I went to sleep and who refused to turn my Popple back into a soccer ball one day for no good reason.

Though we only lived there for a year or so, I have a lot of memories of playing in my bed tent while fantasizing about kissing this boy Daniel who wore a Star Wars shirt in the photo I had of him, kicking the pillows off the couch in sheer terror as my cousin babysitter Angie and I watched Wil Wheaton*** in "The Curse", and other fine gems of trying to grow old before I needed to, and all I can think about is how young my mom was dealing with me. I mean, can you imagine being 26 and being suddenly responsible for an 8 year old?? It's redick (to cop a phrase from the 26 year olds in my life now)!

Redick and ironic. Because the whole time I was trying to learn how to go to sleep without someone beside me and grilling my mom about the birds and the bees (she drew pictures, I shit you not), she was growing up fast too. We both were... together. And now, I gotta say, I feel like all that time rushing to get to now only makes it harder for me to remember all those fond childhood times when I just played, when I got out and explored, when I was just... a kid.

Cherish your present moments, kiddos. Life will keep on keepin' on whether you're famous/published/successful or not. Art, after all, is all about the process.

- Rachel "God, that was melodramatic" Showalter

*haHA! Not gonna get me that easily Feds/Boss/TheMan! I could be talking about caffeine for all you know!

**I still love you, Riverrrrrrrr!!!

***I'm sorry, I don't feel like I used to about you, Wil. No no no, it's me, really. It's not you. C'mon... don't be like that... Wil. Wil! Wil?

FUCK YOU HAIRCUT

2009-10-09T13:24:00.003-05:00

Zach Galifianakis commented that he feels naked without his beard, exposed. So when he does that trashy cousin character with the freshly shaved face he feels really uncomfortable. I feel the exact same way about my forehead. I need my hair to hide in. I like it over my face and in the way of you seeing my face at all times. You will see me push my hair over my face all the time, I rarely pull it out of the way and I NEVER wear it up.
　
Well FUCK MY RUMP because I just got my haircut by a Slag Heap at "We Think We’re So Fucking Hip Cuz We Gots Wacky Piercings and Wez on Belmont N’ Shit NO. 347". BIG MISTAKE. Actually, every haircut/color I’ve gotten since moving to this city has been TERRIBLE. I always leave a salon dying for a cigarette and some murder.
So I walk in the salon and am greeted, late, by Slag Heap. She looks/smells like she just woke up in a dumpster behind a fish factory. I say to myself, "Be cool! Don’t pre-judge...she’s just funky!" We talk about the cut, I say, "Simple trim, add a few layers...boom." She’s down with the concept. Next thing I know, the floor is covered with hair, I look in the mirror while she’s blow drying my head and see that she is simultaneously smelling her armpits and then wiping her septum piercing/nostrils with one hand and then returning said hand to my head. She talks my ear off about some fucking idiotic sounding show called GLEE as she bashes a blow dryer and brush into my head like I was a fucking tambourine that had somehow wronged her. She tells me how she is squatting on couches "cuz her roommate was stealing shit and shit and that’s whack so fuck it, now I have cable and don’t have to pay for shit so it’s rad and shit yeah, fuckin cool yeah." She turns me away from the mirror so I can’t see what she’s doing while cutting my bangs. I look in the mirror when she’s done and my hair looks somehow exactly the same, only much thinner and my forehead looks like someone with Parkinson’s thought me head a jackolantern’s grin.

Nothing feels worse than tipping someone who doesn’t fucking deserve it. But I felt bad for the disgusting Slag Heap. Why? Because I’m a fucking idiot. I left a decent tip and ran out of there to shower off her putrid cess-pooled finger stains from my face. I all ready dye my hair on my own. Now I will also cut it myself, because guess what , I too have the skill to take a machete to my face and then "just see what happens" only, it won’t cost me $35. FUCK YOU.

Now I will be shopping for a hat. I keep accidentally typing "hate". I fucking look like an asshole in hats. I’m about to be even more of a fucking douche. Luckily Ms. Tawfik has my ass. Thanks, bro.

Somebody stop me!!

2009-10-09T09:36:00.008-05:00

by Annie

Ya’ll, I’ve hit a new low.

Today I found some time to power walk with my boss during lunch (I know, I know. You’re thinking “Uhhhhghh, QUIT BRAGGING, ANNIE”, just keep reading….).

Wow! My boss and I walked for 55 minutes (+1 point ) at a pretty good rate, too (+2 points)! We tracked our path and found out that we actually did 4 miles (+1 for sure)! I felt so good about myself that I just had a nice cup of soup for lunch (+1 more point). Boy did I feel stuffed. Maybe I finally trained my stomach to feel fuller on less food (+1 point)!!

I was on a roll like Michael Jordan! Unfortunately that shit ended before the sweat dried off of my brow.

It only took me about 5 mins before that oh-so-familiar craving started taking over my mind. I could seriously knock someone’s-link-lights out when it happens, you guys. OK, so I just go look at a picture of Katie Holmes and I’m fine! She’s sooooo skinny! Look at her face. She does not indulge. You’ve got this. Discipline. Management. Control (+1 point).

OK this is bullshit. I EXERCISED today. I think I can treat myself to something everything chocolate. Plus I’m not doing anything before bed tonight; I can just do some push-ups then (-1 point to my inner monologue).

