My heart will go on.

Last night as I was settling down in front of the TV after a long, but not-so-hard day's work, I was suddenly shaken from my television-induced daze by the sound of a Celine Dion ballad(in French mind you) being blasted from someone's car stereo in the street below my window.

I moved quickly towards the noise in an emboldened attempt to identify the culprit. Could it be a middle-aged woman in a mini-van, or perhaps a group of tourists who had taken a wrong turn onto my block? Or maybe it was one of my adorable, but flaming male friends come to chat?

Needless to say, none of my guessing or mental preparations could have prepared me for what happened next.

There, in a white car with all the windows down was Rico Suave. Loud and proud.

Maybe I shouldn't have ignored those short cut-off jean shorts or the spangled tank top after all.

But regardless, as I sit here today the sounds of Celine's voice haunt me still.

Silver Spoons

On another great apartment update-last weekend my mother obtained some new silverware for me at one of her garage sales.

The old stuff was ok. I mean I only paid $9.00 for the whole set, so I can't really complain about that metallic taste it left in my mouth, or the light headedness for that matter.

Cold Ambition

I think "Coworker E" caught my cold over the cubicle wall.

All is right with the world.

Dealing with my grocery baggage.

Before I moved to the city my mother went on a garage sale rampage- her mission was to fully-equip me with all of the essential tools of survival for city living. One of her purchases was a groceries cart. For those of you not familiar with the concept, basically it looks like a vertical grocery cart (perfectly sized for an oxygen tank or a gross of walking sticks).

When she first pulled the thing out of her van my mind immediately flashed to scenes from nursing homes and childhood visits to New York where my ancient aunts lived in a small apartment together. My aunts were always hammering home the importance of owning a grocery cart, especially after you reached a certain age. Because not only did it assist them in walking the distance between their apartment and the corner shop, but also because they were to old to carry anything beyond the 5 pound mark.

And now, at the prime age of 24, I am the proud owner of my very own cart.

My mother reasoned that (my pride and dignity aside), it would be an important thing to have especially since I didn't have an assigned parking spot near my building. I could potentially face long walks to and from my apartment lugging heavy packages or groceries and run the risk of dropping my eggs. So, logically a grocery cart would be a great way to transport stuff from my car without putting a lot of wear and tear on my arms (not taking into account the wear and tear it will inevitably have on my dating life).

I accepted this as reasonable and have been using the cart religiously ever since my move in date several months ago.

However, as I noted to my mother the other day, not only am I the only person in my apartment building to have a groceries cart-but from what I can tell, I am the only person in the neighborhood under the age of 75 to have one as well.

So I squeak along with my groceries loaded into the large silver basket, all the while thinking of a happy place far away-where my neighbors aren't staring and I am sure their thinly-veiled snickering is not directed at me.

Bad Breaks

The weekend has come and gone-with sadly, very little to show for it.

On a positive note, my friend Beaker Callahan visited for the weekend with her boyfriend in tow. Despite my looming head cold we (Hope Valentine, Beaker, and Beaker's man) headed out for a night on the town-after which I returned home for some deep sleep and plenty of cough drops.

The next morning I awoke to find my head cold had fully taken form and I was really sick. So I sadly passed on the day's planned events with Beaker and journeyed north to my parents house for some R&R.

And that' s about it.

Today I came into work to find one of my friends in the office, Peaches Wilson had returned early from her trip to Aruba. On the morning of her third vacation day, while hurrying out of a bathroom, she managed to somehow trip over her flip flops and subsequently take a heavy spill on the cool marble floor. While she can't remember the exact chain of events that followed(she passed out momentarily), she soon learned that she had broken her foot and required immediate medical assistance. After a quick trip to the hospital she and her traveling companions were on the next flight home, where after a five-hour flight, she was greeted in Chicago by a ill-tempered customer service rep who was to transport the now disabled Peaches via wheelchair to the shuttle bus stop. Begrudgingly the service rep allowed the girls to use the restrooms before quickly transporting them to the bus stop.

Once they arrived at the shuttle waiting area, the rep asked Peaches to disembark the wheelchair because she had to get back to the service office. Peache's traveling companions noted that there was no bench in the waiting area and asked the woman where she expected her to sit? The representative suggested she take the weight off her broken foot by sitting on the curb and then proceeded to put her hand out for a tip.

Needless to say, no tip was given. After all, it is hard to reach one's wallet when one is sitting on the ground.

Considering she will be in her boot cast for the next four weeks, Peaches is notably bummed out about the effects this will have on her summer. Unlike "Coworker E's" wrist brace, this boot in on for the long haul.

Thursdays with Paddy

Everyone in the office has gone home except for a few people I don’t like and me, but well, I’m not really working.

Mainly I am just attempting to look busy while at the same time desperately trying to tune out the sound of “Coworker E” whining (for about the 100th time) about the “terrible injury” he sustained that now requires him to wear a wrist brace. If I had to make a t-shirt for him, it would read: “Trust Me! I’m a Butt Plug,” because I am pretty sure that’s what he is-but, to his credit, he does it so well. I see him at the gym all of the time, and without fail, he will look right at me, ignore my brief attempt at a smile, and then quickly make his way towards the 5lb free weights.

On an unrelated note, last night I accompanied a selection of coworkers to Jazz in the Park. While I can’t be sure, I am almost positive there was music being played throughout the evening, but we were all so busy chatting, no one seemed to notice.

