Say No to Snugs

Since I have exhausted my DVR and memorized every episode of Barefoot Contessa; (I officially know how to make a gratin out of everything from zucchini to Captain Crunch), I have discovered that even though we are almost to 2009 and at a height of technology, we are still being exposed to infomercials. I don't really get it. We have the Internet. You can shop online for anything you want. Our country is in a recession. Who is still calling a number to order excessive crap being sold over the television? It's always the same thing. The product is a value of $129.99, yet you're only paying $19.99. There's always the fine print below that the shipping and handling is more than the actual product. If you call RIGHT NOW, you will receive an additional product; only if you call within the next 37 seconds. I've seen countless European hair removers, knives that can cut cans, pancake puffers and magic stain erasers, but nothing and I mean nothing, tops The Snuggie. About a month ago was when it first surfaced. I was aimlessly surfing the Internet when an overenthusiastic male senior citizen caught my attention. The Snuggie is a blanket with sleeves. I'd go on to describe it more meticulously, but there is really nothing else to say. It is a blanket with sleeves. My initial reaction was, is this one of those Saturday Night Live spoof clips? What channel am I watching? Some idiot really woke up one morning and said, "I've got it! A blanket with sleeves!" Sure, I've had my share of invention ideas that I kept solely in my brain up until right now. The bathtub full of tiny holes so you press one button to fill it up faster, marker wipes for children that instantly remove marker stains. Don't even think about patenting these, they're mine dammit! Even more of an idiot is the "Snuggie Model" in the infomercial. This idiot is the idiot that demonstrates what you can do in a Snuggie that you could not possibly do with a regular blanket. "Talking on the phone, holding the TV remote and using your laptop are a breeze!" Are there seriously people out there that find it difficult to hold a remote control and keep a blanket over them at the same time? I mean those that are physically intact? I witnessed my three-year-old niece perform this very task two days ago. She must be a prodigy. Then there's the two adults playing backgammon in their Snuggies. Model #1 and her daughter reading a book. Model #1 pouring herself a cup of tea. As my brother so impeccably pointed out, "Have these people not heard of a sweatshirt?"

15 Snuggie Alternatives and Other Practical Ways to Save on Heat

1. Electrocute yourself

2. Stand in front of the dishwasher during the dry cycle

3. Fart in tight pants

4. Fill a spray bottle with boiling water and mist

5. Set yourself on fire

6. Arrange a group hug with your neighbors

7. Eat a hot dish

8. Cut a regular blanket into the shape of a robe

9. Borrow an electric blanket from your bubbe (if you know what a bubbe is)

10. Make a headband out of aluminum foil and lay under a halogen lamp

11. Purchase a used windbreaker

12. Do the running man

13. Warm yourself with a hairdryer

14. Grow a beard

15. Gain 20 pounds

An Analogy for Dudley

On September 7, 1996, Tupac Shakur was the victim of a drive-by shooting on Las Vegas Boulevard. After attending the Mike Tyson/Bruce Seldon boxing match, Shakur was shot five times and taken to a nearby hospital. Although some say that Tupac Shakur was pronounced dead six days after entering the hospital, there have been many speculations that Tupac is still alive. The staggering evidence includes a lack of photographs from the hospital and talk of his own funeral in an album released after his “death”.

Yesterday, I learned that around the same time, give or take five years, Dudley, previously mentioned in http://notinbookershouse.blogspot.com/2006/01/eulogy-for-dudley.html , like Tupac, was never officially pronounced dead. Having not heard from Dudley in ten-odd years, my brother and I made the likely assumption that Dudley had either passed of old age or committed suicide. Not so. New information has surfaced and we learned that in actuality, Dudley ran away from home and was never rescued by his owners. Is Dudley still out there? Has anyone heard from him? Is the poor bastard still puttering around being sullen? Dudley, if you’re reading this, please email me at lkaplan44@gmail.com.

My Sister is a Whore

It is never a good sign when you're calling the person you look up to and whom you hold in the highest regard, a whore. Luckily, even though she's a Catholic school girl, the kind of whore I'm referring to has nothing to do with getting drunk and telling a guy you'd like to see his condo at 4 AM. (This is a relief since she's married to my brother and has a three year old). The kind I'm referring to is strictly limited to the whorish tendencies of Facebook. This is not to be confused with the Facebook stalker category, which I have admittedly fallen in to from time to time.

A few years back, I was at my brother and sister-in-law's house, surfing the Internet and likely Facebook stalking, when Kristyn glanced over my shoulder and said with the underlying tone that I might be a pedafile, "You have a Facebook page?" I replied yes and quickly closed the window, knowing that Facebook was more of a college thing and she probably thought of it as a way to meet creeps online. In actuality, it was an avenue to look at your high school friends at their respective colleges, taking beer bongs and smoking pot bongs.

