The 5 Stages of Grief: Chicago’s Transition to Spring

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Ahhh, spring. One of my favorite seasons as the bitter cold fades into warm nights; trees blossom, birds chirp, and… what the fuck is this, a Danielle Steel novel? Spring means warmth, and that’s all I care about. Apparently, however, Chicago does not believe in seasons. Many people joke we only have two here: winter and construction.

Apparently, today was the first day of spring, but you wouldn’t know it, because it was 3-degrees and felt like fucking February. Typical. So, this is pretty much the thought process I normally experience as a Chicago winter attempts to transition into spring.

1. Denial and Isolation – 

It’s not going to be this cold. This is a fluke. Tomorrow will be 50. The gym? What are you, nuts? I’m not going to the gym! I’m not doing anything but going home and putting on sweatpants. Not because it’s subzero wind chills at the end of March, but because IT IS SUBZERO WIND CHILLS AT THE END OF MARCH and I don’t NEED to go to the gym because I have mastered the art of turning a ten minute walk into a two-minute sprint to escape as quickly as possible the feeling that someone LIT MY FACE ON FIRE.

2. Anger – 

Who the FUCK do you think you are, Chicago? Three degrees on the first day of Spring? What is this, a test? You know what? I moved here from goddamn San Diego! That’s like trading in Tom Brady for Fat Bastard. And this is my reward? Frostbite and the urge to move to Florida? You know what? FUCK YOU!

3. Bargaining – 

Okay, that was rude. I didn’t mean it. 40. Can I have 40-degrees? That’s fair, right? I’m not asking for 70-degrees in March, I just want to walk outside without my eyes immediately starting to water and my entire body feeling like someone threw me in Lake Michigan. In January.

4. Depression – 

I just miss being outside! I miss my city! I miss the boat cruises on the lake and the lazy Sunday’s sitting outside enjoying a cold drink and the warmth. My god the warmth. I will never feel warmth again.

5. Acceptance – 

So, we can’t control the weather. It’ll be okay. Eventually it’ll be warm again. In the meantime, I’ll be sitting in front of the nearest fireplace for the next month.

Fun with G-Chat

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Ah GMail – it is a wonderful thing. It auto-archives all my chats and between that and me keeping all e-mails, I now have about 400 million options of WTF to pick from for the book. Of course, not everything can go in there, but some chats are just too good not to at least talk about. So I now present to you, “Fun with GChat, 2009”:

Scene One:

Me: yeah he is definitely being shady

Anon: my friends are telling me to drop him like a hot potato. I don’t think that’s necessarily fair. I don’t think it’s a lost cause. I agree that he’s being an idiot and shady as hell, but I’ve been there, sort of, and if he ever gets his head out of his ass I think it will be worth the trouble. Just, you know, hoping that actually happens.

AND, SCENE.

Okay, what we have here is a lot of excuses and a lot of over analyzing. But what we DO NOT have is someone to say, “Hey, he’s being shady. End of story. Let’s go with: this is not and never will be worth the trouble.” Or if we did have that, we wouldn’t listen anyway.

Scene Two, a continuation:

Me: yeah. Then again you also don’t want to catch him on the rebound. Those never end well. For example, me & Dr. Evil.

Anon: true enough

Me: I love how at your party, in front of Beth, Ben was like, “we’ve both seen Dr. Evil’s Mini-Me”.

Anon: OMFG, that was hilarious.

Me: I know it totally was, but poor Beth was probably like this girl is a WHORE, and then with Ben talking about the strip club, all that’s getting back to John Doe, I would almost guarantee.

Anon: well so what?! Let it!

Me: well, you remember the game telephone, right? I whisper: I have a crush on Pat and by the end it turns into Turtle sex is funny. So this will be like an innocent story gone awry, by the time it gets back to him I will have done a body shot off a stripper’s cleavage before having a threesome in the back room.

AND, SCENE.

What we have here is a disaster. Let’s do this in bullets, it’s easier:

  • Issue 1 = Beth. Beth was a girl I met at a party John Doe and his roommates had one weekend. Because he was nice to her, I immediately felt that if I befriended her, he would in turn be nice to me and realize how amazing I am. False, false and more false. Plus Beth was a nice girl, but one of the most boring people on the planet.
  • Issue 2 = Our friend Ben talking about Dr. Evil (another story for another day) in front of Beth, which involved me going to a strip club with Dr. E the first night we met. BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE ON OUR WAY TO A BAR. Not to mention we were in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin, so I was pretty much stranded. However, after that, I can say that strip clubs are not all that big of a deal. Yawn.
  • Issue 3 = Fearing and hoping at the same time this story would get back to John Doe. So many issues, so little time.
  • Issue 4 = See issues 1-3.

