Monday, March 12, 2012

This Monday is Confusing.

I have about agrillion things to say. It's been insanity lately. So much moving around - e'erday I'm shuffling, bouncing around this mid-west like silly putty. Milwaukee to eat pulled pork, drink PBR and listen to The Promise Ring tear shit up at the Turner Hall and make every late 20-something, 30-something remember Happiness is All the Rage. Nashville to get drink specials, love on my best friends, buy books and eat a ridiculous amount of fried food. Yesterday, La Porte Indiana to hang with some cousins, get my hair did, and eat a 1/2 pound hamburger with 4 strips of bacon.

This is my life: moving, shaking and eating all the things.

Then, it's back to work. Sometimes I'm vacant there. My eyes are dead eyes - and I get inspired to write eulogies for everyone who has died on the inside (starting with me). Anyway, this is basically what I want to tell you: something terrible happened at work today. Something ridiculously weirdly bad that I cried for about 2 hours. But in the midst of that dumbass shit storm, something amazing happened. I think I'm going to use the word "miracle" - a "miracle" happened while the chaos was swirling. Actually, I don't know if miracle is an appropriate term, but really, it kinda felt like one.

So, this bad thing happened and of course it had something to do with a human. This particular human hurt my feelings. And that should be normal, I work with the public; that happens. But this was unseen. Completely out of the blue, so to speak. And he not only yelled at me in this weird manner, he turned it around and made me feel like this whole confusing ordeal was my fault. He even used a phrase ("cordial conflict") that made my head spin. What the hell, dude? I just asked you to follow the rules. No need to slam through the door and start yelling insane things at me in front of the whole Children's Department. Okay. Enough of that.

After that. Oh man, after that I was sitting down at my desk trying to wrap my head around what I did to make this man so angry, especially because I'm so damn nice. Anyway, I'm sitting there. Two kids around the age of 11 or 12, came up to me quietly. One girl one boy - cute little red heads. He has glasses and they both had khakis on. Quietly, they looked me right in the eyes and they told me: "sorry you're sad. [pause] sorry he hurt your feelings." Then, as if the universe really cared about me, they said, "is there anything we can do for you?"

I told them I was sorry they had to see that man yell at me. They continued to examplify this amazing love and said, "that's okay."

tell me that's not the closest thing to a miracle you've ever heard.

Monday, March 5, 2012

An Indy Rant (indie rant coming soon)

I've been driving for about 9 years. I'm a very good driver. That's not just by my standards. My insurance company lowers my insurance all the time. Because I'm great! I've been in two accidents. Neither remotely my fault. I've been living in Indianapolis since June. Since then I've been involved in nearly 30 separate collisions. On top of having my car spit at about 3 times a week as I drive home. By pedestrians. Pedestrians on the sidewalk. Pedestrians I am in no way near to striking, but that's not the point. The collisions are the point.
I don't think Indianapolis has traffic laws. The only time I ever see anyone stopped by a police officer the driver is also in hand-cuffs. So that doesn't seem like a moving violation.
One day I was driving home from work. I'm coming down a one-way street to an intersection where my street merges to make another street become a two-way street. So my eastbound traffic comes against westbound traffic. At the intersection though eastbound traffic continues onto a one-way street. Are you following me? At the intersection there is two-way traffic to my right and one-way traffic to my left. I turn right. As I'm turning someone from my left misses my car by less than a foot because I'm a good defensive driver and I stopped in time! I honked with my newly repaired horn. The cop behind me honked at me for not going through the intersection, completely disregarding the car driving the WRONG DIRECTION on a ONE-WAY STREET!
There's a curve near my apartment. The speed limit is 35. And it's right at the Monon Trail. I always slow down because my biggest fear in life is hitting a pedestrian with my car, because no matter the scenario that always ends up being the driver's fault. I also now always slow down, because when I'm driving west the traffic traveling east ALWAYS crosses the center line. ALWAYS. I've yet to have a morning when I'm going to work that someone from opposing traffic has not crossed the DOUBLE YELLOW line. The solution is real quite simple. Slow the hell down! I always honk, which I secretly hope scares the shit out of them and causes them to crash into a tree. Or me. Because then ya know, new car. I've seen cops do it. And now that the horn on my car works they ALL get honked at. Coppers too.
And today, I was coming back to the office from lunch turning right on a green light. And Johnny Left Turn, who was waiting behind another vehicle that sped in front of me, decided if that car could do it so could he. In his big-ass van! I slammed on my brakes, which squealed and yelled. Oh did I yell.
I yell at people who don't use their turn signals. I roll down my window just for that. And it's a manual crank for that window, kids. I yell at pedestrians who cross the street 30 feet from the crosswalk WHEN the cars start approaching or when the crosswalk changes to don't walk.
Because I'm the only person in ALL OF INDIANAPOLIS who knows about traffic laws. I'm looking at you Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department. I know there are other crimes to stop, but a pedestrian losing a leg in a car accident is a pubic safety issue too!

