Last night I came to a very scary realization...

After a night of heavy drinking and seeing shows and bowling in the glow of various blacklights, I ended up at a friend's birthday party during what is known as the "weird hour," about 130am or so. During this end of the night social hour, I decided to try to teach a guy the "Mc Donalds" little girls' slapping hand routine from childhood. I am sure some are familiar--"Big Mac, Filet of Fish, Quarter Pounder, French Fries, Icy Coke, Thick Shake, Sundaes and Apple Pie..." you know the rest. We half chanted, half sung this song as we executed various seemingly elaborate hand slaps and snaps and such. It was thrilling as a little girl, trust me.

Well the guy didn't know it, so the female stranger next to him pushed him away and took over with gusto, which was very pleasing to me.

As this was going on, another friend came out and, inspired by the Micky Dee's routine, he proceeded to spout out some song he had learned as a child in which every single mother-loving menu item is recited in record speed. It was incredible. And oddly unsettling.

THEN, the original guy I was attempting to teach my slap hand routine, busted out with a song from camp that sounded vaguely familiar from days long gone. It went something like this:

A-Pizza Hut!
A-Pizza Hut!
Kentucky Fried Chicken and
A-Pizza Hut!
Mc Donalds!
Mc Donalds!
Kentucky Fried Chicken and
A-Pizza Hut!

--and so on.

Holy shit, I thought to myself, we have so many references from childhood to these fast food chains that we are now FINALLY realizing are so awful for us and contribute to this country's sense of gluttony and big, Big, BIG! It has been ingrained in us like so much church propaganda! The Church of Fast Food? Yikes.

Anyway this thought went along with another thought I had earlier in the week, about if babies whose mothers eat Mc Donalds when pregnant give their offspring a taste of the addictive qualities of Mc Donalds so early on, that they come out wanting it all the time and already hooked on whatever additives they put in the fries and shit that make it so good and such an intense craving sometimes.

Almost like a crack baby, but for Mc Donalds.

I really worry about those children. They may be the same ones whose mothers give them coca-cola in a bottle, forcing them to rot their teeth early and have gold and silver teeth by age 4.

But I guess now that bling grills are in style, its not so bad for those kids. And they can always be passified by a quick stop for a Happy Meal.

Things you shouldn't give a "name" to:

1) Your penis
2) Your breasts
3) The cockroach you find in your kitchen
4) That thing growing mold in your fridge
5) Your stereo
6) That homeless dude you never talk to or give money to
7) Your favorite chair
8) Your old smelly gym shoes

Things I am scared of right now...

1) The cold setting in
2) My car crapping out and having no money
3) Having to move soon and having no money
4) Starting a career path with an expensive school and having no money
5) Having to ask my mom for money
6) Some sort of catastrophe happening and having no money

I sense a pattern.

It seems I am having a financial breakdown. Again. It seems like only yesterday I was freaking out about money when I quit my waitressing job. But now, after being very frugal for a month or so, I have slipped just a little and got a bit fancy free with my money. (What? A girl can't have a few drinks and a nice movie on a Saturday afternoon? Please.) And suddenly I am back at square one, shivering and scared that if anything disrupts this delicate balance I have going, I will spiral into poor woman's oblivion. I am just perfectly able to pay all my bills and rent and eat and have a few drinks. That is about it. Nothing else can be introduced. Even a fun roadtrip coming up for Thanksgiving is secretly putting me into mini convulsions if I think about it and how I am going to afford to miss 3 whole work days.

Its ridiculous, I know. Stupid and meaningless to worry unnecessarily. But sometimes it feels very necessary. Especially when I am looking to take the plunge into some serious debt for school. The one good thing I had going was my little debt--a few thousand in cc bills. No biggie. NO school loans. Great.

But now...I am about to embark on an academic quest to learn a craft that will be amazing and wonderful to use, supposedly pay well, and hopefully give me some of the purpose I have been seeking for a while. But what if it doesn't? What if I don't get it, or I hurt myself, or I stop halfway through out of circumstances out of my control?

I am hearing my mother's voice in a lot of these thoughts. Her voice in my head likes to team up with my own inner voice and tear down all my excitement for things, only focusing on the hardships and possible horrible worse case senarios.

I hate it.

And I am fighting it. Seriously. I am really trying this time...

I just slip up and get lazy and the voices creep up yet again. So here I am, getting them out and away from my head and out into the ether (or net as it were) and somehow it helps. It may be a quick fix to just get me through the next few days, but it helps.