Scene Three:

After discovering I correctly predicted two friends would end up dating:

Me: since I seem to be able to sense these things, I am going to speculate that John Doe & Amanda are something. When her number got called to race a turtle she like threw her arms up and he grabbed her hand and they walked over together with their arms up holding hands. I was like, “ANOTHER DRINK PLEASE THANKS.”

Anon: oh my.

Me: and they had dinner together

Anon: oh wow, yeah, you might be right

Me: all nice and fucking cozy

AND, SCENE.

First let me elaborate on the turtle. There is at least one bar in Chicago that has turtle racing on Friday nights. It is literally the dumbest, most boring thing you could imagine, but I went because John Doe was going. You actually can’t feel anything but bad for the poor things, they are so confused. I mean they don’t get hurt or anything, but it is still pretty lame watching them wander around and then having people try to decide which turtle won, since they are usually waddling around in circles.

Anyway. That night at the races was an emotional landmine for me – watching JD chat up and be normal with other girls while completely ignoring me. Eventually I’d had enough of my own sulking and just left, but not before convincing myself that he and Amanda were an item.

Nothing but a waste of time – and unfortunately, there is plenty more where that came from.

1+3=5

I have previously mentioned I am terrible at dating. There is nothing worse than having an awesome four-and-a-half hour first date, only to be no closer to a second date four weeks later. (It’s not you! It’s me! It’s too cold! I’m too tired!)

Oh, but how the times have changed. Even five years ago I would have moaned and obsessed and wondered. Now I’m sort of like, “if you don’t want to go out with me again, then stop being up my ass on Facebook. K thx bye.”

It’s very easy to hate things you are bad at, or be bad at the things you hate.

I genuinely HATE dating. When you meet someone online, the first date is usually your first time meeting them in person. If it’s someone you met drunk at a bar/party/on the street (if you’ve seen Clark St. during Cubs season you know what I am talking about), you go into the date wondering if you’ll like each other sober. There’s so much pressure. No one ever has the same end-result in mind. WE MAKE THINGS TOO FUCKING COMPLICATED. It’s not enough to like someone anymore. Now you need to have a fucking bachelor’s degree in texting, masters in body language and a Ph. fucking D in properly playing the game so you can come off as interested yet not crazy yet not TOO interested because that’s a turn-off, yet if you’re too aloof and they stop texting you back you’re all, hey WAIT a minute, I was playing it cool and now you’re fucking some random skank who was willing to put out while I wanted to build something meaningful so I lose either way and if this is what dating is like I’d just rather not – thank you VERY much.

Over the weekend I hit my limit with Mr. No 2nd Date and literally told him to have a nice life because I wasn’t an idiot and I can tell when someone is not interested. This was after the “too tired” excuse. Then of course the next day, he is whining on Facebook that he did nothing but sit on his couch on Saturday night.

Let me pull out my instructional manual and/or doctoral dissertation to decipher that passive-aggressive attempt at sympathy.

Was this lame status update

A) a non-apology apology?

B) fucking stupid

C) I told you that we have to have a Ph. D in this shit.

D) I could NOT care less what the meaning of that status was. I know five years ago it would have led to a two-hour phone call with my best friend trying to figure out the meaning behind it. Now I’m all, “you have no one to blame but yourself, dickwad.”

At least even the best daters sometimes still had problems:

It’s too cold and I’m too old

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Apparently, it’s too cold to go on dates. I was potentially meeting “Gordon Bombay” for date #2 yesterday but then he texted to say it was “too fucking cold” and we should do it another night. I mean, he’s right, it’s like -20 here, but still. “Too cold” is just another way of saying “not interested.”

I think I need to tweak my first date radar – over the summer I had what I thought was an awesome date with a guy who went on to text me but not ask me out again – I finally had to tell him to not text me unless he planned on asking me out again, and lo and behold, I have not heard from him since.

I used to be legitimately afraid of living alone and being alone. I was afraid I would be lonely and hate being by myself and I’d get bored. Well, none of these things have happened and I love it – and still have the same social life that I did when I had two roommates. So being alone is no longer a fear of mine. And I’d rather be alone than deal with this bullshit:

“Oh, I had a good time on our date, but I’m actually dating four other people and well, I’m just not really willing to commit, until you see me “In a relationship with Skanky McHoebag in about a month and then you’ll realize I actually DIDN’T have a good time and it was you not me.”

