Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Facebook Ettiquette 101

This will probably offend people. Most people, actually- but it has to be said. 90% of the posts that people have the audacity to put on facebook are inappropriate. For years I have watched status updates on my news feed go from "last night was soooo crazy omg lol lets do it again tonight" to "i am pushing out my 12 pound baby; want to see a mobile upload of my dialated cervix?"
It's time to take a stand. Something has to be done.

Let's first talk about facebook as an entity. It all began back in 2004 as a website for people in college to check out other people in college without feeling totally creepy (we've all seen The Social Network, right?). It was essentially a virtual yearbook. You sign up, post a profile picture of yourself, insert some kind of "tell us about yourself" quote ("Live, Laugh, Love" for the girls who wanted a boyfriend, something about booze for the rest of us), and stalk the hotties in the frat/sorority next door. Boom. Facebook had served it's purpose.

Therein lies the problem. All of those young, carefree, fun kids who joined in 2004 have grown up. Most of them seem to forget that at the inception of facebook, people used to black out and wake up with 9 new facebook friends. Which was (and still is, in my opinion) totally acceptable. The problematic fact is, unless you have taken the time to go on a facebook defriending spree, these people still have access to your profile and are therefore subjected to sick updates about your strange little life.

It amazes me the private things that people have NO PROBLEM posting on facebook. Things I wouldn't even tell my own mother, people are putting out there for all 900 of their "friends" to see. There is a reason that the good lord invented email, and that is so that you can share all of the pictures of your giant, veiny baby belly with people who actually care. Better yet, pop those pictures into a blog. Post THAT on facebook if you must. At least that gives people the choice to look. By clicking on your blog link, I am consciously subjecting myself to this information- it's not being forced on me while I am drinking coffee and looking for incriminating pictures of people I used to get drunk with circa 2007.

Disclaimer: I don't hate babies. My best friend is currently pregnant and I love getting pictures of her baby belly, her sonograms, and general updates about her pregnancy. You know, the pictures that she sends to me in a PERSONAL TEXT MESSAGE because she knows that I care... and to the same degree, I am almost certain that guy she hooked up with sophomore year after a particularly rough night in Broad Ripple is fine with NEVER seeing those pictures. But I digress.
Honestly, the baby updates are the least offensive- they just come to mind first because they are the most common. At least those are positive, happy updates that generally just contain a bit TMI. (minus this lovely little tidbit that an ex-sorority sister thought was appropriate just this morning: "Damnit. This is not the day for my son to have 4 bowel movements in an hour. Very very busy.") She should obviously have her facebook privileges revoked for a week.

The updates that really get me are the attention whores. These people commit 1 of 2 crimes, and have therefore been placed into 1 of 2 categories outlined below:
TYPE 1: "I love my life and and my job and my baby and my family and my friends and my pinky fucking toe so much that I have to post about it on facebook every 30 seconds to show the world how blissfully happy I am."

These people post things like "Heading to Dinner with my Hubby! <3" ... "On vacation with the fam! Look at these 9 pictures of a seashell!" ... "my little man is so funny, he just farted! mommyhood is the BESTEST" ... "i love my friends, best night EVER, now off to brunch at some trendy and expensive venue, then i'm going to spend the day being fabulous, xo!" etc. etc.
Now- I am a pretty happy person, and I happen to love my life.. which is why I personally choose to spend my time LIVING IT, not updating casual acquaintances about it. Call me crazy, call me cynical, call me a bitch.. but if you were that happy/having that much fun/that in love with your "hubby" (a word that should be banned, by the by), would you really feel the need to tell everyone you've ever met about it? Just a thought.

TYPE 2: "I want sympathy and I'm obviously not getting it from the people that I see and talk to on a regular basis so I'm going to turn to my facebook friends."

