RetroTrashing

The Grass is Greener (and Smells Better Too!)

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 15:18:00 +0000

If you are new, slow, or oblivious, I am not what one may call a "happy-go-lucky" girl.

I've been called negative, cold, and hopeless. To name a few.

About 3 or 4 years ago, I tried to change. I started reading crafty blogs and getting involved in online forums and pretending I knew how to sew and knit. I wanted to be charming and kooky with such an "aw cute" yet also "exciting and crazy" life.
Reality failed to reflect this, shit hit the fan (as it always does) and I went back to my "just get it done and go to bed" mode where booze played an important role.

Yet for some reason I punish myself by continuing to read blogs of these "happy" people (and you just KNOW what I'm talking about.) Every day is an adventure for them full of wonderful surprises and trips and items worth documenting and crafts to be made and walls to paint bright colors and adorable little families with clean little houses and ISN'T EVERYTHING JUST SO DARN PERFECT?!

Ok, yes, duh, I'm envious. I want life to be a seemingly beautiful flow of giggles and sunshine and cupcakes. I want to have a craft room that is organized and chock full of supplies. I want a wardrobe full of vintage finds that fit and are actually in fashion. I want a backyard I can garden in and eat the veggies that sprout magically overnight. I want a job that I love and can flourish in (or with how much these people blog and travel, apparently no job at all!) I want to just be so carefree that wow great things just happen to me all the time without any effort and it's all a bucket of rainbows! WHEEE!

I'll wait for you to finish dry heaving at that mess.
Ok back to my bitching.

I am a realist. Everyone is all "no you're just pessimistic" but dammit, no, the world DOES suck and I just realize this, HENCEFORTH, I'm a realist.
So I've slowly come to realize (and cry about the fact) that this fantasy lifestyle of good times, cake, crafts, travel and organization WILL NEVER HAPPEN.
And below, in a wonderful bulleted list, I will breakdown and explain why (because I'm sure if you read this and haven't left yet, you feel me and are wondering the same thing.)

1) I Have an Office Job - this means I wake up at 6am every day to get to my cube by 7:30. I don't leave until 5 and with the commute, I'm at home by 6pm. That's basically 12 hours of nothing but going to work, working, and coming home from work. This doesn't leave a lot of time for meeting friends for lunch or making vegan quiche for breakfast or taking a walk with my imaginary dog and taking pictures of the sunset. This also means scheduled vacation hours, leaving my travelling restricted to a few days here and there. So no road trips or going to Canada for me. I'm stuck with gridlock traffic simply trying to get to the 'burbs. How *magical*.

2) I Live In Chicago - now I love my city but for real, Chicago is for haters.

see?
I mean, we got theater, we got restaurants, we got culture. We also have about 3.5 months out of the year when we actually get to enjoy anything. Now I'm cold-blooded, born and raised in this frigid shit, and honestly, I don't mind it. But what I'm saying is, being outside is not exactly joyful. I can't see the sunset because it goes down at about 3:30pm and I'm still stuck in my windowless cube. I don't go outside playing in the leaves because we have no trees. And say, maybe I should enjoy the snow and go sledding? Ok yeah, we have no hills. Honestly, I'm THISCLOSE to buying a Slanket because it's that cold in the apartment. And that brings me to the next point.

3) I Live in a Tiny Condo - now, I love my boyfriend and I'm hella glad he lets me live with him (thank you!) but I've gotta be honest. His place isn't huge and we have a roommate. That's 3 people in a 2 bedroom apartment that only has two closets, and they are both smaller than a shower stall. Craft room? More like I shove anything I have under the bed so that I will never use it. Garden? We are on the third floor and you know what's underneath? Concrete. Organization? Let me paint you a picture: in our bedroom, I put a shelving unit full of books ON TOP of a dresser that is so full, I broke two of the drawers. Oh, and about that vintage wardrobe? Last weekend, I threw out ANOTHER bag of clothes and somehow we still have no room. Our excess blankets and pillows are chilling in a nice, messy pile at the end of the bed. Man, where is MTV Cribs when you need them, this should be documented and ridiculed.

I would have gone into more detail but I think you get the point.
That point being, I'm shackled to a desk 80% of my waking hours, living in a haven to hoarders, and unable to go outside without looking like a professional snowmobile racer.
I have little time, little space, and little sunshine to warrant a lifestyle of travelling, crafts, and bright colors.

So if you can't join 'em, beat them. I choose to feel good that at least I have the snark and sarcasm to contribute something horribly inappropriate to the world.

Now if you'll excuse me, an excel spreadsheet is calling my name.

Why New Years Always Disappoints

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 19:43:00 +0000

Well, the good news is we all made it. The bad news is nothing has changed.

Of course, my sickness got worse and I ended up hitting up the doc's office the morning of new years eve, only to be told to go buy some antihistamines and that he'd give me robotussin with codeine for the cough but I should NOT DRINK IT WITH ALCOHOL.

Oh I'm sorry, did you just tell me that in order to feel halfway decent, that I can't enjoy alcohol on one of the biggest drinking holidays of the year?
Yes he did and so I listened because I've been down that road before and believe me, it's a bumpy ride.

Back to my shitty re-hashing, the boy and I had dinner reservations with 4 other couples (yeah, that's 10 people total, math is hard!) so I actually *shock* put on a dress and we took the train since it was snowy and cold as balls outside.
Of course my fraid-to-be-late ass got their first and I coughed my way into a seat, but not before shoving my ass into the table next to us as this restaurant was the size of my apartment's closet and just about as packed too.

Our group showed up piece by piece. I had all but lost my voice and I was basically falling asleep as I stared at the wine bottle, wishing I could imbibe. Thankfully the busboys were totes on my ice water being refilled seeing as how when I go out to eat I turn into a camel in a drinking contest. I think I downed 4 or 8 glasses. Honestly, at this point in my life I should just order a pitcher or two of water and save them the trouble.
But since it was as cold as a witches tit outside, I decided, fuck it, I'll spend the $2 to get a pot of tea.

Bad idea.

I ask him what kind of tea they have and he looks at me like I asked him what the square root of 54,735 was. He said they might have chamomile and since I wasn't up for a fight, I said ok.
He comes back with a baby's cup of hot water and an unmarked bag of tea.
"I think it's de-caffeinated green tea," he says.

Oh, you think?
Did you just reach behind the waiter station and find this teabag stuck to the wall with a piece of gum?
Because I'm nice (aka lazy) I said that was fine, nay, BETTER, and put the teabag in my shallow dish of water (honestly it wasn't more than 4 ounces. I've had bigger juiceboxes.)

So I'm sipping my tea (because if I took a real drink, it would be gone in one swallow) and we get our bread and oil and I open the menu.
Now this place is a semi-fancy italian joint.
They are BYOB yet they are also Zagat-rated (then again, so is Hot Dougs) and they have been featured on a local Chicago show, Check, Please! , which basically means unless you make reservations, you ain't getting no pasta.

With all that in mind, I knew I wasn't dealing with Denny's pricing here (not to dis Dennys, I love their greasy burgers), and I had planned to easily spend $50 between the boy and I. I figured $20 so a person with room for tip. Maybe a tad more if we opt to share an app.

Yet when I opened the menu, ohhhhh, how wrong I was.

The pastas alone, THE PASTAS, the stuff you eat in college when you are poor, all were over $22. And this isn't Maggiano's family style. You won't be eating that bowl for a few days after your visit. Oh no, this is fancy small white people portions.
I said, ok well I have to get pasta.
BUT NOOOO.
Every single pasta dish was full of shellfish. Shrimp, scallops, all kinds of nasty crap. At least I understood why the prices were so high, this was the fancy seafood that I never ever eat. I know everyone else likes it but after many failed attempts, I'm sorry, I can't get into this chewy, fishy shit.

Ok, fine, I thought, I'll get a chicken dish or something.
Oh ok, hope I feel like spending $26! And that was the cheap dish I didn't even want!

ok now YES. I am really cheap. But honestly, everyone at the table was like "wow, this seems pricier than normal." Apparently their "special" New Years Menu basically meant JACK UP THE PRICES.
Also, I am willing to pay good money for great food. Not like, John Mayer money, but more than say, Brittany Spears.
But when my salmon arrived, while the fish was good, that's all it was. A piece of fish. For $27 (before tax and tip.) No fresh veggie on the side, not even some mashed taters or something.
Just a piece of fish with some balsamic and an infant-size handful of greens and halved baby tomatoes.

No, really, why don't you just bend me over the table and shove the bill up my ass. Because that's how it felt when I threw down $80 (YES, READ AS EIGHTY U.S. DOLLAR BILLS) simply for two entrees and a god damned shotglass of tea.
While, let's be honest, I threw down extra cash because when in large groups without separate checks, things always get a bit dicey. But STILL. Still.

So after that raping, I was sleepy and somehow still coughing (was I supposed to make purple drank out of the tussin?) yet we thought, well let's at least try to go to a party and I'll drink an orange juice and pretend there is vodka in it (believe me, everyone knows you are just being a baby, even if there is vodka in it.)

Now the one great thing about New Years Eve in Chicago, is that after 8pm, all public transit is basically free. They say they charge a penny for rides, but the trains and 90% of the buses (except western ave, fuck that bus) don't charge a god damned thing.
But it's chicago, so there is a bad side. Everyone and their mother is also using these free rides, resulting in buses more packed than rush hour but unlike rush hour, nobody has ever ridden the CTA before so they simply stand near the front, asking the bus driver how the hell they get off. Hand to god, folks.
Also, all but 2 train lines and a smidgen of buses even run past midnight, so while you can arrive to the party, best of luck getting home!

A train and 2 buses later, we arrive at party option one around 10pm. Figure that's a good time seeing as you only have two hours to get your drink on before the clock strikes midnight.

Apparently no one else thinks like me and we walked into a mostly empty apartment full of pot smoke while 4 dudes sat in the kitchen toking up.
1) I'm sick and coughing.
2) I hate pot.
3) I said I was feeling worse and busted out of there (pretty much the fucking truth.)