I will now leave you with the greatest movie scene of all time (as it pertains to this post, at least):

No one likes a whiny bitch

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I wrote this piece today for Awful Announcing in regards to the whiny Duke bitch who complained about how she was treated during last week’s Duke vs. Miami game. The game was in Coral Gables.

Michelle Picon went to Duke undergrad but is a Miami grad student and was sitting in the student section wearing Duke gear. I’m not sure what she was expecting to happen, but any non-uppity, non-self important bitch would KNOW that when you wear the away team’s gear on the home team’s turf, you’re not exactly going to get a warm welcome from the fan base.

Here are just of the few things Duke fans have done to visiting teams and their fans – but you wouldn’t know it reading the letter Picon wrote to the Duke Chronicle. The way she portrays it, Duke fans are nothing but the most exemplary of fans that never offend or heckle the opposing team. Yeah. Right.

In the ultimate show of hypocrisy, the self-proclaimed Cameron Crazies can dish it out but certainly can not take it.

Listen, I moaned and whined and claimed outrage over how we were treated in Columbus when we invaded the town in our Miami gear for the UM/OSU game. We got completely blasted by the Buckeyes, so not only did we have to deal with the loss, but we had to deal with very much being kicked while we were down.

So yeah, when the wounds were fresh back in September of 2010, I was pissed off. But you really have to have a thick skin when you’re a sports fan. That’s just the way it is. Suck it up.

I am of course not condoning any of the violence that happens outside stadiums, what with people getting stabbed, shot and beaten.

It’s just a game, people. Yes, it’s a game we’re vehemently passionate about, but is it worth stabbing a fan of the opposing team over it? Will that make your team win? Are those good manners or bad manners?

In any case, Picon did her school and fan base NO FAVORS by basically living up to every single stereotype that comes with attending Duke.

 

 

Don’t get too excited

Jezebel has an interesting post about the dangers of getting too excited after a first date – and I went in expecting the writer to talk about what I usually do – have an amazing first date and then mentally plan your life together, wedding and all.

My dad and stepmother are visiting this weekend – at some of the restaurants I’ve taken them, my dad has asked me, “how did you find out about this place?” And my response was mostly, “Oh, I had a bad first date here.” It is so much easier to have bad first dates, apparently, because I’ve had tons of them.

One guy started talking about our wedding; um, HELLO, you can think it but don’t say it out loud – even I know that.

One guy launched into, “so, how and when did your last relationship end?” NOT A FIRST DATE CONVERSATION, BUDDY.

I could go on and on but I won’t bore you with the endless, inane details of how Heidi Flugendugelgurgenplotz successfully mated a bull with a duck! (if you don’t get the reference, I can’t help you)

I guess when I went to read the post I assumed it would not end the way it did – that this particular chickadee imagined a life of meaningless sex with a newly divorced man and it turned out he didn’t have the emotional capacity and his apartment was a dump.

Don’t I feel silly.

I’ve had it with you people

disappointedinyou[7]It started, for me, on a cold-ass January night in 2011 when the Bears and Packers were playing in the NFC title game (I was nearly disowned and forced into WI rehab by my mom’s entire side of the family, all from Wisconsin, for posting a FB status in favor of a Bears win, but that’s neither here nor there).

Jay Cutler sprained his MCL and couldn’t go back in the game – he tried, and he couldn’t. Instead of praising Lovie Smith and team doctors for preserving Cutler’s knee, athletes and media members alike ripped Cutler a new one for not being tough enough to finish the game. That’s bullshit. Anyone with a modicum of knowledge of the NFL knows the Chicago Bears have an offensive line so paltry they couldn’t protect my two-year old niece. Poor Cutler gets sacked more than ANYONE and ALWAYS gets up, so don’t talk to me about his toughness.

Last weekend when RG III hurt his knee and continued to play, his coach was vilified for keeping him in and risking further injury to his QB’s knee.

Hello, people, WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

I wrote more about this over at Awful Announcing, which you should read.

But anyway. Now, today some jackass lawyer is suing the San Antonio Spurs for resting their best players during an irrelevant November game against the Miami Heat.

1) Seriously? You’re bitching about ticket prices when you probably bill $500 an hour to drink martinis while going over your mergers & acquisitions documents, so seriously shut the fuck up.

2) You’re not beating the Heat at home, sorry. (Even though the Bulls did it, yay!)

3) Is seeing fucking Manu Ginobili get owned by LeBron James really that important to you? (No, I don’t know or care if that’s even possible given their positions and me not knowing jack shit about basketball.)

4) I doubt anyone at that game truly suffered “economic damages”, as you allege.

