HeyDevo

Happy Valentine's Day.

2012-02-14T23:55:00.000+01:00

I remember when Marlo Santos performed this song in our Variety Show circa 2000. He dedicated his performance to Karen Slotwinski, his then girlfriend, and from where I sat as a freshmen in the dark of my high school auditorium, I thought it was the most romantic thing I had ever seen.
It's still one of my favorite songs, and one that will always stir romance in mi corazon.

Feliz V-Day. I hope yours is special.

2012-02-02T17:01:00.000+01:00

Happy Groundhog Day!

I love this video because A) it proves that at some point in the past 50 YEARS! Cher found the fountain of youth, and B) she sings about Sonny's hair being too long, and it is!
Oh, isn't that just the most? His hair is too long! And well, let them just go ahead and say it, because Cher loves him no matter what. And so she pulls on it flirtatiously. And they love each other.
And he looks like a Shakespearian minstrel.

When you're sad, you want a clown.
When you're scared, would Sonny being around really make you feel less scared? Is Sonny the type of bro that could BEAT DOWN in an alley? Could he growl and send a prowler running?
Either way, he's got Cher, Babe.

If today was on repeat for you, would you make it count? Would you woo Andie Macdowell whole-heartedly? Would you learn to play an instrument? Would you rob an armored truck?

Today will be a special day for me. And I'll let you know tomorrow if I wake up dreaming about him again, and if there is a mysterious man in my roommate's room that I thought was her so I greeted warmly, but I realized it wasn't, and so I turned quickly, so I didn't see his face, and I darted into the bathroom because I didn't want him to see my undies, or if I drank entirely too much coffee before 8 am, or if there was police activity at some point on the Brown line run, or if it is unseasonably warm, or if I'm in a great mood after watching 15 different Sonny and Cher videos... Again.

PandoraONE for ME and TWO for Me TOO!

2012-02-01T23:40:00.000+01:00

I want these earrings that are a groupon Valentine's Day Deal.

They are Swarovski Zirconia studs, and they are 19 dollars, and they "shimmer with diamond-like brilliance."

Should I buy them for myself?

I mean, they're 19 dollars. So I could easy peasey buy them for myself.
And pretend that they are real diamonds.
And every time I wear them, I could be reminded that I myself think that I am special, even if it's in a fake kind of way, because some days I want to shimmer with diamond-like brilliance.

Or I could wait, to see if they're bought for me? Because shipping is guaranteed by Valentine's Day?

Decisions are the worst...

I am following through in 2012. Why?

Because I FINALLY just upgraded to Pandora One. That's right. After about 6 months of saying that I would-- I did. And I feel great about it.
I feel great for the following 5 reasons:
1. I use Pandora all the time, and I think it provides an excellent service, and the people that created it deserve my money. I have found many new and enjoyable artists that I never would have found without it.
2. I'm afraid of Spotify. AND I think it's kind of gross to be able to listen to any song you want, any time- all the time. Elizabeth Anne feels the same way. Aren't we all instant-gratification-ish enough? What about a little mystery, Spotify? What about that magic moment when you're out and about and you hear a song that you love so much, and you Shazam it to add it to a playlist later? Huh, Spotify? Huh?
3. I'm pretty sure I'll use it till forever. Or at least until February 1st of 2013. AND it was only 36 dollars.
4. Most importantly, gone are the days of being mid-morning-magnificent-make-out- and mother-funking-Living Social interrupting me to tell me how to live my life.
I ALREADY DO. I ALREADY LIVE SOCIAL. EVERY DAY. I LIVE A SOCIAL DAY EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE. AND I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF SOME REALLY GREAT KISSING, FREEPANDORA. LEAVE US ALONE. YOU ARE EMBARRASSING ME IN FRONT OF THIS BABE.
5. Now any Babe that wants to can create a channel on my Pandora. Even if it's Washed Out Radio? Which I'm listening to commercial-free right now, and I'm not sure I get it? Is this, like, knife-murderer music? It's very whispery, and Phoenix has come up twice.

Thanks, PandoraOne for letting me follow through! Now all I need to do is finish reading Wicked, quit Netflix (again), and figure out what I'm doing next in my life.

Oh, and I just bought the earrings for myself. Shipping included!

A 2 line poem. A poem that's 2 lines.

2012-01-26T14:27:00.000+01:00

"Your lips are warm." she says and smiles. "And delicious."

"Your lips are cold." he says and thinks. "And refreshing."

Doctor, Doctor. Bring Me the Medicine.

2012-01-24T16:21:00.000+01:00

Yes.

2012-01-18T21:38:00.000+01:00

Timing.

2012-01-11T20:49:00.000+01:00

I never get too jazzed about New Year's Eve anymore. I used to.
Sometimes, I would get real psyched about it, and go out and get a new outfit, and shave my thighs and my knees four times, and maybe spray some DKNY perfume that I love so much and that is discontinued, so it's rare and special (for a rare and let's please, God-- this year hope for a special night) and then hope for a special smooch from a special boy... and like a high school dance (Big-Build-Up-Big-Let-Down) for many of those years, I'd be disappointed.
NYE was like any other night of the year. No magic midnight.
And it was a bummer.

Cause guess what? Anytime you get your hopes up about ANYTHING-- you're setting yourself up for a bruisin.
It could really smart.
You could even feel like you were punched in the guts.
Anything that gets you pumped-- a man, a sale, a meal, a morning-- get your hopes anywhere, and they could be dashed.

A man:
Oh my God. I love him. We're gonna get married. I love him so much. I love the way he smells. I love the way his apartment smells. I love the way his breath smells in the morning. I hope he's not Jewish, because then his Mom would have to hate me, right? If he's not Jewish, I would totally marry him next week. I mean, who am I kidding-- even if he is Jewish, I would marry him next week! Could I pull off a short wedding dress with him? I mean, he's pretty short. Oh, I love the way he listens. I love the way he laughs. La la la la laaa! Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togethhaaaaa.
Oh! He just texted me "What's poppin tonight, gurl?"
I love him. He's so funny! What should I text him back?

A sale:
EVERYTHING IS A DOLLAR AT ANNE TAYLOR LOFT RIGHT NOW. GET IN THERE. NOW. BECAUSE YOU WILL FIND YOUR DREAM-COME-TRUE-CARDIGAN. Oh man, I'm sweating. I'm sweating because I am so excited about this blue sweater. Look at it. Touch it. That's a cashmere-blend. Is it? I don't know, it feels like it. Look at these socks! Socks on sale. Nice socks. Packs of 5.
There are black pants, literally really nice and dressy black pants on sale, right now, for $14.99. Look at my ass in these pants. My pants that I wore into the store? I threw those pants into the trash inside the dressing room. Look at how skinny and happy I am in these pants! I mean, these are OLD NAVY PRICES. AND IT'S ANNE. ANNE TAYLOR IS GIVING IT UP RIGHT NOW.
What are you still doing sitting on the couch? GET OVER THERE. DON'T YOU WANT TO WIN IN 2012? DON'T YOU WANT TO BE SOMEBODY? TO SUCCEED? I KNOW YOU DO. AND I KNOW THAT YOU WILL NEED A BROWNISH TWEED SUIT FOR 29 DOLLARS TO DO SO. Go. GO!
I BOUGHT HEADBANDS!

A meal:
You're gonna really like this place. The guy from Top Chef-- you know the guy? It's his place. And it's supposed to be really good. And it's B.Y.O.B. Which, who doesn't love that?
It's some sort of fusion restaurant I think. I can't remember what flavors or inspirations or whatever are fused, but I bet you'll really like it. I think we're both gonna have a really great meal. It's just a couple more blocks, up here on the right I think. I'm starving. Are you starving? You look great, by the way. Is that a new jacket? Tweed? I love it.

A morning:
What a beautiful day? I love this song. I love this song so much. High-five, Stranger! Oh, Gosh. I gotta stop and take a picture of this sunrise. Wow. Wait a sec. Is that the moon? But-- the sun is rising? And that gorgeous moon is still up. Huh. Oh my goodness. I've got to take a picture. Wow. So much beauty everywhere. How did I get to be so lucky and alive at the same time?
I love today.
I love myself, and my family, and my job today. Is that a plastic bag drifting in the wind? Haha I love that song and I love that movie-- hey wait a minute-- Is that a five dollar bill? Yes it is. I just found five dollars! And you're welcome, sir. God Bless you too! Keep the StreetWise, just pay it forward!
Here's a cab. You take it, Madam. I'm going to take this bus that's pulling up right now today, because it's a beautiful day, and I feel it in the air. That's the feeling of possibility. Anything and everything could happen. Today!

And your hopes are up, because anything is possible, right?

Except that man didn't call you back, so you called him. Again. And it turns out he's not looking for anything serious right now, and you seem like a serious kind of person, but he would like to still be friends if you'd like to be? But don't you already have enough god damn friends?

And by the time you got to Anne Taylor's Loft, she was looking busted. All her sweaters were gone, and those sexy yet still-dressy black pants of hers? All gone-- except for a size 2. And yes, you're still on your New-Year-New-You-Diet, but a 2? C'mon. Not in the next 6 months, honey. So you bought a stupid headband that you won't ever wear, just because you wanted to buy something.

And that meal? The restaurant's closed for renovations for the next three weeks. So much for a magic date, huh? There's a Potbelly's down the street that's still open, or a P.F. Chang's? Or I don't know, do you eat hot dogs?

And your morning probably should have been over before it started. Because you got on the bus, all smiles to the stranger's around you, and you chose an empty seat by the window so you could marvel at the world passing slowly by, and then-- and then you sat in urine.
And so. All day long. You smelled like stranger's peepee.

Put your hopes anywhere in the direction of up, and they could be kicked back down in your face.
And it's wretched, huh?

This year, I knew New Year's would be fun. But I put my hopes exactly where I wanted them to be. I saved the discontinued perfume, I shaved my knees only twice, and I wore a dress that I've had for a while. I didn't feel like a million bucks, but I felt better than the average Saturday night, and I was realistic with my expectations for the evening.
And you know what happened?
The most magical midnight I can remember.

Disappointment. Rejection. Failure. They all = the opposite of fun.

But I'd rather keep getting my hopes up and have some god damn hopes and have them be bruised, than to never hope at all.
Because when it comes down to it, timing determines where your hopes will go.

When the timing is right, he'll smile and you'll smile back, and he'll text you when he says he will. And it'll be a text that makes you laugh out loud. And so you'll say "LOL" and tell him that you only say that when it's true. And you'll tell your roommate that you hope he brings over a bottle when he comes to dinner tonight, because that's a classy move, and not only will he bring over a bottle of red, but he'll also bring over your favorite beer, which is rare because you don't even drink beer all that much, and you can only get Spotted Cow in Wisconsin, and so you'll smile at him, and he'll smile back, and you'll remember the timing of when you first met.

And when the timing is right, you'll stumble upon that perfect black cardigan you've been hunting for, and it will be 75% off. And it's a size smaller than what you would have thought, because you've finally made peace with carbohydrates, because you're finally at the right time in your life to be just friends with Italian bread.

And guess what? This must be your lucky day, because we don't normally have any openings on a Friday night, but we just had a couple call and cancel, so follow me right this way to-- is this table okay right here by the window? I hope you want to meet the Chef. He's actually here tonight and he'll be coming around with some free appetizer samplers in just a moment. Here's an ice bucket to chill the champagne that you brought. It should be nice and chilled by the time your salads arrive.

And, hey! Long time no see. How ya been? Wow, what are the odds that I'd see you walking down the street on this beautiful and unseasonably warm day? No, don't take the bus. Where ya headed? Oh yeah? Me too! Hop in. I got the new Paul Simon cd on, and here, lemme turn your seat warmer up for ya. Let's crack open the moon roof! Whoa, timing huh?

So here's and cheers to the future, and all of it's possibilities.
Happy New Year. I hope for you that this time, it's the best one.

This really got it poppin.

2012-01-06T19:17:00.001+01:00

Sorry, Babies. I've missed you too.
But I've been distracted for good reason.
See you tonight at Second City's Skybox at 9 pm?
Unicorns, the Middle Class, & Other Mythical Creatures is a really great show with some truly talented people.
And Tom Longo is gonna be there, so you know it's gonna be real.
If you come, I will do the dance of joy! #CousinBalki

Shazam, I love you. A lot.

2012-01-03T17:14:00.000+01:00

Recognize some beauty when you see it:

Or hear it:

I used to think Shazam was stupid. Figure out the song on your own, we use our gadgets enough.
Wrong.
I was blind to the genius. (Er-- deaf to it.)
Figure out the song now. And make a playlist for later. And thus, change your life a little bit.
This article is right-- ask your server or whoever you're with, but what if they don't know?
What if you're loving a song so much, but you've never heard it before and you fear that you'll never hear it again?
What if there are no Coldplay undertones to help you figure it out?
What if you can't tell on your own?
Shazam! Use it while it's free.
And maybe tag a song that you already know but haven't heard in a while, and fall in love all over again.

Shazam will even tell you the date and time that it changed your life.
It was New Year's Day 2012 at 11:22 am that I heard this Chemical Brothers song, and now I'll never forget it, or the beautiful night that I was living in.

So. SHA-ZAM. You're stupid if you don't know that "there's an app for that." That being recognizing beauty whenever and wherever you can.

Enemies of you, the Scooterer.

2011-12-19T19:58:00.000+01:00

"Oh you have a scooter?" Person will ask.

"Yes." I say. "A red Vespa. I love it. I love my life on it."

"I've always wanted one." Person says.

"Get one!" I encourage. "You'll love your life on it too."

"You wear a helmet on it?" Person asks with a bit of a judgey face on.

"I'm cute," I always say to this question. "But I'm not stupid."

There are several enemies of the scooterer, & I've been thinking about which is the worst, because recently Dave asked me what was the number one.

If you're considering getting a scoot of your own in Chicago, please let me share my wisdom about who exactly is trying to kill you out there.

~Wind.

Uh, it's windy here in this city, yahurd? There have only been a couple of times where I thought maybe I would be blown off of my seat and in the Chicago river. Usually, there is a wind advisory on days like that. So heads up. Listen to XRT and if Lin Brehmer croons to you that there is a wind advisory, don't scoot. Or do, but make sure your helmet strap is on tight, so it doesn't blow off. Be cute and not stupid. Oh, and think heavy thoughts. The kind that really weigh you down.

"Man, it is windy. Whoo. That was a close one. Why is it windier going through intersections? It must be a wind tunnel type of thing. If I die right now, who will learn all my lines? Is there an understudy? Would there be a memorial service in Kansas too? What if I never make anything of myself? All those people that believed in me and told me that I was special and stuff my whole life, they are gonna be really salty. What if there isn't a guy out there for me? I mean, they say that there's someone out there for everyone, right? But I have met some shitty dudes. Will they end up with someone that is shitty too? Or will they land the kind of chick that makes them better? Pigeons are so sad. They eat trash. And why do so many of them have messed-up feet? Ooh yes, there's a parking spot right out front!"

~Passengers.

You'd think your friends or family members riding on the back of your scoot would be only fun. No. They are dangerous. They will distract you with clever anecdotes, cat-call to hot strangers, and bounce all around with a lit cigarette. If you're driving, listen to the stories, smile to the babies, and maybe take a poof or two of the cigarette, but remember-- focus!

~Dogs.

Dogs that have a chip on their shoulder, dogs that had maybe a bad past-life experience with something on 2 wheels, or dogs with another "bone to pick" as it were, with a scooter. Watch out. I had a dog chase me in LaGrange for 3 blocks. It was my instinct to kick it. Like a game of polo-- where my scooter Cissy was the horse, my foot was the stick, and the dog's face was the ball.

Drug dogs are another story.

You can use your scoot as the horse in a game of polo with a dog's face, but don't use your scooter as the mule. Most times there just isn't the trunk space.

~Bus.

Which is said like "Bus!" Because when I yell at it, I just yell "Come on, BUS! Go, bus! Go." All buses are trying to kill you all the time. Operate with that in mind and you'll be fine.

But buses aren't trying to end you as much as:

~All cabs.

Mini-van cabs are particularly entitled. Prius cabs are the quiet killas. And I don't even wanna talk about the blue ones. Cabbies are at work, and I don't blame them for trying to make a buck. Some get there fast, some take it slow, but all of them contain passengers inside that are definitely trying to kill you.

"Oh this looks like a good place to hail a cab. Right here. Yes, right here oughta do. I'll just put my hand up. Right here. I'll just take a little step into traffic. IN THE MIDDLE OF CLARK. Thanks, kind sir. I'm actually heading the other direction. So if you wanna just pull a U-ie? Right here in the middle of the street? That oughta do just fine. Great. Thanks. I'm going to a Cubs game. So. I AM DRUNK. And I might dart out of the cab into oncoming traffic at any time, so if you wanna just drive faster? Hey look! That girl has a Grateful Dead sticker on the side of her Vespa. Which is practically touching my face. Which is touching the pavement. I'm tired..."

~My personal favorite-- "the paranoid honk."

It must mean that I am really self-aware, or perhaps a "raving paranoid" if I assume that everyone who is honking their horn in the city of Chicago, is trying to tell me something. I hear a honk, and I think my trunk is open. Or my signal is on. Or my purse is falling off.

It slows me down.

Please, everyone. Stop honking at me.

If you're not, then go ahead and stop anger-honking. That is yucky. If you're mad, don't take it out on your horn and everyone else's ears all around you.

Do I have something in my teeth?

Enemy Number 1? I finally figured it out, Dave.

If you're in Chicago-- it's Winter.

I wear skirts. A lot. That's hard to do on a scoot in the cruel, cruel Winter. And my purple leather gloves don't keep the burn off my hands. Yesterday was the first time that I was so cold that I felt like it was time to put Tootsie in park. And then it snowed. Anne Lise let me borrow her over-the-face helmet- which is definitely warm, and I look super tough in it, & I never knew I could beat box until I put it on, but it makes my glasses fog, and I feel lonely inside of it because it makes the world go quiet.

We made it farther this Winter than we did last year, but I think it's time to tell you that I'll see you in the spring, Tootsie. I'll miss you. And please know that I really hate the bus. And nobody makes me feel like you do. But I'll get some writing done on the el I'm sure, and maybe I'll finally finish reading Wicked. I love you.

So you want to scoot?

Now you know your enemies.

Just like in life, please be aware. If you're not, you've got problems. Be aware of who you are and where you are, and who will be affected by your actions.

And only kick a dog if you have to or if it's ugly.

And for funk sake, be cute but not stupid.

A first: Putting up a video... again.

2011-12-13T04:23:00.001+01:00

I don't want to tell you how many times I have listened to this song in the past three days. When I love a song-- repeat. repeat. repeat!

Repeat the 3peat. 90s Bulls reference? Yes. Wow. That was it. My only professional sports reference ever. A first!

If you can't listen to a song, and love it, and then listen to it again, and love it even more, and then listen to it again, and so understand it on a new level-- then we might not have anything to talk about at 4am.

I remember the first time I held Minkus.

I remember my first cigarette.

I remember the first time I peed laughing.

Little-Laura-Bird-Sour-berg was there for all three of these things.

And last Friday.

Another first:

She asked me to be a bridesmaid!

Her and her Ty Ty Baby are one of those couples that everyone wants around. B'cuz (this is how Laura says it) they are bitchin' individuals, and when you put them together you of course get some serious synergizing. For real, they are competing with the whole world for Prom King and Queen.

I pledge to you, Laura, to uphold my duties as bridesmaid, (whatever that entails, I'll probably have to read a magazine article or 2) to make you laugh (but not pee in your dress) at least four times on your wedding day, and to be just the right level of emaciated in my gown of navy blue chiffon. (People will probably be whispering, the word rehab will get thrown around, but not so much that it distracts from your special day.)

And if you need someone to be in charge of your Corgi (if it's a boy, please name him Mel & of course Melissa if a girl) at the reception, I'm your girl.

I love you.

I'm so excited for you.

Because you guys are gonna love each other. And then love each other some more. And then some more. And then understand each other on a new level. And can we talk about it at 4 am?

Ashley Says: Who's a Judgie?

2011-12-13T01:29:00.000+01:00

Can you guy a judge a guy by his apartment?

Ashley Says that guys nest differently than women.

So if you have a couch that's from the 90s, or a serial killer bathroom, or carpet that turns my face into the "Who-shit-their-pants-face?" that I reserve for only truly scary and gross phenomenons, or it smells like fried chicken-- in your bedroom, or a television that is bigger than the bathroom where you kill people-- fine. You're from Mars and I use a Venus razor. I get that.
Your kitchen sink is filled with dishes.
There are filthy tools to smoke marijuana on every surface in every room of your crib.
Do you have a cat? Or is that just a bonus left-over smell from the previous tenant? Because they definitely had a cat.
Oh? No sheets? Really? You don't believe in sheets or you just couldn't find ones that fit your futon?
I think I left something... in my... outside of... here...

So now you must be asking yourself, okay great, can I judge you, Devo? By the nest that is your room?
Can you judge the nag champa dust everywhere, guinea pig-bits and bites, & mismatched socks hidden like Easter eggs?
Can you judge the clumps of hair that fall from my head and live on the floor?
Can you judge the little stacks of papers and things that I think keep me organized, but are really just stacks of basura?
Yes.
Sure.
Of course.
Because I do all the time.

"Um, we had to fire the maid." I used to love to tell people right before I opened my door when I lived alone for those 4 months. "She was stealing."

"Seriously? You had a maid?"

"Uh. No. Look at this place. I'm a gypsy. I don't have people clean my home. It was a joke. Did you want a PBR or? Milk? Looks like I've got a 2% Milk Chug, or... PBR. That is not a joke. Take your pick."

That? Oh that's just a hideous pair of underwear that I would be embarrassed to be wearing in a car accident. Oh, what are you smelling? Nag. Nag champa. Er, maybe wine? I spilled some wine last week, I thought I got it all cleaned up. But you're right it smells kinda like produce gone bad. So it could be lettuce? Or the spoiled grapes from the wine. Alternatively, you could be smelling the guinea treats. I call them treats because Bosco eats their poop. So it's a treat for him. Yeah, that's his hair on the only carpeted part of my room. In my closet.
I don't vacuum it. I just use my fingers to ball up the hair, and gather the wood chips. So yeah, those are just finger marks in the carpet. Of the cleaning variety. Not the- "let me out of here!" kind.
Why two bottles of baby oil? Cause one bottle is an off-brand from CVS and I don't think it does as good of a job as the Johnson's, which is expired. Yeah, I should prolly throw both of those out...
Those are just some cups of room temperature water. I'm like that little girl in that alien movie. You know the one where she's got the thing about water? She thinks it's contaminated or whatever, but some day it will like, pay off that I have so many glasses of water strategically placed around my room. You could drink one if you want, I think that one is from yesterday.
Oh that's just a thumb tack. Good thing you were wearing shoes.
No, the bulb isn't burnt out-- you just gotta jimmy it. Just jimmy the cord that's hidden behind the poster-- here just let me do it.

I'm not dirty. But I am sometimes messy. I will admit it.
There is totally a difference.
I mean, bleach your toilet. Use bleach. Bleach it. And put some of those yellow rubber gloves on and scrub it. Please. It is not sexy taking a piddle break in there, thinking of what could be growing on your asshole. Your asshole or mine.
Let's keep it clean. And bleach it. You got that? Use bleach.
Your toilet not your asshole.

So now the answer to my first question: Can you judge a guy by his apartment?
Yes. As long as you judge yourself too.
Because you're a liar if you say "I don't judge." It's just what you do with that judgement.
If you're me, you'll prolly call him again.
And then maybe again?
If it's you, don't use it against me?
Cause come on, the tour hasn't even really started yet.

2011-12-12T00:35:00.000+01:00

I'm graduating iO tonight. Isn't that weird?
Come?

