classyandfancy

You Made Me Realise

2008-09-29T15:14:00.002-05:00

The My Bloody Valentine show was this past Saturday in Chicago at the Aragon Ballroom. It was a phenomenal sensory overload. After some pre-show do-goodery, as in attending an all you can drink fundraiser with my main squeeze where we consumed ten vodka drinks in less than an hour (hey it was for underprivileged South East Asian children), we headed over to the Aragon. The venue, while beautiful in kind of a gaudy oldey timey way, has often let me down in terms of its acoustics and general sound quality. I guess that MBV has some top notch sound engineers (and probably because guitarist Kevin Shields is an uber perfectionist) because from note one the sound was incredible, and not just because it was loud, which it indeed was. The security handed out earplugs compliments of the band, but I resisted their use until the very end. I wanted my ears to experience and unfiltered version of the band that has been with me through my awkward years (which some can say are still going on). They deserved that respect from me.

Is it wrong that I cried when they played "When You Sleep"? Because I did and it was only the second song (my shoegazer cred upped a notch). I rocked out like a crazy hyena during the whole show. Gracing those around me with my fist pumps, diamonds in the sky, shimmying, and incredibly loud clapping (perfected through intense pee wee football cheerleading). We were pretty far back from the stage which was fine with me because a) I didn't have to wear earplugs b) I could see the whole light show and visuals and c)It gave me room for aforementioned shimmying. A guy standing by us said he was impressed that I was so into the show and all I could think was ummm, duh everyone should be so into it, they haven't played for 16 years people! But, that reaction wasn't the case and I would have to say the lowlight of the show was that people were just standing there and didn't seem too enthused. People even left early. EARLY and during an almost 20 minute long rendition of "You Made Me Realise":

Granted, it was feedback heavy, but it was brilliant and noisy and beautiful. I was short of breath after the show and my heart was full.

The THIRTY for my DIRTY THIRTY

2008-08-06T13:39:00.008-05:00

Hey homeboys & homegirls. Party people in the place to be. In keeping with my on-going blog & life lameness as j.gong so enjoys to remind about, I'm giving you my first post in over 2 months! But, dearests, this post will not disappoint for a) It's in easily digestible list form and b) It will give you prime material to make fun of Classy until the next post.

The THIRTY for my DIRTY THIRTY (much thanks to Chicago White Sox player/mascot/goatee bleacher/captain morgan posing Nick Swisher for the phraseology) aka Classy Plans on Packing in Enough Birthday Activity to Blow Your Mind

The following are what I intend to do in honor of my 30th birthday. Not on the actual day, mind you, I'm not that insano, but rather within the 30 days following the momentous day of my birth, today. Here are the first five of the thirty.

1)High Speed Indoor Go Karts
I will organize a group outing a take a trip to Addison, IL for some high octane, full throttle, in your face, XTREME racing. I am a huge fan of auto racing, not that this is anything near the real thing, but I at least hope to have a side car and travel at 3mph with an elderly Asian companion at my side.

2) Cedar Point
In keeping with the race/thrill enthusiast theme, I want to go to Cedar Point if only to ride the Top Thrill Dragster again. I've been there twice so far and I must admit that this park is balls out the best there is in.the.world. Yes, the world, even though I only have the lame ass Six Flags Great America and the almost as lame Kings Island to compare it to.

3)Roy Ayers
See that's me in the crowd JAMMING! Roy Ayers will be at the Country Club Hills Theater on August 23rd and I am going to go all crazy style and let my vibraphone hang out. I love love love going to shows where people are gettin' down and at Roy Ayers I know I am guaranteed to see and partake in some gettin' down with the clown.

4) Chicago White Sox vs. Boston Red Sox
I'm going to this Saturday night's game with some of my dearest family members, friends, and lovahs! I'm 6-0 this season when I'm there to watch, including last night's come from behind 14 inning game capped off by a three run homer by Nick Swisher that knocked in my husband Carlos Quentin and concubine Jermaine Dye. It's also beach night and my Dad plans on wearing a Speedo and stocking the car full of Old Styles for some pre-game callistetics. Lord help me.

5) Golden Corral Buffet
I love buffets in all shapes. They help me maintain my girlish figure. I love the circus that is Golden Corral because you are corralled once you enter and then people fight over the best pieces of meat! They also have Fanta. I plan on having three courses of only carbs and two course of desserts. This will be my first course, and maybe my second.

My Summer JAM!

2008-06-04T15:26:00.003-05:00

MAGIC

Everyone should have a dedicated summer jam and mine folks is the recently released "Magic" by Robin Thicke. When I first heard the track I thought it was an old disco tune & this girl sure loves some disco. The strings and horns and soulful tendencies just have me and even though it's lyrically simplistic, I don't care. A summer jam isn't supposed to make me think, it's supposed to make me move and make me feel good. The music gives me chills and instills me with hope that modern R&B will take a step back to a heyday when live bands played (instead of drum machines), vocals weren't always sung through effects processors (except for that tube processor thing that George Clinton uses, that rules), and that people really felt the music, not just the image.

When You Sleep

2008-05-07T11:04:00.006-05:00

I received notice today that My Bloody Valentine will be in Chicago on September 27th. I thought the day would never come! There had been talks of a fourth album to follow-up their masterpiece Loveless, but we only received snippets of solo and non-MBV material as well as front man Kevin Shield's various collaborations. He contributed to the soundtrack for the movie "Lost in Translation", which for me was the only thing I liked about the movie, but I digress. The original MBV members will be in Chicago! Feedback be upon me!

I find nothing wrong with my plan to buy tickets to this show ~~as well as the NKOTB show~~* when they go on sale this Saturday. It's like my 14 year old and 11 year old selves deciding that it's okay to wear big buttons with Joey McIntyre's picture while also brooding around in my Doc Martins.

* that purchase has already been made thanks to BFF's access to internet presale. We opted for mid-level tickets, close enough to be a part of the action, but far enough away to prevent any rushing of the stage by moi to molest Joey.

It's Time for My Second Career

2008-04-22T17:08:00.007-05:00

I want to be a mascot. Any mascot will do. Some weird ambiguous mascot for a Japanese electronics company? Sure.

I'm the right size 5'2 1/2", so according to my BFF I can claim 5'3". Even though I claimed 5'4" for years on my license and at the behest of BFF, after we took out a tape measure and stood back to back, I had to change my license to 5'3". Most mascot costumes will fit me, so there will be no need to invest in the creation of a new one. All I would ask is that some concoction consisting of Febreze, Spermicidal lube, and Purell be slathered on the inside of the costume and that it be aired out afterwards for at least one week.

I have some cheerleading background, albeit, it was for the Pee Wee football team the Homer Stallions when I was five and six years old, but damnit I was chosen to do the demonstration cheer for the conference championship! I've been raring to go ever since we did a homecoming routine to "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston.

I am a fan and frequent participant of the dance off, which seems to be very popular in the mascotting industry. I have rhythm and when I dance I use all of my appendages. No leg only or just booty/tail shaking dancing from this mascot.

I can make friends with other mascots and we can choreograph phenomenal routines for the Mascot National Championship. My squad would incorporate more Roger Rabbit, Cabbage Patch, and Stripper Slap moves. The final move only being accomplished by the most skilled among us. Maybe we'll even throw in some wicked pyramid formations and show them all what's up.

Don't feel the need to watch mores than 15 seconds of this:

Wait a second, do I still have to be in college to compete? Don't they have a Championship for just your average Mascot? I'm starting to see my dream fade much like Ribbie and Rhubarb, the beloved although sometimes hated Chicago White Sox mascots from 1981-1988.

There's a Mascot Hall of Fame that is just high falutin' as the National Championship. Thank your lucky stars MHOF that you're only virtual right now because you'd have a bunch of pissed off mascots at your doors waving their out of proportion fists and non-screaming at you for being so elitist.

Even with all of these setbacks and the voices in my head telling me not to move forward, the other voices in my head and chanting for me to be A-W-E-S-O-M-E, awesome, awesome, totally (yes, this was a cheer that I did for Pee Wee football) and do it. I'm shooting for the Chicago 2016 Olympics. Cross your fingers that I'm chosen to be Giardiniera, the Italian Beef Shaped mascot.

Cosby Sweaters & Gettin Down

2008-04-02T16:58:00.005-05:00

Last Friday on my way home from work I was invited to see the legendary Ms. Patti LaBelle perform at the Arie Crown Theater. I’d never seen Patti before and had never been to the Arie Crown, so I figured it was about time I do both.

In order to get there in time, I skipped dinner and decided to eat a box of cookies out of my trunk. They were cold and delicious and would provide me with enough sustenance to shake it while standing up in front of my chair.

After walking through the underground maze of a parking garage we finally made it to the Arie Crown marquis, which to my pleasant surprise also read Jeffrey Osborne. Seeing that he was performing made me feel as Cherry Ride would say, “Like a school boy, girl ohh.”

The Arie Crown Theater is in the massive and ever expanding McCormick Place. While they’ve continuously renovated the expo center, the theater itself seems to just be thrown in there. I wish the show would’ve been at the club that Jeffrey is performing at during the “Stay With Me Tonight” video, but the Arie Crown is close to being just 80s enough, just without that awesome neon.

So, Jeffrey, Jeffrey, Jeffrey. I felt like a middle-aged African American woman swooning over him, but that is indeed what I did. We missed half his set, but he packed in the hits while we were there including his hits Holding On (When Love is Gone) and (Every Time I Turn Around) Back in Love Again from his former 70-80s band L.T.D. (Love, Togetherness, Devotion). They must have really like parentheses back then, or just thought people were morons and would confuse the names of the songs all the time.

Here are some other observations of note:

· At one point during the intermission a little old lady dressed in baggy jeans and a County Seat sweatshirt starting dancing in the aisle putting everyone there to shame. Then she whipped out her seeing eye cane and headed to the restroom. The crowd cheered for her even more.

· I was amazed by the sheer number of Cosby sweaters that the male attendees sported. I had no idea that that were made with such quality craftsmanship and able to uphold their luster and brilliance a good 20 years plus after their inception. Oh yes, and some of these sweaters were partnered with Jheri curl dos. I don’t know how I didn’t get pregnant that night.

· Jeffrey Osborne was wearing a muscle tee and we could see his nips.

· Patti LaBelle has hot legs equivalent to those of Tina Turner.

· She started her set out with “New Attitude”.

· Patti told us that Celine Dion’s “If You Asked Me To” was actually her song, but that’s okay because Celine can sing her face off, but for us to not get it twisted.

· Patti kept about ten pairs of shoes on the grand piano eight of which just stayed on display.

· Crowd participation. Jeffrey went out into the audience to have people sing a song and Patti invited three people to come up on stage. People were cheering even the worst singer and giving standing ovations to those that could really blow. This is a key difference I noticed between this show and most of the rock shows I’ve been to, at rock shows there’s really not much of a focus on whether or not the crowd wants to be a part of the action. Then again, many of the bands I like have indecipherable lyrics, which proves difficult for a sing-a-along.

So, overall a great show, one of the best I’ve seen in awhile. I laughed, I yelled, I gyrated, and Patti cried. Who could ask for anything more?

Resurgence: Part I of a Series: Beauty Products

2008-02-06T00:27:00.000-06:00

The following products need to make a rebound for the hope of a happier, healthier, hotter humankind, namely me:

1) Wind Song “Perfume” circa 1982 circa NOW no joke

It all started with a that memorable jingle (well at least for me):

“I can’t seem to forget you, your Wind Song stays on my mind.”

Leave it to a Prince to provide all the sex appeal any woman would need. It’s described as a feminine scent that possesses a blend of florals with fruity, green middle notes finishing with hints of musk and amber. It is recommended for eveningwear. Uh, I don’t need the description or even need to smell it to know that it its flavorful bouquet will bring hotness to another level. Just looking at the bottle you know that any lady that wears Wind Song is getting mad action right when she leaves the house. I mean, those two weird birds on the center of the packaging are about to get it on just from being on the packaging!

The scratch and sniff sticker further supports its extraordinary claims.

2) Aqua Net Hair Spray

Whenever I want to get back into my heyday when I took my softball picture with bangs in the shape of a wave, I think, man do I need some Aqua Net, if only to have it on my bathroom counter to show people I have real street cred. Much like fried blonde haired out on parole chain smoking raspy voiced 45-year-old co-worker Connie that I worked at Bertucci’s restaurant in the early aughties. One day I was at the register and happened upon a gigantic aerosol bottle of purple Aqua Net, I asked another co-worker if it was something that we used to clean the register screens (I thought that made complete sense), they said, no it was Connie’s. She used Aqua Net in between shifts and to blind unruly customers. I believe I would opt for real A’ Net for beautification and this wonderful safe for preventing buglarization of my crown jewels.

3) Dep Gel also known as Dep Mega Gel circa 1992

If it’s good enough for the best selling Barbie of all time Totally Hair Barbie, well then, it’s good enough for me. Just look how beautiful her long luxurious hair is with just a little of that magic goo.

My main question is, who is Barbie’s new girlfriend? She has great hair.

Fine fine fine fine fine

2007-11-27T13:48:00.000-06:00

Say what you want, but "Just Fine" the first track off of Mary J's upcoming album is TIGHT! I'm not sure why it's my current obsession. Is it the ooohs and the chorus that just screams "Make a House Remix of Me!"? Is it that I can't help feeling like this guy:

when I blast it? Is it that it gives me the same fuzzy feelings as MJ's "Off the Wall"? Is it that I've had enough of the sad sappy woe is me music that seems to populate much of my listening history? All right, I'm never going to give up Yo la Tengo's "Decora", but there's a time and place for that (usually in a dark room curled up into a ball crying), and although I do look good in black, right now I don't feel so much like doing that.

Although her hair is a borderline blond version of ANTM's Saleshia/Tootie's 'do, I still dig her, this video, & the song.