In fact, it wasn’t until a homeless man (wearing a healthy dose of Eau De Urine) plopped down on our blanket before we even realized the band had long since stopped playing. Before secretly running off with one of our coolers, the toothily-challenged gentleman insisted that we give him our unopened bottle of wine. He defended this logic by claiming that because he “worked” at the park he was best qualified to properly dispose of its contents

Needless to say, we declined his offer-only to send him gallivanting off to a neighboring blanket where, from my vantage, he made a not-so-stealthy attempt to grab one of their lawn chairs. He probably would have made off with it too had one of the ladies not looked up in time and snapped at him to put the chair down. When confronted, Paddy once again explained that he worked for the park and was only trying to help. He then went onto say that he didn’t appreciate her attitude.

I’ll tell you, that’s exactly why I got out of customer service. There’s just no love there.

The music video in my mind

Today I had my annual physical. Due to my company's insurance carrier I was forced to change to a new doctor-and today was my first visit to her office. Besides the impressive goatee on the female receptionist's chin, I felt it was a relatively quick and painless visit. As many of you may have noted from your own physicals, once you become an adult new and intimidating procedures are added to what was once a quick look in the ears and a few deep breaths for the stethoscope. Unfortunately the whole thing can be awkward and uncomfortable, so after answering my doctor's questions I typically like to escape to a far away place in my mind-like an imaginary beach or that vacuum in my brain where I stored the multiplication tables.

When I was younger my mother would hold my hand whenever I got a shot while singing the ABC's with me. This became hard for her once I went to college-because on a good day it's a five hour drive from Wisconsin to Indiana. But now I am an adult and, when my mother is not available I have to just sing for myself. Today I graduated from ABC's to the "Happy Thoughts" song. Which is basically just me singing "Think of happy thoughts" over and over to the tune of "Row Row Row Your Boat."

Moving my singing skills out of the doctor's office, for the past month I have kept Gavin DeGraw's CD Chariot on constant rotation in my car. I am not sure why I love it so much-but nothing beats speeding home from work(or anywhere really) while enthusiastically singing along to "Chariot" with the windows down, the wind blowing through my hair, and the setting sun casting a yellow glow into my rear view.

Sometimes I like to pretend I am in a music video in my car-and I wonder why talent agencies haven't been in contact with me. I am currently unrepresented, so I feel career-wise it is probably in my best interest to continue diligently performing. Hopefully someday soon a high-powered agent will see my antics during a lengthy red light or as I weave through traffic. I imagine him insisting that I pull over and signing me up for a multi-million dollar record deal.

It could happen.

I also refuse to give up on my secret hope to be stranded on an island with Weezer and The Backstreet Boys. Oh the sing alongs we could have!

Babies have entered the work place

Having grown up around a bevy of younger siblings I have always thought of myself as someone that was indeed good with babies.

It was not until recently that I discovered how very wrong I was in that assumption.

Not only can I make a baby cry on contact-but also, I have this uncanny ability to drive a child to tears with just passing glance.

The thing is, I don't understand why this is, or when this horrible change of fates occurred. During my years as a certified babysitter I remember dozens of times when little babies ran to me with open arms, giggling all the way into my embrace.

I have a maternal instinct! I do! And in the darkest corners of my mind I have even considered names I might choose for future offspring. So why this?

Is this God's twisted way of suggesting that for me, having ovaries does not a mother make?

Anyway, it is depressing.

Not only that, but on an entirely unrelated note, a girl in my office just won a trip to Aruba. ARUBA! The last time I won anything was during the summer of 1985. I was 5-years-old and correctly guessed the number of jelly beans in a small jar. But unlike my coworker, all I got for my troubles was the jar of jelly beans and a tummy ache after I tried to eat them all in one sitting.

H is for Head Cold.

Last night, as I journeyed through a dreamland of 100% off sales racks, fanciful unicorns and naked bus boys, the head cold that has been teasing its way into my body these past few days crept its way up into my head and fully implanted itself into my brain. So this morning I awoke to a very unpleasant new development that now seems to leave a trail of germs in its wake wherever I go.

As a result, I was almost 20 minutes late to work-if that.

Struggling under the weight of my brown paper lunch sack I made my way towards the building, desperately trying not to pass out from the granola bar I had eaten in the car. While I can't be sure how I appeared to those inside the building, I can only imagine it was like something out of Day of the Dead. Finally I made it into air-conditioning, but wouldn't you know, just as I was walking in I bumped into one of the company's higher-ups who was keen to hear all about my recent business trip. (And I thought getting from the car into the building was to be the day's biggest challenge.)

Quickly I tried to weed through the spider webs in my cloudy cold-covered brain and come up with an intelligent and cohesive recap of the trip. I wanted to make sure I included insightful reflections on why it had been such an incredibly invaluable experience while at the same time expressing my extreme gratitude for being allowed to go. Indeed, this was my chance to impress her with my apt skills in communication and to flex my expansive vocabulary, and my skillful ability to really think on my toes......

"It was good" I squeaked out, silently cursing my ailment and the ever-growing headache it had become.

So now I am slumped in my desk chair, trying to keep down a peach yogurt and desperately reminiscing about the good old days, when people in this office just ignored me.

My greatest fear realized.

http://www.local6.com/news/4634954/detail.html

9 to 5

When you work in a corporate setting there are just some things that you have to learn to accept... or ignore. For example, no matter where you go, and regardless of what industry you work in, there will always be one coworker who drives you nuts! For me there are several-but then again, I am judgmental.

Also, you can be sure that some time along the way you will collide head on with some sort of nonsensical office politics-like the time I told a supervisor that even though I know my penmanship IS artistic, I wouldn't be able to fill out the name field of some departmental reward certificates for her because I was working under a career making/breaking deadline-she smiled and said she understood only to later dock me performance points on my annual review.