What are you going to do now?
I was gonna go upstairs for 30 minutes at iO.
7pm.
Think about it? Will ya think about it?
Nuff said.
That's a deal.

2011-12-10T09:05:00.000+01:00

I could write a novel about what this makes me feel:

And I did.

But it's not ready to share.

So for now, watch this, and then listen to it. And then listen to it again.
And write your own.

PLUUUG.

2011-12-04T21:21:00.001+01:00

So, we only have two more graduation shows left. Come?

Upstairs tonight at iO at 7 pm.

I can guarantee some weird and some fun.
This was my fave scene last week:

If you come tonight, we might let Eugene out of his locker.

Sapphires.

2011-11-29T17:39:00.000+01:00

Liz and I and some other favorite people of mine sat around the Chingren's chim-chimney fire on Turkey Day, and talked about reasons why we're thankful.

I love this. It's my favorite part about Thanksgiving.

Liz desperately wanted to make a speech, and kept getting interrupted. When it was finally her turn, and the suspense had been built, she said that she was thankful for the kind of friendship that you could pick up right where you left it-- no guilt, no muss.

I of course gave a speech too. But I forgot to include then, so I'd like to tell you now, Liz, that I'm really thankful when I get the opportunity to introduce people like this:

"This is ______. My roommate from college."
At the Chingren's on Thanksgiving, luckily Elizabeth Louise was that fill in that blank.

I have the privilege of being able to say this about fourteen women for the rest of our lives. Yeah. Fourteen.
And I'm so thankful.
Some of the sweetest, most inspirational, and hilarious people I have ever met. Forget about beautiful for now...
Here they are alphabetically, and what I called them then:

Annie. (Lil' Annie)
Bridget. (Bridge)
Carly. (Uncle Karl)

Katie. (Beezus)

Liz. (Lovely Little)

Liz. (Wheeze)

Lizzie. (Crack-ho)

Mollie. (Moll)

Nicole. (Boo)

Rachael. (Rachie Roo Hoo Who)

Rachel. (Ray Ray)

Sarah. (Fiske)

Shaina. (Sha Na Na Na)
Taylor. (BirdBird)

Whew. I'm exhausted.

I haven't alphabetized since the 80s.
But let me tell you something about something about being thankful.
Today is Tuesday November 29th, 2011. And at this point, right now, in the Universe, every single one of us has one important and strange thing in common--
none of us are engaged.
And am I thankful for that fact? I don't know.
But I do know-- That. Is. Crazy.

Because we are all at least 26 years old.
AND PHENOMENAL.
And did I mention gorgeous?
How has not a one been taken off the market yet?

Now I can talk about how beautiful they all are and even show you.

Louise's West-- Schooners. Roommates.

(Moll, I don't know where you were for the porch graduation pic-- so I pirated a facebook one. I chose this one where there is a dog, and you look care-free, and there's a wood-floor, and are way hotter by comparison...)

Mollie. And this wrinkly dog.

1021-- Greatest Porch Swing Ever, Greatest Gals Ever.

Take a look-see at these pics, and please have a better understanding as to why comedy speaks to me as an art form.

My whole life, for some STUPID reason-- I have chosen to surround myself with knock-outs. And more importantly, charmers.

I mean, every single one of these ladies, if given the challenge, could pick out a good ole' boy at any bar in Kansas, and make him fall for her. Hard. Right there in line at The Hawk.

I mean sure, maybe some quicker than others.

You ain't seen nothing until you've seen Annie set her sights on a fella, and bat her eyelashes, and work her magic. Grown men would turn into enamored babybabyboys. I've never seen anything like it.
But all of these chicks have always had boys sniffing around.
And maybe back then sometimes, some of those boys would sniff my way too, but they probably just took a wrong-turn on the way to the bathroom, or they were looking for a ride home.
Don't.
Don't feel bad for me. I did my share of eyelash batting.
But there was never any point to compete with my friends, because they're all so spectacular. And I chose! I chose to surround myself with these babes. And it had nothing to do with their looks. If I based my living-situation decision on looks or how hot I looked standing next to one of my roomies, I'd have lived with pig-nose from Biology class.
So to help you further understand, you (figurative but I mean me) are standing next to one of these women at the Jet Lag, and you (me) better have something funny to say to one of the good ole' boys that is waiting to buy them a shot. Cause maybe one of his friends is drunk, and you (I still mean me) remind him of a fatter version of the homecoming queen from his high-school.

Such amazing women. That the world is lucky to know.

And yet, not a one of us has a ring on it?

I had so much fun on Thanksgiving (I'm thankful for you, Wheeze) and we were of course discussing boys and love, and loves lost, and loves gained, and who is in love for-real-for-real, and who thought it was real but it wasn't, and which one of our friends from KU will be the first to walk down the aisle.
There are several that are in serious relationships, and several more that are far from it, and Liz and I agreed that there is something really interesting in the fact that not a one is engaged yet. Cuz we're at the age where they start dropping like flies, right?

"What is up with that, huh Wheeze?" I asked her. "I mean. This is kinda crazy, right?"
Liz got real quiet with her franz-a-rita in her hand, and stared at the flames which lit up her gorgeous face, and thought for a second before she said so quietly and sweetly "Devo, we are sapphires."
I laughed and told her I couldn't wait to write a short story called We Are Sapphires.
It's gonna be about a group of roommates from college that are the shit, and have yet to get married.
And there's no explanation.
But there is a simple one, I think, to what she meant-- all these girls are special.

Finally, understand the levels of dating among these magnificent creatures:
Some are online dating.
Some are refusing to date.
Some are in a relationship and still dating on the sneak-sneak.
And some are just bull-shitting.
I don't know where I fall or in which level, and I don't know when I want to fall again on a real level, but it's universal with all 14 ladies that when I see any one of them, we pick up our friendship we left it (no guilt, no muss) and I'm thankful for that, and oh yeah, they all want to hear a story I've got about a guy.
"So, Devo." They smile and poke and prod. "Any new loves?"
I'm happy for all my friends that have found love, but I don't envy anyone's relationship. Probably because a relationship is personal, and what works for some could never work for you (figurative and I mean me again.)

Maybe I'll send an email challenge to you all for someone to top a gem of a story from my past, or maybe I'll challenge you to vote on who's gonna get hitched first.
Or maybe! I'll surprise all 15 of us and get engaged tomorrow.
Either way, I'm thankful. I'm thankful to know you, to be who I am and where I am, and thankful for the fact that you all are sapphires.

im thankful for you.

2011-11-25T04:29:00.000+01:00

Tatanka Xchange

2011-11-22T21:41:00.000+01:00

Whoever said money can't buy happiness, obviously has never bought boots like the ones that I'm wearing right now.
I couldn't dream up better boots.
I bought them at Pump on Division last week. The store was closing, so everything was 30% off, and I wish I wasn't so focused on elbowing my competition in the throat, because I forgot to take a picture of the mayhem inside the tiny boutique.
I left sweaty, happy, and with two of the sweetest pairs of boots I have ever purchased.
Here's a pic of the dream-come-true boots:

It's the thrill of the hunt for a true bargain shopper, and I'm a sniper. I was discussing zen in the art of bargain-shopping with my friend Jennifer, and she inspired me to share some of our insight.

Sorry if you missed the store-closing sale, but I'd now like to tell you about the greatest store in all of Chicago.

The Buffalo Exchange.
Have you heard the word, bird?
I almost don't want to tell you about how every time I go there I find something that I can't live without. Because now you're my competition.
And if you're a fan of size L mini-skirts, especially of the pleather varitety-- then fuck off. They have nothing for you there.
My boy scout shirt. My cowboy boots. My grey leather jacket.
These are a few of my favorite things.
And they all came from The Buff.

In the past two years, I've been there at least 15 times. I could tell you at least 4 people's names that work there. And I've even texted when one of their sassiest bois (I can't tell you which one cause they're not supposed to give out their numbers, but he made an exception.)

I had a day to myself in New Orleans while Lauren was at work. I plugged "The Buffalo Exchange" in my phone as a destination, and I felt no loneliness due to the purchase of this little number:

I wore it the next day as a Grandma zombie. It was a smash hit.

A week later, Anne Lise and I plugged "Buffalo Exchange" into the GPS of the Mini-cooper in San Diego.
We walked in and she turns to me with the most serious of serious faces on, and goes, "Sis. We are home." She grabbed my arm. "We are home, sis."
Here's a picture of her and a stranger trying on the same dress:

I bought closed-toe wedges that I can wear with tights. I bought a rich-looking white sweater (because only rich people wear white, because only rich people have either the tools to keep it white, or the means to throw it out and buy another white thing when it gets dirty.) And most importantly, I bought some happiness and some magic.
Don't believe me?

You feel good in something new, right? You feel... new. Even if it's just new to you.
And when you wear something for the first time, it's magic.
And personally, I'd rather feel that good newness magic in something that I had to hunt for, rather than something I plucked from the front of Express.
Because after you wear it that first time, sure you can still enjoy it, but the magic starts to wear off.

Ashley and I used to dream about the day that we could "front-of-the-store-shop." We'll know that we've made it when we don't have to cruise straight for the clearance rack at the back of the store near the fitting rooms and bathrooms.
Even when I make my millions, I'll still plug The Buffalo Exchange into my Audi's GPS.
Because I realized, we were just concerning ourselves with the wrong kind of stores, Ash.
Because at the Buff, I can front-of-the-store shop till I drop.
And that magic is there for cheap.

Happy Hunting.

SparkleMike: People wanna touch it.

2011-11-19T07:13:00.000+01:00

Tyler. A surfer. In California.

You & Me. We're Just Crazy.

2011-11-17T08:34:00.000+01:00

The world is lazy
but you and me
we're just crazy
So when I'm with you, I have fun
Yeah when I'm with you, I have fun
The world is lazy
but you and me
We're just crazy
Ever since I was a little girl
My mama always told me
there'd be boys like you
So when I'm with you, I have fun
Yeah when I'm with you, I have fun
I hate sleeping alone
Alone
Alone
Alone
Alone
Alone

Sometimes people don't like to sleep alone.
So they make sacrifices.
Personal ones, and sometimes olfactory ones.
Well, if your sheets smell the next day, then I'd call it a sacrifice.

Personally, I'd rather sleep alone, than feel at all sad about the person sleeping next to me.
Wouldn't you?
Be with someone that makes you want to be better all the time in all of your ways.
If not, you're wasting everyone's time.
Most importantly yours.

Feeling it? Feeling life?

Sure.

Me too.
If you're feeling hohumdiddydumb-- get yourself some roommates. Get yourself some like mine, and you can be inspired in the following ways:

First of all, this song by Best Coast came on my ipod last night which I pirated from Carol. Thanks, Carol for liking many weird and often times inspirational songs. It spoke to me for many reasons as I jogged through the streets of Wrigleyville last night.

Which, thanks, to my other roommate-- Caroline 99 for going on neighborhood runs yourself, and thus, the inspiration.

I thought of 15 things I wanted to talk about while I was on a jaunt with ZZ's inspirational pooch BOSCO.
Thanks, ZZ for giving me the benefits of a pooch without having to own or be personally responsible for one myself.
Thanks also for listening to me weigh in on how I think he should be disciplined. I really am like the drunk Aunt that comes home and kicks the door in, and knows how to run the show, and slurs her advice, and both the kid and you really can not wait for me to leave so you can just get back to living your peaceful life.

But so, it's okay if the dog that you run with is a little more inspirational than Bosco, cause he was a real asshole in front of the Chipotle on Belmont.
He locked up on me, and I had to turn around and run past some delicious burritos... twice.

Guess what? It's not an adrenaline rush that makes people push themselves to a new physical level.
It's a rush, sure.
But a superior one.
Ooh, I feel so good jogging. Look at me. Look at me. I'm so busy. I'm soo physically busy. And I feel so good. Why? Because I just ran past some delicious burritos that some chubbier-than-me people were enjoying... twice.
You're welcome, world. For sharing such superiororirty with you.

I never write jokes.

But I did last night on my jog in my head.
So here are two now on a blog from my bed.

Love Thy Neighbot-- says Cyborg-Jesus from another Moon.

I used to think my vagina was ugly. So I shaved it. And I realized, sometimes facial hair is for pussies.

Be inspired. By your roommates or any other kind of mammal.

Thanks, Aretha.

2011-11-15T18:16:00.000+01:00

I feel so uninspired.

Now I don't know what I feel, Aretha.
And I really don't know if it's like a natural woman.
So, help me out?
Provide some answers. Cause I'm tired and uninspired.
Sometimes, it is like my soul is waiting to be collected in the Lost&Found, Aretha.
And then I think I'm waiting for someone to come along and claim it.
And I don't think I'm the only one that feels that way.

Who were you thinking about when you sang this song?
Who or what inspires you?
Or at least, could you tell me what's the key to my piece of mind?
I used to think it could be this guy I saw once on the el. He had dreads, and he looked like an artist and a poet at the same time. Or there was this guy in an olive green t-shirt on Southport once. Or... any other number of beautiful bros that break my heart every day.

Anne Lise says I scatter my energy everywhere, and that I should focus it more on myself.
So.
When was I most focused on myself?

You're right, Aretha! It's so simple. The answer was there all along.
I mean-- duh.

Now I'm no longer doubtful, of what I'm living for
And if I make ya happy, I don't need to do more.

The key to my piece of mind?
Feeling natural.

I'm back.

Man.

2011-11-02T18:22:00.000+01:00

Lately, as a verbal transition, I've been saying "Man." a lot.

Just:

"Man."

It feels right, and I say as a rule, if it feels right, and isn't hurting any mammals-- do it.

So I'll use it here, in a writingish type of transition. Which makes sense, because I spend a great deal of time thinking about men-- several in particular, as of late.

Man.

So do you ever, like, just say, the completely wrong thing?
Has this ever happened to you?
Most times, you're pretty good at conversating. And then all of a sudden out of nowhere-- you pull the trigger, and you say something that's just... wrong.
Thus, making a conversation or situation so incredibly awkward, that for the next 6 seconds you can't remember a single thing that you like about yourself?
And then, you want to just let everyone involved, and the rest of the world know-- Hey. I'm normal. Hey. Look at me and listen to me, World. I'm normal, ok?
I didn't, uh, mean it-- like that.
So yeah.
I di'int.
Mean it.
Like that.

Cause if you could, I am sure, that things would be less awkward.

Personally, this never happens to me.*
*A lie.
I find that this can happen a lot more when I'm talking to a man that I'm attracted to, even just moderately so. So, if I've said something weird to you, please assume that I find you attractive in some way.
Which, heads up, I can find an attractive quality in almost anyone, so don't feel crazy special if you're now thinking of the time I told you about when I last sharted.
Ya feel me?
Ya hurd?

Do you smell what I just cooked?

Man.

Do you ever put clear glasses on while you're writing?
I do. And you should.
Ashley called them "Smart Glasses" when we were growing up.
Which is funny cause we've both needed a prescription since way before the time when swinging on a swing for more than 3 minutes was still fun.
But I never tossed around the word "smart" to describe myself while I was wearing my smudged Mickey Mouse frames.
But I just put some fake ones on now, and I feel so much more legitimate with my clickings. Like you're reading The NEW Yorker right now, instead of something I wrote from the corner of my bed at 2:04 am.

Speaking of a man.
I met one named Martin that drives an ambulance, on Sunday walking home from iO with Brookie.

I guessed that he was from "Connecticut, Vermont, New Jersey!" He said no to all three.

More like the Czech Republic.

And guess what?
I got to use the only Czech that I've ever been taught.
It sounds something like this:
Glootze so, bit toe mee, ah mee ah, vel key, ber ta lee.
Remarkably, he understood me, so he laughed and translated for Brooke and his pal Shaun in the back of the cozy and warm ambulance: "Boys are stupid. And have big butts."
The Conev girls are to thank for me dazzling in yet another language.
Countless sleepovers with them growing up, and all I retained was a naysay for the opposite sex.
When I was 9, it seemed appropriate.
Here's some things that maybe now I wish I knew how to say in Czech: "So how fast does thing go?" or
"Okay, but what is your happiest memory related to your profession?"
or
"Are you currently looking for a wife?"
Hindsight-----> Sore Eyes.

Isn't it weird that you won't spend 6 minutes typing that email that you should, to that family member that you love, but you'll spend 8 looking at engagement photos of someone you never liked, or maybe never even knew.
Man.

I just heard a noise in my alley, got paranoid, and crept to the back window.
I slowly peered out and saw...
A man taking out his recycling.
My mean, mean streets.
Neighborhood watch log: 2:35 am. Saw a man take out the trash. Bears jersey. Medium build. In no way a threat to me, or my family. All signs point to the fact that this man is probably a neighbor.
So then I watched the man for another few seconds as he walked back to his home.
He had no idea that someone was watching him.
And it's interesting, because all I'm ever hoping is that someone is.

Man.
Where is one?
A man.
Sometimes I think I'm hoping for one.
Or waiting.
And sometimes I think I'm looking.
And sometimes I know that I'm both waiting and looking.
But then sometimes I think "What if I've already found one?"
And it makes me want to punch him in his guts.
And so I continue to hope.

Isn't it weird that I've thought about a man, and tossed around the images I have of him on file in my brain, pictured the two of us playing croquet or feeding each other carbohydrates in the park, and thought, "I'd date him... If he was medicated." For SEVERAL different dudes of all ages and types.
Does that mean that:
A.) I should keep waiting.
B.) I just find interesting people attractive.
or C.) I'm the one that should be medicated.
?

Member when I said I quit Netflix?
I lied.
I think I lasted a month.
And then I started using Ryan's.
Thanks, Ry for being the man with the Flix.
Sorry for the episdoes of Inspector Gadget & all the RomComs swaying your personal preferences.
Now my account is turned back on.
I think I need to quit again... I just did.*
Got back off the flix.
I'm a much more productive person now.
*Another lie.

Man.

Texting is out of control.

OUT. OF. Control.

I talked to a friend I haven't seen in a year or so. She wins with the news.

I was gonna tell her that she should come see my graduation show at iO on Sundays- and that we're the first group- and that it's upstairs and it starts at 7- and our forms are super cool- and we improvise like it's going outta style, and last week was so much fun, and dreams come true because the end of our show was a KISS on the lips for me from the Main MAN KLAUS himself-- PLUG PLUG!

But I didn't get to tell her that she should come see it with as much zest, because... she told me that she's getting a divorce.

And please, get ready for the real shocker: HE TOLD HER VIA TEXT MESSAGE. Seriously.

I mean, are you kidding me?

Are you joking?

You want to end your partnership, and you want to let your partner know WITH A TEXT?

I was blown away.

Be a Man.

And googlechat about it at least.

Yuck.

Text messages, in my opinion, should only be used for flirting and or sending picture messages, because as I realized last week in Lauren's New Orleans' bathroom, "A picture message is like a postcard, but faster." Write that down, Lauren.

Man.
I missed my guinea pigs when I was in New Orleans.
I really did. It was around day 3 that I was picturing their faces for longer than I should ever admit to anyone, let alone everyone.
But sometimes I feel like a single Mom, in that, the world should know sooner than later (specifically-- he-- he should know) that I have someone that depends on me. Every day.
Every day, there is another soul that needs something from me.
Three, in fact.
Usually, it's just produce.
But other times, it's exercise or stimulation.
And my favorite times, it's love.
So now that you know, Man, did you wanna like, go get some sushi or...?

Man.
I feel bad for high school sweethearts.
I feel bad for people that met online.
I feel bad for people that met at a skeezy bar.
So now, I'm gonna eat a Lean Cuisine, and watch some reality TV show about spelling, and go to sleep alone, thinking about all the people I feel bad for...

Ohhhh, Man.

BRA-Vo.

2011-11-02T07:04:00.000+01:00

This is something my Momma has always yelled, only when she's giving the highest compliment she can.
And now, I do it too.
Thanks, Momma.
And thanks to... shit. Where did their cd case go?
I'll find the name of the band.
And so will Carson Daly.

Note: Everyone should go to New Orleans.
Note: My cousin Lauren has got MOVES like Jagger.

Geeg & Terry: Shits.

2011-11-02T05:51:00.000+01:00

Geeg: I got my period when I woke up this morning.
Terry: Nice.
Geeg: I literally sat down to pee, and with the first wipe, it was like the littlest bit of blood and, "Congrats. You're not gonna have Troy's baby!"
Terry: That always happens to me.
Geeg: How does my uterus know when I'm gonna wake up?
Terry: It's letting you off the hook from washing a bloodbath out of your 500-thread-count sheets.
Geeg: So, I'm the Alpha this month.
Terry: What?
Geeg: I'm the Alpha female. I got my period first in the pack. So I'm the Alpha.
Terry: The pack?
Geeg: Yeah. Me and you. We're a pack. And so, you're the Beta.
Terry: Maybe I don't want to be the Beta.
Geeg: Well, maybe there will be mutiny next month.
Terry: Hey have you seen my paperback copy of-- Oh my God. The bathroom. What did you do in there?
Geeg: Wow, does it still smell in there?
Terry: What did you eat?
Geeg: Greek food. What are those grape leaf egg roll things called?
Terry: That does not smell like Greek food. Oh my God. I hate you. I hate you. I need to brush my teeth.
Geeg: And I ate that cheese that's on fire.
Terry: It's so dense. The smell is not moving. Do you have matches?
Geeg: Saganaaaakeeey. Saganahhhkey.
Terry: I'm brushing my teeth inside my shirt.
Geeg: Does your poop smell worse when you have your period?
Terry: My poop never smells like what I'm smelling right now.
Geeg: But c'mon. True or False: Your poop is different and or strange when you have your period.
Terry: True. But this is the most different and most strange poop of all time.
Geeg: Saganaaaaahkeeeeey.

A Break UP poem

2011-11-01T18:28:00.000+01:00

Can we talk?

Listen.

You've been really demanding lately.

You always want and want from me.

And I only have so much I can give.

Give, Give, GIVE to you.

I give.

And give.

And then I give some more.

And I feel like you just take.

And then take.

And then take some more.

What about me?

What about me time?

I guess I do take a lot of that.

Because, oh yeah, I'm 26.

I'm supposed to.

Please.

Please, you need to just deal with it, okay?

Alright?

You're suffocating me with your wants.

Please.
That's enough.

You're embarrassing yourself.

Just stop.

C'mon. Don't be like that.

Please, Obligations.

Leeme alone. You're stifling me.

If you don't want things to be over between us forever,

maybe we should just cool it for a while?

Ok?

Ok, Obligations?

Let's just take a break, and see where we're at in a couple weeks.

How bout that?

Well I don't want a break either.

But I can't deal with your clingyness.

Alright, obligations?

Alright?

No.

You know what?
I can't do this.

It's over.

For good.

2011-10-28T21:10:00.001+02:00

I'm in New Orleans.
It doesn't feel like America.
Which feels both good and bad.
Mostly good.
I'll tell you all about it later.
P.S. I got you a present.
P.P.S. I've taken 319 pictures in 4 days.

Here's one of those pictures that Ashley took of me in front of Anne Rice's house.

"Pretend like I'm interviewing a vampire."

Top 7 (from Devin) Rules to Grocery Shop By:

2011-10-25T00:05:00.000+02:00

1. Go only after you stuff yourself.
(Duh.) It's the kiss of death to go to the grocery store hungry. It's the closest I've ever come to feeling criminally insane, whilst remaining completely sober. So, everyone knows to not go hungry, but then people forget to hydrate. Which brings me to--

2. Hydrate. You don't want to get home and wonder why you bought ten Juicey Juice from Concentrates, Gatorade powder, and 9 (because you drank one there) Arizona Iced Teas.