These people post mundane, boring updates about their health, general well being, the state of their day (it was usually TERRIBLE), opinions on the news/weather/current events/issues. They also tend to post every 20 minutes or so. Below is an example of a girl facebooking about her headache. This was over a 24 hour period, and YES, these are only the highlights because not even I could handle repeating myself that much, even to make a point:

2pm on a Thursday: "Headache from Hell..."
2:52 pm on that same Thursday: "Just took medicine, now time for bed... I hope this works, I feel awful"
8:26pm that SAME god damned Thursday: "Still feel like my head is going to explode... back to sleep."
11am Friday: "Day two of my headache meds.... I hope this works!!!"
3pm, you guessed it, Friday: "My migraine has subsided to only a headache..."

Nobody commented on these updates.. because nobody cares. And to be honest, aside from her physician, I can only assume that nobody ever will.

I can honestly say that I am sure that I have been guilty of these crimes before. I think after a particularly rough Wednesday night, I was still pretty tipsy and I posted something to the effect of "just threw up in the bathroom at work, DAMN YOU WHISKEY WEDNESDAYS!" That is probably TMI for some people.
I remember doing this because that prompted me to join twitter. Posts like that are much more appreciated in a land that exists solely for status updates.

I don't think that this blog entry will change the world; if anything it will just enrage the people that are guilty of these facebook crimes and they will probably say mean things about me behind my back. However, I wrote this because I care about the economy. I've come up with a new division within facebook that Mark Zuckerberg should create: The Facebook Police. This could literally create THOUSANDS of jobs. I'll volunteer to be the chief. We can do things like suspend accounts that give too much information about their birth canal, issue warnings for people that are spamming the news feed with updates about how 'omg i just cooked a piece of chicken and its so good let me show you a pic and then another pic omg dinnerrrrr <3,' charge fines whenever someone breaks the cardinal rule of facebook (misuse of Their/They're/There or You're/Your), etc. etc. The list goes on and on. So lets do it- let's put America back to work! I will gladly spearhead the Facebook Police Initiative. Just say the word.
Anyway, back to facebook I go.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I attract all the crazies.

No, this does not just mean in my dating life... although if the past year is any indication of my future as a single girl, that also seems to be true.
What I mean is, in general, I attract crazy people. They confide in me, they stop me on the street, they hit on me, they sceam obscenities in my face.. you name it and they try it. Perhaps I appear to be less judgemental than most because I am always running late and looking a little frazzled. Maybe they can see that I too, am a bit crazy so they feel that we are kindred spirits. Who knows- but lately I feel like every corner I turn, there is a new crazy ready to tell me about his new labrador and get mad at me when I don't care.

Just last week, I was taking the red line to meet Becki in Wrigleyville after a cubs game when a blind man named Darryl entered my train car. I've seen Darryl before- he always gets on the most crowded train car and traipses up and down the aisle shouting that he means no harm but he would like some cash, all the while poking his blind man stick into peoples feet. Usually everyone ignores him, but Darryl was in a particularly saucy mood that day, so he was NOT having it. He raised his voice, he stumbled into people left and right, he shook that cup of his in peoples faces, all to no avail. Finally he settled in next to me and since he couldn't stay on his feet a moment longer, he chose to grip my arm to stay upright. I was already mad because Becki was being a real bitch by ignoring my texts, so I angrily shook Darryl off of me. He must have thought that the train's bumpy ride caused this, because he grabbed back on, and I swear even though he is blind he gave me a death stare. Again I yanked my arm away and this time I shouted DON'T YOU TOUCH ME.. but Darryl was undeterred. Finally the train was pulling up to Fullerton and he decided that it was time to switch to a different car. The train was slowing to a stop but the doors hadn't opened and he was pressing my body against the edge of the train. Then, you will never guess what Darryl did. He shouted: "CAN YOU PLEASE MOVE I WANT TO EXIT THE TRAIN PLEASE HELP ME BY LETTING ME OFF THE TRAIN." At this point, everyone was staring and I was livid, so I shouted right back that he could get off the damn train when it came to a complete stop and the doors opened. Darryl thought it over and decided that was ok with him, but when the train stopped and he got off, I gave his walking stick a little kick with my feet just to remind him to never touch me again.