So we hop TWO MORE BUSES and arrive at party option two, which is the same building as some friends. I have never met these people, however. I see all these shoes outside the door, I hear party noise, so I take off my shoes and step in.
Now I'm not sure whose shoes they actually were in the hallway, perhaps the neighbors collect them, but EVERYONE ELSE INSIDE HAD SHOES ON.

So I walk into a condo of someone I don't know, while they are in party dresses, sipping champagne and I'm wearing my fat jeans, an oversized sweater, no shoes, and I'm clutching a Tropicana with the price tag still on it. CLASS-EE.

By this point, it's a quarter past 11, I'm sitting on a chair next to an open window ignoring everyone while my boyfriend thinks I'm upset. Really I'm just dazed and tired from the codeine and about to take a cat nap.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of listening to drunk people while I'm stone cold sober, we turn on the TV and see Carson Daly countdown to midnight. I kiss my boyfriend, I actually have two sips of champagne (OH MY, WHAT A REBEL) and then I apologize to him but I have to go because I'm about to fall asleep on the couch and I will probably drool and I can't embarass myself any further.

Because we are lazy, we don't bother calling a cab. We figure, it's new years eve, surely there are tons of cabs everywhere. Well, maybe downtown or near a club, but not near us, that's for sure.
It's about 8 degrees and we're standing on a corner searching for a taxi. I'm getting pissed because the bus stopped running and the train is a good 15-20 min walk away.
We have to move or we'll surely freeze so we begin the journey to the train. We're walking backwards, arms in the air, DESPERATE for a cab. I was ready to do a strip tease in the street, ANYTHING to get into a warm vehicle.
When seriously, out of fucking nowhere (heaven?) a minivan cab shows up, we get in, and less then 10 minutes (and $10, I have no idea how much to tip cab drivers) we are home.

I am asleep before 1am (after I took two more teaspoons of codeine.)

And so that's how I arrived in the new year. Sober, sleepy, coughing, cold, and out $90.
The next day wasn't too much better due to the fact that my friend's mom is a bitch with a capital C (read between the lines folks).
But by Sunday, things were looking up a bit (especially my weight.)

So now, I'm back at work, we're busy as fuck (no I am NOT staying late, not even for time and a half) and it's still about 8 degrees outside.

But my therapist tells me to look on the bright side and hmm, let me think, I still have no idea what I really want to do with my life, but HEY! I got a chocolate cake in the fridge.
Just don't tell my belly and thighs about it, ok?

The Final Countdown

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 20:02:00 +0000

So here I am, I survived Double Christmas 2009! And it actually turned out pretty well if I do say so myself (even if the condo is still a mess.) I ate too much, I lost my voice, and my boyfriend is using the gift he bought for me more than I have. So, really, it was a great time and I only wish I had more time off (not too see family, just so I don't have to come to work.)

Speaking of work, guess who took the 31st off?
THIS GIRL!
While I normally stray from taking any time near a holiday off (because I'm anal and crazy enough to appear to actually want to work), orginally I had plans to head up to Michigan and anything involving travel equals me taking a vacation day. But when those plans fell through, I was gifted with one of the most coveted days off with absolutely nothing planned except sleeping in, watching movie trailers online, and probably ordering Thai food.
Normally, one should take this day to prepare for the marathon of drinking that is NEW YEARS EVE.

But last year, I didn't prepare and I ended my night getting KICKED OUT OF A CAB, then walking alone down a street the WRONG WAY, with a leg brace on, black out drunk. At one point, I even HOPPED A BUS and went further down said street in the WRONG DIRECTION. And I pride myself on my navigation skills but somehow I found myself finally BARELY SOBER enough to 1) find my phone in my purse (honestly the way I was rooting around in there you'd think I was trying to find a needle in haystack), 2) call a friend and actually have them agree to pick my stumbling ass up. When they asked me where the hell I was (like I had any fucking idea at that point), I gimped my way to an intersection, looked up and said "Kedzie and Washington."
Now if you are from Chicago, you know that I was FAR from my starting point in Logan Square.
If you aren't from Chicago, let me tell you, that intersection is in an area of town called THE WEST SIDE and it was not a good place for a crippled, white girl to be alone at 3am. I'm lucky I wasn't mugged, let alone raped or shot.

So, that happened.

For this year, really, I am planning for anything better than that and the simple fact that I have a boyfriend to watch me and make sure I don't end up walking towards the ghetto is a good start.

But because I have time off, I know I won't update this thing and the past two years I have done a best and worst of list at the end of the year. And I surely do have some bad and (thankfully) more good things to reminisce about for 2009 but there are bigger things to deal with.

I was talking with one of my good high school friends and I mentioned how I was reading all these "best/worst of the decade" lists and it made me realize that HOLY SHIT. It has been 10 years. And fuck, I was only 14 and in HIGH SCHOOL when this shitstorm of a decade began. I mean sure I lived through the entirety of the 90's, but you don't remember too much when you are 6 years old (besides that bitch Jenna getting to be Ariel the Little Mermaid at Halloween when I only got to be a stupid ballerina).

So, without futher ado (and because I suddenly got a meeting to go to in 20 minutes, dang!), here is my list of memories, year by year, for the...um...what the fuck are we calling this decade? The zero's? The preteens? Honestly I have no idea, folks.
Regardless, these may be good, these may be bad, but alcohol's a helluva drug and my memories ain't what they use to be so here goes!

2000: Halfway through freshman year, awkward as fuck, and had just moved to a new neighborhood. A huge memory for me was getting asked to and going to prom with a SENIOR. Yeah dudes, I was WAY COOL (this is not true at all.) For reasons beyond me, this guy asked me, I, duh, said of course because at this point I hadn't even BEEN KISSED FOR REAL WITH TONGUE (I'm a late bloomer, sue me.) Looking back, I'm pretty sure he never even BOUGHT tickets for the prom seeing as we were not on the list to get in, he "forgot" the actual paper tickets, and they had to bring out extra chairs and silverwear to the table so YEAH. I also looked a glorius hot mess and thought a black sparkly headband and BLUE EYESHADOW was fashion forward. Yeah, this was an interesting start to the decade.

2001: This year actually was pretty great. I got the lead in the school musical (yeah I'm THAT kinda dork), I remember having a really great lunch hour (aka with all my best dorky friends) and my choir did a big european vacation style trip over the summer complete with a tour bus. We saw most of Austria, some of northern Italy, and Munich, Germany. Sure my best friend and I roomed together and of course we fought like 16 year old girls do, but we also sang in centuries old churches, crying our eyes out at the beauty of it all (deep, right?) Of course, then that thing happened in September and I didn't do much overseas flying after that.

2002: This was the year where I got really close to a girl a year older than me and we thought we were the COOLEST FUCKING THINGS this side of the suburbs! I got my license and had my grandma's '88 Lincoln Townecar (oh yeah, thing was a damned beast) and we would cruise to Chicago every other weekend hitting up all kinds of concerts and shows and even hanging out afterwards finding the band and having them autograph shit. We were so lame with our guitar pick necklaces but man, we were soooo cooooool.

2003: This was the year I graduated high school so obviously I was STOKED AS FUCK. I hated the burbs with a passion at this point and knew I was destined for rock star greatness (even though I have zero musical talent besides karaoke) so I started college downtown Chicago, majoring in Music Business. By the end of year I had already changed majors and since I was balancing two jobs and commuting to school, I basically hated life. Oh but I still made sure to go to every Kill Hannah show in the tri-state area. I wish I could make this up.

2004: This summer was great as one of my good friends (let's call her Kay) and I were basically inseperable. At this point I think I only had one job (ok maybe two, wtf was I thinking) but we somehow still managed to see almost every single movie that came out, including The Passion of the Christ in which we bawled like babies because HOW CAN YOU NOT?! This was also the year I cut my hair short, asymmetrical, and decided that random bleach spots all over my head made me look SUPER FUCKING COOL (or like a scenester fool, same diff). A lot of Myspace pictures happened because yeah, this was also the year I got a digital camera. Can you say internet whore? I can.

2005: This year was intense (and honestly the first year I can remember most of, I was scraping the barrel to remember anything from the years before this, sorry about that.) I started the year by doing an intense diet and exercise routine and actually lost a ton of weight (haha yeah that definitely didn't last lol.) Then in July I finally moved to CHICAGO!! WAHOO! Everything was fucking peaches and cream. Great apartment, great location, great friends, and I was fucking skinny as hell therefore making me feel like hot shit (I mean, I got a boyfriend within 2 months of moving there so I felt pretty damn grand.) Then literally everything fell apart when the roommates disappeared, school started, I gained back the weight and I ended up living with my boyfriend at the time. While that started out a good decision, let's see where it ended up, shall we?

2006: OK honestly, I remember very little about this year and I'd like to say it's because I was VERY UNHAPPY. I was working full time, first at Jamba Juice (HELL ON EARTH) then as a waitress, while I attended school full time and come summer, I realized HOLY HELL I HATE MY MAJOR. Yet, I decided to punish myself by taking an internship IN MY MAJOR all summer while, yes, still working full time. I remember visiting Kay (away at college) and basically breaking down and realizing I wanted to leave my boyfriend. But did I? No. I continued to live with him, work, and "learn". Which is why I started off 2007 in a land far, far away.

2007: Beause I'm a cheap fucking bastard (and a workaholic), I spent the first 2.5 weeks of the new year in where else? FUCKING AUSTRALIA, MATE! oh and Fiji, duh. Man, it was suh-weet. But then I came back and had to finish school while fighting with my boyfriend and eventually getting a new job (still waitressing but this time, for less money! good decisions! ugh) So after I got my degree (yes in something I will never do for a living) I finally bit the bullet, broke up with the boyfriend and moved into a studio apartment. Let it be known that living alone rules and being single and 22 rules even more and yes I drank a lot and yes I met a lot of boys. Unfortunately, because my life is one big fucking tragic 5 act play, act 3 hit and I broke my wrist right about when I quit a sales job I hated more than life itself. Nothing like spending the holidays alone, in a cast up to your shoulder, with no job. Man, what a successful fucking year.