5) Seriously??? Try playing four road games in five days and tell me how tired YOU are.

I love sports. I really do. You don’t want to see me when Villanova is losing in the first round of the NCAA’s. But come ON people. The expectations of fans should not be driving athletes that we claim to WORSHIP to play with injuries or when they’re just goddamn tired. Who ASKED you? No one. We all know we’re all still going to watch the games and go to the stadiums and worship these people for reasons I still can’t figure out (myself included – arguing Cutler has beautiful baby blues gets me nowhere).

Who died and made us the martyrs for sports of which we’ve never had to experience the physical demands and the people who play them? And who are athletes to question the heart and toughness of one another, PARTICULARLY a QB that gets pummeled on a weekly basis while the o-line is collectively picking its wedgie instead of doing its job.

But, I’m not bitter, just so we’re clear.

The OKCupid Fails Continue

imagesNo, not me, Susan again. This girl is giving me enough blog material for eternity.

She forwarded me these gems last night and today, and per usual I invite you to please enjoy my accompanying commentary.

I would first like to point out that the first gentleman’s profile indicates that he lives in the UK, otherwise known as the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. So, not sure that’s feasible to begin with – but then you look at his message and it’s like – fail after fail after fail. Like other entries of this nature, this is a cut and paste job – grammatical eye-bleeds are NOT mine. So without further adieu:

Hello princess,I was just looking at ur profile and When I saw your pic I found my self looking at one of the most beautiful lady.

Grammar fail on like seven levels.

But I am not sure how come such a beautiful lady like you can be single and why? Are you sure you are for real? Basically you are the most beautiful thing my eyes has ever seen in my life.

Yes I am for real (or in this case, Susan is) and unless you’re a chimney, please stop blowing smoke.

And now a bit about me! I do work as a police officer and have another job as a night hotel manager and I do study aviation to become a pilot.

Grammar fail x2, possibly x3. 

And I am single for over a year now and no kids unfortunately.

Yeah, so here’s the thing – it is great that you want kids, but being upset about not having them yet is not something to throw in an initial message on an online dating site.

I love travelling as I have been around over 22 countries so far. I hope u have a good day and hope to hear back from you soon.

Nemo.Xx

Sorry, Nemo, but I don’t think she’s going to try and find you.

Next up, we have the gentleman who messaged her four times in a row and never got a response to any of them:

12:23 AM:

 Wow ur like to good to b true:)
What is with all these guys using “ur” instead of the your or you’re? Like it’s that hard to type 2-3 extra letters? This isn’t a Nokia text message from 1998.
My name is Jason. I really enjoyed reading ur profile, especially how u chose a book #1 over ur phone#4…wow u appear to have depth:)
OKCupid asks you to list five things you can’t live without. Sure a smartphone could be on the list but some people were reading before they had a phone. Just an FYI, Jason.
I see ur online now so i’ll cut this short tryin to catch ya
Good luck!
12:28 AM:
its been too long since u went to a hockey game, atleast gotta experience a monarchs game here in manch…
Barf, barf, and did I mention, BARF? At least form a complete sentence, please.
12:29 AM:
i love fresh seafood too!
A new message a minute later? Really?
1:40 PM:
Hello miss:) hope ur day is well:)
And now I am sorry to say that you’ve been blocked.
And finally we have Bachelor #3 – and his response to Susan’s attempt to be polite:
12:55 AM:
you are a sexy ginger. makes me sad that you live so far away
This particular stud happens to live in NY. Susan lives in New Hampshire.
11:30 AM (Susan trying to be polite):
Thank you. Hope you have a good day.
12:01 PM:
ohhhh good  message lol. I’ll spice it up a little bit. I might need to see you in boy shorts 🙂
WTF is wrong with this dude? We don’t need to be spicing anything up before we’ve, you know, MET IN PERSON? And the boy shorts comments is super odd and not something I want to delve into.
I would like to think these messages are the exceptions rather than the rule, unfortunately, based on the emails I’ve gotten from her lately, that is not the case at all. But at least it gives us all a laugh.

In Defense of Love Actually (and I can’t believe I have to write this)

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My brother-in-law, Shane, who has had to suffer through my sister and I’s obsession with Love Actually, sent me a link to this article on Salon.com, in which one Mary Elizabeth Williams proclaims that it is the worst Christmas movie ever.

Her arguments are so poor, however, that I could not just read the article, stew in anger, silently curse her and move on. Oh no. So I now present to you point-counter point, or as I like to call it, “Bitch, please!”

