Cis4Connie

Moving the Blog!

2009-09-02T12:47:00.000-07:00

Well hello,

It seems as though I've outgrown the free blogspot and need to spread my wings (and change to an even brighter shade of green).

Please change your favorites to the new and improved site:

www.cisforconnie.com

(easier to remember, don't you think???)

I've moved all my old posts to the new site so all YOU have to do is remember this much easier webpage name and send me tons of comments as usual.

Thanks for sticking with me!!

XOXO

under construction

2009-09-01T09:09:00.000-07:00

Hi there!

As you can probably see, I've attempted to modify Cis4Connie, and in doing so I've messed it up completely. I'm in the process of trying to find a better server-thing so that:

a) I can have a site that has my own name, so you don't have to remember "blogspot"
b) cooler templates so it will look even awesomer, if possible
c) easier access all around

If you have any thoughts on how the new improved Cis4Connie should look/be, please let me know! I only took one website class in college and the only thing it had were the red x boxes that showed where a picture should be, so anything would help =D

Eat your heart out, Ashton Kutcher

2009-08-26T14:14:00.001-07:00

Remember when you were in grammar school, sitting in class, listening to your teacher drone on about some useless bit of knowledge you would never use in real life except for possibly a round of pub quiz trivia (scalactite: dripstone found on ceilings of caves, stalagmite: dripstone found on ground of caves). Your mind wanders far into oblivion as you've lost all hope of even the slightest distraction when suddenly, like a trumpet from the heavens, a loud blaring alarm sounds, jolting you awake.

FIRE DRILL!!

Oh how I loved the random fire drills! 20 minutes of blissful chaos when your whole class had to scramble out the door, into the halls and out to the parking lot to your designated spot where the teacher would run around counting heads while you got to see your friends in other classrooms and waved frantically to them as if you've just boarded the same refugee boat out of a war torn country. It could have been 75 degrees and sunny, yet for some reason you were always cold and crossing your arms in a shivering position because it seemed to be the appropriate stance. Fire drills were the best escape from school because they were unplanned and never expected. The best ones were of course when they happened during an exam, but few of us were ever lucky enough to experience this perfect miracle.

Once, when I was very young, around the age where I thought turtles only lived in sewers, a fireman came to our class and told us that sometimes when the school had fire drills the firemen would occasionally take a kid out when the teacher wasn't looking and have them wait with them to test the teacher and see if they realized they were missing a kid. I wanted nothing more than to be that kid. I thought it was THE-COOLEST job ever. Hanging out with a firefighter while trying to stump the teacher? Sign me up! I'd even try to lag around my desk so I could be last in line just in case any firefighters wanted to snatch me up and have me hide out in the office. This was probably the wrong reaction of how I should have responded to a fire alarm, but it was a small price to pay to increase the chances of getting my dream gig.

Sadly, I was never chosen. I never got the opportunity to be a firefighter's helper and scare my teacher silly. Which is why after all these years I still crave the chance to be called to duty and it is probably why at work I am now apart of the FIRE SAFETY TEAM!

That's right, not only am I a world-famous (ha) blogger, but I am also a professional "searcher" on Team Fire Safety at my office. My duties? To put on a neon-orange trucker hat, tell everyone to get their butts down the stairs, and check offices on my way out, putting post-its on the doors once I've checked them. Yes, I've wondered if there's a fire on the floor won't the post-its burn off and the firefighters won't know- but I think I'm getting ahead of myself and will save those questions for when I am Fire Captain (dare I dream?).

Today was my first fire drill as a searcher. They warned us a week in advance it was coming which is why I had my hat and post-its out and ready. I did well, I stared down my cube worker as she moseyed down the aisle, giving her the stern stare while donning my orange cap. If she had taken any longer I would have used the fireman lift and hoisted her over my shoulder, but thankfully it did not come to that.

Everyone was moving along nicely but I think I may have over did it with the post-its. I thought we were supposed to put one on each desk down the aisle so you could tell everyone was out, but looking back that doesn't make sense since you can simply look over the very low cube walls. So while all the other searchers were in the lobby I was wandering around my office putting stupid yellow post-its everywhere. Opps.

God help me if there is ever an actual real disaster, because I'm pretty sure you're going to hear on the evening news : "Girl torched in office fire. Sources say she could have survived hadn't she been looking for her trucker hat and surrounded by post-its which served as kindling for the flames."

But as silly as it was, I am finally living out my dream and sense of duty to help those in need during a time of emergency.

Ok, no, I lied. I totally just did it for the hat:

Luck o' the Irish

2009-08-17T13:52:00.000-07:00

Gather around, all ye lads and lasses, while I tell you the glorious tale o' Cis4Connie and her adventures into the Irish County o' Milwaukee to attend a festival o' the Irish and how she triumphed miraculously in the yearly tradition o' the BINGO.