In the past year or so, Facebook has evolved from a community of college kids to a place where I've become friends with everyone from my former campers to my third grade teacher. And then came Kristyn...the Anti-Christ. A couple of weeks ago I got a Facebook alert that Kristyn Perlman Kaplan had requested me as a friend. Initially, I went through my brain filofax to make sure I didn't know anyone else by that name. When it finally set in, I accepted her and waited for the madness to begin.

Her next move was an album filled with pictures primarily of Alexis, my niece. (Side Bar---When my brother joined Facebook I deleted all pictures I had up of Alexis for fear that he'd yell at me for exposing her online.) Still confused, I rolled with it.

Last night as we discussed our weekend plans on the phone, Kristyn admitted that she was stressed out. Assuming it was something involving work, family or a new purchase from Intermix, I asked her why. She sighed and said she was annoyed because she couldn't figure out how she knew her latest Facebook request and it had taken her all day to figure it out. I laughed, especially when her next thought was to ask me if I had any good pictures she could post on her profile.

I will continue to marinate this new idea of the entire world being on Facebook. If my grandma signs up, I might have to deactivate.

Stockard Channing has a Twin--Look Out!

Last May, I said aloha (in the goodbye sense) to my corporate job and decided to go back to school and take on the oh-so highly coveted position of the nanny; CEO for five-year-olds.

Luckily for me, my best friend Lauren is a nursery school teacher. Her ability to network nanny positions is basically comparable to Donald Trump's ability to network in the real estate world. I had a job before she even put the "Best Friend of Miss Reiswerg" flier on the wall.

My new job was for a family that moved to Chicago from New York a year earlier. Up until this point, I was under the impression that I had grown up pretty lucky. Mind you, I still think that, but this nanny job provided me insight into a whole new world of spoiled.

The children, a four-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl, were very intelligent kids with wonderful potential and solid futures ahead of them. They also individually had at least five times the clothes than any member of my family. Although I have many more examples of why these kids lived in this world I had never known, I don't want to lose sight of what, actually who, I am writing this blog about. The mother.

Her name is Sharon. Honestly, I used to think you had to meet her in order to explain what kind of a person she was. Then I realized I was giving her way too much credit. When Sharon hired me at the end of April, she very adamantly explained that their was one component of my job that was MOST important to her; her annual trip to the Hamptons in August. It was pertinent for me to be there with her, helping out with the children. I wondered how I had never heard of the concept of bringing two babysitters on vacation when there were already four capable adults to watch three children.

Let's just say, the trip to the Hamptons was a paid trip for me to bask in the sun while the kids went to camp from 8-3. I would think an investment banker with a college degree from NYU would be able to crunch numbers a little bit better.

The trip ended with a shit storm, when I learned that Sharon and her family decided not to come back to Chicago, but to stay in New York...ultimately. It was lovely also to receive the news two days before they were supposed to come back to Chicago, from her husband whom I had exchanged about ten words with.

Since then, I have tried to maintain contact with Sharon, simply because I cared about the well being of her children. Often times my attempts to contact her were in response to something she initiated, but her general trend was no response or a response that was followed by a favor she needed of me.

Maybe I'm old fashioned, but when someone spent months with your children and expressed legitimate interest in their lives in a completely non-pedafile way, you would want to maintain contact with them. You would also think that when someone (me) knows that you sleep with your Blackberry taped to your pillow (her), you would respond.

Today I changed my email. I forwarded a message to all of my old contacts, including good old Sharon. Below are an archive of emails between us today. Enjoy!

From: Sharon
To: Me

How are you? Why the change in email?

From: Me
To: Sharon

Hi!

I'm good...how are you? How are the kids and everything in New York? I miss them!! No big reason for the change...just everyone always leaves out the "d" and I'm applying for teaching jobs for the fall so wanted to make it more concise. When are you coming to visit?

From: Sharon
To: Me

Request from sam and ryan

1 - sweet mandee bee cookie And one chocolate cupcake with pink frosting. How can we make it happen?

From: Me
To: Sharon

Yeah so I'm going to be a teacher. I know you must be so excited for me, since you've made it clear how much you care about my well being. It's hard to find someone who is so interested in my life and makes it so obvious that they put everyone else before themselves. You must get that all the time though.

As far as the cupcakes, I would suggest you tell your children, who you have turned into obnoxious spoiled brats, that you live in New York City! Perhaps you should remind them, as you reminded me, that New York is better than Chicago not only in some ways, but in every way. There is nothing good about Chicago, other than the nice people, who stupidly gave you the benefit of the doubt.