Point: With the exception of Bill Nighy’s witty plotline about an aging pop star’s attempt to secure the coveted Christmas No. 1 hit, every one of the 85 other stories in the movie involves some horrible lesson out of the battle of the sexes playbook. If you were an alien watching “Love, Actually,” you would come to the conclusion that what human British men really, really want are hot chicks who fetch them tea, put up with their dalliances, and don’t speak English.

Bitch, Please: FIRST of all, that is ludicrous. Mark does not love Juliette because she ever brought him tea. And your only mention of THAT story line is a fleeting insult, when to me that is the saddest and truest and not at all the “demoralizing, misogynistic holiday twaddle” you call it. Furthermore, Prime Minister what’s his name is instantly attracted to the British Monica Lewinsky before she ever brings him tea. It’s also part of her fucking job, lady, she’s not doing it to win him over. In fact, it’s part of Aurelia’s job as well. She was HIRED to be Jamie’s housekeeper. And she doesn’t speak English because she fucking lives in Portugal.

Point: Which of the many story lines is most likely to make a reasonable human want to get drunk on lighter fluid? There’s Colin Firth’s – the one about a man who, betrayed by his cheating girlfriend, flees the country and immediately falls for his mug-brandishing Portuguese housekeeper. So pretty! So uncommunicative! And she has hot beverages! See also: the Hugh Grant story line, in which the prime minister falls for the assistant who brings him tea. Seriously, what is with you dudes? Do you not know how to boil water?

Bitch, Please: Were YOU too busy getting drunk on lighter fluid to notice that they WERE trying to communicate? And they only fucking learned each other’s language just in cases. The Hugh Grant story line does not revolve around tea. What’s with this tea argument? It does not hold water. (See what I did there?)

Point: There’s also the Alan Rickman story line, about the married man tempted by the unbelievably predatory secretary, and the heartbroken wife (Emma Thompson) faced with the choice to “stay, knowing life would always be a little bit worse.” There’s the Laura Linney one, about the noble woman who can’t be with the man she loves because she has to care for her mentally ill brother. And doesn’t that make an interesting contrast to the Liam Neeson plot, in which a very recent widower is rewarded for his emotional pain by hooking up with Claudia Schiffer. Claudia Schiffer!! There’s also Kris Marshall’s, in which a lonely, goofy-looking Brit flies to America to dazzle the ladies solely on the basis of his Britishness – and immediately scores a pile of insanely hot babes. And yet they call crap like this a “chick flick.” I’ve seen less depressing Michael Haneke movies.

Bitch, Please: I’ll start with Alan Rickman. Mia throws herself at him, legs open, like the predator that you call her. So I do agree with you there. However, I believe the point of that whole plot is that she is, in fact, an aggressive hoe, and he would have just continued on with his dull marriage had she not flung herself at him. It was never about love, and affairs happen and sometimes women instigate them. I don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes people are shitty.

Next – Laura Linney. She actively chooses to not be with Hottie McHot. She could if she wanted to, and she chooses to care for her brother. It was a hard decision, but she made it, and it sucks, and has nothing to do with Liam Neeson and Claudia Schiffer. That was just a joke. Were you not paying attention during his eulogy? Geez, lady, not everything is about the guys coming out on top here. Mark doesn’t. Alan Rickman doesn’t. Hottie McHot doesn’t. And sometimes in life you have to choose family over love, which is why Laura Linney doesn’t, either.

Next – Colin. Um, it’s in the movie because it’s true. We American ladies are suckers for British/Scottish/Australian accents. I’ve always said that part of the movie would be insulting if it were not 1000% true.

Point: You’d be hard-pressed to find another movie – holiday or otherwise – that makes the case so convincingly for how miserable the lives of women truly are, and how all fired up awesome it is to be a man.

Bitch, Please: First of all – Keira Knightly is loved by two hot men. Laura Linney was always miserable. Natalie ends up with the fucking Prime Minster. Second of all: Snow White? Sleeping Beauty? Cinderella? Seven Brides for Seven Brothers? Taming of the Shrew? All of those movies are way more convincing in your quest to find a movie that makes the case that women’s lives are miserable.

You, ma’am, do not know what you are talking about and the foundation of your argument is based on TEA. And that, actually, is ludicrous. Good day to you.

The 2nd Best Worst OKCupid Message

My former roommate, recently back on the dating scene, received the following OKCupid message:

If you were my gf I would be honest with you, never cheat, treat u with integrity, show u respect, make u breakfast in bed, buy you dinner, take u to the movies, and so much more. ps and amazing sex even though im white lol.

I don’t understand the use of u vs. you and back to u. And the last sentence is beyond racist. What is WRONG with people?