Lessons learned from Indiana: Part II

2007-11-06T16:13:00.000-06:00

I had a pretty hellatious few weeks at work, including a 20 hour Saturday, and decided to get out of the city and you know, do some outdoorsy shit. A friend of mine has a cottage in Michigan City, Indiana about a mile away from Lake Michigan and an hour away from Chicago. Since there is usually an open invitation to stay there, I thought that it would be a great way to just chill out, light some fires, and work on my Wicca séances.

A few things I learned on my weekend away:

Detour signs are not a priority in rural areas. The main road off the highway that connects with the farm the cottage was closed and the detour signs seemingly appeared and disappeared. At one point, we took a road that was supposed to take us to the farm, but instead went under a serial killer one-lane viaduct underpass. We kept wandering around aimlessly with the hope that some magical mapping pattern would appear before our eyes. After about an hour we found the place.

The lure of the outlet mall is ever-present, but overall outlet malls suck especially the stores that are there that aren’t even outlets! What’s the point? I say outlet mall trickery! On the first day, we went to the outlet mall and I bought a pair of dope kicks. There really was no need to go there on the second day, but we needed coffee and the coffeehouse just happened to be right across the street from the outlet mall. Nothing was purchased on the second day, but I think we just went to make sure we weren’t missing out on any deals.

I really want to go to more bars in bowling alleys. We didn’t get a chance to go to Backdrafts in the local bowling alley, but all I know is if we did, the people watching and beer selection would have been awesome! I would have totally have had a Michelob and not that Ultra BS.

Playing Mad Libs is incredible, especially when you choose nouns such as balls, boobs, and vaginas. One sentence read, “Not sure where to find the remote? Look in the couch between the balls and next to the vaginas.” Pure sophistication.

There is something about being on a farm that makes you super, almost creepily children of the corn friendly. I found myself grinning like an idiot and waving to strangers just because we were all in the community together. It was strange, but nice, and not something I normally do day-to-day for fear of an ensuing conversation.

Dark woods freak me out. After returning from dinner, an animal was roaming around the wooded entry of the cabin. My first thought was rabid coyote, run! However, it ended up being a really sad dog from a nearby cottage. I was still scared of it because who knows whether or not it was sad because it was bitten by a werewolf or vampire.

There are too many private beach areas on Indiana’s Lake Michigan coast and too many signs telling you that they are such, therefore I want to break into one of the summer homes and throw a party. We talked about how no one is there in the fall and that the homes that are being renovated probably have their alarm systems disabled. Now the question remains, how can I discreetly get the sound system, intellibeams, and DJ Major Taylor to the location?
And from the looks of this picture I'm also going to have robots at the party, so as Tina Turner says, "You better be good to me" if you want an invite.

Blogstinence

2007-10-04T22:50:00.000-05:00

Okay, I almost reach the two-month mark of non-blogging and am a bit concerned. Like, is it true if you don’t use it you lose it? So, I am going to attempt at abusing this mofo like there’s no tomorrow (okay, that’s a lie, but I’ll try to get back to my weekly entries so you (Julie) can at least make fun of me on a regular basis). My life is interesting, yes, but as interesting as it was when I used to go out all the time, increase Miller’s stock, pick fights with those much larger than me, and injure myself? That is up for debate.

I found the following kick ass picture to update you on my life,
I call it “Hollywood Squares, Classy-style without Jim J. Bullock”: Square One: Classy Takes a Nap with Incense
Um, this really didn’t happen. Maybe it should represent that I’ve found some calm in my life? I spent a lot of my time in the not to distant past telling myself that the situations I put myself in were too chaotic, i.e. witnessing tagging turf wars, falling asleep outside a warehouse in Detroit, filing police reports, almost having a tree crash into my tent, feeling like I was trapped in a car dying. All very exciting when I was seventeen, a wee bit too stressful for being the 2-9.

Square Two: Classy Gets a Black Eye
This picture looks like two, but it was really only one. My right eye was hit and cut during a softball game. I’m pretty sure I’ll have a scar under my eye for perpetuity. BFF said that it would match the scar I have under my left eyebrow that I got from my brother chasing me around the yard resulting in me tripping into some concrete steps. Just shows that I am just as coordinated now as I was at five.

Square Three: Classy Pukes Jewels
I wish! Or maybe just to spit them out like Mouth in Goonies. I can honestly say that I can’t remember the last time I puked (check that it was at the Detroit Electronic Music Festival in May), so this doesn’t really update you on my life the past two, but I didn’t draw these pictures so work with me here folks.

Square Four: Um, no comment

Square Five: Classy Raises the Roof
When don’t I? But, I must admit, I do it in a MUCH more animated fashion.

Square Six: Classy Whilst Watching the Chicago Bears
The NO NO should be replaced with WTF are you doing, Unf-inbelievable, and I’m disgusted.

Square Seven: Classy during her Blogging Hiatus
Seriously folks, did you want to hear from this boring ass panda? Just look at me!

Square Eight: Classy Enjoys Wearing a Monocle
Uh, who doesn’t or an eye patch for that matter? I was kind of hoping that my black eye swelled so much that I had to wear an eye patch, but alas it wasn’t in the cards for me.

Square Nine: Classy is still Insane, but the Good Kind of Insane
Especially in San Francisco after drinking buckets of Anchor Steam when I almost got into a fight with the server for dismissing my order (which was most likely very loud slurring) for the Polish beer Zywiec. Classy is later told that maybe her pronunciation of Zywiec sounded similar to “Beeyatch” and hence why the server may have been offended.

I leave you with a parting pic of Classy and Classy’s Dad, re-enacting a, um horror (?) musical in the underground of Alcatraz. Or maybe Dad is just impersonating a wildcat and I'm impersonating a plane, who knows.

The Do’s and Don’ts of Surviving Lollapalooza

2007-08-14T22:32:00.001-05:00

I think it’s pretty telling that it’s taken me over a week to summarize my second Lollapalooza experience, indicative that my going out stamina has drastically decreased over the past year, so much so, that not only did I take two days off after Lolla, but I felt like I needed the whole week off. Granted, Lolla falls on the weekend of my birthday and that’s good reason for me to do it up like nobody’s business, but this year, doing it up involved me feeling like I was constantly in melting and recovery mode. So since I plan on going to Lolla for as long as my two little legs can bring me there (oh wait, even if I have to take a Rascal scooter there, I’m still going), I’ve decided to compile a list of the Lolla wisdom I’ve gained.

1) While a sneaking a flask in full of vodka is a good idea, combining the contents of that said flask with smoothies from the Maui Wowi stand, and killing its contents over a two-hour period is not wise. Pacing is crucial for maximum music appreciation.

2) Once the smoothies dry out switching to Budweiser (since it was the only choice besides wine, and seriously who drinks wine at an outdoor fest?) will only lead to you having to go to the bathroom every second. Although I was feeling really good, all I remember about the Saturday night headliner Muse was their wicked light show and a séance (see #9).

3) Speaking of bathrooms, make sure you bring wet wipes with you and do not under any circumstance use the bathrooms on the final day of the fest. I cannot attest to their condition on the final day because I decided to reduce my liquid intake on the final day only to what I needed to survive and sweat out in order to avoid stepping anywhere near those vile plastic tombs.

4) Don’t wear any clothing that you value or plan on wearing anytime in the near future, especially shoes. I sweat through all of my clothing (super hotness that I am). For some reason, Buckingham Fountain, which is the center of the fest and the pathway between the two main stages, is surrounded by some lovely pink gravel and dirt. Not only does this cause hundreds of thousands of people walking to create wonderful dust clouds, but it covers your feet and/or shoes with its loveliness as well. Wearing flip-flops seems like a good idea, except I still don’t think my feet are clean.

5) Don’t slam dance to Daft Punk or I may kick you in the balls or lady nugget. Yes, the Daft Punk show ruled and who knew that robots could re-create the feeling of being at a rave circa 1995, but we are all here trying to go crazy without bruising one another.

6) Don’t dance in a packed crowd with a backpack on that is the same size as a jet pack. And really, is it necessary to dance all spastic when you are listening to Pearl Jam? I’m all for rockin’ out and showing some props, but calm down, please.

7) Do put sun block on your face and reapply frequently. I would hate to see another poor dude with reverse raccoon eyes in the shape of his Oakley sunglasses.

8) Don’t attempt to eat pad thai while walking. Yes, I’m the genius who decided that sticky noodles were appropriate fair food. Stick with items in wrap or bun form or on a stick.

9) Don’t join in on any séances no matter how good of an idea it seems. Dancing around with a group of strangers in a circle to Muse and participating in some kind of Muse cheer is something I can say I did, but not with a huge sense of pride. I’m all for bonding over music, but I really shouldn’t touch strangers both for my sake and theirs.

10) Do make sure that you have back up sweat towels. I have no idea how my solitary sweat towel lasted all three days last year considering I was swinging it through the air and swooshing it between my legs, but this year my sweet sweet towel didn’t last the first day. For the rest of the weekend I was left to wipe my sweat on the nearest unsuspecting victim.

What does this say about me?

2007-07-27T01:04:00.002-05:00

I found this Japanese packaging label on a random Google images search about a year ago. While I am a sucker for Japanese products and advertisement, I am wondering why I saved this little strawberried headed lassie to my precious I-Photo library. That programs' rolls should be reserved for something useful, right, like the latest pictures of celebrity spawn and the like. Or for pictures of me getting my groove on. Or for pictures of me at sporting events. This precarious save makes me question all that I hold dear. Check that, it makes me question if my randomness will one day get the best of me and leave me with bunch of imaginary fruit/meat/vegetable headed and panda robot friends, which on the surface seemingly rules, you know with their ability to cause havoc and protect me from wilde beast, but in the end will leave MUCH to be desired.

IndianUH-HUH

2007-07-09T23:38:00.000-05:00

I experienced the Indiana Dunes for the first time of my life. Really, this doesn’t make much sense given that I pretty much grew up and lived an hour away from them for most of my illustrious existence. Childhood vacationing was reserved for the state of Wisconsin.

While I appreciate all that the Wisconsin Dells has offer, especially the Ducks (I see a hawk in that rock formation! We are in a car that magically transforms into a boat!) and Xanadu (RIP) the foam house that I never actually got to visit. As we drove by it, I looked at it longingly just wanting to touch it and maybe roller skate inside it, which honestly, I don’t think would be allowed given that foam is malleable and disco skating figure eights would compromise the home’s integrity. There were other spectacular highlights as well, like the wooden smoke shop Indian and that house where everything is on a slant and the water runs crooked, but it’s really straight.

Seriously, I love the Dells and want to go back there as one day, maybe on my honeymoon with James Franco.

So, Indiana Dunes! Beautiful, uncrowded, and bright. I ran up and down the sand dunes like a little girl and through switch grass which made some nice lashing marks up and down my legs that have yet to heal. Oh yes, and the Dunes are full of Eastern Europeans (EE’s)! Not just any Eastern Europeans, but young portly men wearing speedos! Mauve speedos. I was a bit frightened but not enough to not stare and approach them with awe and wonder.

Okay, so I needed some keg cups for my brews and didn’t have the foresight to bring them with me to the beach, I noticed that the EEs were amply prepared for some serious good times with a huge inflatable boat (which they almost capsized, heehee), a beach tent, an arsenal of coolers, and the coveted red Solo cups. I approached, and after an awkward exchange of pleasantries and extreme focus on my part to avoid any unnecessary man “candy” clouding my field of vision, the cups were in my possession.

I then discovered that Steely Dan’s “Aja” is great beach music and was ready to experience beach chillin’. Super genius that I am I spent almost five hours of peak sun time without wearing sunblock. I now look like Fruit Stripe gum and I have the pleasure of experiencing my boobs peeling (not my entire boobs, just the part I let the general public see for free)! Overall, the Dunes (with the exception of injury, but then again that is a general rule with me) receive an endorsement for their beauty and people watching opportunities, but I’m still planning that honeymoon* with Jimmy at the Dells. *Yes, you are all invited, we'll take some oldey timey sephia toned photos together in a Model T, AWOOGAH!

Viva U.S.A.!!!

2007-06-26T00:35:00.001-05:00

For my first professional soccer, check that first soccer game ever, I seriously lucked out. Not only was it the Gold Cup Championship game at Soldier Field, but also the U.S. vs. Mexico. It could have been Canada vs. Guadeloupe and I would have been torn about whom to cheer for and there would have potentially been some pseudo-Frenchies around. I would have wanted to try out my awesome French skills and taken on my persona of Sylvie (no, she doesn’t wear a beret) and while fun and all to think about, I think reality had an extra special treat for me instead. This treat was in the form of being able to pump my fists and scream “U.S.A. U.S.A.” at the top of my lungs, almost having fifteen heart attacks during goal attempts, being so enthralled with the game that I didn’t leave my seat during the half for a churro, and participating in a wave with 60,000 people. In conjunction with all of these things happening I got to see the U.S. team win the match 2-1!

There were also huge sombreros and Mexican wrestlers. There were people who obviously put a lot of thought into their outfits for the day including the two ladies that had matching American flag material dresses fashioned from the highest quality pillow material to be found at your local craft store to the family of Mexico fans that spray painted their hair green.

Besides the people and game watching, there was also the little pinch o’ fear that I felt towards the end of the game being surrounded by a gaggle of inebriated Mexico fans. We were definitely outnumbered given the sea of green jerseys surrounding us and I am glad that we decided against the face paint and that I never found that Hawaiian shirt with a bald eagle battling the chupacabra (and yes, the bald eagle likes to wear suits and has hands).

I only ended up with a beer being thrown at me and really, how is that any different than any other day? At the end of the game, I smelled like a Saturday night, but it was a Sunday afternoon and I wasn’t even drunk! Damn you people, I would have been more pissed about the situation a) if I was drunk and b) if I didn’t want anything to ruin what I consider the ultimate highlight of the whole day, confetti cannons!! Isn’t it glorious?

Oh yeah, and even though his hair line is super receding and he takes pictures like this, Landon Donovan did score one of the goals for the U.S. and is still super smokin’.

Part II of: Do you really want to know these things?

2007-06-13T12:56:00.000-05:00

Here's my go at it. I'm not sure if you will find me more intriguing or wish you never knew me.