I guess that was overdoing it a little bit, I will retract. If you have already falsely promised your children the baked goods, as I'm sure you have because we know you love a bribe, I have an alternate plan for you. Call Sweet Mandy B's---I think you could probably get the number from Google. I'm pretty sure they could overnight you some treats, on yourself, as I don't have money to be spending on your frivilous necessities. They will probably require a minimum amount of goodies, since they are shipping them to you out of state. Seeing that I am pretty familiar with their inventory, mainly from the months I spent parenting your children, I would suggest getting one of their cakes. You may as well make them write something on the cake, just for fun. I've got something perfect.

GO FUCK YOURSELF (and don't forget the exclamation point).

$40 A Day, I'd Rather Spend it on Drugs

I loathe Rachael Ray. With the exception of maybe Gilbert Godfried, I truly believe her to be the most annoying person on television. That said, I am guilty of something. Admittedly, $40 A Day generally tends to be the last thing I watch before I go to sleep. I don’t even understand it myself. Her voice, her comments, her facial expressions, everything about the show bothers me. I would compare it to the violence in the action movie that grosses you out, yet you can’t look away from it. Last night, as I watched her ‘take on’ Seattle, I once again internally criticized the show. I would say my biggest pet peeve throughout the thirty minutes, is the reaction to the food she’s eating. I have seen the majority of the episodes and not once have I heard Rachael say, “Eh, you know what, this isn’t the best brisket sandwich I’ve ever had,” or “Well this burrito tastes and smells like shit, but at least it only cost me $4.75 plus tax and tip.” Is it possible that with every first bite of food she takes, that annoying grunt/groan she makes is genuine? Highly unlikely.
I also think there are many aspects of $40 A Day that are impractical. If the show was completely honest to its audience, it would be called “$40 A Day; you can manage it if you have the appetite of a 90 pound model”. In one episode, Rachael orders a bowl of greens with dressing for lunch. Now we all know Rachael is no anorexic, but come on, a bowl of greens? Now, not only are you faking your orgasmic reaction to the food, but you are trying to convince an innocent viewer that they will be satisfied with this lunch of roughage.
Here’s another thing. I hate the way she tries to ‘mingle’ with the locals. Come on. I’m sure the person you find on the street to ask who serves the best eggs in Atlanta is just a random resident who doesn’t even notice the cameras behind her. Let’s face it, the restaurants she’s going to are planned in advance and these fake locals are crew members pretending to tell Rachael where she should spontaneously go eat.
My final annoyance could be the most important. Before the mid-show commercial break and at least two other times throughout $40, Rachael checks in on her spending via an animated check that pops up on the screen. After she announces what she has already spent, she continues to comment on going over her budget, breaking her budget and having enough money for dinner. Once again, I have yet to see her go over her budget. The show isn’t called $46 A Day and furthermore, how will we know if you spent more than $40? You could be lying about the price, guzzling wine at the commercial breaks or getting free sandwiches from restaurant owners.
Rachael is like that annoying girl in high school that somehow always showed up to the party uninvited and wouldn’t shut up when she got there. Rachael, if you’re reading this, I don’t really understand why you’re famous, I don’t understand who is buying your magazine but I guess I’d be a hypocrite if I said I don’t understand who is watching your shows. Yum-O.

The Fake Abbreviations

I must say that I am noted quite frequently for my sarcasm and dry sense of humor. I guess I am most aware of it when I’m around someone who doesn’t know me very well and they give me a puzzled look when I tell them I enjoy stealing from my roommates. There have most certainly been instances in my life where I’ve had to remind myself of my surroundings and hold back on sarcastic commentary, i.e. job interviews, long conversations with Zeese, driving tests, jail…oops, there I go again.

The sarcasm is heightened however, when I’m around my family. It is mutually understood among the Kaplan’s that there are inside jokes, jargon, nicknames and destinations that stimulate sarcasm in the most bizarre sense of the word. It is also understood that if you try to explain Schteffie, two salty sides, Welcome Brother, Muck, Cup or Sunday to anyone outside of the insider, you’re bound to be greeted with another blank stare or a simple, “You’re so weird”.

I have come to realize in the past year that the Kaplan’s are not the only ones with a, shall I say, language set of their own. Jon Perlman, my sister-in-law’s brother and personal friend, has developed his own skill set that I have personally coined: Jon’s Fake Abbreviations. Over the past few years, Jon and I have developed a relationship that is largely based on text messaging, emailing and instant messaging. Through these channels, I have come to know Jon very well. It is now my duty to give you a personal analysis and interpretation of Jon’s made up terms that can only be used ‘digitally’.

It all started innocently enough. Some years ago I received an instant message from Jon. Instead of the standard, wudddddddddddup or hey, I was greeted with ‘vor’. Not quite sure what he was talking about, I asked him, ‘what is vor?’ In typical Jon fashion, his response was, ‘vor’. This continued for a few minutes until I called my brother, Brad to ask him what ‘vor’ meant. I was told that it stood for-verification of read, in other words, an abbreviated way of asking, ‘Are you there?’ Soon this became the standard greeting among Jon, myself, Brad and my sister-in-law Kristyn. Eventually it was shortened to just ‘v’, and it is still used sparingly among this group of four.