Anyone have any thoughts or fears they want to contribute? It is always nice to know you aren't alone in your darker moments. It helps to get it out and share with people who understand.

I am here, shaking in my shitty boots I can't afford to replace, willing to listen and empathize.

The Killer Giant Snails Are Coming!!!!

I read that in Barbados they are conducting nocturnal hunts in search of the "Giant Snails" that are taking massive chunks out of their wildlife during the night. These snails are said to be at least the size of a human hand, and are often found riding on each other's backs and clustering together in what sound like massive snail orgies.

I can't quite believe this is really happening.

It is a very similar feeling to the one I had when told that they had found the Giant Squid, which has "eyes the size of dinner plates!" I was full of glee when I heard, yet had a very hard time comprehending the truth of it all.

I hope they can put a stop to the destruction these snails have caused. But I also hope they can cage at least a few of those suckers and ship them over to the museum here so I can see these invertebrate orgies in action.

It is always scary to take the plunge and commit to a set path in life. That has been my problem for a long time, I think--the idea that deciding what to do and then going for it is so...final, and thus a challenge to do. But the beauty of making a decision is that you can always veer somewhere else, or discover something even better along the way. It's NOT doing anything that stops you from moving forward or living life to the fullest.

And choosing a path doesn't mean it has to be forever. It can just be an awesome and satisfying way to spend your time...until it's not. And that is okay too. But maybe, just maybe, you find something that will fulfill something inside of you. And maybe that will be the end all be all. Or maybe it will be what it is to you right then--exactly what you needed to do to save yourself from yourself. And then you move on to something else.

I am experiencing this sort of decision making phenomena right now. And it feels so much better than NOT doing anything, that I know whether it is right or wrong, it is good for me. I am excited about discovering if a career is right for me, and I am going about it as responsibly as I can. I am getting mixed responses from friends and family, but I am trying to sort out the pros and cons and the negative attitudes. I am evaluating the investment I would have to make and assessing if it is worth the spiritual and educational growth I will be gaining from it.

I have discovered many things so far. One is, this shit is really difficult. But it's not so difficult I want to quit. The drive far outweighs the trouble. Which is AWESOME! I haven't felt that in a long time. Also, trying to listen to yourself is easier once you stop pushing to find something. Something will make sense once you give yourself the attention you need and stop paying attention to what everyone else is doing. Easier said than done for me, but I managed to hear a little something and am trying to run with it. And even if it turns out not to be for me, I am that much closer to finding what is. That is what life is.

Why is it so hard to remember that? All those cliches about "life is the journey, not the destination" and blah blah get lost along the way when you are freaking out about being in your late 20s and as directionless as an amoeba. Maybe we aren't directionless, maybe it is okay to have some incubation periods at times. Bears get to hybernate, don't they? Maybe we should get to as well. As long as we don't get lost in our sorrow and fear, maybe it is rejuvinating to go through it.

At least that is what I keep telling myself.

Anyway I am excited to see what the future has in store, and I am not fearing it nearly as much.

Give me a few days, then we'll talk.

I began taking a guitar class at Old Town School of Folk, which I highly reccommend to anyone who wants a low key and warm environment in which to make poor attempts at rocking when you know nothing about music. Seriously, when you are jamming in class at Old Town , you FEEL like you are really mastering the instrument, and everyone supports your artistic endevors wholeheartedly. Its amazing. Also, they just throw you into learning songs...no music theory or chord progressions to slow you down. You simply pound out "Mercedes Benz" with your best Janis Joplin voice until your fingers bleed and you feel like a master.

Case in point--I had my first class Thurs (compliments of the best boy ever) and I enjoyed every minute of it. I learned chords called "D" and "A7" and through those two, I was able to play at least 4 songs that night. Incredible, I say. I felt the confidence of a true guitar player shine through my actual novice status solely because I could play an entire song. There is truly something to that--the sense accomplishment, especially on the first day. I think the instructors know that and that is why they use this "just get in there and play" technique. It is much more rewarding than talking about the music and chords and beats, etc. the entire class.

After jamming for two hours straight on Hank Williams, Bob Marley, Janis and Merle Haggard, I finished my beer (yes, I had beer while I played. Genius!) and walked to the train abuzz with pride.

