"You'll Shoot Your Eye Out Kid!"

The casual traveler at the airport wears a camo  hat over his ratty pony tail and a "Property of the North Pole" t-shirt.  Yes it's here!  Happy holidays everyone.

This year I'm traveling at 600 mph somewhere over Kentucky using wifi on my phone type device.  Oh technology!

I am almost finished with holiday travel.  Suprisingly, the Atlanta airport went smoothly with only one mental outburst of "TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES.  HOLY SHIT, TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES.  DON'T ASK WHY!  WHO ASKS WHY?!" and so forth.  Hours of early arrival means I was willing to trek a mile to terminal B if only to use my Starbucks gift card, resulting in caffeine jitters and a heightened heart beat.

The holidays are a funny thing.  At no other point in the year are people willing to lug Uncle Joe's new espresso machine out the front door, through federally mandated security on a continental adventure.  We will get together as families to celebrate new engagements and baked goods, maybe even the birth of Jesus Christ.  If I'm lucky, after lunch I will crush my relatives in Catch Phrase and other word related type games.  (I think this will be another blog post as I'm feeling particularly assonine about it.)

Then there will be other holiday traditions I truly cherish.  Grandma's mumbling of "this could be my last Christmas" which, after 14 years, actually holds some merit this time around.  Christmas mass with whoever I can coax to join me.  And my mom's family's talks of get togethers and "this is so fun, we should do it more often."  This never, ever happens but it's a nice thought.  My girlfriends and I maintain a tradition of drinking in a parents' basement on Christmas night then following it up with "brunch" at Olive Garden in the following days.  We resonate class.

At some point Dad and I will reaccount the Christmas Eve, a few years ago, when we found God en route to Walgreens.  Do not doubt faith when, on the way to buy your mother a snuggie because she "really wants one!" that a gigantic Ford pickup will skid on ice at 40 mph and stop abrupdtly six inches away from the front left tail light of our stationery Altima.  Between sobbing, the "F word," and dry heaving I prayer.  We went to Christmas mass that year and Mom still got her Snuggie.

As the plane approaches its descent over central Illinois I am excited for what this year will bring.  For all those holiday traditions new and old, discovered and forgotten.  In the words of my brother, when I asked him what he wanted for Christmas, "I'm content."

Happy Holidays everyone!

:) :p :/ :*

A CNN article written by the authors behind Stuff Hipsters Hate can only promise good things.

I am guilty of throwing a :) into the mix once in awhile. Mostly over gchat when I'm lacking on time and the lack of desire to type "I'm exhilarated beyond my wildest dreams." Like when I write "LOL" outside of the sarcastic realm. So I'm taking the hipster haters' challenge and, for the rest of the month, deleting the smiley out of my text.

Okay one more because I LOVE this movie and it always makes me :) (Gross!) It's guaranteed that I will be playing this video, loudly, next Friday as it's my last day of work for 2010.

Beard of Brother's

This weekend my brother sported a beard that made him look like a member of Band of Horses.  That and Jesus and homeless.  I was simply full of comparisons for him.

This video is full of "B" things.  Beards like my Brother's, Break Ups, Bicycles and Brushing [of teeth].  I like it.  It's a little sad but I like that about it too.

My 4th Grade Style Essay on Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  Today is a day to share with loved ones, even if those loved ones are in manic depression because they just sat in a car together all day.

Thanksgiving is a day to eat turkey until it hurts and blame tryptophan on your inability to stay awake when talking to relatives about politics.

Thanksgiving is a day to be thankful for my family and, when the weekend is over, be fortunate that they live five hours away from me.

Thanksgiving is a day to wake up at 9 a.m., nevermind that you went to bed at 3 a.m., to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  Then discover it was way more magical as child and, in atypical fashion, that Matt Lauer and Meredith Vieira are awkward.

Now it's time to clean the apartment because, as of twenty minutes ago, I decided to host my family.

Here's to a Thanksgiving day full of prayers.

Reason #281 I'm Quirky

Sometimes I listen to Taylor Swift and reflect on life.

NBD.

My Big Fat Ginger Friend

A fan message.

"Saw the story of your life on your blog. This shirt is the story of my life. Much more concise"

Kyle, I miss you. You soulless ginger. Your $5 check for royalties is in the mail and the envelope is addressed to "WE HIT HARD c/o THE MASTERPIECE."

Just to share a story about Kyle.  The Saturday night of Halloween, 2005, Kyle decided that "nobody dresses up like a ghost anymore" so he bought a white sheet and cut holes out for the eyes and the mouth.  Unfortunately, Kyle is stupid and bought a twin fitted sheet that poorly that fit his 6'2"-ish frame.  Later in the night, we made friends with a man on the street who told us about the love of his life and her restraining order against him.  The man attempted to maintain eye contact with the ghost the entire time.  He failed and we laughed.  Kyle probably passed out after four beers.  The end.

Love,
Theresa (Fat)

You Scream, I Scream.

No seriously, I could scream right now.

I'm having a rough week.  If somebody could make me this I would greatly appreciate the gesture.

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/08/smoked-chocolate-and-tequila-ice-cream-recipe.html
Props to Liz for this find!  And her quote, "I wish I could offer you a better solution than tequila" then she did.

Little Miss Approachable

I am not a knock out.  In typical social situations I am called cute.  Not the kind of cute reserved for children's shirts with kittens on them, but "pretty" cute.  I look my age to peers but to elders I'm "around 21?"  I'm just short of 5'3" with a sporty, petite build.  I have straight teeth courtesy of adolescent braces and my dad has called me "freckle nose" as long as I can remember, but I like to think I've grown up nicely.  I haven't dyed my hair in five years but believe that being a bottle blonde in high school helped me come out of my shell.  I don't wear too much makeup because I honestly don't know how.  I firmly believe too much makeup should be reserved for events like photos shoots and open casket funerals.

When having a good time out I am approachable to the point of flaw and overly accepting of your lame elevator pitch, as long as you're not an asshole.  I might even laugh at your awful pick up line, depending on how many drinks are in me.  I believe people are inherently good, which makes being a bitch very hard and disabling for me.  In a past life, I was the girl some guy would take home to screw only to be the one who played Guitar Hero with him and his roommates until I sobered up enough to drive home.  Go to bed alone, sucker.  At times I was trusting to the point of, "I am so glad I didn't die last night" at Rome's Termini train station at 7 a.m.  (THAT is a good story.  Another time.  Sorry Dad.)

A defining moment.  My junior year, on college spring break, my girl friends and I hung out with a small group of guys at their condo.  When I mentioned something risque I read in Cosmopolitan one of the guys, 28, beautiful and broad looked at me and flat out said, "you're smarter than that."  We spent the next few hours talking about European travel.  Brian, wherever you are, God bless you.