2008: Finally the cast was off, I got some roommates, moved to a new part of town and decided the fun-loving single gal was BACK IN ACTION! I got a new job where I actually recieved health insurance (bit too late there, eh?) and when my birthday rolled around, I had the biggest fucking backyard BBQ party complete with beers in a kiddie pool (what can I say, I ooze class.) Then I stupidly spent my entire summer with a boy who didn't even own a bicycle and who ended up dumping me VIA EMAIL. Let me repeat that. HE SENT ME AN EMAIL TO BREAK UP WITH ME. Ok, I think you get the full effect now. After that, I slowly fell back into drinking too much and procuring curious bedfellows until one awful night when I apparently shouldn't have ridden my bike and ended up waking up in the most horrible hospital ever (just read my blog posts from last december to understand how awful this shithole was) and spent the holidays not only injured from head to toe, but also at my parents house with nary a stitch of my own wardrobe. I knew this was rock bottom and shit had to change and slowly, it did.

2009: I feel kinda silly rehashing shit that can be easily read in my blog but since people are lazy freaks and do more drugs than a lab rat, I might as well repeat myself. So, I started the year with a new boyfriend and MAN, were we inseparable. If I wasn't spending the weekend at his place, he was sleeping over at my place. By April we were in love, I had cut my drinking back from a liter of gin to a few bottles of beer a week, I still had my job, and I moved to a new apartment with a HUGE CLOSET. Man, could things be any better? No, they could only get worse. By July, I couldn't take my selfish, dumbass roommates anymore and I peaced the fuck out like that bitch was on fire. I moved in with the boyfriend, had a mental breakdown trying to find a sublet, started therapy (god I am a nutbag), and realized that all my friends had moved away within the first 6 months of the year.

But NO! I will not let this year end as the past few years have. While, yes I still have the sickness and I've been taking tylenol with codeine just to sleep at night (what can I say, injuries = great drugs), I have no broken bones, the subletter is still paying me rent on time, I still have a job (even though no raises will be given out, OH FUCKING WELL) and I am still dating the same dude and we are still totally fucking in love and so cute it'll make you vomit.

So there.
That's my decade.
Sorry it's so long you ADHD-ed idiots but there are some Dr. Seuss books over there on the table if you need something a little more your style.

It's always fun to take a trip down memory lane, even if it's full of potholes and it's missing stop signs and there's that hooker on the corner trying to make a buck.

All I know is that even though it appears as though my life sucks (and ya know what? sometimes it really fucking did and I don't care that "people have it worse" than me because I'm not them and I don't care), I do have a lot of good memories and thanks to therapy (HAHA) I'm finally able to get over some of my hangups (let me emphasize the SOME right there) and I can see how lucky I have been in some instances.

Honestly, I am sooo glad to be done with this decade. The most awkward years of my life are finally over. I am somewhat stable now, got a great guy, and I have enough money saved up to finally take some risks.

So goodbye 2009, and goodbye to that whole 00's (whatever the hell) decade. I hope whoever actually is reading this (haha that's a good one) has a great new years and doesn't end up getting kicked out of a cab in the ghetto.

As for myself? I'm excited for a new year (and not only because I finally get to see my friend Kay) but also because I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen.
And while that normally scares the bejesus out of me, this time, I may just be ready.
Maybe.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 14:58:00 +0000

Well I'm not Jewish (even though I'm cheap - much love to my jewish friends though, you are the best) so that means it's almost CHRISTMAS TIME!

Unlike the other office workers in the world, I have to work this week (well obviously I have Friday off but STILL) so getting into the holiday spirit isn't really happening. Also, I seemed to have come DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS (heh) and I currently am a mouth-breather, meaning all I really want for X-mas is some fucking carmex.

But I digress.

This year is the first year where I am dating someone seriously enough (and his family is close enough) that we are having to do the dreaded DOUBLE CHRISTMAS!
See, what you don't understand, is that even though I have dated and lived with someone during christmas in the past, at the time we went our separate ways. His mother lived in the boonies and mine was a mere hour train ride away. I went home and pretended I was 8 years old again (waking up at 5am to play "Guess Who" with sister), while he went to his mom's house to be more depressed than he already was. Eh, different strokes.

For the past 23 years, I have spent the night at my folks and woken up to open presents and have my mom make me pancakes and bacon while I sit in front of the television on the big leather recliner and shove my face with flamin hot cheetos (because they were and WILL BE in my stocking.)

But this year, the boyfriend's parents ALSO live an hour away. Just a different direction. This makes things difficult.

I said "well hey let's just split up x-mas eve and meet later x-mas day?"
No, he wants to wake up and see my beautiful crusty face x-mas morning (aww what a mushy bastard.)

So I said "well why don't we just buy a tree and we can spend the night in the condo and exchange presents like we are our own little family with the cat?" (yes, this is verging on puke-worthy cuteness)
No, he wants to see his family on x-mas morning.

Well shit, now what?
My mom HAS to see me on x-mas morning too. When I told her I might not be there she gave me the same puppy dog face she gave me when I told her I didn't want to have kids.
DILEMMA!

So, after much fucking back and forth with his mom, my mom, each other, and a patridge in a pear tree (fucking lame joke, I'm sorry), we FINALLY came to a conclusion.
I present to you, my Christmas Travel Nightmare.

3pm - Christmas Eve: Drive out to some suburb to attend my cousins (dad's side) party. This side of the family hasn't met the boyfriend yet but considering I'm only blood related to one person there, I really don't give a flying cupcake. I'm more excited to see how the boyfriend reacts to my cousin's wife's crazy family that involves baby daddies and kids with two first names (yeah I don't even know how to explain this one beyond that.)
Post 7pm - Christmas Eve: Get back in the car and head to boyfriend's parents house. Here is where I have hopefully already had a few drinks at the maury show house (who is the daddy?! I don't know) or at least we have a few before we tuck in because there is nothing like spending the night at your boyfriend's parents house, especially when they are letting you share a bed. NO HIJINKS, I SWEAR.
Christmas Morning!: Here is where I'm nervous. What on earth do I wear in front of the in-laws?! (yes I know we are not married but it's a lot easier so just run with it, ok?) Usually in the morning I am sans bra, in a baggy t-shirt and MAYBE flannel pants. Sometimes I'm not wearing underwear under said flannel pants (what can I say, I like to swing free). I also probably have drool on my face. I have never been a girl to get up before a dude and "put on my face." But I might just make a rare exception seeing as how I am the whore that is living with their son (ok they are actually really cool folks-way cooler than mine-and this probably is not an issue but dammit it's a helluva lot funnier.) Then we eat lunch, I try not to look like Jabba the Hut, and it's over.
Early Afternoon - Christmas Day: Here's where it gets fun. We pack up the car once again, and drive out to nowheresville Illinois for my mom's side's party at my aunt's house. This side of the family (which is rolling about 25 people deep) has already met the boyfriend many times and so he's used to the same old dog and pony show of my dad making an ass of himself followed by my uncle looking on disapprovingly of the alcohol in my hand and ending with one of the two "out of wedlock" kids probably breaking their arm or getting in a fight with the dog (they are the same height, after all.) Hopefully, after this "Italian Themed Party" (I wish I could make this up), you think we are done, right? NOPE!
Post 8pm - Christmas Day: We pack up the car one more time, and head back to my parents house (did I mention all of these destinations are about an hour away from each other?) Now once I get to this point, I have no fucking idea what the plan is. Let it be known that I am a planner. If I don't have everything nailed down, I get antsy. There is a time and place for spontaneity but Christmas? No, no, no, this won't do. It basically could go one of two ways = we get home early enough to exchange gifts, have a good laugh, and still make it back to Chicago to hit the sheets. Or we get home too late, spend the night, and wake up to experience CHRISTMAS PART 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO. While I love me some free home made breakfast as much as the next person, I'm just not sure I can handle two actual christmas's (parties don't count, because I get to drink booze.)

Hopefully, then we simply drive home because I got a date with karaoke on saturday night and I am NOT missing it.

So yeah, while it's not that bad (I'm not flying DEAR GOD) I'm a tad nervous about timing everything and being bra-less in front of the in-laws. But honestly, as long as I'm not at work, I don't care where I am. And free food doesn't hurt (well actually it will hurt when I realize I've gained 10 pounds and I want to cry.)

But the holidays are a time for family and I definitely will be seeing a lot of them. So I think I'll just enjoy some boozy egg nog and roll with the punches because hey, at least I'm not in this damn cube. Even if it's only for a day.

Where You'll Find Me

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 20:19:00 +0000

This is not a secret to anyone who knows me but but I. FUCKING. LOVE. KARAOKE!

If I could, I would go every weekend, but as it stands, sometimes the boyfriend gives me that look (you know, that "you are crazy and I'm sick and tired of your shenanigans" look) and so normally I only get to go twice a month. I know, poor me, first world problems.

I'm so into karaoke, I have a place. Like, it's my bar that I go to for karaoke. It used to be a bar I could walk to from my old apartment. Dangerous I know. I was going there damn near weekly (I even went there for my BIRTHDAY this past year - that's dedication.) The owner knew me by name and the karaoke dude told me many times that he would order me any song I wanted.

Yeah, I am that asshole at karaoke who can actually sing and shows it off hardcore.

Unfortunately, my old place got low on funds (literally, they had "HELP US PAY OUR TAXES" parties with $1 beer (hmm maybe the low prices are driving you into debt, no?)) and they ended up CUTTING KARAOKE! While normally, I would have taken this very hard (like maybe crying), I had recently come across a new place, no less than a 5 minute walk from the old place, that had karaoke not only Friday nights, but also SATURDAY NIGHTS! UNTIL 5AM!

oh happy day!

I knew about this place for a while but now I am a full blown regular.
The owner (a feisty polish/czech/eastern european? woman) recognizes me and lets me know when she hasn't seen me in a while.
The karaoke guy (I really need to find out his name) is RIDONKULOUS. He's probably in his late 40's and is so fucking cool as a cucumber it's hilarious. This place will be so packed that he lets you know you can only sing one song and he'll STILL find the time to sing Michael Jackson's "Human Nature." Without fail. And dude can hit those notes!
Also, dude has a fucking ARSENAL of props. Song got a guitar solo? He busts out a blow up guitar. Tons of synth? He got a fake keyboard. Saxamaphone? Bitch you know you has a giant green one.
One time my boyfriend sang a song about waiting at the bus stop in the rain (forgive him, he LOVES oldies) and karaoke dude gave me a fucking umbrella and made me hold it (yeah, karaoke dude knows me too, duh.)