The real dictionary of terms has developed in the past six months and I have created a User’s Guide to Jon’s Fake Abbreviations, listed below.

Vd: Commonly used as a response to ‘V’, an alternative to yes, or a signification of agreement. Vd is Jon’s abbreviation for verified.
Example- Me: Alexis is cute.
Jon: Vd

Dd: The opposite of Vd, usually the second most common response to ‘V’. Many times additional D’s are incorporated to the abbreviation, indicating a more fervent response.
Example-Me: Are you going out tonight?
Jon: Ddddddddd

Sik: Abbreviation for sick, in the form of the word cool. Used most often in multiple text messages that I have no response for. Usually Jon uses this abbreviation to tell me what places in Chicago he finds to be acceptable venues to drink Red Bull and vodka.
Example- Jon: Enclave Sik.
Me:-
Jon: Enclave Sik.

Gros: Abbreviation for the word gross or the opposite of sik.
Example- Jon: Quartino gros (he likes big plates of protein, hence small plates of pasta would not agree with him)


Fyi: I’m sure you’ve heard of this one. It is the proper abbreviation for ‘for your information’. Still used to abbreviate those three words, Jon likes to use it at the end of a personal opinion, following sik or gros.
Example- Jon: Fresh Meat sik, fyi.


RFN: Acronym for ‘right fucking now’.
Me: When are you going there?
Jon: RFN

Brutus: Originally, I thought brutus was another word for brutal. In reality, or Jon’s reality, brutus means great or really sik.
Example-Jon: 30 E Huron pool brutus

Trust: Jon’s way to say ‘trust me.’ You can pretty much assume when Jon says trust, he is aware of something that he won’t reveal to you.
Example-Jon: Suite, fyi
Me: Why?
Jon: Trust.
(Reasoning behind it: Vince Vaughn was at Suite this particular night.)


Since I have formed a core understanding of Jon’s terminology, I have become an avid user and believer in it. Fake abbreviations are not only fun to use, but they are extremely habit forming. I highly recommend you implementing these terms into your digital messaging habits, RFN.

So Long, Jackass!

Parties come in many different forms and flavors. I am lucky enough to have been to everything from a Bar Mitzvah to a Blunt Mitzvah. I’ve come to realize, though, that there is one party that I just won’t ever completely understand. The Going Away Party. It’s not that I don’t get the concept: Hey, I’m going away so come get drunk and mourn my departure. What exactly do you do at a going away party? Basically you’re standing in line to talk to the person leaving about a dinner you went to with them two years ago that “seems like yesterday”. I just don’t get what you’re celebrating. I could see celebrating someone going away if you wanted them to go away, but then the person normally hosting the event probably wouldn’t be there. Can you imagine getting an Evite saying: Hey, that close talker with bad breath (have you noticed how those two characteristics go hand in hand, by the way) is moving to North Dakota! I know I’m not the only one excited! And to be safe, let’s have the party after they leave, just to make sure they don’t show up.

Three Cheers for the Bus Driver

Since moving to a city close to a year ago, I’ve come to realize you can learn a lot from taking public transportation. Sure, I took the occasional bus in college, but let’s be realistic, 95% of the time I was either getting dropped off by one of my friends or I was calling a freshman for notes. The following are observations I have made over the past several months.

1) The Middle Syndrome (it’s not just for children anymore)-Nobody wants to sit in the middle seat on the bus; it’s a rule. Of course I’m referring to the benches in the front that seat three, where the first occupants tend to take the two end seats and when the bus gets overly crowded, the middle seater dives in. Not an intricate observation, I know. But here’s the fascinating part. Somehow, I always end up sitting next to the guy who doesn’t want to move over. I’ll be sitting in an end seat of a three-seater, fully occupied. The person sitting in the other end seat gets up, and the guy in the middle remains seated next to me. Mind you, this situation only happens to me when the bus has a variety of desirable seats available. I wonder, does this person really enjoy sitting more or less on top of me when there is a perfectly decent seat right next to him where he doesn’t have to feel my pulse. Sometimes I want to move to another seat. This causes a whole inner monologue in my head. “If I get up, will this person be one of those crazies who calls me out on it and starts yelling and asking why I felt the need to switch seats? Maybe they’re getting off at the next stop and that’s why they didn’t move over. Maybe they’re cold and they wanted to be close to me for body heat. Maybe they didn’t notice that the other guy got off the bus.” Whatever the reasoning, I don’t like it. Vacant seats on the bus can be hard to come by. I think there needs to be another announcement on the bus. Right after the little robot voice says, “Please be considerate and give up your seats for passengers with disabilities and expected mothers,” they should add in “And don’t be a jackass. Move over if you’re in the middle seat and the end seat is vacant.”