Oh that reminds me of another point, most likely you won't like one of your supervisors.......

That all aside, today I am reminded of yet another universal office happenstance many of you many have already encountered: team building activities.

Earlier this year the entire company was required to schedule two hours out of their day to take extensive personality tests. While we were assured the results of said tests would not be used against us should we be pulled into any disciplinary meetings with H.R., it would be a great tool for the directors to better manage our talents......

Having recently embarked on my own journey towards self-discovery through internet personality quizzes (See Tickle.com's "Which potato chip are you?" quiz) I had no problem with this activity. What I DID have a problem with came several weeks later when we all had to reconvene and TALK about our results and how we FELT about them.

I tried to mentally escape to a happy place in my mind as one of my more unattractive coworkers launched into a ten minute diatribe detailing her life's seemingly futile progression before she took the test-and how prior to its results, she had never fully understood why she got so maddeningly frustrated when things didn't go her way.

My brother Golden Boy just entered the corporate work force, my advice to him was this:

"You'll probably dislike most of the people you work with, so it's really important to bring headphones to work as often as you are allowed."

Giving him the benefit of the doubt.

As the clock struck 5PM yesterday afternoon I weighed my options about calling Rico Suave. Had he called me while I was in Cancun he would have heard a message that "this phone is out of service." I know this because several of my friends reported that they had received that very message. Unlike Rico Suave, these loyal buddies know this is my true phone number and not some scam number I gave them as a practical joke. That being said, I thought I had better just swallow my pride on this one because after all, I was the one that asked him out (and also because I knew he was at work so all I would have to do was leave a breezy message that HE would have to return).

After carefully planning out what I would say and writing it out in large lettering on a piece of paper in front of me (in an effort to avoid leaving one of my infamous long-winded, incoherent messages) I paged down in my phone's address book where I had entered his number and with bated breath, dialed.

I can't be sure what the answering machine message actually said; however, I was immediately aware that the voice on the recording was a woman's and that it advised callers with questions to call Albion Realty at an alternate number.

Immediately panic ensued.

Whose number was this? How embarrassing would it be if I left a message asking Rico out for a date on a sham voice mail? Rather than risk it, I quickly hung up as shock slowly made its evil way through my body and into my fingers and toes.

Immediately I called my friends Moody St. Claire and Hope Valentine to get their advise on the situation. Both were shocked and dismayed that a person who had shown such overt interest could behave so badly. I vaguely remember using words like "insidious" and "inhumane" to describe such a thing-but all along I was mostly just shocked. Rico had never seemed like the type of person who could flagrantly lead a person on, play with their emotions, and then give them the shaft in such an immature and cruel way. Maybe I was just being naive, but I couldn't believe it.

My first impulse was to march into the store and throw wine in his face (which I would have had to supply, because the store only sells beer and soda), but both friends advised me to just let it go, because the kind of person who would give a girl a fake number after so convincingly leading her to believe he was interested was just not worth wasting perfectly good wine on(maybe a Franzia, but certainly not chardonnay).


On my drive to apartment from my parents house I got a call from the rouge number I had once thought belonged to Rico. It was the same woman who was on the voice mail asking if I had called. I quickly explained that I had misdialed and thought I was calling a friend. And that was that.

After I got back to my apartment I couldn't help but feel that maybe Moody and Hope (even with the best of intentions) were not right about the whole situation. Normally I would think I was deluding myself, but in this case I just couldn't accept that Rico, who had always seemed so friendly and open, was really just a bi-polar maniac. So in search of a third opinion, I decided to give my friend Peppermint Patty a buzz. A constant voice of reason, she agreed that it was highly unlikely someone could so quickly go from hero to zero and told me follow my instincts and go into the store. We quickly formed a plan that I would act natural, and see if he brought it up-if he didn't, no harm done and I had my resolution-if he did, perhaps it was all a misunderstanding(after all he is living with his brother, maybe that was his brother's wife?).

Bravely I marched into the store with the cover story that there was no food in my apartment and I needed something to eat (clever, I know). Per usual, Rico was behind the register while his friend was working the aisle. Quickly I grabbed a Diet Coke and some crackers and headed to stand in line at the register. Rico's friend gave me a slight smile, so I forced myself to say hello and then stepped up to pay. Rico warmly greeted me and asked how I was, I said I had just gotten back into town and there was nothing to eat in my apartment. He said "Wow, we really need to take you out to dinner soon then, get you something to eat." I laughed, and said, "Yeah well." He asked me about my trip and I told him my horseback riding story (see "Little Miss Westchester goes to Cancun").

Then, after a pause, he tilted his head to the side and asked if I had called. Rather than risk possible humiliation, I lied and said I had not. Then shrugging my shoulders and putting my hand over my mouth I apologetically admitted that in my rush to pack for Cancun I had lost the card with his number (this was actually not a lie since in an act of relationship cleansing I had flushed it down the toilet). He then admitted that he too had lost my number and then asked if he could have permission to ask for my number again.

So I gave it to him.

Maybe I am fooling myself, and maybe Rico really is a cad. But I have three wonderful brothers and a great father, and in the spirit of father's day, I thought I would give a man the benefit of the doubt and offer him a very unique second chance.

Little Miss Westchester goes to Mexico

I am now officially back from my first ever international business trip! To those of you who missed me, I am sorry for the lack of posts! And to those of you who didn't miss me, well you probably don't read this anyway, so you can go to hell.

If you have never been to Mexico, it is a beautiful place. Long white-sand beaches abound and the water took my breath away every time I saw it. The only thing is, during this time of year it is sweltering hot, especially if you have to wear business casual attire. Also, it is possible to get a tan in the shape of your flip flops. (I guess I should just be glad I got any tan at all.)

