Conservibal, Libertive... Whatever

I was just thinking about something I heard the other day, drove me NUTS.

(And you know, even great acquaintances can drive ya nuts, hell, I'm lame at times, aren't we all?)

A friend of mine is cheating her federal tax information to keep a state-aided, federal-backed financial benefit. Now, I HEAR her side, and KNOW ALL THE CONTEXT, but I am not cheating. Am I? Hm. I don't "have all the ____ she has in her life," but really. Why am I PAYING MY TAX MONEY, TO HER FED-AIDED PROGRAM, SO SHE CAN WORK LESS AND MAKE THE SAME. Hm.

Almost as bad as the WORST example of our fucked up tax system:
SIUE, 2002, Sociology class (could not have had a better setting). There was a outspoken token brown-haired "would suck dick to get ahead in the political arena" Republican in a J.Crew sweater and an initial-embroidered LL Bean backpack. We were talking about the Food Stamp/LINK Card programs. She raised her hand and said "When I went to U of I, me and my 3 roommates were filling out our financial aid forms, and there was this box 'check if you want to see if you quailify for LINK.' So we checked the box. We all got like $400 a month for food! It was awesome. Like so much food money in one student apartment! It was awesome, because we didn't necessarily need it, but we got it."

Uh. Sure bitch. Sure you didn't need it. Doesn't sound to me like you were a "grants only paid my way" kid who bussed your ass to school. Not to undercut her, but I hated her and that whole BS monologue she spewed out.

Then, a well-spoken, 35 year old black woman raised her hand, "Hi. I have 2 children from a common-law type relationship. I work full time, and pay for baby-sitting, and am trying to get my degree to better my life and the lives of my children. Unfortunately, I get about $270 a month on my LINK card. So what's wrong here? That's for my whole family!"

Then Repub-slut retorts "It's not my problem you had children early." wtf.

Come to think of it, there was another LL Beaner in there, a 45-year-old that was on Unemployment for the EIGHTEENTH MONTH!!! I HAD to say something. "How are you on Unemployment for that long? Get a job some where. I'm bartending to pay for my bills, and I'm still pulling a 3.3 gpa. Why can't you?"

She replied, "Why shouldn't my company pay me still, and if I can get government aid too, why not. There's no way I'll find a job like I had, so I'll just go to school and then I'll look."

GOD PEOPLE!! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IS PAYING FOR YOUR ASS TO SIT AT HOME AND GO TO SCHOOL FOR 8 HOURS?? Who do you think is paying for your Schnucks brand Cream Corn and generic 2-ply so YOU can afford Jack Daniels and Virginia Slim cartons?

Fuck you all.

Sheesh I sound so conservative. I'm not completely. I am all for civil rights movements, therefore will typically vote democrat. AHHHHHHHH

See my dilemma?

Ah. Afternoon thoughts. Delightful.

D

These… Are the Drams of our lives.

Really people. What happened to civil behavior? What happened to things you see in Pride and Prejudice where not responding with “please” and “thank you” got your balls detached?

Tonight was the RSVP VIP party Amanda planned, to continue on with the Creagan birthday extravaganza. Great job, too. Twelve invites, eleven RSVP’s for the 9pm event. She even changed the time to assist the people traveling from out of town. It was to take place at a brilliant vodka bar we all know and love, with a great sushi spread for dinner.

The main group was of course about 5 minutes late, as we should have been, because it was Creagan’s birthday and he needed to arrive stylishly late. “Well, hmm, we're the first to arrive, that’s cool.”

Our server was really nice, and we decide to just get an appetizer and some waters while we wait for the other 6 guests.

And wait. Waiting. Wtf. Waiting for our guests.

By 9:30 we are like “Time for that bottle of vodka we decided on.”

THREE of our requests are returned with a “Um, yeah, we don’t seem to have a whole extra bottle of that to give to you.”

So, here comes the owner, like 45 minutes after our DT’s started and the plethora of sushi was almost gone. “Here” he says, “Dan Akroyd’s new ‘Crystal Skull’ vodka. Half price for your troubles.”

Good boy Derek. Fucking awesome. “But hey, Creagan, that 750ml is going to last like 5 minutes.”

And it does. Goodbye $175.

By 10:30 everyone finally arrives, and I was straight up with them: "Uh, ya’ll. Why do you have a half drank martini from upstairs? Why did you get here, drop your coat, and go upstairs to some other small party? Why did you treat this RSVP private fucking room party like we texted you 20 minutes before the event with no other prior notice?"