Then it started raining. This was obviously a sign that I just needed to get back to work and take my mind off of the fat makers. I didn’t bring any fat makers with me today and I’m not going to go out in the rain to get some. Duh.

Guys one time I ate a whole box of chewy chocolate Chips Ahoy by myself.

Well the second I pulled my hoodie over my face and headed out the door into the cold, judgmental rain I knew EXACTLY what my blog was going to be about today. Here I was, walking (more like waddling) down the street to Baskin Robbins. Whatever. So I order a soft serve with Heath Bar (-1 point) and the ice cream machine is clearly having some issues. It takes the guy like 4 minutes to get the fat maker out of the damn machine! OK hungry girls don’t like to WAIT for THEIR FAT makers! Then I realized it’s probably taking a while to warm up because NO ONE HAS BOUGHT ICE CREAM in a while. It’s well under 50 degrees right now. Uhhh you’re WELCOME for making sure your fat maker machine is operating properly (again, -1 point for my inner monologue).

A couple of months ago I ate a whole frozen pizza by myself then immediately met up with some friends for all-you-can-eat sushi, in which I partook.

So here I am, completely distraught with myself. Looking into this empty cylinder that used to hold ice cream is like looking into the promises that I make to myself about controlling my cravings-empty. Empty promises.

And that’s where I'll continue to stand. On an empty promise that I won’t indulge like this again, or for a while… until I feel excited, or scared….the next time I get motherhood pangs….once think about the downward spiral that is my bone health....I will never look like Katie Holmes (- any points that I gained today). What a waste!

Before I go, I want you to really get your mind around the fact that I ate a whole box of cookies in one sitting. The only ramification I felt was slight stomach discomfort.

2012

2009-10-02T10:30:00.004-05:00

I listen to an obscene amount of This American Life. You should too.

The following is about a story I heard recently from an episode called Conventions. Be warned, it contains a whopper of a spoiler alert. But if you haven't heard it yet, don't bother, because my recap is pretty fucking dope. Duh.

The story begins as a telling of a true love story. It is narrated by a computer programmer who was attending a convention in Chicago for computer junk. At the same lobby that the computer convention was going on in, there's another convention. This one for Psychiatrists.

When both conventions let out for break, The Computer Programmer spots the back of a woman's head and falls in love with her IMMEDIATELY.

She didn't even turn around.

He just knew. He felt this strange magnetism towards her that he fully realizes is completely absurd but could not explain. That was it. Done.

THE BACK OF HER! That's it! That's all it took.

Lucky for him, the front of her happened to be just as pretty. They made eye contact and she felt it too. It was intense. They both knew. It was over. Done.

He asks her where she lives, she says New York. She asks him where he lives, he says also New York.

Where in New York?
On the corner of so-and-so street.
What building?
So-and-so building.

Funny...she just bought a condo in that SAME building a mere two weeks ago. She's set to move in two stories above him next week.

Gross. Love. Happenstance. Fate. Who does that?

The Computer Programmer and The Psychiatrist spend every moment together. Duh. It's redick and they can't believe it. They go to the park and do crossword puzzels in bed and give each other colds and make each other soup. Sick.

They talk about the future. They talk about babies. They decide to get married. Done.

She has to go on a business trip one weekend and he takes her to the airport. They're both tired and drowsy from Nyquil from giving each other colds and making each other soup.

They'll set the date when she returns.

"Baby," she says, "we're doing this. Ain't nothing gonna keep us apart."

She kisses him goodbye and hops on the plane.

Flight boards. Flight attendant comes around to check on everyone's seatbelts. Finds The Psychiatrist dead in her seat before the plane even takes off. It was two days before her 30th birthday. Done.

THE FUCKING FLU VIRUS HAS BEEN EATING AT HER HEART FOR THE PAST FIVE DAYS. THE FLU! WHO DOES THAT?!

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

You should listen to the rest of the story yourself because I can't even do it justice. JUSTICE!

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

Y'all, I'm convinced the world is ending in 2012. That's it. Done. We're over in two years and our triflin ass has to hussle like mad. Most of all me.

I have to hussle.

I got shit to do and I haven't done any of it. I have a daunting brain tumor in the shape of a John Cusack trailer and I don't know what to do with it.

Before I moved to Chicago, I felt the same impending presence of a big, hairy, fatalistic daddy breathing down my neck. I was convinced I would be mugged, shot, or frozen to death on the side of an empty highway in my first month here. I was going to die alone in my shitty, un-heated, apartment with no one to know of my existence until a neighbor's cat smells my rotting corpse next door. Just like that episode of Six Feet Under. Just like that episode.

I was set to leave Fort Collins (Go Rams) with the sure knowledge that these would be my last days on earth. It was morbid. It was certain. It was scary. It was fucking awesome.

With the knowledge that your days are numbered, you feel like you can do anything. I did shit in my last few months in Fort Collins that I've never done before. I drank heavily, told secrets, kissed boys, kissed girls, got real, told people I loved them, got my heart broken, got closer to my family, wore rediculous clothes, wrote constantly, straight up walked into a Blockbuster in which I had a rediculous crush on a cashier for like a year but never had the balls to talk to him and just asked him out*. I was my own hero. Fucking dope.

Now I'm comfy and lazy and have a whole lifetime in front of me to be a scared little shit.

Nope.

A fucking cold could eat my heart TOMORROW and I'd be donesies.