3. Don't eat things that aren't supposed to be eaten. Either in the store or at home.
See picture:

4. Don't buy things because you think they are funny-looking, or because they remind you of Pan's Labyrinth.
See picture:

5. If you're going to buy cucumbers, don't not by them, because you are confused or forget what they are really called.
See picture:

6. DO take pictures of things that make you laugh, or want to do a grizzled old lady voice when you read "Your village called, their idiot is missing!" or "He cleans fish, why not our house?" but DON'T feel pressure to then buy them. (Because you probably already have a drawer full of beer koozies that you don't use.)

See picture:

7. Don't hit up the produce section with an immature idiot (or live with one for that matter.)

See pictures:

(myfavefacepicturethatisjustofmyownface)

2011-10-20T17:51:00.001+02:00

Isn't-it-weird that there is such a thing as headshots?

On Monday, I went to see Michael Schacht at 312elements to utilize the birthday* present that Lizzie got me.
*My birthday is May 18. Monday's date was October 17.
He sent me the proofs the next day.
I have spent the past two days deciding on my fave 15 pictures. That's right. 48 straight hours of clicking through 402 images of JUST MY FACE. I took breaks only to blow my bangs out of my eyes, eat Snap Pea crisps, and watch episodes of The Wonder Years.
Because this is the weird part-- you need headshots if you want to market... your face.
That's so weird.

It's also so weird that I could not decide on just 15. Well, I did. But it was really hard.
Because there were 402 to choose from! And too many of them were really good. (Just to be clear, I'm talking about pictures that are JUST OF MY FACE.)
Because Michael Schacht is a baller, with a sweet studio on Sangamon with exposed brick everywhere and a sleeping dragon in the corner.
So 402 snapshots of my face, each one different, and I'm only wearing 3 different shirt combos.
I mean, what kind of EGO MANIAC says OUT-LOUD to a photographer: "Oh, that's cute. That's a good one." ABOUT THEIR OWN FACE.
Either you feel weird about getting your headshots taken, or you love it.
I felt both on Monday, so I think that means I have a soul. And that I love myself. I kept hearing my Daddy-o's voice in my head, "You really love yourself, don't- ya-Devo?"

Here's some advice for anyone getting hundreds of pictures of their own face taken, besides loving yourself enough to do so.
*Know who the camera is to you, and what you want to say to them. For me I liked "Oh, I have a secret. And I can't tell you. I could never tell you, Camera." And then in the next one. "Haha! I'll tell you because I like you, Camera!" Or then there is the classic "I'm wearing a diaper, and there is poop in it." This is best to say only if it's to your trusted-friend-Camera. "What did you just say, Camera?" As a question is good, only if you have bangs to cover the inevitable forehead-question-wrinkles. Which brings me to my next point:
*Address any fears or concerns with your photographer.
Mine were simple:
"I only want to have one chin. And I don't want anyone to wonder if I'm at all Asian."
"No problem." He said.
Also, feel free to ask questions, like:
"Do you have any scissors?"
Or:
"Do you mind if I cut my bangs with them?"
"Go ahead." He said. "We have stylists and professionals in here all the time."
These were utility scissors, and I am a lot of things, but not either one of those words.
Make statements!(and then follow them up with one-word-questions if need be:
"I like my 'what face.'" I told Mike. "But these forehead wrinkles can be smoothed out in post. Ya?"
Note that "What!" as an exclamation is even better. Because Camera is full of surprises!

"Have fun spending hours looking at your face." He told me in the email he sent with all of my pictures.
He was great, and so are the 402 to choose from.
Here's my fave. And my face. (myfavefacepicturethatisjustofmyownface)

Isn't that weird?

This was a great day.

2011-10-19T18:21:00.000+02:00

Look closely, it's not really Beyonce. But we were really her loser back-up dancers.

Oooo. OOoooooo.

2011-10-14T07:02:00.000+02:00

I play for an audience of one. All the time.

And sometimes that audience is REAL judgey. And I'm not always sure if it deserves my attention.
But I'll keep on playing.
Oh, I'll keep on playing.

P.S. You know I took more than one...

2011-10-12T07:39:00.000+02:00

"There is no remedy for love but to love more." -- Hank D. Thoreau

2011-10-12T07:35:00.000+02:00

When and if I ever get married, I'm pretty sure my first concern as someone's wife, will be how hot he looks in my profile picture on facebok. Which is what it will be called then. "It's cleaner."

Have you ever been able to take a picture of the best moment of your day?
I just did. Right now.
And because I'm so techno savv-- I can share it. Right now:

Ok so Thoreau said it first, but I feel it hardest right now.

Hopefully your happiest-moment-of-your-day-picture that you should now think about snapping today or tomorrow, won't be one that will ensure that you probably won't be anyone's spouse for a long, long time.

Geeg & Terry: Oh.

2011-10-11T06:57:00.000+02:00

Geeg: Are we out of coffee?
Terry: I have some decaf left I think.
Geeg: Oh yeah? Alright. I just want the taste of it anyway.
Terry: Where is it? It was right here. It was in a red bag, that Seattle's Best stuff.
Geeg: That was decaf?
Terry: Yeah.
Geeg: Well, that explains why I was such a bitch last week.

2011-10-06T23:27:00.000+02:00

Too much fun.
This is my favorite song of Awolnation's:

Anne Lise and I went to their concert last week at the Metro, where the band White Wives opened for them.
I was a real creep talking with their lead singer, Roger.
You want to see a picture of that?
Yes you do.

He did NOT want to come drink some prosecco on my roof. Or to bring his band. Or their girlfriends. Or anything.

Oh well-- Stop trying, start dying. Just like I always say.

Tomorrow I'm going to see this band:

Also playing at the Metro.

Because, I like, live music. I like it live, and I like to live it. Same word. Different sound.

Isn't that weird?

So's my face and so's Roger's.

ROGER!

A Kiss Wish

2011-10-04T05:33:00.002+02:00

I took this picture of this couple kissing in the street last night.

HAHA. Just JOSHING! I didn't take that. Somebody else did. When a war was over, not a concert at Lincoln Hall.

I ran out to the street to ask them for their email address so they wouldn't have to wait for the cover of Life Magazine to see themselves.
"Hey, so I'm not a creep or anything--" Member how I say that only creeps say this?
And that's when the guy started to walk away. Don't worry, I didn't interrupt the perfect kiss. She was already unlocking her bike before I started talking.
"But I just captured that really great moment, and if you give me your email--"
"Sure! C-r-i..." So now I can send her all 12 photos with their different angles and exposures.
When I came back inside the bar, Dan goes "That guy had a girlfriend."
"Do you think?" I laughed.
"Did you see how fast he took off? He booked."
I don't know their story-- how long they've been dating, who asked for who's number, if they started things off with flirty texts, if she has a cat that he's allergic to, or if he has another lady that he sometimes also shares fantastic kisses with, or if she sometimes drinks too much wine. But I do know that they have plenty in common, because they both work in psych wards. And he's a good guy. And her name is Caren. And she really likes him. And yes, I did see him, he is very cute.

I want to make a wish for the world.
Right now.
At least once in your life, I hope that everyone could have a kiss like this one:

And I hope that the world goes quiet.
And that you hear this song in your head:

And you feel magic. And you feel it in your stomach, and also, hopefully, your genitals-- that. Magic. Because this special person has chosen to share a magical moment with you, because you're special. And they're gorgeous. And you feel gorgeous. Even if it's just for that moment. And the kiss lasts the perfect amount of time. And you don't worry about who will pull away first, or how rotten your breath is, or about the temperature of his tongue. In fact, there isn't a worry in your Universe. Just them. And your kiss. As soon as you open your eyes, you'll realize that you're still wearing your bike helmet and your period underwear under your least-favorite pair of jeans. And he has a tiny booger in the corner of his nose. And you've got dry skin on your nostril. And you can't stand his brother. And he thinks you might be a gold digger. And it smells like piss on the street.
But while you're still in that moment of the kiss, I hope that you believe in the power of romance. And sharing not just a moment, but maybe even your whole life with someone else.

"She wasn't scared of me. She thanked me." I told Dan as I sipped my Alpha King.
But really, I should have thanked her.

Hold Me Down, Aveda.

2011-09-27T17:04:00.001+02:00

I tore my feathers from my scalp yesterday.
Not on purpose. Don't be scared of me or anything.
I'm crazy, but I'm not psycho.
It was a long weekend, I suppose. Because I had some serious party-girl-hair. And I must have combed it out too aggressively. When I came back upstairs after eating a delicious yet sad welfare meal of a tuna fish sandwich on my roommate's bread, there they were. Laying on the floor with a significant clump of my hair next to them.
It took me a couple of seconds to figure out what it was.
And then, I slowly raised my hand to the place on my head where the feathers were supposed to be.
"Haah-Haaaaah!" I made one of those noises that you make in the heat of a serious moment, that you could never make again even if you tried.
So today, I went back to the Aveda salon where I got the feathers put in. They told me when I put them in a couple of months ago, to "feel free to come back here and have them adjusted." Did I mention that they were crazy expensive to put in? Apparently, it's a price that must be paid, if you want humanely-gathered feathers, that don't deteriorate inside your weave and last a long time, and don't look like you bought them at Jo-Ann Fabrics and glued them in yourself.
I felt duped when I left, because... Yes, turquoise is my favorite color. Ooh that one is pretty. You're right, I do like the way two feathers looks. Yes, three feathers is the only way to go. Yes, my hair is very thick, and so yes of course the turquoise one will show up the best. I do need some new minty body wash. Sure, my hair could use some of the best conditioner on the market.
And so, I dropped more than one hundred dollars.

How silly of me to think that today I wouldn't be charged anything for my feathers to be readjusted?
Because, didn't you tell me to "feel FREE to come back?"
No such luck.
Because, as my old Pappy used to say, "There's no such thing as a free lunch."

Also, he just dropped my hair clump on the floor after freeing my feathers.
Also, he didn't want to hear the anecdote about finding the clump on the floor, but so I told him anyway, and he didn't laugh or smile.
Also, he didn't know what "up in arms" meant.
"Yeah, I guess professional fishermen are up in arms about these feathers being so heavily used as a fashion trend." I told him, in my infinite knowledge (because my sister reads articles and tells me things.)
"They're what?" he asked with a blank face.
"So now there are no feathers for their fishing lures."
"So they're what?" he asked again. "Up in what?"
"Arms? They're up in arms..." Nothing. His face stayed blank. "They're mad." I finally said.
I wouldn't be making fun of him right now if he didn't charge me five dollars, or try to continue to dupe me with the promise of a cheap haircut in the future.

"Here's my card." he said as I settled up my five dollar readjustment bill. "And here's a discount card, so it will only be 25 dollars for you to get your hair cut."

Not this time, Dick*. *This is funny because his name was really Richard.

I'm sure I'm the first woman in the world to be outraged by the price of beauty.

And I'm sure I'm the first woman in the world to do this.

I thought about a caption for a while...

Fuck Aveda.

Which is funny, because I really love my minty body wash. And my hair is like butter after the conditioning treatment.
And I enjoy smelling like a "rich hippie" which is what I think of any time I smell Aveda products. Rich hippies.
But I took matters into my own hands. And now I don't have to worry about my wrinkly forehead anymore.
Because as Anne Lise and I realized, Bangs are Botox for poor people.

Here's the first selfie with my new fall look.

Anne Lise said that I look "sensitive and romantic in the last picture."
Sensitive, romantic, and 25 dollars richer, Richard. Keep your card.
My forehead is warmer for the season, and as far as your concerned-- wrinkle free!

Speaking of free, come on over, into my downstairs bathroom, and I'll cut you your very own bangs for... the low, low price of 25 dollars... or for free if you have my card.

Either way...

2011-09-25T01:37:00.001+02:00

Two different kinds of men, two completely different kinds of questions when their heads are still on your pillow at 9:43 am:

25 year old question:
So, do you have to work today?
32 year old question:
Do you like to cook, and if so, what kind of food specifically do you like to cook?

25 year old question:

Do your roommates share your bathroom?

32 year old question:

How would boyfriends of the past rank your performance as a companion, on a scale from 1 to 10?

25 year old question:

Do you wanna like, go eat, or something?

32 year old question:
How much longer do you want to live in Chicago?

25 year old question:

Ok then, should I go out the front door or the back door?

32 year old question:

Is there any history of heart problems in your family?

Only seven years of life experience separate these two men.

Or is it seven fu@king years of life experience?
Either way...

Geeg & Terry: Come see About Geeg.

2011-09-21T05:26:00.000+02:00

Terry: I could hear you having sex last night.
Geeg: Oh ya? Sorry about that.
Terry: Don't be. It sounded passionate. Did you hear the sex I was having?
Geeg: No. Was Brian over?
Terry: Yeah. It was, um... could you hear my bed squeaking?
Geeg: No, Terry. I couldn't hear you at all. Or any of the boring sex you were having. Were you trying to make me hear you?
Terry: Mahaha. No.
Geeg: That reminds me, I did hear you laugh at one point.
Terry: What? You did?
Geeg: Ya. Were you laughing during?
Terry: No. I don't think so. I mean, Brian's got nothing to laugh at. Just marvel. I just marvel at him when he's naked. It's incredible. I mean, I've never wanted a boyfriend to like, dance for me. But I want him to. I want him to just nakedly dance around my room. How should I ask him to do that? Maybe I laughed after. I don't know. It was over before it started.
Geeg: Quick and durty?
Terry: Quicker and durtier. It's fine, cause I was tired.
Geeg: Well, sorry that you could hear my falling-in-love montage.
Terry: Oh Jesus, when I heard The Supremes come on your speakers, I was like, Fuck, Geeg.
Geeg: He won me a stuffed animal.
Terry: Oh God.
Geeg: We rode a tandem bicycle along a boardwalk.
Terry: No, you didn't.
Geeg: We shared an ice cream cone, and when he wasn't looking, I put some of it on my nose. And I just like, kept a straight face.
Terry: ...
Geeg: And then, when he looked up at me, I was just going about my business with ice cream on my nose. And he smiled and laughed, and pulled me close, and in that moment he loved me, if possible, just a little bit more. And he kissed it so sweetly off my nose.
Terry: ...
Geeg: And then we came inside, and I put on his faded old Track sweatshirt. And we lit some candles. And we watched Star Trek episodes, because he loves it, and I just want to make him happy and be near him, so I watch it with him, and I don't even mention that Klingons' foreheads freak me out to the point of recurring nightmares.
Terry: ...
Geeg: And so then we just held each other for a while on the couch. And he told me that he wishes he was closer with his parents. And we talked about what kind of dog would be our dream dog. And why. And then we came upstairs to make sweet, sweet, passionate love and stuff.
Terry: ...
Geeg: That you heard.
Terry: None of those things happened.
Geeg: No, but he bought me shots.
Terry: Ohhhh, romance.
Geeg: You know I love when a dude buys me shots.
Terry: What kind?
Geeg: Rumplemintz.
Terry: Oooh. Top shelf, huh? Don't scare this guy... Any further.
Geeg: Did it sound like he was enjoying himself? Did you hear him ask me if he could spank my ass a little bit? Did it sound like he would text me something witty today?
Terry: No, I just heard you.
Geeg: Oh. Whoops. Sorry again.
Terry: It's cool. You sounded... psyched.
Geeg: Turn the bathroom fan on next time.
Terry: Oh I will.
Geeg: If there is a next time...
Terry: Did you not let him spank your ass a little bit?
Geeg: Turn the fan on.

SELFIES: Ok, they're alright with me.

2011-09-14T04:01:00.000+02:00

My most favorite notification on facebook: "Joe Billy-TomTom has changed their profile picture TO A PICTURE THAT YOU TOOK!"
It's kind of like, the biggest compliment you could ever give someone.
I think.
It says, "Hey, Devo. You get me. You get me so good that I'm gonna show the world --me-- through your eyes! (er camera that's on your phone, and sometimes takes one decent pic out of four) so thanks! Thanks for getting me and caring enough to snap a pic of someone other than yourself..."
Speaking of pictures of mySELF.
Thanks to my cousin Molly, I now have another example of a word that sounds like exactly what it is:
SELFIE!
A selfie is a selfie is a selfie. Just like a looger is a looger.
I didn't know what to call a picture that some ego maniac snapped of them--self until Molly shared her wisdom.
She was put off by a co-worker that she thought was cute, until she looked him up on the fb.
"Woof." She said. "He's got a selfie."
"A what?" I asked as I came to look over her shoulder.
"Yeah you know, Dev. A selfie. For his profile pic. Look."
And there he was. A good-looking guy, yes. But his profile picture was one that he took of himself when he thought he was looking particularly good.
Turns out, according to Molly-- it is NOT okay to have a Selfie as an fb profile pic.

I just double-checked my own profile, and although I have many pics that are of just me, none of them were taken by me.

But Devo, where else can I show off how sweet I look through my own lense, you ask?
Get a blog.

We're talking extended arms-- bathroom mirrors-- bangs over the eyes-- perfect facial expression after the first 3-- blurred cause you only have one hand-- Selfies!
I like to take them to send to my Mom.
Ya know what I'm saying?
Still not sure about what this whole Selfie phenomenon is all about? Ok, allow me to clarify with some seriously stellar examples:

Here's me loving myself enough to take this picture for you, Mommy. And loving your advice enough to be: THE one-eyed-one-horned-flying-purple-people-eater. Notice the fly-swatter. That's art.

Here's some old-school glamour. This is a selfie I like to call: Pre-Junior High Picture Day. Face Mask & L'oreal Hair Dye! See YOU in the yearbook!

I like to call this one: Fashion Trend, Furry Friend.

Bored Immigrant.

Sometimes I'm Asian, & I always love Minkus.

Over-Exposed, Under-paid.

Drunk in an Antique Store... In Wisconsin.

Drunk in Mike Dobbyn's Bathroom

Lessons learned?

Sometimes it's okay to be hammered and alone or just bored and to take a Selfie. And it's also okay to have props like guinea pigs or friends in a Selfie. But the best ones-- are just you Loving yourself enough to snap a pic or 12 of yourSELF.

with Dollar-store-makeup-on.

Most importantly, love yourself a lot.

"Because" like Rick Sinnott says "if you don't, who will?"

It's true-- the world wants to see your Selfies.

Just NOT as your profile pic.... Because as Molly Sinnott says "Woof."

Please, leave your new profile pic to me. I'll take a good one of you. I promise.

But we have to go in a bathroom. And I can only use one hand. And have you ever been to Wisconsin?

Geeg & Terry: A letter to Terry from Geeg.

2011-09-07T06:27:00.000+02:00

Dear Terry,
Have you ever NyQuilled?
OK... so like you write with a quill... right? In the olde days. People did.
OK, so there wasn't Nyquill then, but there is now. Right? Ok. So I don't have a quil.
But I want to write you a letter.
BUt I toook a bunch of Nyqull right?
So. Um..
It's a fun game-- where you try to get out a complete thought before you fall asleep or stop making sense altogether.
My sister says that there's a delete button for a reason, and that stream of consciousness writing is selfish... and it's true. She's right. Like she usually is.
But like, it's fun.
Which I... usually... is.
I said!

So today, I asked Lauren if she wanted to go see a show tonight.
"Oh, man." She like, really weighed her options for the night and thought about it. And then she goes "I gotta say no. I want to... but. Sometimes you just gotta say no."
I loved it. Because it's true.
But man, do I hate when it happens.
So then I go, "Alllllright, Lauren. You boozed it too hard all weeked. I get it. You gotta listen to your bod."
"I'm gonna go to Potbelly's. You want anything?" she then asked me.
"No. I'm cool." I said. And then. I called-back her bit. "Cause sometimes I just gotta. I gotta say no, you know? I want to want something. But I gotta say no."
It didn't really make sense, because she was offering to deliver food, whereas I was offering a coldish bus ride and some warm beer.
But Still.
Then she left, and like always, ten minutes later-- I thought of something better.
At least ten minutes.
But now, I can share it here, with you, in this NyQuilling.
Hit me with it again, Lauren. Just to pretend. Like she's here.
"I'm gonna go to Potbelly's, Geeg. Would you? Like anything?"
"No. I'm cool. I already have one."
OH.
ZING.
you get it? GET IT?? Because I'm fat.
OR.
BECAUSE--
his name is Fredrick, and he lives on my block.
YES/
It's TURE@! A PTO BELLIED BELLEYED? BELLYD? BELLYED? PIG
!
LIVES ON MY BLOC.
AND IT'S CO CUTE, BUT I'M KIND OG MAD, CUZ THAT'S ALWAYS BEEN A DRAAME OF MINE.
AND HE'S BLACK AND WHITE.
BUT IWANNA IT.
I WNNA NE EAAR IT.
I wanna ne ear it.

So anyway, I took some NyQuil. I hope you're doing well at work while you read this right now.

<3 always,
gjjgggjjjj

Honesty, honestly.

2011-09-05T09:35:00.000+02:00

"To get our show started, can we please get a suggestion of anything at all?"
"Honesty."
"Thank you, I heard Honesty. Inkling presents Honesty."

This Harold show that I saw last week has really stuck with me-- both the theme and my favorite parts of the show.
I love when there are really honest moments on stage, just as much as I love when honest moments happen in life.
Too many people that we meet are bull-shit artists. Am I right or am I right or am I right?
And for me, a lot of those people probably call themselves improvisers.
So this particular show was really fun, and also, refreshingly honest at points.
Two of the members of the team reenacted their break-up, and two more talked about the specific reasons why they broke up, which was juicy and probably everyone's favorite part.
Even if it was made-up, their dialogue was honest.
"So why are you doing this?" guy asked girl.
"Because for the first time in my life, I feel attractive, and I want attention from boys." girl said. "Different boys than you."
That's so honest. It's not the cliche response of "It's not you-- it's me." It was her, but she was being honest about what specifically about her.
I'm sure the reenactment was a lot more honest than the actual breakup. Which is why improvisers don't need therapy.

This drunk bloke at Ale House last night was looking for honesty from me. Well, and probably some other things too...
Before he left, I gave him my card. I go through phases where I spread my card around like game tokens at a Chuck E. Cheese.
And then phases where I don't give them to anyone.
If you're interested, let me know. I still have about 750 to move.

But so anyway, maybe he'll read this, and maybe he'll then remember some small part of my honesty. I told him that he seemed like a very nice person, but one that was too drunk to have a chat.
Which is okay, because I still remember the cute boy that was honest when he said that to me at KU, and it also stuck with me. And it taught me a lesson.
If you're too drunk to express yourself at a bar, go home.
You don't need to be slurring hot beer breath in anyone's face, or start crying outside of a Nookies, or puke in the back of a cab, or start a fight with one of your best friend's or a complete stranger, or demand to know what it is that I'm looking for in a partner.

Oh by the way, he was Irish.

"Ya seem like a girl that knows what she wants, huh lovely?"
"Oh yeah?"
"Ya seem like a really tough girl, too."
"Oh yeah?"
"So tell me what you want, Toughie."
"I don't know." I said.
"Oh, horse shit. You know exactly what you want."
"What do I want right now?" I asked.
"Ya. Now. What d'ya want?" He blinked and stared.
"To figure out which pint glass is mine." I looked down at the table full of glasses with splashes of beer. "I don't want to get mononucleosis."
"Wha?"
"Nevermind."
"What d'ya want from a feller, I mean?"
"Oh boy."
"Ya know what ya want?"
"Yes, I suppose some things I definitely know."
"Like wha?"
And then I let loose some serious honesty, and the things that I would want for my feller.
And I told him at least fifteen specific things that I would appreciate about my guy. And I waved my hands when I got on a roll, and I was specific, and I changed the speed of the list when it was appropriate, and I paused for dramatic effect, and I made us both laugh, and then I wanted to cry at the end, and I was an artist of the unknown for at least one and a half minutes.
And I bet he can't remember one thing I said.

So, Irish guy, if you saved my card, and you're reading this now-- here comes another chance at poetry in motion...
Again...

Let him be able to appreciate my poetic moments.