The point of my trip was to familiarize myself with all that Cancun and the Riviera Maya have to offer, in the span of a week. I had high hopes that this trip would indeed be fun and games. But boy was I wrong. You know that saying, "when in Rome"? Well the same applies when you are working in Mexico, which means a six day work week from 7:45AM-10PM every day.

On Thursday the company sent my travel companions and me to Maroma Beach to tour the area and experience one of the activities there. We went snorkeling, which was awesome, and after I got over the nausea, we all had lunch.

After lunch we went over to the beach where several horses awaited to take us on a walk through the jungle. Having never been on a horse, or really NEAR one I was a little nervous about the whole thing. The last time I had tried to ride a horse was during the summer of 1986. I was freshly six-years-old and was attending a local summer day camp. For weeks they had planned a special horse riding day and every one in camp was a buzz with excitement. Not only did our parents have to spend an extra $50, but we had to have a permission slip signed(quite an ordeal).

When the day finally arrived I had dutifully explained to my counselor that I needed a VERY calm horse that would not get any funny ideas. As I recall the horse they gave me had one foot in the grave and seemed to walk with the help of a prosthetic hoof, but as soon as I got saddled up, the poor thing bent down for a nibble of grass and I FREAKED out. I ended up spending the rest of the day in the arts and crafts hut while all the other campers went on the long-anticipated ride.

So fast forward to now, where I had decided to finally reface this fear. Quietly I approached the gentleman in charge (for this blog's purposes we will call him Juan) and told him I needed a quiet horse with no outlandish character flaws. He nodded knowingly and directed me to Chiriqui-one of the tour company's most sedate horses.

Getting up into the saddle was one thing. I had listened carefully when Juan had gone over how to "steer" a horse and how not to pull back on the reigns. But little of that mattered when Chiriqui started walking towards a post. I immediately began to cry and as calmly as I could mutter exclaimed "SIR, I have never been on a horse and I think I need some help!"

To make a long story short (too late) I ended up going on the ride, crying most of the way (kind of like my last date). Juan had to lead my horse for the entire hour, but I made it and am very proud of taking that small step towards conquering one of my MANY fears.

Next up I will try to start working on my top three fears which are as follows:

1. Vampires
2. Tornados
3. Murdering Rapists

Anyway, I am now back in Cheese Town U.S.A. and am looking forward to spending time away from the toilet. Tonight I plan on calling Rico Suave. I can't be sure if he called me because my phone goes on the fritz every time I leave the country with it-so I have decided to just frickin' call him and see what happens. I will update tomorrow on the outcome of that. Until then adios y buenos noches.

The terrible wait.

Next week I am heading south for my first-ever international (or otherwise) business trip. As a professional creative-type, it is my job to know about the world around me and then to find new and innovative ways to present my knowledge creatively. Now, after a year on the job, I will for the first time ever actually be visiting one of the places I have supposed to be an expert about.

Mexico beckons and I must heed its slightly-drunken booty call.

On an unrelated note, Rico Suave has not called. And while I wish to give men the benefit of the doubt, I am having trouble waiting. I completely understand the three days rule. After all, if he had called two days ago perhaps I would have been overwhelmed. But it is now after 5 on the third day and my patience as an independent female is running out :( There is a thin line between late and never gonna call. And I hope I don't have to learn about this now.

Luckily I haven't really thought about this all too much....

All that jazz.

Last night Moody St. Claire, my old friend Hope Valentine and I, Little Miss Westchester headed off to witness a weekly summer event: Jazz in the Park. Every Thursday during the warm summer months Milwaukeeans from all walks of life head downtown to witness a featured jazz musician perform. There is food to be purchased and blankets to be spread, and if you are lucky you can see the stage. We arrived a little late, so were not afforded that luxury; however, that was probably just as well-because there were a lot of people jammed up in front, and nothing pisses me off more than overlapping picnic blankets.

In addition to the fine live soundtrack, the girls and I were delighted at the Grade A people watching that unfolded before us. There was a BAD Hugh Jackman-wannabe walking his dog in a desperate effort to pick up chicks, an all-American couple whose little black puppy spent the entire night trying to get a sip of our beer, and a DELIGHTFUL stream of teenagers that kept "coolly" parading themselves in front of our blanket.

Teenagers at a distance are ok, I guess....but last night one girl in particular stood out in my mind. Dressed in a tight white wife-beater and an UNbelievable short plaid skirt, she was the epitome of class. Every time she walked in front of our blanket it seemed she was trying to convince some unsuspecting lad in her posse to give her a piggy back ride....ok, fine, that's her business. But when she started jumping up and down with nothing under that skirt but a barely-there nude thong-whether WE liked it our not, she made her business EVERYONE's business.

I guess I should just be thankful she wasn't doing her business as well-because that would have incited a truly messy public health violation.

When it was all said and done we all said our goodnights and then slowly meandered home. Drunk on jazz music and, well, alcohol, I feel asleep quickly. Luckily I was only awakened once last night-by a gentleman whose voice embodied that of the monsters in all of my worse nightmares. While I couldn't see the scene below, someone was clearly trying to get him to vacate my building's front stoop-to which he repeatedly replied "Fuuuuuck you, leeeeeeeave me alooooone." His voice, a dead-ringer for Gollum's evil alter-ego in The Lord of the Rings, sent me running to check my deadbolts and tightly closing every blind. Ah, city living.

When asking out a boy, it helps to be a little drunk.

Last night I decided to follow through on Moody's (and anyone else that has been willing to listen to me talk about this crush) dare and ask out Rico Suave.