While reading My Horizontal Life by Chelsea Handler I though of how fun it would be to write my own memoir, minus the promiscuous sex.  I could never bring myself to sleep with a midget anyway.

I'm not old fashioned but I appreciate elements of traditional dating.  Sorry, but my friendliness is sometimes mistaken for flirting.  I gave up playing with emotions a long time ago because that doesn't comfort anyone.  I hate failure, especially when someone's feelings are up for grabs.  For a little while I whined about the inability to find myself a match, sung to the tune of Queen's "Find Me Somebody to Love."

So now I'm kind of in this new chapter in my life and, no lies, I'm nervous.  But I'm not singing Queen anymore.

"I'm okay, I'm alright."

What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas

I am listening to "Young Forever" by Jay-Z and reflecting on the past four days in Las Vegas. Three words: best vacation ever. Multiple softball championships, stupid bets made, gallons of alcohol drank, and new friends made...I can't believe that there is a better way to spend a week.

Also, I don't believe that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas because my back is still spazzing and my hammies are killing me. Totally worth it.

As much as I would love to write more, it is probably not appropriate. So ask me, when I'm not so exhausted.

This is my team, the co-ed, men's and city champions. Awhile back, I wrote a post about how much I loved to play the game. It asked, "what is more fun for a child than being the hero?" You know what? Scoring the winning run in the last game in extra innings, cutting up the back of your leg, and jumping up and down in jubilance with your team. THAT is fun, even when you're 24.

"Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up." - The Ataris

Because I dislike Twilight,

and I think this is funny but never posted it.

"If Facebook were a county, it would be world's fourth largest"

A small portion of my day has been researching the "digital space" for tiny tidbits of information that could (ahem, should) be appreciated across clients.  I found these and wanted to share.

This is a word cloud, filtering out reoccurring words from Wikipedia's article on social media.  Thank you Wordle for making Wikipedia even more dummy proof.

Then here is this winner with its warm up music, which makes me want to present to a conference room full of head scratching marketing directors. In a pair of breakaway pants.

I admit that some of these terms and buzz words are overused, underdeveloped and totally boring.  Whatever it is, it's real.  Social media should not be a challenge, but an appreciated asset that compliments existing plans.

"Social media isn't a fad, it's a fundamental shift in the way we communicate"

Buy Me One.

My brother, in a professionally related tirade, asked me today if I "have a gun I can borrow so I can blow my brains out?"  I love my brother and I do not want him hurt in any way, even as he's forced to localize the Mexico flood story in a journalistic act of borderline racial profiling.  So I sent him a device that would only place him in danger if he was a delicious quarter pound of ground beef.  Zing!  Boom!

Thanks, Gizmodo.

"Droid."

Last week my life changed with the arrival of my first Smartphone, a DroidX.  The touch screen, the 8.0 MP camera, the useless apps.  Swoon.  After a couple years of being behind the curve I am now beyond it, at least for a month until something new arrives.  Of course, once I went to make a phone call I was completely stumped.

My grandparents had a rotary phone.  It was tan, nailed on the wall by their bedroom and the noises it made were so distinct that I could pinpoint them to this day.  It took approximately 38 seconds to make a phone call, 54 for long-distance with adjunct area code.  In fifty four seconds I could probably search for the stupid app called "Zombie, Run!" that uses your GPS location to place fake zombies in your otherwise safe walk home.  I'm not saying that I would throw the defenseless Droid in the Chicago River and snatch up a rotary, but I believe there is a happy balance between these two scenarios.

I am still waiting for my life to really change.  True, I was able to check show times for "The Town," search for the next available bus, and check sports scores back-to-back while loving it the entire time.  However, I did receive a swift punch in the gut for yelling, "I can get an app for that!" one too many times.  Until the Droid turns into an umbrella (no umbrella app) or teaches a boy to hang up the FreakingTowelOhMyGodIt'sNotThatHard then I'll just keep living my life normally, with a little computer in my pocket.

wtf.

PIKACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

Motivation Pt. 1

I call this post Motivation part one because it's 1:14 a.m. and I don't have nearly enough motivation to finish it.  Eleven hour work days are the most unkind and more than a little exhuasting.  After tonight, I do highly recommend finishing up any work while sitting in your bed and type-type-typing away.  Other than that, there are a few blog posts handwritten but at this point, it is a matter of removing crumpled paper from the bottom of the purse I took to work last Thursday and adding them on here.

Apologies for the lack of blog posts and it is definitely something I noted.  To say I am "busy" is an understatement but looking forward to some new ideas and hopefully something fresh.  When the only free time of the night on your night is spent eating Pita Pit, watching Teen Mom, and showering then it is time to reobserve your lifestyle.  So consider "Motivation Pt. 2," on its way!

Big thanks and hugs to my wonderful roommate who, after seeing me down, suggested that we watch her most recent purchase, "Heavyweights." 

"Congratulations Mr. Sims, you are the fattest boy in camp."

I'm sure the view of heaven beats the hell out of mine here

     You won't see me write about religion on this blog and up until this point it wasn't really an option.  I am, by Christianity's classification, a Catholic.  Raised in Catholic schools, I naturally felt that religion class made me exempt from all weekend services until at least twenty years of age.  A mass piggy bank if you will.  Throughout my life I've thought of my faith in stages.  Early on, I went to mass with my family until my brother's misbehavior and Cheerio throwing put that to a halt.  At the same time, Sunday service with Grandma and her attempting singing abilities.  ("It's just that you sing, God doesn't mind if you're on tune.")  Minor relapses along the way and I still ended up at a Catholic university.  Not on purpose or by default, but the St. Louis campus had a lot of tulips.

     So now I'm sitting on an Atlanta bound flight with the sunrise shining in the windows and destroying my desire to sleep.  I'm staring over my sleeping seat buddy out the window trying to understand where the concept of heaven came from.  As humans, we love to justify our actions with the idea of immortality, almost as much as we fear the inevitability of death.  Once, I nonchalantly told a friend, "I don't believe in heaven."
      "WHY?" in a rather blasphemous tone.
      "Do you know anyone who has been there?"

      But in the end, I do. Not because, like a child who behaves for the sake of Santa's visitation, that I feel like I need to or that I should. It's because I want to and that's all anyone really needs.

Author's note: This story was written on August 10th and inspired by the death of my grandpa Clee who left us 15 years ago on that day.  I love you grandpa and I promise to scratch your back when I see you again.  Also, thank you and Grandma for showing me the only fairy tale I've ever known.