Let him be able to cook at least one thing really well.
Let him have a passion. Something that he wakes up in the morning for. Even if it's just a boner for me.
Swell.
Let him have enough money to be content.
Let him ask me to slow dance.
Let him love the special people in his life.
Let him love to laugh.
Let him love to make me laugh most.
Let him love the special people in my life.
Let him sing in the shower.
Let him have opinions.
Let him have a desire to affect the world around him.
Let him smell fantastic.
Let him have hobbies.
Let him have friends that are amazing.
Let him come up behind me when I'm standing somewhere like the kitchen sink, and tell me something sweet, and put his arms around me, and let me feel safe and special when I'm with him.

And oh, let him be able to remember my poetic moments.
I wrote a poem about the horses that pull the carriages around downtown, and it's sentimental garbage, but let him love that too.
And please let him smell fantastic.

So the Irish guy took my honest advice, and said goodbye, and then I left, and I went to Nookies and comforted some guy who was crying outside.
And then I went home, and held a guinea pig or two, and fell asleep alone with my arms and legs wrapped around my body pillow.
And sometimes I'm content. And sometimes I'm not.
And sometimes I'm dramatic. And sometimes my farts wake me up.
Honesty, honestly.

My Last First GIRL Crush: What? Yes.

2011-08-30T03:37:00.000+02:00

I've argued before that my very first ever girl crush could possibly be considered to be this Princess Charming:

J.T.T. My honey.

Where you going with those flowers? Huh? They're for me?! Gosh, how sweet are you? Of course, I would love to go rollerskating with you. Hold hands? With you? Sure! Wow, your skin is so soft. What? You want me to what? Wear that butch vest of yours during a couple skate? Geez, of course I will! I'd be honored, J.T.T. Mmm, you smell so nice. I can still feel the warmth of you in the vest. Do you wear CK1?

I love that beautiful boy. He's so damn pretty.

I was somehow even attracted to the young Simba when Lion King came out. I remember being excited for his career move into voice work.

But no, since J.T.T. there have been many others. Real ones. Real lady crushes.

Let it be said, that I'm very much a heterosexual WOman.

But there have been times. There have been times, my friends. Where I have fallen. Fallen for 95% of a person. But I can't get past that last 5% part of that person, due to the fact that there is no ... man... part of that person.

There was Michelle from Algebra class my freshmen year at KU. She was 22 or 23 when I was still 18, and so put-together, and naturally tan year round, and so tall, and pretty, and so right all the time. She was funny, charismatic, told awesome stories. She dated beautiful boys, had the sweetest clothes, she really listened when I talked to her-- I could go on about this girl some more, but any continued praise wouldn't be fair, because I can't remember her last name.

Wonder what she's doing now. Pseudo-Lesbian dreams, ripped at the seams.

There was April, me and Ash's babysitter one summer in the early 90s. She was blonde-- not usually my type man or woman. And hilarious. She also had cable and a pool, so we liked to go to her house and watch Ren and Stimpy. I think her name was April? I don't know, Ashley remembers details like it's nobody's bidness. And it was April's bidness to keep us both alive and entertained that summer, and she did.

Wonder what she's doing now. Pseudo-Lesbian dreams, ripped at the seams.

And then there was Rachel McAdams. Too obvious, I know.

And there's no story there... Yet.

Wonder what she's doing now. Pseudo-Lesbian dreams, that some day will come to fruition...

Geeg & Terry: Which one am I?

2011-08-22T03:51:00.000+02:00

Terry: What are you doing?
Geeg: I'm trying on all my clothes and staring at my face in the mirror. I've been doing this for like more than an hour.
Terry: I do that all the time.
Geeg: Sometimes, it just feels right.
Terry: Okay, so which one am I?
Geeg: Huh?
Terry: I was thinking about this while I was going poop after lunch. You know how girlfriends, when there's two of 'em, they both each have their roles.
Geeg: Like how I'm the perfect one, and you're my bumbling sidekick.
Terry: Please.
Geeg: Okay, I'm the selfish one and you're the conceited one?
Terry: Alright.
Geeg: Okay. We're both flawed beauties.
Terry: Alright. I'm the smart one and you know it.
Geeg: Ok, I wanna be the pretty one though. Cause you're clearly the skinnier one, so let me be the prettier one.
Terry: You know you're the prettier one. You're the one that gets the guys, Geeg.
Geeg: But you're the one that they call again.
Terry: You just miss Frank.
Geeg: I know.
Terry: So, you don't want any of them to call you again, so you sabotage. I've seen you do it.
Geeg; Well, I think I really like this Danny guy.
Terry: How can you tell?
Geeg: I dusted my room before he came over last night.
Terry: Whoa.
Geeg; It was really dirty.
Terry: Nice.
Geeg: And I shave my legs all the time just in case I see him.
Terry: This is serious.
Geeg: He's awesome. He has a job. And a dog. And his sheets were really soft. And he's just the right amount of tall and thick.
Terry: Mmm tall and thick.
Geeg: Oh, this was funny. He asked me what I do for fun when we were at the bar, and I was like, looking around the bar. And I was like-- this. But so I didn't want to seem like a trashy lush, so I was just like, I go to the movies, I hang out with my friends, I love to shop on the weekends. And I realized that when I'm not getting drunk, I have the hobbies of a 13 year old girl.
Terry: Haha. You're like, my Mom picks me up outside the Claires when I'm done shopping. And I like to ride pegs of the boy that I like.
Geeg: And I wear body glitter.
Terry: At least you didn't lie.
Geeg: Well I sort of did because I wasn't totally honest with him. I did not tell him that sometimes I like to try on every article of clothing in my closet, and stare into my own pupils. That's a Wednesday afternoon right there.
Terry: Ok, so you're the one looking for love, and I'm the one focused on her career right now.
Geeg: So now you wanna be a permanent temp?
Terry: Oh ha ha.
Geeg: Become a temp that... stays there forever.
Terry: No. I'm looking at travel jobs right now. I think I'm gonna be a flight attendant. And I want to get out of this office. Right now. It smells like rubber everywhere in here. Like condoms, but it's not a sexy smell. And no one talks to me. And I hate bringing my lunch. And this older black man named Peter that I thought was so sweet when I first met him, just openly stares at my nipples now whenever he comes by my desk.
Geeg: Put your nipples away then.
Terry: It's cold in here!
Geeg: Peter, huh? Are you sure you're not the one looking for love?

Words I'd never thought I'd say: Get a minivan.

2011-08-09T23:22:00.000+02:00

I'm not one to judge--

But why why why would you put your most precious cargo, in a wooden box on a bicycle in front of you? Idiot Yuppie Woman. WHY?!

These things are perfect, because it's a box and wooden-- just like A COFFIN.

Me and this dog were beside ourselves.

Have you seen these things?

This man looks both content and foreign. Maybe some place Dutch, these things are legit. Perhaps you're riding along a canal, and are dropping your child off at daycare before you're off to tending tulips somewhere. Fine. Maybe I can get "on board" with the idea if you're biking where there are only other bikes!!! to consider a colliding with, or a peaceful & stoned hippie.

But on the mean streets of Chicago? On North Ave?

Get real.

Get serious.

Get a minivan.

Happy Hump(Back-Mother-Whale) Day!

2011-08-03T16:27:00.000+02:00

I love when many funny things happen before 8 am.
For example, this morning Lizzie let Bosco out to go tink tink at 7:15. I watched from the front step with my coffee.
"C'mon Bosco. I have my retainer in, and I'm not wearing a bra." she said. "So, we're not gonna be going on a romp here."
I laughed.
Then, it sounded like the White Witch from Narnia was coming.
We heard it, and so did Bosco.
A really awkward man with two dogs came running by, and Bosco let out one weird bark. His dogs got distracted by Bosco.
"Keep..." he panted and yelled at the dogs "going." He sounded like the alien in Men in Black that wanted "sugar... in... water."
We laughed. And then we imagined Lizzie running after them, boobs hitting her in the face, retainer sliding loose.
"Moosh." she said.
Bahahaha. She of course meant to say "Mush." Moosh. Oh Lizzie, always mixing it up.
Hilarious.
"Isn't that Nick's car?" I asked at 7:19 after I recovered from Moosh.
"This one?" she looked at the car I was pointing at.
"Yeah, is that his car? It looks like it, doesn't it?"
She investigated, boobs swinging. "There's a handicap thing on the license plate."
We laughed again. She answered the question, but didn't.

So I scootered to work in a great mood.
It was 7:42 when I parked and was singing "Nothing Compares" by my girl Sinead as it played from my bra stereo system, when for no reason my phone died.
"Oh come on. It was getting to the best part." I talk to myself like anyone when they think they are alone. I came around the corner where a young and good-looking guy was staring at me. He was changing into dress shoes from his gym shoes.
Without missing a beat, I sang to him "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood."
Get it? Like he's Mr. Rogers.
He goes, "Oh, let me just put on my cardigan."
He yes and-ed! A stranger! So great. He even did some object work and pretended to put a sweater on.
So I was still smiling as I headed into the building at 7:52.
I checked out my reflection in the super shiny door, and pulled my shorts out of the front wedgie that was forming.
The door opened as I finished adjusting myself.
This guy tried to stifle his smile.
"You saw that, didn't you?" I asked him.
"Yes. Yes I did."
We both cracked up.
And I laughed all the way into the elevator.
At 7:54 two golfers got on with me in the lobby.
"It was incredible." Golfer A told Golfer B. "The mother whale gave birth right there. And you know, it's really amazing diving there off the coast. So I was basically there for the entire upbringing of the whale calf."
Golfer A went on for another 17 floors about this whale birthing.
Golfer B turned and looked at me as they got off the elevator, and mouthed the words "Kill me."
HILARIOUS.
I laughed all the way to 8:00.

Happy Hump Day!
Maybe it was a HumpBack Whale?
Moosh.

Geeg & Terry: Lucky Love.

2011-08-01T21:52:00.000+02:00

Geeg: So?
Terry: So?
Geeg: So you're grinning.
Terry: I am?
Geeg: Where were you all weekend?
Terry: Geeg. It was like a falling in love montage.
Geeg: What? Like you rode a tandem bicycle?
Terry: Basically.
Geeg: Did he win you a giant teddy bear at a carnival?
Terry: No. But we did share an ice cream cone. And we made out under a bridge.
Geeg: Oh wow, you really did fall in love for real, huh?
Terry: Yeah. Well, on Friday night I did. Saturday we almost fell out of love. But then Sunday morning, it was amore again.
Geeg: Roller coaster... of love.
Terry: Exactly.
Geeg: Tell me. I did nothing this weekend. Well, that's not true. I ate some questionable Thai food, and I sharted on Thursday. But that wasn't really the weekend...
Terry: I told you, just stop eating Thai food. Or at least stop using the red sauce. It's too spicy for your delicate white girl bung hole.
Geeg: I just like it so much. But I also really liked the underwear I had to throw away, so...
Terry: Well, Friday it was on because he bought me my drinks. I love that. I really do. I mean, if that's all it takes to get a girl to feel real and true love for you, then why wouldn't you drop the 12 bucks for my red-bull-vodkas?
Geeg: Right?
Terry: You get it.
Geeg: I buy myself drinks. And I really love myself.
Terry: Saturday, meeh. He's a really disgusting eater. Like, I've never seen anyone eat a potsticker like that. I didn't know you could eat a potsticker like that. But you can, and he did. And I can't be around that shit. You know how much I love potstickers.
Geeg: So then what turned it around for him on Sunday?
Terry: Um, he went down on me for like, 45 minutes. It was awesome.
Geeg: So he can't eat a potsticker, but...
Terry: Oh yeah. My fortune cookie. He knew how to eat that. He's like, psychic about it.
Geeg: Well it sounds like a romance to me.
Terry: I feel kind of like Chris O'Donnell in that movie where Drew Barrymore is like, a schizo or whatever, but he loves her still.
Geeg: Because you want to go on a road trip with him and never come back?
Terry: Yeah, and because I know I'm gonna get burned. But my feelings for him are making me ignore logic. Because he's so beautiful and troubled, and when he smiles at me, the sun shines.
Geeg: That was some poetry in motion.
Terry: He makes me!
Geeg: So you really like this guy?
Terry: I think so.

Geeg: What are you gonna do?

Terry: Wait for him to call me. The appropriate amount of time-- twelve hours. If I don't hear from him, he told me where he works... so...

Geeg: Oh, it's so sweet- you have so much love to give.

Terry: I hope so. I'm a prisoner of hope. I know.
Geeg: I'm a prisoner of Thai food.

Truth in her comedy.

2011-07-27T22:30:00.000+02:00

Laura Sauerberg and I used to love to fight over who has thicker hair and who is in fact, funnier.
"No, you're funnier."
"No. You are."
I haven't maintained many relationships from childhood, but Laura is someone that never misses a beat.
In recent years, while I pursue comedy, and Laura pursues helping people in a more respectable way, she continues to be an important person in my life.

Sometimes, we like to tell people when we're out together how long we've been friends. If I've had a couple drinks, I tell everyone, and then I like to tell them the story of us.
We watched The Wiz at our first sleepover. We'd ride bikes to McDonald's and pay for our cheeseburgers with stolen change from my sister's piggy bank. We made fun of our teachers before we knew what the word badass meant.
Since kindergarden we've cracked each. other's. shit. up. Since the days of her bowl cut, and my red Mickey Mouse frames.
Remember phonics books?
"Hey. Psst. Devin." she said to me in Ms. Stewart's second grade class.
"What?" I was already smiling. I knew she was up to no good, and I couldn't wait to be a part of it.
"What number are you on?" she asked.
"Um, four." We had to write out the numbers underneath the picture. Maybe in cursive? I don't remember. Just like I don't remember cursive. Or is it cursif?
"I'm on six." She grinned.
"Yeah..." What was she planning?
"When you get to six--" she looked over both shoulders. "I dare you to put an e instead of an i."
She was daring me to spell intercourse!
And we were eight.
Badass.
But more importantly, it was funny.

In 8th grade, the superlative that she won was "Best Personality." Like someone with only the greatest of personalities, I was pissed that she won it.
Who else but the chubby friend deserves "Best Personality?"
I think she won "Best Smile" too, the stupid hoodrat.
I mean, how unfair can you get?
Thanks, fellow 8th graders. I will accept your "Class Clown" votes, but I will not forget this day. I will not.

I heard this song today, and she is the first person that I think of, because the first time I heard it was in her Volkswagen. She sang the whole beginning in perfect African, totally in character the whole time, and to this day it was one of the funniest things I've ever seen.
On the 8th grade trip to Washington D.C. while maybe some kids were sneaking vodka in their hotel rooms, Laura and I painted our faces and eyelashes white with powder and decided to mess with Brittany Mangano.
"Guys, stop." she whined from her bed. "You know that I'm recovering from mono."
"I want your soul, Brittany." I told her.
"I want yo soooooul." Laura growled.

You can learn comedy, but you can't learn to be funny.
I'm sorry.
On too many levels, either you get it or you don't.
As an improviser, you can learn games, you can learn tricks, you can learn how to make other people look good, and you can learn the art or improvisation.
But I've met some amazing improvisers that miss out on the first syllable of funny when they are offstage.
There's nothing more disappointing to me than to watch someone shine on stage, hope that they are just as wonderful of a human being off, and then I have to plot my escape from our conversation.
Or the same is true for someone who only knows how to do bits, and couldn't hold a real conversation with another funny person if their life or soul depended on it.

Laura knows what it means to be funny, but most importantly she knows what it means to be a real person.
That is the truth in her comedy.
I love you, Bird.
And I have a great funking personality, too. OK? Maybe not the best.
But your hair is definitely thicker.
And we all know your smile is better.

Caffeinated Heroes.

2011-07-27T01:01:00.000+02:00

I haven't written in a couple days. I took a little break and found some inspiration. Now, I'm caffeinated. And I'm back.

Welcome Back, Mase. I love this because he went on hiatus, put this song out, and then... nothing. Welcome back to what, Mase? Welcome back to what?
You became a minister or something, right? And now you're back? With just one song?
Alllllright.
I'll listen.
And then, I'll continue to wonder about you, Mase.

Today, I'm a hero. So I got a free coffee. In addition to the coffee that I paid for with a double shot of espresso in it.
The lady in front of me ordered a grande, he handed her a tall, because some jag-goff in front of her took hers.
So then I became a hero.

Not even really, because the grande-drinking-latte-stealer is still at large.

I'm almost a hero, because my intentions were good.

But the coffee is still free!

Alright. Like I said-- I'm really caffeinated. Let me explain.

"Oh, I ordered a grande." She said sweetly.
"Sorry about that." And the barista handed her a fresh grande.
"It's okay, I think that other gentlemen must have grabbed it by mistake."
"What..." I asked with my most intense dead-pan and a tough voice, "did he look like?"
She laughed.
The barista told me he was wearing pants, and was definitely a man.
"I will. find. him."
"Oh ha ha, I think he already started drinking it."
"Well, he owes someone an apology then... doesn't he?"
"Here ya go. You're gonna need this for your investigation."
A FREE iced latte. My drink came up next. A hot latte.
A HERO.
And so now, I can't type fast enough.
I can't do anything fast enough really. It reminds me of my high school days poppin' Metabolife's with Alexis before school. When Gym class rolled around in fourth period, we didn't need teammates because we played every position on the volleyball court.
"CALL ON ME. ME. ME. I KNOW THE ANSWER. I SWEAR TO GOD I KNOW IT. IF YOU WOULD JUST CALL ON ME, I WOULD BE ABLE TO SHARE THE RIGHT ANSWER WITH THE CLASS. I'M LOSING IT. I'M LOSING THE ANSWER BECAUSE YOU WON'T CALL ON ME. I'M LOSING IT. IT'S GONE."
By 10th period, I was not ready for soccer practice. I was ready for night night. Because all of the calories that had existed at one point in my tummy or the rest of me somewhere, were burned off by my bouncing leg.

This is funny because... what if you have to?

An Italian father just walked past giving a life lesson to his son, and oh my god I am filled with a longing for Italy.

"Ah Papa, non andiamo. Per favore." The kid whined, and I understood!

I want to go to Italy now, and this Italian kid doesn't want to go anywhere.

Little kids have it all figured out. They want what they want-- three seconds ago.

Kid standing outside Auntie Anne's pretzels at the mall...

"BUT. I. WANT. IT." Teeth clenched. Extreme desire for a pretzel. Parent that says pretzel is not possible.

"Gimme a face. Gimme a face." My Mom would always say as she was simulateously adjusting the color wheels & flipping the channels on the T.V. in her bedroom. She said it real concentrated-like. Me and Ash say that a lot.

If I die anytime soon, I want anyone to be able to write here. It would make me happy.

Is that weird?

Whoa. That might be my first "Is that weird?"

It feels... weird.

Isn't-that-weird?

I told you. FREE COFFEE.

AND NOW I'M A HERO AGAIN.

A lady was just parked in front of me, and I noticed that her license plate was attached on only one side.

I guess I'm on the prowl for this, because oh yeah-- my own license plate is hanging on by a paper clip right now.

Who ever has time to go to a hardware store?

Not me, and not this hot chick in the black and white dress.

So I alerted her-- like only the truest of heroes could.

She was a real friendly-like, beautiful black woman with a young & beautiful six year old that she called "Button." Button was roaming all over the seats of her car while she adjusted her contact.

"Anybody wanna babysit?"

I loved it. No I don't thank you, I'm off the clock. BUT your license plate is loose, and I have an extra paper clip! I was literally giddy to help her...

ANOTHER SHOT AT HEROICISM! HOW DO YOU SPELL HEROICISM? heroisism. Hero-ics. Heroism is the word!

Turns out, car license plates are a whole different ball game from that of a Vespa plate.

Huh. Whodathunkit?

Not me. So the paper clip that I went and triumphantly fetched was bunk.

And so I tried to use my hero hands to get the screw loosened.

Well, it was on there good, friends.

And the washer was bent.

Ohh boy. The plot thickens.

It hurt my fingers, but I pushed on (because I am a hero) while Button climbed into the driver's seat of the car.

No worries, the car was off. This doesn't turn into an episode of what's that show called? "I shouldn't be sitting in this chair right now?" Something like that.

"It's on there really tight." I said as I struggled.

"I only wish I had a screw driver to help you ladies out." said a wannabe hero standing nearby.

"What if I was that kind of gal that just rolled around with a Phillip's." I wondered as I continued to crouch and struggle.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. I think I can help."

This was like something out of a movie.

A man. A power tool. A BIGGER HERO THAN ME.

He had a -- whaddaya call it -- electronic? screwdriver. For whatever reason in the Universe, he happened to be walking by at that exact moment with a POWER TOOL! And he saved the day.

It was hilarious too, because while this handy handyman was unscrewing, my new friend bent over in her tight black dress and tried to just force the plate back on.

It was awesome.

I was grinning and gave lots of thumbs ups.

Heroes, friends.

Every day.

Like Mase.

I'm exhausted.

Geeg & Terry: On the phone.

2011-07-22T06:21:00.000+02:00

Geeg: So I didn't know that they weigh the salad dressings when they weigh the salad. And you know I love to try new dressings, so I got like, one of each. And they weighed them all. And my salad was like 19 dollars.
Terry: You should have told them you didn't want all of them.
Geeg: What was I gonna do, bring the dressings back? They were already in the ramekins. I just paid for it. Learned a tough lesson and paid. And the ranch was just like, straight up ranch. Some Hidden Valley shit that threw another couple ounces on my graaaand total.
Terry: Did you use the last of my lotion?
Geeg: Which one?
Terry: The Asian one.
Geeg: Yes.
Terry: Great. My knees will continue to be hairy and now ashy. What are we doing tonight?
Geeg: I don't care, check brokehipster. Oh hang on a sec-- Cool Joe!
Cool Joe: Wha?
Geeg: Hey it's me, Geeg.
Cool Joe: Geege?
Geeg: No Geeg. Remember?
Terry: Who are you talking to?
Cool Joe: Wha?
Geeg: Remember me from... last week?
Cool Mike: Oh hey.
Geeg: Cool Mike. And you called me Cool G. Remember?
Cool Joe: Wha?
Geeg: Alright. Good to see you.
Terry: Did you just try to pick up a dude?
Geeg: Ugh. I just get so mad when homeless people don't remember me. I've given him, like 8 dollars in the last year.
Terry: Ooh, Lottie's has free chicken wings for an hour, and there's 28 minutes left.
Geeg: I'll be there in 6.

Frupols.

2011-07-21T22:51:00.000+02:00

I'm itching to watch the pilot episode of Samantha Who? right now, but instead, to keep myself clean, I'll tell you about this very scene party that I went to last night.

"So who is this guy?" I asked Anne Lise. She was singing La Vie en Rose at the top of her lungs from the passenger seat of my scooter. I love when she sings Edith Piaf. She makes Marion Cotillard look like a Bum. She took a singing break to smoke a ciggie bum.
"I don't know, Sis. Some guy. Some tagging guy."
"And what's his name?" I asked.
"Err-ic. I think. He is young. He smoke a lot of weed. He's an artist."
"And where are we going?"
"I don't know, Sis. It's underground. This thing. I don't know. It's underground."
So we went.

And yes, it was underground. An underground & open mic/very scene party.
Oooh boy.
Del Close said "If we treat each other as if we are geniuses, poets, and artists, we have a better chance of becoming that onstage."
This quote makes perfect sense with iO as a background. But at a party? A party labeled "underground" in Wicker Park? An underground, open mic, Wicker Park, white people party? I was exhausted by the end of the night.
An extreme amount of original people in one room can really tucker you out.
Geniuses & Poets & Artists! Too many! OH My!
"Chicks gotta piss!" A skinny girl covered in tattoos screamed as she adjusted her librarian glasses.
Graffiti covered the walls.
A boy with dread locks moved barefoot through the room taking pictures of everything with a way-expensive camera.
Two beers? Two bucks. Tips welcome.
"Shut the fuck up." A boy with a painter's hat yelled into the microphone. "I'm not an asshole or anything. But seriously, shut the fuck up. Cause I've got something to say. And you're all just trying to get laid."
He started screaming and strumming again before I could laugh.
He sang some songs about clean speed, being an American, and hipster fucks.
"Go, Sis. Allez. Do some comedy, eh?" Anne Lise encouraged me to jam.
"Ok. You sing Edith Piaf first."
"Eh, maybe next week. I am tired, sis."
Me too, ma souer. Me too.
Tired of appreciating all types of people so much.
You should come with us next week.
Oh, that's right. It's underground.

