Things That Deserve Celebration

WARNING:  I’m about to go on a tirade.  I do not wish to offend, or fuck, maybe I do.
I HATE when couples celebrate month to month anniversaries.  In fact, I can’t even allow the word anniversary to escape my lips.  I’m forced to type it for the sake of the post but other than that, absolutely not.  I’m still even undecided about couples celebrating year to year anniversaries that aren’t marriage, even though technically those are the only acceptable ones seeing as the root of the word implies year.

Anyway, in an effort to be obnoxious I’ve decided to compile a list of things that are not properly respected as cause for celebration.

*Finishing a semester—you gotta study and take finals, you have to work for that shit, you can date any joker for a month, but reading like 6 books, writing 12 papers, and pulling all nighters now THAT is worth a celebration.

*Running a marathon—Seriously, those take practice and training.  Did you have to train months prior to be able  to finish dating that person for a month?   Probably the best way to celebrate is just to relax.    But have all your friends over and relax together.

*Getting a job—There are various instances in which this is worth celebration.  It could be your first one ever, or your first big one out of college.  Maybe you just ended that long unemployment streak.   You had to apply, you had to get dressed up multiple times, you had to answer inane questions. Did you have to do any of those to date someone?

*Doing your laundry—You only have two days off a week and somehow you managed to take that much deserved time off and lug your heavy laundry down the road.  Also, you changed your dollars into quarters and when you got home you hung up and folded your clothes. I’ll bet you never had to lug your heavy significant other that far. (I apologize to anyone who’s date blacks out, then maybe you have)

So maybe I got a little ridiculous by my 4th example but I think I’ve presented things far more worth celebrating than a month of dating.  Do you  just want presents that badly?  Please, someone explain to me the reasons behind celebrating month to month dating.  Do you not believe you’ll make it the whole year so you celebrate every precious month?

Seriously, I’m willing to listen.  But let’s be honest, I’m sure all I’ll do is listen, listen and laugh at you.

The Great “Appropriate Things to Say in Front of Children” Debate.

Today there was a small child in my office.  He was presumably the son of a man here in our office to do a voice-over.  Surprisingly, this is not the first time a small child has been in this office, a fact I find monstrously unsettling because I am not a person who adores, coos over, or even cares for the existence of small children.  They do not belong in offices during the day or any other time for that matter.  They especially do not belong when I’m forced to watch Sesame Street or Cailiou on our tv.  (Even try to correct me on the spelling of that cartoon and I’ll go back in time and gut your mother so you could never have been a small child).

Moving along….

Because he assumed everyone in the office was an adult, what a silly mistake for an office during the day, a visitor said “fuck” as he was leaving.  The same man subsequently grimaced and apologized due to the presence of “one of those things that does not belong.”  Get it?

This instance reawakened my ongoing debate with the world about an individual’s  personal decorum concerning the presence of children.   I’m reminded a time in college when my roommates and I all innocently ravaged our meals at Perkins after a night of heavy drinking.  One such roommate expressed an overwhelming desire to throw up, a natural inkling after most of those nights we had in college. (I took care of most of my vomiting the night before, but to each his own)  A DIFFERENT roommate immediately chastised the other for saying “throw up” because gasp! awe! alas! and woah! there was a child nearby!  Me, always just keeping my mouth shout when necessary said, “Why? People in families throw up!”

Hence, the debate is opened.  Why should a baby be allowed in a restaurant to not speak of throwing up but actually THROW UP in front of my face, but such a word should not be uttered in front of a child?

I will say “fuck” here,

I will say “fuck” there,

I will say “fuck” anywhere.

It’s not my job to raise anyone, that’s why I’m on birth control.

Question of the Day

Q: Why do people insist on messing around with the anus?

Discussion: I just find it not to be necessary in so many situations where it occurs

there are usually myriad other options

Black Bill: Hmmm

A myriad of other options for things people do with the anus?

me: no- myriad other options besides the anal option

me: in any variety of situations where we find it

Black Bill: Well, I wish they could find another option for my colonoscopy!

me: and then there are some situations where there are NOT other options

Clap clap

A man just clapped in my face.

At work.

On purpose.

What the HELL kind of people seriously work here?  I had stopped for about a half second to push my ID more securely into my pocket when I was jolted out of my concentration by a red-nosed lanky old man, clapping at my forehead.

“Watch where you’re gooo-iiing,” he sang with his eyebrows raised up into his hairline almost.

“Uh.. sorry?” I replied, taken aback.

“It’s ok…” Father Rude admonished me further, in the most pristine I’ll let it go this time of tones.

RUDE!  He’s on my list for sure now.  Don’t think I’ll forget you.  I just got done going nuts yesterday on the security guards who stalk me downstairs, and I won’t hesitate to give you your share.

For the love of Christ!

