To walk across the fire for you???? Ha! Now that I have that song in your head, you’re going to want to read on, right? I wasn’t even planning on going there but as soon as I typed the title, Melissa Etheridge was all up in my brain so I had to share. Aren’t you glad?
Anyway, it’s been a long week. Well, it’s been a long several weeks, as most of you living in Chicago understand. I’m not going to write about the weather because it makes me want to punch everything in the face and wish that wind would become a solid, physical thing for like forty seconds so I could kickbox it to death instead of it calling the shots and propelling me face-first over ice disguised as sidewalks and sonofabitch if you people would just shovel this wouldn’t happen….Ahem. Suffice it to say, it’s been a bad winter. When the best part of your day is NOT getting impaled by an icicle falling off of a building, the winter has already beaten you. Trust. So us Chicagoans have been pretty much of one mind the past couple of weeks, which consists mainly dreamily remembering those beautiful days last year that didn’t require fucking boots.
I saw a picture on Facebook yesterday demonstrating how we can save ducks’ lives by cutting the plastic rings from a six-pack so they don’t get caught in them and choke. A year or so ago, I wrote this post on that same topic, as I was surprised that other people didn’t do this all the time. It got me thinking about some other things that I do or think that I assume are perfectly normal, but other people consider to be a teensy bit crazy.
Am I The Only One?
- That Thinks We Need to Leave Bieber Alone? Yeah, I said it. Leave. Him. Alone. Is he a punk kid with little respect for authority? Absolutely. Does he deserve the wrath of an entire country actively awful upon him? No. One, making jokes about how hilarious it would be for him to get raped in prison? Doesn’t make us look very smart. Ditto for starting a petition to get him deported that received so many signatures the government actually had to act on it. Folks, if we deported or imprisoned every nineteen-year old that made a couple of really stupid, arrogant decisions, it would be the end of the population as we know it. Do you not remember being 19? Hell, I was an asshole at 19, and I was a rule-abiding kid from the suburbs with only $45 a week to work with. If I’d had access to millions of dollars with no supervision, the least of my problems would have been smoking pot and drag racing, I promise you that. Is he a shit? Yes. Did he make some mistakes? Absolutely. In one way or another, he’ll pay for them. I hope it’s in the form of realizing he’s a shit and straightening up. Hoping for him to fall into the revolving door of drugs and rehab like so many celebrity teenagers before him, hoping for him to fail, is just mean-spirited.
- That is Completely Terrified about The Missing Plane? Is it just me, or is this some Langoliers shit come to reality? Two hundred people and thousands of tons of metal just gone into thin air? How have we just gone on about our business, like, “Oh, well, can’t find it, that’s weird.” I just picture them all in some abandoned airport in an alternate universe all, “What the fuck? Why are we not the top story on the news? What is WRONG with these people?”
- With the Musical Taste of a Preteen in the 90’s? I’ve been running a lot, and I’ve found there is a direct correlation between how long I can run and how much 90’s angsty pop music is on my playlist. Ludacris and Eminem have taken some top spots in the rotation to keep me going, but the number one song that pumps me up and propels me to keep going? Avril Lavigne’s “Girlfriend.” Why? I don’t know. It’s been over a decade since I’ve had any reason to hate someone’s girlfriend, and if you really listen to it – which I have, often – it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Yet here we are, and every time it comes on, I go faster than I did the day before. If the folks in the park had any idea what was blasting in my headphones, they’d actually be LESS scared of me than they already are, which is a tough spot to find.
- That Has Notebook Paper Decorating the Fridge with Magnets, Despite Being Childless? Currently, my refrigerator boasts a notepad, three coupons for Family Dollar, a picture from 1980, a pen-draw picture of an eyeball, my sister’s baby shower invitation held up by a Bert and Ernie magnet, and a note scribbled in Magic Marker that says nothing but, “SOUL TRAIN IS ON.” The notepad? Not for grocery lists, or things we’re out of. (Which is likely we make frequent trips to above-mentioned Family Dollar at 9PM for things like toilet paper and cat food.) No, it has sports predictions for the upcoming week. The eyeball was drawn by a friend late one Saturday night and we deemed it a work of art. The Soul Train note? My husband was on the phone one Sunday morning and he would not appropriately respond to my frantic gestures to run into the living room for this grand moment in television programming.
Everyone has their little pockets of weird, right? Right????
And by this shit, I mean absolutely everything. Seriously. I usually try and embrace all of the seasons and take them in stride, “Hey, it’s winter, pretty soon we’ll be complaining about how hot it is!” I even believe myself most of the time. After today, though, when I waited a cumulative 47 minutes outside in subzero wind chills for the CTA, after I slipped going down the stairs, after my I got my stupid coat sleeve wet trying to wash my hands, after I was pushed out of the way by a full grown man for a bus seat, after I dropped my glove and bus card onto the disgusting floor, after I stepped off the bus into a pile of slush up to my ankle, I surrender. This is a big, huge, miserable bucket of suck and I would give my yet-to-be-conceived firstborn for a single afternoon swimming in Lake Michigan. Taking a shower in the morning is the happiest part of my day because it is the only ten minutes of the day I’m actually warm.
