Oh We Got Trouble With (a) Capital Confusion

Trying not to lose my head but I have never been this scared before
Tell you what I'll do instead, lay my body down on the floor
To forget what I've done, silhouette til the good lord come
All we know is distance
We're close and then we run
Kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one
Trying not to lose your own, boxing up everything, you've got
All you ever knew of home, you're scared scared to see
Your mother there in the door, you wonder where did the years go
All we know is distance
We're close and then we run
Kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one
But this is how the story ends
Or have we just begun
To kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one
The violins make no sound
And I begin to feel the ground
All we know is distance
We're close and then we run
Kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one
But this is where the story ends
Or have we just begun
To kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one

Song Suggestion: Where the Story Ends by The Fray

For the self-titled album by the The Fray, the song above is one of the less somber sounding. It starts with a good cymbal beat and perking teeth-tickling (the ivories, the keys).

Anyone else feeling overdue for the election?

 (murmors in the crowd)

Hell. I can't even listen to some piano rock without it glazing my interpretation of the music.

Hell. Even Time magazine is spinning on it's desk chair and clicking the print button 3 times too many:

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They have me asking, literally, "Which way's up?"

Hell.

When I was in high school I was in theatre. During dress rehearsal week of the 5th production of my 7-production-career I had a melt down. Crying in the hallway outside the cafeteria. Just overload. So ready to freaking give birth to the anticipated event that I started making mistakes. One too many sashays to the left. A beat too late on "right here in River City".

I feel that's how we are, as a nation, now. People are retracing the baseboard next to the yellow wallpaper of their beliefs. And we're wearing a hole in the floorboards people. We're losing site of how we even got in the attic.

Take heart, my fellow Unionites!

The eve of our greatest relief is upon us. In a few short/long days we'll be done with Obama-Romma-Drama and onto reporting Honey Boo-Boo's new line of wheeled sneakers called "Go-Go-Boo-Shoes."

So look forward to the new glitter-n-belly flesh-toned shoes for toddlers. But in the mean time, don't forget to sashay over to the polls and vote right here in River City.

In a Pickle with a Red Herring

Red Herring: a clue which is intended to be misleading, or distracting from the actual issue.

Its also supposed to be a very fishy, smelly fish. 

So imagine sitting in a brine barrel with a fishy fish. That's how I feel right now, mentally speaking. 

I've been putting the cockles of my heart that house my ambitions into a project at work. As of today I've had to let it be pounded, derived, rendered and squeezed into an ugly box with no air holes or pretty bows. 

My original dream, the mangled meat mess (which, let's be honest, doesn't look good in bows anyway), has been dragged away and in its place I have a fish, the red herring.

Fish is not meat. In the words of Ron Swanson, "Fish meat is practically a vegetable."

We are distracted from  the real issues at hand and forming a solution for a problem we only fabricated out of fish. The chum of all problems. 

How does one handle the stamping out of a dream? The murder of ambition? Proceed with the outline as proposed, send the troops into battle, arm them with, what else, a fish.

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I lost the battle, but the war is TBD. I'm sure I'll get 'em next time.

Flip It Friday: It's too early for the crazies

Let me usher us into the Memorial Day weekend by saying: What the freak is going on today!? Did the 90 degree heat scramble everyone's brains yesterday and we have yet to recover!?

Exhibit A

Imagine a Mortal-Kombat looking man (long, frizzy black hair, beard, chains, looks like his hay-day was the early 90's) saying Good Morning to you on the street-level, pauses to write you this personal note, follows you up to the train platform, mutters something about a show and then hands you this and asks you your name. In retrospect, I should have said my name was Ashley. Or Berta. Or Stevie. Anything but my real name. I am more haunted than flattered. 

 

Exhibit B

nails. Nails. NAILS. Photo captured by Mr. S.

And it's only 8:00 AM.

Last night was less weird. 

My company ran the Chase Corporate Challenge. It's 3.5 miles through downtown Chicago with 23,000 of your closest friends and coworkers! We won't with the whole shebang, but we are hoping to win a contest with one of our other offices who also runs this race (the Chase Corporate Challenge is run in many major cities around the world). I'm in the green and Mr. S is taking the photo.

Not an award-winning time, but a personal best for me (I was shooting to do it in 40 minutes). The whole race was 3.5 miles. That's the longest race I've run! (You may laugh.) Thanks goes to the Mr. for being a good pacer for me and not letting me give up!

Breaking news: This just in - a fellow coworked (not even in the race last night) brought me a doughnut from a new shop down the street to congratulate me on my run and celebrate Friday. It was lemon and it was gooood. 

I'll give you a choice of questions to answer this Flip-It Friday:

1) How do you avoid/handle awkward interactions with strangers or people that hit on you?

2) What is your favorite form of exercise (I hate running, so I'm open to suggestions)?

3) This isn't advice, but what's your favorite doughnut flavor?

Happy Memorial Day weekend, friends!

Boo! - It's a Phone Call and Just Say No

I have been a receptionist more times in my life than any other profession. When you screen calls, people have the option to say, "No, I'm not going to take that call from XYC Company because it's a solicitor." I get a lot of people turning down calls like this and you know what? It never got to the root of problem and stopped the solicitor.

If you think about it, turning down the solicitor's calls turns the receptionist into your gatekeeper, your knight in shining stilettos. They save you from unwanted magazine subscriptions, rambling investments schemes and unknown 1-800 numbers. How ... nice?

No. Not nice. You are a coward and making someone totally unrelated to the situation fight your audio-battles when you could just: talk to the solicitor and tell them to take you off the list.

I just got a call, patched through from our current receptionist, that was clearly a solicitor. I said, "Um, sure, you can put them through," knowing full well that I would have to turn down this poor soul on the other end. I listened to his spiel, told him we weren't interested and thanked him for his follow up. Click. Painless and he got the point.

Grow a set and pick up the phone, won't you?

It is sick how much we are propelled into rigidity by fear. We refuse change. We hold ourselves back. We make it harder on the adapting world. We become irrelevant.

I've been there.

I used to avoid guys that asked me out more than once when I turned them down in a flaky way (I have actually used the excuse "I have to wash my hair" instead of coming out with it and saying I just wasn't attracted to them).

It's ok to say No. It doesn't have to be a personal dig on the recipient. And when people say No to you, don't take it personally. We have to learn to take on our opponents and tell them No.

So the next time you get a call from an unknown number or a name that doesn't sound familiar, just pick it up and deal with it. You can save yourself, the salesperson (or poor soul that asked you out) and the receptionist some time and grief.

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On an unrelated note, tomorrow is Mr. S's last day at his old job. He is moving on to bigger (paychecks) and better (career track) things. In honor of him gaining VP status (congratulations, Mr.!), I thought I'd make him a cake:

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Or just take a picture of a cake.

Ok, that's not my cake or my picture. I do like it though.