(I'll quit it with the o's if you keep reading, promise.)

So, every year my family makes the great trek up to Milwaukee for the GREATEST fest known to man, also known as Irish Fest. We've been going since I was born and if you ask my parents they'll tell you the story of how when I was two they dragged me up there and a horrific flood occurred and apparently I floated away on an arc or something. Having attended the Fest 20 something years in a row, you'd THINK we'd make it there, oh, I don't know, say before 4:21 pm? But no, we didn't. That's ok though b/c we wanted to stay til the 10pm concert and I learned my lesson last year that drinking from noon til 10 with a million Irish people around you is quite tiring. Anywho, it was awesome. Why? Because the Irish beat everyone in music, tradition, stories, merchandise, and beer (notice, I didn't say food, I loves me some corned beef but other than that it's just potatoes and stew). Ohhh, the beer. If it wasn't for the fact that sister is in charge of my beer coupons (pronounced 'couppin's', like 'toppin's') I'd be crawling around the grounds in search of my lost golden tickets. We have our trip down pat and it starts out as follows:

1. Enter fairgrounds (preferably before dinnertime?)

2. Buy lots of couppins (and note where the stand is so we can go back and get more)

3. BINGO tent!

Which is where my tale begins. For the past couple of years we've been frequenting this tent because, well because its freakin' BINGO and who doesn't love the game? But every year we waste most of our money to no avail and then have to console ourselves with beer. (well, I do, sister watches idly by dreaming of Fest 2010 when she'll be of age).

But because we are Irish and love the misery, we follow the plan again in hopes that this year will be the year. There were sets of 6 games and we made it just in time to the LAST session. The tent was packed with people and next to us were these ANNOYING girls who every time they got a number shouted "BAM!" (It's a Hannah Montana thing, don't ask me how I know). But that wasn't even the worst of it. Their guardian, who probably wasn't even playing right, kept shouting BOO-YA. Now, let me explain. Out of all the horrific catch phrases that have come from the American culture, "Boo-ya" is by far thee WORST. It sends a thousands shivers down my spine and makes me want to throw the nearest object at hand towards the offender. I want to vomit just thinking about it but I will carry on.

So we kept getting close calls and almost making it when someone would shout out Bingo, leaving us in tears and clutching our bottles. But alas, game 4 approaches. Now the games we were playing were not simple "straight across" or "diagonal" OH NO, game 4 consisted of "crazy arrow" in which you had to make the shape of an arrow pointing to one of the corners of the board. My top board was going strong, but I didn't want to say anything for fear of the inevitable jinx (most sacred in the Bingo world). I tried not to think to much of it until I saw only 2 remained- B6 and I20. Then, all of a sudden, a quiet murmur was heard from among the crowd... and Bingo was called.

My heart sank, I wanted to cry, or at least punch one of the Miley Cyrus wanna bes next to me. Were all my prayers to the Bingo gods for nothing? I began to lose faith. But then! A light opened in the sky and the caller declared NO BINGO. My faith was restored.

We went on, and the rest I can only recall as a distant memory. My final two were called as I clenched onto sister's arm and I lept for joy, tearing the dreams of the annoying kids and their idiot guardian aside, crushing their spirits and insuring even more so that they wouldn't be able to shout "Boo-ya" supported with a clear tone of victory. I was asked my name and a check was promptly assigned to me, and I briefly recall the faint sound of St. Patrick calling from the heavens to declare this as the day that would live on for the ages, a story that grandchildren would tell their grandchildren, of the 2009 Irish Fest when Cis4Connie said the one phrase that could be heard clear through to Chicago...

Bingo.

Nurse Ratchid, paging Nurse Ratchid....

2009-08-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

So last Friday I took the day off (mad props to my boss for letting me take off even though I asked the day before and said "I feel like starting the weekend early") and after a lovely lunch w/ Aurora, I had to take my sister to the doctor's office b/c she hurt her back. Possible explanations of how she hurt her back are falling over one of the one million laundry baskets in our house, tripping over the dog who likes to tap dance under your feet when there's chicken in the house, or bum-rushing some punk kids trying to steal CDs from the place she works. Either way I didn't have much to do (aside from precious, precious sleep) so I gladly drove her. She goes to the Advocate which is where I used to go but recently switched due to the simple fact that its the place where the most vile, putrid, horrendous beasts who walk on their hind legs and take the form of humans in white coats work. Some may refer to them as Doctor P's nurses, but I call them Beast #1 and Beast #2. Think Regina George, plus that guy who killed the Gladiator's family, plus the Shredder, plus 10 other villains, all rolled into one....times two.

Disclaimer: I don't hate all nurses!!! Just the one's at my ex-doctor's office. If you read on I'll explain why, trust me, they're beasts.