After I chickened out last night, I knew it would be no easy task-and consequently was dreading it all day long. Per my usual schedule, I DILIGENTLY worked all day long and then drove over to the YMCA for some sweatin' near the oldies.

As I drove home a team of unruly butterflies began to do an evil dance in the pit of my stomach....and I tried to think of ANYthing else but the task at hand. Luckily Moody gave me a call asking to meet her and our handsome friend "007" out for a few cocktails.

Once I got home I moved fast, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Rico, who was sitting on the store's front stoop with his Sidekick #1. Quickly, I showered and slapped on some blush and lipgloss. I didn't want to look like I was trying to hard, but I still wanted to show a little cleavage, so I settled on a slightly low cut black top from the Gap. I ran to my window for some last minute surveillance and saw that the guys had not moved from their seats, but were now talking to a scraggly blond chick with a hippy top and dreadlocks. I couldn't see her face, but she was thin- so the panic that I had managed to suppress during my shower once again welled up in my mind-immediately followed by crippling self-doubt.

"Oh well," I thought to myself, "if he's interested in a skinny blond chick with dreads-there is NO way I am his type. I might as well just call it a night."

Luckily, my hard-to-reach friend "New York Minute" chose that very moment to call, and quickly soothed away the panic attack. After all-he did ask if I had a boyfriend! He must be interested... right?

After I got off the phone I noticed my hands were shaking, so I turned to an old friend for support, "Michelob Ultra." After two bottles and a sloppily made Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich I decided that the time for action had arrived and I HAD to make my move. I quickly brushed my teeth, popped in a breath mint and braced myself for the moment of truth.

There is usually someone working with him in the store so I had prepared myself to have to ask Rico out in front of someone else. Luckily, Sidekick #1 was stocking the cooler across the store. So right there came a small sigh of relief. Rico was behind the counter helping an old woman, so thinking quickly I ran to the cooler, gave a friendly nod to Sidekick #1, and grabbed a bottle of water to use as a clever "prop" (as my friends in the theatre world might say). Steadily I made my way to the register, my eyes planted firmly on the security mirrors above my head.

Because I haven't done this sort of thing in a while, I was surprised to find I was having trouble breathing...and swallowing. So I made a note to myself to do so, and WHATEVER happened NOT to give him any of my usual deer-in-headlights reactions. I continued to remind myself that I was brave and there was nothing to it....but of course when it was my turn at the register all that went out the window.

Heavily I placed the water bottle on the counter, suavely mumbling, "Here."

I am fairly certain he quoted me a price, because I vaguely remember fumbling into my purse and handing him some crumpled currency. There was a pause, and then as steadily as I could I heard myself utter, "Hey.....so would you want to go get a coffee or something to eat with me sometime?"

Almost immediately he broke into a smile and exclaimed, "Oh my god, I did not expect you to ask me that right now. Wow! Way to go, you totally surprised me there. You must have been nervous, I can tell."

The best I could come up with there was, "Ah, no, I am fine."

Then he said, "Hey, I knew you were probably like that, going for what you want. That never happens, someone just coming right out and asking like that. Let me give you a hug."

So he hugged me. And since I still hadn't gotten an answer, I started to panic and awkwardly said, "Ok."

After the hug, he returned to his post behind the register and said, "Sure anytime, anywhere. Just let me know!"

Since I had meticulously planned this out, I said, "Well, I will tell you what. I know you're working now, so I will give you my number and when you get a chance, just give me a call."

As I quickly scribbled my number onto a slightly used matchbook, he did the same on a business card for the store. Then, after the exchange, I quickly-but smoothly, made my exit and casually said, "Well, have a good night. Give me a call."

Between you and me, I can't really recall the exact events or how they really played out. In fact, only minutes later I completely forgot to include the hug in my account to Moody and 007! I think my brain just shut down from the adrenaline rush, which is probably part of the reason why during my time in the store, my facial expression was locked into what I would imagine appeared to be an awkward smile mixed with a hint of confidence. To be honest, I knew if for ONE second I relaxed, my hands would start shaking and I might run out of the store.

So there you go. I asked out Rico Suave, and he said yes! Talk about a rush of blood to the head.

More evening ruckus.

Just in case you were thinking the carton of Seasoned Gravy was to be the last of my inner-city woes-ha ha think again.

The night was humid. And as the digital clock struck 3:30AM I was suddenly awakened by the sound of a young man passionately entreating, "Tammy!" from outside my window. What first started as a quiet plea, soon culminated into an impassioned yell, "TAMMY!"

I tried to ignore it, but all of a sudden a large crash sounded from the street like fireworks exploding into the night! I frantically reached for my glasses(careful not to smudge the lenses) and looked out the window in time to see the misguided Romeo speeding off into the night in a crappy white junker. In his wake he left hundreds of soda cans spread across the road, everyone of them crushed from the weight of his car cowardly peeling away.

As the sticky-sweet smell of old soda floated up into my bedroom, I tried to drift back asleep and ignore the loud sounds of the neighborhood's resident homeless man futilely trying to recollect the cans for his own secret purposes.

I still love technology.

For the first time in a long time I decided to approach the subject of technology to my mother. Usually I intentionally avoid the topic because, bless her heart, my mother just can't get her hands around the concepts of an information highway or the ever-convoluted personal computer.

Over the past few years my brothers and I have lovingly typed up endless letters for her many committees. Then there was the infamous day when I futilely tried to explain to her the precept behind "Google." That's a few hours of my life that I can never get back.