Then I noticed the massive blister on the side of my thumb. It came so fast, without warning. But it was there, shouting out for me to pay attention to it with a throbbing pain I have not ever experienced on that part of my body before. The blister stayed for 3 days, not popping but threatening to every time I used the keyboard on the computer at work(which was often.) It made my whole thumb hot, despite the dropping Chicago tempatures, quite a feat, I must say.

I kept a close watch on it, waiting for the enevitable pop, only to be slightly disappointed when I woke up Saturday hung over and saw that somehow during the night while I slept, the liquid found a way to drain out undetected. All that remained of my tight little bubble was a deflated sack hanging off my thumb. And no wet spot anywhere on the bed to show for it. Oh well. At least it didn't explode in an embarassing scene somewhere public. I guess I should be grateful. So I will.

Now I am looking forward to the next lesson. I hope guitar doesn't end up like mandolin class, where my excitement for it lasted through the second session, and then suddenly I found myself so damn lost that my fingers looked at me in confusion and said "you want us to do WHAT? No way, we're outta here," and promptly gave up.

I think guitar is a little more accessible than mandolin, though, so maybe it will be a while before they introduce things that overwhelm my dumb fingers so much that they retreat back into my pockets in fear. I certainly hope so. I want to be able to rock any time, anywhere. That is my goal.

Here is to trying a new awesome thing. We should all make sure we are doing that whenever we start to get too comfortable. Challenges (even large bubbly ones on the side of our thumbs) are wonderful and necessary to our sense of pride in ourselves. May we all embrace them with glee.

Open Letter to Chicago Public Transit System:

Dear CTA,

Words cannot express how much I love you, despite all your flaws. Look, I have loved many times, and I really think with you, I can forgive all the things about you that really get my goat, and just find a higher plane with us.
On Weekend nights, I think about how fast you get us all away from our shitty day jobs and into our nightlife, and I am amazed at your speed and dedication. I wonder how you feel about having to go back and forth all night instead of partying down as well. I am sure you miss the raging fun, but at least you get to see it in transition, from one social gathering to another. Sometimes the train cars even become a mini party of their own due to drunken idiots! What fun! They bring the party to you, CTA. That is how much we love you.
I often curse your name when I have already brought it upon myself to be late to work, and you add to the problem by being late as well. And sometimes I get annoyed that you dont have more seats. Or you take a turn to quick and make me mash into another rider, thus breaking my silent morning and forcing me to utter "sorry" in my gravelly pre-coffee voice.
But despite all this, I honestly don't know what I would do without you. I need you in my life, always. I can't see myself without you, and my future looks so beautiful as long as you are around. So I will get over all my issues with you and keep trying to find new ways to love you and all you bring me each day.

Sincerely,
Yours forever,
Your sweet loving rider,
Leanne

There were two fires in two days in Chicago this week. The trains have been a mess because of them. I find it odd that they are both so large and disruptive and happened so close together...call me a sassy Nam Vet, but I think its a conspiracy. I think arson is involved and these people lighting these fires are trying to say something. If we all shut up and listen real close, I think we can hear what they are saying, just faintly...fuck all y'all and your stinkin train commutes!

You are right, arsonists! We should not be so hurried to get home. We should enjoy lounging on the platform for a few good minutes (20 to be exact) and read our books, enjoy our carefully selected i-tunes, find comfort in bitching with others about the delays...really take in the good life, you know?

Also, it brings people together. People forced to be nose to nose on the train. Bumping and apologizing all over the place. What spirit this brings to the Big City! And how!

Anyway, stop lighting fires so close to train lines. Its pissing us off. Thanks arsonists. Stay cool. (get it? HA!)

A friend of mine was kind enough to reach into my hair while I was bent over and grabbing something out of my bag, pluck a HUGE spiny, dried out grey hair out of its dead follicle, and present it to me as a sort of birthday gift. She said "here you go," or "take a look at that," or something like that, with a big smile on her face. But I didn't even hear her. I just stared at the foreign body between my trembling fingers.

Now I know grey hair shouldn't be a big deal. I guess it is just a part of the aging process. But I am someone who happens to be terrified of getting old, and I happen to be in a bit of an emotional period in my life, and I happen to have never seen a grey hair on my head until that moment. So needless to say, I was a mess.