We get there and there is no one in the waiting room. By no one I mean patients OR nurses. Fine, ok, whatever. We sign her in and sit down. Beast #1 walks in, looks over at us and says, "Who are you." with a tone that I can only describe as rancid. Now, common sense would tell any medical professional, or person with a head for that matter, that they could simply look at the sign in sheet and make the connection that the only name on it is the person whom you are starring at, but alas this beast had no head- only an attitude. My sister tells her her name and she then looks to the sheet (good job!). She pulls her file, and retorts, "you have to pay your copay TO-DAY." Ok...fine...obviously we weren't going to run. God knows I don't want to see my sister running in a hospital gown down the block with a bad back trying to escape the expensive $15 copay that is due after this luxurious experience. (Although....it would be kind of hilarious if they DID chase after her and she gets tackled with her back spasming down the street....hi sister if you're reading!!)

We wait a long time, which is about 25 minutes although we're there on time and still no one has come in. My sister then is escorted off and I am left to watch Beast #1 perform a mundane task that requires papers, a stapler, and is clearly not difficult because she is able to use her headset to talk to a friend on the phone. Every 10 minutes or so she is rudely interrupted by some obnoxious sick person who is calling in search of help (how DARE they!). The following is a list of responses she said to each.

"Dr. Fox? Noooo, haha you're going to have to wait a long time to see him..."

"No, you can't talk to her, she's busy."

"You want a prescription? No you can't talk to him, you have to call your pharmacy."

"You're deathly ill and desperately need to see a doctor? F-you, I'm stapling here!."

The last one was an exaggeration, but you get my drift. No, no, no. All with the same attitude. It was as if each person she came in contact with was a blood and she was clearly a crypt. No-mercy-period. A sweet old man comes in later (by later I mean 40 minutes now...did sister die? I hope not) and tries to tell her the story of his prescription, but she stops him mid sentence. She then picks up the phone in front of him, calls Beast #2, and says, "you need to come deal with this, no, you need to come now, please, please, please....ok." and then tells him to wait for the grim reaper while she works on her ever so difficult task (if there were a staple jam, I'd dive in front of the old man secret service style to protect him from the bullet storm of office supplies that would ensue).

Beast #2 strolls in, listens to this poor man's story (think tweed cap, old man jacket, and hankee for his cough, I shall call him Charlie for added sympathy) explains that his pharmacy has been trying to contact the office for 3 days and no one has responded to them. His doctor is out on vacation for a few weeks and he needs his prescription (although I don't know what it is, lets pretend its important for dramatic effect, eh?). Beast #2 then looks up his file, pulls it open and
condescendingly explains that there is no record of his pharmacy calling, "Here it is, in black and white, there's no record" (can I just ask at this time how can something that doesn't exist be in black and white? clearly we are dealing with great minds here).

After Charlie pleading and yelling about how he has no medicine, (note, not beer, not strippers, med-i-cine) Beast #2 gets a spark in her head hole and thinks to look at the online site where pharmacies can go and fill out requests. I know this because it is posted in several places around the office promoting that patients use this method as a simpler way to get their meds. She scratches herself, and tells him that his pharmacy did not call, yet placed an order online. Since his doctor is living it up on vacay, lil' ol' her was left to tend to filling his prescriptions and she failed to think to look online...or a nearby wall for that matter. After twisting and twirling Charlie's words around, she is somehow able to make it seem as though he and the pharmacy are to blame, fills his meds, and sends him on his way. Did I mention it was raining? That's not an exaggeration. Poor Charlie =(

Now I know that nurses have some of the toughest jobs out there, but cleeearly these people were just not human. Half of my followers (lol, that's two) work in the ER as greeters and I can almost guarantee that they would never act so mean, especially on such a slow day. In fact I was trying to picture my bff Turk (why Turk? Because she's working her way up to be a medical professional, and she's my bff, and I'd totally fit the role of JD on Scrubs =D) acting mean to old Charlie and I couldn't- she has a soul. Now had Charlie come in yelling and not respecting her desk, by all means, rip Charlie a new one. But honestly this was a tale of a sweet old man and two evil, evil witches.

Also, it took us over an hour to get in and out- and when I asked my sister what happened she said she waited 40 minutes, the doctor came in, poked her back, and decided she pulled a muscle....I don't have enough time to get into doctors but seriously? Poke faster.

After that I was in disbelief and disgust. Thank God I no longer go there. My work just offered a cheaper version of HMO and in order to get it I had to switch doc's because my pristine medical group was not part of it. Today I called my new doc for an appointment, cringing and praying that the nurses there at least 1% nicer than the ones I just described. Not only did my new nurses greet me with pleasantries, they APOLOGIZED for me having to wait on the phone because they had to check to make sure my name was on the approved list of new patients. I feel that this is going to be the start of a beautiful relationship and I hope to God I never have to see Beast #1 and Beast #2 as long as I live.