One Small Step for "Theresa + Media"

From time to time, I take a few minutes out of my day to google my full name, in quotes or any other variety. Sometimes it's me, other times it's a pack rat in Farmington Hills, Mich. or the tormented friend of (yikes!) a late Debbie Hawk.  As I have grown professionally, my material took on a life of its own via this blog, twitter, various networking pages.  (Go connect with me!)  Then, on page three of the results, I found my first ever "published" piece of work in a major news outlet, a press release for "Leonard Slatkin and Friends" event.  STLToday.com!  The #1 St. Louis website!  Exclamation!  Do I remember who I e-mailed to have this posted or know if anyone, at all, read it?  No, but I remember the excitement when I received link in a reply e-mail.  At the time I was an intern and many of the materials I created went to multiples supervisors for review and, ultimately, did not include my name.  This little diddy had all the pieces and, to this day, is an event that I take great pride in even if now it's just a sentence of my resume.

It was a baby step and I am still enjoying those little successes whenever they occur.

Dog Days of Summer

Youth is in a grand flush, like the hot days of ending summer; and pleasant dreams thrall your spirit, like the smoky atmosphere that bathes the landscape of an August day. - Donald G. Mitchell

Hands down, summer is my favorite season.  My birthday falls at the end of June which, in childhood, limited me from bringing treats to the classroom but gave great bliss from three school free months.  Even now, as I spend approximately 40 hours a week craning my neck just to look out the office's windows, summer is still my favorite.  I realize I have not posted anything of concrete substance on this blog in weeks but, frankly, life is full of more important things at the moment.  Specifically, weddings of friends and family, lazy days spent on the lake and utilizing my PTO.

Last week, I went on a family vacation to Gulf Shores, Ala. which I previously referenced here.  Our first family vacation in four years considering we are a tad limited with an 81-year-old Grandma in tote.  "I'm going to Gulf Shores," I told people.  "Nothing extravagant."

But I regress, the best part about the trip is that we didn't really do "anything."  The whole week I left the condo complex twice, once for a heavily stocked Wal-Mart trip and another for a seafood dinner out with the family and a 35 hole mini-golf special.  (Yes, we ripped off Adventure Island and I take the credit.)  Other than that, most of our time was spent rotating between the beach, outdoor pool and indoor pool.  For dinners we grilled and I took pride in actually creating recipes from Real Simple.  (For reference the steak skewers are divine, substitute red peppers and add cooked shrimp.  Do not substitute mint for basil on the melon dessert.)  My brother and I drank Coronas and White Russians on the balcony, Dad and I held spontaneous dance parties, and my only real moments of solitude came from body boarding due to high tide.

After five days, I came to the realization that sometimes I don't need anything extravagant to be happy.  Sometimes I feel stuck in this weird limbo of life.  Am I happy at my job?  Why do people I know from high school and college keep getting engaged or having babies?  Can I go home for the weekend, even though my parents live six hours away?  Why do I spend a mortgage payment in rent?  Then I pushed those thoughts away because, frankly, I was on vacation and there are miles of beach to be walked upon and a Nerf football to toss.

I don't have all the answers and refuse to stress myself out discovering them.  Until they come to premonition I will keep finding happiness in the little things, like consecutive hole-in-ones in Pirate Adventure Mini Golf.

Force is Strong with this One

Happy Thursday.  "Save us Betty White, you are our only hope."

"'The Last Airbender' is an agonizing experience

...in every category I can think of and others still waiting to be invented." - Roger Ebert, The Last Airbender review, June 2010

I grew up admiring Roger Ebert for his pudginess, snappish demeanor towards Siskel and his character on The Critic. In college I began visiting the movie theater less often and read less reviews. My brother maintained a loyal Ebert following and gobbled up the opinions in books such as The Great Movies and the spectacular Your Movie Sucks, a title inspired by the "greatest" comedic leech of our time, Rob Schneider.  Ebert, love him or hate him, is an author of outstanding imagery and, although I believe he has grown a tad soft over the years, writes even the most shaming of reviews with careful tact.  He has inspired an unknown number of journalists, rooted in his home state of Illinois and elsewhere, to put pen to paper.  Including my brother.

This past March, Esquire came out with the moving article , "Roger Ebert: The Essential Man."  I'm older now, I'm a Chicagoan and smile a little bit when I think that I now live in this man's neighborhood in the midst of his journalistic integrity.  However, the fiery man that once argued with Siskel on a worn-in plush seat is now mute.  Read the article to learn more about his battle with cancer and his relentless ability to continue what he loves.

"On some morning or afternoon or evening, sometime in 2006, Ebert took his last bite and sip, and he spoke his last word."

I don't believe it fair that the web site header says, "what happened to Roger Ebert?"  Roger Ebert may have slipped out of our visual realm but he is very much active.  He still has the Sun-Times page that made him a household name.  More wit shines in freelance writing and his blog, where he wraps his head around current events.  His 190,000+ Twitter followers get a daily dose of sarcasm, insight and of course, film criticism.  Perhaps my biggest praise of Ebert is that he shares the ideas and concepts that others bring to the table.  Each day, he reads and shares the works of people in lists he has entitled the "wise, the sub-continent, the politics and the elites."  He brings it all to the table and encourages others around him to do the same.

 I encourage you to take a page from his book.  Even for a day.

picture from Esquire.com article

Wedding Season Necessities

Bought these on my lunch break, wearing them right now. Plus they're from the 2010 line! Wedding season in my word "begins" Saturday. Wabam.

Not like you care.

Reason #682 I'm probably going to hell.

But millions on Youtube have watched this girl sign on youtube and, guaranteed, very few for the right reason.  So maybe there is heavenly salvation reserved for me...somewhere.  My co-worker, Stella, and I are currently laughing and crying at this. Yes, we are totally haters.  Enjoy.

Nichole337 on Youtube Viewing Stats
as of 7/22/10
Total Upload Views: 29,837,873

Miley's Party in the USA: 3,171,739
Miley's The Climb: 1,320,554
Shania's Man! I Feel Like a Woman!: 658,351

There are also three original songs that I don't dare watch...today.

Holiday Rooooooad

Next month I am going on vacation to Gulf Shores, Ala. with my family. Don't get too excited. We lack the ability to travel to far off lands full of novelty and wonder because of my grandma, as she will be partaking in our trip. I was back and forth on whether to go on this trip until, while at breaking point last week at work, my dad sent me a incredibly non-PC e-mail. It lightened my mood and made me realize that I need a vacation.

Now what to do, what to do? I am a water person and my family really isn't (mostly because my parents are chubby and did not wish to be "those people" who flap cellulite legs all over the water park).

So far my vacation ideas are:

•  Torment Grammy
• Buy a a wiffle ball set, necessities for sand castle building, and a 24-pack while my brother and I get loaded and pretend we're on spring break
• Finally learn how to play Gin Rummy and all those other games mom rambles about
• Build a sandcastle out of dirtied sand complete with an oil moat and set that bad boy on fire
• Clean duckies

More ideas welcome!