I honestly was brought to tears by this discovery. My friend of course felt terrible. She thought it was funny because she has many grey hairs, and she was sure I had seen at least one or two already, being the ancient 27 years old I am. But no. She unknowingly pulled out my first and hopefully only one. And got the scare of her life when it brought me to depths of depression as a result. I kept a hold on my tears, unwilling to let them spill. But it was a fine line. They danced on the rims of my eyelids. But not a single drop actually stained my face. Thank the Lord.

I guess I am letting my sadness get the best of me lately. It could be the darkness, the cold, the icy wind unwilling to let me enjoy my time outside and instead confining me to the small surface area of my apartment. I had done well for myself, I think. I was not very sad for about two months. I was freaking out, sure, but it was at a tolerable level I could handle. Now I am feeling a little paralyzed. I will push through it soon, I am sure, but for now it sure is annoying.

I think it was aggrivated by a sudden feeling of utter loneliness. I don't want to be friends with people who don't think I am important enough in their lives to make an effort for me. Why even bother? I am getting to a point where I think I want to let go of people who I don't hear from for a while...stop trying to keep in touch with walls that don't reach out to me as well. I really feel like I don't have a true friend in my vicinity anymore...someone who I can depend on, at least. Even those people I feel close to, I know if I really needed them, unless I was dying on the side of the road, they might be too busy. And I am a culprit too. I don't always make myself available to people when they need me. But usually I will try to make up for it if it happens, make a concerted effort to call or see them as soon as I can. I call even if it has been a while. I don't remember the last time someone did the same.

I think there are friends that fall into the "They just aren't that into you" category. And I am the girl who thinks (wrongly) that the excuses are because they really care, they were just too busy. But really, if they cared, they would make time. Somehow. Maybe not when I wanted it, but sometime soon after. When someone really wants to be with you, they find a way. And so with pals, if they really enjoyed your company and valued you, they would find a way. A lot of my friends "just aren't that into me," not as much as I am into them, I guess. And that is a hard thing to come to terms with, much like it is in a couple situation.

We are also all quite self centered now, in this life. I see it in the people close to me all the time. And sometimes in myself as well. Will that phase ever end? Or is that the only way we can be in this cutthroat capitalistic and cruel society? We have to focus on us or we will not be payed attention to by the world... we will slip through the cracks...

All this makes me wanna just lay down and sleep away the sadness.

Jeez I am so goth right now.

Ugh.

I am Celebrating my 20th Blog by writing in a HUGE font!!!!!!!!
YeeeHawww!

Ok enough of that.

I miss my mother. I do.

I was at my boring temp job, endlessly sealing envelopes, and I was reading a literary magazine called "The Sun" to keep my brain cells active and my eyes open. There is a section called "Readers Write" where people submit short pieces about their experiences with a given topic.It is a wonderfully fresh and interesting section of the magazine, full of many voices and perspectives.
It seemed like there were about 3 or 4 stories in a row about mothers and the sacrifices they made, or their childrens' attempts to connect with them before they die, or how old and decrepid they have gotten in their old age, but how beautiful they still are. I kept coming across these heartfelt tales and being moved to near tears...mostly because I am at a highly emotional time of the month, but also because I am reminded of my own mother and how far away she is. I haven't lived near my mother since I was 17, but I at least saw her every few months in California. Now I see her once a year. Barely. And sometimes I have a clear image of her in the near future as a very old lady, and she is beautiful like the ladies in the stories I read.

Then you know what I do when she calls? I talk for a while, try to relate to her, then end up annoyed and hastily hanging up. I push her away when she is right there ready to talk. After I just lamented on how I wish I could see her more, I am turned into instant brat when one thing she says sets me off. It is ridiculous. I don't understand it. And I know I am not alone with this. Lots of people my age have difficulty seeing family, yet living so far away, we crave it incessantly.
Maybe it is not the family we miss, it's the sense of belonging, the ease of childhood. The comfort. And we may not ever be able to get that back. Maybe we can only try to recreate it by having a family of our own, and becoming that stable comfort for someone else. I guess that idea makes me understand the appeal of children for some people. A way to reach out to that life you miss, and be on the giving end this time, which I am sure is just as rewarding.
After all this, I guess I am really looking forward to visiting my family in California at Christmas. I think even if I get irritated with them, I am going to try to remember how much I missed them while I was here, and push against that feeling.
Family is so weird. As are the emotions they bring out in us, good and bad.