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place.

Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.
1) Whiskeymarie
2) FeistyMnGirl
3) What Greg Likes
4) A Blog of a Good Time
5) Classy (c'est moi!)

Select five people to tag:
Cherry Ride
Dr.Ken
5of9er
Anaesthetised Aussie
Loaf

What were you doing 10 years ago?

Finished my freshman year at NYU and moved back to Chicago. Started a job at the Museum of Contemporary Art where I served Tommy Lee Jones a Pilsner Urquell and worked one day at the Ghiradelli Chocolate Shop. Promoted underground parties and bought a 71 VW Squareback.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Oh boy, good times. Quit my job, quit grad school, broke off an engagement and moved back to Chicago from Ohio.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1) Jays Hot Stuff Chips
2) Peanut M&Ms
3) Injera (I sometimes eat it without anything else and eat it so quickly that I always get hiccups)
4) Greasy Sesame Balls from the Chinese bakery
5) Cheese Combos

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to:
1) "William, it was really nothing"- The Smiths
2) "1 Thing"- Amerie
3) "The Jumpoff"- Lil' Kim
4) "Another Morning Stoner"- And you will know us by the trail of dead
5) "Twisterella"- Ride

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1) Let my parents retire early.
2) Go to every Chicago Bears game. Hang out at the Cadillac Club, eat at the buffet, get on the jumbotron.
3) Be a spectator on the European leg of the World Rally Championship.
4) Buy a roller rink and stock the dj booth with the best tunes evah! No roller blades or douche bags allowed.
5) Buy a Mitsubishi Evolution & Subaru WRX Sti
-I would do other noble things, really I would! But, I figure, I've dedicated the last 10+ years of my life helping people so I'm due for some comeuppance, right?

Five bad habits:
1) OCD
2) Getting sucked into to marathons on VHI & MTV
3) Road rage
4) Drunk rage
5) Stream of consciousness

Five things you like doing:
1) Dancing
2) Being random
3) Hangin' with my homies
4) Finding new music
5) Eating fried foods

Five things you would never wear again:
1) My seafoam green dress that I wore to a Turnabout Dance my freshman year of high school.
2) I will never live this one down: My 2005 World Series Champion White Sox long sleeve shirt with jeans and cowboy boots.
3) My orange jeans from my underground party days. They weren't Cross Colors, but they might as well as have been.
4) Blonde hair
5) Platform gym shoes ( I know I'm short and everything, but really, what was I thinking?)

Five favorite toys:

1) Get Along Gang Clubhouse Caboose
2) The Sprinkler
3) Those puzzles on the tables at Cracker Barrel
4) Baseball Glove
5) Monchichis

PART I of: Do you really want to know these things?

2007-06-12T16:51:00.000-05:00

***

My frenemy, Ms. Julie Gong, in an attempt to get me to blog more and stop being so boring, has enlisted me in a little game of tag. I decided to tag my best blog friends as well (see below). At present, I don't have the time to really do the task justice, but in the next day or so I will bestill upon you the wonderfulness of knowing these random factoids about me. In the meantime, bloggy friends, get to work!

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.

1) Whiskeymarie
2) FeistyMnGirl
3) What Greg Likes
4) A Blog of a Good Time
5) Classy (c'est moi!)

Select five people to tag:

Cherry Ride
Dr.Ken
5of9er
Anaesthetised Aussie
Loaf

What were you doing 10 years ago?

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Five snacks you enjoy:

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to:

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:

Five bad habits:

Five things you like doing:

Five things you would never wear again:

Five favorite toys:

*** It's a tag of a panda, get it?

What's With All the Hubbub You Losers?!?!

2007-06-06T16:48:00.000-05:00

http://www.cbs2.com/video/?id=41024@kcbs.dayport.com

So, people are freaking out about the London 2012 Olympics logo. I, for one, think it's pretty awesome. It makes me want to breakdance. It makes me want to pole vault in parachute pants. It makes me want to go back to London and attempt to do some graffiti on the tube.

There's word that the video/commercial is causing epileptic seizures. Didn't Pokemon do that at one point?

All right, I know it cost a pretty penny to create the branding campaign, but get over it. The decision has been made, the design is done, and I'm sorry if you don't get/like it. Things don't have to be ultra slick and high design to be good (or include the union jack). If they are targeting a younger market with the current logo (as the news says), well then designers, you've hit your target with this little lady.

Campus Ladies, How I Miss Thee . . .

2007-05-22T15:48:00.000-05:00

I know this is late news for those in the know, but I was just reminiscing* about the Campus Ladies show and damn it I miss it! Curses to you Oxygen network for not renewing it. It seriously was the only show in recent memory that I would look forward to watching. Maybe I loved the show because I had the glimmer of hope that I would one day be a Campus Lady, making my own clothes from Jo-Ann Fabrics (or Hancock Fabrics), going heavy on the blue eyeshadow and hair spray, and creepily obsessing over guys at least twenty years younger than me. Wait a sec, I can do all of these things now! All hope is not lost. But, seriously, now my days are spent hoping that an America's Next Top Model Marathon will come on VHI.

*not that I'm on a Fergie kick or anything, but doesn't that one line in "Glamorous" sound like she says "reminiscing on days when I had a Moustache"? That would be so much better than a Mustang.

Gloria! Gloria! I think you DO have my number.

2007-05-04T20:42:00.000-05:00

Thanks bro for bringing this back into my little corner of the world. How could I have failed to give Kids Inc. the props it's due? The music, the dancing, the Martika, and the fashion, oh the fashion!

I think I experienced the temporary block due to my bitterness about not ever trying out for the show. Ladies and gents, I would have OWNED that show. Spastic dancing? Check. Off tune covering of the current 80s hits? Check. Hair just begging to be ratted and bangs to be placed and sprayed into a wave like formation? Check. Oh man, I would have dated Mario Lopez and been able to ride his tank topping, parachute panting, jheri curling, zippered jacketing coat tails for the rest of my life.

I indeed am the new sensation all around the nation.

P.S. I can't f'in believe that that's Fergie, oh wait, yes I can she's still as awful as ever

Good Enough . . .

2007-04-27T11:35:00.000-05:00

To all- Thanks for sticking around. Classy has what Peter Bjorn & John would call writer's block. That, and nothing too interesting is happening in my life. No monkeys, no injuries, no chacherellis. I must admit, I'm really quite snoreable.

I promise to get my act together and amaze you with all of my ridiculousness.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with this nugget of good times.

Here's Where the Strings Come In

2007-04-18T00:25:00.000-05:00

* And no, I didn't block comments for fear that the gongster would have a field day. Blogger was all bojangled. Thanks kadonkadonk for the heads up!

My Grandma used to give me a few bucks to go down to the corner store and buy her a pack of smokes. Why the cashier thought it was completely normal for a six year old to buy cigs is beyond me. All I knew was that by running the errand I would be guaranteed glorious candy as a reward.

And, it was just any type of candy, it was the best kind of candy around, nickel candy from huge plastic tubs. Flying Saucers, Swedish Fish, jelly coins, wax soda bottles with diabetes inducing liquid inside (which I just realized today were called Nik-L-Nip, man, that is durrrty, but I believe it is completely acceptable to dress up as the set for Halloween), Bit-O-Honey, and candy dots (and yes, I would eat the paper they came on in addition to the sugar nips).

So, I would walk back to my grandparent's house, brown kraft bag in tow, with a pack of smokes rolled into my sleeve, (okay, that's not really accurate, but how cool would I have looked?) in my hand me down clothes from my brother. I realize now that I looked ultra cool back in the day in boy clothes, but at the time I cried at Sears for fear that I would have to wear Toughskins.

Look at these ads! Holy crap. Look how happy they are in their Toughskins! Look how dapper they look in their leisure suits. I want to dress like that now and want to get to know better the adult counterpart of either tot in ad #2.

Upon my arrival, my Grandma would make me Maruchan Chicken Ramen/Heaven and I would watch the mini hour glass timer count away the minutes until I would have one of the most delicious meals in memory.

Snow Wrong

2007-04-04T15:13:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Cherry I have developed an addiction to Corbis. I use it for work and for my general entertainment. The above photo falls in the general amusement category. Now, when would one ever use this for any type of advertising or report? Would it be used for pamphlet entitled, "When your child is in need of shock therapy?" or "How to trick a young 'un to look at your business?" (close your legs people!) or "You know you are in Europe when?" (look at the loafers, 'nuff said) or "Pizza Hut outdoor seating reserved for hipsters only."

Some other questions, who came up with this shot? What was their inspiration? Who are her parents? How much did the little girl get paid? Where can I buy that kick ass Snow White doll?

Granted, I created my fare share of chaos in the world of Barbies and Teddy Ruxpin. With the former being turned into men/amputees/drowning and the latter getting his eye poked out (try to read me a story now, buddy). But, my parents did not document the abuse for fear that they would no longer have a child in their home that would cry when Kiss came on TV, that would eat sticks of butter, and that would do choreographed routines to the Cheers & Law and Order (oh so jazzy) themes. There would have been a void in their household.

Apparently, unlike TLC, I wanted a scrub

2007-03-27T22:11:00.000-05:00

Since Chicago had a recent heat wave that has again been crushed by the good ol’ cool front I am going to take back a recent resolution I made. Not too long ago when it was a billion below zero out I headed over to see my fake husband DJ Major Taylor at was I considered THE place to be on a Saturday night, Tuman’s. Now, I know people liked it much better when it had the sign that said “The alcohol abuse center” and you could get most drinks for under two bucks, but back in those times, although there was a kick ass juke box, there was no Major Taylor. And, Major Taylor is all I need to make my Saturday night sweatastic.

Well, on said below zero night, I was shaking my groove thing with my ladies, got my back, and by back I mean back, booty danced upon by a giant man who said that BFF and I were married to one another (snore, I’ve heard that before), and ended the night there with some Toto “Africa”. I was sweating like I was in Barbados (is it hot there?) and we decided that the night was not over. We headed over to the Continental, which is open until 4am and down the street from Tuman’s. It is kind of like the hipster Tai’s, one of my friend’s stole a super duper candle holder from there for me during another OCD night.

While walking towards the Continental I thought I was going to die from the shakes and lo and behold an SUV drives by slowly and honks its horn. Now, like normal I shouted back to the honkers, but unlike normal, I shouted something that I had never said to a drive by honker, “Hey, give us a ride.” Now, did anyone else I was with have the presence of mind to think, hmmm, we are getting into a car with some strangers who may or may not take us to our destination? No, we were all freezing our balls off! We hop in the back and as they begin driving I start opening and closing the back door and say, “I am going to roll out of this thing!” The guys kept saying I was crazy (snore, I’ve heard that before) because I probably tried to do it at least three times. They find parking by the Continental and we leave the car. They never head into the Continental, we got our ride, but too bad the Continental sucked and BFF almost got in a fight with a miniature bald guy.

Was it worth almost dying for? ‘Fraid not. The next day we made the resolution to never take a ride from a stranger again. But, you know what? It’s cold again, I like seeing my fake husband as often as I can, and don’t like my nights to end at 2am, so, potential ax murderers, I may be willing to roll out of your vehicle if you are so inclined.

OCD Thievery Corporation

2007-03-19T23:39:00.000-05:00

I am not sure why, but whenever I am hitting the sauce my OCD is accelerated ten fold. It doesn't help that I now own a dope digital camera that aids me with documenting the accomplishment of the OCD tasks I am hell bent on accomplishing.

Theft #1: St.Patty's signs taped to the bathroom stall

Why? I mean, they are pretty cool looking and it helps that I have a big purse to place the items in, but really am I going to ever put these things up again?

Theft #2: A child's headband

It was just sitting on the table just waiting to be stolen. With a little stretching out I was way ready to get in shape, girl. I was also ready for some karate chops & judo chops and some sweet 80s poses.

Theft #3 & 4: Balloon Hat & Elfkins

One of my sole missions of the day (well, it was decided upon once I saw these kids running around with balloon art) was to have a balloon hat made for me. After many beers and eating a few plates consisting of a head of cabbage, potatoes, and Edy's mint bits I was ready to to approach a quite girthy man in a green suit who was a balloon maestro. There was no line! But, it was not meant to be, he was going to make a sash (c'mon a sash!) for a middle aged man and then was done for the day. I HAD to have a balloon hat! I started rolling on the ground and threw a tantrum. That didn't help. So, I decided to see if there were any children that left their balloon wear unattended. No luck, none of them were drunk enough. Finally, I was able to get a hold of a leftover remnant of a sword and a friend of mine found another remnant in the bathroom. I fashioned a hat which now to me looks a little bit like a man's no no part.

The ultimate steal of the day has to be my two Irish elfkin friends. Aren't they the coolest? I spotted the little lady on the women's bathroom early on at the engagement. My OCD theft sensor was on full blast. Look at that bonnet! How I would kill for it! I wanted to steal it immediately, but there was an official looking guy in front of the bathroom with a name badge on for goodness sakes that would have surely ejected me from the fun times. After the festivities were over I was greeted with the best gift of the day, BFF stealthily grabbed a hold of my dear bonneted harp playing friend* and snatched her off the door for me! Head on hands resty elfkin was spotted out of the corner of my eye and I knew my day would not be complete without the pair. I spent the rest of the day introducing my knew friends to anyone who would listen, actually I would make them listen, and would whip them out of safe keeping from my bag. I am sure they were very pleased to meet them.

*unfortunately the little lady received an amputation that detached her from her harp later on in the day

Irish-ish?

2007-03-14T16:24:00.000-05:00

I headed to the South Side of Chicago on Sunday for my first South Side Irish Parade. I had heard about all the craziness that happened during the event and I was game on for it. I prepared myself for projectiles and paddy wagons. I really wanted to hang out with this lovely lady. But, alas, it did not happen. By the time the parade route was near to where I was enjoying some pre-parade frivolities I had mud smeared on my face and I was sitting on the sidewalk in front of a random house in the neighborhood.