Screw the beer, lets take some shots!

2009-07-31T10:54:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been trying to learn more about what's going on in the world, not only for my own personal growth, but also so that I can contribute more to my conversations with AC Slater than things like, "I hate that {political figure} his face looks like someone beat it with an ugly stick" (heehee). So between my daily checking of facebook-hotmail-blogs-repeat, I decided to attempt to educate myself on worldly reports. My source? CNN.com. My results? Well, they ranged from a variety of what to expect on the upcoming Jon and Kate episodes (Kate's going camping and Jon's making pizza!), who's taking MJ's kids to Disney Land this week, what doctor is being sued by MJ's estate this week, what type of med's were found in MJ's estate this week, what kind of deodorant was found on MJ's dresser this week, etc. etc.

Really? That's all you got CNN? Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't there real things going on aside from what's going on in reality tv? I couldn't tell if I was looking at CNN or TMZ, the only difference was TMZ talks a little more about Lindsey Lohan- but just a little.

I'm quite disgusted but at least I have some excuse as to why I prefer to read about what celebrity has crossed the line or why I'm saddened to hear which celebrity break-ups happened this week (will Jennifer Anistan ever find love?) I'm simply a product of my environment. It's not my fault the world news is centered around what kind of beer the president drinks as opposed to the new healthcare bill.

Which brings me to my next point. Beer Summit? Seriously? Are you freaking kidding me Obama? This reminds me of back to my days as a youth when the teacher would ask us things like how would you solve a problem with your friends and we would reply with something like "I'd give them a cupcake and we would play in my sprinkler and be friends again." But I'm not going to criticize, because although he said he was "surprised the media went crazy with this," the president played them like a game of Wii and instead of getting buried under criticism for calling the police force STUPID, he instead had the nation playing guessing games as to which type of alcohol he would order during happy hour. Well played sir, well played.

And I don't think it was a half bad idea, I guess it was a nice way to show the world when you do have problems, you can all sit peaceably and talk your problems out rather than taking things to the next level (although I'm pretty sure the people at AA would disagree that alcohol is the solution). But the thing to avoid a lame one-beer meeting would have been to watch your words in the first place. Have you learned nothing from the last president? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on, uhh, well, strategery.

And another thing! I seem to recall a certain someone who on their presidential campaign trail declared their love for small American businesses. Why then, did you not use your choice of beer to promote this instead of choosing a beer THAT IS A MAJOR CORPORATION AND WAS BOUGHT OUT BY A FOREIGN COMPANY?? (yeah, Budweiser was bought out by a Belgium company, I googled it!). Why not Goose Island, a Chicago beer? Or Half Acre, which I believe is brewed somewhere along Lincoln Ave. Sorry for being so tough, but that's what you get when you try to cover up a mistake by throwing a party- here at cis4connie you get what's coming to you.

Don't even get me started on Biden. Non-Alcoholic beer? Way to show our foreign enemies that we have no spine. When North Korea comes knocking at our door with nuclear missiles, we can know it was Biden's pansy-ass choice of a non-alcoholic beverage that tipped them off that our government is now weak. Why not just order an apple-tini? At least you get some bang for your buck.

I'm going to stop here because I'm typing really hard on the keys and my blood is pumping. Maybe this is why CNN only reports on non-reality reality, real news is too much strain on the heart.

This week's blog is brought to you by the letter C

2009-07-29T11:13:00.000-07:00

This week's been rather calm, partly to the fact that I got to work from home yesterday (yay!) but here's something I've been meaning to write for a while to hold you over until something more absurd comes along. Also, one of my "fans" (aka friend who I force to read my blog) was confused about my name. Just to clarify, Cis4Connie means C is for Connie, as in the infamous song from Sesame Street C is for Cookie, sung by the talented Cookie Monster.

Anywho...

So I started Twitter (http://twitter.com/cis4connie) last week because I figured it would be easier to use the "follower" tool instead of typing celebrity names in my google search engine all the time when I'm bored. Added bonus: if IT is in fact looking at my search history which I am always paranoid they do, they will no longer see me typing things in like "Miley Cyrus twitter." My feelings about twitter? It kinda feels like I'm talking to myself. At least with my wonderful blog I can pretend that hundreds of millions of people are reading my thoughts and snorting coffee out their noses (please comment if you do by the way, I'd love to know you exist!) but with twitter- you have an actual count of who's following you, and mine has yet to reach 20 =/

But I was able to follow my favorite author Jen Lancaster, and the next day I checked my account to see that she was following me back! Astonished, I was glad to think that she had the good sense to follow me and dare I say read my blog? But sadly, I looked at her site and realized she follows everyone who follows her- all 10,000+. But that didn't stop me from dismissing my friends and letting them know I've upgraded to much cooler, published colleagues and no longer needed their friendship (humble's my middle name btw).