Did you hear about the Lebron bobble heads...

...they had to be recalled because the heads were too big.

I admit, I wanted Lebron in Chicago.  I wanted to relive the glorified days of Chicago basketball between 1991 and 1998, minus the baseball years.  I remember wearing my black, number 23 jersey to intramural basketball practice and stopping "little girl" sleepovers to watch Playoff games in my friend Rita's living room.  Every boy I knew had basketball themed birthday parties and some girls did too.  Jordan built an empire with a whitey like Steve Kerr, a total hood rat in Scottie Pippen, a cross dresser with Dennis Rodman, and a smoking Croatian with Toni Kukoc.  My GOD, Chicago was IT.  I have full intentions of how the intro to my wedding reception will play out.  "From SAINT [pause] Louis University...THEERRRRREEEESSSAAAAAA [insert last name here]!!!"

Instead, Lebron needs two other All Stars to accomplish his "goals" and "what will make him happy."  Whatever.  After watching over two hours of his giant head spit out emotionless, rehearsed speeches I don't really care.  ESPN [which I have an extreme love-hate relationship with and that's a topic for another day] took every chance it could to elevate the situation including obnoxious epic voiceovers similar to blockbuster trailers.

There were even ads for DECISION WATER by Vitamin Water, like f off Coca-Cola.

I feel bad for Cleveland which, from what I can piece together, sucks.  (Cleveland Tourism Video, Attempt 2: Our Economy's Based on Lebron James!).  Do I understand why he left?  Totally.  I think it's wrong that he didn't sit down and speak to majority owners with a simple, "I am not intending to stay in Cleveland."  After seven years it's like telling your significant other "it's not you, it's me" except it's in front of millions of people and nationally televised.  The ultimate break up.  So much so that majority owner even wrote the entire city of Cleveland, and indirectly Lebron as well, a psycho ex-girlfriend letter.

To be honest, I am simply tiring of living in a city where I am completely apathetic about how the sports' seasons end.  Sigh.

I'm Not a Sucker for Romance but...

...this may be the sweetest, most kind story I have had the pleasure of reading.  Click to enjoy it for yourself.

I had to go into hospital and have the thing [tumor] cut out immediately. Lay in bed afterwards and vowed that if I made it through I would track the girl down and ask for her hand in marriage. Long story short, I made it through...I sent a postcard to an old address she gave me . Someone read the back of it and realised it might be important and got it to her.  Well, she said 'Yes."

When I Grow Up...

I love to gloat about how fun my friends are, I mean like really fun.  Somewhere along the line, my life was blessed with people that listen when I need an ear, make me laugh, have wine nights and overall better my life.  This came into realization this past weekend when I packed 30 people on a trolley for a bar crawl and tour of the fabulous city I now call home.  Absolutely amazing time, absolutely fortunate to have these kind of people in my life.

However, the point of this post is not to be mushy.  It's really to post two fantastic quotes inspired by the same group of friends.  Shannon, here is your moment to shine and I promised you an entry.  A big shout out to gchat during work hours for making these possible.

Conversation 1: Discussing how weird it was that friends were doing silly things like "getting married" and "buying water softeners for new homes."  Which somehow turned to Pussycat Doll songs.

---

SWF Friend: When I grow up I want to get drunk on trolleys
Me: I just sang that message to the tune of Pussychat Dolls
SWF Friend: Boobies make more sense than groupies
Me:  Exactly, when I was growing up I just wanted some boobies
SWF Friend: Instead of mortgages and diapers I spend money on alcohol and shoes

---

 Conversation 2: Girl stuff

SWF Friend: This is not okay...I just made an appointment with my doctor

Me: Everyone is getting Mirena at the same time.  It's like those teenage girls on Lifetime that all had babies at the same time.  But not at all.  We are like the "no pregnancy pact" or something.

It's moments like this that remind you why you are so lucky.

Vampires, Wizards and Wolves. Oh my.

Nerd alert: I grew up with Harry Potter.  I read Sorcerer's Stone around the age of 13.  Ryan handed me a book and simply said, "read it, it's about a wizarding school."  Thinking it sounded stupid, I opened the book anyway and immediately fell in love.  In the years following I pre-purchased the books, read Goblet of Fire in the bath tub for three hours (old bathwater turns very cool), and bawled uncontrollably when [SPOILER!] Dumbledore died.  Mom walked into the kitchen and found me, head in my hands, violently crying at this huge turning point.  She turned around and went back to bed...granted it was around 4 a.m.  I was dumbfounded as I closed the last book after reading, literally stunned by the plot twists and violence that JK Rowling conjured out of thin air.  She had guts, she killed main characters, she was scary.

Today, I feel like a dirty adulterous.  I am embarrassed to admit, although I am one of millions, that I read the Twilight series.  So sue me I wanted to find some sort of magic in fantastical characters and lacked literature of my own.  Tonight I am going to see "Eclipse" only because I am going for free with work and with old co-worker friends.  I feel like I am at rock bottom when the highlights of a movie are seeing a shirtless 18-year-old and eating free Whoppers (the milk duds, not the burgers).  The more I write this, the more I disdain it.  It blows my mind how much money a sexually frustrated Mormon made off of scribbling sexually frustrated transgressions on paper and somehow making emo vampires "cool."

So just when I was started to really hate myself I found something that saved me.  Time put it well on its twitter feed.  "Forget Twilight: Deathly Hallows trailer reminds us why Harry Potter still rules."  Yes, Harry, yes.

Mayhem is Coming

I swear this blog is supposed to separate my personal from my private life but lately that has been extremely difficult. A new campaign, of which I am just a small part of in this colossal mess of respectable media companies, just launched "Mayhem" and I was spurred to write by the New York Times article from this morning. Dean Winters already gets my vote, as he guest starred in 30 Rock for multiple episodes and I have a girl crush on Tina Fey. His character is Mayhem as he personifies something that is truly inevitable no matter how hard we protect ourselves. Give me you thoughts and I would like your feedback. Yes, I know when "Mayhem" is officially coming but I won't tell.

XTheText

Allstate.com/xthetext, because I spend an ungodly amount of time working for the betterment of this website and campaign.  Take the pledge, don't text while driving.  Save a life and yourself.  Or else...

props

"We just wanted to be famous on Youtube."

In case you haven't seen this (200,000+ views in 48 hours) they love the Hawks and they always love the Hawks, they just learned about the Hawks this year!

They give a puck.

Hawkeytown (I just died a little.)