2) The Cell Phone Junkie- I am not a morning person. Anyone who has ever seen me within two hours of waking up knows my personality resembles a slightly less intense Ebenezer Scrooge. I get on the bus to work and I expect my twenty minutes to be a time to zone out and forget that I’m starting another day with my boss that has two capital letters in his name. To the girl who needs to talk on her cell phone, loud enough for everyone to hear, to the point where I know what brand of plates her and her fiancé are registered for, STOP! If this is the conversation you are going to be having at 8 AM you need to learn how to text message or take a cab to work. I couldn’t believe it. This happened to me about a month ago and I think everyone on the bus wanted to throw her and her cell phone out the window. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been found guilty on charges of bad cell phone etiquette a few times, but who wants to discuss their personal life in front of 50 plus strangers?

3) The Headphones Guy- I never expected to turn into that guy with the headphones. Admittedly, though, I think I can safely say, it happened. I never understood the concept of people walking around enveloped in music. How are you aware of your surroundings? What if someone is calling your name and you can’t hear them (my grandmother wanted to know). And furthermore, you look like a fool. I’ve accepted and assumed the privilege of music while you’re working out. Other than that, I couldn’t endorse it. I have to say though, I get it now. It’s relaxing. It clears your head and prepares you for a day or winds you down for an evening. Plus, there’s nothing better than listening to Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration” before I’ve had coffee.

4) The Germaphobe-Since I started taking the bus, I’ve become obsessed with Purell. Obsessed. My sister in law (whom I’ve referred to as Bad Ass in the past) is the queen of Purell. She goes through more bottles of Purell a week than her daughter goes through diapers. I don’t know if I’ve taken over her title, but I’m getting there. Not only do I keep a bottle with me, a bottle at my desk at work and a bottle at home, I’ll put it on while I’m on the bus. I’ll hear someone sneeze in the back of the bus when I’m sitting in the front and I’ll break it out right then and there. Someone smells like Indian food? Same deal. It’s almost like I’m a super hero and the Purell is my magic weapon. Still, I know, how much more sanitary is touching my roommates dog, which I don’t Purell after doing so, than touching the chrome bar on the bus—probably not much.

5) The Passenger Awareness-I’ve become very aware of regulars that I see every day on the bus. One woman in particular I always notice. She wears a bright orange jacket and closes her eyes the entire bus ride. I know a lot of the bus drivers too. They give me a nod or (gasp) a piece sign when I get on. Another woman is on the bus on my way home from work. I can’t figure out if she’s friends with this particular bus driver and that’s why she’s on the bus in the first place, but she sits in the seat closest to him every day and goes on and on about how many rollover minutes she has on her cell phone and how much she’s paying for them. I’ve had to sit next to her a few times. This is one instance when you would think the headphones come in handy. Not so. Even at my iPod’s maximum volume, I can still hear this woman’s shrieking voice at full capacity. (With Kool and the Gang as background noise).

The Farmer in CorDell

POSTED BY LINDSAY

Ok, I'll admit it. I am not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, or in the chopping block depending on your kitchen space. To me, the only person I know that truly defines perfection is my niece, Alexis, (See The Idiot Father). I may be a slightly critical person but I am also consistent, which is why my top pet peeves have rightfully remained the same over the years. Unfortunately for me, I recently found someone who encompasses every pet peeve I never thought to include on my list and thus defines my new list of pet peeves. Before I fill you in on my latest and most irritable, I would like to give you a rundown of my standard classics that now take a distant second place to my new list. I apologize in advance if I'm hitting too close to home for anyone but if it makes you feel any better, it's never too late to change your ways!

Old Pet Peeves:
-People with B.O.
-People who walk at a snails pace for no reason in the middle of the street/sidewalk and have no regard for the people behind them who are trying to get somewhere. ( I really have nowhere to go I just truly can't stand these assholes!)
-Close talkers
-People who change their personality depending on who they're with
-People who choose to use alternative swear words (curse words for the East Coasters) i.e.-frick, heck, dang, fudge-also anyone that uses the phrase "Dog gone it" applies to this peeve
-People that can't spell
-People over the age of eight who drink Mountain Dew--this rule could be stretched to an early ten, but if you're thirty, drink some coffee or turn to drugs. It's better to be a drug addict than to be caught drinking something neon yellow.

Sidebar-I should also mention that this doesn't necessarily only apply to humans-I'm fully against a terrier that has B.O.

So, while those listed above most definitely continue to annoy me, my new jackass boss has undoubtedly taken the cake and outstaged every one of my former pet peeves, as well as fit the description for some off the old list.