Here's the notes I took:
I swear baby I can change
Not wearing mascara cripples me.. frupols.

I thought that this guy Matt's song was a cover, but I can't find it. So hopefully, I swear baby I can change is his original jam. That I really, really liked.
Also frupols was auto-correct for cripples? Weird. But for real, I wasn't wearing any eye makeup at all, & so I felt like I had nothing to bring to the scenester table.

Frupols.

Geeg & Terry: Gchat

2011-07-14T05:41:00.000+02:00

Geeg: Do you think my birth control will still work
   for today if I threw up 20 minutes after taking it?
Terry: I don't know, I've wondered about that with
   diahreahhh. How the fuck do you spell
   diahreeaaaa?
Geeg: How's work?
Terry: Please.
   I wish had some hallucegnics in my purse.
   How the fuck do you spell hallucinegics?
   You?
Geeg: Fine.
   I've avoided most of the bungholes so far today.
   Not very productive.
   I went to the bank at lunch though. So check that off
   the list.
   I was thrown though. The teller was too hot to talk to.
   And there's never hot tellers there. I was like,
   where did you come from?
   Can I have a checking deposit slip?
   How's your day?
   Is it supposed to rain?
   It was so lame.
   He was like, Uh maybe.
   And so I just bailed.
   He asked me if I wanted my account balance.
   I was like, no i'm cool.
   he was too hot. I was too flustered.
   So I just left.
   And I did really want my account balance.
   but i left.
Terry: Weat something see-through the next time you go in.
   *Wear. Or wet it.
   The old lady that sits next to me, it's her birhthay
   but nobody did shit for it cause she's such
   a bitch to everyone.
   So i bought her a cupcake downstairs
   and she goes "i'm lactose intolerant."
   So then I ate it.
Geeg: Nice.
   Do you wanna go meet up with the neighbs
   tonight?
Terry: Across the street or behind the alley?
Geeg: Across the street.
Terry: Good because behind the alley are starting to weird me.
   Al asked me what kind of deodorant I use
   And I was like, Uh shut up.
   where u wanna go? I'm pretty broke.
Geeg: Some place dirty.
Terry: Ok.
   So I went to the bathroom a few minutes ago.
   And I haven't pooped yet today.
   But when I wiped, there was poo residue.
   What the fuck?
   I'm tryin g to remember if I even farted.
Geeg: it happens.
   Did I tell you Snake is getting married?
Terry: To the blonde?
Geeg: Yeah they've been together for a while.
Terry: When's the wedding?
Geeg: This weekend.
   And I'm not invited.
   Is it bad that I'm mad I wasn't invited to my
   drug dealer's wedding?
Terry: Is it bad that I didn't poop yet today
   but my most recent butt wipe says
   otherwise?

Geeg: What kind of cupcake was it?

Claire

2011-07-08T04:44:00.000+02:00

Claire. C- note. Claire Bear.
What's up? I mean, what is up with you right now? If I could just go ahead and have a conversation with myself for a second, maybe I could work some shit out.
Okay.
So.
I started reorganizing my closet and 45 minutes in, I realized I wasn't drunk. I was like, Claire-- get it together girl. What's going on with you lately?
You never clean sober.
Go get yourself a glass of Riesling, and let's talk, woman.

Lately, you're really not yourself at all.
You haven't been doing your wii fit.
You forgot to tivo Teen Mom and Hoarders this week.
Your life is in disarray lately.

Lately, you're dating all the wrong guys, and you're making all the wrong kinds of excuses for them. Like that guy with the ponytail. I mean, c'mon Claire. What would you say to your friends?
Hey guys, this is Jared... and this is his... ponytail. It's like, a bun, kind of... How could you keep a straight face?
What about Ken and that snaggle tooth? I mean, really, Claire? You have future kids to consider.

Your texts aren't as mysterious as they should be lately.
And Brittany still has your seersucker shorts. What the h? Are you gonna confront her about that or what? I mean, she's totally taking advantage.
And you decided last month that you were going to stop surrounding yourself with toxic people.

You forgot to book your flight to Miami, so now you'll have to sit on the aisle. In coach.
Bleh.

Pimples on your chin. Shattered cuticles. Split ends. Nothing to tweet. Nothing to say.
Get yourself to the spa, stat. Or can't you? I mean, why can't you? You're a disgusting and sad mess, Claire.

You sucked it up at karaoke last night. I mean, who sings anything from the 90s anymore anyway? That's such 20-year-old type of shit. You're 22 now Claire.
You can't get away with throwing on a Burberry purse and heading out for the night like you used to.
People expect the best from you. They expect class and style. And totally originality.

I mean, Mark didn't even smile at you at work today, and he always smiles at you at work.
Tyler didn't hold the elevator for you.
Travis only responded with a smiley face to your Meet the Parents quote.
Ugh. I hate me right now, Claire Bear.

I mean, who are you right now?
Lately, it's like, I don't even know.

Oh wait.
I just realized.

I forgot to get my adderall prescription filled this month.

Geeg & Terry: Shoot Him Down, & Run It.

2011-07-06T20:47:00.000+02:00

Geeg: I listened to this song at least 15 times this weekend...

Terry: You know we're gonna see some triflin' hoes on the bus with disgusting long red weave now.
Geeg: Sorry Rihanna, no one can compete with Beyonce's moves, or riding a horse in slow motion, or a fucking real lion.

Geeg: I rode my bike to work yesterday, and my TT was a little too loose for comfort. It was an awkward ride.

Terry: Oh, I hate that.
Geeg: Yeah I sneezed and went over a bump on Fullerton. Oh man, I almost had some Teen-Magazine-embarrassing-to-the-max type of shit happen.
Terry: It's scary because, what can you do? Some kegels? Try to move it around in there?
Geeg: I think that probably only helps if it's at a certain point. If it's beyond that certain point, you gotsta wait until you can give birth to it in the bathroom.
Terry: Yuck. Like those chicks that don't know that they're pregnant until the saddest public restroom moment in their personal history.
Geeg: So sad.
Terry: At least with a food baby, you always know that you're pregnant with it.
Geeg: Oh hey, did we talk about Grocery-store-guy's-pp yet?
Terry: If you told me, I don't remember.
Geeg: Oh you would remember these details.
Terry: Good? Bad? Ugly? Quick and dead?
Geeg: Well, it did get dead pretty quick, but before it did, I swear to God it was the smoothest penis I have ever seen? Felt? Held? I held it like a baby's hand, that's how smooth it was.
Terry: Please tell me you thought of that illustration later.
Geeg: Yeah, no. I wasn't thinking about babies while I was holding it. But I was gentle with it like I was. It was pretty poetic.
Terry: Was it too smooth? Do you wanna hold his baby hand again? Or do you wanna see it again at least?
Geeg: Jury's still out. I mean, maybe he tried a new moisturizer. I'm thinking no. He goes "Can I ask you a personal question?" And I go, "Okay, but then I get to ask you one." So he goes-- oh shit, I forgot about my Hot Pocket. It's downstairs. I'll be right back. You want the other one?
Terry: Is it a Hot Pocket or a Lean Pocket?
Geeg: What?
Terry: Hot or Lean?
Geeg: I can't hear you.
Terry: I said! Is it Hot! or Lean!?
Geeg: mmm... Who is?

I can be arsed with te Irish.

2011-07-02T00:03:00.000+02:00

I don't care what anyone says about the Irish (they don't tip, they drink too much, they sleep 75 deep in a 2 bedroom, they talk weird) -- they are sound.
"So you fight a lot?" I asked him.
"No, love. I'm a gentle giant."
"So you never fight?" His friend had just finished a fight story.
"When I do Devo, tere's tree hits--"
"Oh no, don't say it."
"Me hitting him. Him hitting the floor. The cops hitting 90."
I love that.
He actually said ambulance, but cops is funnier.
He told me about both of these videos.

They're funny, and so is this note I jotted down on the notepad on my phone

"Happy out- exactly where you want to be.
Opposite of scaggy buzz.
horse outside,
Grand.
Sound.
Can't be arsed with the train."

Oh man, the Irish are Grand.

My Last First Crush: Chipotle Steve

2011-07-01T21:34:00.000+02:00

My Super Senior year at KU, Lizzie and I lived on Mass. Street, which is the main drag of Lawrence. We shared a hallway with a bunch of hilarious white people that included some of my favorites that I met in my five years in Kansas.
Lizzie made out with cute Mitch across the hall. Kyle and Derek in the back corner were always down to burn some herbs.
The first time I heard Paper Planes was at their crib, and every time I hear it to this day, I think of Kyle bobbing his head with his eyes closed. "How sick is this intro?"

Melissa and a girl that I can't remember lived kitty-corner from us in the "antique store" Chris called it, because there was a wicker rocking chair in the middle of the room that freaked him out. Chris, aka "the Super" became one of my best friends for life that year when I went home with him for Thanksgiving. Lizzie and I liked to call him "the Supah" because if anything in our apartment needed to be fixed or tweaked, Chris was there with an opinion or some know-how.
"My light bulb is burnt out."
"Call the Supah."

Our hallway of apartments was above several businesses that we got to know very well.

There was a FedEx Kinkos where I liked to steal copies and faxes, with some of the crankiest workers on the planet. (Lizzie and I carried our Christmas tree through it singing Oh Tannenbaum at the top of our lungs and no one cracked a smile.)
There was also a sassy girl's clothing store called Envy (I bought two shirts from there while a DJ played Julez Santana*, and they both fell apart shortly after purchasing them.)

*My go-to getting ready song on Wheeze's pink ipod.

Next to that was an old-lady fashion store that sold studded purses and diamond Jayhawk t-shirts. I can't remember the name, maybe Saffee's? but I do remember that when Lizzie's toilet clogged, we laughed about the poop-juice that must have been leaking on some super high-waisted jeans and or quilted jackets.

And there was one more store-front... what was it? Oh yeah. Chipotle.

We called it our front porch.

Conveniently, every day tables and chairs showed up for our own personal use. We would occasionally buy some guac or maybe a drink to sit out front and enjoy the town passing by, but mostly we imported our own beverages.

I remember I "borrowed" some sour cream when I cooked tacos one night, and I definitely remember keeping the same Chipotle cup for a week or so to fill and refill as I pleased. They loved me in there, I swear.

Especially Steve.

He was tall and dark and handsome, with some pretty intense eyes.

I don't remember his last name-- but I remember the first free burrito that he gave me. Steve was one of those that made an extreme amount of eye contact-- which like I've said before, used to intrigue me. Now it scares me.

But I thought he was mysterious. He might have just been weird.

Either way, free burritos.

We smooched in the alley one night, and that was about as far as our love affair ever went.

JoeJoe asked me how I knew him after I brought him to a Sandbar party.

"Oh, just from going in to CheePOTEL-in-yo-pants. Why, how do you know him, JoeJoe?"

"I lived with him for a semester." His face got real serious while he thought about what to say next. "That's a weird dude, Devo."

"He is?" I thought about all that eye contact.

"Do you like him?" he asked.

"I mean, no? Not really. I had a crush for a while maybe."

"Ok." He looked relieved.

"Why?" I laughed.

"I don't want you to like him."

"Okay JoeJoe, I won't. But why?"

"He masturbates." Even more of a serious face. "A lot."

"What? Doesn't every dude? I mean, isn't that like, normal? Or expected?"

He thought some more before he said "Not with their bedroom door open."

Anyway, free burritos.

I miss Mass. St. cause stuff like this would happen on my front porch.

And did I mention the free burritos? I miss those too.

Geeg & Terry: Looking for love in all the places.

2011-06-27T20:25:00.000+02:00

Geeg: Yeah, we're done. We gotta be. I mean after a guy hocks a looger on me, I gots to throw the towel right on in.
Terry: He loogered on you?
Geeg: Yeah. He didn't mean to. But it happened. It was really windy. I don't know, I don't want to think about it. It was warm.
Terry: It's prolly cause you pick these guys up at bars. Quality dudes don't scam for tricks at bars.
Geeg: Where do they scam then?
Terry: Fuck if I know. Church? You wanna go to Church tomorrow?
Geeg: I don't know. Do they have a 4 o'clock mass? I'm planning on being pretty hungover till then.
Terry: Let's get dressed up real conservative-like, and go to Church. Cardigans. Let's wear cardigans.
Geeg: Ok, what church should we go to?
Terry: Are there any close? Parking could be a bitch.
Geeg: I think there's a cool one down the street.
Terry: What's cool about it? It's not Lutheran is it? Lutherans always seem real entitled.
Geeg: There's some sweet stained glass, and I saw a hot guy outside of it when I was walking to Amanda's tranny party three weeks ago.
Terry: Didn't you make out with a girl that night?
Geeg: Who knows?
Terry: Not you.
Geeg: If it was a girl, she had a real mustache. At least the beginnings of one.
Terry: I don't understand how that is a problem for some people. I guess they don't look at it like a problem, but they do have to look at it. I mean, you wake up every day, and you see that ish growing on your lip, and what? You just decide to leave it? Every day?
Geeg: So, it's decided. We'll wake up early and go to Church.
Terry: Not too early. What time is synagogue? Don't the Jews worship at sundown sometimes?
Geeg: Um.
Terry: Ooh, and Jewish guys always have jobs, ya know?
Geeg: Yeah, they do have a good work ethic.
Terry: So it's settled. Let's go where the Jews go.
Geeg: Let's go.
Terry: And maybe you can find a guy that doesn't only get dressed up when he's got court.
Geeg: Yeah, Dave got parol. So that's good...
Terry: Shalom, Dave.

I've listened to it on repeat.

2011-06-24T20:11:00.000+02:00

Last night, I dreamt to this song.
Today, I was 45 minutes late to work.

It's a beautiful day in my neighborhood

2011-06-21T23:30:00.000+02:00

It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

It's a neighborly day in this beautywood,
A neighborly day for a beauty,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

Won't you be my neighbor?

My neighbor Tina is hilarious.

I don't know where she's from, but it sounds like Cuba.
I don't know how old she is, but she hates her son's girlfriend.
I don't know what she did for a living, but she's retired now, and her temperamental pooch companion barks for hours.
I don't know how many conversations we've had, but I can't get enough Tina.

She is a tiny little woman with piercing eyes that are magnified by the extreme prescription in her glasses.

She's hilarious but she doesn't know it, which is my favorite kind of hilarious.
Also, she's one of those people that cracks me up so much that I feel like I can't open my brain wide enough while I'm interacting with her.
I so desperately want to remember everything she says.
Here's some favorite moments.
"Hey, Tina. How are you?" I said as I pulled my scooter out of the garage.
"Yeah, I'm hok. Where you going?"
"I'm on my way to the bank."
"Yeah, Hok. Dondie onthatthing, hok?"
"I won't." I haven't died on it yet. I told Tina I wouldn't.

"It's too cold outside."
"I know. I hate the cold too, Tina." Lizzie had a weather chat with Tina after the blizzard.
"Yeah." She blinked her eyes. "My bird died."
"Like a toddler." Lizzie recounted later. "I mean, it came out of nowhere."

We threw a party and some chairs got thrown off of our roof. They landed in Tina's yard the next day.
"I thought the sky was fallin, hok?"
"I'm so sorry, Tina. Are you okay?"
"It's hok. I'm hok. God does not hate me. The sky was not at my front door. But I thought I was gonna die."

And she really does hate her son's girlfriend.
"She's nasty. I told her, she is notallowed in my house."
"Why Tina? What did she do?" I wanted to know every detail.
"She yell in my face. I kick her out."
She is a hoot. Like a little owl.

Tina, won't you continue to be my neighbor?

Beat it.

2011-06-19T02:21:00.000+02:00

"Oh God, Deveaux. The shittiest music."
"Relax, ma souer, this will be a blast." I said as I handed the doorguy my i.d. He was wearing a suit and an ear piece.
"Why this bar, Deveaux? These people are also shitty and sad."
"Research."
Last night, I wanted to see how they live. What they do on a Friday night.
Who?
The bachelor party of course. And the Irish guys that got in last week. And our new friend Yen. Guys with lines. Guys with no lines at all. Fantastic and shitty people.
I couldn't take notes fast enough.

Anne Lise doesn't drink much, which is an interesting characteristic for someone that I like to go out with on a Friday night. She's also too pretty for her own GD good. Also not something I like to roll with when I'm wearing a birthday outfit. But family is family. And you know what I say about family: You can't pick em, but you can wipe em on the wall above your bed, right?
Exactly.
But I was on a mission and she was my wingman which I love. Both having a purpose for the night, and headed there with someone who knows what's up, & not just because they only had one glass of that "getting-ready-bottle-of-sauv-blanc" that I picked up on the way home.

"What is this word, Meatmarket?' she asked as we made our way to the bar.
"So you know how you go the store to buy meat?"
"Yes."
"It's like this bar is a deli. Everyone here is looking to get some meat." I clenched my teeth & made fists to really drive the point home.
"DISgustING." One of her favorite words.
So we sat down at the bar & started taking pictures of ourselves.
Anne Lise loves to do this, and she makes no apologies for it. Which I love. She doesn't apologize for much.
And I mean, should she? I mean. Just look.

Cause I do. Sometimes when I should be driving.

"Perfect." I told her. "Duh. Take one of me."
"Ok, sis think young, rich and gorgeous. " She told me

"Ghost. You are Casper, sis. Desole."
"The corners of my eyes look good."
"What's the difference between shadow and shade?" she asked as she sipped her ten dollar green-muddy martini.

"You have a shadow, but you don't provide shade like a tent." I said as I closed my tab. Which I ordered one drink, handed her my card, and she ran it. I hate that. She didn't ask if I wanted to run it, and maybe I wanted to have 6 more 14 dollar martinis. I guess she'll never know. Cause the hoodrat ran it. Oh that's right, she was gorgeous. And had huge fake boobies and was wearing stilettos behind the bar and her hair was so blonde. So, so blonde. How do you keep up with that? Did you train your hair not to grow? Cause don't you have to go every time you sneeze or got goosebumps to get that shit touched up?

"Ah, ok. My shadow. The tent's shade. Thank you, Sis."
"A couple months ago I provided more shade than I was okay with giving."
We were laughing as Visor-Spikes crept up. I saw him walk in, and knew that I wanted to remember where I saw the exact same kind of a hair piece. Maybe a sporting event? A movie where some Treasure-Troll looking hair was sewn on to a golf visor? I dunno.
Attention, tout le monde: STOP WEARING VISORS. I'm sorry if your head breathes or whatever in it, but they are dumb. And I don't want to talk to you while you're wearing one, because I'm crazy-distracted by it. If you're bald, I'm wondering if you put sunscreen on, and if you're not, I'm looking at your hair poking out the top & wondering if you had to smoothe it down on the sides when you put it on. And if I am distracted, then someone else will be too. Maybe your future boss, or future honey, or a new friend. So, you're welcome. I'm doing you a favor. And cut your fingernails. Or at least trim them, and for the love of the Miami Dolphins, clean the dirt out.

"Hey, how are you guys doing?" he slurred.
Done. See you never.
A few months ago, Anne Lise taught me mt favorite French phrase: "Ou va tou? Je mon foo."
I don't know how it's spelled, but it's how we let each other know we are disGUSTed. It means "Where are you going? I don't care."
Do we look like guys? Or do we look like nice young ladies? Much too young for you, because you're wearing a visor. Don't call me dude or bro, Visor-Spikes. And definitely don't call me Al.

It was his buddy's bachelor party and they were in from Michigan.
"Congratulations." I said to the guy holding a full beer bottle in one hand and a full pint glass in the other.
"Not me. He's over there. I'm already married."
"Where's your ring?" I asked.
He waggled his eyebrows at me. "It's not on my finger."
This was disGUSTting for many reasons. Are you telling me you're married cause you think it will make me interested? Or are you confiding in me because we're bros now? Also, is your wife somewhere with her ring off? Do you have an open marriage? Are you guys just working through some stuff right now?
Either way-- Oo vaaa touu? Je mon foooo.
The best way to get rid of a creep, is to out-creep them.
So I did my best, and I won.

He told me I had man hands and walked away.
I love this.
I have never in my life wondered if I had man hands or not. I know for a fact that I don't. So I loved this dis more than any other dis I've ever encountered.
This is what I wrote down in the note pad on my phone:
Guy with visor & spikes. How are you guys doin?
C
Congrats on banging hookers. Manhole grab my junk.

Manhole was man hands auto-corrected, and I can't remember what the grab my junk was about. But I do know that I never need to see him again. Oh yeah, and he congratulated himself for having intercourse with prostitutes.

I loved this guy so much. He's probably the one.

The Irish guys were less offensive.
Fellas, if out of two friends, it seems like one is lying, trust the uglier one.

She has never had any reason to lie to a guy.

"Is she really from Scotland?" James from Ireland wanted to know.

"Did she say she was?" I asked him.

"Yeah."

"Then yeah, she's from Scotland. Did she say where I'm from?"

"She said you were from Australia." he said.

"Yep." I popped an accent on. "Did she say what we're doing here?"

But you can't mess with the Irish boys unless you see yourself entering a P.S. I love You type of romance with him. He's leaving at the end of the Summer. And he doesn't tip. And he has 15 roommates. Did I write about this already?

I think I saved it as a draft because I couldn't upload my first ever clarification video.

I'll figure it out when I hire an assistant.

Anyway, our new friend Yen (Jen but sometimes she goes by Yen) taught Anne Lise a new phrase.
"BEAT IT." She screamed at the Irish blokes. "They're not interested. Scram. BEAT IT."
"Like Michael Jackson, Sis?"
"Yeah, beat it. Beat it."

So they did, and then we did.
But not until we took a bunch of pics of ourselves outside.

Young, rich & gorgeous.
Well. Kind of.
Which two out of three ain't bad?

Geeg & Terry: Connect.

2011-06-15T23:54:00.000+02:00

Geeg: Oh turn it up. I love this song. If I was still doing drugs, this song would make me feel like anything is possible on a Friday night.

Terry: Good thing you're not. You were a real bitch on acid.

Geeg: Yeah, well you would be a bitch too if everyone around you smelled like expired cheese.

Terry: Your brother smells like that for real. All the time.

Geeg: Where do you think I got the reference smell? No, nothing too hard. Now it's just the booze for ole Geegie. Too much booze and then I lose. Again.

Terry: Is that what happened with what's-his-name last night? Too sauced to score?

Geeg: Good thing you didn't bother learning his name.

Terry: That bad?

Geeg: I swear to God while he was describing himself to me, it was like he stole my diary, and then did his very best to physicalize every trait that I've ever despised in a guy. Ever.

Terry: That's pretty bad.

Geeg: And he didn't even want to make out.

Terry: You tried to make out with him? Before or after you realized that you hate him?

Geeg: I mean, I didn't try. I just quietly went to the bathroom, swished some mouth wash, and pinched my cheeks. And then I pinched his cheeks when I came back out.

Terry: Gross. You pinched his butt?

Geeg: Yeah.

Terry: What are you? A trashy old man waiting for a coffee refill?

Geeg: I just wanted to bring some color to mine and his. I don't know. I mean, you can hate a guy and still think he's a really good kisser.

Terry: You deserve to have a connection with someone. It's possible you know.

Geeg: Is it?

Terry: As long as no one is on acid.

Geeg: What about you? How do you feel about that guy with the cat?

Terry: Yeah, he loves his cat.