Did I mention the smoke machine? Oh I didn't? Perhaps it's because I was already telling you about the LASER LIGHTS! This bar has more fucking dance party shit than a guido club.

But really, the point of this was not to tell you all about the greatest karaoke bar known to man (seriously, I don't take this shit lightly). My point was to tell you about the all star cast of regulars that also frequent this fine establishment.

Obviously, a bar packed to the gills every weekend has fans and they are usually the same folks. But because this bar is located in a weird fucking part of town, the crowd is equally as intersting. And honestly, I love it. If I want a bar full of hipsters, I'll go to Rainbo Club. If I want to be surrounded by Big Ten douches, I'll head over to Lincoln Park.

But this park has every color skin, every size wallet, and every brand of crazy that exists.
Below are a few choice characters (and or posses) that I see on every single trip.

1) The Old Dude Who Brings His Own CDs: This guy is like the fucking Frank Sinatra of karaoke. He has got to be in his 60's (shit, 70s?)and he brings a tiny, metal suitcase looking thing that holds his VERY OWN PERSONAL KARAOKE CDS. He and his white hair always look sharp and he usually has a GAGGLE of old-ass ladies LITERALLY crawling all over him. Seriously, last time, one was sitting on his lap (it wasn't pretty folks.) Even with his CD case, he always sings the same song and the ladies never sing. How's that for an entourage?

2)The Frizzy Haired Lady Who Can't Sing For Shit: Ok, now I know that most people think the whole point of karaoke is to sound like shit. But at this bar, I swear, people come here TO SING. 95% of the clientele is actually somewhat talented. But this lady. Oh my god. Not only does she simply scream every word at a high volume, she picks songs that even GOOD SINGERS can't do well. Like "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston (I wish I were joking.) The kicker is, she somehow is a regular and people in her posse will take her up to SING DUETS. Perhaps though she throws a mean right hook and everybody is WAY too afraid to state the obvious.

3)The Black Dudes Who Sing Better Than Us All: These guys always roll about 3-5 dudes deep and they rarely show up earlier than 2 A.M. They look around all smooth when they walk in because they just KNOW they are going to grab that mic and blow your mind away. They don't stick to any genre of music. They were making panties melt with some old school Boys II Men and next thing you know, there is a fucking dance party started because they are singing some Depeche Mode. WTF. They are my karaoke IDOLS!

4) The Thug Looking Dude Who Only Sings Mid 90's Alt-Band Songs: This wigger (is that word offensive now? srsly) strolled up to the mic and I was expecting a tirade of cussing but suddenly I hear the beginning chords to Third Eye Blind's "Jumper." Whoa. He sits back down and I think "ok maybe that was irony." But he is called back up only for me to hear "Mouth" by Bush. And dammit, dude is actually really good! What's that phrase about judging a book because I totally got called out on this one!

5) The Door Guy Who Wishes He Was Neil Diamond: I don't know his name but dude is tall, wide, and so very obviously, the door guy. He drinks miller lites all night and IDs the crowd. But when it's his turn to sing, dude is obviously envisioning a sea of ladies throwing their panties at him. First it's "Light My Fire" by The Doors, then it's any god damned song from Tom Jones. Dude wishes he were a rock star in the late 60's so bad, it hurts (but in a good way.)

And now you see why I fucking love this place with all my little karaoke-belting heart.
So honestly, if you know what's good for you, you will get me any kind of karaoke game for Christmas.
I own a Wii and a PS2.

I'm just 'sayin!

Bright and Shiny!

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:47:00 +0000

Ok, I am the world's biggest pessimist. Well, I consider myself a realist, my boyfriend calls me a pessimist, but ya know, potato, tomato and all that.

If I can, I will bitch about anything and everything. I immediately find the downside to any situation and I basically expect the worst from everyone. I've discussed this before and I've done it so often I can't even find a decent entry to link to because I might as well just link to this entire blog spanning over almost 3 years worth of BITCHING!

But obviously this sort of negativity is not exactly healthy. I have more white hairs than most 35 year olds and they aren't just on my head (if ya know what I'm saying(and I think ya do)).
I have been stressed to the point of crying at my desk (but c'mon who doesn't do this once or 3 times a week?).
I luckily have not resorted to violence or self-injury (I figure I have enough scars from stretch marks THANK YOU).
But soon came the day where I finally listened to years of friends and WENT TO A FUCKING THERAPIST.

I didn't tell anybody for a while. Because then it was true. Their suspicions were confirmed. I AM A FUCKING LOONEY TUNE.
I would just say "oh I have plans that night" or "I'm going to see the doctor." As if anybody besides a cancer patient or a prostitute needs to seek medical attention weekly.
Slowly, perhaps because it was working or perhaps because I stopped caring, I started telling people the truth. The initial look on their face read as "WOW I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE THAT CLOSE TO THE NUT HOUSE" and then they faked happiness and congratulated me. Yes, good job me, I can pay $200 a month (WITH INSURANCE, OMG) to talk to someone in a room with no windows for 45 minutes.

Now 6 months later, I get to go bi-weekly (saving myself $100 a month BOOYAH) because apparently I'm doing well and "seem more relaxed."
Now, I have no idea how therapy works, never have and probably never will. All I did was literally sit there, talk to her, bitch to her, go off on random ass fucking tangents, and she would repeat back to me ad nauseum how I just needed to live in the now and not worry about the future and I even started reading a book she recommended (obviously, I didn't come close to finishing it, thank god it was about $3 on amazon.)

So I'm thinking that it was some kind of weird hippie hypnosis. She had this pillow on her couch that was covered with little silk-like tags that I would fuck with the ENTIRE TIME I was there. Obviously this was part of the hippie hypnosis, luring me into a state of child-like ignorance as she worked her voodoo.

Or, ya know, maybe therapy actually works.

All I know is that last night I got a flat tire and had to walk over a mile home carrying this damn uncomfortable 20 pound pannier because the street I was on had no bus (I know WTF, this is Chicago). And so I get home and fix it only to leave this morning and get ANOTHER FUCKING FLAT and have to leave my bike at the ghetto ass train station locked up (where I'm sure a few pieces will be missing when I return) while my dorky ass rides the train in full spandexed-out cycling gear.

Obviously this PISSED ME THE FUCK OFF! I left a message on my boyfriends phone and text messaged about 5 people. At 7:22 A.M.
But somehow, once I got to work, I calmed down. I realized I just have to deal with The Situation (no, not that Jersey Shore asshole-don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about) and when it comes time to arrive at the train station and fix the flat, I'll just fucking do it because what's the point in sitting at my desk fuming at work when I can't leave?

Whoa. What is happening to me.

All I know is, somehow, the day turned out alright (I'm sure the company buying me lunch and giving me a $50 x-mas bonus don't hurt) and even though I get to look forward to a train ride in spandex followed by fixing a flat in an underground dirty, dank-ass subway station, I'm not too peeved about it.

Ok, that's a lie, I'm pissed, but I guess I have no choice.

First Comes Love

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 20:08:00 +0000

Before I completely renovated my Facebook and deleted about 200 people and set the privacy levels to the fucking max, I was a SUPER STALKER.

I had people I barely talked to in high school as "friends" and it wasn't to reminisce about the time they didn't help me in that group work.
I just looked at all their pictures and by way of tagging, (best feature in the world) I got to see all their friends albums too. I just stalked the shit out of them hoping they 1) got ugly, 2) got fat, 3) were dating someone ugly and/or fat.

But besides tanning beds and keggar parties with red cups, there was one other running theme for all of these old high school frenemies.

MARRIAGE AND BABIES.

I swear, if they didn't already pop one out, these 24 years old were hitched, getting hitched, or about to pop one out (or maybe getting hitched because they were about to pop one out, who knows.)

Maybe I missed the memo but apparently so did my ACTUAL high school friends.
Out of my odd group of friends, only one even had a serious boyfriend after high school. And they got married a little over 3 years ago. We all knew they were getting married since we were in high school so it wasn't a shock at all. It was just kinda like "yup, that's them, they are getting married, big whoop."
They don't have kids, they don't own a home, so really, they are pretty much the same as me so I guess that's why I don't really feel weird about it.

But as I was writing christmas cards and mailing gifts this year I realized that compared to 3 years ago, suddenly WAY more of my friends are in serious relationships. And one is actually, dare I say it, ENGAGED!

GASP!

Perhaps it's not just the class of 2003 from suburban Chicago that is getting married and popping out kids.
Maybe my group of friends is next.
SCARY!

But really, while kids are fucking scary, marriage actually seems like a step in the right direction.

I mean think about the BENEFITS! Really, I'd take a huge tax cut any day. And knowing that if you suddenly lose your job, you got somebody there who LEGALLY has to help you out (sickness and health and all that, right?!). I mean, your parents don't even have to help your ass once you hit 16 anyway, so why not get that help from someone else? I mean, unless they are poorer than you, then perhaps marriage is not the wisest choice unless joint-debt sounds like a grand plan.

But maybe I'm taking this all too lightly. I guess I'm not taking into account that 60% of all marriages end in divorce (or some crazy number). But since I don't really have any divorced friends (or even close family members, I know, I'm "blessed") I guess the thought hasn't really crossed my mind.

And even though the fact that some people can't legally get married pisses me off beyond belief, I'm greedy enough to still do it and get my benefits. Sorry Angelina Jolie.

I guess the point is, while I'm glad none of my friends have babies yet, I guess I am finally more accepting of the fact that we are all getting older and getting married.
I mean, jeeez, if I can save a buck, I'll save a buck.

Grown Ass Baby

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 20:10:00 +0000

The saying goes "What doesn't kill ya, makes ya stronger."

I've come to find that what doesn't kill me, makes me EXTREMELY JADED.

Obviously no one's life is void of any hardship or problems (unless you are Oprah Rich - but I'm sure that carries it's own issues - HAHA JUST KIDDING BEING RICH RULES) and we all are supposed to grow somewhat from the shit life throws us. We are supposed to "make lemonade out of lemons" and all that hippy jazz.

But when life throws me a curveball, I don't let a few strikes go by before hitting a home run.
I fucking throw my baseball bat into the crowd and start a fight with the umpire.