As if that wasn't enough, the following week I had to run home on my lunch break to sign my new lease. This was the day that I learned that all the mental cases in Chicago must have meetings on the redline at high noon- because this train was overrun with nuts.
One itty bitty old man in particular was talking to himself for quite some time. He must have gotten sick of the lack of response, so he turned to me. I didn't catch his name, but he was going on and on about some dog. I pointedly put in my headphones and turned up the volume- but he did not get the message. Instead of politely tapping my shoulder to let me know he had been speaking to me, he started to scream. At the top of his little lungs, he shouted this: "I AINT TRYIN TO BOTHER YOU I JUST GOTTA GO DOWNTOWN AND SEE A MAN ABOUT A DOG!"
Seeing my blank stare, he must have thought that I needed more details to give a proper response- so he added: "a LABRADOR IN FACT!"
It took me a moment to digest this- this tiny man was so mad that I didnt care about his new labrador. I felt a little bad, but I felt more nervous that next he would stab me, so I decided to walk the rest of the way to work, and exited 2 stops early.

The best recent incident that involved chatting with a loon of course involves Patrick. He is great because he is such a snob, and he can't hide the horror from his face. He was already pretty down in the dumps because he was waiting for the megabus to take him home to Indiana instead of driving, and I waited with him because he was scared. We hadn't been waiting for two minutes when the skinniest girl I've ever seen with eyes that were not at all focused came stumbling up to us and launched into a diatribe of what she had been through over the past few days. Her greasy, stringy hair was in her face and she had scrapes and bruises all over her body and face- and she had what I think was a black eye. Apparently, she was in town for a funeral. However her trip quickly derailed when she was offering some money to a homeless, and in a shocking turn of events, he stole her wallet and beat her. This landed her in the hospital (i'm sure she has great health insurance so don't fret).  Then, she was released from the hospital, but her friend who was picking her up was involved in a car crash that was so severe that she too ended up in the hospital- so now the orignal meth head had no way to get back to Milwaukee. We told her we were sorry for her sour luck, but she thought I was a real bitch because I was shaking with laughter- not at her woeful (fake) tale, but at Patrick's face throughout it all. It went from horror, to sadness, to interest (this is when he was inspecting her face wounds more closely) and then back to horror. I think she thought her appearance had something to do with our lack of concern, so she came back 5 minutes later with what Patrick described as "a slightly fresher look," but it was all for naught, because we still didn't buy her a bus ticket to Milwaukee.

I could go on and on. Just today at lunch, a man sat next to me and started screaming at someone on a cell phone. He was very upset because apparently he shares this phone with several other people, and whoever was on the phone (i don't know the callers name because he would only refer to him as "homie" "goofy" or "pimp") was claiming that the man on the bench was 'covering for' whoever else used the phone. Bench man was very adament that was not the case. I can't tell you how this one ends though, because a coworker was kind enough to rescue me and make me sit on his bench for the remainder of lunch.

Like I said, I could go on and on. But these are the highlights- my most favorite lunatics that I hold closest to my heart. I hope they think of me in the same way- I know our paths will likely cross again and if they do, I will treat them with the same grace and dignity that they have me.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Cured Meats, Chunky Beats, and a whole lotta love in the Suite.

Bonjour, Hola, Cheerio! I just wanted to let people know that not only did we make it to Madrid (and now Paris) but we have had QUITE a few adventures already.

Brief recap:

In the Philly airport I met a man (our eyes locked across the bar and we bonded over blue moons) and we discovered that we were on the same flight to Madrid- so we drank some more, hopped on the plane, and he convinced the woman next to him that she should really take my middle seat three rows back so that I could have her window. Somehow it worked and over the next 8 hours we fell in love. Thank god we did, because when I landed at 8am i learned that my phone didnt work and I had no way to locate becki and Ryan, who were flying into Madrid at noon. luckily this man helped me text becki a very specific location to find me, and crisis averted. He flew home to Pamplona (no he does not run with the bulls, I asked) and ryan, becki, and i took off for our hotel. The front desk girl took about 3 seconds before she convinced becki to upgrade us to a suite that came with our own personal "experience manager." Jose was his name, and fun was his game. He taught us to use our Wii, play with the ipod, and he showed us around the "moxi bar" (because it was bigger than a mini bar).  He also suggested that all three of us share the king bed (cue eyebrow raising and winking) and then he skipped out the door. We think Jose was pretty gay.
We then went for tapas where we ate our daily serving of cured meats. That night we went clubbing. Think men in no shirts and women in their underpants on a stage with a smoke machine dancing to "chunky beats." Ryan promptly bought a bottle of vodka and commissioned me to be his pimp, bringing hot austrian girls back to the table who wanted nothing to do with him. Thats the last thing I remember was the three of us being propositioned by a random creepy man who I think wanted to kill ryan and have his way with becki and i, immediately followed by becki getting heckled on the street while i cowered in fear behind ryan.
Then came Saturday, where we went shopping and then stopped in for a casual cafe con leche, but the tables quickly turned when Ryan challenged me to a beer chugging contest and the entire day became a tapas/bar crawl through Madrid. Below you will notice Ry Guy and I choosing our meats at "El Museo del Jamon" (the HAM MUSEUM).

Today we woke up around 11 and dragged ourselves to the airport but I managed to vomit in our hotel room, our hotel basement, the restaurant, the cab, the airports (both madrid and paris), the airplane, in my own mouth, and in my bag on the bus. This was all due to my severe dehydration mixed with low blood sugar and overall overindulgence of the sauce. 
In other news, we have seen more hot men since we arrived in Paris at 6pm tonight than we did the entire time in Madrid. Becki took particular interest in the guy who checked us in (he was tres bien) but we are more interested in the Airplane Pilots we saw getting into an elevator after dinner tonight. I made a beeline for them (we had been on our way to creepily walk by the front desk and spy on our check in guy) but when we saw them we changed our direction. However we chickened out and didnt jump into their elevator so that was a waste. There is always tomorrow though.  We stopped into an Irish pub where I fell in love with the bartender although he wasnt all that impressed with me, and we tried to make our waiter love us at dinner but he mostly wanted no part of it. So thats been it so far- now we are snuggling in our big bed, watching le television, and resting up for a big day of sight seeing tomorrow.

This has been a real pain so I  probably won't blog again while I am away.

Lee Gal and Barkilona

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Cloudy with a chance of Sex Slavery

Well- this is it. My final goodbye before I hop on a plane and fly off to Europe, most likely never to be heard from again.
I just watched "Taken" again (Liam Neeson the badass rescuing his daughter from a life of sex slavery). I mainly watched this because I wanted to try to pick up a few tips on what NOT to do when I get to Paris. However, after seeing how things went down, I realized that chances are, I'm going to be sold into sex slavery within moments of arriving. I mean lets break this down: 2 girls land in Paris, and a good looking man asks them to share a cab. Is this something that I would allow? Yes. Without a moments hesitation, yes. Even after seeing Taken, yes. Then the cab drops them off at the place they are staying and the nice looking man asks them if he and his presumably nice looking friends can come over that night to hang out/party/show them the town. Would I allow this? Yes. After seeing Taken, not so much. But at this point it won't really matter because the sex selling men can come find us at any time by simply asking the concierge where we are. I'd be willing to bet the hotel staff is in on it too. Plus I'm traveling with Becki, so lets be honest- she will probably hang a sign on our door inviting in any good looking men that want to hang out. Sorry Becki, I'm just playing the odds.
After thinking things through, I feel safer than the girls in Taken for three reasons.
1. It is probably a lot harder to take two screaming and struggling girls out of a hotel than it was to steal them away from a giant empty mansion- so they're gonna have to snag us somewhere else. Which I admit is a possibility.
2. We have chaperones in 2/3 cities- Ryan Hall has been tasked with guarding our virtue in Madrid, and Tyler's friend/ex roommate (I forget the actual connection) is in charge of keeping us off the street corners of Paris- and everyone knows that Londoners aren't into sex slaves.
3. I would be a TERRIBLE sex slave, and I'll make this clear to the people who are trying to sell me. This is probably my biggest saving grace. I mean, these girls in Taken were heavily sedated/drugged up and then put into rooms where men came to have their way with them. Now everybody knows that I don't do well with most drugs (pills/painkillers/sedatives, specifically), mainly because I turn into a sloppy disgusting raving lunatic. I can state several examples of this happening, my favorite being the time Valarie took me in a limosine to a fancy party at the Hard Rock Casino in Hollywood, FL, and I popped some kind of pill and then spent the evening clinging to a pillar with my eyes rolled in the back of my head, mumbling jibberish until she had to stuff me in a cab and take me to Paul's condo where I could try to regain my sanity. I don't see how any man would want to deal with that, no matter how much money he paid.