Resolutions ’09

So I’ve been putting off making any real resolutions at all thus far.  The reason is that I feel I am condemning anything I resolve out loud to epic failure, sheerly by the fact that if spoken out loud, it becomes a New Year’s Resolution.  And I know how well those have ended up in the past.  For instance, one year I resolved to be nice to everyone…

So anyway, here is my wishlist of potential resolutions:

1 – Lose weight & tone up (I never said these were going to be unique)

2 – Consider grad school

3 – Attempt creative writing

4- Get a side job with a publication

5- Decide where my personal life is going… (this was left vague intentionally… I know what it means in my head)

But I won’t resolve to do any of those yet.  Making them a resolution means I can shunt them aside, because that’s what everyone else does and then we can all talk about it together and feel better about ourselves because we’re not the only ones who failed.  We must not succumb to this mentality of sheep!  Is there any other way I can accomplish my big life’s to do list aside from RESOLVING to?

Oh yeah #6 on my list of NOT resolutions – Develop some semblance of will power and self-discipline…

Happy New Year guys!  Great to be back in the office.  Really.  I’ll be here.  All.  Day.  Every.  Day.

Oh and if any of you did go ahead and make a resolution or two… share it with us here in the form of a COMMENT!  COMMENTS are welcome.  RESOLVE (or not) to make more comments on the Crummity.

meh

The word “meh” used to bother me. I was at the Microcenter one day, and they had black shirts that sported nothing but one little word in white: “meh”.  They also had ones that said “no I will not fix your computer”.  Coincidence?  I think not.

The question we must ask though, is what does “meh” really mean?  I’ve experienced it on certain Facebook statuses, and from creepy ex-coworkers (ones who memorized my roommates’ license plate #s).  But what is the true meaning of this word?  It troubles me because I pride myself on my prowess when it comes to subtleties in language and culture.  I get the vernacular distinction between “what up” and “what’s up”.  I’ll see your “Winter is Coming” and raise you the Bastard Names of the Seven Kingdoms.  But I know I’m not getting the whole picture when it comes to “meh”.

Feeling discomfited,  and unable to explain why the word annoyed me so much, I ended up referring to a trusty source: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Meh  for clarity.  But this definition still left me wondering why we can’t just say “eh” or simply shrug our shoulders in an applicable situation.

I start to think that since this has clearly something to do with the Nerdverse — arguably, all that is NOT Corporate America — maybe I’m just blinded by anger.  Anger about the blaring disconnect between today’s offices, and all those it seeks to torture, including but not limited to: grammar enthusiasts, YA fantasy novel readers, toilet humorists,  leisure experts, and online-chat-aficionados alike.

Fueled by rage at the idea of a chasm that seems impossible to bridge, I  launch a full-out mental resistance, damning “meh”, all those who use it, and all that it stands for; inclined to hope I never start incorporating this word into my everyday vocabulary!

Yet now, I find myself using it almost on a daily basis. I’ve adopted it so that when I use it, it’s ironic and cool.  Just like my dirty Uggs from last year, itchy turtleneck, and this zit on my face.  Which in turn reflect how I feel about being here at work in my office.  Except that itchy sweaters and adult acne aren’t cool, and my rapidly developing carpal tunnel syndrome is anything but ironic.

Wait, what was my point again?  Meh.

It’s a Sign

Just now, an omen from the gods came to me, indicating I should select a certain long-forgotten bookmarked webpage, and write again in the Crummity.

As I speed-walked bullishly through the tourists back towards work, fretting about being punctual returning from lunch, I happened upon- lo and behold- a tour group.  The man lecturing at the top of his lungs had chosen as his subject the obscenely large statue of King Lear, which stands in the stone yard facing my building.  I caught a snippet, and turned my head slightly to hear Joe Tour Guide exclaim:

“Symbolism!  What better sign of REPRESSION than the middle ages??  It all fits perfectly… REPRESSION, here…”

Here, in front of my work building.  My building, which is shaped like a cube, within which I sit at a cube all the live-long day, typing on a keyboard of cubed letters and forming my ass slowly into a Rubix cube.  I enter the revolving doors.  They form four symmetrical cube-shaped voids as I rotate into:

“Twenty five is a big age,” a girl with a rectangular face is saying to her friend.

It’s like God himself has a Sharpie Accent at the ready, seeing me in my quarter life crisis floundering, flailing, intermittently crying and laughing maniacally, and highlighting the most painful moments of it.  Right now is supposed to be (according to 99% of my elders) “THE BEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE,” “the time to have fun,” the time not to waste your “unlimited potential” and to “experience everything.”  Here I am next to King Lear’s big toe, afraid to be a minute late back to my desk and to leave work early to cast my vote  in probably the most historic presidential election of our time.  Because I might get fired from my $ a year job and have to find another one just like it, or go into debt attempting to make myself smarter through school again.

Yet if the big Jeez be so spiteful, then why did I spend the entire elevator ride up with a crooked smirk on my face at what I’d just heard with my own two elven ears?  Why did I turn around when I got off the elevator and smile freakishly at the people remaining in the car?  Is it because I have a sick sense of masochism and I secretly enjoy my predicament, as well as the powers that be who wish to squeegee my soul?