Today over lunch I tried to explain what a blog is, and that I am now the proud host of my very own Super Secret online journal. She asked me to alert my dad so that she can see it, and then, after a brief pause asked if I might be able to sell her golf clubs via this website.

Seasoned Italian Gravy.

I regret to report that I have now had my first true look into the darker side of city living.

Running early for work for once, I had a skip in my step as I walked to my car-innocently unaware of the horrific scene that awaited me there.

I knew something was wrong when I caught a waft of seasoned beef floating through the thick summer air. Then as I approached my car it dawned on me that something just wasn't right. There, all over the front of my OLDsmobile was a thin brown substance-peppered with thick white chunks of something(I made an executive to decision not to get any closer, after all, some mysteries are best left unsolved). Sigh.

So I get in my car, jacked up the air-conditioning and drove to work- grumpy that I couldn't roll down the windows for fear of getting a white chunk in my hair, or worse, a bit of seasoning on my arm that would not mix well with my floral perfume.

As soon as I got to a gas station, I flew into action-time now being of the essence. Using the squeegee I methodically washed the goo off the front of my car. And it was there, tucked under a windshield wiper that I found the evidence that was to "blow the top"(for lack of a better phrase) off of the contents of the secret sauce.

It was a lid for a carton of "Scala's Seasoned Italian Gravy."

Oh the inhumanity. Gravy is one thing-but SEASONED gravy?! If I find the cads responsible for this, their days are surely numbered!

What Would Jared Do?

Today for lunch I decided to treat myself to a mid-day meal at Subway. It was nearly 3 PM by the time I made it over and the restaurant was practically empty save a scruffy employee meticulously sketching a set of tribal-themed tattoos on a napkin and a small family(one dad, one mom and 1.5 children) standing in line to create their sandwiches. The robust daddy was clearly in charge of placing the order while the petite mother calmly struggled to juggle her unusually large baby in one hand and a Venti(extra-large) Frappuccino with whipped cream in the other.

Now it must be said that after working for Disney for a semester in college, I somehow managed to develop this keen distaste for children. It's not that I wouldn't ever want one of my own, and I still think the vast majority(nothings worse than an ugly baby) are adorable, but I just don't like making efforts to be friendly to strange babies anymore. Especially after learning of their almost instinctual capacity for committing evil acts once placed in a theme-park setting.

But for the past year I have desperately tried to overcome these reservations and make an effort to AT LEAST smile. So moving ahead with that I wrinkled my nose at the portly tot and gave him a friendly smile.

The baby must have sensed my discomfort and responded accordingly. Coyly, he tilted his bulbous little head towards his mother and buried his moon-like face into her arm. Next he peaked out at me and smiled shyly from the folds of her paisley shirt. Thinking the whole ordeal was over I relaxed slightly-and in that brief moment lies my fatal mistake.

I looked away for an instant, a second! Sensing my weakness the baby moved fast whipping his little marshmallow legs into the air and sending his mother's balance into a whirl. In an attempt to regain her grasp on the squirming man-child, she quickly released her monstrous Frappuccino sending it flying through the air where it landed inches from my feet. Like a dense milk-grenade, it hit the ground hard, splattering its contents onto the floor and all over the front of my pin-stripped pants.

The parents apologized of course, and the staff showed unusual concern at the outcome of the terrible accident. I let it go-saying "Oh, I have brothers, this is nothing." But I was shaken to say the least.

Truth be told, I am not even mad really. That baby outsmarted us all. In my mind I imagine him growing unusually bigger every day, continuing to subversively protest his mother's overpriced coffee drinks, and all the while thumbing his nose at the man.

About a boy.

So I have begun to come to terms with the fact that I might just have to take things into my own hands and ask out Rico Suave. After analyzing this to the moon and back with the help of my friend "Moody St. Clair" we came to the conclusion that Rico HAD indeed made a move towards asking me out, but I had unintentionally brushed off his advances with a reactionary moment of panic-induced humor.

Here's how it happened.

I get out of my car and start walking towards my apartment. Rico was standing in his usual spot outside the store so I stopped to chat. I noted that from his vantage he has a great view of the neighborhood-and I went onto say I love people watching (and true to form...) and judging. I am not sure if he laughed at that because I was silently cursing myself.

After a pause he replied that he judges people too, but fairly. So being the brazen little hussy that I am.....I coyly prodded, "Oh yeah, so how did you judge ME!"

To my disbelief he answered, " I thought you were hot and I wondered if you had a boyfriend."

Now, I am not sure how most people would react to this kind of a thing. But I panicked, much like a deer would before they get stuck by an oncoming semi. I quickly tried to regain composure, consciously aware that seconds were passing and I needed to respond! So I suavely muttered...."Yeah, I get that a lot."

A blatant lie! But under the circumstances I was lucky I didn't drool or run away.

At that point I noticed a customer was walking towards the store, so I ended the conversation with a charming, but accurate anecdote about how I can't cook chicken and then I headed home as Rico went into the store.

This Sunday I spent some time chatting with him about my job. I told him about how I spend my days writing descriptions for hotels and exotic destinations, and then immediately corrected his misconception that I also get to GO to these places.

I complimented him on a ring he was wearing and asked him if it was turquoise. He said that it was and remarked how he liked a ring of mine that was also turquoise. I made a joke accusing him of going through my jewelry box and he responded with an aloof remarking that he thought we probably have a lot in common.

So here I am a week or so later trying to get up some nerve. I am not so concerned about rejection. Although I have been sensitive to it ever since my freshman year of highschool where in a desperate attempt to obtain a date for the Homecoming dance I racked up more rejections than an airport Hare Krishna.

I guess I will just try and live in the moment and take a chance.......