FOR EXAMPLE, after the shit fest that was the "subletting situation", I didn't grow to understand that living with people is a give and take and we all must be wary of other people's wants and needs.

No.

I grew more PISSED OFF at my ex-roommates and realized how immature and rude they were and are; and that living with people is a fucking mess 95% of the time (including family and loved ones.)

So when I found out that the City of Chicago (yes, the entire city) was somehow suing my boyfriend's building for some reason (I read that fucking court document about 7 times but I still don't understand what the fuck this crap is about), I didn't start thinking of contacting the neighbors and getting a lawyer and maybe, actually, ya know, showing up in court or doing whatever adults do.

I immediately got HELLA PISSED at the police officer who apparently had to HAND DELIVER the same paperwork we had already recieved twice in the mail.
I got snippy with a man with a gun around his waist because he was in MY hallway and I was trying to get MY bike up the stairs.

All I knew was "the system" was fucking with me for reasons that didn't make any sense (as stated, LITERALLY, didn't make sense in any kind of English I know) and while legally I have nothing to do with it (my name is on neither lease nor mortgage, LUCKY ME, I KNOW), I now have a grudge against the City of Chicago. Yes the ENTIRE city.

So yes, maybe I should grow up and deal with my problems in a semi-healthy way instead of running away and giving men of the law the stink eye, but at least I do make a choice and take a course of action.

Even if that action involves a lot of eye rolling and huffing and puffing about like a big 2-year old.

The Beer That Cost More than My Cat.

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 21:28:00 +0000

I'm competitive. I want to win and to be the best (usually both at once.) Perhaps it's because I'm the oldest child or perhaps it's because I'm a certified looney tune, but if a game is afoot, I am the asshole who has to win.
I've never ended a game of Monopoly early. I am always the top hat (because rich people wear them, hence I'm rich) and I am always the banker (because as I've said before, I don't trust anybody) and I will always put a hotel on Park Place and/or Boardwalk and I will always bankrupt your ass.
It's probably why I haven't played monopoly in years (especially not with my sister.)

What it really comes down to is not my need to suceed, but my INTENSE FEAR OF FAILURE. If I know I can't win, I won't even try. What's the use. It's why I have a degree in a subject I can't stand and I stay at this cubicle job even though it's slowly turning my brain into a puddle of goo that stores nothing more than twitter posts and facebook updates.

It's also why I DON'T gamble. I am already the cheapest person this side of New Jersey, so why on earth would I want to play a game where 1) I don't know if I will win, 2) Odds are I won't win, 3)I stand to lose enormous amounts of money in the process?

Hell, even when my money is not on the line, I get nervous if my bet is not a sure thing. Take Ebay for example. When I was 18 and had a fresh new credit card, I LOVED betting on shit. I have a Duran Duran sticker I paid money for (AND S+H). Why? I don't know, because I knew I would win it.
Now, I'm rarely on Ebay and when I am, you bet your ass I'm choosing "BUY IT NOW." Let's make this transaction more like an actual purchase please and less like I'm bidding on a pig at the state fair.

With all of this in mind, you would think I would know better. You would think I would be able to control myself. But no. I can't.

Rewind to this past Saturday. The boy gets free tickets to a charity type event for a local non-profit that we both support. Considering the $50 fee to get in covered food and 2 drink tickets, I think our FREE entry was worth it.

I knew there was a free raffle and I was so in on that, but beyond that, the list of things to do was limited.
There was an EXTREMELY LOUD Polka band who wore bright ass pink SEQUINED vests (I wish I were kidding). Their lead singer was older than my dad. 'Nuff said.
The food was delicious yet also very filling so much so that after two trips to the buffet line, I was worried about my food baby showing so I had to stop.
And while, yes they were free, we only got 2 drink tickets each. And within 1 hour, those were gone. Luckily, glasses (and by that I mean plastic cups) of wine were only $2 which was good since I had only $10 to my name and the boy had $0.

But the star of the show was a HUGE double sided table of items up for bid in a silent auction that lasted about 3 hours.
Knowing my history, I told myself "ok I'll look at all the items but I know that none of them are really worth it and that's ok."
I figured, I gotta waste some time letting my food digest so let's take a quick trip around the auction table, shall we?

The first side was a bunch of nothing I'd ever want or need. From Blackhawk tickets that were already at the $300 mark to a haircut that was already at $80, I knew that even if I did want this stuff, I, in no way, could afford it.

As I passed the 3rd or 4th wine tour available, I saw it.
The HOLY FUCKING GRAIL.

TWO BOTTLES OF THREE FLOYD'S DARK LORD IMPERIAL STOUT
FROM 2007 AND 2008 NO LESS!

Holy God.
I had to have them.
I NEEDED to have them.
The bidding started at $80 and I laughed. The 2007 bottle alone would be worth that. You couldn't even find this shit on EBAY (we tried, thank's iPhone.)
If you don't know what's so special about this beer, I am sorry for you and I suggest you find a friend who actually drinks good beer to inform you.

But alas, it was barely 7pm and the bidding went until 9:55pm.
I told my boyfriend what I was willing to spend and he thought I was insane (while secretly glad as hell that I was willing to throw down for a beer I would obviously share with him.)
He suggested that I restrain myself from writing down my bid in case someone outbid me.
So my plan was, wait and stalk the table until 9:54 where I then jump in like a fucking eBay sniper and put in my highest bid.
And that's exactly what I did.

At 9:50, the crowd around the table began to swell. The bid was still only at $125, a number I laughed at.
I had the iPhone out (not mine of course, haha I hate Apple) and was obviously watching the clock.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted my biggest competition. A dude who easily topped 6'5". And he looked not happy.
I was sure he had spotted me watching and I was guessing that $125 bid was his.
When the clock hit and the announcer said a minute remained, I jumped in, threw down my bid (not even gonna say it here) and the dude and his friends swooped in. They saw the number and I knew that within that minute they wouldn't have the time to justify going higher (or hell, even process the number, less oxygen when you are that tall, ya know.)

and BAM!
THEM SONS A BITCHES WERE MINE! ALL MINE! MUAHAHAHHA!!!

As I drunkenly tried to find my credit card, I continued to talk myself into my abnormally high priced purchase. I told myself how the money is really going to charity. And how nobody I know even has an unopened 2007 Dark Lord. And also, I got a bonus 4 guest passes to the Pabst Mansion in Milwaukee so, score right?

The bike ride home was extra careful as I knew that if I got hit by a car, I wouldn't be crying because my collarbone was sticking out my chest, but instead because my over $100 bottle of beer was all over the street. And then I'd reach for a straw.

The moral of the story is, I really shouldn't be allowed to gamble.
Ever.
Because even when I know I'm gonna win, I'm the sneakiest, most competitive bitch out there.

True Lies

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 21:10:00 +0000

I can blame my obssession with The X-Files all I want, but when it comes right down to it, I'm just not a trusting person.

When it comes to anything I own, I have to do a damn near lie detector test before I will allow someone else to keep watch over it.
I always expect the worst.

Watching my cat while I'm gone for a weekend? He'll probably choose that day to jump out the window YOU left open and swan dive to his death.
Helping me move? You'll probably drop the box that contains every valuable and fragile thing I own.
Holding my purse while I hit the john? I'm sure you'll get mugged while I'm gone.

Perhaps it's because I know human nature is deceitful or perhap I've known just a ton of assholes in my life (currently company included), but I just do not trust my fellow man.
Sometimes it's because I know they have a history of alcoholism and lying (hello ex-roommate) other times it's for reasons that make absolutely no sense to anyone but myself.

Enter my list entitled "People I Cannot Trust."

1. People who claim to hate beer: You know this person. They are the ones who order the fruitest fucking thing on the menu or when all else fails, a weak-ass screwdriver. These babies probably only tried beer when their daddy let them sip some Keystone Light and suddenly, they hate it for life. You can't trust someone who refuses to even try anything from New Glarus. Blasphemy.

2. People who order Starbucks every single morning: This person consumes more calories in their morning sugar water than I've had all day (and I eat like Michael Phelps at Thanksgiving -> is that reference even funny?) These spoiled brats pay upwards of $4 to have a liquid donut on the way to the office. You can't trust someone who thinks this is a sound financial and nuritional plan.

3. People who love their jobs: I work with one of these future loose cannons. Every day has a cute nickname and their laughter is heard throughout the office. They probably call everyone by a pet name. Aww. But then something really gets them over the edge and you hear that change in their voice. You can't trust someone who is one "Happy Monday!" away from busting out an AK-47 and leveling the joint.

4. People obsessed with celebrity tabloids: I mean, it's nice to have a hobby. I claim to knit (when Bridezilla is not on), others collect stamps or something equally as outdated. But you can't trust someone who knows the birth date and weight of Brad Pitt's newest imported kid as they obviously are the best stalkers this side of the CIA.

5. People who go out in public looking like ANYONE on peopleofwalmart.com: I was just gonna point out sandles with socks, hammer pants, tube tops, but dammit, how bout we just declare a visual war on the mess that is the "wal-creature." Except these people go beyond the confines of the store. I mean, I am the first to say that I dress as close to a bum as you can get while still showering regularly, but you can't trust someone who cares so little about their appearance that they feel the need to air out their ass cheeks daily.

phew, I think that's enough for one day. Can't let all my hate juice for the day go out now.
I'll probably get cut off by a car on the way home from work and I'll need my reserves of hate in order to control the stream of profanity that will escape my lips.
I'm telling ya, you just can't trust someone who drives an SUV.

DAMN.
here I go again.

Lesson in Etiquette

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 21:01:00 +0000

So many things bug me about "office life" that it's a wonder I'm still gainfully employed.
I'm a firm believer that humans are not made to spend 9 hours a day (yes I eat lunch at my desk SO WHAT, perhaps I don't like watching Maury in our doorless 8x9 lunch room) sitting in a cube "working" on computers and answering the phone and the like.
It's why this website exists.

Because we are forced into this cell with beige walls and are not allowed to get up until our sanctioned "feeding time" (yes, we have LUNCH HOURS scheduled, like high school) people get comfy. People start to behave in ways more associated with their home life (which probably resembles HOARDERS) rather than work life, which, let's face it, is not some place I would ever come to "hang out" in my "spare time."