I did accomplish my own bit of "mayhem" nonetheless. I marveled at the fifteen pounds of corned beef, chased someone around with a lawn sign and broke it over their back, completely ruined my arm throwing some awesome TD passes, ripped my new hoochie momma shirt, and struggled to keep the bathroom door closed. I hung out a lot with a twelve year old and we totally schooled his dad and uncle at basketball.

This weekend I'm straight up VIP for a hotel party. I'm going to lift my pinkie when I drink out of the mini stein around my neck. I am going to curtsy when introducing myself to plush leprechauns. Then I am going to ask for a piggy back ride with the hopes that said ride will lead to some molestation of him/her/it.

Hope your celebrations are keen!

I clearly suck

2007-03-03T08:28:00.000-06:00

Ms. Gong will be the first one to agree with me. With going to London, coming home, not realizing how I got into a Jeepers Creepers Ford Bronco, going to a Chinese New Years party and sleeping in a nine year old's bed, and finally contracting whooping cough or something equally as sinister for the past week, I have been completly lax and brain dead, thus unable to keep you up to date on my going ons. Please forgive me, I know not what I do. Actually, I do, and that's the bad part.

So, for today I leave you with some highlights from London:

1) Our hotel wouldn't let us check in because they claimed to have never worked with United Airlines. I just think our fine hostess Vladimira was a wee bit confused.

2) Wandering around the first night there and finding the Lloyd's Building. Initially, we thought it was a building under construction, but were intrigued by it being all lit up quite strategically. I later came to the conclusion that that thing is straight out of Blade Runner.

3) I learned a new pickup line. Instead of saying, "Well, hello, what's your name?" You instead pick a feature of the person and highlight it like so: To a hunky man wearing an ipod, "Well, hello, ipod much." To a hottie with the unfortunate fate of having a girlfriend, "Well, hello, get rid of your girlfriend much?" Not that I actually used any of these lines to people's faces, it was more like I said them as they were walking by.

4) It is very easy to fall into a British accent. Mine is a very bratty one much like Veruca Salt's from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I kept messing with my brother when he would accidently speak with a accent and say, "Excuse me, I can't understand you?" There was also a point in during the trip where we were walking around Kensington and I was remarking on all the beautiful abodes and I cracked my brother up by saying in my Veruca tone, "I want to live EVERYWHERE!!"

5) Cobra Beer kicked me right on my ass. Okay, so maybe I shouldn't of had this many.

6) Never trust Time Out London to offer you the most up to date information. My brother found a listing for a store called Trainer'd in the Stable Markets on Chalk Farm Road, Stall number 539, that seemed right up my alley for I was jonesing for a sweet pair of Nikes. Not only did the stalls not have numbers on them that were prominently displayed, after walking up and down Camden we finally found stalls in the 500 range. We found 539, but all that were inside were track suits. I wasn't in the mood to join the highly publicized Spice Girls reunion tour and when my brother asked the shop's salesperson if Trainer'd was indeed at the stall, he told us it closed in November.

7) After walking what seemed like the entire city in two days all I wanted to do was amputate my feet. I also wanted to exterminate them, but for some reason that didn't make a ton of sense.

8) Meeting Meaning of Loaf and his coworkers was a joy. What was not a joy was mixing Magner's Cider and hefty amounts of Carlsberg lager. I took lots of pictures after the debaucle, didn't remember we took a cab home, and apparently LOVE taking pictures of myself in motion shots while falling down on the bed.

9) It is okay to steal a teenager's bag if you give him ample time to pick it up from the bus station.

10) My brother wants to decorate his whole home like the London Dungeon. Not to my tastes, really, but if that Sweeney Todd townsguy/actor can be tricked to hop a plane over to the States believing it's his second home due to my brother's keen designing style, I'm all for it. I promise to pick up as many moldy stones, chains, and bats as necessary.

I've been gone for a minute now I'm back at the jump off . . .

2007-02-22T15:24:00.000-06:00

What's up my friends & frenemies? Did you miss me blind? I was going to post that video, but it is totally snorable. Boy George neither dances nor lip syncs in it, so whatever.

I am back from my fabulous journey and have lots to share. I remembered most of it. Keep checking back. I heart London.

I also have a new obession. My new kicks that I purchased at a totally ruling store called Office. A whole adventure was undertaken in order to finally get them, thank you bro for putting up with my OCD:

My transformation into M.I.A. is almost complete.Well, except that I'm not a rapper, not from Sri Lanka, and not that militant.

CHI to LDN the Countdown Continues

2007-02-13T12:49:00.000-06:00

As if I wasn't pumped enough already, here's one of my all time favs from the U.K.! I envision that in 2 days my brother and I will be acting much like the two kids in the oversized late 80s drobe. We do dance in a similar manner and I believe that I've had a lot of practice as a backup screamer/rapper.

CHI to LDN the Countdown Begins

2007-02-10T15:14:00.000-06:00

This is going to be me very shortly. Just replace Manchester with London and add a dark haired ambiguously Asian bike rider/stalker behind Moz. Can someone say stoked?

Do you understand my sadness?

2007-02-05T15:37:00.000-06:00

You might if you were born and raised in Chicago and had to witness the complete and utter disappointment that was the Superbowl.

I didn't cry, but almost did while thinking about my Dad. He was completely ecstatic when the Bears won the NFC Division Championship. When I talked to him on the phone that day he said, "Thank you Classy for moving back to Chicago and bringing the Bears a victory today." I can only imagine how devastated he was after the loss yesterday.

I almost gave myself diabetes after gorging on Bears cupcakes and cookies from Dinkel's bakery at the conclusion of the game. I gave myself an orange frosting Tony Dungy-style dirty sanchez. It was a perfect ending to my day.

So, the Bears colored nails will be eradicated with acetone later today, my Keep the Ball in the Fridge 1985 classic tee will go into the wash for the first time in weeks, and my orange rain boots will go into storage.

Here's to waiting for another over half of my life . . .

Is It Really So Strange?

2007-02-01T19:48:00.000-06:00

1. That I’ve eaten two packs of saltines in two days?

2. That I am so sports superstitious that I almost used my Chicago Bears rally towel to
preserve my funk from the winning game I witnessed?

3. That I’m addicted to Trident White gum?

4. That sometimes when I drive or play softball I pretend I am chewing gum?

5. That I usually don’t leave the house without eyeliner on?

6. That I like reading my free subscription to Seventeen magazine for its fashion tips?

7. That I think my Ipod can sense my mood whilst in shuffle?

8. That I get a hand car wash at least once a week?

9. That I want to use the word indubitably more often?

10. That I’m infatuated with these things?

11. That I’m leaving for London in less than two weeks and have nothing really on my
itinerary?

12. That I made this list?

My Goodies My Goodies

2007-01-24T23:14:00.000-06:00

When is it appropriate for a lady to use the restroom outside? Well, there were at least two occasions in 2006 where I felt it was completely appropriate:

1) After meeting my BFF during the last leg of a bachelorette party, where in order to catch up with the crew, I was fed drinks like it was going out of style (always a good idea), my BFF and I decide to head over to a house party at Dr. Ken’s. We had no clue what the exact address was and kept telling the cabbie over and over again that we weren’t at the right place (which actually was right across the street from us). After getting out of the cab, we began to walk in the completely wrong direction wandering aimlessly up and down the block. At this point the liquor pain on the bladder train began a rollin’ and since I didn’t know when we would see anything that would resemble facilities, I went with the best option out there for me, the alley. I ran over next to the dumpster and by golly felt some sweet relief.

During this time BFF was still trying to find the party. I ran out of the alley refreshed and immediately tell her that I just peed in the alley. I felt as if it was a great accomplishment that must be shared with the world.

2)It was by sheer luck that I came across who would soon become one of my favorite DJs, DJ Major Taylor, one night at the weekly dance party at The Hideout. It was love at first note. I danced the night away and shut down the joint. For some reason I didn’t have the presence of mind to actually use the bathroom before I left, and by the time we ventured out to the car I was ready to unleash a significant amount of Miller Lite on my pointy hipster shoes. There were no alleys to be found for The Hideout is on a pretty solitary industrial road, hence the name. My only option? A planter with a weird steel sculpture in it. The squat was upon me and I can remember telling my friends, “You better not be looking at my business!” I said this at least three times to them, mind you, and this was a pretty quick expulsion experience.

So, my friends, there goes some of Classy’s classiest outdoor urination moments! I am so pleased I could share them with you!

I Don't Want This Day to End!

2007-01-21T23:33:00.000-06:00

It was an unbelievable game. I am afraid if I go to sleep I will wake up and find out it didn't happen. I laughed. I cried. I almost broke the bench at the bar. I gave out a lot of high fives. I danced to "Whoomp There It Is" and "Miami" by Will Smith. I sent a response text to my friend from New Orleans that said I was going to punch her in her baby maker. I told everyone that I want to marry the NFL on Fox robot.

I'm Not Here To Start No Trouble

2007-01-13T11:34:00.000-06:00

Update Trois: I am pissed at Dr. Ken. Well, okay, not pissed, just jealous. I didn't get any takers on my offer. Oh well, my kid is going to be damn cute. You'll be sorry.

Update Deux: I will give up my first born hermaphrodite for tickets for this Sunday's NFC Championship Game against the New Orleans Saints.

Update!!!!! CHICAGO BEARS win 27-24 in Overtime!
Classy is there to see it & almost has seven heart attacks!

How psyched am I that the first Chicago Bears game I will ever go to is this Sunday's playoff game against the Seattle Seahawks! Yesterday, I received a phone call late in the afternoon from one of my friends who told me that they had just released a block of tickets on Ticketmaster. I frantically went on the website, put in many permuations of Zs or 2s or Ls or Is, so many so that my head was spinning, but I couldn't stop typing and reloading the page. I NEEDED a ticket. I finally achieved success and am the owner of a pretty decent ticket near the goal line two sections up. I have to sit by myself, but it ain't no thang. I am going to have one hell of a frozen ass super fantastic super duper fan time. I am going to wear my orange rain boots and am going to start tailgaiting at 8am, so maybe you'll see me on tv. Wait, you will definitely see me on tv.

C'mon Party People

2007-01-11T10:00:00.000-06:00

This is the place to be: The Liars Club

Through collaboration with some of my blogger buds, 5of9er, Cherry Ride, & The Gancer, we welcome you into our warped minds. We rule. Read on and deal with it.

Sincerely,

Hit 'Em Up Style

2007-01-09T00:02:00.000-06:00

I don't have the energy to complete my post,
so friends I leave you with this teaser . . .

Wanting to Give Wendy O. Williams a Run for Her Money

2007-01-02T22:13:00.000-06:00

Well, if she was still alive . . .

The Raconteurs show did not start out well and maybe it was a sign of the overall tone of the evening to come. My BFF was told she had to check in her camera at the door. This is a total insano idea and on top of that she would have had to pay ten dollars to do it. So, she had to go home to drop off her camera and come back.

Part I of the debacle:
There’s a secret bathroom on the first floor of the concert venue the Riviera. It is very convenient and not nasty at all. Very spacious. I could take a nap in there. But, I don’t because I am a quick bathroom user. Keep this in mind as I proceed. The Raconteurs show is over and we are hanging out with one of our buddies who is a security guard named Godzilla. Can I just tell you how much I love nicknames? I wish I had one. It is because of Godzilla that I can use the secret bathroom because he has my back. So I am using the bathroom for a total of less than two minutes and my BFF is waiting outside of the door. I am washing my hands when I hear someone say the following:

Mystery Woman: Is that your friend in there?
BFF: Yes
Mystery Woman: Well, is she handicap because if she isn’t she is gonna be when she gets out of there.
BFF: Well, she’s only been in there for two minutes and you’ve been standing here for 30 seconds.

I open up the door, storm out and say, “So you are gonna make me handicap?” and walk away. I was pissed. I walk over to Godzilla and recount the happenings. He tells me, “Well, just because someone has a problem with eating too many Whoppers doesn’t make them handicapped.”

Part II of the debacle:
We head over to a local lounge with the hope that a good DJ is there. Well, the DJ was all right so we decided to not tear up the dance floor but sit down and watch the NFL network (which is awesome by the way). A little while later I hear one of the best songs of the 80s “I Can’t Wait” by Nu Shooz playing and hop up from my seat to go dance. There is no one dancing which is completely uncalled for given the excellent tunes, but that didn’t upset me. What upset me was that I saw an almost elderly lady wearing a pleather coat goofing on our dancing! Why? She was old, had no fashion sense, and was jealous of our sheer awesomeness. I was angry again. I was ready to unleash a whole world of pain onto her.

Part III of the debacle:
At another local joint we sit down after ordering some brews. We’re chatting and I am trying to decompress. My BFF and I are trying to swear off shots and have been pretty successful as of late, with the exception of a roofie incident earlier in the week. A dude comes up to our table and asks us if we like SoCo and lime, umm, well, twist our arms because SoCo and lime is a delicious intoxicating delicacy. Before he goes to order the shots, he asks if we could guard his Coors Light. Well, I suppose so even though it was a Coors Light. For some reason I thought it would be hilarious to place his beer on the seat next to mine as if it was one of our privileged guests. When he came back with the shots I told him that we had been taking really good care of his Coors Light. We did the shots and then he called us weirdos and walked away! Which really was fine because he was wearing this crazy European style button up shirt, but yet again I get feisty and leave myself my second voice memo of the evening. Weirdos, seriously. If he wanted to see weird I would have shown him weird in the form of a swift punching right to the gullet.

I don’t know why I had been so angry that evening, overall it ended up being a good night. As BFF said to me on NYE after I told a joker in a Rex Grossman jersey that he lost the game for us, “We really are too small to get into fights.” I have to remember that so I am not writing checks that I can’t cash.

NBC and the NFL I am so DONE with you!