Swearing at work.

I received this in an e-mailed attachment from one of my co-workers...I think there is something to be learned here.

Dear Employees:

It has been brought to management's attention that some individuals throughout the company have been using foul language during the course of normal conversation with their co-workers. Due to complaints received from some employees who may be easily offended, this type of language will no longer be tolerated. We do however, realize the critical importance of being able to accurately express your feelings when communicating with co-workers. Therefore, a list of 18 New and Innovative "TRY SAYING" phrases have been provided so that proper exchange of ideas and information can continue in an effective manner.

l) TRY SAYING: I think you could use more training.
INSTEAD OF: You don't know what the fuck you're doing.

2)TRY SAYING: She's an aggressive go-getter.
INSTEAD OF: She's a ball-busting bitch.

3) TRY SAYING: Perhaps I can work late.
INSTEAD OF: And when the fuck do you expect me to do this?

4) TRY SAYING: I'm certain that isn't feasible.
INSTEAD OF: No fucking way.

5) TRY SAYING: Really?
INSTEAD OF: You've got to be shiting me!

6) TRY SAYING: Perhaps you should check with...
INSTEAD OF: Tell someone who gives a shit.

7) TRY SAYING: I wasn't involved in the project.
INSTEAD OF: It's not my fucking problem.

8) TRY SAYING: That's interesting.
INSTEAD OF: What the fuck?

9) TRY SAYING: I'm not sure this can be implemented.
INSTEAD OF: This shit won't work.

10) TRY SAYING: I'll try to schedule that.
INSTEAD OF: Why the fuck didn't you tell me sooner?

11) TRY SAYING: He's not familiar with the issues.
INSTEAD OF: He's got his head up his ass.

12) TRY SAYING: Excuse me, sir?
INSTEAD OF: Eat shit and die.

13) TRY SAYING: So you weren't happy with it?
INSTEAD OF: Kiss my Ass.

14) TRY SAYING: I'm a bit overloaded at the moment.
INSTEAD OF: Fuck it, I'm on salary.

15) TRY SAYING: I don't think you understand.
INSTEAD OF: Shove it up your ass.

16) TRY SAYING: I love a challenge.
INSTEAD OF: This job sucks.

17) TRY SAYING: You want me to take care of that?
INSTEAD OF: Who the hell died and made you boss?

18) TRY SAYING: He's somewhat insensitive.
INSTEAD OF: He's a prick.

Thank you for your continued effort to make the workplace a better place to be.

Warmest Regards,

Human Resources
Safety Coordinator

Thrills and spills in Chicago

This weekend I braved the drive from Wisconsin to Chicago to visit some of my old college chums. Besides the Mars Cheese Castle*(one of my favorite Wisconsin landmarks) on 43 south, the drive was fairly uneventful. Upon arrival some gals and I headed over to my friend "Jazzy A's" place where the kegs were ever flowing, the music was thumping and the underagers were secretly smoking weed in one of the apartment bedrooms.

While no one is sure how three 18-year-olds from Columbia snuck into the party, we all know how they made their exit......by starting a huge fist fight that left one of the hosts with a black eye and one of the underagers sans one of his earrings.

The cops soon arrived, and I, an innocent bystander found myself face to face with one of them when he began knocking on a screen door I had just closed. When I innocently told him I didn't live there and that I didn't know who was having the party he sternly asked me to stop trying to make an ass out of him. I told him, NO I was NOT trying to make an ass out of him and thanked him for his hard work, dedicated service and ability to maintain calm and perspective......he then walked away.

The next morning I woke up slowly, once again promising never to drink again....and then settling on a compromise to just NOT predrink before I drink again. After a long day in the trenches(shopping) I returned to my host's abode where I relaxed as the old Disney classic Bambi played on t.v. Having not seen the picture for 20-odd years, I was surprised to see how little personality the beloved fawn possessed. Isn't he supposed to be Prince of the Forrest-I hope Prince William does a better job if there is a forrest fire! Luckily not all of the anthropomorphic forest citizens had so little to say; and although he spoke with a lisp, and seemed to have a strange fixation with Bambi's ass, at least Thumper could hold a conversation. In real time, soon after Bambi, Thumper and the ever-shy and cleverly-named "Flower" hit puberty a torrential downpour hit the city(Chicago, not the hundred-acre wood). And I was suddenly struck with this peculiar desire to hibernate.

The next morning I headed home. Older, wiser and perhaps a little gassy.

Once back in my little neighborhood, I tried to busy myself with worthwhile tasks...like reorganizing the yogurts in my fridge and dusting my matchbook collection. At one point, I went outside my apartment to read and enjoy a Tangerine popsicle. Rico Suave was working the store nearby and when my popsicle imploded on my hand due to the uncharacteristic Wisconsin heat I ran over to see if he might have a napkin. He did, and I noticed he was reading Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul.......(Later I asked a friend if they thought this might be a sign of homosexual tendencies, and she purported that no gay man she has ever known would read that book. Nor would most heterosexual women for that matter.) I complimented Rico on his turquoise ring, and he commented that it was similar to the one I am always wearing. I jokingly asked him if he had been searching through my jewelry box(smooth I know), he replied that he thought we have a lot in common......taste in literature notwithstanding.

Now I am at work trying to be productive........

*The Mars Cheese Castle is a magical roadside establishment whose exterior is modeled after a grand castle, while the interior boasts a grand selection of the finest international cheeses coupled with a small village inhabited by friendly forest creatures. Be sure to look for the large neon sign on your way into Wisconsin-it is definitely something to see.
Note: While I have never actually pulled off the highway to go INTO the Cheese Castle, this is my best guest at what wonders are sure to lie beyond its austere castle-front.