Geeg: You hate the cat?

Terry: I hate it.

Geeg: Yess.

Terry: I know, I feel bad. I don't want to hate it. But I hate the way he is with it too. And it's a girl. It's a girl cat. I can't handle it.

Geeg: Pussy joke.

Terry: I made one. To him.

Geeg: You didn't.

Terry: Yeah, I couldn't help it.

Geeg: And what did he say?

Terry: He goes 'That's what you said.'

Geeg: NO! He won. He out-lamed you!

Terry: Yeah, I'll prolly marry him.

Geeg: Who took the ram from the ram a lam a ding dong?

Terry: Who? Who? Who?

Geeg: See you later.

Terry: See you later.

TGIFG... thankgodifeelgreat.

2011-06-11T00:54:00.001+02:00

Thank God it's Friday.
This is a great Friday & Springtime jam.
It'd be a lot easier to drops some LBs this Spring, if all of Chicago didn't smell like delicious grilling-meat at all times of the day.
But thank God for at least the smell of meat.
Speaking of the smell of meat--

I got hit in the face with a Ukrainian breast last night. What? Yes.
The gym, the locker room, me and a stranger's boobie.
I was bent over at my locker pulling my sweaty underwear out of my yoga pants, I turned, stood up too quickly, and PThht! Bare breast on my forehead and into my cheek.
What does a stranger's breast sound like on your face? Hang out in the locker room and find out.
It swung. It literally swung into my face.
Don't be confused, this was not a sexy moment. She was old. And entitled.
She didn't even slow her roll. She just stood back and smiled politely. As if it was a privilege for my face to touch her bare boobie.
"Sorry." I said as I desperately wanted to wipe my face, but didn't want to seem rude. According to her facial expression, perhaps she wanted me to thank her.
"No, ees h'ok."
Is it? Is it really okay? Because your boob was sweatier than my face. Or was that water? Did you just get out of the shower? If I could lick my own face right now, would it taste like the generic shower gel?

Thank God that "I love myself so much." This is one of those statements that I would only ever make to my sis. So, I told her at Millenium Park after I got back from a 45 minute epic journey to the bathroom.
"Oh no, what did you do?"
"I peed in the men's bathroom."
"What?"
"Yeah, I couldn't find a bush to pee in, and the ladies line was extreme. So I heated things up, and peed in the men's room."
She said nothing and sipped her Prosecco.
I continued the story anyway because it was an amused silence. "I turned to the girl next to me, and was like, 'Safety in numbers, let's pee in the men's room.' And she laughed, and I could see that she was mulling it over, and she goes, 'No, I'm almost there.' And so I laughed in her face, thus calling her a coward, covered my eyes, and headed towards the hombres. 'Just gotta go guys. Not gonna check out anyone's bidness. Just gots to pee. Can't see a thing.' Then this guy moves out of the way and goes, 'You can open your eyes. We're not just flopping around in here. You can go in the stall.' So I go in the stall, and it's so quiet in there, Ash. I couldn't pee. And I really had to go- obviously, I cut in front of 50 strangers and went where no sober woman has been before. Stage fright. So I go, 'Anyone seen any good movies?' In my most broish voice. And then everyone laughs, and then the pee came. And I came out, and I pretended to adjust my nonexistent cock, and averted my eyes and washed my hands, and when I came back outside that chick that I left in my dust hadn't even moved in the line. And I go, 'They're pretty friendly in there.' And now I'm back here sitting down enjoying myself, and she's prolly still covering her seat in toilet paper. I mean sometimes you just gotta go for it, ya know?
Man.
What a rush.
Adrenaline.
Peeing in a crowded men's room.
I feel great."

Thank God for Fridays, & feeling Great.

RoomMATES.

2011-06-03T06:56:00.000+02:00

Ohhhhhh roommates.
I cherish moments of filth. Of disgust. Of absurdity.
Of leaving two sips of rotten milk in the fridge for weeks. Really? Clothes in the dryer AND washer? Wet clean clothes in the washer? Really? Well, they're not clean anymore. Cause they smell like mildew.
No forks. No forks? No clean forks. And the dishwasher is packed to the max, and not running, cause there is no detergent. Still.
And no garbage bags, neither.
And someone used the last squeeze of my toothpaste.
And I know I had two slices of Colby Jack left, and there is definitely only one in the bag, and I did NOT consume that other missing slice.
And no, I don't want to watch Army Wives, cause that show is funking bunk. I want to watch the next disc of Dawson's Creek. But I can't. Because it's scratched. Because you didn't put it back in the case after you borrowed it.
I cherish these moments.
I really do.
Because I understand and acknowledge that I have the rest of my life to live alone, and that now is the time to embrace how disgusting other people are.

Pictured above: At the bottom of the sink, some nervous turds of the guinea pig variety. They really love to loathe bath time. Even though I've explained to them many times that they are natural swimmers. And they really love to loathe bath time in the sink. But they couldn't have bath time in the shower, because this other critter was already living it's life in the drain- in the only tub in the house. What critter? Just look to the left of the poopsies. Right there on the side of the sink? Yeah, that's a hair ball. And it might as well have been alive. And it's mad.
What will remedy this calamity? Just look up there on the counter of the sink. Lizzie bought "Mister Plumber" from the dollar store to battle the clog catastrophe. It cost... one dollar. I wonder if it will work as well as Drain-O? Which definitely costs more than one dollar.

Pictured below: The handiwork of 4 assholes. Recycling assholes, sure. But still assholes. I had to disassemble the pyramid to take it out back.

I love myself, and I love my roommates.
That being said--
Sarge, if you could go ahead and mop the floors now? Or do some heavy common space cleaning. Thaaaaaanks. That would be great.
And Uncle Carol, if you could sweep first, it would prolly help Sarge a lot. Don't forget the stairs. Or the corners.
And ZZ, if you could get both your clean and still-dirty laundry out of the basement. You know, the stuff that's been there since we moved in? Greaaaaat. That would prolly help everyone's mental health a lot.
And if I could not let my guinea pigs nervously shit in a sink where people brush their teeth and wash their faces, that would also be great. Thaaaanks.

****<3 <3 <3 Roommates <3 <3 <3 ****

Cinnamon Twist Your Life.

2011-06-01T16:01:00.001+02:00

Suzy Cleaners.

This is only funny if you know what word my Mom uses for vagina.
"Suzy Cleaners. HuHuHu. I wonder what goes on in there. HuHuHu."

Shortly after I took this pic, this guy pulled up to me and Lizzie on his motorcycle. He was real tough-looking.
Leather everywhere.
Big boots.
"It's dangerous." He pointed at us.
"Um, what?"
"Sandals. It's dangerous." He was foreign and pointed at our feet.
Lizzie was quicker to react than me.
"At least we're wearing helmets."
"Yeah. It's prolly a little more dangerous what you're doing there." And I knocked on my helmet.
I wanted to punch him in his fat foreign face.
He maybe realized that his comment was for the birds, & he pulled away and left me in a cloud of anger. Lizzie sympathized, and we told him off* all the way to the beach.
*Quietly to ourselves.
"You don't know me. You don't know my life. And you won't know your own life when you fall off that thing."
"You can live without a foot. You can't live without your brain."
"First of all, you're foreign."
"Here's all the reasons I shouldn't listen to you. Number one-- you're foreign. Number two, don't tell me my business at a stoplight in Edgewater you self-righteous senior citizen."
"Dangerous? We're dangerous. We will kill you."
"Get a helmet, and then tell us how to live our lives on a Vespa."
"First off, you're foreign."

We went on for miles...

It was great. And then we accidentally got on Lake Shore Drive, and it was just like this...

... Shit. I can't find Dionne driving on the highway in Clueless. I just love sharing Clueless clips with you, and I can't. Drat.
It was just like that. Except there was no hot black teenager with braces around afterwards to make out with me and comfort me. Just Lizzie. Clenching every time we went over a bump.

Yeah, we're real dangerous...

Heads up-- the Taco Bell on Clark & Addison does a riddle of the day. Larger heads up-- if you get the riddle right, you get free Cinnamon Twists. Largest heads up-- Lizzie got this one right. Again-- she was quicker to react, but she wasn't paying attention when the manager asked me. So. I took the credit.

She took the Cinnamon Twists. The rest of the bag is still sitting on our counter if you want some.

My Last First Crush: Ryle from Wicker Park

2011-05-31T17:54:00.000+02:00

What's in a name? Everything.

Like Kyle but with an R.
Sexy, right?

You haven't even seen him yet.

It was a gorgeous day, lunchtime of the Spring last year, and I was walking back home with the baby boy. I was pushing the stroller, and waiting for the light to change so we could cross the street. And then up walked Ryle.
He was tall, and lean, and carrying a basketball.
He was squinting in the sun, and I was squinting in the presence of his babeliness.

Typically, I don't pick up dudes while I'm on the nanny clock. Or even try.
I don't remember how we started talking exactly, I can only assume that I initiated with something really smooth like, "We're waiting for the light to change, too. This isn't my kid."
He was going to Wicker Park to play basketball.
I rearranged our afternoon schedule so we could of course also go to Wicker Park, duh the kid lives to swing.
We talked the whole way to the park, and once we got there Ryle even pushed the baby on the swings.
My heart melted-- and like I said, not even my kid.
Lemme tell you, fellas. Push a child on the swings, maybe whip him around by the ankles, put him up on your shoulders-- chicks dig this shit.
It's like, maternal.

So anyway, Ryle was proving to be athletic, and fatherly, and seemed generally interested when I invited him to come see me do some stand-up.
It was my first and last paid stand-up gig, and guess who showed up?
Not my then boyfriend, but Ryle!
According to my sis, my Aunt Jan chatted him up that night, and he even stuck around after to congratulate me.
"It's my boy Ryle." I said as I perched on a barstool near him.
"Nice job. You're really funny."
Athletic, Daddyish, and brilliant.
He left while I was thanking other people for coming, and I didn't think I would ever see him again.
As fate would have it, I've had several opportunities to muck it up since.

And drive it into the ground.

Have I told you about my drive-it-into-the-ground theory? Well, I'll tell you again.

I would rather- that's right you guessed it- drive it into the ground, and know for certain, than be left not knowing. I'll call him. Again. I'll tell him that I think he's a babe. I'll text him back. Again.
And if he's into it, tremendous.
If not, at least I know. I can sleep at night knowing that I'm the kind of person that takes care of bidness. And in matters of the heart, wouldn't you want to know?
Or at least try?
Me too.

So I clubbed a dead horse with Ryle.

And then he went to Asia.

The End?

Not even close.

A couple months ago it was my friend Jennifer's birthday (you remember her, the one that I stole "Tell me why" from) and we went for all-you-can-eat sushi in Wicker Park.
Anne Lise did my make-up, I wore a tight blue dress that's a favorite of mine, and some patent leather heels that are just a little too big: I looked like a Belgian prostitute.
But like, an expensive one.

So we sushi-ed it up, and I drank an extreme amount of wine- both red and white, as to make a blush in my stomach.
We then walked to some dark Scenester bar on Milwaukee- or was it North? Did I mention the extreme amounts of wine?

There was a big group of us, including this guy that I had been "talking to" (which what the funk has that ever meant?) for a while.
Me and a couple of new gal pals that I made that night were requesting some songs on the juke while the boys that we were with played pool.
I've said before that everyone is a little bit psychic, right?
I knew I would see him before I even turned around.
I requested some dope ass jam:

And there he was.
Playing pool. By himself.
"Ryle."
"Um?'
"It's Devin." You prolly don't recognize me because I'm almost 30 pounds lighter, and I'm wearing some lipstick that makes me look really edgy, and I'm much more secure now, and there's no babies anywhere around me. "How was Asia?"
"Wow, you have a really great memory."
You have no idea.

So we talked, and I ditched my birthday girlfriend, which she totally understood I'm sure, because oh yeah, she saw him. And I even played a game of pool with him- which I never play pool.
Not since the days of Monique Andrawes' basement.

My friends went across the street, and the pseudo-boy of the time came up and said, "Hey. We're gonna go across the street. So..."
I looked at him, and I looked at Ryle. And I looked back at him.
"Ok."
I played another game of pool, and Ryle bought me a drink.
Which I didn't need anymore liquid courage to say for the first time ever to a boy, "I think this should be the scene of our first kiss."
This move takes balls.
If you're a dude.
If you're a girl, you've got to be completely nutty.
So there we were at a round tall table, sitting on two bar stools.
He moved our drinks off to the side.
I said, "Hang on." And fluffed my hair, and pinched my cheeks.
Again, completely crazy.
Bum, bum bum bum. Bum, bum bum bum.
And then he kissed me.

And then we lived happily ever after.

Wrong.

It was a pretty great first kiss.
And so then I left to go meet up with my friends, and he was going home. I went to kiss him goodbye and got the cheek.
Maybe it had something to do with all the sushi that I could eat?
So then I texted him that night. Just a breezy "Is that your light on?" Because he showed me which apartment was his.
No response.
I texted him a week later when Annie came to town and we went to his neighborhood for live-band karaoke.
No response.
Imagine my surprise when I found myself at Uncle Fatty's this past weekend. And then imagine even more of my surprise when Ryle was there.
We had been drinking since 3 on Saturday, and I was definitely too drunk to convey my feelings of surprise, casual-cool, and effortless beauty when I saw him.

Apparently I held a conference outside with Mia and Kelly.
"Guys. There's this guy here. I'm gonna stay."
"Are you sure, Devo? Maybe not the best idea." Mia was probably considering the swinging rope dance I had just completed inside.
"I'm sure. It's fate."

I mean who goes to Uncle Fatty's, right?
Well, I don't know what he said or what I said, but it must have been something sketchy, because I remember him moving away from me.
The next thing I remember is walking in to Chicago's Best to order a slice or four.
Well, Ryle must have had the same idea, because he was also in Chicago's Best Pizzeria.
And then he left.
Because he's terrified of me.

Because I'm too much.

Straight in, suck up and go,
Cool it, swallow, swallow
Breathe deep, take it all
It comes cheap
Push it through the doors
Because in between the lines
I'm gonna pack more lines
So I can get in
Ooh traffic jam got more cars
Than a beach got sand
Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up,
Fill it up until no more
I'm no crazy creep, I've got it coming
To me because I'm not satisfied
The hunger keeps on growing
I eat too much
I drink too much
I want too much
Too much

Maybe I should wink at Lizzie's match.com dream man- the one with the horse that's a Dave Matthews fan.
Or maybe, well, I guess what you say is true. I could never be the right kind of girl for you. I could never be your woman.
Or maybe on to the next guy with a great name.

2011-05-29T22:57:00.000+02:00

Bored? Enjoying the sounds of the rain from the comfort of your bed? Covered in guinea pigs?

Boy, is there a great way for you to pass the time.

All you need is a computer, some free time, and a roommate that is on match.com.

Go ahead and spend the next 38 minutes reading bios and checking out pics of complete strangers that you have little to no interest in!

You'll laugh at some bad jokes, squint at a blurry group picture of a bunch of white dudes that all look the same, and wonder why anyone would ever post how much money they make.

You make 150 K a year? And now you are telling me? But, why? I'm both a cheater and a spy.

How could you ever be content with your new online gf? Knowing that she winked at you because of that picture of you driving your boat.

"ZZ, I found your guy. He has a dog."

"Is he riding a horse?"

"Yes! He's perfect."

"Ugh, his favorite band is DMB. Nope. No dice."

"Oh don't judge him on that. You like the BeeGees."

"Yeah, but it doesn't say that on my profile."

On to the next one.

Geeg & Terry: Friday night.

2011-05-28T08:50:00.000+02:00

Geeg: How's it going?

Terry: He's in the bathroom, so I can only talk for a sec.

Geeg: Are you in love? Do I have to start jogging again to be bridesmaid-fit by the end of the Summer?

Terry: The more I drink, the more I like him.

Geeg: Always a good sign.

Terry: No, he's sweet. He's shy.

Gerry: Shy, hm? I don't know what I could do with that.

Terry: What are you doing? What are you eating?

Geeg: I ordered like 40 dollars worth of sushi. And I'm watching the bonus footage of Rain Man.

Terry: He keeps bumping my foot under the table. I can't tell if it's on purpose.

Geeg: I think I could be autistic sometimes.

Terry: I think he wants to go to some bar with a batting cage? Should he really be allowed to see me swing a bat on our second date?

Geeg: No. Tell him you slipped a disc. Every time I go somewhere when I know the address, I repeat the address until I get there. Not the whole time, but I say it in my brain a lot. Well, it depends.

Terry: I could see you being autistic. I think I really like him.

Geeg: Did you put your hand on his forearm yet?

Terry: What? He's coming. I gotta go.

Geeg: TEEN MAGAZINE SAYS FOREARM TOUCH HIM.

Terry: Alright, I'll see you at home.

Geeg: TOUCH IT.

Terry: Ok. Hot water burn baby. Gottagobye.

Geeg; OK, remember you're not athletic.

My Last First Crush: Blair Barr

2011-05-27T17:33:00.001+02:00

Blair Barr.

He's just like me-- but louder, righter all the time, and even more entitled. And I had it bad for him.
What does that say about how I feel about myself?
"You really love yourself, don't ya Devo?" asked my Daddy-O as I was laughing at something I had just said.
"Um, thanks, Dad."
"No. It's a good thing. If you don't, who will?"

In College, Blair worked at Johnny's Tavern in Lawrence, as well as my favorite bar in the entire world: The Sandbar.
And he was a pro at ignoring you at both. Figurative you, and oh yeah me.

Bartenders are a tricky lot to have a crush on, cause they have all the power.
Listen to my story before I pour you another one. What's that? You wanted a shot, too? Well, sorry. I'm already gone. I'm taking a shot with that hot blonde that just walked in. Yeah, her. The one with the fake tig ole bitties down at the other end of the bar. Wait your turn, You.

And so I waited.

Blair is the only guy that could say something like "tig ole bitties," and I would forgive him.
I forgive plenty I suppose when I have a crush.
Like his big toenail.
Or the time he was behind me on the back stairwell of my apartment & he poked at the skirt I was wearing and asked me if I was wearing Grannypanties. Forgiven.
Or when he would call me at 4 am after his shift ended. "Did I wake you?"
"Yes." Forgiven.
Or when he would call me at a reasonable hour of the day to ask me for relationship advice about one of my friends. Ouch. But forgiven.

Blair has the kind of energy that when he walks into a room-- others notice. Guys are prolly jealous. Girls are prolly aware. He's contagious.
If Blair is in a good mood, you wanna be too.
If Blair is feeling salty, then everyone else is swimming in an exotic fish tank.

Blair also has the kind of IPOD that everyone wants on. Party mix? Leave it to DJ B-luv.
Lame DJ name? Forgiven.

Now here are some Blair things--

Blair buys girls drinks.
And girls love this. Even if this drink was purchased in a College town, & it was on special, and only cost $1.50-- that's sometimes all it takes to impress.
Blair tells great stories.
Sure, he might remain a little too focused on his own endgame, and ignore the dialogue attempt, but it's your fault for interrupting, cause he was just getting to the good part.
As an enthusiast of storytelling, I hope you realize that this is probably one of the biggest compliments that I can give.
Blair is fun.
Like I said, when he wants to be. And when he does, look out. He's more fun than most anybody you'll meet ever. And not just because he can party like it's 1999, all the time.
Blair made me fall in love with scooters. He had one that looked just like Cissy, except his was blue and I named it Daryl.
I remember we followed him home one night from the bowling alley in Chris' jeep. He was bobbing around on Daryl, loving his life, and I knew one day I would have a scooter of my own.

Blair made me fall in love with Katt Williams. We watched one of his standup specials late-night, and yes we were of course experimenting with our youth, but I had never laughed so hard.
Because Blair loves black people. And black people love Blair.
He majored in African Studies, and is one of the only white guys I've ever met that can pull of extremely white tennis shoes coupled with a wide-brimmed hat.
Because Blair is confident.
And that's what any lady wants in the first place. Or rather, that's what will pull her in.
Even if you're a cheese-- if you're confident about your cheddarishness, ladies will come sniffing around.

And finally, Blair is a special someone to have a crush on. He's hilarious, his Pee-Weeish laugh makes you (figurative and me of course) smile, and when he pays attention to you (figurative and still me) the sun is shining.

I miss you too, DJ B-Luv.

2011-05-26T17:54:00.000+02:00

I just want you to smell good. No, not good-- great. I want you to smell great. Is that too much?
Am I being a crazy bitch? I don't think so.
And I don't see the big deal.
You said that you liked the cologne that I got for you, were you lying?
Do you not like it?
Do you just want to save it for special occasions? I don't understand.
No, of course you don't smell bad without it.
You smell like you.
Which I like.
But I want to love the way you smell.
I want you to smell like the bonus inside of a brand new and fresh magazine.
Does that make sense?
Fine, I was being silly.
But I'm not crazy.
I just want something to stir inside of me when I smell your neck, ya know?
Yes, sometimes your man smell is enough. But sometimes you just smell absent.
Don't I smell good? I try to smell good all the time for you. Not good-- great.
I want to be the best that I can be for first me, and then you. Does that make sense?
I want to make you happy.
And what would make me happy is if you smelled like the frickin Acqua di Gio that I got you for Christmas.
...
Now I guess I should ask you if there's anything that I could do to make you happy?

Stop talking so much.

Geeg & Terry: youtube.

2011-05-25T17:08:00.002+02:00

Geeg: Terry, get in here.
Terry: Where are you?
Geeg: In my bed.
Terry: I can never tell where your voice is coming from. You're like the Phantom of the Opera in here.
Geeg: I don't know if the sound doesn't work, or I hit mute or whatever, but I'm pretty sure that this 6 legged deer is going to make it's way into my nightmares. Have you seen this?

Terry: Oh God, why does it look like that? It's s'posed to have four legs. It's only s'posed to have four legs. Two deer in one. That's two deer in one.
Geeg: And we'll never know if the deer made it cause there's no sound. It's scary with no sound, right?
Terry: Super scary. We can only hope it's an uplifting story.
Geeg: Oh God, that deer's a real fighter.
Terry: I'm skeered a it.
Geeg: My nostrils are flared. I can't unflare them watching this deer. Does that ever happen to you? Look at my nostrils. Watching something gross, I can't unflare them.
Terry: It looks like you smell a fart.
Geeg: Oh God, have you seen the 2 legged dog?
Terry: All of a sudden you're a youtube whore now?
Geeg: Better than the usual kind of whore I am.