My wonderful friend, whose blog name will be Aurora (why? because that's the name of Sleeping Beauty and she is the only person who is as lazy and addicted to sleep as I am) has intelligently decided to piggy back off of this fame. She has decided to become my biographer and will some day soon write my life story. Here now is her first set of Q&A, complete with my response.

Cis4Connie, where do you find inspiration for your cleverly assembled rants?

-I find my inspiration in the miniscule things in life that normal people would simply dismiss. I tend to drag them out and exaggerate upon them, so a simple thing like tripping on a CTA subway step could lead into a conspiracy theory as to how the city is plotting my death.

Do you find that you writing improves with the level of frustration of a given topic?
-Absolutely. If I didn't have a genuine, passionate hate for things like the Starbucks cashier, 90s bands, and Jon Gosselin I don't think my blogs would be quite as interesting as I like to think they are.

How did you achieve such a high level of recognition in so short a time and what advice would you give to those new bloggers just starting out?
-Well my secret to success is this: force your friends to follow and read your blog. This can be done as a sneak attack over enchiladas and margaritas at dinner, or through constant nagging via facebook. Personally, I like to bribe my less eager friends by taking a favor they desperately need and refusing to help until I see their little face under the "followers" section.
The more eager they are, the quicker you'll see their face pop up.

And a blueberry scone, please

2009-07-21T14:16:00.001-07:00

In my few years on earth so far I've managed to accomplish several things. I've successfully completed 16 years of schooling, graduated with a degree, and have even managed to land 2 successful big-kid jobs since then. All of my challenges in life are met with endurance and stride, and yet for the life of me I cannot competently order from the Starbucks menu.

I HATE the Starbucks rush hour experience. I hate it more than going to the doctor. At least at the doctor its usually uncrowded, and they tell you what to do. "Sign this, give me this, stand on this, open your mouth, stick out your arm, ok go home." And all this happens in the span of 9 hours (even though its never crowded) so you have time to think out your next move.

Starbucks on the other hand is much, much different. Today was the "buy coffee, get a free pastry" coupon day, which created a morning line out the door. I hate standing in line but even more so at Starbucks because the entire time I have to sit there and rehearse what I'm going to say. The problem is, I don't know the lingo. I only recently learned what "skinny" means and I am years away from getting anything with "half" in it. And to this day I am still plagued as to whether I should say drink or frappucino, or hot frappucino when I'm ordering a fancy sugar drink. So in my broken Starbucks language, today's order of choice was a white chocolate mocha frappucino hot, venti, mmm with whipped cream, but can I have skim milk? But you can't say that or else the crowd of patrons will throw you out with the day old scones. Ordering from Starbucks is a lot like twitter- you have to say it in 140 characters or less, and if you go over you're cut off. Also, yes I know the irony of asking for skim milk when I've read the calorie contents of the whipped cream online, it's kinda like ordering a big mac with extra large fries, and a diet coke. But it was a special coupon day so I figure if I'm breaking the diet might as well do it right.

So I'm standing in line trying to cut down "white chocolate mocha frappucino hot, venti, ummm whipped cream with skim milk" when the line is moving at a rapid pace. I've yet to read those marketing books on how Starbucks is such a successful business model, but I hope they have the secrets on how the hell they move the line so quickly so they can share it with turtle paced establishments, like the DMV or any place I try to go in a hurry so I don't have to pay 9 quarters in parking. There were at least 15-20 people ahead of me and my whole experience lasted about 5 minutes from line standing to order taking to stealing a handful of straws and running past the order taker so she wouldn't see (charge me $5 for coffee? I take all your straws).

Where was I? Oh yeah. So I'm standing in line trying to recite my order, but the line moves so fast that in nearly seconds I am in front of the order taker- better known as the "special needs order taker for the Starbucks challenged" who stands on the same side as you do in order to send your order via her headset. Every time I go there she looks at me with this kind, yet patronizing look that says, "woowww, you made it all the way to work today by yourself? good job! now what do you want in your sippy cup today?" and I always go into shock. I stammered- "uhhh, hotwhitefrappumochadrinkhotwhipventihotthing....hot." And she kindly translates. Phew, she speaks first year Starbucks. But that doesn't free me from having to repeat my order to the cashier, who looks at me with less sympathy and more "why don't you try dunkin donuts, I hear they're the coffee of the (dumb) people." Why do I suffer this ungodly humiliation every once in a while, not only to see the faces of terror but also to break my diet? For one reason and one reason only:

hotwhitefrappumochadrinkhotwhipventihotthing....hot= nectar of the GODS.

