Friday, November 17, 2006

Rub A Monkey's Belly On Your Head

Today here at work I've gotten $16 in tips. Fourteen from one lady who sent four faxes, who made me call two different places to get the fax numbers because her hearing wasn't very good and $2 from an old guy who only made 10 copies. I guess this disproves my theory on being indifferent to customers. If I'm nice to them, they're nice to me. WHO KNEW.

About twenty minutes ago some guy came in with his girlfriend to drop off a package. He asked "Where are you from?" and I said the little part of Chicago I'm from cause I thought he thought I looked familiar or something. He goes,
"Oh, so from Chicago?"
"You sound like you're from Jersey."
"Really? I've heard I have a thick Chicago accent, but never got Jersey before."
"You're from the North side at least, right?"
"No - born and raised Southside."
"Well you definitley sound like you're from somewhere on the East Coast."

Jersey, really? I mean sometimes I like to pretend I've from Boston and said "pahhk the cahh" or something, but I doubt my desire to be from Boston came out of me when I asked, "Do you want a tracking number?" Chicago, I never meant to betray or deny you. Please don't hold this against me.

Then some creepshow who has a mailbox here asked me to go out with him because he had just gotten some birthday money. I lied and said I was seeing someone because he's, as forementioned, a creepshow. This is the same guy who asked for my number when I was home from college my freshman year, and because I'm stupid, gave it to him. He called later that night around 11:30 when I was at Megan's, asking if I wanted to go out. I said no, cause I was leaving to go back to school early the next morning and he goes, "I got some beer in my car. You don't want to have one last night of fun before you go back?" Well, when you put it that way, how could I turn you down! *

Borat, just as I was hoping it was going to be, was the greatest movie in the entire world. If you haven't seen it, do it up. I also saw Stranger than Fiction last week, which was pretty good too. Next Roger Ebert, right here.

Last Sunday the Bears were on the Sunday night game against the Giants. I went to the bar with a couple friends, and my dad was up there too which some of his. This worked out very convienently for me because whenever I ran out of beer I could just mosey on over to his table and take one from their bucket. I got plastered, very plastered, something which I really hardly ever get since I drive to the bar most of the time. I think it had to do with the one jagerbomb Marty bought me early on before the game started. My friends went home, and I stayed with my dad and his one friend who was left. I didn't even rememeber this until the next day at work (the night was coming back to me slowly throughout the day) but the night ended with us dancing to the Blues Brothers (really it was Dan and John up there!) band. Hi, my name is Katie and I like to drink and dance with my dad after Bears games. I asked my dad when I got home if I was just imagining things or we really were dancing and he goes "Hell yeah we were dancing." If that "hell yeah" doesn't make it real, then I don't know what would.

Keri comes home today, actually should be home right now, and J.P comes home Wednesday. Super Sibling (anti) Sobriety Day coming up, I CAN JUST FEEL IT. Tonight I'm going with Keri to Naperville for one of her friend's birthday's, which is going to be awesome, considering I have to be the desginated driver. And have to work at 9:00 am Saturday. Sweet.

And lastly, a strange conversation I had Sunday night with a guy I had just been introduced to, a friend of a friend:
"So your name is Katie?"
"Thanks...I really had nothing to do with it."
"I like your eyebrows."

Well, why work on losing my enormous stomach when all the guys are really looking at my sexy-ass eyebrows. Or maybe he had nothing else to compliment me on so he picked my eyebrows. Must. Stop. Analyzing. Everything. But really, eyebrows? I guess I should take what I can get.

*I asked him how old he was going to be Saturday and he said "28". I just looked at the papers he had to fill out to get the mailbox, and he's actually turning 31. Good one, pretending to be three years younger than you actually are. Fucking idiot.

If anyone can name what book the title of this stupid post is, you are all that is man. And it doesn't count if you get it Keri - you already are a man. Also, for all of you that whined and moaned that my brother never updates his blog, check it out now, bitches.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Put On Your Red Shoes

I'm going to visit Keri this Saturday-Monday. I could have been there Friday-Monday, had I not been a pussy and caved when my boss asked me to work from 9am-12pm Saturday morning, even though I had already taken off. Yeah yeah, it's only three hours, but it blows nonetheless. Also, here at the store? They want us to start decorating for Christmas already. If someone comes in here within the next week wanting to send out Christmas presents, I will assassinate them. Christmas can NOT start being celebrated before Thanksgiving. If someone ran for office on that platform alone, I would vote for them. They would not win, but I would vote for them.

Halloween was a bewitchingly (yeah I made a word up, what now) good time. My friend Mary had a party Saturday that a lot of people ended up coming to depite it being in kinda-sorta-bufu. Steve, this guy I went on a date with over the summer was there, the first time I had seen him since August or so. He tried calling me two or three times afterwards, but I never answered the phone, because I'm a horrible person. (Plus he was the absolute worst kisser in the entire world. And he was shorter than me. But mostly because I'm a terrible person.) So I saw him, said hi, how are you doing, and we were civil. Awkward, yet civil. Then later on I start talking to this really nice, funny guy, George. Who I find out is one of Steve's best friends. Sometime during the night Steve clued him in as to who he was talking to, and once George found out, he said, as per Rich, Diana's boyfriend and also Steve's good friend (are you following me?) "Fuck that bitch." Wow. Nice. Not like I didn't deserve it, that's not the case by any means, but I didn't need to actually hear it. Goddamnit, now that's all I can think of - "Fuck that bitch". I want to call Steve and apologize to him, but I don't want it to look like I have an ulterior motive. I know there's people out there who don't like me, or think I'm a bitch, I'm not delusional, but it sucks ass actually hearing it. I am a terrible terrible person.

We went to the bar on Halloween, our usual Tuesady night place. The bartenders there are always really nice, giving you a free drink after you buy three or four. This time it was so crowded we were double-fisting (oh yeah), and I went up to get four Miller Lites. The guy gave me four for $5.50, which is the normal price for two beers, and which was also very lovely of him considering it was the first beers I had gotten from him all night. Later that night after last call, I went up and thanked him for the two free ones and he told me no problem because, and I quote, "You always come up and ask with a smile on your face. I kinda have a crush on you." You have no idea how nice this was the hear, because I've been told numerous, NUMEROUS times that I never smile, and always look pissed when I'm at the bar. I actually had someone in a band shine a fucking FLASHLIGHT on me one time and ask "Why aren't you having a good time?" after I had just been laughing with Megan about how people say that to me all the time. I wanted to stab that guy in the face when he did that. But, all that is water under the bridge now cause some nice, and cute, may I add, bartender has a crush on me because I'm always smiling. Fuck yes bitches. Bartender's at Rhino: 1 Lameass bands with flashlights: 0

My parents leave tomorrow for a one week trip to Arizona. Not only are they not leaving me the Expedition, but the drivers side window on the car doesn't work so I can't take advantage of smoking in it while they're gone. Is my life awful or what.

I'm 99.99% sure I'm going to get paid tomorrow, but that 0.01% is scaring me because if I don't get to see Borat tomorrow, so help me god. Also, so help everyone who will have to deal with me and my Borat-induced rage.

Better Sophia?