Monday, February 20, 2012

Disney Rehash

I did some more thinking this weekend, about how discontented I am. And as a member of a very selfish generation I've once again decided to shirk to blame. Disney, this one's on you too.
Every girl you've offered me was a malcontent. She didn't just want to be the best she could be, she wanted to get the heck out of town and start all over. Because she simply couldn't be held back by the support of a dopey father. She went out into the world to begin something new. It's just that something new always happened to be mucking up her entire life. And isn't that the dream?
If you don't believe me. Ask these guys.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Listen, guys, there are rules

Listen up, I have real world knowledge. I know a thing or two about a thing or two. And of course, I'm adding to that list daily. Daily, guys. Well, maybe not daily, but surely weekly, right? Last week, my etiquette skill-set was broadened to DANCE CLUB RULES - but not just dance club, SOBER DANCE CLUB. (As a clarification, I was sober. The only sober one)

1.) GOTTA GET DAT SKIN: Dressing for the occasion.
Turns out, if you wear jeans and a reasonably cute shirt that covers your body and flat shoes, (optimal for dancing) you are OVER dressed. And by over, I mean, coverage wise. To fit in, one must wear ridiculous heels. Also, short short short short short dresses or skirts with tight tight and low cut shirts. Here's an example, I watched someone try to get to the ground floor from the third level of dance floor, and guess what. I saw her whole ass. Yep. Entire thing. So did everyone there, except, I might be the only one who remembers. Also, she didn't have underwear on. I'm glad I got the back view.

2.) PUMP IT UP: Having sex on the dance floor.
This is appropriate. I didn't know that until Saturday night. At a dance club, laying a woman down on (ON) the dance floor and rubbing pubic symphises together is okay. Not just rubbing, grinding. Hard. Grinding hard. This happened. With three couples surrounding me. I even watched one couple pretend to do (graphic link)  cunnilingus. It wasn't hot.

3.) ALL THE SINGLE LADIES: Don't bring your partner to the club.
I, personally, didn't have my man because dance clubs aren't his thing, but my friend Heather did. I overheard her, at least 3 times say, "I'm here with my husband." In turn, the pursuing party gets pissed and promptly finds another girl to grind. (see rule #2).

4.) I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY: Laughing at jokes.
This rule is split into two parties. I'm on the side of laughing at inappropriate jokes made by the DJ. However, many around me did NOT think Whitney Houston jokes were kosher this soon after her death. It was hilarious, though. No one seemed to be mad at me for laughing, so, honestly, for this one, follow your heart.

5.) SING IT OUT: Singing with strangers (even drunk ones)
Journey, Dexys Midnight Runners, Vanilla Ice - it's okay to know all the words. And when you do, sing the shit right out of them. Look to your left, look to your right, look out into the crowd - everyone is singing and singing loudly. It's amazing. Honestly. If people aren't too busy having dance club sex, they love that you love the song that is on. Eye contact will be made, eyes will get bigger with enthusiasm and together, you will sing. It will be wonderful and rewarding, and I'm not kidding about this. Here and there, throw a point toward the person with whom you are singing. They love it and so will you. Let the universe align while you are singing one hit wonders and classic rock. It feels like, even at 2:30 am with puke on the toilet seats and slutty girls and nasty boys gettin' busy near the speakers, it's okay to be at a club.

Hope this helps.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

John Wayne Gacy Jr.: Sick...fascinating

I'm relatively awful at making friends. As evidenced by my last eight months in Indianapolis where I've made exactly no friends. Outside of the obvious issue of me never really leaving my apartment. I have this problem when I do meet people.

Guys, I love serial killers. See?! That's the problem. I don't love them. Well, no. I do. In a "as a human I should love all people" sort of way. But I do like them. See?! No. I don't like them. I think they're fascinating. The mental state of serial killers enthralls me. The psychopaths. The sociopaths. Call them what you will. The complete lack of empathy. Not just a lack, but a near lack of understanding of empathy.

It consumes my brain. I spend hours on wikipedia reading about them. Stumbling about sociopaths. That's not okay! It doesn't mean I'm a serial killer. I think it means the opposite.
I read about them and want to know so much because I can't wrap my head around the idea. It's sick, and yet I can't stop reading about them. I know more about psychopaths than most people I know.

Which is weird, sure, but I think it's only bad when I drop facts about specific ones into conversations. The people who know me mind less, because it's just like talking about sports or movies. No. It's not like that at all. It's weird. It's gross. But I can't stop reading about them. So to anyone who has ever met me, I apologize. You probably know more about John Wayne Gacy Jr. or the Bloody Benders or Dean Corll than you ever wanted to know. I can't apologize enough, but also did you know...