Morbidity is not that bad, if you think about it. If 2012 is it for us than so be it. Bring on the robot wars and the meteors and the ill crazy shit Nostradamus and his Mayan amigos are so fond of preaching. Two years is plenty of time to ride a roller coaster in every state and have a shit ton of good sex.

Carpe Mother Fucking Diem, Bitches.

.
.
.
Tawfik out.

----------
*I'm a real creeper. I don't condone normal people doing this.
.
.
.
.

H1N1

2009-10-01T09:01:00.005-05:00

By Annie

GENNEVIEVE-20 something female: administrative assistant, gorgeous, slim waist
PASSENGER-20 something male: sales executive, cookie-cutter-space-wasting-douche bomb

Int: the car of a blue line train.

GENNEVIEVE AND PASSENGER ARE TWO OF FOUR PEOPLE ON THE CAR. THEY SIT TWO ROWS FROM EACHOTHER. GENNEVIEVE IS PEACEFULLY TAKING A NAP. PASSENGER IS LISTENING TO iPOD.

PASSENGER
(a series of short, but loud coughs)
(Beat)
PASSENGER (CONT’D)
(a series of short, but loud coughs, nodding of head to music)

GENNEVIEVE IS AWOKEN. SHE LOOKS AROUND THEN TINKERS BACK TO SLEEP

PASSENGER
(a series of short, but loud coughs-REPEAT X 3)

GENNEVIEVE AWAKES ONCE MORE TO FIND PASSENGER COUGHING CONTINUOUSLY. SHE IS VISABLY ANNOYED.

PASSENGER
(nods head to music, coughs, nods head, coughs 3 times)

GENNEVIEVE SIGHS AND TRIES TO GET PASSENGER’S ATTENTION WITH STARES

PASSENGER
(a series of short, but loud coughs)

AT THIS POINT OTHER PASSENGERS BEGIN TO NOTICE THE COUGH CULPRIT AND TRY TO TURN THEIR BODIES AWAY FROM HIS GERMY MOUTH EXCRETION PATH.

PASSENGER
(a series of short, but loud coughs, CONTINUES FOR THE NEXT LINE)

VOICE OVER (GENNEVIEVE'S INNER MONOLOGUE)

You. You think you're the only one on this train, this planet? Why are you coughing like that? Staccato coughs. Why don't you just let out one good cough and get it over with? You are infuriating. I see your dressed in your office stripes and Express pants; are you on your way to work? You fucking idiot. Are you going to cough like that all day in your cube? I bet you're normally well-liked among your co-workers over there at Certified Energy Consultants. Today you are going to piss them off so hard. Weeks later they will still remember this day when they look at your dumb face. The day you had chronic baby coughs. Whatcha listenin' to? I bet it's not your fucking baby coughs. Stop it. Stoooooop it! GOD!

COUGHING CONTINUES FOR THE REMAINDER OF THE RIDE TO THE END OF THE BLUE LINE.

BLACKOUT.

Biscuits!

2009-09-22T10:20:00.002-05:00

by Kobos

Today is Annie Donley’s birthday. Almost exactly two years ago today, we met. We just happened to move to Chicago on the same day and just happened to take our first class at Second City together.

I’d say, we officially became friends on my December 2007 birthday. A few acquaintances from class offered to party it up with me since I knew no one in Chicago. Annie got a bit wrecked and danced and sang in the streets as I laughed softly within and didn’t join in because I was still too scared to be myself in the new surroundings.

Now we dance and sing in the streets together with no hesitation like the two Funky Divas we were born to be.

The Don and I work, play, and are about to live together, HARD. I’ve never felt so understood by another human being nor have I ever felt such an impenetrable level of respect and love for someone. Annie is a constant source of inspiration to me both creatively and personally. This woman is a magnificent person with a strong moral code booklet and a heart filled with cupcakes. No one can make me laugh harder than this chyick. No one can rip me a new asshole for my own good like this garl over here. No one can dive off of a silly joke and turn it into an epic series of characters and scenes that no matter how hard we try, (which we don’t), we can’t escape from.
Nobody looks hotter in neon drawstring shorts. No one supports like this beast. No one is as selfless as this kyeeat. No one can break shit on the dance floor like this shit pig. No one can imitate Blackbox like this cheetah of the sheets. No one is as GORG as this BEAUTIFUL....SERIOUSLY? HOW DID YOU GET SO BEAUTIFUL????????????????? (I’m still waaaaaaaiiting!?!?!?!?!?!?!?)

Annie, you are my favorite person in the world. You will always and forever be my closest Snap Tart. I adore you in every way. Thank you for always being there, and thank you for letting me be there for you. I look forward to loving you forever. Happy Birthday my dearest Biscuits! WHEEEEOOOOO! 4' LIFE.

Love Always,

Julia, Funky Charles, Diego, Rudolfo, Who he? Not whom you?, 90's Black Guy, Britney’s shoe strap, the vaginal peanut, Snowball (and his pissed off caged friends), yummyyummyyummy, Epileptic Ring (the rodeo), Clown face, 3 rolls naked on the floor, your snail mail phone, a lemon coke with chipped ice, BETHANY!?!?!?, get cho roots done bitch, wiggling sunglasses, and, your biggest fan for stick growth and webcam/robe/taco time, Sami.

Where Have I Been?

2009-09-20T19:25:00.008-05:00

by Uncle Traveling Rachel

Loyal fans may have noticed my absence from Boner shows and blog entries for the past couple weeks. I apologize for leaving everyone in the lurch, but I have just returned from a much-needed, very fun 2-week vacation where I started out having access to a computer and the will to blog, and ended up forgetting the passwords to every site I subscribe to and very nearly my own name.