2006-12-28T21:10:00.000-06:00

For one thing, what’s the deal with changing the Bears game from noon on New Year’s Eve to 7pm? I really don’t understand it. So, maybe the Packers have a slim to none chance of making it into the playoffs. Maybe it’s Brett Favre’s last game. By the way, didn’t he retire like seven times already? But, you are really screwing with my life. I had a very packed itinerary for the day and now who knows. I HAVE to watch the Bears game. I HAVE to wear my “Keep the Ball in the Fridge” shirt. Then I HAVE to change and get into full out New Year’s mashed up music party mode. I don’t doubt that I can do it, but I would have liked to have had the luxury of watching and stressing out about the game and then given some downtime to collect myself. Wipe my forehead with a ‘kerchief, hang out in the sauna, take a disco nap and the like. But, NO!

Oh no and then you have to pour salt into my wounds and put together a frickin’ ad for the game that highlights how Brett Favre is a hero and intersperse clips of the characters from Heroes? You are really pissing me off. Is Brett going to save the world with his last touchdown pass? I think not.

P.S. Well okay, I have no choice but to watch the game, so I am not really done with you.

I Wanna New Drug

2006-12-19T23:56:00.000-06:00

As I strolled into the doctor’s office today I had one goal in mind, a prescription. In order to make that happen I wanted very little effort to be made on my part. I simply wanted the doctor to hear my scratchy “I smoke a pack a day/Kathleen Turner/Demi Moore” voice, tell me to open up and say ahh, write something on that fancy pad, and then tell me to be gone with my bad self. I would then shamon out of that joint. Is that too much to ask?

But, NOOOO! They decided that I would be a great patient for a resident to see! So he goes through a whole list of survey questions about my medical history that I already filled out minutes before and makes me answer them again.

Doogie: So, do you smoke?
Classy: No.
Doogie: Drink?
Classy: . . . Occasionally
Doogie: But nothing too crazy?
Classy: No.
Doogie: Do any other drugs? (Why do they even ask this? Do they think people will honestly admit that they did a speedball in their car before they made their co-pay?)
Classy: No.
Doogie: How do you feel?
Classy: Great! I was just really lonely and felt the need to waste a good two hours of my time by coming here to see you!
Doogie: Do you already have a gynecologist identified?
Classy: Huh?
Doogie: (Nervous) Do you have a gynecologist to do your yearly exam or were you expecting to have one today?
Classy: No, I am here because I am sick, not to here to get my chacha checked out.
Doogie: (Relieved) Oh, good.

I then proceed to hop up on the exam table, get minorly fondled, and am told to do a flexibility test where I lift my legs up in an oh so non-ladylike fashion (???). I won’t bore you with the details. He leaves to consult with the doctor with whom I actually MADE the appointment. He comes back to give me a strep test and in a matter of fact manner tells me that the results look similar to what I would see on a pregnancy test, as if I use them all the time and am very well versed in hoping that there is only one blue stripe and not two.

Finally, the doctor comes in and she is wearing a glittery matching blazer/skirt outfit and looks like she should be a mother on a soap opera. She goes through the same exam with me, but with a little less fondling. I get my Z Pack prescription, but do not shamon or shimmy out of the office.

Rockwell and MJ were right!

2006-12-14T20:51:00.000-06:00

UPDATE!

CLASSY: 1 HERMAPHRODITES: 0

I was shocked and saddened by recent correspondence from my dearest brother Zebidiah Makacki Jalapeno Camlto:

As of today, I am prohibited from posting to your "ClassyandFancy" page. The Websense Enterprise reason given for the censorship: "category sex is filtered". This makes no sense to me Mr. Websense Enterprise Firewaldo. Now, I can read the blog (which contains little to no references to sex and written by my little sister no less...ewww!), but may not post to said blog because the assumption of what I might end up typing could possibly be viewed as "sexy"? Hmm, I never thought my sexiness preceded me, but I guess I'll take the compliment when given. I'm too sexy for this song.

Classy is sexy you say? Interesting? Perhaps. Funny? Possibly. Sexy? That is definitely up for debate. Although, in the past I have used the phrases “Doing her against the wall”, “Gettin’ it on”, “Makin’ some time”, and “Dry Humpin”, these phrases would appeal to a very sheltered 14 year old hermaphrodite*. I have mentioned my dream of employment at VIPs Gentleman’s Club. I have included pictures of a scantily clad Hugh Grant and Andrea True. I have talked about Old Style beer A LOT. While I find all of these things VERY SEXY, I am not sure they are on par with the general view of titillating topics. I guess they have a lot of hermaphrodites working at Websense and that my readers are too damn hot. But, I think you already knew the second reason.

*This past weekend a voodoo necklace told me I was going to have two hermaphrodite children. Woo hoo! I love Jamie Lee Curtis and people I'm gonna have two!

Jus' do sumfin random

2006-12-12T01:01:00.000-06:00

My mind works in interesting ways. I think it makes up conversations for me so I am entertained at all times. It hones in on the most random people or phrases so I can in turn share them with anyone who will listen, which is usually just me talking to myself. It remembers a lot of details from my past that come in quite handy when I want to give myself a little chuckle. Just a few little treats that I was blessed with recently thanks to me noggin’:

1) I was listening to NPR and thought I heard that the reporter’s name was Steak Paprikash. She said her name twice and I heard the same thing. I only wish that really were her name. I would listen to all of her segments very intensely and name my first born after her. I would become so knowledgeable about all worldly issues that I would totally win on Jeopardy, Press Your Luck, 10 Million Dollar Pyramid, and Beauty and the Geek.

2) While stopping by the local CVS Pharmacy for my daily supply of peanut M&M’s, the homeless newspaper vendor was singing the Andrea True Connection’s “More More More”, which is absolutely one of my favorite disco tunes. He kept repeating, “More more more, how do you like it, how do you like it?” I still didn’t buy the paper from him, but damn did I think his rendition was super swell.

3) I remembered that I still have my Conair Geometricks curling irons at my parent’s house. For those of you who weren’t that into styling your hair in what you thought to be in fashion during the 80s and early 90s, Geometricks were an adolescent girl’s crazy big hair dream come true. The curling irons had changeable tips that could iron your hair into spirals, zig zags, triangles, or everyone’s favorite, crimped. I even remember the jingle, “Smart girls know all the angles! They know five heads are better than one!”

These styling tools will come in quite handy for the 80s themed roller skating party I am in the
process of organizing. No admittance without a geometricks or Flock of Seagull’s hairdo. I may let it slide if you dress and sing like Rick Astley or Samantha Fox.

How not to Make Some Time with the Ladies

2006-12-02T19:24:00.000-06:00

While recently at a bar in the Wicker Park area of Chicago I was pleased as punch sitting back drinking my Miller Lite having my back fried by an actual fireplace in the indoor room made out to look like a patio (what is it with me and fake patios?) when I experienced what I would call the Mecca of all pickup lines.

Please indulge me by letting me set the scene. The fireplace was roaring, the bar was crowded with your typical mid to late twenty/thirty somethings, some falling asleep at their tables due to the riveting conversation to be had, others just surveying the scene looking hoping to make some type of eye contact. The bar in the patio had this strange fake red curtain awning thing around it that I suppose was meant to make you feel like you were at the theater. Who knew that it was going to turn into theater of pain later that evening? The tunes, while expecting them to be lackluster were surprisingly good, some Hot Hot Heat “ Middle of Nowhere”, Stereophonics “Dakota”, The Pixies “Debaser”, and Built to Spill “Goin’ Against Your Mind” to name a few, all acceptable bar music fare.

So, I was in good spirits until this guy came up to my friend and me:

I had mistakenly made eye contact with him earlier, not on purpose mind you, but just because when I jam out to music I move my head around and during this motion I am bound to have some dude come into my field of vision. I guess the earlier eye contact gave him the sign that it was go time with my friend and me. So Dude comes to my side of the table and squats down and proceeds to talk to us.

Here is the conversation:

Dude #1: Hey ladies! What’s up! How you doin’?
Classy: Um, hey. Good. Thanks.
Dude #1: That’s GREAT!
Classy: Um . . .

[Uncomfortable silence]

Not so creepy normal Dude #2 walks up to the table, Dude #1 squats patiently.

Dude #2: Hey do you guys know a bar around here where we can go dance?
Classy: (very happy that she doesn’t have to talk to the Dude #1) Blah blah blah go here or there or there, want to hear my life story, here it goes . . .
Dude#2: Thanks. (leaves)

Dude #1: I can tell that you ladies don’t waste time and I do not want to waste your time so, I wanted to let you know that I have a girlfriend and she likes chicks.
Classy: (dumbfounded) That’s nice. (takes both index and middle fingers, places them together, and sways them to the left and in her best JT impersonation) Go ahead, be gone with it.
Dude #1: Well, she really likes chicks.
Classy: Go ahead, be gone with it.
Dude #1: (leaves)

In retrospect, I should have asked Dude #1 where his girlfriend was and that I wanted to inspect the merchandise. But, I was purely amazed by the sheer absurdity of the pickup line that I did not have the presence of mind to do so.

Dearest readers, care to share the best/worst pickup lines you’ve heard or said?

November Spawned a Mozzster

2006-11-27T18:34:00.000-06:00

Last Wednesday morning, after waiting for the elevator for an extremely long time I entered its doors and called it a skanky ass ho while pressing the button for the ground floor. Why I did this I have no idea. Aren’t hos supposed to serve you at your convenience? Aren’t they supposed to be quick to the draw? Do I have ho-speak tourettes? The only reasonable excuse for my outburst was that I was still delirious from the spell that Morrissey cast on me the evening before while performing at the Aragon Ballroom.

At first I was a bit disappointed that Morrissey chose to play the Aragon yet again. While a beautiful venue, the acoustics there have always been brutal. As in playing the telephone game with tin cans with your great uncle with a trach sounds better than most of the bands that I’ve seen there before. Also, I have a not too pleasant Morrissey memory tied to his last show I saw there circa the late 90s. He only played for around forty minutes that time around because he was Still Ill.

So, while crazy excited for the show given that it was the only stateside date he was going to play, I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high into the sky. Then it happened. His band came out it matching beige slack/vest outfits. There was a gong and a freestanding Guinness Records giant bass drum. Morrissey took the stage in a fuchsia button up shirt with a wide grey tie and grey slacks and the first notes of “Panic” by The Smiths filled the air. I knew it was going to be an awesome show.

He told the crowd that he loved us (pointing at me specifically) and that he wanted to put his gym made muscular arms around us. He took off his shirt on stage (hubba hubba) and changed his shirt two more times looking more dapper with each change.

His band and his voice were phenomenal. The Aragon was shown what it’s like to host a singer that sounds studio perfect live. He played “Disappointed” (in honor of our dear Cherry Ride who was unable to attend, sniff sniff), then “William, It Was Really Nothing” (one of my favorite Smiths’ tracks due to its excellent use of falsettos), followed by “Everyday is Like Sunday”. I thought I was going to spin myself into a tizzy. Later in the evening he played “Girlfriend in a Coma” and “How Soon is Now”.

“How Soon is Now” was particularly amazing to see live because of its wonderfully danceable guitar line (thank you Mr. Marr)and its only could be written by Morrissey spectacular scream with me lyrics: “When you say it’s gonna happen “now”, well, when exactly do you mean? See, I’ve already waited too long and all my hope is gone!” It also helped that the strobe lights were in full force for the song and Moz was a dancing fool. The only encore of the evening was another Smiths classic (they are all classics in my mind, really) “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want”. It was a perfect ending to an incredible show.

I have only one disappointment to mention. There was a woman in front of me who early on in the show said to her friend that she didn’t know The Smiths. Are you serious?! This was the only U.S. appearance by Moz! Who allowed her through security? If it were up to me I would have designed a test for all audience members to take prior to gaining entry. It would involve either a) doing the same dance Moz did while singing “Sheila Take a Bow” on Top of the Pops or b) naming their last video or c) naming Moz’s favorite flower or d) if you have sideburns like Moz you’re in, no questions asked.

A Vision of Things to Come

2006-11-20T17:19:00.000-06:00

While only a wee little lass I aspired to be the girl in The Art of Noise "Close To The Edit" video. Not only did she have remarkable fashion sense and awesome hair and make-up, she was allowed to exhibit any aggro tendency her little punk heart desired. On top of all of these selling points, she destroyed in time with the music! Perfection! Hit anything I like with a wrench? Scream HEY to my hearts content? Have a team of minions follow me around to assist with wreaking havoc in an abandoned train yard? A girl can dream, can't she? I am still dreaming now.

And don't even get me started on how AWESOME the song is. . .

Oh What A Night *

2006-11-16T00:22:00.000-06:00

The anticipation has ended! My reunion summary has arrived! So, here goes. As many of you know my ten-year reunion was a week and a half ago. In recent prior posts I have gone into elaborate detail regarding the preparations involved on my part and others to ensure that the reunion was a balls out event. Some of these preparations occurred: pre-party, upped puking stamina, VIP gentleman’s card presentation. Others did not: Little Superstar routine, 8x10 photos of classmates, getting addicted to catnip. I am a little disappointed in myself.

Now, I knew that there was going to be people there that gained some weight, some hefty homies and home girls, but I can say that nearly 70% of the guys in attendance had put on the lbs. Most of the ladies looked decent, some pretty hot if I do say so myself, and the ones that had put on weight actually had babies recently so they had a reasonable excuse.

While looking at the pictures that were taken during the reunion my BFFs made an interesting observation-they thought one of the guys in attendance had a face transplant. Not the botox here/collagen there type of transplant, more like a getting smacked in the face multiple times with super absorbent chewing tobacco that in turn created some crevices/cancer in the facial area that shouldn’t be there when you are at your ten year.

Enough about appearances, let’s proceed to a section I will entitle, “What Happens When People Don’t See Each Other for Ten Years and go to an All You Can Drink” with the following sub-headings “I never talked to you in high school, but I will take this opportunity to show you what a complete asshole I am now!” or “Liquor makes me/him/her/us complete morons.”

Multiple people asked me where my red hair was. Seriously folks, I had fire engine red hair for about three months my junior year of high school, is that ALL you remember about me? What about my brains, charm, fantastic taste in music, and magnetic personality? All right then, what about my boobs?

After I told an old friend of mine that I was living with my BFF in Chicago I was asked by the same friend if I was married. Yes, I am married but have decided to not live with my husband because that would just be too awkward.