What's in a name?

2009-07-17T13:59:00.000-07:00

With all the outpouring objections for the name change of the old Sears Tower, I started to contemplate whether this change should really be met with resistance or acceptance. Now I of all Chicagoans am the last to accept change. I hate whenever channel 9 gets a new name (remember the WB? I almost cried when they did the montage of all its past shows and the frog tipped his hat for the last time) or an area code changes (I used to represent the 312 yo) or even when famous radio hosts are cast aside (Dick Beyondee- telling you kids not to drink and drive). But one thing we must remember is that with change comes new promise. Promise that buildings will not stand vacant, property taxes will (hopefully) be paid, renovations will actually get done, and the overall economic status of the city will flourish. For those of you who don't believe me, and don't care whether or not the city gets its taxes paid (which you should- because that's a lot of pot holes filled up), then consider this: Sears left US, we didn't get rid of them. They chose to leave the greatest city, much like other sentimentally important companies have come and gone before. Did they go bankrupt? Was it not their fault? No. While they may not have been able to keep up with the large rent to go with the largest building, they could have stayed in the city to maintain some solidarity- yet they chose the lackluster suburb of Hoffman Estates. BLEECHHH. So feel no remorse and shed no tears for Sears Roebuck & Co.- they chose to leave just like others have before.

Take the infamous Marshall Fields- known for its glorious Frango chocoalates and their Christmas story windows. Still to this day my dad tells me of how he got to go to the employee Christmas party after hours in the store with my grandmother where he would sip hot chocolate and watch with young eyes as the store tree would tower over him, lighting up not only the branches, but the hearts of its hard working employees (it's ok to grab the kleenex). I still am getting used to the name Macy's and have only just started to shed my cheap, New York, dirty street perceptions of its name, no doubt with the help from its good advertising campaigns. But if you're more hard headed than me and slow to resist acceptance that Field's is gone- know this: Target directly led to its demise. Blasphemy you say? Here's the paper trail:
1800s ish- Field creates stores in Chicago and dominates the city
1930-Field's becomes a public company (read as: the world owns it)
1982-Field's is no longer public and bought by British American Tobacco (yuck-Brits)
2000-Dayton-Hudson corporation (now known as TARGET CORPORATION) acquires Field's and tries to push its retail discounted items on the store. This fails miserably and leads to its demise
2004-Target finishes killing Field's and sells it to May Co., which sells it to Federated Dept. Store, which turns it into Macys.

So if you're still clutching onto those forest green shopping bags with the fancy cursive lettering, remember that your favorite local Target is in part to blame.

Another example: Wrigley Field. Now, let me just reiterate that I hate the Sox and I think they stink. But just because their field got bought by a brand name doesn't necessarily take the love out of the park. Wheerree do you think the name Wrigley came from? Duh. Wrigley Field Co., another Chicago company. But few people know that when the park was created it was originally called Weeghman Park, then Cubs Park (which sounds a lot less comercial than Wrigley once you know the history, right?). I can imagine my grandparents reading the paper saying, who the Jesus is this Wrigley fellow and why the blazes does he have to change Cubs Park? Jesus Mary and Joseph, get me a drink. But today Wrigley Field is a warm and cuddly a name as your first pet. And I'll bet the same thing will happen if this whole Ricket's deal goes through and they ever consider changing the name.

My point? Places are bought, names change, life goes on. Am I suggesting you embrace Willis Tower with all your might? Heck, no. They need to be toughened up if they're going to make it in this awesome city- give 'em hell, by all means. All I'm saying is that while tradition is a main ingredient of what makes my city so great- a rose by any other name is still Chicago.

=D

A quick prayer before I go

2009-07-14T14:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Lord-

Please help me restrain from punching, stabbing, screaming, pushing, or acting out any other verb that may get me arrested as I head home today. I've used 9,298 kleenexes in the 8 hours I've been at work with little complaint. I am extrememly irritable and would like to get home quickly and effortlessly, if it is your will.

Amen.

Ps- would it be too much to ask for a seat so I don't have to drip over a fellow passenger? Thanks =)

If you could only see how old this band is...

2009-06-24T07:51:00.000-07:00

So I'm melting my way to work and as I approach the building I see tents set up. This sparks my interest because I was told that they always have some sort of free event in front of our building, but since they started construction on the wobbly stones that tried to kill me out in front, I didn't think there'd be anything good this year. But alas! there were 2 tents and a stage by the Mix being put up! Excited, I hurried to my desk to find out who could be playing.