First, I spent a week in Wrightsville Beach, NC, where you recall I was inundated with WASP culture. I was also inundated with adorable, albeit half-crazed, children, who woke up very early and knew how to pick locks.

Then, I spent a weekend camping with my family, eating crab legs and searching for shark's teeth (don't ask).

Finally, Ben and I selfishly left both our families for 5 days in debaucherous New Orleans where we ate rich, drank lots and saw many strange things.

Strange things I hoped I'd see:

A ghost
A vampire
A Cajun

Strange things I actually saw:

A sad tour guide with too much eye makeup
An overzealous store owner with a fang-maker on call*
More than one sobbing middle-aged woman with an accent that sounded halfway between Southern and Brooklyn**

After reading far too many Sookie Stackhouse novels and searching high and low for the real supernatural, I've come to the stark realization that people are just batshit fucking nuts and that is way scarier than anything Anne Rice or Charlaine Harris can produce.

Here's to being home! Phew!

*There was a lady in there getting custom fangs with a toddler in a stroller. I. shit. you. not.
**This is the New Orleans accent! It is so weird!

So you wanna be a late 90's to early 2000's R&B sensation

2009-09-18T20:17:00.001-05:00

I was cleaning out my apartment last night and found this little diddy scribbled on the back/front/guess-it-doesn't-matter of an Arby's napkin.

March 19, 1997
So you wanna be a late 90's to early 2000's R&B sensation
By Khristine Fakher Fahmy Towfeek El Yahky

First, let me thank you for picking up my book and subsequently congratulate you on taking this valuable step towards your musical career. Here are a few R-tips & B-tricks that I've picked up during my time in the biz that will hopefully help you along in your journey.

1. Pick a Name

Your name is your emblem. You want it to be original, succinct, and most importantly, involving some variation of an alpha-numeric combo. Here are some examples that I mind-souped and etched down on the back/front/guess-it-doesn't-matter of an Arby's napkin. Ch-ch-ch-check it out (don't steal that, it's copyrighted):

-f8ful
-I think I 8 2 much
-4real this time
-1derland
-no h8
-d8 night
-2doring session
-bel8ed birthday
-ins2-toot
-who 1?

2. Know how to wear white

3. Let your lady know that you'll boink her all sorts of right

Look, I really can't stress this one enough. Don't be discreet, either. We're not gonna eff around with metaphors and roundabout ways to say basically what we all want to hear: "tonight, I wanna put it in your butt."

Par Example:

"Deep * " - Written by me, performed by Blackstreet

Yeah {Ooh}
Tell me how you like it {I like it deep}
You want me to go a lil' deeper {Yes papi}
Ah, yeah {Yes}

Let me go deep, deep, deep, deep
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Wanna go deep, deep, deep, deep
(Let me go deep, girl, oh)
Let me go deep (Deep), deep (Oh), deep (Yeah), deep
(Oh, yeah, baby, feels so good)
Cause I???m goin' deep (Deep), deep, deep (Oh), deep
(Wanna go deep, Teddy sing)

"Too Close" - Written by me, Performed by NEXT

Baby when we're grinding
I get so excited
Ooh, how I like it
I try but I can't fight it
Oh, you're dancing real close
Cuz it's real, real slow
(You know what you're doing, don't you)
You're making it hard for me

....pssst, he's talking about his boner.

5. Get sweet Abs

Get one of these. I invented it. It's gonna be 'uge. "Ya fiewd"

6. Know how to wear overalls

I know, I know...this one is asking too much. How about one strap & we call it even? Cool? Tight.

7. Promise to eventually make an honest woman out of her

Listen bitch, thugs tie the knot too. So man up and put a ring on it if you like it so much**.

Yup

Like that...

And don't say I never taught you nothin'.

Trust***.
.
.
.
Tawfik out.

----------------
*Linked to a different video. Deep is really not appropriate. Raunchy, it's just how I role.

**I wrote that. It's gonna be 'uge. "Ya fiewd"

***For the ladies
.
.
.
.

Back to School!

2009-09-17T18:15:00.003-05:00

I’m old and creepy. True story.

Truer story? When I was 22, Peter and I visited New York. We had just gotten married, and leaving for the Peace Corps in a couple of weeks i.e., wack-job-crazy-happy out of our minds, which is part of the story…

Anyways, Peter and I were giggling and joking in the half price Broadway ticket line and at some point Peter had to walk away. I can’t remember how we parted but I’m sure it was sick and beautiful and intense. (YOUNG LOVE!)

What I can tell you for certain is, the second Peter walked away, someone behind me tapped me on the shoulder. She was old, wore bright red lipstick and was hunched over. (She was old.) I looked her in the eyes, and asked her if she needed anything. She looked me right back in the face and said, “I was watching you and your friend…I just wish I was young and happy again…never get old, honey….”

Um. Thanks?¹

Point is, yesterday when I was going to the train, there were all these beautiful…okay, awkward, high school kids and all I could think was, “Never get old, honeys.”

Ew! What kind of creep am I?! I might as well have slapped some red lipstick on my face, shit in my pants², and called it a day.