I will always dance like a complete moron even when there is not a dance floor and there is no one else dancing. There are pictures of this, mostly of me flailing my arms in the background. Why does it always look like I am doing the mashed potato? I need to get better paparazzi.

I ran into my first boyfriend who really still looks like he did in 6th grade. He was wearing an old school Chicago Bears scarf (awesome, but I do not regret breaking up with him, although I would consider dating him again if I gained possession of the scarf). My BFF asked him if he was Harry Potter. He didn’t seem too pleased with the comment. I, on the other hand, guffawed.

I mistook a room that was “fashioned” to look like the outdoors (Why? Don’t ask me.) to be an actual patio. I was recalling the evening the next day with a friend of mine who was also in attendance and told her that the patio was pretty sweet. She was disappointed that she didn’t hang out in the patio, but a few seconds later said, “You mean the room with the fake fountains that we checked our coats?” I could have been in Europe for all I knew.

During the reunion and after-parties it was painfully obvious that a multitude of dudes were trying really hard to make some time with whatever lady crossed their path. Most of the ladies were ones that they never spoke more than two sentences to during all of high school. In an effort to impress those of the female persuasion the guys even had the nerve to say to that they didn’t believe that they went to high school with them. Yes, fella that certainly is the best way to her heart or into her pants.

With all this being said, I am eagerly awaiting my 10.5-year reunion.

*This was seriously my prom theme. What am I 72?

Love My Way

2006-11-08T00:53:00.000-06:00

People, I am sorry regarding the delay in the much-anticipated summary of my reunion. I promise that in the next few days you will receive a comprehensive overview of the happenings, it’s just right now I am still processing all that occurred at the event and do not think I can do it justice at present. So, instead I leave you with my reflections upon one of my favorite Chicago bars where my presence has been sorely lacking as of late, my beloved Tai’s Til Four.

Some people wonder why I love my fav watering whole so much. It’s really a dump although they classed it up a bit in recent years (even though the owner against his better judgment did not take my suggestion of getting a mural painted on the wall of himself lying shirtless on top of a trans am). There really isn’t any other place in Chicago that can attest to having a dance floor that kicks out the jams until 4am during the week and until 5am on Saturdays. By now, I would hope that you know that Classy loves to dance and will dance anytime, anywhere as long as there is some semblance to a beat. Now, I am not looking for the perfect beat, but as long as there is a beat I will proceed to turn it around (really, what does that mean?)

Okay, why do I heart Tai’s? The reasons are voluminous. I am their most loyal non-paying customer. I can skip line at any hour even when there is a line down the street. I can drink Old Style tall boys. I have access to Jay’s Hot Stuff chips. I can tell off the drunkards that are there and tell them that they have the clap and then proceed to clap in time to the beat with no repercussions. I can get kicked out and literally two minutes later regain my coveted space on the dance floor. I can dance for three hours straight in suffocating heat and still go back for more. I can jump up on a garbage can outside and do reverse pushups on the front façade, again with no repercussions. I can request a song and actually hear it being played (Lil' Kim, anyone?). I can throw elbows and clear the dance floor with my BFFs with our tag team back again hijinks. I can see dudes doing the worm on the skanky ass dance floor. I can walk home! Did I mention Old Style tall boys?

"Got a License to Confuse"

2006-10-30T19:24:00.000-06:00

Well, I survived Halloween, just barely. Who knew that an all you can drink at a bar would serve Classy huge goblets of 75% vodka all night and that these goblets would in turn make her fall into the bushes?

One more Halloween related event to go which is going to see . . . And you will know us by the Trail of Dead at House of Blues on Halloween night, and barring any concussion rendering boot blows to my head in the mosh pit, I will be on the home stretch to my ten year reunion come Wednesday.

Another brilliant reunion preparation idea. I have a friend that did not go to my high school that is going to my reunion. He has been debating whether or not he should be honest and let the other attendees know that he didn’t go to our school or if he should go with the more hilarious option of pretending that he is actually someone that went to our school.

Since I always opt for hilarity, I think the second option will be spectacular for all parties involved. To assist him with achieving success with this endeavor, success equating to making as many people as uncomfortable as possible (awkwardness, anyone?) and entertaining my friends and me for the majority of the evening with his antics, I will do the following:

I will closely examine my senior yearbook and find someone who looks similar to my friend. I will cross reference the picture with the attendees on the Evite list in order to prevent any sabotage of the plan. Two Tony Titones does not a good reunion make.

He has requested that I find ten people from my class that I know some dirt on or just some random details. I then need to blow up their senior pictures (thanks to Dr. Ken for letting me use his senior photo) to 8x10 size placing their name underneath as well as five bullet points containing the factoids he needs to memorize. He will memorize these items, names, and faces during our pre-party. They may be memorized during a drunken haze, but I believe that any permutation of name/face/fact that he can remember will result in comedy gold.

For instance, “Hey, insert name here, I am sorry that you won that clown car of a Geo Metro at the senior picnic. Didn’t I see you drive up in that today?”

“Wassup, insert name here, I feel bad that you didn’t win as prom queen, to make up for it do you want to go make out in the corner?”

“Yo, insert name here, didn’t I see your name in the police blotter? Nice work!” (Proceed to try to get a high five)

This reunion is shaping up to be the event of the century. Well, okay, maybe of November, no wait, I’m going to see Morrissey, My Morning Jacket, and have a trip planned to NYC. Let’s just say hands down that it is going to rule!

Not standing tongue tied in the corner . . .

2006-10-20T00:56:00.000-05:00

My ten-year high school reunion is three weeks away. While it is not considered an official reunion, it’s actually at a local bar (a really heinous one) and has been organized by four of the popular girls in high school (funny how my friends and I still think of them in those terms, but c’mon they are still referring to themselves as the Beautiful Girls), I’ve decided to go through some intense preparations for the special event. I like to call it my survival conditioning.

1) Participate in a yearbook reading party with my BFFs where we look through our yearbooks and the comments. I can already check this one of my list, phew! It was a surreal experience reading over the comments I wrote in my BFFs yearbooks and the ones they wrote in mine. Although it’s been ten years, we are pretty much the same people with the same sense of humor. Well, except for my junior year. All I have to say is who writes a morose poem in their BFF’s yearbook? I must have been listening to too much of The Smiths at the time.

2) Learn the Little Superstar dance. I’ve started to utilize some of his moves on the dance floor already, but don’t have the whole routine down. One night a group of friends and I decided that we were going to do the entire routine at the reunion.

One friend claimed the Charleston part of the routine, to do only that part is simply not allowable. Either you are in for the entire routine or you will have to sit on the sidelines and spectate.

3) Craft an elegant story about my illustrious career as a “Cats” the musical backup dancer. See that’s me, bottom row, right.

4) Throw a reunion night pre-party where we will get blitzed. Nothing like proving to your high school nemesis that you’ve moved up in the world than showing up drunk to your reunion!

5) Practice my meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meows and claw dance (see #3).

6) Build up my puking stamina (maybe #4 will help?).

7) Convert the cassette copy of my last high school radio show to CD for mass distribution. Okay, maybe not mass distribution, but I may know five people that will humor me with a request for it.

8) Find more childhood and adolescence pictures of my BFFs to display on our refrigerator for all in attendance at our pre-party to see.

9) Survive Halloween.

10) Make more business cards from VIP’s Gentleman’s Club. While walking to the train from Lollapalooza this summer I found one of their discount cards on the sidewalk. When people at the reunion ask what I do for a living I will tell them, “As a matter of fact I just got a new job!” I will then whip out the VIP’s card and tell them not go on amateur night because they will not see me there.

Just Like Heaven . . .

2006-10-12T10:45:00.000-05:00

Walking through the Vietnamese area of town the other day to pick up lunch, I became surrounded with some sweet sounds that seemed to be following me and getting louder as I came closer to my destination. At first, I thought, or rather I wished, that it was some roller disco crew skating down the busy street in their full out regalia, boom box and all, but no, it was something better.

What was blaring the tunes was a middle aged man jamming some Jeffrey Osborne, James Ingram, or Billy Ocean while he plowed down the sidewalk on his rascal scooter (And when I say plowed down, he had that baby on full tilt. People moved out of his way as if he was going to murder them). I wasn’t sure what song he was blasting, this has been bothering me for the past few days, but I think I was so in awe of the man and his ways that for an instant I couldn’t focus on the music and with my jaw dropped I had to stare.

I thought to myself, is this really happening? Am I in heaven where people can cart their lazy asses around on motorized scooters and inundate people with the auditory selection of their choice? Where can I pick up one of these scooters? Will heaven grant me the chance to play Salt-N-Pepa’s “Supersonic” on 11 while I travel around in the open air at 15 miles per hour?

All I wanted to accomplish that day was to pick up a fantastically delightful Vietnamese sandwich for lunch, but straight up street entertainment/fantasy was in the stars for me. I wonder what will become of Mr. Rascal Jammer when winter arrives? Will I have to wait until the first thaw to hear some sweet lite FM soul pass me by on the sidewalk? I can only hope that I don’t have to wait that long!

Do you think it is inappropriate if the next time I see him I ask for a ride?

The Sporting Life

2006-10-05T01:08:00.000-05:00

Classy is a bit of a jock. Me a tomboy? Who would’ve thunk. While I must admit that I am fairly decent at softball and currently playing on two teams, I am not super talented in the flag football arena. I play on a flag football team currently and I am okay, but what I lack in talent I make up for with mad smack talking. For instance, I told a fairly girthy opposing team member the only time he was fast was when he came out of the womb.

I had a game last week and caught a pass a bit downfield. This was a milestone for me! Usually, when the ball comes in my direction (usually a very short pass)I yell some profanities with the hope that they will magically assist me with catching the pass. This strategy works surprisingly well quite often. But, enough about me, I need to get to the highlights of my most recent game.

The football team I play on is brand new, as in half of us met for the first time the first night of our game. Needless to say, we did not gel well at first and it took us way into the second half to get it together and even then we were only partially together. We played against a team that opted to not play co-ed soccer because the guys on the team got too intense while playing. They decided that flag football would give them their sport fix and keep them out of jail for assault. Well, let me tell you, football didn’t provide them with the zen-like calm that they needed. I can recall at least two instances in which I was sandwiched between two of their players. These players really liked to defend players that had no chance of receiving a pass and liked to jump down on said players and hit them in their noses with their elbows.

I guess that some members of the opposing team believed that in order to play your best in recreational football it is necessary to sport professional grade gear for better aerodynamics or something. There was a dude on the opposing team that was wearing very tight, I don’t know, Under Armour tights, with NO shorts over them. This stylistic choice left very little to the imagination, and I mean very little. Classy, on the other hand, likes to attire herself in gear that must meet the following requirements; it doesn’t smell too rank and must be a thrift store purchase. It’s a very sophisticated system, I know. I was very excited when I got to choose the team’s t-shirt color. I had three choices orange, yellow, or purple. They didn’t even have to say anything after orange. It was Chicago Bears orange, my fav!

One of the other team’s players during the end of the game (keep in mind we were down like a gazillion to goose egg & this dude had NO reason to take the following actions) decided to run full force across the field to block a pass and jumped into the air like a possessed jaguar. Well, Mr. Xtremo upon landing rolled on his ankle. He was in some pretty intense pain (only fitting for an intense guy) and one of my teammates rushed to his aid and calmed him down.
When he said, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor.” I’m not sure that everyone believed him. They might have thought he was pulling a George Costanza on the beach. Like George, my dear teammate did a nice job taking care of his patient.

Now, what was the ultimate highlight of the game? During the first half of the game, one of our male players mapped out our next play on a female player’s upper body. While this was occurring another teammate and I loudly said a “Whoa, hey there!” and were looking at each other with the expression of what the hell is happening on our faces.

The cartographer did not even try to stop his work and for the rest of the evening we kept on saying that we were surprised he didn’t illustrate some curling action around her naughty pillows.

My female teammate did not remember any of this occurring (perhaps she was too traumatized by the whole affair), but when I refreshed her memory she said, “Oh yeah, he totally touched my boobs!” Oh, what will our future games bring? One can only imagine.

Catholicism, Is It Right For Me?

2006-09-27T22:28:00.001-05:00

I recently had a work related meeting with Father D., the head pastor of a local Roman Catholic Church. The reason for the meeting was relatively serious and being at a church and all I felt that the tone of the meeting would be serious as well. Although, it may have been a sign of things to come that when I set up the meeting over the phone the first thing Father D. said to me was, “Hello, Classy, are you staying out of trouble?” I, of course, responded, “Umm, yes, I guess so.”

When I walked over to the church I headed straight to what I thought was the rectory thinking the whole time, that’s where he lives, right? The door of the rectory was locked and not having the presence of mind to actually ring the doorbell, I figured that I would find him in the church, you know, just hanging out in the pews or something. I entered the church and the only door that was unlocked had a sign on it that said, “Please dispose of your gum here” which I thought was a bit odd, but oh well, there is a school in the church so the gum disposal warning sign made some sense. In the church there was no one to be found. I heard some people talking in the basement and decided to head down there. Someone had to know where Father D. was down there. Downstairs, I guess in the auditorium/cafeteria/multi-purpose room, there were photographers taking class pictures, and I found someone who pointed me out to the secret passageway to the rectory (okay, so it wasn’t secret, not at all like the grandfather clock on Webster, but it was this man-made ramp that attached the church to the rectory).

So, I am in the rectory with absolutely no clue where I am going or where I am allowed/not allowed to go. I mean, this is where the Fathers live and I was worried that I was going to catch a Father in his robe (my goodness!). I headed straight to the kitchen (a safe haven in my mind) and found some ladies cooking there. When I approached them they became startled and asked me how I got into the rectory. The secret passageway of course! One of the ladies called Father D. and told him I was there.