Congrats Hawks, Chicago has a championship. My good friend Jim and I were actually eating on Clark St. around 8 p.m. and politely scooted out of there before pandemonium erupted, toting my leftovers of Mu Shu wraps. I haven't been a hockey fan all season, it's not that I don't like hockey but I just have a hard time getting excited about it.  I even want to a game and yes, I sang "Chelsea Dagger."  Because nothing, nothing says Go Blackhawks! like a band from Glasgow, Scotland.

This is my old neighborhood after the win Wednesday night and, while I'm extremely happy I was no longer there, this is pretty cool.

Today is the parade, which I am also following from the comfort of my cubicle a couple blocks away.  I've already been outside in the "gorgeous" 86 degree day full of humidity that only the Chicago River can muster.  About 400,000 people are crowded into a small number of city blocks.  Wa wa we wa!  I still wonder how the band wagon faithful all got down here but I've drawn some conclusions.  One of my co-workers angrily got on the Metra today, packed next to other passengers taking swings out of a Captain Morgan bottle...at 7:40 a.m.  Class.  The other toothless avengers no doubt took the South Shore Line. (Hello, Michigan City, Indiana!)  Other idiots probably drove in, feverishly bitched about "25 DOLLARS FOR THE FIRST 30 MINUTES," then undoubtedly sold their first born for a parking spot on LaSalle.  Don't believe me?  I saw it.  Like I said, safety from my cubicle.

(Photo below stolen from a girl on my old team!)

I still prefer a sea of red at a Cardinals game ;)  Have to stay, this is still pretty surreal.  Oh, and Patrick Kane still apparently has the mullet.  He's still a gross douche, maybe Clearasil will sign him a deal until he grows out of puberty.

Sspeling iz harde.

Today I was searching for ESPN Spelling Bee outtakes.  (Yes, seriously.  Shut up.)  When I made the below mistake and, in my defense, it was because I was typing too fast.  Google P'WNED!

Anyway, I found them so enjoy!

I got a text that said this...

and it made me laugh.

At least Gary Coleman's casket will have his name on it.

What You See Isn't Always What You Get

When people say "social media" I cringe just a little bit.  Do I use the term from time to time?  Guilty.  Media is inherently social so to throw any adjective in front of it is redundant and unnecessary.  Think of the last TV commercial, :30 online pre-roll, or print ad that really stuck out in your head; the one you talked about with another person.  "Did you see ____?"  The average person is exposed to thousands of advertising messages every day and this number continues to grow.  Any client at my company is constantly pushing us to "try harder" in the pursuit of that magical word...buzz.  The client needs press coverage, event sponsorships, water cooler chit-chat!  For many, this is a measure of success.

After a few years of scattered professionalism in this business I can honestly say that unless you have a message that someone wants and simultaneously needs to hear, then you have to fight like hell to get them to care.  Once in awhile a company finds some unimaginable luck that skyrockets to super stardom.  More often, success comes with momentum similar to Sisyphus' eternal struggle. 

I'm currently working on a campaign that I know can make a difference and is something that people need to care.  Is the process behind it all painfully tedious?  Absolutely.  But take note reader, you are destined to hear about it so I hope it gets you talking.  For a preview visit Save11 or XTheText.

Oh oh, so busy as a bee! (A bee with a moving truck and sangria.)

Not a day has gone by in the last couple weeks where I did not think about updating this blog.  I have never been one to make excuses like, "I've been soooo busy."  Yes, I have been busy but that is truly just defined by the fact that I have had other priorities on completely different spectrums.

Spectrum #1: moving.  In less than a week, Meeks and I will move into a bigger, beautiful place in a new neighborhood.  After about six appointments, some with horrendous consequences and an incompetent turd named Jim, we found our new home.  With that comes lease signing, packing, scheduling movers, and calling f-ing Comcast.  (They will be the death of me.)  You get it.  When I move again I will buy and it will be glorious but until then it's not in the cards and that's okay with me.  Leaving our current place will be a little sad as we leave behind our first home after college where, upon moving in, we were unemployed, a little confused, and asking things like, "what am I doing with my life?" and "why am I up at 4 a.m. watching Law & Order reruns?"  Micah and I, in our adorable heterosexual live-in relationship, are moving on up!  Or south, either way.

Spectrum #2: summer in Chicago has arrived.  I hear my friends say, "I could never move to California/Florida/tropical place because I like the seasons too much."  Chicago looks seasons in the face and backhands them.  I cannot recall the fall of 2009 because I am fairly certain it did not exist; spring 2010 is currently under the same classification and I will absolutely take it.  This past weekend I participated in a Armitage St. makeshift bar crawl with friends, drank sangria on a patio and played "life-size" Jenga at a bar at 1:30 a.m.  On Sunday I recovered by lying on the beach.  Tomorrow I am, for the first time since I can remember, skipping a Cardinals/Cubs series I could attend to spending a weekend racing jet skis and relaxing at the lake.  There will be another baseball game but consecutively 90 degree days over a Memorial Day weekend?  I'll take the latter this time around, these are the days I'll remember.

Spectrum #3: Season finales this week!  Plus Glee.  I want my, I want my [m]TV.

Spectrum one makes spectrum two necessary.  Through it all, I could not be happier.  But I promise not to abandon you again.

Way Out Where the Dandelions Grow

Opening day is tomorrow, 80% chance of rain pending. It's time to grab my Dr. Dot Richardson bat out of the closet and oil my glove. Ten glorious weeks of company softball on team SMG-Unit starts soon, the first organized team I've been on in four years! Last week we had practice and I have to believe there are few things more exciting in Chicago than playing catch underneath of the city's skyline. I missed a catch due to sun shining off a skyscraper. Glorious!

Summer ball was an essential part of my upbringing. From Ryan's t-ball to my five hour All-Star game when I was 11 to having my life threatened by drunk parents as a 15-year-old umpire. A first team all-conference plaque with Theresa "T-Dawg" is lovingly packed in a box full of high school memories.

Granted, this season will be more about leisurely playing with a 16" colossal softball (Chicago's thing, apparently) and the bars we are destined to frequent post-game.

Wherever I am and no matter my age, I have always loved playing this game. The video below is from 1990. I remember the commercial from childhood and everything about the song reminds me of growing up playing the sport. A game tying foul ball hit to you or two strikes with a runner in scoring position...and the relentless butterflies in your stomach. Then, all of a sudden, you pull through for the team! What is more fun for a child than being the hero?

When I was about nine I had a strong arm but lacked coordination to take on the infield. So I played right field where it's important to know, you gotta know how to...just watch the video.

Cheers to summer and all the past, present and future memories we make on the field.

If you don't like Julia Roberts, then screw you!