Earlier this month Peter and I were in South Bend seeing friends and on the way to tailgating at ND we saw some overweight, pimply kid randomly (Lonely-ly) riding his bike at 10am and I turned to Peter and said, “I don’t know how to explain this, but that fucking kid makes me actually MISS high school…”

That’s right, that’s how much I love being young—debt free, disease free³, certainly not stress free, but mostly everything else free—I would trade my life for a huffy and pimples.

Funny thing is, I’m sure that kid looked at Peter and me in our red Subaru (yeah, we’re pretty much ballers) and thought, “I can’t wait till I’m old enough to buy a red car and have a hot chick sitting next to me…wait, something about that hot chick tells me she’s funny…man, she’s funny…I hope I can bang a funny hot chick one day…man, that guy sitting next to her is like the luckiest person in the world….”

Yeah, well, that kid is dumb...and I wish I was him.

In closing, the grass is always greener on the other side, huh?⁴

_____________________________________________
¹I was terrified. That lady was a terrorist.
²That is going to happen.
³Just so it’s out there, I don’t have any known diseases…although statistically, most of are riddled with STDs. Seriously, go to a clinic and get yourself checked out.
⁴That is, until the robot wars when shit goes down and all plant life is wiped out.

Local Celebrities

2009-09-14T11:45:00.005-05:00

By Annie

Hey Chicago! Did you realize how many famous people live inside of you (that’s what he said). There are so many blue-jean-graphic-Tee-wearing celebrities that disguise themselves as “normal citizens who put their pants on one leg-at-a-time” and they are just walking your streets day in and day out.

To the rest of us normies, I hope you are grateful like me and that you cherish the bounty of accessible talent that is right in front of you, every day. These people aren’t ass holes about their celebrity, either. They won’t throw a sean penn punch to your face if you ask them about their journey to stardom. How could you not be inspired in this city? I have yet to see an SNL episode that could stand against the material that is on the e.t.c. stage right now. I am completely dumfounded when I think about how incredible this improv community is and I will ALWAYS be starstruck when I see that guy from the Sonic commercials performing live in front of me for $5.

To my improv heroes, you can hide it all you want, but underneath all that modesty is a star. You are not a normie. There is so sense to your talent. I feel like I could talk to you about mayonnaise for an hour and you would still humor me by keeping the conversation fun and interesting. I would choose to have 5 minutes of your time over 30 minutes of great sex. Actually that’s not true. Would you like to bang?

New York City, you are about to get the fuck shitted out of you when P.O.B. lays his dick out on the writers table. You WISH New Yorkers had Chicago class and Chicago humor.

L.A. fuck you.

Top Ten Reasons to Take a Hot Bubble Bath

2009-09-12T13:30:00.004-05:00

By: Victoria Bartley

I 've gotten really into baths lately. Here's why they are awesome:

10. You can discover what you'll look like when you're really old. I love getting all pruny skinned.

9. Hot baths are really a cure-all. Relieves stress, calms nerves, cramps, muscle aches, and makes you sweat out toxins. That is if you're into that "healthy body mumbo jumbo" (which I so secretly am)

8. You can get clean while doing basically nothing. Think of your bath as a soak cycle in a washing machine: Soak. Drain. Rinse.

7. Playing with bubble bath foam is not only fun but also educational.

6. Soak while chatting with a friend or loved one on the phone.

Cut your toenails. Read a book. I love multi-tasking.

5. Taking regular baths makes sure you have a reason to regularly clean your tub.

4. You save water. This is cool if you are into that "save the earth mumbo jumbo" (Which I so secretly am)

3. If you put a swimsuit on and invite a friend it is like you are at a really cool spa. (Note: you may have to change lighting, music, and refreshments for the full effect of this to be realized)

2. Zombies don't like water. So you're safe there.

1. Singing Ernie's "Rubber Duckie" song. Sesame Street. Self-explanatory.

"Community Alert"

2009-09-11T14:52:00.010-05:00

by Rebecca
Today I received an email at work subject titled "Community Alert" about a woman in Lincoln Park getting "dragged...into the back of the van where [the attacker] forcibly removed her jewelry... hit her about the face and chest and told her to shut up."*

This is scary. Especially since it happened on Tuesday at 3:00 pm very close to where I work. In all fairness, however, this whole thing took place in an alley and then a van.**

Note to everyone: NEVER WALK ALONE IN AN ALLEY. NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!

I'm a small female (5'5" and 115 lbs soaking wet, thank you) who wears pearls like they're going outta style... which, let's be honest, will NEVER happen. The avg thief on the street would probably have NO clue what an impostor I am. My pearl earrings cost, like, $30 for the pair and my double strand necklace was $11.96 at Nordstrom Rack. So anyone who lifts these off me and tells me to shut up is going to be SORELY disappointed when he pawns them and get's MAYBE $3.11 total.

He'll also be sorely disappointed when he attacks me and is left with nothing but $3.11 worth of pearls and ends scraped up like he got in a fight with a ream of paper. I will [paper] cut you, yo. I will use my manicured finger nails and shred you like last months r.c.n. bill! Your wounds might not be life threatening, but you'll remember me for DAYS and I'll have lifted enough of your DNA that they'll make a positive match the next time you're in the clink for shop lifting a ring pop.