With all that said, I still don't feel 100% sure that we will make it home. I can see one of us (me) meeting some Londoner and marrying him on the spot, never to be heard from again because lets face it, British accents are my weakness. That is a proven fact- History has shown that I am completely helpless when someone talks British to me. Thats probably why I spend a lot of my time speaking in a fake (and terrible) British accent. Becki has a better history with the Brits than I do (example: the night she left me in the dust at 3am on the streetcorner with 2 british men, hers staring after her with a look of bewilderment on his face), but I guess we'll see! If you don't hear from me on or after the 25th/26th of February, I guess you can just assume one of these two possible scenarios has played out. Lets hope its the latter of the two- although I guess the silver lining to the sex slavery cloud is that I can retire early from climbing the corporate ladder. I realize that isn't the best case scenario, but what can I say- I'm an optimist!

Thursday, January 6, 2011


Every morning, I have a routine. It's pretty much set in stone, I suppose because I am old and set in my ways. Each night, I set my alarm for 6:30. Once it goes off, I hit snooze approximately 9 times. I realize that is ridiculous, but it helps me in my gradual waking up process. If you know me at all, you know that I am NOT a morning person and waking me up without a warning can cause calamity and disaster. Certain friends of mine ARE morning people (Mando), and they have gotten their heads bitten off on more than one occasion when they were acting too perky for my liking.
Anyway. So I snooze... get up.. shower.. inevitably take too long, and end up racing the clock to get on the red line by 8. Once I make it to my stop, I shove everyone out of my way and fly out of the doors like a bat out of hell. I go right off the train, scurry up the escalator, veer left up the staircase, and I'm free to shove my way down Jackson and into my building.
This morning, as I was going through this very routine, I got stuck behind a person on the escalator who refused to walk up it- he just stood there in the middle of the escalator, not leaving any space for me to squeeze by him on his left. I was pretty annoyed, especially because a line of escalator walkers started to form behind me and I wanted to make sure that everyone knew that I was stuck- it wasn't MY fault we were at a standstill. I started looking around, with pure aggrevation and hatred written all over my face, loudly sighing and generally acting like a snobby bitch so that everyone behind me could see that I was NOT the lazy one who refused to budge. To make matters worse, I looked to my left at the staircase that's next to the escalator and saw people passing me as they lept up the stairs, two at a time, without the aid of an already moving staircase.
I was cursing people in my head left and right- damn this lazy idiot holding me up on the escalator. Damn that energetic idiot racing up the stairs as if his life depended on it. Damn me for being caught somewhere between lazy and energetic, because I wanted to race up the escalator as opposed to just taking the stairs. Suddenly, a realization hit me like a ton of bricks- this was all my fault. Why do people walk up the escalator instead of walking up the stairs? Laziness. Was I being ridiculous for expecting someone to try to cheat the system by walking up a staircase that moves for you? Isn't the whole point of an escalator so that you DON'T have to use your legs? The escalator ride was excruciatingly slow, so I had a lot of time to ponder these things, and I realized: I need to reevaluate my life.
This got me thinking about other aspects of day-to-day life that I get annoyed about, that are probably also my own fault. After some serious reflection, it turns out I don't like to take responsibility for much of anything and I generally throw out blame and judgement left and right. And who is to blame for this bad attitude (badditude)? I think the answer is crystal clear- Patrick. He is the supreme king of looking down on everyone from his golden cloud of judgement, and I guess it's contagious. So my New Year's Resolution (one of the 10 I made so that the odds of not breaking at least one is pretty decent) is this: Be less like Patrick in 2011.