I'll begin with the basics. His name is CorDell. That's right, a big capital D in the middle of his name. Let's examine this. Upon receiving my first email from him I wondered to myself, do you think he created the big D in his name? And now that I know him, he most certainly did. It's like in that movie with Steve Martin and Sarah Jessica Parker when her name is Sandee and she spells it with alternating capital and lowercase letters. Please, who has the time for that bullshit?

Now, let's go over his appearance. He's 31 and he looks about 45. He wears his hair in a stylish comb over, yet he's not balding. His standard outfit usually consists of pants out of a Land's End catalog, some sort of paisley metro shirt from Banana Republic so he can look "liberal" and a pair of ankle boots that would only be appropriate if he were a jockey in Manchester, England.

Now that we've covered the basic reasoning for why CorDell defines the word douchebag, here is a list of the latest pet peeves.

1)He does the dry laugh: If you're not sure what I'm referring to, I'm talking about that annoying sound that resembles a cough that's most commonly exerted when a real laugh isn't really necessary but you want to appear humorous. News Flash: It's not funny, you just sound like you have asthma.

2)He thinks he's a genius and everyone else is beneath him: Now let me clarify this. Diane Sawyer is my hero, if she wants to prance around Times Square and act like she's better than everyone in New York, that's her right. She is brilliant. I don't find someone that spells graphically (graphycally) and doesn't know the difference between two, to and too (Hello, fourth grade!) to be smarter than me. He finds the need, however to constantly undermine everything I say by being inquistive, as well as talk to me like I'm incompetent.

Here are some examples:

Example 1:

Me: The print out that we want isn't coming out in the colors we need, we need to change the printer ribbon

Dell: (Smirking at me) The ribbon or the cartridge?

Me: Blank stare

Example 2:

(After my first presentation for the partners of the company)

Dell: You did a really good job, I think that went well.

Me: Me too, I'm surprised, it was better than I expected.

Dell: (In all seriousness) Yeah I expected you to choke and thought I was going to have to cover the entire thing.

Me: More blank stares

3) He answers the phone in a professional voice even though he has caller ID and knows exactly who is calling him: Last week, he answers his cell phone in his annoying voice, "Hello, this is CorDell." Because his desk is five inches from mine I can hear the entirety of his conversation and realize thirty seconds into it that he's talking to his wife. His wife! Does he really not know her number on the caller ID or does he just feel the need to maintain "professionalism" while discussing which Olive Garden he should meet her at for dinner? I'm dumbfounded.

This last one is part of my classic list, however I could not leave it out as it is one of the most pertinent to defining his character.

4) Every other word out of his mouth is frick: I work in an office where fuck is completely acceptable, if not preferable in conversation. CorDell opts for frick and why wouldn't he? I think you can rightfully agree that "Frickin-A" lost its luster the second you graduated from middle school.

I plan on frequently adding more annoyances to this list as I continue to contemplate poking both of my eyes out with a pencil so I can leave work and bypass talking to him. If you know CorDell (there's only one right?), I'd like to keep my job for a while, so I would appreciate you keeping this from him.

I Don't Know What a Bubbie Is

POSTED BY LINDSAY, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR

Sunday afternoon for me usually means a lunch date with my roommate Lauren. Lauren has been one of my best friends since my first year of college and I must say she's given me some of the funniest stories to share with others. Last year, during our last semester of school, Lauren went to visit her boyfriend in New York. Unfortunately, after she arrived at the Indianapolis airport check-in, she realized she had left her luggage in the kitchen of our house in Bloomington. Maybe you had to be there, but to me, the funniest part of the story is that she didn't realize she didn't have a bag until she got to check-in. She parked her car, took the shuttle to the airport and walked to baggage claim without realizing she did not have a bag. Lauren's lifestyle also has a lot of parallelism to a person suffering from obesity. Her typical dinner consists of two sandwiches from Potbelly's, followed by another dinner of some sort an hour later, followed by a lot of laying on the couch and finally a night of sleep.

I love her like a sister but you must understand that going out to lunch with her involves recognizing her habits that you must accept in order to ensure a successful meal. Usually I wake up about 10:00 the latest. I call my friend Ashley because I know she's been up since at least 7 and we chat for about an hour. Lauren rolls out of bed anywhere between 11:30 and 2, even though she went to bed at least four hours before me. We discuss where we are going to go to eat. My general rule tends to be that I want lunch over breakfast, simply because I'm partial to lunch. Lauren just wants to go somewhere with dip. I can honestly say that if dip were a food group, Lauren would be its most avid user.

The next step involves getting ready to go to lunch. For me, this means, brushing my teeth, putting on sweat pants and sometimes some blush. For Lauren, it means, taking Franky the hot dog on the porch and yelling at him to pee on a pad, plucking her eyebrows, doing two loads of laundry and going back to bed for an hour. So three hours later, we're at California Pizza Kitchen. Lauren hides behind the parking garage wall while she smokes a cigarette, afraid that her nursery school students will see her. I remind her that it's 4:00, and most four-year-olds eat lunch at 11:30, but she argues that you can never be too cautious.