On the weekends I wait tables at California Pizza Kitchen. Now that you know that, feel free to come in on a Saturday afternoon and tip me 20%+. On these days, many devil's rejects from Northwest Indiana come in and stuff themselves with a meat cravers pizza. Sick. But sometimes I forgot that I still live in a city that attracts celebrities...then forget that celebrities eat food. CPK is a chain, granted it's based in over-the-top LA, but still. Ichizo Suzuki makes regular visits and orders two cheese pizzas with very little cheese and extra sauce which is pretty gross. The Obama ladies came in without papa Barack but with a secret service entourage and were incredibly polite to all. Then TODAY, after I enjoyed an amazing work lunch at Chicago hot spot Sunda, I find out Julia Roberts dined at CPK.

I fell in love with Julia Roberts when my dad let me watch the story about a hooker shopping on Rodeo Drive. I wanted to be a lawyer when I saw Erin Brokovich. Then she's married to Danny Ocean in the Oceans movies?! Julia Roberts, give me your life. Tomorrow afternoon I work. I plan to find out what seat she occupied, sit in it, and soak up her glamorousness.

One of my favorite movies ever?  You betcha!

Closet Nerd Alert

Today is Star Wars Day. So May the Fourth be with you.  GET IT?!  Also this is a legit holiday because Twitter trending topics and Wikipedia told me so.  Commence eye rolling now.

Cross-Town Cup Sponsored by Nobody Cares

Earlier this week, management from the Chicago Cubs and White Sox got together with some chief marketing executives to make a ground-breaking decision.

The teams, both currently under .500 for the season and continuing skids into mediocrity, will now play each other for a completely irrelevant title that is the Crosstown Cup sponsored by BP.  In case you live under a rock BP, or British Petroleum plc, is the possessor of an oil well that as I type this is spilling thousands of gallons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico.

Imaginary British Petroleum exeuctive: "oh hey guys, hey.  I know our errors are currently hindering the daily lives of people in the gulf states and causing major environmental trauma that hasn't be seen since the Exxon Valdez but we sure know how to sponsor irrelevant competitions in the Midwest."  My God!

According to ChicagoBreakingNews.com, "the three-foot tall Cup supposedly is in production, but will be ready before the Cubs and Sox meet for the first time June 11-13 at Wrigley Field."  Oh goody.  This rivalry doesn't impact me (I mean I could care less, I'm just a Chicago transplant) but for the love of marketing!  How do companies keep scoring deals to sponsor something that never existed in the first place?  Especially while little oil-covered duckies in the Gulf are being sudsed up with Dawn.

Just when I thought this scenario would damper my day I saw this adorable video.  Even though I find twins slightly creepy (think "The Shining") this made me go, "awwwww."  At least there are two people who can get it right, the Sox fan is slightly violent and the Cubs fan is the first to open her mouth and be obnoxious.  Perfect!

Happy Friday.

My dog has Twitter, therefore she is better than your dog

On Twitter, I must approve of any follower request.  The idea of a stranger reading my thoughts is nothing short of creepy.  Under all circumstances, we should limit the number of creeps in our life.

The other day I approved a follow request from Cher.  The dog, not the singer.  Cher is my family's pup, an eight-old-year German Shepherd/Chow mix we rescued from a shelter in 2004.  She was around two at the time, hence her name stuck.  What was once a sad, scared little thing is now a tomboy diva whom has amazing hair, enjoys a romp in the park, and enjoys life with her head propped on the armrest of the leather couch.

Like all delusional dog owners, I believe Cher has people thoughts.  Her intelligence and actions are borderline human and her actions exceed those of her peers.  (Especially this yippy neighborhood dog named Jade; she deserves a swift punt.)  Cher knows when I'm coming home to visit, when someone is sad, or that Grandma is bat shit crazy and to approach accordingly.  Unfortunately, she can't speak.

UNTIL NOW.

A little big ago, I read about this thing called puppy tweets. This waste of cash device snaps to a dog's collar to "read" their emotions and spew out messages like, "I bit my tail. Ow!" or "I'm bored, come home!"  As if the twitter world wasn't crammed with stupid junk already.  How many days can Justin Bieber possibly one of the most important things in the world?  But the best part about puppy tweets is that I don't even have to know about this device because my dog is better than yours.

Cher Voyles is blessed to take on the qualities on her owners (minus mom) and her peers (minus Gary the cat).  Her insights into the household are witty, charming and full of snappy bitchiness.  She is, after all, a female dog.  Cher doesn't need a freakin' collar tag.  My dog saves money to buy an iPad!  So go follow my dog, she doesn't mind.

Twitter.com/CherVoy

You're welcome.

 The best dog.  Ever.

I ask myself, why am I writing about the Florida Marlins?

I remember watching the Marlins win the World Series in 1997.  Edgar Renteria had the game winning hit and would later go on to play for my beloved Cardinals, where even the St. Louis fans never forgot this heroic feat.  Renteria was also a shortstop so, naturally, he was one of my favorite players.

Now the only Marlin I could really tell you about is Dan Uggla.  His three errors in the 2008 All-Star game put a black mark on his career but, considering Marlins fans don't even go to regular season games, they are probably pretty apathetic to that whole situation.  Fortunately for me, Uggla's confidence isn't wavering considering that last season he insulted my boyfriend's hair and told me if I ever wanted to get with a real man to give him a call.  (To be fair Casey totally deserved it and it was funny to watch him get owned by a man with a tiny, tiny head.)

The team is building a new stadium and, upon completion, will be known as the Miami Marlins.  This is great news as people in Florida will finally learn where the team plays. 

BUT first, in even bigger news, the Marlins present us with something that makes my head want to explode off of my neck.  No exaggeration.  Scott Stapp, the lead singer of the worst band in the universe (a.k.a. Creed) released a song for the 2010 season, "Marlins Will Soar."  Get OFF the "Higher," references Scott because America has a whole hates that song.  Everyone except the Marlins' management.  Below is the video that, as if you needed another reason, will keep you away from the entire state of Florida through September when the season is irrelevant.

See more funny videos and Sports Videos at Today's Big Thing.

The only reason this actually concerns me, and I swear there is a reason, is that Matt Holliday (another Cardinal on his way to greatness) recently had an unbelievable amount of backlash for this tweet: "Big fan of the new creed album, helps me get through long bike workout."  His defensive reaction, as Matt Holliday A's, Rockies and Cardinals jerseys burned across the country is below.  I look forward to having him sign my 1999 Human Clay album (kidding, I didn't own that crap).

Now that I type all this, I really don't know why I'm sharing it with you.  I'm so sorry.

Good mooooooorning Chicago!