Mustaches Making a Comeback!!! (no, not the good kind)

The topic of female mustaches has come up a few times this week, either in conversation or right in front of my face. Now, I have nothing against mustaches, but when I see a woman with one, I have to wonder--doesn't she KNOW? Doesn't she CARE?
I happen to have friends who are cursed with some dark facial hair above their luscious sexy womanly lips (as if PMS isn't enough to deal with!). Now these lovely ladies are aware of their genetic disposition and take measures to keep things under control. Nair or whatever the kids use these days...
And I never really thought about how good it is that they do this, until I started at my new temp job. There is a woman I will not specify that has very pale skin and a very clear black mustache across her upper lip. I think she may be Italian or even Jewish, and let's face it, both backgrounds provide quite a hairy disposition. Yet she seems not to notice. I think she is the type that would care if she realized how gross it looked. But for some reason she is oblivious. I cannot help but stare at it when she is assigning me my newest slave project. I feel like she is a little woman Hitler with that black stuff going on, dictating what I do for the day.
I am lucky enough to be for the most part hairless, but I know if I suffered a different fate, I would shave that shit. I have a guy friend who shared that he once dated a girl with a tiny mustache, and every now and then he could feel it when he kissed her. He confessed that sometimes it really sicked him out. But he couldn't say anything because he didn't want to upset her.
Why should we all continue to be upset to spare one poor girl from being upset for maybe a day or two (before she shaves that shit)? She will get over it and thank us later. And we get to stop being grossed out whenever milk gets caught in her mustache, making it glisten in the light.
Lets end the female mustache once and for all, people. Tell someone you love to get over her man hair and save us all a little awkwardness every day.

Seventeen thousand papercuts later I am done with another excruciating day of stuffing envelopes for idiots. I swear I am not a temp, I am a chump they hired for slave labor. They must do this every year to some poor unsuspecting new temp. I was the goat this time. Damn. Well, lesson learned.
There is this thing happening recently online with some other blogs and with real world friends too. This sudden crisis about life. I mean, its always THERE, but maybe its the drastic change in weather or I don't know what, but people are getting laid off and hating their new job transitions and freaking out A LOT about money. And I am right there with them. How does one do all this living business? I mean the business of making one. Making a living does not seem much like living to me. It is quite the opposite. I feel like I lived more when I waitressed because at least I could make more money if I really wanted and there were always two good days for every miserable one...and there is the whole 5-6 hr shift thing that was nice. Actually I am surprised I don't mind the grind hours as much as I thought I would...its just the money that shocks and appalls me. How do I live off this? Let alone save?
Ok ok blah blah blah
Lets do something that will cheer me up. A list!
Ok...um...how about things I WON'T be for Halloween:

1. 26
2. alone
3. sober (yay!)
4. a "sexy" _____. (fill in whatever occupation normally isn't sexy but gets made sexy for a girlie girl to enjoy her Halloween and get gawked at like she hopes)
5. A republican
6. Michael Jackson
7. Pee Wee Herman (sigh* maybe next year...)
8. Pennywise (ew clowns!)
9. a terd (again)
10. warm (this is Chicago, folks)
11. Hungry (I will most likely get a free meal of some sort from some kind friend)
12. Amish (bad costume this year)
13. Bored (there is always something going on in the city! That is the beauty!)

Happy birthday to me!

PS I am finally going to be a Scarecrow this year, something I wanted to do for a long time but never got around to because of numerous complications. I am gonna be damn cute!

WARNING!!! The following post is a rant vomit session that you may not want to read for fear it may overwhelm you as much as it did the writer of such filth...proceed with caution:

I have discovered a dilemma with temping. While mindlessly stuffing papers into envelopes and listening to Mike Doughty and the Garden State sountrack for the 18th time in a row on my ghetto MP3 player, I realized that this office work I was doing wasn't mindless. It is mind-full! As in, my mind started to wander into the bad places I try to avoid. Like the places where I get sad and keep thinking about how much my life blows and jesus will I ever be able to afford the things I want, and why am I even here doing this, why aren't I traveling or writing or helping starving children eat some porriage or something!
Then I can't get the thoughts out. They have become a force not to be reckoned with. They dance and laugh at me, swirling in my head like so many brain tumors. I start to let Zack Bratt's music choice effect my mood as well, and suddenly I am almost weeping because right when I realize I am turning 27 in 21 days I hear the lyric "Let go, what are you waiting for, there is beauty in the breakdown...." And so I follow the advice and am now tearing up for reals, oh god, yeah, I am really gonna cry here at this stupid freaking HR desk that isn't even mine. While I stuff pamphlets into envelopes. Pamphlets about the risks of being fat stuffed into envelopes to be mailed to fat people. Oh god this is terrible. I want to leave. I can't leave. I have to make money. I can't even afford to take a class to better myself and get myself the hell out of this situation of having way too much brains and not enough experience to get a real thinking job, instead I have to sit here and do what monkeys could do. And know that I could be actually utilized so much better somewhere else but no one would ever give me a chance because who the fuck am I???