We order as soon as we sit down and sit more or less in silence the entire meal. We've reached a point in our relationship where there are no longer awkward pauses and we prefer not to talk to each other. Lauren also hates to wait for the check. As soon as she's done, she's ready to go. Dessert? Nope. Just the check, now. We drive home in silence and Lauren goes to her room to take a nap. Lazzzy Sundays.

A History of Inedible Cookies

POSTED BY LINDSAY, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR

To me, there's nothing better than a good cookie. Some may look forward to going to Joe's when the stone crab is in season and not cryogenically frozen, I look forward to going to Mrs. Fields at the Merchandise Mart when the Manager's Specials are 2 for 1. There's only one person that appreciates cookies as much as me and her name is Kristyn "Bad Ass" Kaplan. Granted, she judges the quality of a restaurant based on whether or not they serve cotton candy, nevertheless, she'll do as a witness for this intricate study. I have tried many cookies in my life, some good, some bad and some that looked like Dudley. The following are my top five favorites:
1) Smiley Face Cookie-Diamond Bakery, West Bloomfield, MI USA
2) Double Doozy-Great American Cookie Company, Bloomington, IN USA
3)M&M-Frances' Deli, Chicago, IL USA
4)Nutella Cookie-Some bakery in Florence, Italy, Europe
5)Chocolate Chunk-Eatzi's, Anywhere USA

My love for cookies has admittedly caused a major problem for me. The problem is not that I am so addicted that I would snort cookie powder if given to me, the problem, is something much more serious. Every time I have encountered someone with the name Cookie in my 23 years, my heart skips a beat. Undeserving? No question. Unappreciative? Without a doubt. In my opinion, the only people that deserve to have the name Cookie are myself, Bad Ass and that guy from Sugar Rush with the dreadlocks. Obviously it's not as common of a name as Kip or Ned, but I've found a few of them and have created a small analysis of the great inedible Cookies throughout history.

Cookie Monster
You all know him. He's furry, he's blue and he's been around the block a few times. I've never actually heard him say anything other than "Me Want Cookie", unless you count the violent chewing sounds he makes as he's shoving them in his puppet mouth. I mean, any character whose sole responsibility is to eat cookies, I have to respect. He seems to do alright for himself. I don't know what rent is like on Sesame Street these days but he must not spend much money on clothes, and his blue outfit doesn't look too shabby after what, 40 years?

Cookie Jarvis
Well, I'm not sure if Cookie is his real name, or if it's a nickname based on his athletic eating capabilities. At a curvy 419 pounds, Jarvis holds the most food contestant titles of anyone in the world.
Here are some examples:

Cannoli: 21 cannoli / 6 minutes
Chicken Fingers: 2 pounds, 2.5 ounces Hooter's chicken wings / 5 minutes
Chicken-Fried Steak: 6 11-ounce chicken fried steaks with country gravy/ Lone Star Cafe / 12 minutes/ Nov. 2, 2003
Corned Beef & Cabbage: Five Pounds Freirich Corned Beef & Cabbage / 10 Minutes/ Mar. 16, 2004
Dumplings: 91 Chinese dumplings / 8 minutes
French Fries: 4.46 pounds Nathan's Famous Crinkle Cut Fries / Six Minutes/ March 31, 2005
Grapes: 8 Pounds, 15 Ounces Grapes/ Smirnoff Twisted V Wild Grape / 10 Minutes/ Nov. 1, 2005
Ham & Potatoes: 6 pounds of Easter Feaster meal / 12 minutes
Ice Cream: 1 gallon, 9 ounces of vanilla ice cream / 12 minutes
Pasta: 6 2/3 pounds linguini (no. 115) / 10 minutes
Pomme Frites: 2 pounds 9 ounces of Pomme Frites / 8 minutes
Sweet Corn: 33 1/2 ears sweet corn/ Sweet Corn Fiesta / 12 minutes/ Apr. 24, 2004

What do you think was harder to down, the pommes frites or the french fries? I'm going to go with the pommes frites as they tend to have a rougher texture than french fries. Again, you have to respect someone who is admitting proudly that he weighs 419 pounds, but with all these stats, I'm thinking he would've chosen a name like Beef Stew Jarvis or Rack of Lamb Jarvis.

Cookie from City Slickers
Cookie, played by Tracey Walter, was the drunken ranch guy who died mid-way through the cattle drive. I guess the director of the movie didn't feel he needed a last name but he appeared to be a nice guy and seemed fine with being second or third banana to Billy Crystal. I see no direct correlation to Chips Ahoy, but maybe it was in the underlying message of the film.
(I have just been informed that Cookie did not in fact die in City Slickers, I confused him with Curly the trail boss. He did, however, break both of his legs.)