- It is too cold to go to the grocery store. I will make a meal out of zucchini and cream cheese if I have to.
- It is too cold for that stupid Erin Andrews probiotics commercial.
- It is too cold to talk about anything other than how cold it is and how much worse next week is going to be.
- It is too cold for every single living soul to turn into an amateur weatherman. Today I heard everything from six inches of snow to 40 degrees tomorrow.
- It is too cold to mop the floors a-fucking-gain.
- It is too cold to listen to one more word about Justin Bieber and the fact that he acts very similar to 70% of 19-year-olds in the United States and it is too cold to scroll through the hundred or so memes that have already been created and are running rampant on Facebook. Two things about this: One, if he was a well-loved superstar to adults instead of teenagers here on a Visa and we were making jokes about deportation, the country would be up in arms. He’s not selling government secrets; he’s an idiot teenager Two, one of the most popular memes thus far is a split-shot of the Biebs and a tough looking criminal with a caption along the lines of “Oh, I’m gonna love you!” Wait, so rape jokes are okay if we don’t like someone’s music or attitude? Come on.
- It is too cold to watch one more fluffed up weatherperson – who is almost always a perky little girl – standing outside in frigid temperatures telling us how cold it is. WE KNOW. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE HER STAND OUTSIDE??
- It is too cold to remove the plastic Christmas decorations from my front yard because their cords have been frozen to the ground for three weeks.
- It is too cold to get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night because no matter how high the heat is, the toilet seat is like fucking ice.
- It is definitely too cold for this idiot, Republican GOP candidate Susanne Atanus, who believes “God controls the weather and that tornadoes, autism and dementia are his punishments for the gay rights movement and abortions.” In other news, Santa Claus really does travel the entire world in one night giving gifts to good, deserving (heterosexual) children and the Easter Bunny is totally real.
- It is too cold to even enjoy the beautifulness that is Harry Connick Jr. on American Idol because J-Lo is wearing a dress without a snowsuit over it and it makes me mutter incomprehensible things like, “I bet SHE didn’t almost freeze to the front gate trying to get in. I bet her stupid front door wasn’t frozen shut.” (True story. That was when it was actually 20 below as opposed to balmy 7 degrees we’re enjoying right now.)
- It is too cold for Captain and Tenille to get divorced. WTF???
- It is too cold to be sitting at the laptop with two fur-covered animals just staring at me instead of keeping my feet warm.
- It is too cold to not have a fireplace.
- It is too cold to not be dressed like Randy from a Christmas Story and I hate scarves.
- It is too cold to drive a car.
- It is too cold to enjoy national media pointing out how miserable it is here. Jimmy Fallon has polar vortex songs and I can’t even be happy about them.
I am declaring this weekend Summer in January. The heat’s going up to 80, static electricity be damned – hey, the ensuing fire will only create more heat!!! – we’re getting beach cocktails, spreading out a blanket on the floor, and only playing Jimmy Buffett for 24 hours. Who’s with me??
It’s that time of year again! The time when everyone resolves to lose weight, quit smoking, save money, integrate organization into their chaotic lives, etc. While these goals are certainly admirable, I’ve found in trying the above for several years running that all it accomplishes is a crushing sense of defeat somewhere around January 16th when I’m sitting in a pile of Weight Watchers cookbooks I bought for $35, up a pound and a half at my last weigh in, cigarette in hand, trying to remember where I put my shoes.
(Side note – Statistically, the third Monday in January is the saddest day of the year. The resolutions are broken, the weather is miserable, and there’s no holiday until Memorial Day unless you’re a teacher. Or, um, have no job. Which, incidentally, doesn’t help.)
On that note, this year I have only one goal: find a job. Preferably one which does not make me want to stab myself in the eye with a fork. But as this is less of a resolution than a necessity, I’ve compiled a list of things that might make us all much happier, should we all choose to abide by them.
Please note – I am NOT EXEMPT from being a part of the below categories. While not all of of them apply to my life, the majority likely do.
Stop. Watching. The. Kardashians.
Seriously. Enough is enough. “Kendall’s Sweet 16,” “Keeping Up with the Kardashians,” “Kim and Kourtney Take New York,” “Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami,” “Khloe and Lamar,” and the list is apparently going to go on and on and on until we STOP THE MADNESS. It is our own fault that this insipid girl and her entire family is able to make millions and millions for absolutely no reason. In addition, we are perpetuating a very bad cycle that tells young girls, “If you’re somewhat pretty and have money, you don’t have to be anything else! Just continue being as dumb as a bag of fish and people will pay you!” There is simply no reason these people are famous save for an obviously fabulous publicist and the fact that WE KEEP WATCHING THEM. If they take over the world, I’m blaming you.
While We’re At It, Let’s Just Not Make Any More Reality TV.