Ok so that was a taste of the bad places my brain went today. Now it is a bit more clear why I choose to avoid these places.

But temping is now a portal to hell, as far as I am concerned. I just think about all the no money I am making and being unhappy. And I feel very stuck though I know I am not. I know I can just "let go, jump in, what am I waiting for?" But somehow even knowing that congnatively, I am paralyzed. I have concrete slabs on my feet and move a lot slower with them. These slabs are made of insecurity and fear. Hooray! help!

Another day of temping passes through my fingertips.
I worked at Whole Foods today. I filed my sweet little ass off. It was as boring as golf, I tell you. It did not help that I started my day off getting a coffee at 7-11. This is never a wise choice and I should remember that. But sometimes I am daring and adventurous in the bad kind of way, and I challenge what I already know to be true. So the coffee. It was called French Roast and I doused it with french vanilla creamer, as I have many times before. And the resulting concoction tasted exactly like what I imagine piss would taste like. Warm and uriney. It was awful. So my morning started off sour like pee.
And it will hopefully end bitter like beer, for that is where I am headed now. To beerland. Or my local pub. Whatever you wanna call it.

People who have big, boistrious laughs tend to reach higher positions in companies. That is what I have realized today, as another boring office day goes by. Whenever the head of the department laughs, bodies jump in their seats all across the floor. Hers is a laugh that is both jarring and infectious. Quieter women in their cubicles full of Disney characters say things like "Something really funny must be going on over there," and you can hear the envy and curiosity in their meek little voices. Everyone wishes they could be so free, so comfortable and genuinely amused that they could just burst forth such a loud cackle. Even I am momentarily distracted from my very important labeling job.

I think these people who laugh loud are in positions of power because they make everyone around them feel like the funniest person alive. Also, when you are "in on the joke," you get to know the reason for the big laugh and this is pleasing to most people who want to feel important or part of a group. These big laughers make everyone feel "cool."

I know a girl who always seems to get promoted quickly, even when SHE herself isn't quite sure she is qualified to be in whatever position it is. She is a widely known loud laugher, and I think somehow this, along with her obvious charm, has catapulted her to great corporate heights without her really even trying that hard. Thus proving my awesome theory of moving up in Corporate America.

So from now on I am going to try really hard to laugh loud and proud at anything remotely funny, especially from higher ups. Except the ladies with Disney characters in their cubicles. I don't want them to get the wrong impression that they are "cool" or something.

To the left of my boyfriend's apartment building is a church. I walk by most mornings in a sleepy haze, shielding myself from the biting 7am winds and willing the sky to fall in so I don't have to got to work.
Today I was jarred out of my usual angry morning mood by the sight of chalk outlines of bodies on the sidewalk outside the church doors.

Was there some sort of mass murder out here? The bodies were all very small sillouettes. A child massacre?

After further inspection, I realized they were just a product of children having fun with colored sidewalk chalk. All these morbid looking chalk outlines in various poses. They each had the child's name written in nice careful handwriting along the torso. Meaning some adult supervisor had endorsed this chalk outlining as appropriate, and helped make it all happen.

At first I had thought perhaps some kid from the "bad side of town" had shared with the other children the images he sees outside the mini mart near his house--gang shootings resulting in real chalk outlines. "Hey Billy!" he would shout, "We should do what the policeman does!" Commence outlining.

But no, it seems this was an adult induced idea, given the naming of each child's torso, to show who's silloutte was who's. "Danny died of a gunshot," or "Lindsey was pushed out a window and landed with her leg twisted just so." Horrible deaths given real names...

What if we did that with real chalk outlines?

Anyway it was pretty intense and shook me up a bit. My brain wasn't quite prepared to see so many dead bodies strewn all over the sidewalk at 7am.

Songs That Can Be About Temp Workers:

It's Hard Out There For a Temp.