Better than Ezra. That's who's playing. Better than freaking Ezra is going to be playing at noon. Who? Who did you say Connie? Better than Ezra? Am I in a time warp? Did I just go back to 1997? No, you did not. And unfortunately I am not crazy, they are really playing. This angered me greatly, seeing as it is not 1997 and if I ever did have their tape or CD for them to sign, I probably threw it out oh, I don't know, in 1999? Who the hell do they think they are trying to stage a comeback? I started to get unexplainably annoyed, mainly because I could not for the life of me remember any of their songs. Go ahead, try to think of a Better than Ezra song right now....
....
....
you can't. And if you're thinking of any crappy song from the late 90s, I bet a million dollars you're thinking of that song that goes "if you can only see the way she loves me, maybe you will understand, blah blah blah". sorry- you loose. I looked that up almost certain it was one of their songs, but apparently it's by the band Tonic. Further annoyed, I then did what every red-blooded American does when they don't know the answer- I Googled it. That led me to Wikipedia, the most useful web tool ever. However even Wikipedia did not have much info, but that led me to their "hit" song A Lifetime, which I looked up the lyrics to and--nothing. No recollection. Then that website led me to their song Extraordinary and STILL nothing.

Deeply aggravated, I am at the point of staging a protest against the concert across the street so that people don't get sucked in thinking, "Oh, Better than Ezra, I know them" and being horribly misled once they start performing. I was even planning on calling the Spin Doctors and asking them if they'd come play that Two Princes song (you laugh, but I bet I could get them to come for $5 and free subway) just so people who were looking for a good 90s one hit wonder band could come across the street and find some real entertainment.

But alas, I could not let it go. So I did one more search and found the lyrics to Good:

Looking around the house
Hidden behind the window and the door
Searching for signs of life but there's nobody home
Well maybe I'm just too sure
And maybe I'm just too frightened by the sound of it
Pieces of note fall down but the letter said
Uh huh, it was good living with you
Uh huh, it was good, good, good, gooood

Which led me to this:

OHHHHHHHH, BETTER THAN EZZZZZRAAAAAA!

So now that I know WHO the hell they are, I'd still like to know what the hell they're doing outside my work, setting up and bothering me with their sound test. Honestly I probaly walked right past one of them in my sprint to the air conditioned building. I have mixed feelings now and am in between being annoyed by them for being so lame and attempting a comeback, or sorry for them because nobody knows them.

This isn't the only 90s one hit wonder band to come to Chicago. Have you seen the set list for the Taste? It includes Barenaked Ladies, Wallflowers and Counting Crows. Seriously?? When I first looked at it I was certain the Taste people accidentally put up the set list for 1999 instead of 2009. What's going on why are all these bands coming back? Don't get me wrong, I looooovvvved me some crappy one-hit-wonders. I remember listening to the radio and having my tape ready to hit 'record' the second one of these bands' songs would play. But that was a long time ago, before I had a job, before I could drink, BEFORE I COULD STAY OUT PAST 9PM. That's quite a long time ago.

So, although I don't condone these bands to live on because I think its wrong for bands to try to linger on once their fans can't even remeber what they sing, I will probably be listening to some Better than Ezra 'hits' today at the comfort of my desk.

Stay tuned next month for Collective Soul- no, seriously, that's who's playing next month. =/

Dear Kate

2009-06-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate (and Jon, although I doubt he'll read this),

I am sorry to hear that on Monday's episode there is a possible chance of you announcing your divorce to your estranged husband. My deepest sympathies if this is the case. Through the years I have watched you struggle to put up with him and his ridiculous antics such as using incorrect pronouns, not getting the right outfits for the kids, driving the car the wrong way, and such other inforgiveable acts. While the world may think you are a vicious ball breaker, I have nothing but the upmost respect for you and your fight against spousal stupidity. And to think, you do it all with a modernized flock of seagulls haircut- and eight kids.

Which brings me to the purpose of my letter. While I know you are quite capable of handling eight children on your own, I think that with the recent vacancy in your house you might come to enjoy the lifestlye of not having 10 people in one household and may find yourself trying to find a way to unload a few more. Therefore, I would like to offer to take Aiden off your hands, free of charge. You might not know which one he is because unlike the viewers you do not have captions on the bottom of a screen with their names on them, but Aiden is the adorable boy with glasses. If necessary, I will also be willing to take one of the quieter girls, but Aiden is a must. And by no means will I take Maddie, she's all yours, although I suggest you ship her off with her father, just for one last dig.

If you were to agree to hand over Aiden, I assure you he would live a life of luxury. Currently, I still live at home, but I will try to find a place soon so he won't have to live with my sister, who smells. While I'm at work, he will be free to watch CABLE tv, eat whatever's in the fridge, and play with my dog Precie, althoguh sometimes she gets a bit grouchy and doesn't like to talk to people. However I'll make sure to feed her before I leave for work so she doesn't bite his cute, cute face off.

Please consider my offer and let me know what you think soon, because I'd like to show him off for the 4th of July. Good luck with the divorce and might I suggest demanding Jon's hair transplant to be taken back in the settlement, because after all it was your stomach that popped out all those kids.