I've gone down this road before, but there is something that needs to be addressed.

Sorry to go back to the shitter (for real, sorry) but when it comes to office bathrooms involving stalls, arriving in an empty room is a god damned miracle (especially when these restrooms are shared by half the floor.)
So I walked into the empty restroom and chose the stall at the end. Only one wall shared with another stall = best chances of avoiding hearing or (worse) seeing somebody else's bodily functions.

Just as I drop trou, I hear the door open. Damn. Whatever, I think, I don't have a phobia of people hearing my pee.
So suddenly I see the feet under the door and this person chooses the stall DIRECTLY NEXT TO MINE.
The restroom is completely empty except me. And they chose to sit directly next to me, save a 1 inch thick piece of cheap metal.

What COUNTRY did you come from where they didn't teach you the ONE STALL BUFFER ZONE LAW?!
Honestly.
The kicker was when I heard her (I hope it was a her, god knows) pull one of those paper "safety" seats from the dispenser on the wall behind the toilet.
Then I kinda got it.

Apparently, if they feel like they are magically safe from "toilet cooties" by sitting on a millimeter thick piece of paper, then surely, a one inch thick piece of metal is MORE than enough buffer for two people sitting on their respective pots.

But STILL.
Not cool, dude.

Little Miss Sunshine

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 22:13:00 +0000

I can blame my dad or society (probably society) but I have a pretty short fuse and even less patience.

For example, yesterday I'm on my bike, riding in some light drizzle, with my headlights and tail lights on going through one of the worst intersections in the city. I'm just trying to go straight on a green light when Mr. IT-JUST-CAN'T-WAIT in the oncoming lane decides since I'm not a car, he can turn left in front of me and I'll magically fly over him.
The kicker is, once he saw me, he stopped. Halfway turned taking up the whole intersection.
So I yell out my obligatory "WHAT THE FUCK?!" and he tries to wave me on. Like oh, hey, yeah I can just ride THROUGH YOU. So I finagle my way around his car, while he is stopped dead in the middle of a 6 way intersection and I'm calling him an idiot as I pass his driver side window.
I mean, if you are gonna be an asshole, please go all out and COMMIT to your assholery.
Don't stop halfway through and try to be the nice guy by waving ME on. Your wave does not recitify the situation at hand, that being, you tried to cut me off and changed your mind halfway through when you realized that like most traffic, I don't stop at my green light.

This kinda crap happens to me on a daily basis and I'm somehow surprised that I have white hair.

I mean, obviously no one's perfect and shit happens and I'm sure I've pulled some dumb moves that have pissed other off. I mean, he probably didn't see me because a bus was in front of me and blah blah blah
But dammit some things CAN be premeditated and you can make the decision on "should I be an asshole today? check yes or no. please use a #2 pencil."

FOR EXAMPLE (I'm full of these)
Yesterday afternoon (and I say this in jest since at 4:30pm it was dark outside already), the boy and I decide to have a nice Sunday date and check out the new flick, Fantastic Mr. Fox.. Looks cute, Wes Anderson, non-CGI animation - hipsters wet dream.
Of course we roll in 10 minutes to showtime so we scramble to find two seats with a decent view. I left a one seat gap between me and the person next to us LIKE YA DO.
We settle in and literally ONE MINUTE before the previews started (and I fucking LOVE my previews, do not get in the WAY between me and my previews) this entitled dude asks of us we could move over so he can have the last 4 seats in the row. Sighing and rolling my eyes we scoot over, readjust all the jackets, and the previews start.
Now yes, I may be the asshole here, I mean, why can't I sit next to my fellow man who probably has the pig and bird flu?
But dude, this ISN'T a sold out movie and you showed up late. So go sit in the front rows with the rest of the late comers.
But oh, it gets better!
Dude is with two kids, I'm guessing ages 3 and 6.
Now I know this is animated, but so was Coraline and that wasn't exactly a kid-friendly movie, now was it?
So the 6 year old is sitting in the chair, actually being quiet, waiting for mom to return with 6 gallons of popcorn and sugar water.
But Little Miss 3-year-old, oh she's too good for the seat that I SACRIFICED for her.
She sits on her dad's lap.
Asking EVERY 2 FUCKING MINUTES if the movie is starting yet.

NO IT'S NOT.
THANKS FOR RUINING MY PREVIEWS.

Thankfully, my boyfriend was the one who actually had to sit next to Ms. I'm-too-young-to-even-begin-to-comprehend-this-movie.
Apparently, this little girl was not only talking, but also kicking my boyfriend.

Back up the soul train.
This little girl was KICKING?!
And my boyfriend, the SAINT he is, didn't say a damned word the whole time.
Wow.

But I think the fact remains that bringing a child to the theater who does not understand the idea of QUIET TIME at the theater, that child will 100% NOT understand the film playing in front of them.

If you can't afford a babysitter, you can't afford a night out.
But since our nation LOVES debt, I'm not surprised this LOGICAL IDEA has evaded so many.

So yeah, I have MAJOR anger and patience issues.
Or maybe my boyfriend is entirely too nice.
I'm gonna go with both on this one.

Thankful

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 14:05:00 +0000

One of the biggest problems I face is not living in the moment.

I have been told to actually look at the clock, say the date and time aloud and to not think in any sort of future terms, I will, I have to, I was going to, etc.

Yes, it feels as silly to do that as it sounds.

There are times when I am in the moment.
For example, on the way into work today, I thought the sky looked really pretty as dawn was just approaching and the sun was bouncing off the buildings beautifully.
Yet my problem is, once I'm in the moment, I'm very much aware that am I, and my thoughts immediately turn to "crap, this moment is about to end and I'm going to have to go in that building and sit at that desk for 9 hours." I'm painfully aware that fun and good times have an expiration date. Yet work, errands, the monotony of boring shit that is life - this stuff seems to last forever with no end in sight.

The majority of my waking hours have been work or errands since I was a child (yes, school is work), making it quiet hard to focus and appreciate the good times as they seem few and far between on any regular week day. Three hours of dinner and a movie once a week easily gets swept under the rug when 45 hours of work loom on the horizon.

Sometimes though, the cosmos, the world, the "great force", whatever you may take it as, forces you to look at the small things, the short times, the everyday parts of your life. It throws in your face the fact that YOU ARE MORTAL. Time is not guaranteed. And you better appreciate what you have.

And I'm trying.
Yesterday, news came to me from various outlets.
A women, nearly my age, was killed in a freak accident while she was simply riding her bike.
Reports are sketchy, but somehow a truck ran over her, taking away her life almost instantly.

This is the kind of random thing that could happen to me or a loved one. I ride my bicycle every day, as do many of my friends as well as my boyfriend.
We wear helmets, but some things can just happen, some accidents can not be protected by a piece of plastic and foam.

As usual, I urge all cyclists to take every precaution they can. Follow traffic signals, wear helmets, use headlights and rearlights, signal turns with your arms, and take caution. I also urge all drivers to do the same, follow signals, watch your speed, be wary of distractions such as phones and food, be aware of your surroundings.

Life is short. I'm extremely lucky. I've been in some serious accidents and not only am I alive, I can walk and continue my life as normal. I'm lucky enough to still have all my friends on their bikes, wearing their helmets, alive and well.

I never met the woman who was killed yesterday, but where ever she is now, I hope she realizes that she did not die in vain.
Even if it's just for a day, or a few hours, I'm trying to better appreciate my life and live in these moments.
While I may not be telling myself aloud what the date and time is, i'm still trying.

I've Got Sunshine

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:01:00 +0000

My brain moves incredibly fast. A conversation with me is like an all-star tennis match that might turn into a soccer game right in the middle.
My mind doesn't have a straight path, it's more of a winding road with several side streets.

I think too much.
When I have the time, when I'm not busy doing something else, my brain goes 120mph.
The thoughts always turn negative.
Why am I not doing this? Why did I eat so much? Why don't I work out more? Why don't I have a solid career? Why am I not outside?
Why do I not appreciate anything?

But I'm realizing that ya know what?
I'm really lucky.

And sometimes, I just need to write down, say outloud, do something to remind myself of how lucky I am.
Remind myself of the fun I've had.
Remind myself of the love given to me.

Quick recap of my weekend. Simple days full of fun and love.

Friday - dinner with the boy, drinks with his friend, karaoke with too much booze.
Saturday - brunch and a movie with the boy, a headache stopped me from going out but the boy was most understanding.
Sunday - farmers market and homemade lunch with the boy, followed by fun at the corn maze with 4 other couples, finished with beer and snacks at Rocking Horse.
Monday - day off with shopping, knitting, working out, ending with a 6 course beer dinner with the boy that was probably one of the best meals I've ever eaten.

Yet I sat and felt bad.
Felt bad that I ate an entire oven pizza on Saturday.
Upset that I sat inside and knit instead of riding around when the weather was hitting 60 on Monday.

Why do I do this to myself? Only think of the negative?
I must remind myself to find something good in every day.
Even those days where I just work, come home, work out, eat and sleep. There will always be something good.
Perhaps I got a funny email.
Or my boyfriend made me dinner.
Or the trees looked pretty on the way home.

I must find and remember this good things. Because I've had enough regrets, and it's about time I remember the past as a good thing.

A Return to Insanity

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 15:27:00 +0000

I have always hated the phrase "these are the best years of our lives." High school was not a barrel of fun and college turned into a 2nd job.
I told myself that the best years were yet to come. When homework was not required and one could legally drink.

I'm 24 now and rethinking my opinions.

Let's back up, since it's been a while.

My last entry seemed to be a phrophetic post.
Because soon after I decided to move out from the boys and find a subletter.
Yes, the second highest stressor behind a death in the family. (look it up, moving is 2nd behind death.)

Wasn't sure where I would live, until the boyfriend offered his room. He still has a roommate so things have been tight and slow going in terms of organization.

The subletter search took a month longer than expected, and a month's worth of rent out of my pocket.

It was also around this time when a bunch of my friends decided to move.
4 different people, moving to 4 different states.
This after 2 had moved in the previous year.

The time devoted to basically being a realtor took away time for me to go out.