Friday, February 10, 2012

Disney says I need a pet and so much more

I got to thinking about Disney movies today. Outside of some of them being totally underrated because they're nothing like the story or just not flashy enough, I noticed something that I know influenced my brain. I could credit that to my family always having a dog, but I won't. I want to blame Disney for my seeming need to have pet.
Jasmine had Rajah the tiger. Pocahontas had Meeko the raccoon. Cinderella had all those mice. Belle had Filippe the horse. Rapunzel had Pascal the chameleon. Mulan had Mushu a dragon AND Crickee a cricket. Ariel, while half animal herself, had Flounder a blue tang AND Sabastian a crab Snow White had all of those woodland creatures. So did Aurora. Princess Eilonwy had Gurgi a dog. Esmerelda had Djali a goat. Olivia who was already a mouse still had Toby a basset hound. Wendy had Nana. Alice had Dinah.
What is that? Are girls so incapable that they cannot survive life without an animal friend? And why couldn't they find female human friends? Why are there no friends in the Disney world? Sure, Snow White had her dwarves. Aurora and Cinderella their fairies. Wendy had her brothers.
Where is the friendship component of life in Disney movies? It's really starting to bother me. I'll give it to Ariel because she's half fish, but why couldn't she make friends with any girls? Why doesn't she spend time with her sisters? She has six sisters, and the only time she spends with them is when she's getting ready in the morning, at which point she's completely ignoring them. All of them are surrounded by men. Men trying to control them or men trying to save them. Their mothers are evil. Their fathers are idiots. While Disney girls are getting themselves into all sorts of trouble that can only be rectified by falling in love after abandoning their evil mother or bumbling father the only real friends at their side are animals.
I recently had a debate with someone as to whether or not Esmerelda should be considered a Disney princess or not. It was decided she should be because she fit the bill. Because Belle wasn't really a princess, and Cinderella wasn't until the very end. But we can say Esmerelda is the princess of gypsies. She's put in danger by an evil man, and she's rescued by a gentler man she must fall in love with to be saved. Because that's what it is to be a woman. Your only friend is an animal, because animals don't quickly betray. Your father is a dummy or overbearing. Your mother is probably your step-mother, and she's undoubtedly evil. The only way you can live your life is if you fall in love, and the only way that can happen is if something truly dastardly happens to you.
I'll be a real woman some day.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Excuse me while I rant (aka: this is just the beginning)

I consider myself to be a connoisseur of sorts when it comes to customer service. I'm a consumer with lots of different businesses, but more importantly, I'm really ridiculously good at providing customer service. Really good. I'm not very good at lots of things, but this one, this one's my shining star. It's always been something I could do - relate and listen and care. I blame my dad, my dad's dad and mom, my mom's dad and my brother for this: we're all really good at it. When I was a social worker: good. When I was a server: good. When I library: good. So, I know bad service when I encounter it. And when I do, it's all-consumingly offensive. It's like a stinky, burning fart in the middle of a lily field. (Yeah, I did just say that).

Here's the history: I have acne. At one point in my life, I had terrible, horrible, bulbous acne that hurt and made me feel hatred towards myself and everyone else in the universe. I might have been vain, but mostly, I was heartbroken. When I was 12, I started using my first topical retinoid. When I was 18, my face exploded with "adult onset acne". I cried EVERY SINGLE DAY. I started going to Three Rivers Dermatology in 2002. This is when I fell in love with Dr. Sassmannshausen. He did things like listen to me cry and give me pep talks about my personality and remembered personal facts and tid bits. He wore funky ties and made jokes. He took serious and aggressive, but patient and comforting approaches. We, patiently, took my acne to the cleaners. He's awesome. I recommended him to at least 10 people in the last 10 years.

Somewhere along the line his practice has started taking itself way too seriously. It has a damn spa thingy attached to it (it's called Windy Ridge. WINDY RIDGE!!!), he has a staff of like 25 nurses and he's way too busy to interact effectively. This is great, right? His practice has boomed! Except, where does that leave the customer? Rushed and pushed around by nurses who cut off your sentences and have the same amount of bedside manner as a corpse? Yes. Sitting in a waiting room for 20 minutes to hold audience with the doctor for 2? Yes. Calling in to ask a serious question only to be redirected to 2 different people, ending up talking to the phone nurse who is, at best, kind of a jerk? Yes. Sorry, but in my book, this is not progress.

Also, while my nurse was updating my patient history today, she cut me off at least a half dozen times and NEVER let me justify my answers. Don't we all think it's important to note that histories are unique and side bars should be considered? It was infuriating. And to the point where I intentionally moved my body away from hers and crossed my arms. I wanted her to get the point that yes, in fact, she was cutting me off from my own appointment. She didn't seem to care. It doesn't matter, except that it does. For mainly two reasons:

1) I'm a long time patient. 10 years, guys. When I think about breaking up with Three Rivers Dermatology, my heart actually aches. 2) I actually paid them money to make me feel like a doofus.

On the upside, Dr. Sassmanhausen is still cool as hell. And we have a thick history. I can't sever that so easily -- but I can't continue to put up the notion that taking yourself too seriously, being cold and pre-occupied and being rushed and pushed around is to be considered professional. I had a horrible experience (2 within one month)and it's like this: What the hell?

I mean, he can always hire me for Customer Service Consultant, I'd be up for that - because some of these nurses have a thing or two to learn about humans. And I'm not talking anatomy.