Sincerely,

Cis4Connie

Bibidi Bobidi Boo

2009-06-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

AC Slater (my bf who I've decided to give a code name to in case he becomes a prominent figure in the public eye one day and won't be linked to silly blogs- let me know if you'd like a cool code name as well!) informed me today, at 1:23 pm that we are attending his aunt's surprise bday party this evening and oh- by the way- its formal. WTF! Formal you say? That would have been nice to learn oh I don't know, earlier this week when you told me we'd be going! It's times like these when I could seriously use a fairy godmother to eliminate the process of frantically getting ready. So I've decided to blog about what I will be doing in the time from when I get home to the time I RUN out the door towards my car in hopes that we aren't walking in when the guest of honor arrives. My hope is that guys will understand a bit more of what it takes for us women to become beautiful and will hopefully lay off the riducle that comes w/ being late.

6:05- arrive home, throw purse, feed the dog (because despite my lack of time, the dog comes first) meanwhile I will be shreiking profanities at whoever will listen, which may very well in fact just be the dog

6:10-run upstairs, disrobing on the way, and jump into shower. Now since it's formal, this will involve shaving- as if simple bathing wasn't bothersome enough. Guys don't have this problem becuase although they have to shave, they do not have to make 1/2 they're body silky smooth. Also? Guys don't have long luxurious hair like I do and therefore they're shower time is cut down even more.

6:30ish- find something to wear. HAD I known about the formality of this event earlier I could have prepared, but alas, I am going to have to dig through my closet and say the rosary in hopes that all my nice dresses are not crumpled in a ball near my shoes which, let's face it, is most likely the case. If my nice black dress is on the floor, that only leaves me with option B which is a cute brown and light blue summer dress... that is, if it fits...

6:45- cry and scream about how I have nothing to wear and the dresses I do have make me look like a fat, ugly man. This- is inevitable and a must for the getting ready process.

6:50-resolve on a dress and paint my nails. Currently I have red nail polish on which will be fine if the crumpled up black dress is not on the floor, but if I am left with option B I will then have to repaint, which will take even more time and effort. On the plus side my only shoes (which I hope I can find) that go with option B only show my first two toes, which will cut out the painting my toes time by 60% (note- I needed to pull up the calculator for that one, then I had to look at the calculator to make sure I spelled it right, I am not smarter than a 5th grader). If I do not have to repaint, then I at least need to touch up the chips, becuase as my father once told me, only hookers have chipped paint on their nails (still not sure how he knows this...)

7:10-hair. Luckily this won't be too bad becasue I'm a pro at drying/straightening my hair, however I will be cursing myself for being lazy and not getting a haircut this week which would have cut my time down a bit. Tip: I like to do my makeup while the straightener is warming up. It saves about 1 minute of precious, precious time.

7:30-makeup. why do I feel as though whenever I'm going somewhere nice that I am a certified cosmetologist? I will most likely try something new which will make me look like a beginner transvestite, then I will have to wipe everything off and start fresh, thus losing my 1 minute gained.

7:45-jewelry, shoes, perfume, switching purses, etc. not too hard to do but time consuming when they're added together

7:55-I forgot to brush my teeth- opps.

8:00-out the door? not likely. If I forgot to type in where I'd be brushing my teeth, chances are I forget something even more important, its bound to happen.

And there you have it. What pray tell will AC Slater be doing in the meantime? I imagine pulling out his one suit, one pair of dress shoes, and putting them on. If he's feeling GQ he might pop in his contacts and sprinkle some water on his hair to tame it a bit. Why is it that guys get to wear suits? It seems 1000 times easier. Perhaps I'll wear men's suit tonight, it'd be a lot easier and I bet I could find a tie that matches my red nails.

Did I mention that the party starts at 6:30? FML.

In the beginning...

2009-06-10T09:02:00.000-07:00

Here is my very first blog ever!- well, kind of. I started this up for a few reasons:

1. I miss the old times of livejournal and having an outlet to rant and tell stories of my ridiculous daily events like farting coworkers and why I felt the need to punch practically everyone I met in the face (with good reason).
2. My favorite author, Ms. Jen Lancaster started out blogging and is now a NY best selling author. I think I could be a NY best selling author, it sure beats selling my organs for a down payment on a condo, right?
3. It's been 6 years and 6 jobs later since I started working in an office, yet I have the same amount of free time at work as the days when I worked as an HR assistant filing for only 20 minutes a day in the tiny hole where my coworker kept his smelly gym clothes (some things you never get over).

So check in often and feel free to comment, as long as it's songs of praise and not mean- because as (insert cool fake name of boyfriend here) says, I can dish it out but I can't take it.

=D