My job began to show it's ugly, mindless, boring, waste of life head.

I eventually found a therapist. And my insurance decided to cover only half. Great, thanks.

It's been a good 3 months since then.
Life is pretty much the same.

Imagine trying to make friends at 24. There's no classroom to pass notes in. There's no dorm hallway to share war stories. It's worse than finding a date. Do I have to resort to bars and the internet?

I honestly have no idea how therapy is supposed to work. Ok I get it, I talk a bunch, she listens. Then what? So far I'm just paying someone $50 a week to listen to me. Makes me feel a tad more pathetic, if that was possible.

I guess the hardest thing, is having a job in a recession. I get paid, I can afford to eat well. But do I like this job? No. Can I find another one right now? No.

I have no passion to go back to school, I hate what my current degree is in, and I have no idea what I would ever want to do for work that I wouldn't end up hating within 2 years.

So back to my point, the best days of our lives.
Now instead of school, I waste 9 hours a day at a job I don't see myself at in 2 years.
Instead of having a small group of friends, I'm down to a few individuals and most of them don't even live in the same state as me, let alone the same city.
The dreams and hopes of the youth? Gone when the real world of errands and ageing hit you.

Stuck in a rut is a poor phrase for where I'm at.
Doomed seems more like it.

The worst part is, I know I'm lucky. I should be grateful for what I have.
Yet still I know my parents would be more proud of me if I had a better job. If I owned something besides bicycles and DVDs.
Still I wish I had friends to go to brunch with or go to the movies with besides just my boyfriend.
Still I demand a more sculpted and healthy body.
Still I yearn for a career that I not only enjoy, but would be prosperous in.

I know what people will tell me.
I've heard it all before.

But if the wall is red, and you continue to tell me it's green, I still will know it's red.

AFK

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Some personal shit just popped up that will probably have me away from the blog for a few days or a few weeks.

So in the meantime:

Be back soon!

The Real World: Chicago

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 18:35:00 +0000

Roommates are weird.
They aren't family, they usually aren't close friends, yet you live with these people.
You share the same bathroom, you dance around in the kitchen when cooking, they have probably seen you in various stages of undress.

But soon, they become family.
Like family, you don't really want to hang out with them too much outside the house, but you trust them with your valuables and you hope they would treat you with respect.

I currently live with two dudes.
Which is a bit like Three's Company but the opposite genders.
Much like the show, and much like the Real World, all kinds of crazy goofy, off the wall, only made for TV kinda shit goes down.

There have been screaming matches at 3am.
There have been cups thrown against the ground.
There have been all night drinkathons while watching The Office.

But like family, secret hatred and fighting always comes around.
Currently, I'm mad at both roommates.

Roommate #1 has been locking my cat in his room and complaining about the SMELL even though I have changed cat litter and cat food and own not one but TWO air fresheners (while cleaning the box every other, if not, every day.)
Now my room is a hot box and my cat is a prisoner. All because my roommate has the snoz of a drug-sniffing dog.

Roommate #2 leaves his beer bottles, boxes and god knows what else his drunk ass can leave all over the house. He also uses my drinking cups and then breaks them. I have 4 plastic cups that survived, but my glasses are down to a measly three. Did I mention he's a drunk.

While I miss the days of living alone, walking around in my underwear, letting the title screen to Scrubs play forever on my TV, and of course, talking to my cat, I guess there are upsides to having roommates.

1) Rent is cheap as SHIT.
2) When you need to bitch, someone is there to pretend to listen.
3) Did I mention cheap rent?

Honestly, I love living alone. But I couldn't get a place this size for this price in this location without them.

So while they make me want to find a subletter (which has to be a task given to those in the 5th ring of hell), I'll stay.
I mean shit, my lease ends March 31st, 2010.
That's not so far, is it?

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 18:50:00 +0000

As noted previously, I'm not huge on censorship. But sometimes I feel like a time and place does exist for some self-censorship.

Normally, I am usually a tad long hair don't care about the media and it's influences (since I don't own a radio and watch TV maybe once every two weeks.)
But as someone who has struggled with self-image for a very long time, I can't help but give some major props to Jezebel for showing how both men and women in the media are continously giving girls around the world a reason to hate their bodies and the choices they make.

First, Jezebel attacks an Askmen.com article entitled "Subtle Ways To Tell Her She's Fat." The title alones exudes asshole-ry.

Then, Jezebel lambasts Gwyneth Paltrow's foray into web-advice, her "GOOP" newsletters where Ms. Paltrow tells girls that after having fun (may it be a weekend of beer and pizza or cake and ice cream), you should definitely detox the hell out of yourself.

As for the Askmen.com article, I'm at a lost for words.
Even as a joke, I'm offended. Because while 5 people will get the joke, 25 people will not. That includes women and men.

And as for Ms. Paltrow, unfortunately, I tend to follow her advice. After a weekend of booze or fast food, I try to balance it out by cutting out my food and working out as much as I can (obviously until the next weekend.)

But then I end up not enjoying myself when I should be enjoying myself.
I mean, I don't plan on letting myself eat elephant ears 5 times a week, but once every 5 months? Why not?

I've been trying to teach myself that it's ok to sometimes "fall off the wagon."
When in reality, we aren't on a wagon. We are just walking alongside and sometimes we are going uphill, and sometimes we are going down, but in the end, we are still just walking.

So thanks media for trying to derail my own mind and put it back in a self-destructive mode.

But thank you Jezebel for helping me out and telling me it's ok to not listen.

This Time, It's Serious

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 00:55:00 +0000

Even though I have used the phrase before, I know that I don't agree with it.
The phrase has variations but it basically comes down to "it's the internet, it's not serious."

It's a huge cop out for anyone that did something or said something mean or rude or what have you and doesn't want to own up to it.
Somebody called you fat? get over it, it's the internet.
Somebody made fun of your livejournal? c'mon, it's the internet.

It's a weird thing to me. And it doesn't happen in any other medium of social interaction.
Nobody said "oh c'mon, that was just a letter I wrote you, it's not serious."
And I've never head anybody say, "Get over it, I only said it on the phone."

The internet IS serious.
It's a serious source of revenue. Whether it be Amazon or Ebay or the millions of dollars spent in advertising.
It's one of, if not THE BEST place, that delivers news (usually, the first to do so, I'm looking at you twitter.)
And finally, people meet, fall in love, and get married on the internet. I mean shit, that's a legal contract between two people that would not have been signed if not for THE INTERNET.

And words can hurt no matter how they reach an audience.
Girls join pro-ana websites and learn how to develop an eating disorder.
Godhatesfags.com is a real fucking website.

Why people continue to attack others for no good reason when in real life they are probably listening to the Jonas Brothers and still wearing Hello Kitty pajamas is a question I will never have an answer for.
Can you say split personality?
I guess as long as people can hide behind a screen and hope no one can access their IP address, they will continue to be jackasses.

So keep on leaving nasty comments on online articles and keep openly mocking someone's flickr.
Just don't say that it's not important.
Don't say that it's not something serious.
When a girl commits suicide because of what someone said on her myspace, we know that the internet is life and death.

Here Comes the Rain Again

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 01:22:00 +0000

I find it very hard to not compare myself to others constantly.
I wonder if anyone compares themselves to me and thinks how lucky I am?
I honestly cannot see this happening.

It's not a good trait.
The minute I see someone thinner than me, I get mad and jealous and think it's unfair.
The same thing happens when I see someone who has a better job with more benefits or has more pictures on facebook of them smiling with friends or whatever the case may be.

This causes me to regret a lot.
Even though I'm secretly proud of myself for working since I was old enough to (sometimes two jobs at once while attending school) and thus being able to say that I'm debt free, it comes at a steep price.
High school was just my day job until my night and weekend job.
College was nothing more than a second full time job to match my first one.

I rarely partied.
I rarely drank until I was 21.
I rarely had time for clubs or extracurricular activities and the ones I did were mainly to look good on some piece of paper.
I didn't make friends.
I didn't go to keggars.
I worked, I read, I ate, I slept.

Now I find myself out of school, without that rewarding job and without that group of friends one finds in college.
I attempted to get into a few different circles but in the end, they leave and move on and I'm alone again.

I try to tell myself that anyone who says that their school years are the best years of their life is full of shit and obviously they will be missing out another 50 or 60 years of good, great or even better times.

But I also believe that youth is wasted on the young and I let my prime years pass by.
Now I'm stuck being responsible and only more duties will pile up as the years pass.

I know I have to make a change, but it's tough when routine runs your life and without a job, you are scrambling. After the work is over, the errands are ran, and the cooking, cleaning and working out is done, the only time left is sleep.
The best I can do is look at old pictures and try to see that I did have a few happy times.

Yet I can't help but feel that they are few and far between.

Not Seen and Not Heard

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 13:46:00 +0000

I was taught by my dad to stand for principles that I believe in.
Yet if I followed his teachings I would be arguing with telemarketers on the phone, but I digress.

My father taught me to be anti-censorship. Why should the government tell me what I can and can't see and hear?
But as I've grown, I've realized that sometimes, things need to be censored for certain people.

When I was 7, I caught an episode of Law and Order dealing with rape that was quite graphic and I couldn't sleep that night.
At 20 years old, I censored MYSELF and refused to watch the video of the American soldier being beheaded by terrorists, knowing that perhaps, I wouldn't catch an z's again.

So perhaps it's for the best that we aren't allowed to see "R" rated movies when we are still watching saturday morning cartoons.
Perhaps it's a good thing that 8 years olds can't buy Penthouse magazine.

But I still don't agree that the government should be the one to do this.
I have a mother and father, I don't need a "big brother" as the case may be (I like being the oldest, thank you.)

The reason I didn't see R rated movies as a kid was because I wasn't allowed to. My parents wouldn't let me go out late with friends past curfew. They had supreme control over the remote and we never had HBO.

This is why I'm afraid to have kids. Once you have them, your life doesn't matter. All your time and all of your efforts are now for this being you created.
You want to go to the bar and get wasted? Sorry, junior needs his diaper changed at 1am.

Which is why I don't understand most parents. They think their child is like a dog. You can just drag them around, throw them a treat every so often, and they will still wag their tail, smiling and drooling.
KIDS ARE NOT PETS!
Take care of them, protect them.