Father D. came down wearing a yellow polo shirt and khakis, which may be standard issue for a man of the cloth, but I was expecting something a bit more flashy, maybe some golden rings and a snazzy hat, but then again I am completely a religion illiterate. We had our meeting at the dining room table. During our meeting the ladies continued to prepare lunch and at one point the sound of the blender interrupted our chatter. Father D. looked at me and exclaimed, “ I don’t know what the hell that is!” Hell! You heard it right! I thought there was some law or something against that, but since he opened the profanity door for me I responded with, “Yeah, that’s some straight up bull shit going down in there!” (Okay, so I didn’t really say that, my name isn’t Classy for nothing). During our meeting, Father D. also complained about how he made no money and would most likely qualify low income tax preparation assistance. This confused me as well for didn’t people choose to become priests because they didn’t care about worldly possessions or money? On a final note, Father D. walked me to the front door of the rectory and we said our goodbyes. He commented on how the weather was nice and I told him that I was glad because I had to play softball the day before in a torrential downpour and mudslides. In “classic” Father D. style he responded, “Well, at least you can follow up a bad softball game with going to the tavern for some beers.” My reply, an uncomfortable, um, yeah I guess so. People, what was I supposed to say?

Shoegazing, so what's it to you?

2006-09-22T02:06:00.000-05:00

Okay people, here is a Classy confession. I was a super to the extreme anglophile for many years of my youth. It’s nothing to be ashamed of because really during the early to mid-nineties the Brits were churning out the most awesome of tunes. I have yet to find another set of bands that encompass all that is brilliant about music. To this day, give me some Ride, My Bloody Valentine, Lush, Swervedriver, Slowdive, and I will proceed to shake your hand quite briskly and commend you on your excellent taste. Let’s not even get started with the Manchester scene, Stone Roses, anyone? Or don’t even get me talking about Suede, Blur, The Charlatans or Elastica. In high school I even signed a contract (was it in blood? I don’t know.) which vowed upon graduation that I would go to London. This never happened, shoot!

Recently, I have found not one, but two bands that have helped to reinvigorate my appreciation for the shoegazer genre of music (not that I ever deinvigorated my appreciation, but it has been lying latent waiting for something). They aren’t even from England mind you! I have “discovered” Serena Maneesh from Norway and Airiel from Chicago. Chicago! Can you believe it!

This past Friday I had the pleasure of seeing Serena Maneesh at a local music venue, the Empty Bottle. Seriously folks, they are my current rock n’ roll fantasy and dream. They should be yours as well. As mentioned, they are from Norway and the lead singer loves the black eyeliner and has a mike stand that is very Steven Tyler-esque. They have a bassist that looks like Nico if she was like 100ft tall! They have a rock violin! Most importantly, they started and ended their show with walls and walls of feedback. They were supposed to headline that night, but instead played second fiddle to some World Music Festival acts that I couldn’t bring myself to stay to watch. It made me sad that Serena Maneesh wasn’t headlining. They only played for about 45 minutes, but boy it was jammed packed with some rockin’ and some jammin’. I decided to buy a t-shirt from them and proceeded to tell the violinist and keyboardist how much they rocked. The responded back with a “Thank you” in the cutest unassuming Norwegian accents possible. Get this, this evening when I was out at a local watering hole the dj played a Serena Maneesh song that I’ve included on my Ultimate Shoegazer v.1 playlist. It’s called “Selina’s Melodie Fountain”. Seek it out people.

So, this evening I saw my other shoegazer band crush in action, Airiel. They were playing at a local venue called the Darkroom, which touts itself as being a place where photography and mixology meet. Umm. . . I suppose so, there where some snazzy photos up on the walls, it was pretty dark in there, the red photo lights were all abound, there were lots of douche bags taking photos, and mixology was happening behind the bar. But, enough of that, Airiel played and they were AWESOME! Again, feedback, walls of sound, ethereal vocals, crazy ass guitar pedal effects, really can a girl ask for anything more?

Oh, yes, and there was this random Japanese dude in the crowd in uber-tight Adidas track shorts with his shirt off getting his dance spaz on for a few songs! I saw him recently at a street fest in the same area and at that time he was all oiled up and was wearing cheetah patterned speedos! He was entertaining; my only worry was that he was going to cold-cock some spectator that was too busy looking at their shoes. Airiel is also on my Ultimate Shoegazer v.1 playlist with their song “Kiss Me Softly” which they happened to play second this fine evening. Again people I implore you to seek them out!

In sum, I love me some shoegazing music and I am extremely pleased that there are bands out there now bringing the music back to the forefront. I commend them, I stalk them, and I heart them.

The Extent of My Medical Career

2006-09-18T22:29:00.000-05:00

Is it sad that I look forward to eating at a hospital cafeteria? It reminds me of being back at my high school cafeteria where there were really no healthy options, so you had no choice but to have chicken fingers topped with gravy and a side of fries. In my high school there was a Senior Cafeteria that I would frequent for two main reasons:

1) There was a juke box in there where I could play a continuous loop of A-Ha’s “Take On Me”.

2) I could get a cheese sandwich there, which was really the only vegetarian eating option besides pizza and fries. Oh, Kaiser roll, your doughy goodness is bothe practical and delicious!!

Besides fond memories of food and music (and really what else is there in life for me?), I am drawn to the hospital cafeteria for the following reasons:

1) I find comfort in the fact that I see doctors and nurses eat massive amounts of
fried foods. It makes me feel as if these things may be good for me if I just
keep eating them like the professionals.

2) I can gaze at the wonder that is red jello! How I wish I could eat it for it looks so surreal, retro, and remarkable!

3) I am thoroughly amazed at how freakin’ cheap the establishment is! I can buy a grilled cheese, mashed potatoes, corn,and a Diet Coke for around $3! McDonald’s try to top that!

As I chowed down on my meal today while listening to medical banter, I wondered why I didn’t become a doctor. No, wait, I think it’s the blood, unflattering scrubs, and those puffy hair caps/nets,and shoe covers, although it would make it easier to get ready in the morning.

And, oh yes, the seven years of school! No offense to my dear friends in the medical field. Medicine, it’s just not my style . . . unless it involves getting roofied.

"Why I want to be a Grandma Right Now . . . without the whole having kids and raising them part."

2006-09-11T23:58:00.000-05:00

Recently, I was hanging with some of my lovely lady friends in Mid-Missouri (Mid-MO for those in the know) for a wedding shower/ bachelorette party extravaganza.

I will spare you the gory details of the weekend outing, but all I can say is that pandas really like it when girls wear fancy “Dancing with the Stars” get ups around them and there is NOTHING wrong with getting up on a platform to dance on multiple occasions especially when Snap’s! “I Got the Power” begins spinning its wicked auditory web.

I would like to focus instead on the pure genius of being a grandma. When one is elderly it all of a sudden becomes acceptable to say whatever is going on in one's aged mind, even if it makes no sense whatsoever. Now, how great would that be? You can say stuff like, “My hair hurts” or “I liked you better when you were skinnier” or “All she needs is a good rogering” and all people can do around you is nod and smile and later shrug their shoulders and say, “Oh, that’s just grandma, she grew up during the Depression, so give her some slack!” Really, I say crazy things all of the time and I don’t seem to be forgiven quite so easily. Instead, people just tell me to shut up or tune me out or have the decency to give me the whole rolling eyes in the back of the head salute.

While in Missouri I had the pleasure to be around a grandma who was spot on hilarious right out of the gate. This particular grandma had a penchant for margaritas and for having no filter. What a lovely combination, no? Case in point, she told us a story about how someone accidentally packed a coconut bra in her 90+-year-old sister’s suitcase. Grandma then proceeded to do a rendition of how her sister was absolutely confused about the usage of said bra and couldn’t understand why in the world it was in her suitcase, as she had no need for such an apparatus. Grandma suggested that one of us wear the bra out to the bars if we really wanted to snag some men. We opted to wear a tad bit more coverage. The following day when Grandma noticed that there were no men accompanying us at breakfast, she told us that she should have gone out with us to help with the men wrangling. I bet she would have partied like nobody’s business.

Keep in mind we were around Grandma for a total of one day tops and she packed in the laughs like they were going out of style. She warned us about how naps can make you put on someone else’s pants (scandalous!). When she takes naps she sometimes gets confused about what time it is when she wakes up (happens to the best of us, right?). Well, one time she woke up from a nap at 6pm and thought it was 6am, hustled to the shower, got dressed, and took her hormone shot (now that doesn’t happen to all of us, or does it?). She then received a phone call from her daughter asking her if she was ready for dinner, and at around the same time realized that her pants were way too tight on her. She had mistakenly put on her other daughter’s pants that were four sizes too small! She was busting them at the seams. If I was in a similar situation people would opt for the whole, “Classy is being a drunk moron again” phrase and would then point and laugh at me for wearing shoes on the wrong feet and dancing in them for 15 minutes (which did happen, folks). But, in Grandma’s case, the situation was explained by, “She’s old.” Why can’t I have that excuse?

"Will The Real Classy Please Stand Up?"

2006-09-03T23:32:00.000-05:00

As some of you may have surmised, Ms. Classy isn't what one would call a girly girl. Sure, I like being a lady, but you won't see me posting about flowers, horses, or my favorite new perfume and/or feminine hygiene product. I leave that to the experts. I may throw a post in here or there about unicorns or pandas, but most likely it will involve these creatures getting into a fight at a demolition derby because one threw a tasty beverage at the other, or the scuffle ensued to prove once and for all which one is more of a bad ass (My odds are on the panda, but I'm biased).

So, answer me this . . . why have I recently reverted to having girl-like tendencies?

For example, last weekend on the Oh! network they were playing what seemed like a continuous loop of the movie Two Weeks Notice.

Now, this movie is really a piece of crap and stars Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant in a typical love/hate relationship movie that ends in love. I know that it is utterly bunk, but I still watched some of it and get this, almost started weeping at the end when Hugh Grant goes into the legal aid office that Ms. Bullock (who kind of looks like a character from the Dark Crystal) works and reads a speech in which he professes his desire to do her up against the wall. Really, what is wrong with me?

Then, when I went out later that evening a singer was doing this Wizard of Oz montage and started singing "If I Only Had A Brain". People, have you heard this song and actually listened to the lyrics? The singer crooned in a serious tone the following, "I'd unravel any riddle for any individd-el in trouble or in pain . . . I would not be just a nothin'. My head all full of stuffin'. My heart all full of pain. Perhaps I deserve you and be even worthy erve you if I only had a brain . . ." Man, this song is depressing as all get out. I never knew it until that night, and again, I felt the weeps coming on. Okay, seriously, I wanted to hang myself like the Wizard of Oz crew guy you have to slow-mo in order to see.

To top off my weekend I decided to catch some of the Primetime Emmys hosted by my boy Conan O'Brien hoping that he would take me out of my doldrums. While there were some funny bits, like Bob Hope*** being trapped in a container with only three hours of air, they had to go and ruin my emotional upswing by having an American Bandstand tribute. Dick Clark, who had a stroke recently, was at the podium sitting down in a wheelchair like mechanism and thanked everyone for the tribute. He is not the Dick Clark that everyone remembers, no siree Bob. He is a Dick Clark that our grandparents become right before they enter the great bandstand in the sky.

So, I told myself, "C’mon Classy, get it together and snap out of it! Listen to some Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam and get over yourself! Fire up the Madonna’s "Into the Groove", proceed with Stacey Q’s "Two of Hearts", eat some sprees, drink some Jolt Cola and take it up a notch! Follow up "Two of Hearts" with . . . And you will know us by the Trail of Dead’s "A Perfect Teenhood" and start kicking ass and taking names!"

And so it is written and so it is done . . .

***I stand corrected. Cherry has brought it to my attention that it was indeed Bob Newhart, not Hope, that was in the bubble. My apologies to the Queen Mother.

Monkeys Anyone?

2006-08-28T23:31:00.000-05:00

This past Saturday my BFF and I made the trek out to a fringe West Chicago suburb in order to attend an open house at a retirement home. No, I was not searching for some accommodations for my folks nor do I have some creepy affinity for the elderly and their whims.

Although, some of them are so damn cute wearing those newsboy caps or really huge jewelry, they are like those kids you see in those really lame black and white pictures/calendars that are all dressed old timey-like, but the aged members of society are not lame at all because they really wore those type of clothes and aren’t holding a bright red rose wherever they go (this picture doesn’t show a poor child holding a rose, but believe me folks, sometimes they do and all I can say is GROSS).

I decided to visit because the day before our other BFF called to say that there was going to be a monkey at the event.

A genuine monkey, alive and kicking, with an organ grinder to boot! He was scheduled to be in attendance from 1-2:30pm. At 1:10pm, other BFF called to tell us that she already held the monkey twice and that we had to hurry! I put the pedal to the metal.

Driving out there traffic was brutal and we had to take a major street, not a highway, all the way out there. It took us over an hour and while we were stopped at a light my BFF said, “I can’t believe that we are driving all the way out here just to see a monkey.” My response? “I can’t believe that we wouldn’t drive all the way out here to see a monkey!”

We accidentally turned the wrong way on a street and had to take a five-minute detour. Crucial monkey time lost! We finally arrived to a packed house and lo and behold the monkey was right at the front entrance to greet us. He was not in the traditional organ grinder monkey ensemble, which was a bit sad because who doesn’t want to see a monkey wearing a fez? Instead, he was sporting some dandy bumblebee pajamas!! Yes, they make those for monkeys. Although he was very cute, there was something about seeing him that made me a bit sad. He was an elderly monkey, which was fitting for a retirement home, but he had rheumatoid arthritis and I don’t know, it just made me somewhat melancholy.

I think I was expecting a monkey that would be jumping through flaming hoops and riding a dog around like a cowboy or something. He was a hit with everyone who was there, and I did get to hold him and he did make me chuckle, so in the end the monkey experience was Tropic World Asia AWESOME (for those not in the know, this is an exhibit at Brookfield Zoo outside of Chicago that is meant to simulate a genuine rainforest. Not sure if it sucks now, but when I was eight, boy did it ever rule!).