I think it’s more that I’m intermittently trying to realize that all you can do if you want to remain sane, is laugh.  Laugh at your situation if you can find a way to make it funny.  If you can’t… try to think ahead to the future, when you’ll hopefully look back from where you are and wonder what exactly was so terrible and confusing that you spent hours of silent torture worrying your mind to the core.

If you find it hard to wait for the delayed gratification of 20/20 hindsight, you can always improvise in the meantime.  For a quick sure laugh, hold a single hair from someone’s head and wait for them to move, so it yanks out.  Then pointedly stare out the window until they look away, or blame someone else by raising an accusatory eyebrow.  Proceed to restrain self-satisfied guffaws.

The Quarter Life is just a phase… without the bad times we can’t appreciate the great ones right?  I’ll just keep telling myself that.

Anyone have any good stories of God spiting them today?

Credo

Trust no one.

 

Fear me.

Power Outage at Addison

That roughly translates to punctuality outage for everyone, and also, common courtesy and normal behavior outage for CTA-riders at the same time, as I discovered yesterday morning.  With a single running track, half the amount of trains come to pick people up, and naturally their patience begins to wear thin.  Still, even in my compassion for others as I shared their plight, I found myself agape with wonder by the things that people do, even in the face of such an annoyance.

After waiting for 3 jam-packed trains to pass me by I was set to be 15 minutes late for work.  As the 4th train pulls up, I steel myself and jackhammer down into the tiniest of cart spaces,  like Kirstie Allie at Great America riding the Demon.  The huge backpack in front of me is resisting my entrance, I can tell.  As I force myself further still (literally centimeters at a time), the doors threaten to shut and precisely bisect off the left half of my body.  I perform a quick ”Twista.” That is to say, I contort my body and dive, imagining myself in an Olympic luge on the superspiral toilet flush chute.  It works, and I successfully become wedged between the smeared glass wall and backpack boy.  A very angry, diminutive girl is in front of me, glaring holes into my abdominal region.  Approximately 3 random arms criss cross my field of vision.

My phone vibrates in my bag.  Rage Girl’s eyes become slits as she burns holes into my bag with her eyes, the rage of 1000 suns firing out of control at the nerve of my phone.  We stop at Damen.  I twist my head, resembling the Exorcist, to see who else thinks they can get on.  A large, flowered, and purposeful woman makes a meaningful lean.  There is no way.

“There is NO – – WAY!” shrieks someone nearby, the one who owns the freckled arm that is under my chin.

“There ees…  No way…” states an elderly woman gravely, shaking her head as slow as a slow clap.

The senior lady has nice glasses and more space than any of us on the other side of the wall.  If her and Rage Girl could shift a bit, then Backpack would probably be inducing far less pressure onto my rib cage.  But no one cares about that, as I had the nerve to shove my way on like I did.  I had the balls to get on the train for work like everyone else this fateful morning.

Flowered Giant speaks, in response to the conductor’s repeated explanation announcement: “Yeah, tell that to my boss.  Hmmph.”

Damn straight Flowered Giant, we have to get to work just like Rage Girl and Backpack Boy and old lady!  What makes them so elite!  Thank god you said something because I have not your colossal fortitude and so may well have been Backpacked right out, or burned to a cinder had I uttered my same feelings!

My phone vibrates again.  Rage glares again, with even more hatred than before.  But I am bolstered by Flowered Giant’s statement of righteousness, so I do not look at Rage in fear this time.  Instead I check my watch with insolence, and see her jet of murderous flames only through my peripheral vision.

A man wedges on at Division.  The doors close on him once, twice, thrice.  He is tall.  He is unfazed.  He shrugs nonchalantly at me over the heads of Freckles and Rage Girl and everyone else, as he’s finally on safely, and having delayed our journey a full 30 seconds by his bravely-endured thomping.

When we finally all exit at the Clark/Lake mecca,  I lose all control and sprint ahead of everyone to the escalator, swerving rudely between the unsympathetic and irritated crowd, though they like me are only concerned with their own inherent tardiness and recently violated personal space.   Although I am now sweating, and the people behind me’s loud foot stomps tell me I could move aside and let the speedier pass me by, I intend to get to the revolving doors first and I will.

And I did.

Then I took a cab to work from there saving myself 7 minutes and arriving only 18 minutes late instead of 25, which would have been far, far worse.

So damn you Rage Girl and your Satanic glare, and damn you Backpack Boy and your razor sharp baggage, and gosh darn you old lady and your stately dictatorship!  And damn you Freckles and your shrill annoyingness!  Flowered Giant, you’re cool.

This has been a wildly un-PC depiction of just one of my many astounding trips on the El, where people continue to shock yet amuse me each and every day.  Brought to you by the Kron herself.

To All The Crummity Fans

I completely regret the absolute disregard for Crummity updates. Unfortunately, I’ve been working 12-14 hour days and waking up very early to do so. Hopefully in time the Crummity will come back and knock everyone’s heads off.

I always wanted to be able to raise one eyebrow, regrettably, I cannot do so without the aid of this straw.