They take DNA from everyone nowadays... right? I'd like to think we're living in a Gattaca-esque society... especially if that means the next guy that get's on the 151 on his wheelchair and makes me 10 minutes late for work looks like this:

Be careful out there people. Your "safe" neighborhoods aren't as crime free as you'd think. Calling any neighborhood "safe" is like calling any sex "safe". All is fine and dandy until you realize that condom you've had in your wallet since 7th grade has more holes than a wiffle ball*** and it's a one way ticket to preggers town and your catholic bf who never had a problem with premarital intercourse all of a sudden develops a moral conscious and can't pay for the abortion.

Le sigh.

Everyone, take care this weekend. Superheroes don't really hang out on the tops of sky scrapers WAITING for damsels to save so make sure you're walking with a buddy. This goes for dudes as well. Walk a lady home. Maybe she'll invite you up for "coffee" in which case you TOTALLY know you're gettin' some since coffee at 11 pm makes NO sense.

I love you all. Be "safe".

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

* No lie, apparently that's what the police report said. What attacker say's "shut up"? I feel like there are more menacing things to say.

** But not a cool one like this.

*** I just googled "wiffle ball" and realized it only has, like, 7 holes. I remember wiffle balls being like more hard core golf balls. Instead of dimples, they had full on holes... but the ball was bigger... what am I thinking of?

REDICK WEEKEND: FINALE?

2009-09-09T17:43:00.003-05:00

If I was 40, I’d be dead.

In no functional order (fore this is the natural order of my mind)...

THIS WEEKEND I:

Attended 2 dick kickin’ BBQ’s - SBII and The Shame Cave Explosion, found out the true meaning of Labor Day*, talked extensively about long clits, improv, and ball surgery. At one point, I woke up covered in bruises that I’m not positive as to how I received (okay, I’m pretty sure), also woke up to a tattoo on my ass of a giant black blob (fell asleep on a fountain pen). I puked in a bar. I wore a dress and heels** (this happens once every two years), saw Extract and it is GREAT, sat on my new porch and hovered over an iphone to listen to a hilarious podcast hosted by 2 very compatible and talented fellas. Ate the physical form of Summer which is Ruffles Potato Chips, put it on the airwaves that I’m a rapper (now I have to be).

Top 5 Songs of the weekend:
1. Run to Your Grave - The Mae Shi
2. The Good Soldier - Nine Inch Nails
3. Now We Can See - The Thermals
4. A Million Questions: Rhyme No More - Jay-Z
5. The Thong Song - Sisqo

Participated in my first podcast with four unbelievably hilarious dudes, cooked a bunch of shit while listening to NWA (this happens once every two years...the cooking...not the rap listening), drank delicious beer that was home-brewed by a FUCKING DRAGON***, missed Annie Donley hard, met someone***** who doesn’t do improv*** and strangely, they got they brains tossled when they found out I am WALNUTS! I drank at the least douchey looking douche bar in my new neighborhood, got in a heated discussion about Bone Thugs N’ Harmony, laughed with satisfied heartiness at the amazingly fun truth to the Group Mind this rad niche I’m sucked into shares, remembered what it feels like to be in 5b at iO, wrote a shit ton, in total I probably smoked 2 packs of P-funks, bummed out $3-5 worth, bummed $3-5 worth myself, if I had to guess, I consumed a ½ bottle of vodka, 4 shots of tequilla, 30 beers and you know what? I CAN STILL BREATHE AND SORT OF WALK AND THINK A BIT! I got so fucking inspired by spending time with people who blow my mind when it comes to such things as:

1. Doing what you love for the sake of loving it;
2. Not putting up with shit you don’t agree with;
3. Making a statement and dealing with the reactions...

Because it is true, Chuck. We can’t ever expect anyone to interpret what we say the way we want them to. But some things need to get said.***

Oh my fuck I am so tired. Yet so awake. The best stuff always comes at the wee hours. When you know what you should do, but know you can’t because your world is finally calm. And everything feels in its right place.**** For a second. Or an hour. Or four. And then you wake up. And yearn for the wee hours again. With your thoughts and those you share them with.

I’m not going to think about you yet Winter. But Fall, you got my dick. And I will crush you. I'm excited, ready, determined (I feel this way once every two years). Let’s do this.

2:30 a.m. 9/8/09 signing off.

CUNT!

* It is in fact, the BBQ. There is nothing better than being surrounded by great people who are having a great time together. Period.

** Puked on them too (please see Chris Tawfik for any "classy as shit" questions

***true

****Radiohead came up on my ipod as I wrote this. Came up right on it.

****Weird. Just found out he blogged this occurrence as well (9/10/09 edit). Learn about this man.

Quarterly Review

2009-09-09T13:54:00.025-05:00

by Annie
Dear Bosses,

Crude, Snakey, Obsessive-compulsive, Drunk, Inconsistent, Psychotic. Hopefully those are words that would not come to mind when you describe a mother. Now take those words and add Unprofessional and I would say you have a pretty accurate description of your personalities. Here are a few things that make my work day awful (or awesome, depending on how you look at it).

*Micromanagement Have you experienced that “I’m being followed-up on” feeling in the workplace? Have you received three consecutive emails marked urgent from your superior where one asks you to do something, the second asks if you received the first one, and the third asks you to respond to the emails when you receive them (all being sent outside business hours)? What did you say to them when your boss requests that you remember to ask her what she wants for lunch? Maybe you said “you can just shoot me an email and let me know what you want and I’ll grab it”. Did she say “if you could email me to remind me about lunch that would be great”?

<--I found a picture of you online where you don’t look so passive aggressive and cunt-like!