Tempin' Ain't Easy

I Temp Hard for the Money

One More Temp

Give Me Three Temps

Killer Temp

Temps in Low Places

Temp, Temp Baby

I Would Do Anything for Temp, But I Won't Do That

CTA Moments...

I waited a good amount of time for the train home today. I thought getting off work at 430 would be a blessing for my commute, but it turns out maybe not so much.
A crowded can of sardines at last arrived at the station. I crammed myself in between the doors and found solace in the middle section of the car. I let a small Mexican lady cram in with me and prayed my armpit didn't stink while I held on to the pole above her tiny head. After a day in an office wearing a cheap H&M collared shirt, there is no telling what the funk might be under my arms. Just saying.

I got myself comfortable with the situation.I checked my stance to make sure I could balance despite the train's quick turns and lurches forward and back, and I made sure my MP3 player was at the right volume so I could still vaguely hear the world around me. A double check of my bag--making sure it wasn't accidently open or knocking into someone--completed my checklist. I was ready for a 20 minute train ride home.

About 3 minutes into the ride, I noticed a warmth near me. Being in an overcrowded train, I wasn't surprised. As the Brown Line curves and twists, I often feel body heat from other passengers rub or brush against me. But this was different. It didn't go away. A man behind me and to my left was brushing up against me, not in an offensive "oh my God I can feel his boner" way or anything, but just a subtle sort of forced closeness. It alternated between various places--our arms, our hips, our lower backs...but the contact remained constant. And truthfully, I didn't make huge attempts to move away. I actually enjoyed the feeling of having no idea who he was but getting to feel the pressure of his hip against mine, or sense the heat radiating off his arm hairs, or feeling the weight of the day he had had in his feet. I could sense all of this, quietly, without ever looking him in the eye. And we shared a moment of human contact on the train for no reason beseides we had to- we were squished between a million other people.
These kinds of moments are why I moved to Chicago. In California, I felt the human contact shrinking away. I was always in my car or in a building or in my personal space bubble, rarely having to share much space with anyone. Here, in the city, there are forced interactions, and while at times they are irritating or not wanted, either way you are affected, every day, by your surroundings. No way to entirely "tune out" or not be present. And I like that.

So this guy and I shared a moment where I think we both actually enjoyed the feeling of another person's heat against us, and we let it happen more than we might have needed to. Certainly I let it happen more than if it had been some hairy old lady or something. And it was nice and not creepy but sort of comforting, like we were sharing our day for a moment, without words or eye contact.

I actually made accidental eye contact towards the end and we both turned our heads quickly like it had shattered our perceptions. And then he got off the train shortly after.

Ah,Chicago. How I do love thee.

I quit my job I guess. It is finally official.Having a record for being sort of half assed about a lot of things, I handled it in the usual way. I took some time off to try temping, then I never really went back. I called and planned on going in to talk to the boss about it (mentioned in my other blog) but I think God didn't want me to have to do that because it rained so fiercely yesterday. When faced with the rain, I did what any person who didn't really wanna do something would do. I called instead to investigate if it was even worth going down there for. After numerous phone tag calls, The boss and I finally touched base and he seemed even less into the whole talking thing than I was. So we handled it lamely over the phone. But I stressed that I had WANTED to do it right. It just didn't quite work out that way...

And another chapter of my existance is closed. Awkwardly closed, with maybe a doorstop smashed in there just in case, but closed enough for now.

I am not sure why I am so bad at confrontation. I really want to be the person who wows people with her quick thinking and logic, her professional manner and open frankness when she thinks something isn't right. But instead I freeze up when faced with actual eye to eye confrontation about what I really want. I hardly ever seem to know what I really want, and maybe that is my way of staying out of trouble. Knowing what you want means facing the sad truth that you may not get what you want. So instead, I stumble around trying for things halfassedly so i don't get too disappointed when I don't get things.

I don't know what I am really going for with this. It's Sunday and my brain isn't quite up to par. Maybe this is why most people don't blog on the weekends...
Another avoidance of going deeper right now...compliments of Leanne...

So there is a new Reality TV program on Animal Planet called "Meercat Manor." Cameras follow around a tribe of meercats as they live, learn and love. Apparently it was a big hit last season and they have already began the next installment. I have come up with some alternative spinoff show titles.

Meercat Meth-house

Meercat Megamart

Meercat Mall

Meercat Mercado

Meercat Mansion

Meercat Music Hall

Meercat Menards

Meercat Monster Truck Rally

Meercat Mountain

Meercat 4-story walk-up