Cookie from Road Trip
The only reason I know this character existed is strictly because of the line, "Earl, Cookie, we have a situation." Cookie plays Kyle's mother and truthfully I don't even think she has any lines. She's purely there for decoration.

Cookie is not a name to be toyed with. I take it very seriously. These unworthy Cookie's have no business strutting around town as if they know what they're doing. And so friends, I remind you to consider the worthiness of the next Cookie you meet and decide if they're worthier than me (or Bad Ass).

It's Fun to say Shul

POSTED BY LINDSAY, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR
Let's face it. The high holidays (may have a different meaning if you're Benny Nuggs or Benny Kaplan two years ago) are nothing but a time to see your family and other Jews that you have no desire to see. If you belong to a Temple like Temple Israel, you'll relate to the scene of the high holiday services. 900 Jews fighting over parking their Lexus SUV's and BMW sedans, the fraudulent super Jews that opt to read a line of English in front of the congregation and consider themselves religious, and a cantor that plays guitar on the bimah and used to star on Broadway as Leopold Bloom (true story). The Kaplan family however, avoided these obstacles when I was growing up. Instead of fighting the hour long line to turn on to Walnut Lake Rd, we parked in the condominium complex next door and climbed over a mountain of grass as if we were sneaking into a Rolling Stones concert. Somehow, without fail, my dad always got us into the late service, crucial when you're fasting on Yom Kippur. Even more ironic was that we got the same section of seats every year. Brad and I have had an ongoing joke that I first noticed about five years ago. We all know the ritual of blowing the shofar; typically performed by another FSJ that wants to be Ray Charles for five minutes. The last calling of the shofar is Tekiah Gedolah, a single unbroken blast, essentially held until the dude is out of breath, followed by one short blast. Without fail, every year, directly after the short blast is blown, a gust of laughter fills the sanctuary. I don't get it. It's funny that this jackass on the bimah just combusted a long note through a rams horn and ended it with a short note? This is what you find humorous? I mean, my parents think Ali G is stupid but give them a shofar with opposing notes and they're slapping their knees like abusive husbands. And what kills me, is these stupid congregates hear it every year. It isn't new to you! Get over it! You know what's coming! Judaism where are you?

SHOO BE DOO WOP

POSTED BY LINDSAY, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR


I am not a superstitious person. You won't find me avoiding cracks or crying about a mirror I broke five years ago. I do strongly believe however, that since I left college I have developed the curse of the bad hangover. Don't get me wrong. At least 75% of my college experience was spent nursing Mango Madness Gatorade. Unfortunately, Gatorade, Kirkland Ibuprofen and french fries do nothing but frustrate me when it comes to the chronic headaches I am currently awoken with at least twice a week. Exhibit A: Last weekend my parents were in town and instead of enjoying the potentially great hangover lunch I could have ordered at Lux Bar, I used all of the strength in me to keep from vomiting in my chicken noodle soup. I've examined the possibilities. Sure I'm getting older, I can't even fathom the idea of downing the Bacardi Limon shots that I took like water in high school. I think at one point I could've actually mistaken the vile liquor for water. I decided when I moved to Chicago that it was time to leave the After Shock and Mumms (even though you can buy a whole bunch of it) in the past. My new idea was to go to the most expensive bars in the Gold Coast and order $12 Kettel on the rocks. I figure, why not spend my hefty babysitting salary on these extravagant cocktails, I'm an adult now. Why is it then, that I cannot shake these headaches and painful nausea waves? Reverting back to the examination of my history of drinking, I realized that my first two years of college intoxication were almost entirely provided by the filthy Kool Aid, Everclear mix commonly known at Indiana as Jungle Juice. I've now been tortured into referring to it as Wop, due to nameless Badger influences. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, and if that's the case, you obviously were a loser in college, Wop is most often served at fraternity parties out of a large garbage can. Aside from the Kool Aid and Everclear, there are usually traces of pledge urine and broom stick bacteria, used to stir the disgusting concotion. Why, I wonder, does this grain alcohol that costs less than half a Kettel cocktail at Rockit never bring me the headaches that presently torture me every weekend? It is now my latest mission to bring Wop cocktails into bars all over Chicago so I can remember my college days when Saturday's consisted of nothing but looking forward to 9:00 pm when I could begin drinking again. Aside from these new Wop cocktails, (I'm going to encourage the "Wop on the rocks"), I have developed some other new drink ideas that I think you might find amusing.

-The Yoo Hoo Martini

-The Ice Cold-(a drink so cold that you have no idea what's in it, you're too distracted by the frigid temperature)

-Any alcohol mixed with Welch's grape juice (it's a very underrated juice)

-The Vodka Salt- (vodka mixed with salt instead of juice, tonic, ice, etc)

*Note to readers: Don't attempt to steal my ideas, I'm planning on having all of them copyrighted this week.