*Babysitting It’s really not in my job description. I love this classic line, “Would you mind just watching him for a bit?” You don’t really want to know that answer do you? Ohhhhh NOW I get it! Now I see why you moved your office out to the suburbs. It wasn’t to be closer to home, but rather to have more options for a babysitter! Tricky tricky…Well sure, I’ll watch him for a bit. Now I don’t have any teddy bears or anything but I do have a staple remover, highlighters, and some White Out...

*Breast Milk When is it appropriate to stop feeding your child breast milk; is it past 9 months? If so, you had better heed the expiration date on your tits. Ahhh I’m just bitter. Feed them as long as you’d like, that’s your prerogative. I suppose I just get upset when I have to wait in line to use the bathroom while you pump your breasts for 10 minutes. I DO, however, appreciate the emails and phone calls I get from you while you’re sitting on the toilet pumping. It’s nice to know you are still working in there! Aw man, to think about all those times when you scoffed if someone was actually USING the bathroom when you needed to go is almost ironic now.

*Maid Service Now this one really isn’t in my job description either, but I’m happy to help out. Please do let me know if I can improve in this area since I’m not too familiar with cleaning refrigerator shelves of crusted breast milk residue left from the bottles you filled. I guess my only request would be to keep your breast milk in frozen packs in the freezer like you have been doing recently. The other day my knee was killing me and I had a little laugh as I grabbed what I thought was the ice wrap.

*Stink I appreciate a boss who encourages the office to exercise and actually allows us to take an hour each day to do so if we choose (given our insurance plan, there should be no excuse). I also love the fact that our office is like a mini apartment stocked with a shower and all! Too bad said shower never gets used. Yesterday you smelled so bad I could barely eat my lunch. Next time you go for a power walk, just keep going. Don’t come back. Go home. You smell so bad and I'm so serious.

*Weak Toilets Remember when the toilet overflowed and our sewage pipes exploded!? You bought this lovely building and had new carpet installed and not even two weeks later shit was flying all over the place. Oh man, remember when it happened AGAIN nearly two weeks later!? I hate to say it, but I think you bought a lemon . Now since that was obviously YOUR decision to buy this shanty out in Forest Park, why should WE be punished with thin toilet paper which we now have to use to wrap up our bloody tampons? Some people are flush tampon people, some are throw-away (by the way, guess who gets to take out our trash every evening…). I am flush. I always will be. I hope the next time the toilet explodes, one of my tampons lands right on your face. Maybe you’ll take a shower then???

*Maid Service Yes I’ve already brought this up but the last point just reminded me how much I DO mind cleaning up after you. I know the economy is piss and hiring a cleaning service would be out of the question, but I…HEY! I saw that!! You just threw a pretzel on the ground! NO, you TOTALLY saw that fall. Oh what, now you’re going home WITHOUT THROWING AWAY YOUR MESS?! Oh and look at that...now Susie is going to throw it away. Now you’ll never learn. Or maybe you will; what goes around comes around (*makes a face that reminds you that you have to go home tonight and go through all that "IRS audit bullshit"*).

It's really been a pleasure working for you two these past two years! I could go on and on about all the benefits this company provides, but that could take forever and I should really get back to work.

Happily still employed,

Annie

Sure I'll join your facebook group

2009-09-08T15:31:00.004-05:00

.

Sometimes I take people's political causes and make them hilarious.

Aw man...I KILL me.
.
.
.

Give Me a Break!

2009-09-04T08:13:00.002-05:00

By Jo

Ya’ll, it’s Friday and Labor Day is on Monday…THANK FUCKING GOD!¹

I need this day not because I’m planning to get wet-and-wild² on Monday or anything but because that means next week is a 4 DAY WORK WEEK! (THANK FUCKING GOD!³)

I CANNOT stand where I work. Oh man, I hate it. Who doesn’t, right? I mean, besides Heidi Klum, Beyonce, and Ty Pennington? (Those bitches are living the dream.)

My biggest pet peeve, which I PRAY is only a temporary pet peeve, is being taken advantage of. And it's a result of this damn recession, which is KILLING ME--no, all of us--softly.⁴

Seriously, if you don’t have a job, I’m sorry…but wait, why do you have Internet, jobless reader? Fuck that, I take my sorry back, you’re chillin’ at home, eating popcorn, reading this…wait, that’s kind of sad, I reissue my sympathy: If you don’t have a job, I’m sorry.

If you do have a job, I’m really sorry. We’re getting SCREWED⁵ right now! There is lots and lots of downsizing right now but the same amount of work. Boo, recession, boo!

But what I cannot stand, what I have absolutely no tolerance for, isn’t the extra work, or the shoddy⁶ distribution of said work within the department, or the extra hours which I’m not being compensated for. NO, it’s not any of those things.

What is getting under my skin lately is when a supervisor says to me:

“It must be nice to leave at 5:30?” Or,

“I was here till way past when you left.” OR,

“I worked on that at home.”

First of all, who the fuck cares?

Second, NO SHIT, you get paid HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS A YEAR! I. Don’t.⁷ AND PS-THIS IS YOUR CAREER! Not. Mine.

I wish I could citizen's arrest someone when they say things like that. I think it's incredibly, incredibly offensive…they KNOW how much I get paid and how much I (or anyone) would hate the position I have. I’m a secretary! The supervisor should ALWAYS be working as hard or harder, right?⁸

Please, if you’re a supervisor of any sort don’t compare the time or effort you’ve logged with someone you supervise. That’s lame and inconsiderate. I mean, I love you and all since you’re reading this blog, but really, chill. Give direction, say please and thanks, and go back to your office.