Today on my blog I salute a man I love to hate.  He is one of the first voices I hear in the morning when he enters my living room around 8:03 a.m.  When he's absent, I am curiously upset.  The villain appears, with a menacing smile, after I nod a good morning to Mr. Matt Lauer (long-time crush) and Mr. Al Roker says, "here's what's happening in your neck of the woods!"

This posting gives me a good excuse to put up this picture!

This antihero, with an advanced degree in meteorology, makes proclamations like, "arm up for the weekend!" and "it's sunny out there but grab your sunglasses and a warm coat.  You'll need it."  Never mind his incessant ramblings about how gorgeous it is on Tuesday but "expect a cold chill starting Saturday."

Andy Avalos, you have ruined so many of my days with your talk of showers but, without you, how would I know to carry an umbrella? 

Thank you NBC 5 for giving me your weather man, whom brings me hope of sunny days and summer porch drinking and the crippling depression of April flurry warnings.

Until morning, Mr. Avalos, good night.  I will see you when I wake.

The infamous Mr. Avalos up to no good, per usual.

Premeditated but Excited Nonetheless

Ever since I could murmur or, more realistically, know geography I wanted to visit New York City. Bright lights, naked cowboys! In high school, I woke up every morning with Matt, Katie and Al on the Today Show news desk. My dad and I would sing along with Frank Sinatra in the car.  New York always excited me without a real explanation of why.

After my Euro adventures of 2006 this feeling only escalated. "I want to be a globe trotter," I thought. What better way to start with my own country?

Tomorrow morning (!!) I will be on a plane headed for NYC. Due to some sweet hookups and amazing friends I'll shack up in West Village, enjoy the beauty of Wicked on Broadway, and sit eight rows from a stage accompanied by Ms. Meryl Streep. Fo' Free!  I will also be able to check a couple items off my bucket list after I pretend that I'm Kevin McAllister in Central Park, associate every library with Ghostbusters and scream wildly in the Today Show's crowd.  These are stories I will share with my inevitable offspring.

It's obvious that I am ecastic.  But in a city as fast-paced as NYC (although I do reside in Chicago) I must take simple moments to breathe.  I plan on bringing my small American flag, a souvenir from 2009's All Star Game in St. Louis, to drop off at the site of the fallen towers.  It's a symbol of two spectacular moments in my life, on totally opposite spectrums.  I may take a second, or one hundred, to smile at the green lady whom greeted my great-great-grandparents to their future home.

New York City in 2010 is my Walt Disney World of 1990 and I am so ready to play.  (Besides, thin crust pizza is so much better!)

Why does it not surprise me that a parent who would raise their child as a Cubs fan would also let this picture happen?

The Many Masks of Taco Bell

Way back in high school, I exposed myself to a variety of literary forms for amusement and education alike. Senior year I struggled my way through Dante's Inferno, a 14th century poem about the Italian author's journey through the nine circles of medieval hell.

Centuries later, I see Dante's work in real life, through the advertisements of Taco Hell.

Like Dante's adulterers and heretics, Taco Bell has its own offenders. The circles include the drunk, the fat, the poor, and the stoned. In purgatory, somewhere between real food and the 5 layer burrito, are the curious bystanders awaiting their Tex Mex. (To save face, outside of the circle are the people whom love those yummy, yummy cinnamon twists!)

A few years ago, Taco Bell introduced us to fourth meal in an attempt to bring together the high and the inebriated by offering grade D meat, white iceberg lettuce and soggy tortillas.

Now all the circles of hell surface in the 'restaurant's" (loose term) new ad campaigns.

Exhibit 1: The Five Layer Burrito. This 490 calorie wonder will still your heart, literally. Your coronaries will shut down. At least T-Bell shares some honesty with this campaign.

Exhibit 2: The Pacific Shrimp Taco.  o-m-g.  On the fifth day, when God filled the seas with living creatures, He had no intention that they may end up in a Taco Bell soft shell.  No crustacean deserves a fate this vile, even if lacking of a vertebrae.  At the low, low price of $2.99 I can only imagine where these shrimps actually originate.

Exhibit 3: Here's the kicker: the Taco Bell drive-thru diet.  I'm not saying I don't believe in it, but I still have a hard time believing in the packaging.  Don't mess with me TB, you are a wolf in sheep's clothing and I will not play your games!



Taco Bell is just one of a handful of brands lacking in ad direction.  (I'm looking at you little-beady-money-eyes-style Geico.)  T-Bell is attempting to be something it's not (healthy) while still delivering its old, consistent messages of eating glutinous food at 2 a.m.

[True story, last time I walked past a TB drive thru at 2 a.m. there were screaming Hispanics and glass bottles shattering.  I turned for four seconds and kept walking.]

While Taco Bell searches for its self image, I will instead visit the El Burrito Mexicano hole-in-the-wall  restaurant underneath of the red line tracks.  Sure, the burritos are two bites away from burning a hole in my stomach and the employees don't speak English, but at least there's no advertising to disrupt my post-bars dining experience.

One $hining Moment

Senses stir up memories.  I remember the taste of grandma's mac & cheese and the touch of the smooth brick in my grade school hallway.  Parents fill photo albums with baby pictures and have VHS tapes of our first family vacations so we can relive the sense of sight. 

The most influential sense may be hearing, for better or worse.  A baby's cry, a wedded couple's first dance, that Vitamin C "Graduation" song that just won't go away.  A couple weeks ago my brother departed for college spring break in Panama City Beach, following in his sister's stumbly footsteps.  I can't help but think of the memories and smile, particularly when they're defined by my generation's greatest hit songs such as Fergie's "Glamorous" and Unk's "Walk it Out."  Key word: hit.

According to him, if he learned anything it's that he hates Kesha but only slightly more than that "Shots, Shots, Shots" song.  Sorry, Ke$ha.  But I'm not There$@ so forget that skank.  I refuse to give anyone that provided us with the lyrics, "kick 'em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger" any sort of respect.

MICK JAGGER?!  Are you SERIOUS?!

Sadly enough, it's these otherwise forgettable songs that define some of our great life moments.  Think of the song you laugh at with your friends when she threw herself at some random guy at the bar; then the Rascal Flatts song she wouldn't stop crying to when they broke up months later.  Why have a romantic song when you can rock out to Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer" at a karaoke bar on vacation?  I remember sorority girls defining their life with Madonna's "Like a Prayer" at college parties.  "Oh my gawd, it's like our SONG!"  Ladies, it's everyone's song but to each their own.  I prefer to define my college experience with defined fist pumps and "Don't Stop Believin'."  Just a city booooooooy!

The NCAA gets it on the money "One Shining Moment" during March Madness.  (Although, with respect to Ms. Hudson, I want Luther Vandross back.)  Last night's Northern Iowa win over Kansas (Go Missouri Valley conference!) was one of those moments you belt out, "YOU KNEW YOU WERE ALLIIIIIIVE!"