Can you get on board with me on this one? Because as it stands, the ratio of reality TV to new concepts is about 17/1. The categories are Weight Loss, Talent, Eating Scorpions, Marrying Someone Rich, and Trivia. That’s it, folks. No need for 15 subcategories under each heading. Pretty soon we’re going to have “Fat People Eating Only Bugs to Survive While Meeting Their Millionaire Spouse, but Only If They Can Name All Of The State’s Capitals While Walking on a Tightrope,” and that is the day my head will explode and all of our world leaders give up completely.
(Edited: I forgot the teen moms. But they need to go, too. See also, “Kardashians – People to Stop Glamorizing.”)
Baggy Pants or Skinny Jeans: Pick a Style, Boys.
I understand that fashion trends come and go. I also understand most people over 30, myself included, will not understand or agree with these trends. I’m okay with this. I get now why my parents used to cringe in the 90’s and why my mother wanted to burn my overalls. While I want to shave every young man’s head I see with Justin Bieber’s haircut, I understand it is fashionable, and they will laugh at themselves in years to come, just as we do when looking at those pictures of the “Wall of Bangs” that was known as the late eighties/early nineties. But I simply cannot get on board with skintight jeans, fastened with a belt securely underneath the rear end of a ninety pound teenager. HOW DO YOU WALK?? Be a hipster, be a gangster, but please pick one. You can’t do both. Because I’ve walked behind you, and the fact that you have to shuffle because your pants are ridiculous slows me down.
Let’s Cut Back on the Facebook, Shall We?
Now, anyone who knows me is laughing at this. I love Facebook. A lot. I get a majority of my news from it, keep up with old friends and acquaintances, and post many a vapid thought on it. I am “that girl” on Facebook quite often, and for the most part, I’m okay with it. It’s an indescribable, primal urge that requires me to post a picture of where I’m at and who I’m with on the rare occasions I go anywhere, as though if I don’t post it, it didn’t actually happen. Now, as addictions go, it’s not a bad one; it’s free, it’s not (physically) unhealthy, and doesn’t hurt anyone. But now that it is one step away from putting a chip in me and posting my comings and goings without my knowledge, I’m getting scared. I’m not saying to stop Facebook, as I have no intentions of doing so. I am saying to stop adding features that may or may not publicize the fact that I’m in my bathroom.
Let’s Go Back To Naming Babies Actual Names.
Here’s a few celebrity baby names from 2011: Genesis, Gemma, Arlo, Hattie, Colt, Weston, Spike, Xander, Milo, Clover, Haven, Indiana, Arabella, Kase, Bingham, Cree, Aleph, Cleo, Bear Blu, Kannon, Moroccan, Coco Reese, Ever, and Locklyn.
Never mind that I want to put the parents of said children in a pillowcase of porcupines (extra sharp ones for the p’s of Clover, Cree, and ALEPH,) but seriously? These are barely words, let alone names! Let’s just all get past the “oh so original and creative” names as well as the Tyler/Taylor/Aiden/Aidan/Madyson/Madison/Skylar/Skyler-I-have-no-idea-if-you’re-a-boy-or-girl mess and go back to Johnny and Bobby teasing Jennifer and Sarah on the swingsets, shall we? Because giving your child a name like the above sets the bar WAY TOO HIGH. They absolutely have to be the coolest kid in school or else they’re going to get the shit beat out of them with a name like Bingham. Sure, they may grow into it and it’s a fabulous name for an actor but the middle school years? Are going to suck. A lot.
No More Wearing Big, Stupid, Outfits in the Name of “Art.”
I’m sorry, but a meat dress? Is not art. It’s just not. It’s fucking disgusting. I’m happily willing to admit that I’m not an artist, and I have enough self-awareness that I realize that just because I don’t like or understand something doesn’t make it stupid. But there are some things that are just stupid. And that meat dress was one of those things. The outfits Katy Perry and Nicki Minaj wore at that one awards show (I can’t find the pictures. Google searching “Outrageous Outfits, Nicki Minaj,” surprisingly did not turn up what I was looking for,) that made them look like a three-year-old on hallucinogenics dressed them also fall in this category. NOT ART. You’re beautiful. You have a fabulous body. You can wear anything and look stunning. Don’t pick something that makes you look like a goddamn fruit salad.
(Edited: Apparently the meat dress was last year. My point remains the same.)
No More Rappers for Five Years.
With the exception of Pitbull (and Nicki Minaj, actually,) everyone that has emerged in this genre since Eminem has pretty much sucked. Talking fast to a beat does not make you a musician. Yelling “YEEAH” in the background of a good beat does not make you a musician. It makes you lucky. Let’s stop giving these people money, yes? Because I’m tired of hearing three variations of the same damn song every fifteen minutes. All of you, think of some new shit, get some new beats, find some new words, and then we’ll buy your stuff. Stop recycling. You don’t even have to pull your pants up, just be original, for God’s sake.
Thoughts? Am I just getting old and intolerant? Or would my suggestions make for a better 2012?