RSVP means GET THERE ON FUCKING TIME. SIT WITH THE MAN OF THE EVENING. DON’T HAVE OTHER PLANS THAT COINCIDE WITH ONES YOU RSVP-ed TO. Wow. I along with others was pretty flabbergasted. But we made the most of it. And thank you to Jamal, for the extra bottle hook up! Love that Goose!

We leave there hundreds of dollars poorer, little bit more buzzed, and revved for a night in the ManGrove (Manchester Grove area… I love how this pseudo gay strip is playfully named mangrove, like it’s a men’s playground. Lol)

We do Just John’s, we do Rehab, then we do Novak’s, where party people go to have that extra shot that makes them vomit the whole next day. Actually it’s like the best fucking bar in the city for dancing and fun times. The prior scenario is just the story of MY life every time I go there :(

So the joyful ending to this story was when one of my seemingly brilliant colleagues invites “trouble” out after we’d all been drinking. And of course this colleague decides to do what I term “Start Shit in front of ‘Trouble’.” Why I have no idea.

As my boy toy arrives from a hard nights work, I am mid “BLAH BLAH BLAH DRAMAAA” because some fucking “straight” tool bag just told me I wasn’t his type, which I wouldn't normally care about, but at that point I was stomping around like a little 10 year old that didn’t get the NEW Bratz doll. Then, to add to the fun, “Trouble” decides to ask me “Why Dee!!?? Why does your colleague insist on ruining my night/life?”

So to the side walk I go. I’m over this shit. I’m sorry man friend for ruining your night. Thank you for coming, but I have to go handle some shit. Welcome to the show. Have a seat.

Ahhhhhhhh… To the "Trouble": “I don’t know and please get out of my face.” To the colleague that felt the need to invite them “COLLEAGUE GET YOUR DAMN ASS OVER HERE AND HANDLE THIS.” To the man friend I had just invited “Man friend please come back” :(

Three fucking ring circus if I ever saw it.

Sorry C, Happy Birthday. Hey, ended as I thought: Drunk Drunk Drunk.

To another year! 26!

“I’VE GOT IT!”

YAY! First day off in forever!! Amanda and I took off work this Friday to celebrate Creagan’s birthday, in a sober daytime way, (before the drunken party way like 8 hours later.)

We WERE going to go to our favorite brunch Crepes in the City, but it was a little later than brunch by the time we all got going, so we switch our plans to Caleco’s.

Two problems:
#1 I was still hung over from the night before at Caleco’s when I was accosted by NCAA wrestlers and the coaches that worship them. Thank you Nebraska boys for the vodka and toasted ravs—you made my face feel nice and numb from sweet sweet Goose. Needless to say, upon entering that afternoon, I was worried people would remember me and ask “weren’t you just here when we closed at 3am?”

#2 Any time we go to Caleco’s for lunch you may as well hand us a cocktail on entry. SO, let the games begin.

Lucky for us, this day we only had one… because "Stop 2" was The City Museum.

The City Museum is this recycled ‘Rave Kids’ dream: mirrored mosaics, slides, climbing walls, tiny tunnels leading to secret locations, etc. GREAT place for some 26-year-olds on a beautiful afternoon.

“Hey. Denise. Get in that hole. You can do it. Come on. I’ll cover your ass crack with your giant luggage purse.”

:(

Really. Why me.

“Dee. Get in this tiny hole. You just have to climb down, then climb up this slippery concrete wall, then go over the 10 ft wide barrel Marine style MAKE SURE YOUR BOOBIES DON’T SNAG ON THE PIPES!! It’s easy. You got it. I’ll take pictures.”

“HELP! MOTHER FUCKER! OW MY TIT! HELP ME! I’M STUCK!”

“Dee stop cussing! There are kids around! Where are you!!?? All I see is your left big toe. Why did you wear flip flops anyway?!?”

:( :(

Whatever, I made it. We have some GREAT pictures from this little excursion. However, I have to say, I have so many little bruises its just ridiculous. Long sleeve shirts for life.

The highlight of the City Museum was THE DARE. Amanda was like “hey kids, go up in that tall tower from hell, climb across the welded tunnel that eats thong sandals and Louis Vuitton wallets and spits them out to their death into a large ball pit, and then wait in line to go down the slide with the 10 years olds and their moms that hate us.

OK! GREAT! Come on C, it’s your birthday. It’s a dare. And we’re doing it.