The State of the 2nd Floor Women's Bathroom.

Valued employees,

From the looks of things the second floor women's bathroom will not be reopening anytime today.

While it is typically closed for cleanings between the hours of 2 to 2:30- I regret to inform you that today, this stint will be considerably longer. When en route to your afternoon "potty breaks" please take care to avoid the large yellow cone barricading the door and the even larger wet stain seeping out from under the door itself.

Thank you for your cooperation and sensitivity during these draining times.

Warmest Regards,

L.M. Westchester

Valuable lessons about office...politics.

Today during my annual review I learned an important lesson about office politics-which I hope to impart to you through this entry.....

It all began several weeks ago when "Supervisor M" asked me if I might be able to fill out several award certificates(that she had printed out from a website I provided her with) for our department's upcoming Peer Recognition Awards ceremony. As I was in the midst of dealing with a HUGE, career changing deadline in half the time I had been originally given , I told her that regretfully I would not be able to do it. (Thinking that the task of writing names of a line was something a 5-year-old could do, and that it would not be a problem for her to just ask someone else-maybe one of our data entry people.)

Fast forward to today. Where in a scale of 1 to 4(4 being the best), I scored a 2 in the "Ability to Prioritize" category of my annual review. This being accompanied with a note stating that I had REFUSED to make these certificates for "Supervisor M" and that in the future I really need to learn how to better organize my time.

Then my immediate supervisor told me "Now I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but... newly-promoted "Supervisor M" is a director now and when she, or anyone in her rank asks "us" to do something, "we" really have to do it."

So for those of you who can't see beyond his implication, let me decipher what he was really saying: "When a supervisor asks you to do something-REGARDLESS of how menial-you are to reach for the lube, bend over and let them have their way."

Lesson learned. Guess I better swing by Walgreen's before coming to work next week.

Point of information.

Today I learned a very important lesson about life and human behavior within a cubicle environment:

Without fail, the moment I try to discretely blot oil from my complexion with a Clean and Clear Oil Absorbing Sheet will be the EXACT moment that one of my coworkers will choose to stand next to me in my cubicle and try to talk to me. Thus forcing me to have to quickly dislodge the blotting sheet from my forehead and try to fake an expression of interest-rather than acute embarrassment.

Coworker Blues

I wouldn't go as far as saying that I FEAR the man whose cubicle borders mine(for the sake of posterity, will we call him "Coworker E").....but I certainly don't like him-and I avoid him at all costs.

Here are just SOME examples of why I find avoidance to truly be THE best policy:

Exhibit A
Recently one of the companies that my company represents decided to try and push up one of my deadlines about a month ahead of schedule-thus sending me into a desperate flutter to get everything in order under these new, absurd due dates. Today, I had to revise some of my previous writings for a pamphlet set to go into production tonight; but before I could submit it, I needed to get Coworker E's approval.

I sent my work to him via e-mail; but only after speaking to him in person about this new urgent task and how important it would be for him to work quickly to give me his approval. Then I began the waiting game.

In the meantime I get a phone call from the marketing team asking for my portion of the project, so I told them that I had sent it on to Coworker E and was still waiting on his approval. At that moment E yells over the cubicle wall that he can hear me, and that he didn't know it was so urgent which is why he hadn't gotten back to me.....

Note to self, next time you are on the phone, remember to activate the sound-proofing sheild the company has so considerately installed into the gentle folds of our burlap cubicle walls.

Exhibit B
A while back one of the companies E represents sent E a cheesecake. Fine....for SOME people. But Coworker E was SHOCKED at the fat content within said cheesecake and made EVERY person who passed by his desk guess just HOW many grams of fat were in just one slice . When his urgent queries were met with, what can be best described as a pity-laced "I don't know." He would yell, "27! 27 grams of fat! Can you BELIEVE that?!".

No E, I really can't. But moreso, I can't believe that this would be something the ENTIRE department needed to hear about.


Ok, so maybe these pieces of evidence seem trite, but let me tell you......they're not.

I am very private.......

I was once a fiercely private person, coveting personal information like a treasured gem that only I could hold.....now I have a blog. Don't ask me how a person can go from one to the other so quickly. Call it an evolution of self, or maybe I'm just really narcissistic.

So I guess the first step is coming to terms with my public self-the way I wish to present myself to the masses. Should I cleverly conceal names to protect the innocent and, more importantly, avoid lawsuits? Or should I brazenly record the events of my life revealing all and embarrassing many? HA HA.

Since money is tight-and there's really not that much going on, I will go with the former.

Speaking of money, I am now living on my own in a lovely little apartment in Milwaukee's downtown. So I have been on my own for a few weeks now and I am pretty much settled in. I have a new fish, garage sale furniture(well it's new to me), a new found appreciation for the Rubix Cube, and a new crush on a man who-will come to be known in this blog as "Rico Suave." More on that later.

Branding a Blog

Ok, never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that as a widely-acknowledged(in my own mind) "creative person," that the BEST name I could come up with for my blog would be "Super Secret Rantings." Never. In my own defense, I have never even THOUGHT about titles or legistics....only the fame that was sure to follow-and then the cash.

At first I considered naming my blog "Good news for people who love bad news..." but then I don't even like Modest Mouse, so why rip off something from them? Then there was "Haven of Bliss," a throwback to one of my family's favorite Jerry O'Connell films.

When that didn't work, I panicked and ended up with this.

Anyway, now I am at work, not working-and wishing I was at the beach.

See this blog is ALREADY a show stopper-not even 20 minutes outside of the box.