Terry: It's a biped. And I love how the whole time the family is just trying to prove that it really is a dog, and that we don't need to fear it.
Geeg: I know. I'm scared for evolution now. Dogs only need two legs.
Terry: I'm skeered a it. That dog walks like me. I'm skeered.
Geeg: Don't worry, our dog won't organize. It won't teach your dog how to walk like it. It's not trying to become a motivational speaker or anything. Faith likes bones. Faith is a dog. Don't be scared of our dog Faith, please.
Terry: I'm skeered a that dog. I'm skeered a it.
Geeg: And then the daughter is like crossing her fingers for Harry Potter to be Faith's big break.
Terry: Pretty sure they went ahead and wrapped the series without Faith.
Geeg: Poor Faith.
Terry: Don't feel bad. She's like a Dog Jesus.
Geeg: Remember when your dog found that condom in here?
Terry: Yes, that was so awesome.
Geeg: Who was here for that besides us?
Terry: Oh yeah, Bridget was like, giving a house tour to her friend from outta town.
Geeg: Yes, and that girl was terrified.
Terry: Where was she from again?
Geeg: Someplace that she couldn't wait to get back to.
Terry: She probably thought you were a huge sliz.
Geeg: And she was trying to laugh like it was okay.
Terry: And it was definitely not okay. And Melvin is just like a cute little puppy, just absolutely housing on a used condom, and you're like, "It's okay, he didn't cum."
Geeg: Oh God. That's disgusting. I'm disgusting.
Terry: You're no Rachel Evangelo. Now, that girl is a dirty sliz.
Geeg: Big time.
Terry: Don't ever offer to clean that girl's room.
Geeg: Too late. I did once in College.
Terry: Oh yeah?
Geeg: Uh huh. I had to have an abortion after I changed her small bedside garbage can.
Terry: Too much, Geeg. That was too much.
Geeg: Mwahahaha.
Terry: And you should have said something cooler than "small bedside garbage can."
Geeg: I had to have an abortion after I changed her smallish garbage with a Target bag in it that she keeps near her bed where all the condoms go?
Terry: At least you didn't say cum dumpster.
Geeg: Please, I'm not an animal.
Terry: Have you ever seen horses do it?
Geeg: What? No. Like in person?
Terry: Here, click on this video.
Geeg: This one?
Terry: Oh, it's skipping. Look. Why are there 52 million hits for horse intercourse? Huh. Horse intercourse. Horse intercourse.
Geeg: Oh, humanity.
Terry: Why is your computer so slow?
Geeg: I don't know. I think it's the internet, cause my youporn has been skipping too, and youporn always works.
Terry: Oh no, that's a bummer.
Geeg: Yeah.
Terry: You love your youporn.
Geeg: Yeah.
Terry: Really slows your roll, huh?
Geeg: Yeah.
Terry: Holds your horses from doing it?
Geeg: Yeah.
Terry: Cools your jets?
Geeg: Yeah.
Terry: I'm serious. I've heard your vibrator. It sounds like a 747 taking off.
Geeg: Yeah.
Terry: The walls are thin.
Geeg: Yeah.
Terry: Did you eat the rest of that baguette?
Geeg: Yeah.

Geeg and Terry. This is a new thing. You'll like it.

2011-05-21T05:54:00.000+02:00

"I vomited in this." said Terry as she folded a white t-shirt.
"When did you puke?" asked Geeg.
"Last night. Didn't you hear me? I tried to drink like a 19 year old." She put the folded shirt in her drawer and closed it. "Do you know there's such a thing as a mini-pitcher drink special? It's barbaric."
"Yeah, I've been to Redmond's. On Karaoke night, right?"
"Yeah. I got way too hammed. I don't think Keith likes me anymore. Or if he does, then I can't respect him."
"Hold on, Terry. You said you puked in that shirt, and then you just put it away like it was fresh from the dryer."
"I puked in it, not on it."
"You're gross. You want an Italian ice?"

Real-izations.

2011-05-20T16:34:00.000+02:00

I watched two twin 12 year olds get out of their Mercedes boxcar yesterday.
One of these...

Crazy-looking cars.
So I was humming Janis Joplin to myself, thinking that the two boys looked nothing like each other when I saw that one was wearing Crocs and one wasn't. The other was wearing some sweet Sambas.
Oh, and they were purple.
The Crocs, not the boys.

And so I was thinking about how siblings can be so different, even twins. And how it must be hard to have a twin to share everything with.
And it must be even harder to have a twin brother that wears purple Crocs. With those gems and studs all over them.
So I was sitting there, considering, just watching the boys through my sunglasses over my glasses, cause they had to wait to be buzzed in to their school.

Just as the buzzer buzzed, the Croc wearer pulled his long t-shirt down over his round 12 year old butt, and started singing, "You're everything I need and more. It's written all over your face, baby I can see your halo--" in a beautiful 12 year old falsetto.

And so then I sat there some more, and thought some more to myself, about Beyonce, and why she's inexplicably underwater in this music video, and nature vs. nurture, and twins, and being a dancer, and singing in slow motion, and my first Mercedes Benz, and how hot black guys with light eyes are white-hot(when a metal is as hot as it can possibly be it turns white, and so it's white-hot like Jay Mateja in high school), and school security, and how watching someone sleep is creepy even if you're Beyonce, and then I realized...

Crocs are gay.

My Last First Crush: Guy on Southport yesterday in an Olive Green V-Neck T-shirt.

2011-05-10T21:37:00.000+02:00

Ours was a love that could never be, from the beginning.
He on foot, me on scooter.
Obviously, I can only write about my last first crushes after they crush me. If I was still excited about them, it would be too dangerous to let them know directly while the crush was happening.
So I smiled. He smiled. The sun was in his eyes, and deep in his dimples.
And I paused longer than I needed to at the Stop sign to take it in.
A car honked at me. He smiled knowingly. I smiled knowingly.
I pulled away.
I'll never see him again, and that's okay; I'm only mildly crushed.
Today I wore olive green in honor of you, Guy on Southport in an Olive Green V-Neck T.

Twitterpate Q&A.

2011-05-04T17:53:00.000+02:00

Q: What's worse? Or should I say better? A guy that cares too much about his job? Or a guy that doesn't give a funk about it?
A: Um. It depends?

Q: Does that help?
A: No.

Q: Well if you look at him, and see the word "YuppieFunk" in your brain, does it do for you? Or is it a buzzkill? Somewhere in between? What about when you drink red wine and he starts talking about his job? Are you twitterpated most all the time around him? Or is it like watching Glee to be around him- entertaining at best, but you're wondering what else is going on in the world while doing so?
A: Oh, but I like that Mr. Shoe.

Q: The best time to be twitterpated?
A: When you know little to nothing about the dude in question.
In my case, it's cause I was enboojoyzing my 20s during the past couple of rendesvouses.
In Lizzie's, she hasn't met the Hot Ginger in question in person yet.

Q: What's Snain?
A: It was snaining today.

Q: Still not clear. Can you use it in a sentence?
A: How bout I use it an italics word-picture? Mrs. Garvey would be proud. Happy Birthday, Margo.

Scootering home from work.
Can I get by you bro? Excuse me, we're both going 18 MilesPerH right now, and I'm just trying-- could you? Could you let me in?
The light's about to change.
Could I get over?
C'mon, it's funkin snaining out all over my face right now. I have a helmet on, and some sunglasses on over my seeing glasses, and a thin silk scarf, and some red lipstick-- and that is all that is protecting me from the snain.
I'm freezing, and I lost a glove today. My lefthand is numb and wrapped like a talon around the break.
You look pretty cozy in your Honda Civic. You look both dry and happy. I can hear your music. It's Six Pence None the Richer. Are you kidding me? Are you listening to the She's All That soundtrack?
Can I get a little lane credit?
Can ya scooch your Honda-booch on over so I don't have to breathe bus fumes for the next three blocks?
Who's gonna back down first? Is it you enjoying your 90s pop music? Cause I know it's not me. I'm getting the LED out with the ZEP in my brain right now. I never lose when I'm getting the LED out. Never.
And then the light changed.
And I missed it. And the snain burned my cheeks.

Got it now? Snain. Say it slow and out loud. And pull your top lip over your teeth, and you'll understand.
Also, we could create our own FUNKING EXPRESS BUSES IF EVERYONE WALKED A BLOCK. Why is America (or at least the Westest side of my neighborhood) broke and overweight? Because there were budget cuts to eliminate Express Buses.
It's a theory, I'll explain it better in person over a nice inexpensive red wine.

Q: Why don't you use Twitter?
A: I just created a username. I'm overwhelmed.

Q: Who are you twitterpated about?
A: That's a secret I'll never tell you over a nice inexpensive red wine.

Q: The best time to be twitterpated?
A: Any and every time you feel like it.

Do the Craigslist Shuffle.

2011-05-04T17:11:00.001+02:00

I'm exhausted.
Not from lack of sleep.
From welcoming strangers into my home.
"This is where we live, this is the finished basement, these are my guinea pigs, now prove that you are not in any way a creep."

Here's some of my wisdom from searching Craigslist high and low for a new roomie- know what questions to ask and how to ask them:

Do you have a boat?
Why are you moving?
Do you have any collections of any sort?
Do any of your friends have a boat?
How would your friends describe you? On your worst day?
Can you cook?
Do you drink red wine?
Do you like to buy presents for people just because?
What size shoe do you wear?
Have you met anyone in Chicago ever that knows someone that has or has been around a boat?

My Last First Crush: Grant Turner

2011-05-04T16:44:00.000+02:00

Sexy name, right?
I can't remember what class we had together, but I remember that I referred to him as "Hot Study Date."
We hit up Club Watson Library, where I took a picture of him studying his notes from across the table. Years later, I can't find that pic.
Luckily, we're still friends on the fb-- so I stole this one. Oh yeah, and sorry ladies-- he has a girlfriend. So... hands off. Plus, this is my remembrance anyway.

You're welcome, Grant, for choosing the profile picture where you look the babeliest.

He spoke quietly, took lots of notes in class, and put on the Little Mermaid song Kiss the Girl to make out with me after Kristy LaCombe's outdoor birthday party. Maybe he had put that song on before? Maybe I wasn't the first? Maybe.
He worked at the smoothie place on campus, made an extreme amount of eye contact (which at first I thought was sexy for any dude, and then learned later in life to be scared), and brushed his long hair out of his eyes. A lot.
My Mom met him on campus while she was visiting once and said, "Devie, he's cuuute." He was wearing tweed pants in the middle of Summer.

Wonder what he's doing noooow.
Study date dreams-- ripped at the seams
My GPA was a for real joke of jokes.
Prolly cause of all the cuteeee blokes.

Must Love and Not Be a... Dog.

2011-04-26T17:15:00.000+02:00

Lizzie's bday is in a couple of days, and I want her to have a date for it.
Last night walking home from iO, we joked that we should have a party at our house with all her match.com suitors.
"Bring a present that you think I would enjoy based off my profile and interests." I laughed.
"And bring some food." Lizzie laughed too. "So there will be treats for all of your competition."
I envy her and the excitement of checking her email. She gets long "hello I'm not a creep" messages, & she's getting winked at. Sure, by some 50-year-olds, but by some beefy & hot gingers too.
"Ooh, this one likes archery." She'll say, with her face lit up not just by the glow of her computer screen. "And he has a farm!"
I'm so fascinated by the whole thing.
It really is like picking out a puppy. Which I'm an expert now on that too, because Lizzie spent the past three years poring over dog's profiles.
"This one has a sunny disposition, no tolerance for children, and likes long walks." I can dig that.
"This one enjoys hunting, fried chicken, and naps!" Me too.
"This one-- ooh one blue eye and one green, I love that. He's been around the block-- but young at heart." Wait a second, what are we talking about here? Is that a Blue Healer? Or a boob-feeler? Do I need a man or a four-legged friend? Or both? Or are they too similar to be enjoyed at the same time?
They* say, "men are dogs." But do they mean "men can be found on the internet like dogs?'

*Not my Mom. She says "Men are like mayo: they all have an expiration date."

A lil Q&A.

2011-04-19T16:43:00.003+02:00

Q: How do you tell someone that you've googled them?
A: You don't.

Q: How do you get dried boogers off your jeans?
A: Gross.

Q: What's the secret to life?
A: Fun. No. Hard Work. No. Fun... Ask me again when I'm off my rollerblades.

Q: Is it possible to look amazing in a suit?
A: Not if you're a woman.

My Last First Crush: Brett Severson

2011-04-13T21:27:00.001+02:00

It was 2003, and he was a Senior. A 5th year even, whatever that meant.
And I was a freshmen.
Again. This time at the University of Kansas.
What can I say? I dig 'em old.
There's no greater age difference, in my opinion than 22 and 19.
He drove his red jeep efficiently through the hills of campus, worked at the Q-spot, and was social chair of SAE. You know, the house on the corner with the frickin lions on the steps.
I took the bus up the hill, wore greyish-white men's t-shirts, ordered Long Islands, and spent my Friday nights standing in line for the BoomBoom Room at the Hawk.
He changed his major, more than once I think, so he was in COMS 103 with me in first semester.

On the first day of class, our teacher Erin needed two volunteers to demonstrate some communication-ish-type-of-ish- (like I remember, I was busy falling in love and gaining weight every single day,) and so I met Brett Severson for the first time. He argued in favor of dogs, and I was for cats.
"Everyone loves dogs. I mean-- c'mon, there is a reason they're called man's best friend." Brett said and smiled winningly at our class.
"Cats are more independent than dogs. And they're smarter." I offered and shifted my weight from one giant flip flop to the next.
"Says who?" Brett leaned in my face.
"Um, me. I just made that argument."
"Oh, so you're gonna make this about gender?" he raised his thick eyebrows.
"You're the one that said man's best--"
"Can I ask you a personal question?" he interrupted again.
"I've had both cats and dogs growing--"
"Are you racist?" he deadpanned.
"Are you kidding?" I turned to my teacher.
"So you're racist?" he asked again. The class laughed, the teacher laughed, and I had my first College Crush.

We had to do "How-to" speeches. I played a clip from Sixteen Candles, and did "How to Talk to a Cute Guy." I got a B-.
Brett gave a speech on "How to Successfully Throw a Party at Your Parent's House."
I remember he advised a bowl of vinegar to get the smell of beer out, and to put a sign in the front yard that says "Happy 40th, Jim."
He got an A.
He gave another speech on Billy Idol.

It was a great speech. Brett looks like Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club. I told him so after class.

"Great speech."

"Thanks. Yours was-- good. You like 80s movies?"

"Yeah I love Molly Ringwald."

"I don't get the whole fire crotch thing. I don't get it."

I didn't get what he meant. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Judd Nelson?"

"Yeah, it's cause of the beak." He grabbed at his nose, smiled, and pushed past me.

Why is it as long as a guy is completely and totally confident, or at least if he acts like it, he can get away with murder?

"Oh, and I love Billy Idol." I offered, trying to get past the kicking-in-the-shins phase we were in.
"Please, Devin. You couldn't name three of his songs." He wasn't ready to play nice.
"White Wedding. Mony Mony. Dancing with Myself."
"Those are his most obvious hits, but I'll take it."
"You do a lot of dancing with yourself, huh Bret?" I asked him as I flipped my tangled hair.
He raised his thick eyebrows at me again, and I dreamt of Judd Nelson images with a Billy Idol soundtrack.

He gave me a ride home one beautiful day in the second week of October. My sister's birthday was coming up, and I needed to get her a jayhawk t-shirt, so we stopped at the Union.
"So where does your sister go to school?" he asked as he moved through the racks of sweatshirts.
"Notre Dame."
"Oh no, that sucks." he tried on a baseball hat.
"What?"
"You're little sister is smarter than you?"
"She's my big sister, and yeah, she's smarter than me." I picked out a good one for her and took it to the register.
"Oh, she's in grad school?"
"No, she's an undergrad."
"Is she a Senior?" He furrowed his thick eyebrows.
"No."
"She's a Junior?"
"No." I said again.
"She's a-- you're a Freshmen?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, man. I didn't know. I thought you were a Senior."
He thinks I'm mature. He thinks I'm worldly enough to be a Senior. Oh my God, if we started dating, I would be so set. Maybe he'll come up to my dorm room? I wonder if Rachel will be there. I hope it smells good in there. I wonder where he's from. Oh wow, everyone in DG will be so jealous that I'm dating a Senior. His car smells good. He likes Reggae! This is perfect, because I like Reggae too! It's meant to be me. Devo & Bret 4ever. Devo Severson. I love that. It's perfect. I would totally live in Minnesota. I would be such a cool Hockey Mom in Minnesota.

Time passed, and first semester ended.
I saw Brett around on campus sometimes, but hadn't seen him on the regular since our class ended.
Some gain the Freshmen15. Some lose it cause they hate that yucky "dorm food."
Some gain the Freshmen28 and take the chicken nugget tongs away from the cafeteria worker so they can "get down on some nuggage." I gained 29.
It was at my fattest in my entire life that I asked Bret to come to Pinafore, DG's biggest party of the year.
"Hey Brett."
"Hey, who is this?"
Ouch, he lost my number.
"It's Devin."
"Who?"
"From Coms."
"Oh yeah, what's up dude?"
Ouch, he called me dude.
"What are you doing this weekend?" I swallowed the spit that was collecting in my mouth.
"Um, I don't know. Why?"
"I wanted to know if you wanted to go to Pinafore with me."
"Pinafore, huh?"
"Yeah, have you been before?"
"I've been every year."
"So how bout one more?"
"Uh," I could barely hear him over my pulse, and my spit tasted like dirty pennies. "Yeah okay. Sure."
"Great!" I practically screamed.
"Yeah."
"Okay. Great!" I said again like a doofus. "I'll talk to you soon. I'll make you a hat, and I'll get you a t-shirt, and it's gonna be great!"
"Yeah."
He called me back 20 minutes later and told me he had to go to Kansas City for the weekend.
So I ended up taking a boy named Caitlin (pronounced CAT-lin) that was in the Math & Science fraternity, smoked Marlboro Reds, and tried to make out with Taylor at the end of the night.
Wonder what, he's doing nooooooow.
Freshmen dreams, ripped at the seams,
But Oh, those heated debates in speech claaaASSSSSSSS.

2011-02-23T16:04:00.000+01:00

Puppy class with ZZ on Monday night was- indescribable.
But of course, I'll try.
Bosco was a rockstar. It wasn't because he did everything right, but more because he was rebellious, and good-looking, and if there was a television lying around he probably would have thrown it out the window.
ZZ forgot the clicker, and he broke free from his leash at one point, and sprinted around the room, and I confessed to her that I wanted him to be the worst dog in class.
Cause with dogs just like kids, it can be really f-ing funny when they're naughty.
But Bosco settled down and participated as he should for the most part in class.
There was a whisperer lady with a really cool headset microphone that I was jealous of, and she was "barking orders" to the proud puppy parents.
Pictured here was my favorite exercise of the night.
"Go ahead and get out your puppy's clothes."
"What? You're dressing them? You didn't tell me there would be dress-up time! Oh my god. I love it." People started taking out argyle sweaters and socks, and I started to lose my cool. "I can't. I can't handle it. Puppies in socks! What? Why! I love it. I'm gonna have to leave. I love this! I can't stay here I love it too much. What did you bring for Bosco to wear?"
I looked around the room, and there were fancy socks, (pink ones from the boys that are definitely cute and definitely a couple, sorry ZZ), fancy clothes, booties, puppy outfits galore!!
ZZ pulls out a crappy old t-shirt that looks like she got it for free on vacation.
"What is that?" I asked with my hands clasped under my chin and my nose slightly wrinkled.
"I'm not gonna ever dress him up for real."
Turns out it wasn't a fashion show. Well, it was, but that wasn't the point.
Shouldn't we all be so lucky as to enjoy an exercise where the point is to put you out of your comfort zone, and still succeed?
The puppies don't feel comfortable in their crappy vacation t-shirts, but they still have to listen to you.
Where's my fashion show? Where are my socks that won't stay on, and my smelly old t-shirt that gets me to focus on what's really important? Where is my dog whisperer with a headset mic?
Oh, she's out there all right.
Time to focus up. Shit, where's my clicker?

Prince Paul Please.

2011-02-15T20:44:00.000+01:00

I paused the movie on the credits and searched through several so I could figure out this song. And oh boy, I'm glad I did. I've been listening to it on repeat. And my boy Paul Walker looks GAooD in a tux. Mmmm Paul.

Here's another youtube gem.
(This is all I am good for as of late:)

I drove with the window down yesterday, took the doggies to the pooch park, & soaked up some Vitamin D.
I know I'm not the only Chicagoan who is waiting for Spring, but could I be the only one waiting for both Spring & Twitterpation?
I've been excited about boys before, but I don't want you to send me a dirty text. Don't call me when you're wasted. Don't not answer when I'm wasted. Don't need to hear about your ziggy.
I want a G-rated courtship, not an NC17.
Every girl wants this guy:

Watch and you'll see.

joe joe & teresa!!

2010-12-14T00:48:00.000+01:00

I couldn't get a ride to Crate & Barrel today,

So this poem is your present for now, okay?

Teresa & JoeJoe my most favorite guy and gal--

each one a better person, friend, and buddy.

You thought this would be a poem that rhymed, huh?

I wrote it with love, just couldn't find my rhyming dictionary, Duh.

I knew I loved you two together from the first time we kicked it-

Teresa's face lit up, when my face- JoeJoe licked it.

See, here's the thing with these two friends of mine.

There's is a love that is truly divine. (Here comes some accidental rhymes).

Seperate, I love them both way too much to be alright-

Together they are unstoppable- it just ain't right.

There's power couples, sure, that try to compare.

But when these two walk down the street, the world stops to stare.

If I were a betting broad, I'd put all my money on you two- to win.

Even after I've had several tonics and gin,

I can still see clearly yours is a love that is definitely something great

One that gives me hope for my own future & fills me with the opposite of hate.

You're the kind of couple that everyone wants around.

The party hasn't started until the two of you are found

JoeJoe always has a funny story to tell

Sometimes they last longer than- heck.

Teresa always has a smile on her gorgeous face-

A special one she reserves just for Joe when he's acting like a head-case.

I'm so glad I know the two of you, & you're sharing your love with all of us.

When you said "I do" today, you left behind countless broken hearts

Don't eat me.

2010-10-08T07:51:00.002+02:00

Everyone's getting married, and now I don't know who anyone is on facebook anymore.
Everyone has 3 and a half last names, and I feel like a senior citizen about it.
*But that's okay, cause I probably didn't like them that much if I didn't even bother to see if they looked fat on their wedding day.

People eat Guinea pigs in South America. Which to me is crazy because I love my Guinea pigs. And all three of them have personalities. For example, Minkus prefers fruit to veggies. He likes a nice grape instead of some celery. Gus is the only one that stands up on top of their purple plastic hut. & Bunny is the only one that has ever felt comfortable enough to pee outside of the cage.
SO, they are individuals.
And you can't eat an individual.

UNLESS that individual tastes as delicious as bacon.
Cause if human meat tasted like a BLT, I'd be a cannibal. Yesterday.

The Haj

2010-08-24T06:24:00.001+02:00

Haji Adamjee was always down for fun. He was one of the most devoted fathers I have ever had the privilege of swimming in the pool of, and someone who will undoubtedly be missed by every single person that ever knew him.
This picture makes me smile.
He honestly and truly was always there for his children. And not in the -throw-the-old-pigskin-around-the-backyard kind of way. In the kind of way that if at 3 am, Alexis encountered a limo driver from the same village as him in India, and she just needed her father to believe it, Haj was ready to throw down a quick chat with the stranger.
He was there for advice, he was there for love & support, & he was there to sing Kid Rock lyrics if it pleased his daughter.
"Bawitdaba. Da bang da bang. Da diggy diggy... Ok, Lexu."
He made me the meanest cup of chai tea that I've ever drank, sliced a mango like a pro, and was barefoot year round in the comfort of his home.
When I first graduated & moved back to LaGrange, I rode my scooter to visit Haj at work. He appreciated the visit, & I appreciated the destination.
"So now whad?" he asked me as he sat down at his desk.
"I don't know." I told him.
"You've got to find whad you love to do," he smiled and said. "And then you do that."
Sounds so simple, and makes so much sense.
What Haji loved to do was love his kids, make people smile, and walk his doggie around the cul de sac. He loved lots of other things, sure. But I witnessed him being really great at those 3.
If I miss him already, I can't imagine how those that truly knew him best must feel.