Tandumb

2006-08-22T22:25:00.000-05:00

Please murder me if you ever see me riding a tandem bicycle, even if I am doing it ironically. There is NOTHING good or fun about riding one of those, not even looking at the person’s ass in front of you. What is the draw to them? With the amount of money you spend on one you can buy, get this, two bikes! And, wait for it . . . ride them at the same time without having to toe(w) the line for some lazy bones! (Yeah, I'm talking to you granny).
Maybe I am not taking into consideration the whole bonding experience that occurs while riding on a bike with someone because of painful memories of my youth that are associated with dual bike riding. The precise memories? When my older brother and I would ride on the same bike and he would make me pedal us both (mind you he is six years older than me), or even better, steer us into strangers’ driveways and pull us up to their front door, where he would then proceed to hop off the bike and leave me there to fend for myself. But, the best bike sharing experience with my brother? It would have to be when he would steer us over to the creepiest house in the neighborhood; every hood has one (well, maybe not every, I do come from humble beginnings, folks).

The house he would pull up to had overgrown shrubbery, non-operational cars in the driveway, peeling paint, and on the porch an open empty refrigerator (really, why?). We would never see anyone coming in or out but always heard barking dogs non-stop. Hmm, curious. My brother would inch the bike up slowly onto the home’s property and this inching action alone implied that there was a definite possibility that he would steer us directly into the pit of hell that was before us.

Back then I didn’t know what hell was exactly, but I knew that they sacrificed small animals and infants in that home and would probably cut off my Barbie’s hair, which is hell in any five year old girl’s life.

I have said all this just to say that I despise tandem bicycles and they lead to nothing good. They only generate ‘Nam like flashbacks of youth. That is all.

*A caveat: I do not think that my brother scarred me for life with his escapades, looking back, I believe that such experiences as those outlined above helped me to develop my twisted skew on life. Really, I know few that can recall such absurd memories of childhood that make them laugh out loud.

My Voluntary Sabbatical . . .Was Fanatical!

2006-08-16T23:52:00.000-05:00

Now that I am officially halfway through week two of my job, I believe I must face the truth that my voluntary sabbatical is over. It was only for two weeks, but geesh it was good times and shall be missed. Here is my list of the top things I will shed a single tear for now that I am back to the daily grind:

1) Listening to my Itunes library pretty much 24/7. My work computer and its speakers are not conducive to such
activities. My computer is straight out of 1995 & the network is not Mac compliant. Blows.
2) Downloading music during a significant portion of my day. Can’t really do that anymore on the computer that takes up
half a room.
3) Riding my bike everyday. Not very professional to come to work everyday a sweaty mess, so I must opt for riding my
bike only a few days a week.
4) Dancing outside at 3pm or at 2am. They say a well-rested employee is a good employee. I say who needs sleep when
you have Diet Coke & Lemonheads!
5) Carrying around a sweat towel (see #2 & #3, respectively). The sweat towel came into to good use, especially when
used in a swinging motion above my head over a crowd of people.
6) Not setting an alarm clock. I hate the buzzer on mine. The clock is from 1973 so there are no other options except
maybe for that McDonald’s wake up call.
7) Daily wear of a wife beater. Damn, they sure are getting creative with those things. Lots of embellishments and
bedazzlements, doesn’t make me want to beat my wife at all when I wear one. Makes me feel fancy.

8) Casual Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, & Friday. Flip-flops? Don’t mind if I do.
9) Weeknight sleepovers with my nieces. Oh, kids just say the darndest things! Like requesting that someone pass a law
that requires everyone to dance their pants off!
10) Watching afternoon White Sox games. Nothing like an afternoon fix of the South Side Hit Men. Winning Ugly indeed.
11) Swallowing a hornet. Now, while this doesn’t sound like too much fun, it makes for a great story. Anaphylactic shock? Maybe.
Missing a concert? Never.
12) Passions clips. Now that show is really screwed up. I can’t watch a whole episode, but the segments I’ve seen recently
include multiple boughts of amnesia, fake engagements, a shirts and skins softball game
(the men were skins, of course), and amnesia murder. I was even told that there was an episode recently where a girl
was thrown into the water and turned into a mermaid. When she was pulled out of the water she had a fin which looked
like someone had just gone to the clearance table at the fabric store and made a clingy, shiny, blue sparkly sack for her
to wear (thanks BFF for that one). Too bad that the midget that played the doll that was turned into a little boy by the
witch died in real life. If he was still around, I would TIVO that show everyday just to see his “My Buddy” face and
overalls.

Thanks Passions for raising your glasses to the end of my early retirement! Cheers!

"Dearest Anderson, how I pine for thee . . . "

2006-08-14T21:07:00.000-05:00

I have had a crush on Anderson Cooper since the late nineties early naughty aughties. During my lack of sleep stupor he would always read me the news at 3am on ABC World News Now. What drew me to him? Was it the beady eyes or the salt and pepper hair? Was it the accordion player? Was I confusing love with a need for companionship while I wasted away an early morning hour gazing at the tube? I would have to say none of the above. Anderson Cooper is hilarious, smart, and although has taken great criticism for this recently, very debonair and stylish. Yes, I know that he wore Armani down in New Orleans during his coverage of Katrina. He’s frickin’ Gloria Vanderbilt’s son for Mother Jonah’s sake! Yes, I know that while he was down there he started crying during his report and that people feel that “real” journalists simply cannot allow themselves to display such moments of weakness. But, really wouldn’t you rather watch someone who has really emotions and isn’t just a puppet for a news network?

Here is a snippet of Anderson at his best: Regarding his appearance on Celebrity Jeopardy:
"It was called the Power Players edition, though I'm not sure why I was in it because I'm neither a "playa" nor a person of power. The experience really made me realize how much of a loser I am, because of how much I got into it.” I love how he uses the word playa and that he admits to getting obsessed with being on Jeopardy. I love the self-deprecation. I am a sucker for it.

What has most recently contributed to my unending fascination with Mr. Cooper is his itunes celebrity playlist. Yo La Tengo! The Clash! Pavement! Elliot Smith! Blur! Curtis Mayfield! Are you kidding me? Did you read my mind while I was watching you during an impressionable post teen period of my life? He says the following about Pavement, “Some bands get a bit full of themselves, thinking they are poets rather than rock stars . . . Pavement were poets who were convinced they were rock stars.” This is a genius statement from someone I will continue to watch until I get glaucoma, and even then I will use my Medicare funds for some new eyeballs or steal a set from Gertrude, my arch nemesis at the retirement home.

"My New Favorite Word/Product: Ointment"

2006-08-10T22:32:00.000-05:00

I am currently using a homeopathic ointment from a company named Boiron which attests that the ointment aids in the alleviation of muscle aches, stiffness, and bruises. Well, sign me up because I frequently have ALL three of those symptoms in concert with one another, especially after too many nights dancing like a monkey who everyone thinks is on a combination of speed, acid, and ecstasy. I don't think that I am anemic or anything, I've actually been tested for it and failed with flying colors, but boy do I ever bruise easily.

I am not talking small little bruises, I am talking about massive, "Oh, I just fell down the stairs" kind of bruises that serve as a constant reminder of how frequently I run into walls, people, animals, beer bottles, telephoto lenses, etc. My lovely display of dancing prowess happened to occur recently whilst I partook in three days of Lollapaloozaing in addition to staying out throwing it down on the dance floor until 4 and 5 am consecutively. I woke up on Sunday and the first thought that came into my mind was, "I need Advil and ointment, stat."

This past Saturday provided me with yet another opportunity for ointment phraseology usage. After doing it up at Lolla (see above) and creating our own afterparty (above again), my BFF and I decided to wake up, have breakfast, and then promenade on down to Walgreen's Drug Store for some provisions (do they even call them drug stores anymore?). While at Walgreen's, the two of us realized that we were still a little loopy from the evening before, and I then proceeded to point out some lube quite loudly in front of a stone cold sober individual. I then headed down to the first aid aisle to get, you guessed it, more ointment! Not the homeopathic stuff during this instance, but instead some generic neosporin because earlier in the week I was riding my bike like a madman which in turn caused the creation of some gnarly wounds (another great word and great phrase, "I will wound you.") on both of my thumbs.

I was in the first aid aisle and lube overhearer guy was there with his lady friend. She seemed confused about whether or not she was in the right aisle. He said, "It's the right aisle, it says ointment." Genius, you said the secret word! Pee Wee is going to start going ballistic and Chairry is going to start "dancing" around and singing. I began to laugh out loud and then said, "Ointment" and chuckled some more. The oh so lucid couple looked at me with eyes that said, "You are crazy, please shut up and go away. You are ruining our preparation for a nice morning run together." I see these eyes glaring at me and all I can think of is, "I need more ointment, can you please help me to get some more?"

"I Never Met A Buffet I Didn't Like"

2006-08-08T00:27:00.000-05:00

Best buffet experiences:
A) Having an eating contest at Old Country Buffet where I went plate to plate with a gentleman (?) nearly two times my size. Now, you may think that this was an impromptu competition, but you would be incorrect. It was something that we actually discussed and planned out beforehand. We even chose the most appropriate venue and time so we would be guaranteed immediate seating for not only ourselves, but also for the mandated judges. My opponent attempted to cheat by not mixing up the various delicacies available on one plate and decided to eat all corn or all rice on a single plate. Even with this strategy the competition ended up in a draw.

B) The Flamingo Breakfast Buffet in Vegas at 6ish AM. After a night of striphopping, my BFFs and I were told that the best afterhours club in Vegas was Drai's located in Barbary Coast Casino. Barbary Coast was most likely built in the 1960s and they have done nothing to renovate it or attempt upkeep.

Nonetheless, there was a ridiculous line to get into Drai's and equally ludicrous bouncers scanning the crowd and taking bribes for entrance. We chose not to take the bait on the bribery, but instead opted to wait in line and drink $1 vodka cranberries for almost two hours (mental note: VERY bad idea). We met a group of people that were from close to our hometown and proceeded to hang out with them until the wee hours of the morning, which included heading to the Flamingo Casino's Breakfast Buffet before it opened.

The buffet experience is somewhat hazy, but all of the recollections I have still bring a smile to my face. Is it acceptable to place a sublist within a list? Oh well, here goes the highlights & lowlights:

1) Making a guy take off his white socks because . . . well, just because.
2) Said gentleman being told that he must wear shoes at the buffet.
3) Grown men drinking chocolate milk.

4) Putting hot sauce in said chocolate milk on the sly.
5) Eating a mixture of pineapple and mashed potatoes.
6) The glares of the elderly who actually had a full night's rest and didn't understand what made eggs benedict so damn funny.

"Hugh 2 for $1 Biscuits"

2006-08-02T09:37:00.000-05:00

I actually saw a sign on a McDonald's marquis that said this. Now, I know that when you place the plastic letters up on a sign that there is no magical spellcheck to save you from public embarrassment, but you would think that someone would let the fine establishment and purveyor of all that is delicious and supersized know that the word HUGH, while phonetically reasonable, is nowhere near to the word HUGE. I blame this debacle on senior marketing manager, Laura. She should have spent less time getting a caricature made and more time, I don't know, being a senior marketer!

Unless, McDonald's is trying to tap into a new market and they really do have Hugh Grant's or Hugh Laurie's or Hugh Jackman's biscuits on sale for a dollar. Now, that would be a steal and it makes me wonder which Hugh is up for the taking?

You can have your pick of the British one that is always typecast as the jerk that the ladies can't help to fall for and fawn over (Grant). BTW, I'm digging on the leather pants, geesh!

Or,choose the other British one that is the Black Adder chumming, live action 101 Dalmatian counting, Golden Globe winning, medical mystery solving invalid (Laurie).

Alas, to mix it up a little, how about the Australian Broadway showstopper, bezerka barager, see how my clothes conveniently disappear when I fight Magneto (Jackman)?

Ladies and gentlemen, this may prove to be a tough decision McDonald's is requiring us to make, or would you just rather have some real damn biscuits (although they pale in comparison to Popeye's chicken's biscuits, just look at those things)! The choice is up to you my friends.

"From the Land of Sky Blue Waters (Waters)"

2006-07-31T01:28:00.000-05:00

"From the Land of Sky Blue Waters (Waters),
From the land of pines, lofty balsam,
Comes the beer refreshing,
Hamm's the Beer Refreshing"
(da-da-dum-dum-dum)

The Hamm's Beer Bear had a profound impact on my early years. I thought he was so cool and always seemed to have a great time gallivanting in Minnesota. I find it nice that a bear can entice an impressionable child such as myself to dream that one day that all the training that I was receiving from my dad on the proper beer retrieving techniques would lead to me carrying two beers out to my dad, one for good ol' pops, and one for the mini-bruiser and can slammer I was destined to become. Well, there is a little embellishment in that last statement. I did retrieve beers for my dad at a very young age, but it never crossed my mind that I would a) be a beer drinker and b) actually like my dad's favorite beer, Old Style, almost to the point of obsession.

There is something about Old Style that just draws me to it. Is it the crisp first taste that hits my tongue upon cracking open my first tall boy of the day? Is it the piles of empties that would engulf my parent's basement after every Chicago Bears game?

Is it the ribbon on the label that just says, "Screw you, Pabst Blue Ribbon. I'm better than you and the gold embellishment on my can goes around 360 degrees, so there!" Is it that I am not the classiest or fanciest lady to ever traipse the continental U.S. of A.?

Or simply is it that I believe that Old Style is just that, Old Style, Old School, good times, drag racing, bbqs, Polish flags, and Steely Dan? I would have to go with this last testimony.

While I spent my days in Columbus, Ohio I searched far and wide for the special brew. I even contacted Old Style directly to see where I could pick up a case for when my dad was in town. But, I was out of luck, Columbus is not an Old Style town. I literally jumped for joy when I went on a trip to Cincinnati and the bar had Old Style tall boys! Could it get any better than dancing to "This Charming Man" by The Smiths with an Old Style in one hand as I sway and sing at the top of my lungs, "I would go out tonight, but I haven't got a stitch to wear?" I couldn't think of a much better time and wouldn't have wanted to share it with any other beer. Old Style, I commend you on your staying power. You have a drinker for life. Heileman's forever!