The most magical part of it all is that the first time you hear a song you don't know it will become a memory, it just takes place.

Pla¢e?

My creative knack is BACK! (in 140 characters or less)

Yikes.  Where have my valiant efforts of creativity gone lately?  That was a random thought if my head last night as I was scrubbing dishes.  (Try housework for solid, random thoughts; it works.)  I realized it was because January and February are completely crappy and uninspiring months.  Oh sure, I traveled a lot and have a new job but where's the inspiration?  Goal for the spring: get it back.

So I turn to my past twitter messages to find out, "what have I been DOING since January first?"  Apparently I have been eating, watching the Olympics, and generally making snide comments.  Below are some I would like to share.  Enjoy!

In the new upcoming weeks I'll start pumping my creativity into paragraphs instead of tweets.

To follow me go to http://twitter.com/theresainthechi and, if I like you, I'll allow it.

"Instead of mortgages and diapers I spend money on alcohol and shoes." 11:33 AM Feb 23rd via web 
 
I give a gold medal to Johnny Weirs black lace and pink corset ties. FABulous 10:01 PM Feb 16th via txt 
 
When the most optimistic thought of your day is, "at least im not in an electronic wheelchair" then you have had a bad freakin day. 5:48 PM Feb 11th via txt 
  
Just saw a raccoon sleeping on the hood of a mini van. Ya northwest Indiana! 8:37 AM Feb 8th via txt  

RainnWilson RT Congrats to The Blind Side on it's best picture nomination. Blindness is a devastating handicap and the real story needs to be told. 9:24 AM Feb 2nd via Tweetie 

Family and I are spending our snowy Friday night watching Lady Gaga's concert on Vh1! So good! 10:36 PM Jan 29th via txt

The violinist at the Grand red line stop always makes the end of my long day better. Visit him Wednesdays for classical performances! #cta 10:42 PM Jan 27th via txt 

finalgrrl RT May your backhand always connect, J-Woww, & your pickles be plenty, Snooki. Goodnight you princes of fist pumping, you kings of Jersey Shore 2:02 AM Jan 22nd via web

@eatmycereal I imagine the Conan and Leno "Yo Mamma" face off will be hosted by Nick Cannon and feature screams of "oh no, you DIDN'T!" 11:59 AM Jan 12th via web in reply to eatmycereal

"hes broken all these records and all i can think of is that he shaves his pubes" - me on michael phelps 6:24 PM Jan 9th via txt 

At mcdonalds by my work 2 chicken snack wraps and a small fry will cost you "FO FO FO!" ordered from the woman with the upside down name tag 2:27 PM Jan 6th via txt

Where did three years go?

My apologies for being inactive for the last couple weeks but I believe that I have a good excuse.  After much hoping, wishing and praying things came up Theresa.  After 16 months of impatient waiting and badgering e-mails, I was promoted.  It didn't come easily and even in the last week, it took some serious push and pull until I ended up in the place I wanted to be.  I, ladies and gentlemen, have an "official" big kid job.  (I 'kinda' did before but we will consider this an upgrade.)

 One word: diligence.  One word: assiduousness!  [noun., Latin, the quality or state of being assidious.  Assiduous, adj., Latin, marked by careful unremitting attention or persistent application.]  Thanks Thesaurus.com.  (I have never for the life of me been able to understand why the definition always requires another definition.)

My, my how things have changed.  Only a few years ago to the date I was plugging my way through worthless core classes (Chemistry & the Environment?) and, between studying, was planning spring break on hotels.com.  I made some memories with my two girlfriends that will last a lifetime and even met my current boyfriend.  Make fun of that latter mention as much as you want.  Many PCB memories will never be written down because that's way too dangerous.

This week I'll pass the Voyles kid spring break torch to baby brother whom I am hoping will meet the love of his life on the beach this week.  Seriously, JK.

A mere three year later, I'm positively giddy about the nine "flex" days I have coming up in 2010 and all the media research I will be compiling for my new client.

Even after it all I don't feel too grown up.  Over red wine last night a friend and I quizzed each other out of a J-14 magazine and talked like Disney channel characters.  So, life is good.

"Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up" - The Ataris

Life Tilt.

My dear boyfriend recently received an e-mail that, after ten years of waiting, notified him that he was in a position to purchase season tickets for the underachieving Chicago Cubs organization.  I have consoled this individual multiple times in the last few years as Chi-town's lovable losers crushed his dreams.  His response back to the ticket office is below.  Please note that, typically, his grammar is awful and his misspellings are blatant and numerous.  Somehow through his fury he was able to conjure the letter below.

Enjoy.

Hello MELISSA,

WOW!  This may be the best day in my life...NOT.  I wipe my $^& with $4058.88 and I WILL NEVER EVER BUY A TICKET FROM THE CUBS EVER AGAIN.  They break my heart every year and run their team and organization like a pile of #&@*.  I wish I could cuss at you but I am a striving real estate mogul and that could hurt my rep.  Let Mr. Ricketts know I am coming after his greedy $*# and if we don’t win a world series under his ownership his #*$ is on the line.  Yeah its fun drinking with friends and heckling SORRYANOS sorry LAZY @#! out there but that has nothing to do with this.  The CUBS are the worst sports organization ever...if you do not agree please let me know when the last time they won the entire freckin thing and provide a valid argument.

I do however love the Cubs and will live and die with them my entire life because just like Herpes it comes back at least once a year and freckin stings you (I wouldn’t really know but I took health class) and you can’t get it out of your system no matter what.  This blows man.

In conclusion the CUBS can suck it if they think I am giving them money.  I will however most likely attend 20-30 games this year, pay $10 for a ticket off some homeless bum that lives at the FRECKIN FRIENDLY CONFINES (friendly for all other teams) and drinks lots of beer just so the Cubs can overpay for players who blow nut sack.  Please forward this to Mr. Ricketts as I am sure you will.  If he wants to have lunch I will buy him a $5 foot long on Addison have him call my assistant at 866-436-5713 (CALL NOW).  I charge $450 an hour for my time but I will give him a discount of 10% because I am a nice dude.  He would be lucky to do business with me.  If Mr. Rickets is interested in self storage facilities let me know cause I got a couple I could sell to him.  I heard he over pays for underperforming businesses and makes terrible investments.

For the record I am a die-hard Cubs fan and will love them forever.  Just wanted to pass along my deepest thoughts. 

P.S.  I am looking forward to hearing from Mr. Ricketts

The ticket office's simple response is below

 Dear Mr. Cavell,

I am sorry to hear that you are no longer interested in season tickets.  Per your request email, I will remove you from the waiting list.  Thank you for your time.

 Sincerely,

 Melissa Trinidad