GOTSTA love GILT BAR

2010-03-12T06:55:00.002+01:00

I mentioned that my roomie Jason was opening a restaurant, and boy, did he.
I am not a foodie, and I don't know dick about the food biz, but I knows what I likes, and I LOVED Gilt Bar.
It's right across the street from the Merchandise Mart Brown Line stop, which is dope for a gal like myself with no wheels to speak of, so I was expecting swank. I was also expecting to feel dirty and or poor, which is how I usually feel when I go anywhere downtown.
Wrong.
Yes it's located in River North. Yes it reeks of luxury. Yes the hand soap in the Ladies room is nicer than the Walgreens brand that I have, but I didn't feel poor.
It's truly warm and welcoming.
The space is somehow open and intimate at the same time, and I could not dream of better lighting. I want to get married underneath the chandelier in the middle of the dining room. The kitchen is open, so it was like watching Top Chef, but sweeter cause it was live, and I know people.
The servers garb is sweet- boys in vests and ties, girls in all black-- lots were wearing Chucks.
We went opening weekend, and it was a Friday night, so the wait for a table was an hour, which in any other circumstance would piss me off, but while we waited we sipped the most amazing cocktails I have ever had. I started to get buzzed- it might have had something to do with the egg whites in the drink, I'm not sure. So we ordered some apps, and OH MAN. I could take a bath in the olive oil and balsamic that this bitchin toast came in. The french fries were the best on the planet, and the roasted veggies were gobbled up. I won't even tell you about the garlic mayo that comes with the fries, because you won't believe me.
I can't tell you about the steak that melts in your mouth either. Or the gnocchi that should be illegal. The meatballs gave new meaning to the word, and after
trying every desert on the menu-- Jason rolled out the red carpet-- I can tell you that each one is better than the next. The apple pie was a true patriot.
Sweet Jesus Christ I'm starving.
Did I mention the very best part of the menu yet?
Footed Hoffman of PBR- 2 bucks. I know. Amaaaazing.
Every part of it.
I'm so proud of Jason, and I'm so psyched to go back.
And so pissed that I ate dinner 6 hours ago and decided to revisit my experience.
But for reals-- go. And try everything.
See you in my dreams, Gilt Bar.

La la la la. La la la la. Larry's World.

2009-12-05T20:27:00.002+01:00

The way I look at it, God gave us two kind of teeth. He gave us molars for grinding up lettuce and shit, like the fucking cows. And he also gave us canine teeth. So we can tear into a cow's fucking ass if we feel so inclined.
Fucking vegetarians. Fuck you. Don't tell me what I can and can not eat.
Now, c'mere gorgeous. I need you to braid my hair.
When I ride it gets all fucking tangled.
--I bet you've had lots of girls braid your hair, huh Larry?
Only the gorgeous ones.
Did I tell you about when I dated the Playboy Bunny? She didn't just run around with her tits out, you know. She ran the joint.
When I met her, I walked up to her and I says "That's a great pair of tits you got there." And she was into it.
I went over to the Mansion to pick her up one night, to take her out, ya know. I ring the doorbell, and a video camera comes on me, and a voice says "What do you want?" And I says, "I'm here to pick up Bobby." She ran the fuckin joint, like I says.
Well this fucker won't let me in. I'm standing there like an asshole. Then Bobby comes to the door, and tells this guy to pack up his shit and go.
Fires him on the fucking spot.
That's the kind of pull this broad had.
Like I says, she ran the joint for Hef while he was off doing whatever the fuck he does. So we go into her apartment inside the Mansion, and she's got all these Playboys lined up on her coffee table, and I hate that shit.
Miss Corporate La Dee Da. I hate that shit.
So she asks me if she should call a cab.
I says no. We're taking the fucking bus.
She had never been on a bus before, and I made sure we took two. We didn't even need to transfer, but I wanted to make Miss Corporate La Dee Da waited for the fucking bus with me.
So we go back to my place, and I told my roommate to make himself scarce that night, right?
So we're listening to records, getting high, hanging out, you know? And sure enough the door busts open, and Eric walks in with 12 fucking hippies.
So my party is over before it fucking started.
So I usher Bobby into my room to try to get the real party started.
Well then of course her fucking friend comes in, some other bunny, and talks our fucking ears off for forty five minutes. Forty five minutes I sit there.
And when her friend gets up she says, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." You talked our ears off for forty five minutes, you stupid bitch.
So she leaves and I turn to Bobby and I says, "Either you're staying here or I'm taking you home." So Bobby takes off her shirt right there.
And I says to her, "No. I'm taking you home."
I mean I wanna get laid as much as the next guy, but if it doesn't feel right, then I'm not gonna fucking force it.
So then a while later her and my roommate get mixed up dealing coke in the Mansion and she gets investigated and shit, and ends up fucking killing herself.
I felt really bad about that shit.
Drugs will mess you up, you know.
I used to mess with a bunch of that shit.
I don't get flashbacks or nothing, but I think about some of the dumb shit we used to do.
One time I'm out with this real obnoxious chick that I can't fucking stand, and my friend calls me up and asks me if I want to go to this MDA party, and I says yes, and without even thinking about it I ask this fucking chick if she wants to come to.
So we go over to this house for this party and there's a fucking candy bowl of this shit on the table, these pills, and the chick takes one and I take two.
So this guys comes over and tells us to split one. That's all we will need he says.
Well the chick gets all freaked out. "I just took a whole one," she's fucking whining at me.
I says, "Fuck you, I just took two."
So we go upstairs and there's this giant bed, and everybody is fucking naked.
Not even having sex or nothing, just rolling around naked in the bed. Like fucking snakes. Tits & ass & balls & cocks just all rolling around feeling each other and shit.
And this guy comes up to me and this chick, and he goes "You wanna join us?"
And I say "Fuck you, we're leaving."
So I know we gotta get in a cab before this shit kicks in. So me and this annoying chick leave, and we're in the back of a cab, and I'll never forget it, all of a sudden it's like Wooooooaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.
So we go back to my place, and we get naked, and we made out for nine hours.
Didn't have sex or nothing. We just made out. For nine fucking hours.
She was trying to, you know. She was grabbing on my cock and shit, and like I said I was all fucked up and naked, but I knew in the back of my mind that I still hated this chick.
Like I says if it's doesn't feel right, I won't force it. I won't fucking do it.

Nookta Sound... s good to me.

2009-12-03T07:40:00.004+01:00

Miranda- the singer.
Jackie- the new friend.
Adam- the- didn't ask a single question about me, and spit on my face while he talked about himself & his musical influences- dude.
Anthony- the babe bartender that claimed he will buy anyone a PBR if they can guess what card is hidden underneath the bottle cap.
Josh- the drummer. Now he knows I'm not a creep.
& now I know that I won't forget the names of all my fantastic new friends that I made all on my own.

I did feel minorly sketchy and scared at points standing by myself, vibing on their sound, but overall, I was not a creep.
I went on a wog, had no music, so I heard the warm-up, which led to the journey of self-discovery. I went to a bar that I've never been to before, to see a band that I knew nothing about, paid for a beer that I can't afford right now, and conquered a fear, all by myself.
On a Wednesday.
I can do anything.
Nookta Sound is the name of their band, and I'm going again to hear them jam next Wednesday to Alive One on Halstead.
You should come too! Who knows what kind of journey you will realize on your way over. Please come.
Don't tell me that you are-- just show up. & then I will know that you give a hoot about me, or music, PBR, about fate, and about love.

http://www.myspace.com/nootkayeah

And hey, if you can guess what card is under the bottle cap of your PBR- I might even watch as Anthony buys it for you.

Oh, Larry. You stinker.

2009-09-13T22:47:00.004+02:00

A girl walked by with the hiccups last night. I turned to Larry and asked him what he does to get rid of the hiccups after I told him about my Mom's trick of a spoonful of sugar.
"I get head."
"Um, what?
"I get somebody to give me head, and then the last fucking thing I'm thinking about is hiccups."

TV isgood YO.

2009-07-28T09:23:00.005+02:00

"If you could have any entire tv series on dvd- what would u want?"

I texted this question to ten pseudo-random numbers in my phone book, and over the next two days- almost everyone responded. Thanks a lot Pat Mushrush. You're on my ish list now.

I'm not usually a fan of mass-texting, cause when I get one it leaves me feeling durty. But I've been asking people this question and gotten some good responses...

*The door guy at Old Town Alehouse last week-- Mr. Rogers.

Great answer. He misses the puppets. Also, his response sparked an interesting conversation about Fred Rogers. He had tat sleeves? He was a war killer? I didn't know much about him, and I guess I still don't.

*My neighbor-- The Wonder Years.

Awesome show. We named Lizzie's bike after Winnie Cooper.

*Sourberg was the first to respond, and I love her texts, because she writes as she thinks. Very conversational. So much so, that my tiny Juke phone is ill-equipped for her thoughts and findings, and her messages spill into 3 separate messages in my inbox.

"Hmmm thats a good question. Maybe one I havent seen like 24, or else friends and sex and the city are classics. Why you ask boo? Oh or maybe curb your enthusiasm. i have season 2 and 4 though."

She explored some different angles, just like I knew she would.

*Matt Caffrey also responded pretty quickly with a good broish answer, and also a pensive Hmmm to start the text--

"Hmmm-- band of brothers which i already have, but its amaazing"

He used a couple of a's in amazing, to really drive home his point. I'm gonna have to borrow it, Caff-erty.

*Ray Ray Harmonious had the exact same thought as me--

"Well I already have six feet so AFV i guess or Seinfeld. Seinfeld for sure."

I would love to have America's Funniest Videos, the Bob Saget years fooo shooo.

*Uncle Karl, your answer was short, sweet, and stellar--

"Matlock"

*Chris loves TV, so I knew he would take more time with his response--

"Thats an excellent question"

And then he didn't respond for a while, so he really had to think it over.

"Nip/Tuck starring my hero Dr. Christian Troy."

He didn't mention in the text that he wants to name his first-born son after his amoral & womanizing hero.

*Sourberg had more to say on the subject an hour later--

"I've also been wanting to see dexter, and the more recent weeds seasons. The office would be another choice. You getting me somethin for my bday...?"

I love you.

"You know what else I really want to see is the world at war. it was a documentary on the history channel and i was close to ordering it from amazon one day."

& you love texting.

*Orlando had one of my fave answers--

"Are you afraid of the dark from nickelodeon."

Who doesn't wish that show was still on? If you say no, you are a liar.

*Warno, you were in fact honest--

"Probably Fraggle Rock or Thunder Cats if I'm being honest"

*Kati Ho B (That's how you are saved in my phone, yo) also went old school for her request--

"Alf or Golden Girls"

I would love to watch either one of the shows, and think about the person I used to be while watching them.

*Finally my Aunt Min responded the next day. She had to perhaps think about it for a while--

"Maybe Boston Legal if it's regular tv, and if cable- Weeds"

Weeds was the only show that got two votes, so you know it's dope. Get it? Dope.

So were all of your answers, everyone.

Thanks for playing.

In addition to everyone's answers, would love to have Roseanne, Murphy Brown, Sesame Street & The Simpsons (old school of course), and SNL all on dvd.

Feel free to text, call, or vote your answers in, America.

sweet AC

2009-06-24T20:52:00.001+02:00

sweet AC air

kiss my face

when i walk by

play with my hair

you smell so good

& so clean

the city is a hot & sweaty beast

di deedle dee dee

Uncle Karl's job interview & TayBird's Beau

2009-05-19T06:37:00.006+02:00

"I had a job interview today."
"How did it go?"
"I took some shots before hand, so... good."
"You took shots?"
"Yeah. Just like three little baby ones."
"Awesome. Did it help?"
"I think so. I was like, creepily talking to myself in the lobby though. Like, 'you can do this-- be yourself. Don't be a creep."
"So you were creepily creepin?"
"Pretty much, and I think it's in the bag."
"Well, I hope your future boss is cool with addiction."
"I mean, who isn't?"
~~~~~~
Taylor and Nicole called me together on my bday. Then they both talked to me at the same time, like grandparents on separate phones.
"Tay, aren't you gonna tell Devo about your new boyfriend?"
"Shut up, Nicole."
"What? You have a man, Tay?"
"You could call him that." Nicole laughed, and I felt like I was in the room with them.
"He's not a man? Are you lezzin out, Taybird?"
"No. He's a man. But he is definitely not my man."
"Tell her about his hips." Nicole is guilty of ruining punch lines of jokes, and the endings of stories, because she gets too excited to hold it in anymore.
"His hips?"
Taylor laughed, and I could hear her take a deep breath to collect herself.
"He was sitting down, alright Nicole? I couldn't see his hips. I told you that."
I love stories like this, where you know that you will be filled-in, and that it will be juicy. "He was sitting down? What, did you meet him at the bar?"
"No, he was in a cab." Again Nicole could not contain her excitement.
"You met him in a cab?"
Taylor laughed, but didn't sound guilty or make any apologies.
"His cab."
"What?"
"He was sitting outside the bar, and me and Liz just walked up, and we were like, 'Uh, hey. Can we share your cab?' And he's like weirded out kind of, but kind of into it. And so then we just brought him back to our place."
"Shut up. Did he pay for the cab?"
"Uh huh."
"Nice. But his hips were weird?"
"They were just real womanly." She laughed, and again, no guilt.
"And he was really short." Nicole chimed in. "And him and Tay were makin out all over the place."
"Oh man, wish I could have seen that. You and your new beau with child-bearing hips, gettin down- leaned up against your cab. So romantic."
"I know, right?"
"So you're in love?"
"No way, I'll never see him again."

Best Girl Compliment Ever...

2009-03-02T19:50:00.002+01:00

"I like that jacket, Devo." Bridge told me as she squinted in the sunlight. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and warm enough that I didn't need to be wearing a coat at all. I just wanted to show it off.

I thought about what she said next later, and decided that without realizing it, she had given me the best compliment a female can give another.

"Thanks." I said.

"I want it." she told me with a smile on her face.

This is what motivates ladies while dressing, even though most won't admit it.

'Do I look fabuloso in this? Will all the boys go bananas for me in this get-up? Does this make me look both thin and fashion-forward?'

No. This is not what we are really thinking.

'Will my friends want this?' I mean, am I right or am I right?

Thanks, Bridge.

kev- yo check it

2009-02-25T01:28:00.003+01:00

Kickin' it at Kev's pad
shore ain't no passin fad

milwaukees best for ya, he's your boy
sit down if you want, no need to be coy

watch some soccer, futbol americano
gotta dig that cool music, not like fuckin bono.

pump to the discs in the 5 disc change-a
don't pick a fight, cuz miles'll rearrange-ya

there's no stuff hanging up on any of the walls
but there's always at least two dudes, which equals 4 balls.

layin in the corner is the LightBright he took
time to go broads and bros, I gotsta book

Hello and welcome to another episode of

2009-02-23T05:00:00.002+01:00

"We're Hot and You're Not. Or as the producers informed me to say, Welcome to another Episode of We're Hot and You Could Be Too Maybe if you Listen to Every Word We Say and Try Really Hard. I'm your host Roxana and this is Trixie, and we're both hot cause we have x's in our names."

"Yeah. You guys should totally consider that. Adding a weird letter to your name. Like Y or P or T."

"Trixie's totally telling you this because guys like exotic women."

"And I know it. The second I say the word Brazil, their ears perk up like dogs."

"They think you're like way worldly and stuff."

"And I don't even have to say anything about wax."

"Which brings us to the topic of our show today: Wax. Friend or faux fad?"

"It's like, really hot."

"Really hot."

"Like us."

"So we're taking calls about wax. Let's go to the phones. Hello? Caller Bob, you're live on the air of "We're Hot and You Could Be too If you listen and try and. . . You're Not. Do you have a question about waxing Caller Bob?"

"I just wanted to say that you girls are really hot."

"We know. That's why it's in the title of the show."

"Do you girls wax. . . everything?"

"I helped Trixie wax her convertible this past weekend. Her neighbor watched. It was cool."

"I think he's asking about our bods. I have waxed my legs, and my eyebrows, but I had a pretty traumatic experience when I tried to take things South of the Border. It was a hot sticky mess. And that is why I would like to advise everyone to consult with a professional before attempting to remove your own peubic hair with what feels like liquid fire."

"You're welcome for the help. Next caller. Hello? Caller Amy. Welcome to the show, Caller Amy. It's Roxana."

"Hi Girls. Big fan of the show. You're both so hot. It's kind of intimidating."

"We know, but there's nothing we can do. Please, don't be afraid to talk to us."

"Well, my boyfriend wants me to include wax in our sex life. Do you think it's like, a good idea?"

"Wax is very hot., Caller Amy. Like really hot. It will hurt, but it can in fact, hurt so good. It all depends on how far you are willing to go to keep your boyfriend from cheating on you with someone who will do whatever he wants in the bedroom, get it? Keep him happy, and you don't have to bring a book out to eat."

"You're welcome for the help. Next caller. This is Trixie. Do you have a question about wax Caller Mighty Mouse?"

"I do have a question for you. How in the frickin hell did two twits like you get a show? You are idiots, and you have no idea what you are talking about. This is what's wrong with society today. Two dumb blondes talking about wax, and people watch you because you're so freaking hot. . ."

"Oh my God, Jason? Is that you?"

"What? No."

"Oh my God, Jason. Stop calling me. We broke up, remember? I don't want anything to do with you anymore, because I love Raymond. Everyone loves him, Jason. And so do I. Ok?

"I'm sorry Trixie, it's just I miss you. I miss our talks. I miss reading poetry to you while you do you kegels. I miss the way your hair smells. I miss. . ."

"Jason. Stop calling. Stop riding your motorcycle around in tiny circles in front of my house, and stop sending me your eyelashes. We're Done. I'm too hot for you. Goodbye."

"That was really great, Trix. He was like totally addicted to you."

"I know, right? I'm the perfect drug. No hangover."

"Well now that the stalker portion of the show is complete, we will now both reveal a beauty secret. Trixie will go first cause mine is better."

"So whenever you sleep, wear a scrunchy from the 90s. This will keep your hair from breaking, and it will also help fight off unwanted sexual advances from your old rich boyfriend."

"Good one, Trix."

"I know, right?"

"Ok, now for mine. If you get an eye infection, pink eye, herpes of the eye, whatever-- throw away your mascara after. Turns out little critters and bugs can live in the mascara tube, and just jump back in your eye. Conjunctivitis, although fun to say, is so not hot. Ask Trixie."

"Not hot."

"Well that's all the time we have for today. I'm Roxana and this is Trixie, and remember to keep things hot."

"Thanks for watching We're Hot and you Can Try To Be Hot Too if you really. . . and You're Not."

Colorstrology

2009-02-18T05:53:00.005+01:00

Call it bull-honky. Call it crap. I call it interesting. Look up your roomie's, or best friend's, or Mommy's and even some pseudo-strangers if you can find out on facebook.

www.colorstrology.com

Here's mine:

"People gravitate to your natural magnetism. You have a certain way of seeing things and want to be treated with respect. You are sometimes torn between the practical side of life and the creative and imaginative side. Although you may see yourself as logical you are far more emotional than even you may realize. Your personal color helps ease the conflicting parts of your nature. Wearing, meditating, or surrounding yourself with Withered Rose teaches you to honor the unique and special parts of yourself and others."

I wish it didn't have the word "withered" in it, but hey. I'm going to meditate on this color for sure..

Borrowed fun

2009-01-12T06:14:00.005+01:00

I had never been to a Chiefs game before, and I never went to another one. But I hear anything about the Kansas City Chiefs, and I inevitably think of this day, that game, and these three people.

"Devo, what are you doing tonight?"

"Studying for an Italian test that I'm gonna get a C on, no matter what I do. Why, what are you doing tonight?"

"Going to the Chiefs game with you." Rachael informed me. I love when this happens. When people tell me my plans for the evening. I particularly love it if fun is included in the plans.

"Um. I should really study becau- mahaha, you know I'm kidding. What time?"

It was a gorgeous-autumnal-Kansas type of afternoon. The kind of evening where football and beer make you wanna cry, they become such beautiful commodities. Rachael honked the horn of her 80s cherry-red BMW named Lucy, and I slammed the heavy wooden door behind me.

"Later, bitches." I called to my roomies eating dinner and watching tv. Living with seven other girls, there was always a constant silent-competition of who could have more fun.

"Yay, Devo! Your first chiefs game!" Rachael smoked a cig and sipped a massive fountain soda-- Dr. Pepper, naturally. She handed me a lighter, and pulled out onto our busy street.

I gently pounded on the console, coaxing the window-button to let me crack my window.

"Oh Lucy, I've missed you so." Rachael's wheels were my favorite in my college history.

The wind blew her long straight hair, and I clapped my hands with excitement.

We listened to several of the scratched cds that Rachael had floating around in Lucy, we sang, and laughed.

Isn't it weird that the borrowed-time-kind-of-fun feels like more fun than the planned kind of fun? Per esempio, I don't remember how much fun I had after the times I studied for an Italian test, and went out for some well-deserved-good-not-so-clean-fun, but I do remember vividly, feeling like I was getting away with something that night. Just like free beer tastes better than beer you must pay for.

We arrived to the game fashionably late, and after watching the game from our assigned seats, decided to move closer. That's where we ran into two of my most favorite southern gentlemen.

Dane and Justin were there to support the Saints, just as Rachael and I were there to support the stretch pants.

Added bonus and a half to run into these two bros, because I have nothing but happy memories associated with the both of them. (Some people you remember leave you with a salty taste in your mouth with just one tainted memory, but not a bad word can be said about either of these two).

Justin and I lived it up every minuto studying in Italy together, and I remember sweating in the leather seat of shotgun in Dane's tan Lexus SUV. We motored to Sonic for Cherry Limeades, and I smiled the whole way.

The Saints lost, and I witnessed a Chiefs victory. I don't remember the score of the game, or what player did what. Yes, it smelled like vomit and hot dogs inside Arrowhead Stadium. Yes, I got a D on my Italian test the next day. Yes, Dane and Justin rejected me and Rachael (now you can know about what you really missed when you politely refused the opportunity to hang out with us, boys-- which was a drag, cause Rachael was house-sitting and they had both a pool and poodles).

But what a happy treasure of a memory.

I love the kind of pictures you look at where the smiles are truly genuine, as are the people in them, and the happiness is so easy to remember.

So, thanks Rach, for helping me get a D on my Italian test, and helping me enjoy borrowed-time-fun.

Grazie mille, la mia sorella.

Dear Devin,

2009-01-06T06:49:00.003+01:00

Don't be scared. It's not so bad here. In fact, life is perfect. See you soon.

Love,

Your Future Self

P.S. You're thinner now, and a lot richer.

2009-01-06T03:31:00.003+01:00

My new favorite holiday pic:

"Dev, you need a wig." Joe announced immediately after his arrival to my parents' house.

"But Joey, I spent like 38 minutes blow-drying my hair."

". . . Put - on - a wig. . ."

We walked in the rain to the train station in LaGrange-- glitter boots not water proof-- and painted the town.

It's true, blondes do have more fun. And we really did.

I like this pic, and I like these bros.

2008-12-21T22:44:00.003+01:00

TJ, I thought maybe now you would become a follower of my blog?

I like this pickey because we all look really look pink. Like babies.

A budding Bohemian

2008-12-19T19:42:00.004+01:00

Ladies & Gentlemen: I give you the incomparable, often-imitated, never-duplicated, aspiring poet, fantastically fantastic poetic stylings of Miss Sarah Fiske:

I am oh so very happy to have a girl in my life named Devin,

It would be a whole lot cooler though if we had known each other since we were seven.

But ever since college, she has made me giggle,

and drink lots of beer-- resulting in a little belly jiggle.

Now she's a nanny, working hard and living far away,

While I am in S.F., trying to live it up, but only feeling old & gray.

I would like to go back to the days of the dress-up bin,

with Bouche, Larry, and that other one... what was his name again?

It would be cool to go back to the times at 1301

where 8 girls had nothing, but a whole lot fun.

The days where low-rider toy cars and candy machines were stolen,

no one had a clue, we were fuckin' golden.

Blow-up pools, bubba kegs, and soda cent,

to be worthless that summer, my arm did not have to be bent.

Don't forget: When I turn forty, my Mediterranean cruise with you,

five other wild girls and the one you call your boo, (Nicole, that's you)

Oh Devo, I love you and keep truckin' my friend,

the fun we had at 1301 is not over-it is not even close to the end.

editor's note:

*Don't worry-you all have a poem coming, I was just inspired by Devin's letter to Santa, which kicked this off

No one ever writes me poems, Sar. I love it. And I love you.

Brava.