If you’re not a supervisor, chin up comrade, the computer wars will be here soon and we’ll be rebuilding everything they have destroyed⁹.

___________________________________
¹Those words, in some cases, DO go together.
²God, I mean, Fucking god, I really might try to start using wet-and-wild more often. It’s fun to say.
³This is the end of my Fucking God combo…I could hear my mom’s tears rolling down her cheek for that last one.
⁴Just for the record, if you want to kill me, being killed “softly” does sound nice.
⁵If you do have a job and things are just going along as usual don’t ever mention that to me….just LIE. I need camaraderie right now.
⁶Not as fun as wet-and-wild but also fun to say.
⁷Fucking Christ I don’t.
⁸That’s what I plan on doing when I’m single handedly running SNL and or Disney World. (Those two things DO go together…it’s like Fucking God,)
⁹Bring it, robots!

2009-09-02T11:30:00.005-05:00

Straight, Up and Neat

2009-08-30T19:59:00.006-05:00

I'm writing you from vacation right now. This means:

I'm typing on the laptop my mother-in-law picked up at Big Lots for $150. She keeps it in a canvas bag with a bunch of old newspaper clippings and a folder marked, "Important Computer".
I've had several drinks over the course of the last 6 hours -- all of which were imbibed at the insistence of others MUCH older than myself*.
I'm wearing the 4th outfit of the day. (How do YOU dress at the beach? It's not easy**.)
I haven't eaten dinner at it's 9:10.

I love vacation--don't get me wrong. But "vacation" here means a lotta inlaws, a lotta little children, and a lotta bullshit.

Bullshit = the nicey nice fakey fake conversation you have to conduct with all the old white people at the Yacht Club. These conversations begin with a smarmy old white guy in a polo shirt talking to my husband first and me as an after-thought. Once they realize Ben isn't having any of their asinine commentary about stockmarkets or football, they attempt to engage me. Since I'm obviously rendered an imbecile by the sheer fact that I have a vagina and two breasts, the intro line usually involves my "pretty name" or "the weather."

I have no time for Bullshit, and these assholes realize it pretty quick.

Typically, I reach into the depths of my memory and pull out some dusty reference to prove how much smarter I am than they originally took me for. If that doesn't work (i.e., they try to flirt), I start picking my nose.*** They get the hint then and I have only their wives to dissuade.

Today is Sunday. We leave Saturday. I am anticipating a lot more bullshit, and looking forward to getting back to my trashy brethren in Chi-town.

XOXO,
Rachie-wa-wa

*This won't make sense to those of you who grew up as WASPie as my husband, but for we poor, Puritanical family-types, "cocktail hour" doesn't exactly rank up there with "breakfast" and "naptime" as daily markers of time.

**First, I had to dress up slightly to say goodbye to my grandmother-in-law, leaving today with her "maid" (i.e., "nurse"). Then, I put on a bikini, a tank top and some shorts only to realize after walking to lunch that I am in no shape to wear a bikini with UNCW so close and back in school already. Finally, after a quick swim and changing out of my modest one-piece, I picked out some lounge clothes which I hope were enough to indicate to others that, "Hey, I'm on vacation. I don't give a shit how I look." Now I'm back to dressing slightly "up", though I think I should have brought some pastel on pastel in order to hang with the Southern version of Grey Gardens.

***This also works when you're on the interstate and a trucker is trying to size you up cross-lane.

Dream lover come rescue me...

2009-08-28T09:53:00.008-05:00

by Rebecca

Last night I had the following dreams:

1) I rode a kick ass roller coaster.

2) My sister was Miley Cyrus (disguised as Hannah Montana) and lost her journal. We had to find it QUICK before someone else did and realized that Miley Cyrus=Hannah Montana. Hilarity and hijinx ensued.

3) A certain gentleman friend I've been spending time with turned out to be rock star. He ushered me past screaming fans into his apartment. All the screaming fans looked at me and asked each other, "Who is that?" They were jealous. I felt special.

Dreams 1 and 2 blended into each other in so far as, when I disembarked the roller coaster I realized I was being followed by Hannah Montana (my sister) who immediately took me on the topsy turvey adventure of finding her journal. At least once a member of the paparazzi found it and I had to con him into returning it before reading said journal. I'm pretty sure there was a canned laugh track that played at all the appropriate times. The only element missing that kept it from being a full on episode of Hannah Montana was this guy.

I should mention that as a roller coaster enthusiast, the coaster I rode in my dream was by far the most kick ass coaster I've ever been on. This lead me to believe I should design coasters.

Most dreams I can remember convince me I should pursue things I have no business doing. For example:

Once, in a recurring dream, I was in charge of saving humanity from a cult of witches who were trying to annihilate human kind. I woke up thinking I was responsible for the world.

Once, I had a Twister esque dream that ended in me clinging to loved ones with the phrase "Never let go" being repeated in a whisper as we were sucked into the vortex. Screen fades to black. Credits role. In the credits I was listed as the director. I woke up thinking I should be a feature film director.

Once, in a recurring dream, my whole family had wolf heads and blue laser eyes and though I was running towards them and screaming, they couldn't hear me. I woke up thinking I should become a wolf whisperer.

They say if you can dream it you can do it.

I'd better get to work.