Recently, the boy and I were at a local bar/grill that is known for it's LOUD metal, naked pictures on the wall, as well as delicious food and beer that results in LONG wait times due to the small space and high demand.
This place is Kuma's Corner. Which is a landmark to Chicagoans and out of towners alike.

We were lucky enough to grab bar seats without a wait. Which is good except that all the people waiting for a table are constantly talking over your shoulder to get a beer.
So I run to the bathroom real quick and when I come back a woman is basically standing on my chair talking to the bartender about something and the woman is not happy.
When she finally leaves, I ask my boyfriend what happened.
Apparently this woman was outside waiting for a table and she was there with a SMALL CHILD.
The wait was a bit long (it's usually an hour or more) and the woman wanted a to-go order.
One of Kuma's rules is "no to-go orders when patio is open" and obviously, it's July and the patio is open.
Well the woman is all "well my kid is hungry, do you have anything she/he/it can eat?"
So the bartender then scrounges up some oyster crackers.

There are SO many things wrong with this whole scenario.

1)You are going to a place that is NOTORIOUS for not only good food but for LONG WAITS. What did you expect?
2) This place of business also features LOUD, EXPLICIT MUSIC and nudity.
3) Your kid is gonna get hungry at some point. HAVE YOU HEARD OF CHEERIOS AND TUPPERWARE?!

I'm not gonna go over there and censor or take care of your kid.
But damn, I even remember snacks for my cat and I don't even take him out to places.

So go ahead and let your kid watch Girls Gone Wild.
Perhaps they will be able to sleep at night.

Just Addicted

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 21:14:00 +0000

I remember when we got the internet.
I was in 6th grade.
It was dial up, and it was AOL 2.0 or something.
I just remember AOL 3.0 coming out soon thereafter and my friend and I thought it was THE SHIT.

I remember my first screenname/email address.
RaeMars5.
It was a Sailor Moon reference.
Yes, I was a dork.

I LOVED the internet (shit, I still do.)
I would spend HOURS on it, holding up the phone line, and running up a HUGE bill.
I don't even know what the fuck I was doing. In 1996 there was only about 6 fucking websites and 5 of them were probably porn.

(no that picture isn't me, do you think I'm 45?)

I would waste hours in chatrooms.
I would lie about my age. I would lie about my name.
I was 17/F and my name was Lydia.
None of that was true in 1996. And it's not true now either.
A friend and I would create angelfire pages for EVERYTHING.
We made them for boybands.
We made them for ourselves.
We made them for our cats.
I remember before mp3s even existed and I would download MIDIs.
I had a folder FULL of MIDIs.
To this day I wish I still had them. They would definitely be good for some lulz.
I remember waiting 17 minutes for a 30 second clip to load and the quality of the video was FUCKING AWFUL but it was still better than TV.
I participated in a role playing chatroom piece of lameness where not only did I pretend I was a vampire, but I pretended I was a MALE vampire.

But what takes the cake is the one day I somehow spend 17 hours straight on the internet.
No youtube, no hulu, no illegal mp3s, and no porn (IT WAS A FAMILY COMPUTER.)
But there I sat, in the kitchen, only getting up for meals and the bathroom, doing god knows what on A-O-FUCKING-L.

It is simultaneously my proudest and the lowest moment of my life.
Now if only I could find a few of these laying around.
They make excellent coasters.

Just Cool Enough

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 20:35:00 +0000

I'm not sure if it's because I'm just that cool and ahead of everyone or if popular culture is just slowly becoming more and more nerdy and lame, but I have found that if I have liked something since I was a kid, sooner or later, it will become a pop culture phenomenon.

EXAMPLE ONE:
MEN'S CLOTHES

I am a total daddy's girl. But not in the fact that I beg him for things like Cher from "Clueless." I'm more of a "I want to be like daddy" girl. Dad's fishing? I'm fishing too. Dad's going on the scariest roller coaster? I'm riding too. Daddy wear flannel? I'm wearing it too.
Once middle school hit, I searched his closet and wore his old ruffley pink and blue and yellow prom shirts and old work ties to school (yes I was NOT POPULAR, how did you know?)
A few years go by, I'm still dressing like an idiot and I'm in high school when all of a sudden I turn on MTV and WHY HELLO THERE!

Why if it isn't a teen pop rocker wearing my dad's tie!

Now I'm not only dressing like a fool, I'm also being a COPYCAT!
I soon there after stopping wearing menswear and by senior year, I actually bought girl jeans. Oh, the horror of high school.

EXAMPLE 2:
THE 80s

I don't know if it's because I watched a ton of television and movies as a child but I grew up thinking that life was supposed to be like Family Ties. I thought that my babysitter would take me on a crazy adventure through Chicago. I thought I was supposed to wear a power suit at my office job. I thought that everyone danced 2 feet apart, kicking their feet all over and swinging from side to side. I thought I was supposed to have a side ponytail.

To say I loved everything the 80's is an understatemnt.
One of my first CDs was Wang Chung's greatest hits.
I watched Perfect Strangers at dinner every night and got pissy when it was Night Court instead.
I was an "80's rocker" for Halloween when I was too young to understand why someone thought I was a "prostitute."

So of course, once I could start picking out my own clothes, I grabbed the legwarmers and leggings and the neon everything. I even wore shoulder pads.
I bought everything Duran Duran every recorded and even a poster.
I got an asymmetric haircut.

Then, just about the time I graduated from high school, I noticed that suddenly, popular culture was adopting synthesizers again.
what? ok, yeah I could get used to that.
Then, the runways were getting weirder. Legwarmers were back.
What? um...ok I guess so.
Then, this kinda shit started popping up.

ok not cool.
My beloved 80's was being destroyed.
And to this day I am pissed that Hollywood continues to remake every 80's movie ever (WHY FOOTLOOSE?!) and Kanye attempts to sample another new wave beat. And the fashion! either go all 80's or go home I say.

But nothing gets me more riled up than...

EXAMPLE 3:
VAMPIRES AND WEREWOLVES

As long as I've been able to read, I've loved horror novels. I still love them (RIP RICHARD LAYMON) and I have a few favorite authors who I will read anything they churn out.
But hands down my favorite authors write mainly about vampires and werewolves and a whole range of characters that follow that line.
A few favorites include Jemiah Jefferson, Laurell K. Hamilton, and my all time favorite, Poppy Z. Brite.
All are adult authors with adult writing and themes.
And I love them.
As I grew I saw movies and read more, including real life stories of people who think they are or want to be vampires.
I even got a tattoo of a full moon on my neck because, yes, I'm that into the lore and intrigue.

Now, out of nowhere I am bombarded by girls who claim to LOVE VAMPIRES!
And now werewolves too!
First came the Nightworld movies which I had hoped so much for and had let me down quite a bit.
Then came True Blood which I've never seen due to not having cable, but I know the book series.
Then came the worst of them all.

Twilight.
With it's abstinence preaching and it's vampires who GLITTER IN THE SUN BUT DON'T DIE (NOOOO WTF).
I even saw the movie and I plan to read the book so that I can actually be like "well I tried it and I don't like it."
But dammit.
These creatures were mine and now every fan girl on earth is creaming over some dude who ISN'T EVEN HOT AND WON'T HAVE SEX WITH YOU.

Oh well.
Why fight it?
At least I know that this too shall pass and I'll be the only one at age 45 that is raiding my dad's closet for some vintage 80's tees while watching Interview with the Vampire.

Silent Movie

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 03:11:00 +0000

In this melting pot of a country, with it's "there's no I in team" mentality, there seems to be a stigma against people being alone.

It could be something as simple as going to a concert alone. Everyone seems to be looking at you feeling sorry for you or thinking "what a weirdo."
Or it could be growing old, not marrying, and living with 10 cats. The term "spinster" definitely does not have a positive connotation.

One thing that I have no shame in doing alone is going to the movies.

Obviously as a younger, impressionable teen, I would go with 2, 3, 10 friends and take up a whole row and be too loud.
But I hated that.

There are many pleasures in going to the movies alone, here are a few:

-No being late because your friend/lover is not on time.
-Being able to eat an entire bag of popcorn and soda yourself.
-You get to sit anywhere and easily take up three seats and have the arm rests all to yourself.
-If it's sad, you can cry in peace. If it's funny, you can laugh as loud as you want. If it's scary, you can act like a pussy.
-most importantly: NOBODY TALKING TO YOU!

I've gone to the movies with people who somehow think that once the lights go off, they are at open mic night at the apollo and it's time for them to tell me all about their day.
NO.
I paid $10 (ok $4 at the cheap theater) to see this crappy piece of shit, so SHUT THE HELL UP AND LET ME 'ENJOY' IT!

I've never understood dates at movies. Especially first dates.
Like ok, hi, we've just met, let's sit two inches from each other for 2 hours without looking at each other or talking to each other and let's have it be as awkward as possible.
But hey, to each his own (weirdasses.)

As for me, I'll continue to hit up the theater alone.
Judge me all you want (yes I do have a cat) but at least I don't have to share my jujubees!

Long Hair Don't Care

noreply@blogger.com (RetroTrasher) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 18:30:00 +0000

About a month ago I found out that my hairdresser quit and wasn't ever coming back.
I was surprised.
I was also peeved because all my haircuts with him were free.
Now not only do I have to find a new magician to make me look semi-deec, but I have to spend money to do so.
GRR!

While I already have an idea of where I want to go (let's just say they offer you PBR when you walk in the door), I'm kind of scared.
I've had the same haircut for over 2 years which in my life is basically FOREVER.

I went through the neon colors phase as well as the asymmetric haircut stage.
But for the past 3 years I've just been growing it, getting it trimmed, and maintaining my bangs.

Now I don't know.
While the humidity has me begging for a shorter style, I know that winter is just around the corner.
And while these bangs have served me well, I can't justify blowing money every 2 months to keep them in check.

For now, I'm attempting to grow them out which at the moment looks hilarious.
My boyfriend mentioned he digs the short styles but I'm still not convinced.

Perhaps I'll spend my spare time reading celebrity blogs and try to find someone I wouldn't mind looking like.

I hear that new Joan Jett movie might have some pointers.

well.
maybe not.