In line was the best: “OW, my fucking feet! We totally wore the wrong shoes to be climbing up the tiny-stepped, death tower!!”

“WELL” says a mom, “Didn’t you read the website? I mean, come on, hu huh huh chuckle chuckle (I’m in Easy Spirit fucking tennis shoes…) It said wear tennis shoes. Poor you.”

Bitch.

So we’re off. UP, ACROSS, and DOWN the welded “tunnel” that spanned the outdoor section of this pee palace. This tunnel was made of quarter inch diameter steel rods welded in a thatch pattern with squares about 4” x 4”, and looked like an arch. “We can do this… Right? … Can we do this? … Should we DO THIS??!”

We started off fine, on hands and knees. When you get to the middle on the arch it’s a little scary. We both got stuck trying to rotate our legs around. Amanda is LAUGHING HER ASS OFF below us as I scream “CREAGANNNNNNNNNNNNN Help me!! Get it!! GET IT!”

“Get what??”

“My flip flop!! I’m holding on to it with my left big toe!! GET IT!!!” Hahaha. Funny funny. Fuckers. We get it. All is well. Then:

“DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! GET IT GET IT!! MY FLIP FLOP JUST FELL!! MOTHER FUCKER! No no no!!” Creagan’s little plaid flip flop was also almost a goner. Alas! Amanda yells “Charles!! It’s right behind you!!” Holy Shit how did it not fall through the holes?? We are soooooo lucky!

So we get over the arch of death, both still with our non-recommended flip flops, and we are now walking on a series of landings waiting our turn for the slide. And all of the sudden, C feels his ass.

“Uh. My wallets gone. Really. Where could it be. And if it is in the ball pit, who WOULDN’T steal a LV wallet?”

and all the sudden..

“I gottttttttt ittttttttt” a little voice shouts.

“What?” “Who said that?”

C and I are quite perplexed.

Then little Lindsay Lu Who from la la land comes off the death arch holding up the LV wallet!! We were like “No. Fucking. Way.”

“It was just setting there! Neat!”

Speechless.

So we both slide with wallets, shoes, and our dignity. Dare this bias!!

"LOUD NOISESSSSSSSSS!!!" -Brick, Anchorman

SHUT UP!!

No, Really, SHUT THE FUCK UP!







To my dearest, first floor neighbors, Rules to live by:

#1 Do NOT give your 3-year-old and 7-year-old children a gaming system!

#2 Do NOT give your children a game for such a system that is all combat! It will be ill-used and "PING PING PING POP POP POP" all damn evening!! Really, it sounded like all the neighborhood kids got the left over bubble wrap and had a bust the bubbles party.

I WAS TRYING TO NAP!! ... i had a big dinner :(

#3 Do NOT wait 75 minutes to say "Hey, QUIET YO ASS!!" When your child is out of line, don't wait forever to say something, but DEFINITELY, do NOT yell out loud! You are now adding to the frustration, to the chaos, to my lost minutes of sleepy Sunday evening bliss.

#4 What's with the furniture being moved all the time?? STOP IT! Just STOP!

#5 ... That shits so loud you didn't even hear when I beat my All-In-One jumbo remote on the hardwood to say "WTF ARE YA'LL DOING!! Fear my remote! Ahhh"

Really people, you confronted at me in the first 5 minutes when I moved into this unit on a Tuesday at 8:30pm, and we were done by 9pm. I am sorry "that you have a toddler," and "needed me to be more quiet" but THEN WHAT GIVES?? You're a noisy bunch that never shuts up from irregular behavior!

Kids are loud, I understand. I do not actually have any of my own, but adults should know better.

Ms. Quiet Pants has 3 shows daily: Beyonce, Areatha, and Jill Scott. Really, is there a recording studio in your bathroom?

And your yelling? Your 7-year-old will ultimately think that's normal: I feel bad for her first significant other. That poor little girl hears it all the time. Maybe that's why they act up so much: Like mommy like daughter.

And my favorite, I save for last--This is a repeat offender too-- "Where's my $6?" says the mommy to the daddy. "I didnt take no $6 out of your purse." "Nah, I know you did. You put that $6 back, NOW." etc....

Oh my gosh. This man got yelled at for 90 minutes one day. I'm not joking. I have witnesses.

My resolution to this? I will not attempt the "beat the jumbo remote on the floor" trick again. No. No. I will put my Mac's speaker toward the ground and blast old skool Metallica for HOURS on full volume. I cannot wait.

Come on, neighbors. I dare you.

Grrr.

D